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September 2003
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November 2003

Someone here in my house

Someone here in my house is nuts. It’s either them or me. I’m really not sure anymore. Let me describe my breakfast and let you decide.
Dad had just gotten back with the bagels, so we all swarmed to the table. It was a frenzy of activity, with plates being passed around, glasses being filled with milk, and the right bagel being found for everyone. Finally everyone sat down, and Raphael grabbed my milk. It sloshed on the table and he cried, “Oh noooo, Shooperman did it!” Ok, fine. Mom grabbed a paper towel and we cleaned that up, just in time for a wasp to fall to the table between Max and me. Dad reached out and smooshed it with his thumb, remarking, “See, Max, I told you it wasn’t a bee.” Um…ok.
Mom started shrieking with horror. Not over the wasp, but because Tre was carefully peeling the crust off his bagel. She considers that a crime against nature. Tre kept stripping the crust away, chuckling at Mom.
“I don’t like to get even a little bit of spit on my hand,” announced Max out of the blue. “I like to keep my hands all dry.” He rubbed them together gleefully, demonstrating his joy at dry hands.
“Oh, me too,” responded Mom. Those two…they have some sort of mind meld or something. I don’t understand it, but I’m not sure I want to.
Max, after having thoroughly poked at his bagel, decided he wanted to sit on my lap to eat it. That would have been fine, except it caused Raphael to suddenly and intensely desire to also sit in my lap. He leaned over and rubbed his wailing face against my arm, leaving a smear of cream-cheese spit. Soon they both were in my lap. Max companionably bounced his head off Raphael’s, singing, “Domy romy, domy romy, domy romy.” Finally I banished Max to his own chair, where he started playing a game with Tre.
“Tre, do you want a CD to eat?”
“A CD!”
”Like you play?”
“Yeah. That kind!”
”It tastes like winglini and clams,” Max promised enticingly.
“Linguini and clams! [This is Tre’s favorite food. Really.] Sure!”
Max tossed him a pretend winglini and clam CD. There was a great flurry of pretend CD flinging and eating. Soon it degenerated into a chorus of (I am not making this up), “Chicken Bocky, Chicken Bocky, Chicken Bocky!”
So I’m asking you. I know I’m not all that swift in the morning, but it’s them, right?

I’ve decided I want

I’ve decided I want to lose a little weight. Not much, just about five pounds. I figure that’s not going to be difficult, right? After all, I’ve done quite a bit of reading on the subject. Armed with all the latest weight loss information, I dove in.
Morning dawned and after the fog in my head cleared I remembered the study I had read that said breakfast eaters lose more weight and keep it off longer. Very well, I will eat. But what? I studied the fridge for some time. Perhaps I’d been a bit optimistic about the fog having cleared. Finally I settled on cereal and milk. Haven’t I read something about cereal eaters having better nutrition than non cereal eaters? I wonder if they meant cereals like “Mud & Bugs”? Oh well, it’s probably just as good.
The breakfast of Mud & Bugs didn’t satisfy for all that long, so mid morning I started rummaging for a snack. I remembered that fat is no longer bad for you – in fact some fats are downright health food. Avocados fall into this category of good fat, so I had a bunch of chips with guacamole.
That held me until lunch time, when I was out running errands with the boys. We were all starving, so I stopped at a burger joint. I remembered that bacon cheeseburgers were allowed on Atkins, and haven’t people been having phenomenal success with Atkins? I ordered a double. With fries, because the ketchup has lycopene, right? Really good for you. I’ll never have prostate problems. Besides, fries and ketchup, that’s at least two servings of vegetables, right? Everyone knows dieters should eat lots of vegetables.
After lunch the boys wanted to go for ice cream. I almost said no, but then I remembered something I’d read about high levels of dietary calcium helping weight loss efforts. Well, that sounded good. Since I wanted to be sure to stay on top of that whole “lots of fruits and vegetables” thing I had a banana split. Brightly colored produce is supposed to be especially good for you, so I was sure to ask for an extra maraschino cherry.
That afternoon, while I was grocery shopping, I found this soda. It’s called Steap, and it’s made with green tea. I worried a bit that it may have too much sugar for me in my current health-conscious state, but then I remembered. Green tea enhances metabolism. I drank four.
I was going to work out after shopping, but I remembered reading that people who don’t get enough sleep tend to weigh more. I took a nap instead.
That evening, as I was planning dinner, I remembered something I’d heard about Conjugated Linolaic Acid. It’s an essential fatty acid, found in things like red meat and whole milk. Apparently people who took this as a supplement lost weight without even trying. Well, that makes whole milk a weight loss aid. And if whole milk is good, heavy whipping cream must be better. That sounds like a fine thing to add to my efforts, so we had fettuccini alfredo.
Now, after all this attention to detail, would you believe I seem to have gained weight?
And I was so careful.

Ok, it’s late. Whoo, it’s

Ok, it’s late. Whoo, it’s late. We went to the circus tonight, and much fun was had by all. Raphael was a little freaked out when the lights first went down. He clung to me and whimpered, “S’ok, s’ok!” But that soon passed and he was sitting on my lap, enraptured. He had been excited about seeing the elephant. Maybe even TWO elephants. But as he sat there, at least six elephants came out and paraded past. He was beside himself. “Raphi,” I asked, “how many elephants are there?”
“More,” he breathed.
Of course the quiet attention didn’t last the whole show. By intermission he was climbing over the seats and stealing Max and Tre’s toys, and ready to go…elephant hunting or something.
Tre took in the whole experience in very typical Tre fashion. He sat bolt upright, staring. Cataloguing what was happening in his mind. I hate to think what ideas the whole thing has given him.
Max watched so intently. Once, when the main clown guy came out to do something bumbling again, Max leaned over to me. “Mama? Can I tell you a secret?” He pointed at the clown, “that guy’s the baddest guy in the whole circus.” I think he felt a little sorry for him, messing up all the time.
It was fun, but we got home late, and then I called my brother. Josh’s birthday is today. Um…today, when I’m writing this. October 1. He’s really old. I’m not saying HOW old, but he can run for president now. Josh should have his own blog. He’s really funny, and kind of offensive. I told him if he’d just get his own blog he’d develop a fabulous readership and sometimes make people cry. Not in the awwwww way, but in the I can’t believe he said that, what is wrong with him way. It would be lots of fun.
It occurs to me as I think about my brother, that this occasion would be as good as any to finally explain the name of my blog. See, when I was a kid Josh couldn’t say Kira. He called me Ki. It stuck. I, by the way, called him Sha.
So, because this name was given to me by my brother, my Sha, it transcends the difficulties I have with my many names. Like, I hate my surname because it’s my ex husband’s. Not that that makes it bad, but I used to be so proud to have his name. To have been taken into this family story that was so different from my own. I loved that we together were defining a new chapter in this family, under this shared name.
Well. Now it’s just something I’m stuck with, for the sake of the kids. Every time I write it I quietly hope that some day the boys and I can all change our names together. Not that pleasant.
But Ki. Ki is from before, from when nobody defined me but me. Given to me by my big brother, who was and is the most amazing person I could imagine. So it’s the name of the heart of me, and these are my words. Kiwords. (Like key words? Get it?)
And like I said, I think Josh needs his own blog. I don’t know what he’d call it, but I know it would be Sha-king. (hee, hee)
Love you, Sha. Happy birthday. Don’t run for president, ok?