Smile Now, Cry Later~ My Relationship with my Bathroom Scale

There aren’t too many things in life that I have a love/hate relationship with. But my relationship with my bathroom scale probably ranks right up there with my love/hate relationship with my thighs. Since I started working out and losing weight I’ve become obsessed with my scale. Oh, it’s not one of those funny, ha-ha obsessions; it’s an unhealthy one.

I drag my $19.98 Wal-Mart digital scale out every morning I wake up. Of course, first I pee to make sure I get rid of any water weight. I carefully place the scale on my tile and slowly get on. If I don’t like the number I go through the whole rigmarole:
1. Take a dump. Nothing like cleaning the pipes, right? Rid myself of any unwanted waste and the chicken pita from the night before
2. Do a few jumping jacks
3. Scoot the scale onto a different floor tile and another and another
4. Log my weight in my handy-dandy journal that I keep in my vanity

Does it work?

Hell no! I usually end up weighing more than I did before I took a crap and did the jumping jacks!

It’s so frustrating. Maybe it was better when I didn’t care about my weight. I used to go to my annual gynecologist appointment and dread the whole weigh-in. I’d sit in the lobby with all the other women and think about that stupid medical scale. When the nurse would finally call my name after 2 ½ hours, she’d go through her whole spiel:

“Hi, Sandra. How are you today? If you wouldn’t mind hopping on this scale so that I can get your weight and then I’ll get your blood pressure…”

I place my purse on the chair next to the scale and proceed to take off my heels, my necklace, bracelets, earrings, watch, wipe off any excess blush, brush out any added hairspray and remove my nail polish that might interfere with my true weigh-in. If I could get butt-naked in the hallway, I would. I stand on the scale and tell the nurse:

“Umm, I am going to turn away while you take my weight. I do NOT want to hear you sigh. I do NOT want to hear the scraping of that big ass square weight slide across the metal that alerts me that you need to add more lbs to the scale. I do NOT want to hear your pen write the 3 digit numbers on my file. I do NOT want to know what my weight is. Just smile and return the metal square thing on the scale back to it’s original position when you’re done. And by the way, when was the last time the Department of Executive Administration Weights and Measures came by to conduct an inspection on this particular scale??”

A bit drastic? Not to me.

I sit down and she takes my blood pressure. She tells me that my blood pressure is a little high. NO KIDDING? After placing my fat ass on the scale, my blood pressure probably won’t go back to normal for at least a few hours.

So, as you can see…it’s been a turbulent relationship-me & my scale. I try and keep the healthy mind-set of ‘As long as I look and feel good, who cares what the numbers are’. Yet, there are those mornings that I want to take the scale and fling the damn thing out the window…

but then…

I’d have one less thing to complain about.

Booty Pop

Call me gullible.

I just had to order them.

I want a Kim Kardashian ass.

I don't want to pay $11,000 for an ass implant, but I will pay $20 for a pair of panties that give me that "lift" I need.

Yes, I gave in and ordered the BOOTY POP undies.

You're probably wondering WTF?

Let me give you a quick recap on how this went down....

My friend Jaclyn McGill, always complained about not having a butt. She is 5'9, 110lbs and beautiful, but always complained about not having enough junk in her trunk. Recently we had lunch together with some friends and she spoke about how she received BOOTY POP as a gift. At first, I didn't know what she was referring to...a candy? A music video? A porno?

After our lunch I went back to the office and googled Booty Pop and I was pleasantly surprised to see a cute pair of panties with shapely butt padding! So..I didn't stop there. I am a researcher at heart and continued to delve deeper into reviews on this product. Everything came back positive. Then I saw a video clip of the women on The View talk about it and Kelly Ripa try it out. (Ok, Kelly Ripa is what sold me on it). I logged onto bootypop.com and watched the infomercial. The girls looked amazing in jeans wearing booty pop. I wanted to look like that! No amount of working out and doing lunges is gonna give me an ass like that!

So I'm cheating. I'm buying a pair. And the best part, I get one free!

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my ass. I come from an Asian/Latino background. Unfortunately, I was blessed with the Asian ass, which means it's pretty much non-existent. No offense to my mother, but I would've much rather had the Latina ass in exchange for the thighs and hips. I do have a "bump"...just not a nice, plump one; a biteable one..a la Kim K. I want a video chick ass like the ones you see in rap videos. I want the ass that "...swallows up a g-string..." (ok, ok..maybe not THAT big).

I'll let you know how they work out.

If worse comes to worse, I can always use them as padding when I take up snowboarding....

Mia & Sofia's Conversation of the Day...

Sofia: Ewww, I have a uni-brow! It looks like a caterpillar!

Mia: Don't worry, when you get older, you can get it waxed like mommy does her pee-pee.

Wiener on Parade!

So it's the typical elementary school program. All the parents show up with their cameras, video recorders, Blackberries, iPhones, etc. to tape their little munchkin sing the well-versed medley of America's favorites: a remix of It's a Grand Ol' Flag with a touch of America the Beautiful peppered with The Star Spangled Banner. The music teacher is a flustered mess as she races from one part of the stage to the other. The usual cast of characters take their place on stage: the crying kid, the kid that won't keep his hands to himself, the clean kid that looked like she just stepped out of a Nordstrom catalog, the booger eater and the mannequin kid (you know that kid, the one with the eyes wide open and lips sealed shut that don't move).

