Book Review - The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

I'm not quite sure when I decided writing a book review turned into work. I used to enjoy it so much, putting into words the thoughts that were flowing in my head. I loved the comments and the record creating, both making the solitary hobby more meaningful and lively.

Lately, however, I look at my list of books read-awaiting-review, and I wonder if I should even bother anymore. I'm still on the fence, but thought I'd trying writing about the most recent thing I've read instead of attempting to remember things I felt or wondered months ago. Who knows? Maybe this will ignite that reviewing spark once more.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks takes a Google Earth's perspective at the woman responsible for giving science the first human immortal cell line. For analogy's sake, imagine a cell is...say...the country of Portugal. Why Portugal, you ask? No reason, other than it's something you probably know a little bit about, like maybe how you think about a cell, but you haven't really bothered exploring much further. Now, imagine you had the power to zoom out of Portugal, understanding its relation to its neighboring countries in Europe. Zoom out a little further and, wow, now you see where it fits in with the Middle East, Africa, how it borders the Atlantic Ocean and how those colonists might have made their way to Brazil. In short, you see the part Portugal plays in the world.

Next, zoom in. Zoom in to see the mountains and valleys, its rivers and inlets, cities and even hospital locations (so easily spotted with their red crosses). It looks like a really interesting country that I'd like to visit.

Huh.  You're probably thinking, "That's a lot of information about Portugal for a book about Henrietta Lacks." You're right. It was totally unnecessary to include such a long-winded and not very interesting analogy, but that's what I thought about when I considered the angle Skloot took when deciding how to tell Henrietta Lacks's story. To begin with, all she had was the name of a cell line she heard while attending a community college biology class: HeLa. Her professor briefly mentions that HeLa stands for (He)nrietta (La)cks and Skloot wonders, "Who is she?" Years and years worth of research later, she zooms out to answer that very question.

Henrietta Lacks was a poor and uneducated African American woman who happened to have an extremely aggressive form of cervical cancer in her thirties. During a treatment session at the famed Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland, her doctor removed a sample of tissue from her cancerous tumor and gave it to a scientist working on establishing the first human immortal cell line, or a cell line that continues to divide indefinitely. This was done without Lack's knowledge and without her consent. She died less than a year later but her cells continue to live today. The story about what happened to her family when they discovered that their mother's cells had become famous twenty years later, as well as what advances in science have come about because of these immortal cells is fascinating.

Most of the book's point of view is written while zoomed out and is easily understood. The family's plight and general information about vaccines, gene therapy and other scientific discoveries are all written with human interest details and never get bogged down with boring histories or complicated procedures.

Occasionally, Skloot zooms in specifically on the HeLa cell and when she does, the microbiologist in me was fascinated. I worked for two years in a diagnostic virology laboratory and one of my duties was to regularly make more tissue for culture. Without any real thought, I'd take my bottles of culture, go into a sterile room, and perform each necessary step to take living cells and divide them into eight more bottles. Not once did I wonder where these cells had come from. Now, years later, I'm wondering. Were they HeLa cells? This is the part of the book I'm not sure is as easily digestible as the rest, but I find the cell and its parts an absolute wonder. I loved reading about what made Henrietta's cervical cells so virile and how that virility has caused havoc throughout the science community. I loved every single detail about its rapid mitosis and self-generating telomeres. I think Skloot's journalistic style to bring cell biology to the masses is commendable.

In the end, I think this book addresses the real Machiavellian issue when it comes to science. Do the ends of scientific discovery justify the means? The world has made innumerable advances to understanding our bodies and every single one of us has somehow benefited, in one way or another, to having HeLa cells available to study. But, as the author points out by referencing the historical Tuskegee Syphilis studies and the atrocities committed by Nazi's to Jews at Nuremberg, human rights should trump science. Whether or not that line was crossed in regards to Henrietta's story and the family she left behind, is what would make this a really great book to discuss with others.

Biggest Loser - Week 7

The scale never ceases to bewilder me.

I had a pretty bad week, both workout wise and eating and I still lost four pounds.

I actually lost 4.6 pounds, but Becky tuned me into my bad math with her comment last week and I realized all of those point twos and fours matter. But, now I am all evened out and my seven week total is 23 pounds lost.

That was with missing both Thursday and Saturday's workout in addition to really only giving about a fifty percent effort on Friday. In addition, I ate sugar in some illegal form every day this week. It started when I purchased caramel filled gourmet cupcakes for the boys for Valentine's Day. The rich chocolate torte's weren't really their thing so guess who helped them finish? Doh! They would have been happy with Oreos or Twinkies, which I can easily resist, but instead I bought them something I crave. It led to a downward spiral and included handfuls of M&Ms on several days. You see why the number on the scale shocked me today. It's what George W. Bush would consider fuzzy math. It's supposed to be calories in and calories out but some kind of grace helped me out today. Maybe it wasn't grace. Maybe my muscles are just burning more calories now. Who knows. I don't intend on relying on eating cupcakes and missing workouts to lose weight in the future, however. I'm back on the straight and narrow Biggest Loser path although I'm already starting off on the wrong foot this week because my trainer sent me home after only an hour today telling me, "You don't look well." So, I came home, took a shower and promptly fell asleep for two more hours. Ahh. I am hoping that morning nap helps me turn the corner today. I'm sick of being sick.

Twenty-three pounds is a notable difference and I'm starting to get comments about my weight loss. Is it weird that I kind of hate it? I feel like wrapping my arms around my body and shouting, "Don't look at me! I'm not done yet!" I know they are meant as encouraging and I should feel encouraged, but I always feel more....I don't know...observed. And then sometimes I enjoy the comment. It just depends on the who and the where and the when.

I'm also starting to need some new pants! I have to wear a belt with everything now and I haven't worn a belt in years. I even tucked in my shirt the other day....INTO the pants with the belt. This may not seem like a big deal to most of you but I have found solace and comfort for about a decade now in my untucked shirts and layers. It's not as if that fashion statement made my hips and waist look smaller but it also didn't declare that I was somehow under the impression that they were small either. It's like a fashion code of ethics.

You know what I just realized? Henry is gone. I gained about 45 pounds with each pregnancy and every time, I'd hold on to twenty of those pounds for...forever. But, I've officially lost my Henry pregnancy weight (although I think it stops being pregnancy weight by the fifth year, no?) Now, Sam's got to go!

Sixteen on Sunday

Heh, heh. Maybe not sixteen but...maybe! A lot of things have happened during the week and there were lots of moments when I thought, "I'd like to write about this." Of course, it didn't happen. Apparently, I can only handle bullet-list sized thoughts. And that's o.k...for now.

1. I'm sick. I haven't been sick all winter and was getting quite puffed up about it. But, now, I've been hit with a doozy of a cough that has become progressively worse since Tuesday. I missed my Thursday workout thinking that was the apex of my illness only to wake up feeling worse on Saturday (missed another workout) and again missing church today. I'm ready to be healed!

2. On Tuesday, I received a Valentine's card from an older woman in my last ward. She's been sending me cards for about a year, mostly during a holiday season, but other times as well. At first I thought it was really sweet. I mean, it's still sweet. Cards in the mail are the best. But, once we moved, I wondered why they kept coming because I thought her sending cards was more linked to using her Relief Society directory than knowing me personally. I still think that because A) I saw her once at the grocery store, made eye contact, and before I could say "hello" she turned and walked away. Translation: She doesn't actually know who I am. And B) I sent her a Christmas card (only fitting, right?) making sure she had our change of address and the Valentine's card was still sent to the old address. What makes it even stranger was the personal message she wrote in the card. She wrote, "Love is worth celebrating when I've been blessed with great friends." I felt horrible reading it. I think she must think I am someone else. Someone she really likes, but must think has my name, is not getting her cards!

