Ah, young love. Apparently, my pool is the lovers' lane of the frog world. When I went out there this morning, there were three more clumps of eggs. Sucker that I am, I scooped them up and took them to the pond. Somehow I feel like I am singlehandedly reversing survival of the fittest. Or, given that they were spawned in a fully chlorinated swimming pool, perhaps I am helping to create the X-Men of the frog kingdom. Yay! Mutant frogs! And I am their queen!
In other news, I have managed to go walking and/or swimming (frogs or no!) for the last three days. Yay, me! And interestingly, today was the first time that I felt really hungry. Unfortunately, hunger struck while the kids and I were at the grocery store. (Two children trapped in a shopping cart, begging for anything that catches their eyes - we're talking ketchup here - for a solid hour? Good times.) Luckily, I am newly obsessed with the 100 calorie packs of everything, so the damage was minimal. Weigh in tomorrow! I am cautiously hopeful.
8.31.2008
8.30.2008
Frog Rescue: Complete
I live in Small Town, Texas. Actually, I live out in the county near Small Town, Texas. There are woods. And pastures. And all manner of critters, both wild and domesticated. Behind our house, we have what we fondly refer to as the pit of despair: an in-ground swimming pool. Since we bought our house in 2004, we have had to replace the pool pump three times. We are on a first name basis with the nice folks at the pool store. T keeps threatening to blow it up after the next malfunction (he's that kind of guy).
Anyhoo! Frogs. Last summer while we were gone to Colorado for three weeks, pool pump number three died. We returned home to a green lagoon teeming with wildlife. Specifically, frogs, from tadpoles on up. Hundreds of them. And mosquitoes! A 20,000 gallon vat of West Nile Virus! Yay! I called my home-schooling friends and invited them over to catch tadpoles for a hands-on lesson of metamorphosis, then I called the pool people. They said they would send a guy out to take care of it.
Imagine my surprise when I get home from the grocery store the next day to see the pit of despair has gone from swampy to foamy(!). The pool guy had come and fixed the pump and dumped some, I don't know - Agent Orange, maybe? - in. Oh, the humanity! It was a freaking frog holocaust. I totally wig out and scoop out as many as I can and rinse the frog death off of them in the baby pool. I saved maybe a dozen or two. The rest died a terrible death there in the pool and had to be scooped out of various pool orifices. So. much. trauma.
When we returned home from Colorado this summer, the pool was, predictably, green. And this year? Giant clumps of frog spawn (eggs). So before I called the pool people, I go on a frog rescuing mission. Because I? am humanitarian (amphibitarian?). With my tiny aquarium net, I scooped out three groups of eggs, put them in a pitcher (ew! Bring on the bleach!), and drove them to the nearest pond, which, this being the country and all, was not very far. I released them and thought my duty was done. There was much patting of my own back and congratulating myself on averting another massacre.
Then today Z and I go out for a swim. She is paddling around on her little float and says, "Look, Mama! A tiny little frog!" And so it was. Further inspection found it to be several tiny frogs, another clump of eggs, and a pair of giant frogs getting it on in the skimmer basket. Whee! Out came the tiny net, lather, rinse repeat. I am hoping that this will be the last round of frog refugees I have to transport. But if not, I have a net.
Anyhoo! Frogs. Last summer while we were gone to Colorado for three weeks, pool pump number three died. We returned home to a green lagoon teeming with wildlife. Specifically, frogs, from tadpoles on up. Hundreds of them. And mosquitoes! A 20,000 gallon vat of West Nile Virus! Yay! I called my home-schooling friends and invited them over to catch tadpoles for a hands-on lesson of metamorphosis, then I called the pool people. They said they would send a guy out to take care of it.
Imagine my surprise when I get home from the grocery store the next day to see the pit of despair has gone from swampy to foamy(!). The pool guy had come and fixed the pump and dumped some, I don't know - Agent Orange, maybe? - in. Oh, the humanity! It was a freaking frog holocaust. I totally wig out and scoop out as many as I can and rinse the frog death off of them in the baby pool. I saved maybe a dozen or two. The rest died a terrible death there in the pool and had to be scooped out of various pool orifices. So. much. trauma.