Of course my 6 year-old, with the stage presence of Oprah Winfrey and the charismatic voice of Celine Dion, is in the front row singing her heart out void of shyness. This is the same kid, when at home, asked what she was singing for the program responds with a disinterested, "I don't know" or "I don't remember" and runs off to tackle the dog.

The show continues and the 2nd graders now enter and partake in the familiar sounds of patriotic hymns. And, like the 1st graders, the cast of characters aren't too different: crying kid and mannequin kid are on stage along with booger eater...but now throw in wiener boy*.

Yes, it is EXACTLY what you are thinking. Let me paint the scenario...

The 2nd graders are on stage doing their rendition of It's a Grand Ol' Flag and I see a boy on stage fumbling around with his pants and messing around with his zipper.

At first I thought, "Ok, the kid is just nervous, he doesn't know what to do with his hands..."

Then he started fidgeting and pulled his zipper down.

"Ok, maybe he's fixing his underwear..."

Then, in a Matrix-like, slo-mo fashion, he whips it out.

Yes... he pulls out his wiener.

And continues to sing loudly in his most patriotic voice while his little baloney pony stands at attention.

Parents who were sitting in the front row flew up in a rage to grab a teacher nearby to yank wiener boy off the stage. The teacher was oblivious to Admiral Winky & the Twins coming out for the show. So, wiener boy was pulled off the stage instantaneously and whisked away like a criminal...

Enter wiener boy's dad.

Wiener boy's dad races towards the teacher demanding to know why his son was pulled from the program. While I didn't hear the conversation...his facial expressions said it all. He made a beeline to the back of the auditorium where wiener boy was sequestered for the rest of the show.

The parents who had front row seats to the shenanigans were so up in arms and talking about how awful it was. But.. you know what? I thought it was fricking hilarious.

Inappropriate? Yeah, ok...

But I'm chalking this up to this kid "being a boy". Yeah, he's 7 years old and old enough to know better and ok, hold him accountable by punishing him appropriately....but then...let it go.

I don't think this kid premeditated anything. He wasn't at home before the show strategically planning on how he could display his frank & beans and piss people off.

Sometimes in life, we just gotta learn to laugh and not take life too seriously.

This kid could very well be our next president.

If not, his parents will always have a funny story to tell...

*name has been changed to protect the very embarrassed parents of wiener boy

Hi-Ho-Hi-Ho..It's Off to the Gyno I Go!

Ugh.

The yearly exam.

The poking.

The prodding.

The Pap.

I have to be honest. I skipped out on my last year's appointment and that is very unlike me. I know, I know...shame on me. But ever since my husband got 'snipped', my reasons for going to the gynecologist have been put on the back burner. Ok, so I need to get back in for the yearly cell scraping of my uterine wall and boob massage. Doesn't that sound like fun?

Preparing for this yearly venture is a task of it's own. I feel like I'm getting ready for a porn shoot the night before my appointment-- Haha, 'Saturday Night Beaver'. But seriously, I make sure my nether regions are primped and manicured and fresh before my appointment. And as I prepare for my ' yearly prom date', I start to think about how my appointment will go from beginning to end:

3:15- Walk into doctor's office, sign in, update my insurance information hand over my $20 co-pay

3:20- Sit down and survey the waiting room. The usual cast of characters will be there: the screaming kid rolling on the floor while mom ignores him, the teenager wanting to get on the pill, the chick with the cellphone that insists on talking loud enough so that everyone knows her 'baby daddy' is a cheating asshole, the overweight lady with the 7-11 Thirst Buster cup wearing a red "Sexy Bitch" tank top that is 5 sizes too small and dirty flip-flops (who is also pregnant and can't tell), and the 89 year old lady that doesn't hear her name when they call her for the umpteenth time.

3:30- My appointment is supposed to be at 3:30, but they won't call me until 3:50

3:50- The medical assistant will call my name and of course mispronounce it

3:51- The dreaded scale will await me. I will take off everything I can,even my earrings and I'll look the other way as she scales the weight 'thingy' back and forth on the professional, piece of crap scale. I will cringe and not want to know the result

3:55- Blood pressure will be taken and then I'll be asked to pee in a cup

3:56- I will have saved all my pee from drinking the gallon of ice tea I had on my way to the appointment

3:57- Stage fright. I'll think of warm beer

3:58- I'll pee and miss the cup

3:59- I'll try again and I'll manufacture enough pee to serve a Brownie troop refreshments for a month

4:00- I'll walk my warm pee to my examing room and set it on the the counter

4:05- The medical assistant will walk in and tell me to disrobe, tell me to place the paper top on
backward and pull the paper sheet over my legs

4:10- I'll place all my clothes carefully on the chair and hide my thong (I'll normally do this when I'm not wearing cute ones), pull on the gynecological couture and sit on the crinkly paper and wait

4:13- I'll text my friends and makes jokes about where I'm at

4;15- I'll think to myself that most of my time is spent waiting--the exam itself really only takes 15 minutes

4:16- I'll look at the stirrups (the metal things connected to the chair that you place your feet in) I'll think how considerate they were to cover them with a soft 'oven-mitt' type of material so that my feet won't be cold

4:17- I'll look at the posters on the wall about the different parts of the vagina and think about how many vaginas my doctor sees. Does it phase her? Does she look at vaginas and think about how ugly they are? I start to imagine the different smells she must put up with. Does she go home and talk shop over dinner? As she's eating her roast beef dinner, does she say, "Oh honey..this reminds me of a woman I had in today..her labias were gargantuan!"