3. I also received not one, but TWO Christmas cards this week. Each included lovely photos and fantastic letters joking about why their cards came late. I'm telling you, both just made my day. I highly recommend sending out cards late if you never got around to it during the busy Christmas season. I agree with one sender in that the notes get a lot more personal attention in February than in December.

4. I've read four books in the last ten days. I finished an entire book today while in bed.

5. Sam drew a disturbing picture in his journal at school that got the attention of the school counselor. He had told both Jay and me about a girl in his class who regularly pinches him and kicks him and we sort of laughed it off, telling him that she probably liked him and was just trying to get his attention. I honestly hadn't thought of it much more, although I did tell him he had to give her a Valentine card too when he declared that he really didn't want to. Everything came to a head on Thursday when one of the girls (because of course they act in a pack) saw the drawing. I haven't seen it but both the counselor and Sam described it to me as Sam lying on the ground, dead, with the four girls standing nearby laughing, one of them holding a gun. I know! Both the counselor and I asked Sam if he genuinely felt threatened by these girls and he says he doesn't but he really dislikes them and I think what really distresses him is that he doesn't know why they all dislike him so much. He was in tears when he explained to me about how they constantly laugh at him and make an "L" with their hands and stick it to their foreheads (he had to ask what that meant. He also wanted to know what sticking up only your middle finger meant. Sigh). What really bugged me is I don't feel like the counselor really had Sam's back. I think if he were a shy, quiet kid, or someone without friends, she'd be running to his defense but she thinks Sam must be somehow egging them on or getting his friends to. Why can't kids just be nice to each other?

6. There was a youth stake dance on Friday night which I attended both as a chaperon and because I got put in charge of a bowling activity. It brought back such great memories. Having never served in Young Womens before, I haven't been to a youth dance since...well...since I was a youth. I'm not counting the square dancing during Trek this past summer because square dancing in no way makes me feel young again. It was weird to be the middle aged observer in the chair along the wall. If I were a free spirit, I might have just jumped up and joined them but something held me back. Instead, I watched with a smile on my face as every kind of dancer was represented that evening. The girls who dance in a pack with synchronized moves, the not-very-cool-but-couldn't-care-less boy whose dance was moving his arms as if he was using ninja nunchucks. Always sure to impress the ladies. There were line dances I've never seen but loved how they pulled everyone on the dance floor because it felt safe. There really is something enviable about being young. Except for the all the bullying, of course.

7. I thought I had more to write about but it all disappears the moment I start typing. Ah well. Seven is much more palatable than sixteen.

Friends, Phones and Ski Trips

Chad, KariAnn, me and Jay on the chairlift.

I've realized through the years that I am not a particularly good friend. I'm not a bad friend. I abstain from most forms of neediness and have a highly sensitive "I'm being annoying" gauge. In general, I am concerned and thoughtful, usually interested in the details of your life and have been known to humor others with witty repartee and occasional vigorous dancing.

While those attributes keep me from spending my life in solitude and misery, they aren't quite enough to secure a long-term spot in most hearts. I've narrowed down the reasons for my frequent permanent acquaintance status and can confidently blame it on one major flaw: I hate talking on the phone.

You can imagine how this might handicap a friendship. You call -- I groan. Not while we're talking and not because we're talking and most definitely not because I don't like talking to you (actually...that can sometimes be the reason), but inwardly, before I answer, I have to check my mood to see if I'm even up to it. Likewise, it takes a great deal of effort and motivation for me to pick up the phone and call someone else. I always imagine their reaction to be similar to what mine would be and if neither one of us really wants to talk on the phone, why bother? It's bizarre, not at all normal, and something I try to work on. My only consolation is that Jay suffers from this ailment even more than I do. I don't know why that makes me feel better but it does (you should hear our conversations when we're forced to call each other. It's not pretty. Text messaging has been great for us).

The result of my phone phobia is a disappointing lack of close friends. How can I expect to have bosom buddies when it appears that I have no desire to talk to any of them? I can't expect that kind of closeness and yet my desire for that Anne/Diana, Elizabeth/Charlotte, Oprah/Gayle type of relationship burns bright.   That's why it's so great when I get a chance to hang out with some old friends who know I love them, know I love to spend time with them, even if I never pick up the phone to tell them so.

One such chance happened last weekend with a lovely couples ski trip. My friend, KariAnn, casually mentioned it in an email back in December when she wrote to inquire after our new address, and twenty-four hours later, I sent her an email with our confirmed flight plans. I said earlier that I abstain from most forms of neediness, but not all, and I needed to get away from the doldrums of February and see these beloved friends from our residency years in Washington State.

We cheerfully flew into Kalispell, Montana last Thursday night in spite of United's best effort to ruin our trip by charging us an extra $100 for our ski bag because it had two pairs of skis in it instead of one. Had we used individual ski bags, the charge would have been the advertised $25/bag, but in the teensiest small print you can imagine, two pairs of skis in one bag, even a double ski bag that is well under the weight limit, qualifies as "special" and they charge an additional $100 for anything "special." It could have made us grumpy (O.K. It totally made us grumpy but after five hours of flying, we got over it), but we chose to just let the money go into United's greedy little pocket.

With curbside pick-up, thanks to Chad and KariAnn, we arrived at our cute little lodge only minutes after landing to see the smiling faces of Andrea and Jason and Rebecca and Devin. It was instantly comfortable to be together again and I am so grateful to have these kinds of friends with whom it never feels as if any time has passed. We stayed up way too late that night, no doubt annoying the front desk people who wished we'd go to bed, and finally convinced ourselves that a long day of skiing awaited us the next day that would be better enjoyed with some energy.

Even though I'm from Montana, I've never skied at Whitefish (or Big Mountain as it was known to me growing up). I loved the mountain and even though we skied for two straight days, from nine until four both days, I was never bored. It's...well...really big!

I've never experienced skiing back to back days and it was an interesting adventure. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that there was some mental fatigue going into the second day. I wouldn't label the emotion as dread but there was a certain reluctance to wake up early, put on the gear, and do it all again. I'm so glad we stuck to the plan because I think skiing two days in a row improved my skiing a lot. I was definitely more confident and willing to try harder and harder runs. That only backfired once when I decided, "Sure! I can ski in knee-deep powder through trees and down chutes." Because I can't. Actually, that isn't true. I did it, so I suppose the truth is that "I can" but I didn't like it. I thought I was going to die and I never want to do it again. They have these signs posted everywhere warning of the dangers of tree wells, pockets of soft and unpacked snow in the circumference surrounding tree trunks, which have caused two skier deaths this winter. What do you think surrounded every single tree I weaved through while I nervously followed Jay down a black diamond, back of the mountain, with no other sounds except the beating of my adrenaline fueled heart run? Tree wells! I imagined my death only every few seconds and by the time we got to the bottom of the mountain, I was a sweaty mess and throughly fatigued.

Thankfully, after a cup of hot cocoa and an hour in the lodge, I got a second wind and had the best afternoon ever. My friends are so fun and we just explored the mountain together, chatted it up non-stop on the lifts back up and all decided at the end of the second day that we couldn't have had a better weekend together.

I'm so glad we went. I'm a lucky girl to have wonderful parents who stayed after Sam's baptism to watch our boys while we were away. I'm fortunate to be married to a man who plays just as hard as he works and delights me with face-to-face conversation. I hope life continues to bring new opportunities for friendship, especially ones that don't rely on phone conversations for their strength, but I'll be eternally appreciative of people who, even after years of absence, don't find it too strange to invite a couple of mediocre friends to play. You, sweet ladies, are like gold.  Call me (or not).  But, let's do that again!