When we returned home from Colorado this summer, the pool was, predictably, green. And this year? Giant clumps of frog spawn (eggs). So before I called the pool people, I go on a frog rescuing mission. Because I? am humanitarian (amphibitarian?). With my tiny aquarium net, I scooped out three groups of eggs, put them in a pitcher (ew! Bring on the bleach!), and drove them to the nearest pond, which, this being the country and all, was not very far. I released them and thought my duty was done. There was much patting of my own back and congratulating myself on averting another massacre.
Then today Z and I go out for a swim. She is paddling around on her little float and says, "Look, Mama! A tiny little frog!" And so it was. Further inspection found it to be several tiny frogs, another clump of eggs, and a pair of giant frogs getting it on in the skimmer basket. Whee! Out came the tiny net, lather, rinse repeat. I am hoping that this will be the last round of frog refugees I have to transport. But if not, I have a net.
8.29.2008
Happy! But a little sad
My baby didn't ask to nurse before he went to sleep tonight. (Yes, I'm one of those people who nurse their 18-month-olds.) Though we are in the throes of weaning, I really wasn't quite prepared for it to be over. Once they stop nursing, they are officially not babies any more. And since T and I are still deep in debate about whether there will be a third child, this could be the last time I nurse - ever.
On the other hand, WHEE! My boobs can be recreational instead of service oriented! No more sleeping in a bra and nursing pads! No more embarrassing leaks! I can wear bras that aren't beasty grandma rejects with fold down flaps and no underwires! Once I do a search and rescue in a well-fitting bra, the girls won't hang to my waist!
On the other hand, WHEE! My boobs can be recreational instead of service oriented! No more sleeping in a bra and nursing pads! No more embarrassing leaks! I can wear bras that aren't beasty grandma rejects with fold down flaps and no underwires! Once I do a search and rescue in a well-fitting bra, the girls won't hang to my waist!
Thwarted
I made another attempt to go to the gym today. It was closed AGAIN. My gym, the only gym here in Small Town, Texas, sold recently. The new owners wanted to remodel a bit. They said that the gym would only be closed for two days. Ha! Who are these people? Have they never done home improvements of any kind? Needless to say, the remodel is going on its second week. Guess I will just have to swim in my own pool. Which means the kiddos will want to come, too. Somehow I don't think pulling kids around the pool in floaties will get my heart rate up in the same way as a trip to the gym. Oh, well. I'll do what I can!
8.28.2008
Critical Mass
Critical Mass Perhaps this post should be subtitled "Critical of My Ass" since weight loss is a major motivator for this blog? So here's the thing: my feet hurt. A lot. And what athletic thing did I do to injure said feet? Well, I have a gold medal in emotional eating, silver medals in watching an embarrassing amount of television and finishing up my kids' meals, and finally a bronze medal in never losing my baby weight. In short, my feet hurt because I got fat. Now I am not a willowy kind of gal under the best of circumstances, but someone who is 5'3" should not be this round. At my fittest, I was what my grandmother called "sturdy." Think the cheerleader at the bottom of the pyramid. That was me. I aspire for that to be me again - sans polyester miniskirt and matching bloomers.
What I really want is to set a good example for my daughter, Z. She is three and a half, totally precocious and way too observant. I know that I learned my lessons about food at my mother's knee and want the example I set to be somewhat less neurotic. (Totally a post for another day!) I am striving for a healthier lifestyle, not just a diet. You know, one that includes fresh vegetables and more exercise than walking to the kitchen to fill a sippy cup.
In keeping with this desire, I have joined Weight Watchers Online. I would like to go to WW Live, but in the small town where I live, there are only two meetings per week and I can't swing the child care. As it turns out, the interface with WW Online appeals to my inner computer geek and has totally kept me on track so far. I plan to lose around 60 pounds. I am trying to hit the gym more regularly. You would think that chasing after two kids under the age of four would be enough exercise for anyone. But somehow, I have managed an economy of movement to rival a three-toed sloth, so it is into the pool for me.
So far, so good. The picture was taken at the end of my mountain vacation this summer (the pink and green looked a lot cuter when I was wearing the jacket). That was my starting point. I'll put up other pictures as my weight loss progresses. Three pounds down, 54 to go!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)