This particular evening had been pretty typical for the Callaway family. I was about 24 at the time, living at home, and attending grad school. I had eaten dinner with my parents and we were sitting down together to watch a movie. As the opening credits warmed up my mother quietly got up and walked into the kitchen. I yelled out “what you eatin’?” and my mother, from somewhere deep within her soul exclaimed: “It is none of your damn business what I’m eating! I’m making myself a snack and I am not sharing it and I am not making one for you!!” My father and I looked at each other perplexed. Where did this deep-seeded anger come from?

Well Mom, I get it.

Something happens when you first become a wife and then a mother. Your ability to feed yourself suddenly falls somewhere below going to the bathroom and basic personal hygiene. In other words, optional. Every time I walk into the kitchen to make myself a snack or a meal I must first feed three other people before me, because if I don’t I will end up interrupting my meal three separate times. I’ve realized recently that I don’t ever eat dessert while the kids are awake. Because once Mommy is eating something it must be explored, shared, drooled upon, longingly admired until mommy surrenders such item. There are many parts of my meal that I am willing to share but dessert is not one of them (see previous post).

I feel that resentment that sometimes I wish I could walk into the kitchen and ONLY FEED MYSELF. I don’t want to make breakfast for three other people before me, I don’t want to make 5 sandwiches before I make myself one, I don’t want to share my ice cream – EVER.

Still, that is how my mother showed me that she loved me. She cooked for me. She fed me. She sacrificed her own meals for me. And now that I am a mother I do the same. I take pride and comfort in knowing that everyone in my house leaves in the morning with a belly full of eggs, sausage and love. It is how we nurture is it not?

I’m still not sharing my ice cream so don’t even think of asking!

Before I had gotten pregnant I wanted to take some time to get my body in better shape, due to the fact that I had been extraordinarily neglectful of it over the past couple of years (which is evidenced by the herniated disc and the fact that elastic waistbands have suddenly taken hold in my closet). However, before I had a chance to say “fruit not fries” I was pregnant, and not long after the first 5lbs of baby weight applied itself to my stomach I was NOT pregnant. I really thought that after the D&C that 5lbs would just magically disappear — it did not. Heavy sigh. So, I did what all women do in these dire circumstances, I recruited my sister to go on a diet.

My sister, being the kind of woman who always looks out for her baby sister, agreed. Together we have been trying to inspire our families (read husbands) and ourselves to eat healthy and exercise. Amazingly, it has worked. After two weeks of cutting out bread and most of my sugar I’ve lost 5lbs. Okay, not stellar weight loss, but hey it has got to start somewhere. The important thing is that I feel fantastic. Boy, there really is something to this whole “healthy living” thing. I’ve only got one thing I’m struggling with and you readers can help.

I LOVE sweets. Yep, got the sweet tooth – thanks Dad! The hardest thing for me to give up are cookies. That is right, cookies. Not bread, butter, french fries, fast food, ice cream — just cookies. Not store bought cookies – homemade cookies. Any good recipes out there that won’t break my fat/carb bank on a daily basis? Please share your recipes. I promise to make each recipe and highlight my tasty favorites on my site (with accompanying “linky love” to YOUR site if appropriate). Please hurry, the bag of chocolate chips is starting to look really good.

One of my fellow bloggers, Jane from “What About Mom“, ran this contest for a package of diapers and a DVD of Anita Renfroe. First, thanks Jane for selecting my personal vendetta against Diaper Genies as the winning submission. I think it is crazy how we all get sucked into buying the most useless piece of baby equipment known to man, but hey, they are still in business. I was very excited to win diapers because after all one more package of diapers is one less I actually have to purchase and after 4 1/2 years of buying diapers it is nice to get a break. I had never heard of Anita Renfroe and Jane was kind enough to embed two links in her post to Renfroe’s comedy. WELL, I must share because I laughed so hard I cried. Enjoy Mommies!!

Okay, so I have a Masters degree in English, literature specifically, which means there are certain things that I should just not watch. “Shakespeare in Love” – it might have been a delightful movie but it had nothing to do with Shakespeare. Except for the fact that the lead character was named Shakespeare and he wrote plays. I found the movie insufferably annoying. If they had just titled it “Bill, a guy who writes plays and is in love” I probably would have liked it a lot better. So tonight, upon the prodding of my students, I am watching “A Knight’s Tale”. For some reason my students actually believe this has something to do with Chaucer and the Canterbury Tales. Let me assure you that it has NOTHING to do with Chaucer or the Canterbury Tales. I am sitting here horrified. The opening sequence includes “We Will Rock You” by Queen and Chaucer with a gambling problem. Really? Chaucer was a well-educated local politician who traveled extensively due to his job. His tales are legendary due to their reflection of late medieval society and his political commentary. I admit that I’m a literature snob and yet I love reality tv. How does that happen?

After months of pampering my plants this is my harvest. Max got excited when I started picking things and so picked my OTHER tomato a little early. Oy! I’m so glad my family is not relying upon me to feed them.

I woke up with so much energy this morning I would have embarrassed the energizer bunny. I threw Max in the stroller and we WALKED. It felt great to get the body moving and although my original intention was to walk straight to the donut shop (because, after all the cardio would have canceled out any donuts I ate) I decided instead to circle the park. I was so proud of that accomplishment I cleaned out the playroom and donated a large box of toys to the church. Riding the emotional high of good deeds and good cardio I took Max for a long overdue haircut. Although he clung to me like a baby orangutan, he didn’t cry. I consider this a victory and even though the side is a bit uneven due to his desire to bury his head into my armpit, I’m not complaining.

I have so much momentum I’m wondering if I shouldn’t call the UN and see if I can help them with the world hunger problem, or perhaps I should contact Iran and see if I can negotiate some sort of deal over their nuclear program. I really think my super mommy powers cannot be matched.

Max is slowly discovering the glory of not having his sister around and so far the best part is not having to watch “Barbie Rapunzel” for the twentieth time. Instead, Max has discovered “Thunderbirds”. His dad could not be more proud. Remember “Thunderbirds”? It was that old 1970’s puppet show that apparently only boys between the ages of 5-10 enjoyed for a really short period of time? Well, Max LOVES them and would like to watch them morning, afternoon and night. He calls them “Funder Flies” which makes them sound far more interesting. At 2 years old the bad special effects and the obvious puppet strings don’t seem to hinder his ability to transport himself to a place where the risk of radiation exposure seems to be everywhere. The cartoon is so genuinely and whole-heartedly boy that I don’t know how he’ll give them up when Lucy returns from camp.

I knew it was coming. As a matter of fact it was the one thing I was dreading more than having the D&C in the hospital. The hormonal and emotional upheaval that comes after you’ve had a baby. Only this time there is no baby. There is just the emotional carnage that is left behind. At least when you have a baby you can blame the not sleeping, the fact that your body hurts, the adjustment to being a new mother, really, the excuses are endless. But when you miscarry your emotional capsizing can only be blamed on hormones and that’s pretty weak. I cry. I cry about nothing. Intellectually I know I will feel better in a couple of weeks when my body regains its hormonal equilibrium, but for now I’m a captain with no compass.

Everything bothers me and nothing bothers me. David can’t utter a word right now without me misinterpreting it and his sheer existence is enough to throw me into tears over absolutely nothing. I know he’s trying really hard to tell himself that this emotional wreck of a human is not his wife but an alien that came in the middle of the night. He’s biting his tongue so much lately that I fear he will have permanent scarring.