After each day of skiing, the ten of us would sit in the lodge's large hot tub for over an hour.  Pictured from the bottom left corner and moving clockwise:  Nancy (who I did not know before the weekend but was perfectly amiable), Rebecca, Devin, Chad, Jay, me, Troy (Nancy's husband, also newly introduced), Jason and Andrea.


Devin, Rebecca, Andrea, Jason, KariAnn, Chad, Nancy, Troy, Jay, me.

The entire group at the summit.  I'm grateful to KariAnn for sharing these pictures.  I brought a camera but forgot to bring a memory card along with it.  Memories are always just a little bit brighter with pictures so I'm glad I'll have these to remember this fantastic weekend down the road.

Biggest Loser - Week 6

I often think about the show Biggest Loser in relation to the program I am doing.  I think about how much more weight I'd lose if I worked out for six hours a day instead of two.  I wonder what it would be like to have all of life's distractions removed and to lose weight with the fear of being kicked off the island, so to speak.  I think that kind of situation and pressure creates the drama for the show as well as those huge, huge numbers that seem impossible to me.

While I do have the structure of an exercise program led by a trainer and the accountability of eating well due to someone looking over my shoulder every day to see what I've eaten, normal life has not gone away or been reduced to a distant memory.  Although I'm envious of the television show's participants chance to lose weight in an atmosphere designed for their success, I'm also grateful for the habits that inevitably form from trying to lose weight in the midst of my real life.

Real life was the theme of my week.  My parents were in town all week which meant going out for lunch a few times with my mother.  It also meant cooking bigger meals with more side dishes I needed to ignore since we had a table of seven instead of five.   The clincher was a four day weekend away with my sweetie that took out two days of my structured exercise routine, airport food, social dining with friends and all meals provided by restaurants.  I'm pretty sure Jillian and Bob would have freaked out.

I tried to do my best.  I worked out to my max Monday through Thursday to make up for missing Friday and Saturday.   I ordered things as light and as healthy as I thought possible.  Egg whites and veggies in the morning.  Chili and stir-fry for lunch.  The under 600 calorie option at Famous Daves and a small steak with extra veggies and no potato at a steakhouse.  Water.  Water.  Water.

I also skied my heart out.  I am not a hard core skier but by the end of the second day, I was surprised by how strong I felt going down harder and harder runs.  Normally, I like to ski swiftly down the smooth blue runs that parallel the bumpy black ones Jay goes down. This time, more often than not, I went with him, even though those runs aren't my favorite and take me so much longer.  I felt stronger.  My legs, though burning, remembered how long I could hold those squats on the Bosu ball and kept going.  My heart, pushed to threshold during Spin, kept delivering fresh blood to my muscles, keeping them from over fatiguing.  The best part?  I was never sore the next day.  More on my fabulous weekend later.

Still, the scale doesn't lie and it was a hard week.  Restaurants are notorious for over salting and adding calories with butter and oil to make their healthy options taste better.  I was hoping for a loss but knew my week hadn't really set me up to expect one.

Seven pounds.  I lost seven pounds.  I lost seven pounds!!

Does this mean I should eat out more?  Travel more?  Ski more?

One more pound and I will have lost twenty.

I think I'll stick with real life:):)

Hey.....You

One of the most exhausting parts of serving in the Young Women program is the weekly mutual activity.  I know, I know...the girls are supposed to plan them.  Maybe that works in a big ward.  Or maybe that works with a more competent leader or someone who doesn't have control issues. We only have ten active girls so a lot of weeks, we end up combining and it seems easier, in theory, for one person to plan a single activity than three of us planning three separate activities.  Suffice it to say that there are a lot of weeks where I spend a good deal of time and mental energy thinking of an appropriate, fun and purposeful activity for Wednesday night.  

This week, however, I have been drawing a blank.  I thought early on that we'd do some sort of valentine craft or activity that could be service related.  Unfortunately, most of the things I looked at online exceeded my crafting ability.  There were some great ideas but the instructions included words like, "cut out wood" or "modge podge" or "sewing felt."  Yikes!

Feeling rather lame, I decided that we would just make handcrafted valentines.  I have all those fancy scissors from my scrapbooking days and thought with some embellishments like ribbon, stickers and glitter, we'd have fun making some cards.  Then, I complained to my friend, Michelle, about my worry that this could end up being a pretty disappointing activity for the girls and she, like the wise 1st counselor she is, suggested calling a woman in our ward who does monthly classes doing this exact kind of thing.  With an almost desperate hope of not having to lead the girls doing something I would essentially be winging, I made the call.

It's not as if I don't know here.  I mean, we're not exactly friends, but I certainly know who she is.  Her daughter is in Young Womens, for goodness sake.  Their family is an established family in the ward.  There was no reason or explanation for what happened next.

I punched the numbers into my phone as I backed my car out of the garage to go pick up the boys from school.  As the phone rang, I realized I couldn't think of her first name.  No longer in front of my computer, where I found her phone number online, I had no way of getting her name back in my head once I realized it had left.  I panicked as the phone continued to ring and I realized I'd have to use a less friendly and much more stuffy form to address her.

She answered the phone and I asked, "Is this Sister _______?"  (in the LDS faith, we can address fellow church members with a "Brother" or "Sister" title.  It goes back to the early days of the church and is a title of respect.  It's not like we're sister wives or anything.  Plus, I did remember her last name).

"This is she."

We went on to converse, she graciously offering her help by coming to mutual tonight to teach the girls three different valentine crafts, and I thought I was in the clear until I found myself in mid-sentence, needing to use her first name again due to a story I chose to share.

My mind raced as I stuttered and rearranged my sentence structure to get out of my predicament, but my only clumsy solution was to refer her as her daughter's mother!  I was mortified.   I have no idea if she realized that I  never called her by her name and, of course, I remember her name now.

I plan on making a big show of knowing her name tonight.  Lots of eye contact and first name usage to redeem myself.  No more, "Hey....you" for me!

Biggest Loser - Week 5

What could I expect?  I barely worked out on either Monday or Tuesday (Monday being the big measurement day so we did that instead of Spin and Tuesday, the Boot Camp gym was locked so they sent us to spin but I didn't have bike shorts on and had to leave early anyways to get Seth to an orthodontist appointment so I just drove home and ran on the treadmill for 20 minutes) and then I had family in town this weekend and a Super Bowl party at my house.  So...yeah...not ideal.

Still, it could be worse.  I did lose one pound.  And I am feeling thin...er.  I know this will be an odd statement but I am like an anti-anorexic.  I seriously forget how big I am until I look at pictures of myself.  So, team that sentiment with losing weight and looser and looser clothing and I have a totally unrealistic image of myself in my head as smaller (and thus more able to eat things like a handful of chips and a cupcake during a Super Bowl party) than I really am or ever will be unless can stay focused on what is real and what my goals are.

It's not like I'm not working hard anymore.  I got my spin shoes set up with cleats and they make such a difference in my workouts.   I am able to do the sprint portions with so much less bouncing and more control.  Also, today, I did three sets of 50 second planks when 20 seconds was more than I could handle only a month ago.  So...I'm getting stronger.  I know I am.

But, I still have a long, long way to go.  And I can't forget that.  I can't think that I'm close and allow myself little cheats here and there.  If I do, I am only cheating myself by making this....really great experience/ordeal go on longer than I'd like.  Because, really, I'd like to be at my college weight by September.  That's my goal. And I think it's attainable.  Again...only if I keep my eyes on the prize.

I know life happens.  I know that I did a lot better eating-wise yesterday than I would have had I not been in this Biggest loser program but I have got to keep myself from slipping into old habits.  Old habits are what got me into this weight crisis anyway.  My old habits are BAD!  

Highlights of the week:  Doing the punching bag with boxing gloves on.  I've really only air boxed before but I can hit that bag!  I'd consider myself a pacifist but hitting that bag makes me think I'd really be a contender.  Or at least someone you might want to avoid in a rumble.

Also, we had a stair workout where we had to go up the stairs one at a time, then sprint down, then take the stairs two at a time, the sprint down and then three at a time and sprint down.  We had seven minute intervals and the goal was to do as many sets as we could fit in.  I have become quite good friends with another woman in the class and I think we mostly like each other because we're both competitive and push each other to work out harder.  She did the stairs before me and as I was going up and down, she shouted from the elliptical machine that she was doing, "Lucy, I did sixteen sets.  If you can't do sixteen sets then you're not working hard enough."  Now, you might think that kind of statement would be annoying.  It could be.  But, I know she said it because she saw how tired I was and that I was slowing down.  Not knowing where I was in the seven minute time frame, I picked up my pace, even though my heart rate monitor was going crazy and even started beeping at me for being dangerously above my maximum heart rate zone.  I got to sixteen sets and knew time was short and her husband said when I got to the top of the stairs, "One more and you beat her."  I replied, "Oh...I'm going to beat her."  And I did!  I did seventeen sets and almost fainted but when the time was up, we gave each other hugs and she told me I was awesome.  It's really fun to make friends, especially ones that challenge you to be more than you even think you can be.

Lowlights:  Only four of us stayed in the program.  Our class feels small and if one of us is gone then you almost feel let down.  I suppose the pressure is good but I liked our class of seven.  It was more...festive.

I am leaving on Thursday for a ski trip in Montana with Jay and some of our old friends.  I'm beyond excited to see them and to ski at Whitefish (squee!) but nervous about having two weeks in a row with poor results.  So, my goal for the week is obviously to push myself hard during the Mon-Thurs workout and to eat clean, clean clean!  While we're gone and eating out for every. single. meal, I need to remember that the purpose of the trip is to ski and be with friends - NOT to eat.  I can go to a restaurant and order a fruit plate.  I can order a salad with things withheld and on the side.  Even if others order dessert, I can watch and smile and enjoy the conversation and not covet their cheesecake.  I can travel and not gain weight.  I know I can...I know I can....I know I can....

All About Sam

As a middle child myself, I'm aware of the lack of distinction that comes from being "somewhere in the middle" in terms of birth order.  Of course, Sam doesn't have to share the title of "Middle" with anyone else, whereas I had three other siblings to join me inside the family sandwich.  I'm not sure if it is he or I that had the advantage though.

Either way, Sam sometimes comes up short on the attention scale.  Seth has the advantage of being the oldest and usually the first to get to do things and Henry...well...Henry is Henry and between the two, it can be hard for a person to get noticed.   Thankfully, Sam and his amazing Sam-ness make that all but impossible.  The boy is a star.

Because he turned eight this last month, I have quite a lot of photos to share.  But before I get to those, I want to remember how Sam is at eight.  I don't think I'm insulting my other children or giving them a complex by stating that Sam has always been my easiest child.  As a baby he was good tempered and that hasn't changed in eight years.  He gets along with others.  He makes friends easily.  He eats, sleeps, plays and works all in a manner that would delight any parent.

Before I make him sound too perfect, and come off as a braggart parent, Sam, like every one, has some things to work on.  He can be a defeatist.  He doesn't handle criticism well and can mope for longer than most situations warrant.  And some of his good behavior seems to be motivated by the pure sake of being competitive - simply wanting to be better than others - i.e. one-up-man-ship.  Still, I'll take his crooked smile and his eye that won't stay straight without glasses and enjoy his quirky habit of creating his own March Madness brackets all year long.  Or his astonishing (because it's so, so absent in his brothers) cleanliness.  A lover of comfortable pants, he refuses to wear jeans.  He still sleeps with a beloved pet bunny and favorite blanket made by Aunt Peggy.  He loves math.  I admire how quick he is to learn things and how willing he is to help his classmates with their work when asked to do so by his teacher.  I love his athleticism.  He is so naturally athletic that I already know he'll be successful in whatever sport he eventually chooses to play.  During soccer this fall, he was hard to stop.  He instinctively knows where to be on defense and how to use the field to get around defenders.  Now, watching him play basketball, I marvel at his hustle.  The boy loves sports and is blessed to be able to play them.

Best of all, Sam is a boy of great faith.  He loves singing and he loves the gospel.  His baptism yesterday will be forever a highlight in my memory as a mother.  He planned his own program from start to finish with only a few things needing to be adjusted by Jay and me and my favorite part was Sam singing "I Belong To The Church of Jesus Christ" right after he was confirmed.  All by himself.  So adorable!!

Happy Birthday, Sam!

I brought gluten-free cupcakes to his class as he has had to miss out on many class treats.  All the boys enjoyed them (post edit:  I realized I wrote "boys" and not "class."  That is because his class is made up of 20 boys and only 8 girls.) and when they tried to answer my challenge to see if they could tell me what was different about these cupcakes, most said, "They taste better than other cupcakes!"  I'm not sure about that but I'm glad it wasn't the other way around.

Chocolate was the choice for the school treat.

Thanks to Grandma for sending a chinese candle for the birthday boy.  Don't you think these should be legal in the US?

It calms down soon as the rose unfolds and sings, incessantly, "Happy Birthday to You!"

It's pretty (And bigger than the cupcake below)

Three girlfriends!  He strongly disagrees as he "doesn't like girls at all.  And they don't like me!"  Apparently, a group of girls like to tease him by pinching him and kicking him.  I'd be worried if Sam was the kind of kid who could be bullied, but he isn't.  Which makes me think this is more along the lines of Second Grade flirting.    Or, they could just be really mean girls.

His own set of scriptures with his name engraved!  It's like a rite of passage.

All boys need to know how to make proper paper airplanes.

All set for scouts!

A few days later we had a birthday party for him at the bowling alley.  He chose some friends from school and we had pizza and soda and two hours of bowling!  I thought it'd be so much easier than having a party at my house, and I suppose it was, but I've decided keeping track of this many boys is hard no matter where you are at.

His glasses always make it hard to have a really good face shot, but I think he looks so handsome here.

Most of the group.  I love hos Henry celebrates.

Watch how Sam bowls.  First, get a ball that is too heavy.

Next, use two hands to swing it back while you run towards the waxy lane.

Finally, throw the ball into the air towards the pins.  I am amazed by how hard those floors must be to not have any dents in them.  Because Sam can't be the only person to bowl like this.

Finally, yesterday evening we had Sam's baptism.  Yes, we are those super fun people who scheduled a youth baptism right in the middle of the Super Bowl.  Fun fact:  Sam was born on Super Bowl Sunday.  So, even though we knew it was an unpopular time, it seemed fitting (and necessary as Jay had to work both Friday and Saturday and this was the weekend my parents had arranged to visit).  I was surprised by the number of people who came.  I was expecting only family.  My parents and my sister, Sarah.  Jay's parents and brother's family.  But, friends from the ward came, friends from our old ward came and even people who I never would have expected came.  The room was full and the spirit throughout the program was wonderful. I am so, so proud of Sam and who he is.

Sam with his dad.

Sam with Jay's parents.

Sam with my parents.

Sam with me.

Sam and his brothers.

Sam in his baptism white.

He is my friend.  He is a constant source of happiness to me.  He is essential to our family.  He is my wonderful, compassionate, fun-loving, dare-devil, gluten-free, bespectacled, charming, eight year-old, middle son.  

I love you, Sam.  Always.

Grumpy

It's 9:48 pm and I just got home.

Jay got called into the hospital so there are dinner dishes waiting for me.

I think it's going to have to be a hot lunch day for the boys because I really don't have the energy to assemble a sandwich right now.  But, that comes with guilt because poor Sam can only get the salad bar (which he likes.  But I still reserve the right to feel like a slacker mom).

My shoulders hurt.  I need a massage.

I didn't read a book the entire month of January.  That's not right.

I can hear the wind blowing.  Boo.  Hiss.

Biggest Loser - Week 4 - January Results

Can January be over already?  O.K.  That was a little tongue in cheek.  I agree that January is normally a long and dreary month but, if I may be so obnoxious, it actually flew by for me.  Blame it on the birthday celebrations.  Blame it on this Biggest Loser program.  Whatever the reason, I feel like 2011 just got going and it's hard to believe one month is already finished.

Contrary to my last Biggest Loser post (which also happens to be my last post.  I am not digging my new go-go-go lifestyle), I did not have a stellar week.  In fact, the very afternoon following my righteous "I'm just going to dig my  heels in harder" proclamation, I ate a candy bar.  It was a moment of weakness when I was feeling very hungry and very....oh-screw-it-esque.  As is usually the case, I immediately felt remorse and vowed to have an even more perfect week.  But it didn't exactly work out that way.

Eating wise, this was my worst week ever.  Every day, it seemed, I ate something I wouldn't have the first three weeks.  A spoonful of frosting for Sam's classroom cupcakes.  Chips.  Roasted potatoes.  A couple of forkfuls of cake.  Pizza.  Pizza, for crying out loud!

On the other hand, I had a killer workout week.  I am feeling so much stronger and pushing myself that much harder during our workouts.  My favorite moment of the week was when the Zumba instructor came to give a demo class to our Biggest loser group.  Having been the only one of our class who had already been to her classes and thus already familiar with all of the routines she taught,  I was swinging my hips and shaking my groove thang with confidence.  After the class, the Zumba instructor stopped me as I was leaving and told me that she thinks I should become a certified Zumba instructor because, and I quote, "Some people can feel it in their bodies and you can."  Our trainer, who is also the owner of the fitness center, overheard and challenged me later in the week to work hard, lose the weight, get Zumba certified and then come work for her.  I laughed but wouldn't that be awesome?  I do realize that her interest is more in the PR and advertising for her business (look at what the former fat lady can do now!) but it was still a fun moment for me.  I really do enjoy those Zumba classes.

The other great moment was on Friday.  On Fridays, we compete for our teams (pink vs. yellow) but as individuals.  So, each exercise is an individual one, but the person performing it fastest, or, as in Friday's class, the longest, wins for his/her team.  The game was simple.  Seven Bosu balls were set up in a circle with a set of dumbbells (5 lbs) in front of each one.  As the music played, we shuffled (think Basketball) around in a circle until the music stopped.  Whoever was at the Bosu station with a basket of plastic eggs in front of it picked up an egg, opened it, and read aloud the exercise.  The first one was shoulder presses.  We each had to stand on top of the Bosu ball and do shoulder presses until you couldn't lift the dumbbells up anymore.  When it came down to me and Bret, the solitary man in our group, I felt the Eye of the Tiger.  The shoulders were burning but I could tell he was struggling too (he had 6 lb weights).  When I felt like I couldn't go anymore, I shouted out, "I can do this all day, Bret!" just to get in his head.  I'm pretty sure he knew I was near my own limit, most likely by my own body language (my body was in a practical back bend to help get those weights up), but my psychedelic prowess worked. He gave up and I won the round for the pink team!

I wish each exercise was as successful but I only won one other exercise: the tricep lift.  I gave a solid effort on squats (done on an upside down Bosu), push-ups (knees on the Bosu) and jump rope (I tripped after 2 minutes and the winner was who could go the longest without tripping.  Still, it was the longest continuous jump rope I've done) but failed miserable on the plank (first one down.  When, oh when, will I have Ab muscles???)  It came down to me and a girl on Team yellow for the last exercise and we had to do side leg lifts on the ground with our torsos supported on the Bosu.  They called you out if your foot touched the ground and you had to be lifting and lowering in a continuous motion.  Eventually, the called a tie because it was past 8:00 and class was over and neither of us wanted to give in.  My right side was sore all weekend!

Now for the numbers.  Today was different because in addition to weighing us, they retook our measurements and pictures.  From last week, I am down four more pounds.  That means, the total weight loss for four weeks is twelve pounds!  The measurements were also really encouraging.  I lost a total of eleven inches, six of them being in my upper abs, lower abs and hips.  But, I lost everywhere - arms, chest, thighs and calves.  I also dropped three percent of my body fat.   I'll tell you what I told my trainers.  I can't remember a month where I haven't had a goal to lose ten pounds.  I'm always thinking, 'I'm going to lose ten pounds this month." But, this is the first time that I have done it.  It feels really empowering.

Because I am married to the most incredible and supportive husband in the world, I am actually going to sign up for the month of February as well.  I am simply not ready to stop.  Jay and the boys have a good routine down in the morning and he feels like they can continue to work together, enabling me to continue being gone in the morning.

I'm doing it!  I'm really doing it!

Biggest Loser - Week 3

It was bound to happen.  I was afraid it would happen.  It has happened.

I gained a pound.

I don't even know how.  I looked back at my food journal for the past week and I'm eating everything I usually eat (salad with veggies.  Greek yogurt.  Fresh fruit.  Lean meat).  I'm working out harder than I ever have.  I had a good weekend.  On Saturday, I went to an hour of Zumba and then an hour of Strength Pilates (oh.my.goodness.hard).  Jay and I did go on a dinner date that night but I ordered Mahi Mahi and had steamed vegetables and salad as my sides.  No bread.  No potato.  No dessert.  And yesterday, I had oatmeal for breakfast, cheese and crackers for lunch (which, I admit isn't very healthy but it was like seven wheat thins, people.  Seven!) and salmon and asparagus for dinner.  I did have about twenty asparagus stalks.  Maybe that is the culprit. To be honest, though, I'm scratching my head.

I'm drinking about 130 oz of water every day.  I enter all of my hand written logs into the livestrong.com (go to My Plate and enter in your food.  It's really awesome) website and it calculates my total caloric intake every day to be between fourteen hundred and fifteen hundred calories.  I know I'm burning at least a thousand every day working out and even though I realize my metabolism, which appears in my head as a grumpy old troll I'm trying to woo, is stingy and unwilling, I have to be burning more than four hundred calories during the rest of the day.  The math doesn't add up!

I suppose it's because I'm a woman and we have water weight and monthly cycles and blah-di-da-blah-blah-blah-blah.  Whatever the reason, it stinks.  It takes away a fighting woman's mojo and I need that mojo!

As a consolation prize, I have noticed a change in the way my clothes are fitting.  Pants that used to give me a muffin top are now fitting right out of the dryer and then stretching into too big.  I also think my face is looking a little thinner.  Yay.

Instead of soothing my wounded soul with a King Size Twix, I'm drinking my nalgene bottle of water and psyching myself up for my most perfect week ever.  Sure, it's Sam's birthday this week and I will be making cupcakes and cake, as well as ordering pizza for his party, but I'm not going to eat any of it.  This is the final countdown for January.  Monday is our last weigh in and final measurements.  I'm going for it.

Five For Friday

1.  When you see me, do you think, "Look at the size of that noggin!" ?  I ask because I bought a four-pack of those Scrunci hair bands, the ones that advertise "No-Slip Grip" to keep my much-too-long-and-in-need-of-a-trim bangs from dripping in my eyes and it won't stay on my head for longer than about five minutes.   I put it on and immediately feel the pressure around my head.  It is tight!  Then, a blink, an eyebrow twitch and especially a head turn and.....slip goes the band. Yes, it's worse when my hair is sweaty, but I've tried it on dry hair  and it slips then as well.  It prefers to rest comfortably unstretched  on the back one-third of my scalp.  So, do I have a gigantic cranium or does Scrunci make an inferior product?



Do I need to cry myself to sleep on my huge pilla?

2.  Seth and Sam have discovered if they practice in the morning, while I am gone, they avoid the, "Count it out!" and "B-flat!" shouts they usually hear if I'm around.  I haven't decided if I'm more impressed with their early morning initiative (Jay said he was woken up at six this morning to the sounds of the second movement of Clementi's Sonatina.  He wanted to complain, but...) or the fact that, all on their own, they have found the path of least resistance.  I'm happy for their scientific discovery but, knowing their practice habits as I do, I am also a bit concerned.  Sam has rhythm issues and Seth, well Seth learns music in a way that is completely foreign to me.  He barely glances at his music and, instead, appears to learn mainly from muscle memory.  So, if he learns it wrong, it's that much harder to correct.   Seth figured out this early morning loophole earlier this week, but is now facing some stiff competition from Sam, who isn't nearly as interested in avoiding practicing with me as he is in one-upping his brother.  Gotta love that sibling rivalry!

3.   You know those Rorsharsch Ink Blot tests or the game when you find shapes in the clouds?  I may be weird but I always see an animal of some sort when I look at abstract shapes.  Lots of times, I don't see anything.  Just blobs.  But, if a form emerges, it tends to have a face  and sometimes even a body.  Just today, I was sitting at the dining room table thinking about something while staring at the rock fireplace and all of a sudden, within the texture of the moss and natural variations on the surface of the rock, a very fat cat appeared.  It was a stretch in terms of  proportion and features, but definitely a cat.  In the master bathroom at our old house, there was a pattern on one of the pieces of tile (and you know how they mass produce those tiles, so that pattern was found in about every fifth piece) of a dragon.  It had a snout but the tile was too small for it to have a complete body.  I never see people.  Only animals.  And never inanimate objects like shoes or flowers.  Any psychology majors out there?  What does it mean?




A bear.  with oddly placed tooth fangs.


A rat.  Waving hello.  With really long fingers.

4.  I love game shows.  I love adapting game shows into fun family/party/primary/young women games.  In the past, I've had a lot of success but I'm learning with Young Women that they have never seen any of these game shows.  I put together, what I consider, a fun derivation of the game $100,000 pyramid for mutual this week and none of the girls, not a single one, had a clue what I was talking about.  They hadn't seen the show. They hadn't even heard of the show.  The same thing happened a few months ago when the combined YM/YW played Family Feud.   Is this Facebook's fault?  Should I scrap my plans for Hollywood Squares (aka Mutual Squares), Let's Make A Deal and The Singing Bee?  Isn't any game in a game show format a little more fun?

5.  Jay still gets excited when he sees deer in our yard, but to me, deer are a nuisance.  Maybe it's because I'm home more than he is but there are deer in our yard every day.  Multiple times.  There are deer in town.  There are deer everywhere.  Where are all the hunters?  Are their numbers so few that we now have too many deer among our midst?  Am I supposed to take up bow hunting and develop a taste for venison?   I'm not familiar with hunting laws, but I believe there is only certain months when it is legal to hunt deer.  Why is that?  They do not seem to be endangered.  I'm sure its my own ignorance that contributes to my opinion, but there just seem to be too many deer these days.




About fifteen feet from me without a care in the world.  Notice how one of the deer's right antler is missing.  That can't be comfortable.

Have a Great Weekend!

He Does Not Care

Henry can get pretty excited about certain things.  Birthday cake?  Oh, yeah.  Tom and Jerry up to their usual antics?  The boy lights up.  The tooth fairy?  Meh.  Not so much.

Two months ago, Henry lost his first tooth.  As neither Jay nor I, and apparently Henry for that matter, had no idea it was even loose, the entire event was pretty anti climactic.  We were eating Mexican food at a restaurant and when I was buckling him into his booster afterward, I noticed the gap on his bottom row of teeth.  I asked him where his tooth was and he seemed confused.  Once he felt the gap with his finger he said, "I think it's in my hamburger." (Did he eat his tooth???)

We meant to make a big deal about it.  After all, you only lose your first tooth once.  But, without an actual tooth to make a big deal over, we kind of, sort of, totally forgot about it.  Hence, a non-believer of all things tooth fairy was born.

Today, Henry lost his second tooth.  Once again, I had no idea it was even loose.  Once again, the tooth was no where to be found.  It seems he pulled it out himself and left it somewhere in the mud room, which is filled with boots and snowpants and backpacks and now, a small baby tooth.  Sam got after him and explained that if you put a tooth under your pillow, the Tooth Fairy brings you money.  "It might even be GREEN money," Sam emphasized.

Sam's encouragement did nothing to sway Henry to the side of Tooth Fairy fan, however.  I suppose his lack of interest makes my job easier.  Since he doesn't care, I don't have to remember to sneak in after he falls asleep.  There is none of the usual guilt associated with throwing away my children's' baby teeth (because I do, you know.  I'm not a keeper of dead bone).  But, his nonchalance takes away the fun too.  I'm a little sad that my baby doesn't care about his baby teeth.  What's up with that?



Henry's work of art with his favorite "B" which he cares about a lot more than the Tooth Fairy.

The Battle In My Head

Normally, I don't go that way home.  Normally, after my morning workout, I head down Thirty-Second Street to Main and drive through town which, though longer in distance, is not in the middle of road construction hell like Florida Road - a thoroughfare that has been torn up and limited to one-way traffic for thirteen months and a guaranteed mood killer if taken.

Instead, today I turned onto College Drive, an over-the-mountain-in-the-middle-of-town route, and spotted them immediately.  There, at the trolley stop, stood a young Hispanic (Latina?  I'm not sure what the politically correct term is) woman with FIVE young children waiting beside her.  She had a baby in her arms, a little boy under the age of two standing next to her, two girls somewhere between the ages of two and five, and a boy, the oldest, who looked about six.

"Oh, that looks hard," I thought.  It was twenty-five degrees according to the temperature gauge in my minivan and I continued to look at them through my rear-view mirror as I headed up the hill.  I imagined that she was warm enough due to the exertion from holding a squirming baby but wondered how cold those little ones might be.

"I should give her a ride.  I am driving a minivan that has enough seats for all of them.  Traveling with kids with your own car is hard enough.  Traveling with them while depending on public transportation has to be so much more tedious."

"She'll take the trolley!  That's obviously what she's waiting for.  I'd probably insult her if I offered her a ride...like some gringa sticking her nose into somebody else's business.  Of course, in a perfect world, I'd offer her a ride but in this day and age, it's better if she takes the trolley.  That's what it's there for."

"Stop! Am I supposed to give her a ride?  Was that a prompting?  Am I ignoring a prompting right now as I drive further and further away from this family who might need my help?"

"No.  Just keep going.  It's my blasted bleeding heart working on me, not a prompting.  She'll be fine without my help.  It may take her longer to get wherever she's going, but she'll get there just fine."

"Ack!  I'm almost a mile away now and I'm still thinking I was prompted to pick her up!  Why is this always so hard for me - the decision to act or not to act.  Sister Kimball said to never suppress a generous thought and I am seriously suppressing.  Turn around, Lucy!"

"What am I getting so upset about?  I am constantly suppressing generous thoughts.  My alter-ego could be named Generous Thought Suppressor!  What makes this time any different?  It's not like the world stops when I suppress these thoughts.  After all, I can't do everything for everyone."

"But I can do this for her right now."

"I can't believe I'm turning around.  I'm sure the trolley is there by now.  I'm just wasting my time driving back down the hill.  I should have either acted on my first impression or kept on driving but this indecisiveness is lame."

"She's still there.  Where is the trolley?  It's been well over five minutes and this little family is cold!  I'm so fortunate to have a car to get me where I need to go.  I'm going to offer them a ride.  They might say no.  At least I will have offered."

"She's looking at me strangely.  This might be totally insulting to her.  Just act like as if I'm lost or don't want to go through the road construction and turn around again."

"Roll down your window."

"Keep going."

She looked at me with a curious expression as I rolled down my window.  "Hi.  I'd be happy to give you a ride somewhere.  Would you like a ride?"

She hesitated for a moment, looked at her children, looked back at me and said, "Yes, please."

I opened the sliding door and one, two, three, four young children got in, confused, looking for a place to sit.  I gestured to get all the way in the back and offered to help buckle the two year-old in Henry's booster seat.  But, he was crying and she told him in Spanish to get in the back with the others.  She held the baby on her lap.

"I need to go to the little hospital," she said.

"The ASH?" I asked, wanting to make sure I took her to the right place.

"Yes."

And that was all we said.  Her children were fussy, probably stressed about this turn of events, and I made sure to follow every traffic law I could as we were breaking most of the other ones (little kids not in boosters. Little kids not in seat belts. Four to a seat.  Holding a baby on her lap.)  I wondered as we drove in silence if I was even doing the right thing.  They wouldn't have been breaking any laws on the trolley.

But, the two year-old was really upset and coughing.  I imagined he was probably sick and she was taking him to the doctor.  I listened as she reassured them in a language I don't understand or speak, but wish I did.  I put myself in her shoes, imagining myself in a country where I didn't speak the language fluently, trying to get somewhere on a bus with Henry on a rampage, and I actually teared up.  Being a mother is a challenge.  But, what she was doing was mother agony.

We arrived at the ASH, I pulled up to the front door and opened the sliding door with the push of a button.  She gathered all of the children out of the van and said, "Thank you.  We all go to the doctor today because I only have one day off."

I told her I understood and that was it.  They went inside.  The van door closed and I drove towards home.

"You probably got them to the doctor way before their appointment.  Now, she's going to have to sit in a waiting room with five children for a half hour."

"It's still better than standing outside in the cold and taking a trolley that stops every half mile.  At least there are toys in the waiting room.

"She still could have gotten there without you.  You didn't need to help."

"Probably.   But, I'm glad I did."

"Bleeding heart."

"Suppressor."

I hope the right side won today.

Some Heel Clicking

Being the sort of person who doesn't even like the nurse to weigh me at a doctor's appointment, it's not easy stepping on the scale in front of our entire class and trainer.  Did I mention how last week, our fearless leader/torturer created a white board grid to chart our progress?  Did I mention how she wrote all of our starting weights and how I was the heaviest and that she left it up, face out, during the remainder of the week?  Did I mention that there are other people I know that go to workout there and how I suddenly developed an acute desire for a very common name.  Jenny would be nice.  Or Amy or Lisa.  Perfectly pleasant first names that allow for some anonymity.

Unfortunately, my weight is next to my name which doesn't leave for much ambiguity in this small town.  I've not met many Lucy's my age (although it has become a popular baby girl's name so in thirty years, someone in my position may be wishing for my name instead), and I hate having my weight so....public.  So what, right?  It's just a number.  And it's getting smaller (but I'm still not going to post it on here!).

I wasn't expecting a big drop this week.  Even with the workouts and the eating, I just didn't feel that different.  My clothes are still fitting pretty much the same and I have forbidden myself from any home weighing.  So, I didn't know.  In fact, I forced myself to keep my expectations low and be happy with any loss, even a fraction of a pound.

I audibly whooped when the scale flashed back a number five pounds less than the week before.  That's nine pounds in two weeks!  If that isn't motivation to keep at it, nothing is.  I am elated.

Biggest Loser - Week 2

We didn't do the weigh in this morning as more than half of our group was absent (must have gone somewhere for the holiday.  Why didn't I think of that???)  So, tomorrow's the day I find out if my perpetual wet head (I am a serious head sweater!) and body odor have made me proud.  I'm not kidding about the body odor, either.  One day last week, I went grocery shopping right after finishing our two-hour morning workout and then returned for a Zumba class at 9:00 am.  I could hardly stand myself.  Every time I moved my arms I got a whiff.  I've learned that if I'm going to do extra work-outs, I need to bring an extra shirt!

The second week brought a number of highs and lows.  I keep waiting for that constant energy and mood lifting universe to be the one in which I live.  Instead, I find myself still planted in the low-energy, hate-getting-up-in-the-morning, too-tired-to-do-much-else-besides-recover world.  While I wait for my metamorphosis to occur, I'll admit to a few things.  I cried during a workout.  I have decided to take my workouts more seriously and purchase cycling shoes (the ones that clip onto the pedals), a heart-rate monitor and another pair of biking shorts, and I have sort of become my pink team's leader.

First, let me explain the tears.  Our workout schedule changed from the first to second week.  Instead of doing Spin every morning, we only go on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays.  Now, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we go to a class called Boot Camp.  It is exactly as hard as it sounds.  I thought Spin was hard, but at least during Spin, it's just my heart and my legs that are burning and want to quit.  At Boot Camp, everything hurts.  The instructor is about ninety-five pounds and seriously strong.  Like, I think she could take me in a street fight.  Her two workouts last week were really, really hard.  Think circuit training at warp speed with no breaks.  If we aren't jumping, or lifting or squatting or crunching, we are resting for, at most, ten seconds.  It's understandable, then, how a big girl like me, after the seventh rep of thirty second planks, might tear up.  I made sure I was done with my melt down by the time anyone saw my face and I am hoping my red eyes can be attributed to blood vessels bursting from exertion. Everything still feels so hard.  I know I'm getting stronger and I even know that eventually, I'll be able to do all of these exercises as they were meant to be done, but right now, it gets frustrating to constantly have my own weaknesses exposed.  Every time we do anything that isolates our hamstrings or our abs, I feel weak, weak, weak - especially if it's a weight-bearing exercise.  Take our hamstring lifts as an example.

In this exercise, we're asked to lie on our backs, and put one heel on top of a step bench.  Then, we're supposed to lift out other leg straight into the air.  With the heel pressed into the bench, we're told to lift our butt off the floor and then lower it back down.  Over and over and over again.  Then, we're supposed to keep it in the air and pulse for sixty reps.  This is a very frustrating exercise when I can't get my butt up in the air in the first place. It feels glued to the floor.  I can barely manage a tiny and very short lift-off if I push my arms underneath my body and push up, but, apparently, my hamstring muscles are severely lacking in strength.  That was the other time I cried.   And, whoo-eee, was I sore the next day!

Spin, however, is becoming easier.  This is when my head sweat comes into play and by the middle of the workout, I have a puddle on the floor beneath my bike.  I didn't want to spend the money on biking gear at first, because I doubt I'll become a real cyclist, but I think with cycling shoes and really good padded shorts, I can work even harder during spin.  The instructors are always asking us about our heart-rates and I suppose it wouldn't hurt to know what mine is.  I think perceived effort can be just as useful a tool, but a number would be nice.  Maybe I'm not working as hard as I think I am.

Fridays, our post-spin workout is called Fun Fitness Games, the fun part being debatable.  We have been divided into two groups: pink and yellow.  I am on the pink team and we are definitely the weaker team.  My teammates include a 62 year-old woman and another woman who I would describe as the most negative of the group.  I think she's getting better but she is constantly cheating on her eating (we have to turn in our nutrition logs each day and every day, our trainer says something like, "Why are you still eating french fries?!") and constantly giving up on the exercises.

The yellow team, on the other hand, has the husband and wife combo, both of whom are highly competitive, and the youngest member of the group.  For our fitness games, we had four different competitions.  The first was a circuit course where, instead of time, the number of reps determined how long we were at each station.  Each team member had to complete the circuit twice and the first team to have all members finished won.  We had to rapid steps on a step bench (fifty on each leg.  MUCH harder than it sounds.  I was sucking wind big time), fifty shoulder presses with six pounds weights (could recover our breath but shoulders got sore), twenty-five Ab throw downs (lie on back and grab on to trainers ankles - she throws your legs down and you try to stop them before they touch the floor and raise them back up with straight legs.  I literally sounded like I was having a baby on my second set of twenty-five), fifty side-to-side lunges over a bosu ball, fifty triceps lifts with ten pound weight,  fifty medicine ball throws while catching ball in a squat and a hundred jump ropes.

We also had a kettle ball sprint relay (it's been awhile since I have sprinted), sand bag assembly line squats and a plank battle.  We lost everything competition but it was during the challenges that I really saw myself as something other than an out-of-shape weakling.  Even though I hurt, I found it invigorating to cheer on my team and encourage them to keep going, jump faster, or plank longer.  We left the studio that day totally exhausted but strangely bonded.  I still have my competitive spirit and realized my team needs that energy.  Both of my team mates said to me after we were done, "You are going to be successful, Lucy.  You are the most determined of the entire group."

Well, how about that?  Even though I am struggling to believe in myself, others believe in me.  Jay is so proud of me.  I could not do this without his incredible support.  I have awesome trainers who, even though they torture me with kickboxing and pilates and cruel hamstring exercises, think I can do these incredibly difficult things.

I think I am starting to believe them.  (I realize I sound like a Wemmick here.)

Hot And Cold

Ahh. Nothing like a steamy hot tub on a cold winter's night.



Well, just sitting isn't very exciting. Let's go play in the snow.



Now, let's really get cold.



Uh...Sam. You're not a polar bear, you know.

I don't want to play in the snow, Mom.  And I don't want you to take my picture.

Just some Saturday Night family fun.

Five For Friday - Observations During Errands Edition

1.   While driving along Main Street this afternoon, I saw a ( or is it "an"?  S isn't a vowel but I think I hear "an" when used in conversation?) SUV awkwardly parallel parked.  It was like they drove their car in, front end first, and then just never bothered evening out the angle. The tail end was sticking out, impeding traffic in the right hand lane. I thought for certain someone would still be inside waiting for a chance to back out and try again, for no one would actually leave their car so badly parked, would they?  Apparently, yes they would. When it was my turn to shimmy my van around the protuberance, I glanced over and the automobile was empty.  Someone has a lot of gall to go on their merry way after parking so badly.  It's not like it could have been an emergency.  The only shops that exist along main street are restaurants and trinket shops.  I suppose they could have had an intense hankering for fajitas as it was right in front of a mexican restaurant.

2.  I always appreciate a friendly employee but the guy who helped me during my drive-thru banking today was what I call super happy. I was in the lane right next to the window and normally, I like to check my phone while I'm parked there but he kept engaging me.  "How old is your little feller?"  "Would the big kid in the driver's seat like a lollipop too?" "I guess the green stuff is your treat." all said with a grin and dancing eyes.   He even complimented my shirt color (purple) and thanked me for including a note detailing my preference in bills for my cash back.  I would accuse him of flirting except he looked about twelve years old and I was driving a dirty minivan.  Still, I felt forced to maintain eye contact because we were so close, only separated by one, sometimes two panes of glass (if I rolled up my window, which I was wont to do).  I don't know what happy side of the bed he got out of this morning but he could be the new fresh face for "service with a smile."

3.  Being absolutely allergic to conflict, especially public displays of conflict, I practically broke out into hives when I witnessed an almost throw-down in the parking lot of Albertsons.  There Henry and I were, happily strolling into the store, when a man in a very ugly ski sweater and bib ski pants walked towards the entrance shouting, "Thanks for getting in my way, fatty!" and "Loser!"  While hoping he wasn't directing his insults towards me, I saw a very unhappy and tough looking couple storming up after him.  Just as the male member of the insulted team was crossing the road right in front of the store, you know, the part of the parking lot designated as a huge cross walk with the diagonal lines, he stripped off his coat, dropped it to the cement and literally stomped after this man (I think he also turned his baseball cap backwards but I may be confusing this scene with some flashbacks from Sylvester Stallone's movie "Over The Top").  The woman who I assume was his girlfriend, who wasn't really fat (and the boy certainly wasn't.  He was actually quite skinny in that malnourished sort of way) called after him, "Don't you hit him.  If you hit him I'm leaving you here." all while walking at a much slower pace behind him and without any real threat in her voice.  I don't know if the boy stripped his coat because he wanted to show off his arm tattoos, which were bountiful, or if he really hated his coat enough to want a car to drive right over it, but I'm pretty sure a fight didn't break out between Mr. Bibs and Tattoo Guy because I spied on them while they were both at the customer service desk (I pretended I was checking out the specials on packs of iced tea.  Good cover, don't you think?  I don't even drink iced tea!)  until I got bored and went over to the produce section (where I really shopped, instead of fake shopped).   I wonder what set Mr. Bibs off in the first place?

4.  Henry really wanted to play at McDonalds (which he spied when we were at the bank across the street), so I bought him a Happy Meal and let him play for about fifteen minutes.  Crazily enough, a woman who was there the last time I took Henry to McDonalds play place was there again.  I know it was the same woman because both times, she sat at her table and played Bejeweled Blitz and The Price Is Right with the volume all the way turned up while her children played.  Now, I'm not going to judge her for playing Bejeweled Blitz because I've been known to play a game or two myself, but what is up with having the volume on?  I don't even have the volume turned on if I'm playing in the privacy of my home.  It's annoying to listen to.  For anyone.  Why she thought a restaurant full of weary mothers would want to hear her game's clings and clangs is beyond me.  At least she didn't ask me to keep an eye on her children while she went to the bathroom like she did last time -- in which she left her laptop running....WITH The Price Is Right running....WITH the volume left on.  For five minutes, I had to listen to a loop of "Duh duh duuuh/duh duh duuuuh/ Duh duh duh duh duh duh duh duh da da duh"  (if you know the theme music then you can duh along).  Maybe Laptop Lady remembered me too.  Maybe she's blogging about me and my dirty looks (because how can you not glare when someone forces you to listen to canned game show music?) Maybe I'm Stink Eye lady.

5.  I've always thought babies bring out the the best in most people, but Henry, at five, seems to as well.  Three different people (all older women) approached him during our tour of D-town today to talk to him.  Most ask him about his glasses (Seriously.  People go ga-ga over his glasses) but one lady came up to him and asked how old he was.  It'd be creepy if they didn't look like such nice, respectable grandmas so I allow it.  Henry told her, "Five" and that he had just had a party and she actually said, "Why didn't you invite me to your party?" which is totally weird but, again, I'm feeling pretty lenient because she really looks sweet.  Henry answered, "Because I don't like you and I wanted to invite my friends."  Can't say she didn't deserve that slam..  She just chuckled, though.  Good sport.

***Can you parallel park?  Do overly happy people make you nervous?  Would you shed your coat if you were about to get in a brawl?  Would you have shut that lady's laptop while she was in the bathroom?   Are you drawn to talk to cute little kids in glasses?***