4:20- I'll start to fidget and wonder if I should put my stilletos back on to elongate my legs while they're in the stirrups. I'll look at my thighs as they peek out from under the paper blanket and think about how thick they look then become instantly depressed

4:30- I'll start to notice how cold it is and how my nipples could cut glass. I don't want her to think this exam is turning me on, so i try to massage them back in

4:35- I'll find a dumb magazine like "Quilt Making Made Easy" and try to pass time

4:45- The doctor will come in with her nurse practioner and ask me the first day of my last period. I never know, so I usually lie.

4:50- The doctor will look at my chart, make small talk, ask me about what I did during the summer, how work is going and start to examine my breasts as we continue to talk about traffic and the housing market in Phoenix. Her hands will be cold and I'll pray she doesn't find anything unusual

4:55- She'll tell me to scoot down a bit, so that my butt is right at the edge of the examining chair. My vag will be close enough for her to see my tonsils. She'll tell me to relax as I place my feet in the stirrups and let my knees fall to the wayside. The nurse will stand there and observe as if she is watching the doctor carve a turkey for a family of 12

4:56- I'll be relieved that I didn't take a dump before my exam. I wouldn't want to show up with poo residue

4:57- The doctor will douse the speculum (it looks like a metal duck) with enough lubricant (for Phoenix and the surrounding cities to play slip & slide) and place that bad boy in my birth cannon and crank that sucker wide open to scrape out some lovely cells for examination

5:00- She'll take the 'car jack' out of my vagina and then tell me that she'll be doing a quick anal exam as well. One in the pink wasn't good enough for her- now we go to one in the stink. Not fun..but again, glad I didn't drop a deuce before the exam

5:05- She'll tell me everything looks good, pat me on my shoulder and send me on my way..and there I will lay..a lubricated mess, with nothing but my paper ensemble

5:10- I'll get dressed, walk out & into the waiting room past all the characters waiting to be seen. Each one of them will know that I was just penetrated by metal and fingers

5:15- I'll get into my car, thankful that it's over and immediately start dreading next year

Why is this such a chore? Why do I make this so much worse than it really is?

I need to stop being a whiner and be grateful.

Yes, be grateful for the top-notch medical care that's available to us in this country; let alone, the services that are available to us as women.

In other countries, women aren't so lucky.

In America, we don't realize how good we have it.

So~ I'll stop being a little, whiny bitch...

until next August.

:)

Stars...are they squishy or hard?

My five-year-old, Sofia has a great mind.

Her thoughts amaze me and really bring me back to the simplicity and wonderment of life. Let me share some of her most recent thoughts and comments:

- Sofia didn't want to participate in her school walk-a-thon because she thought it was a

walk-a-THONG and that everyone had to show up to the school track in a THONG

- She told me that she was thinking about the stars in the sky and wondering if they were "squishy or hard"

- She asked how soon she could get her hair cut into a "side bang"

- She recently asked her Godfather "who" he was wearing. He didn't quite understand until she pulled back his collar and and read the label. She then responded, "L.L. Bean?! I've never heard of it.."

- Sofia found a penny on the ground and said, "Look mommy, a penny from heaven! God is reminding me that He's thinking of me!"

- She claims to have voted for Obama

- I took her to The Gap to get her a few things and when I picked out a cute dress she said, "SERIOUSLY?" in her most serious tone ever

- She plans her birthday gift list 12 months in advance. She has the "Smooth Away" hair removal kit as well as the Bendaroos as #4 and #5 on her list (As Seen on TV is a fave of hers)

- Sofia told me that she heard a kid on the playground call another kid a bad word that started with an "A". I tried to guess, "Hmm, did he call him an ASS?" She rolled her eyes and said, "Worse! He called him an IDIOT". At that point I was confused and ended the conversation there

- She decided that she needed to leave the table at dinner and go poop. While we were all sitting & eating, she came out of the bathroom, spread her buttcheeks and asked if it was all gone. (She was proud of her wiping job)

- Sofia says she knows how babies get inside the tummies of mommies. God comes at night and takes a tiny egg out of his pocket and pushes it through the mommy's bellybutton into her stomach and it grows and grows until it's time to push it out of her butt

- She loves infomercials and can recite any commercial from the Sham-Wow to the Aqua Globes

- She believes that Santa watches us through all the vents in the house throughout the year

- She refers to any song that I sing to on the radio as "Old School"

- She dropped out of karate because she felt that it was incomprehensible that the sensei would make a 5 year old do push-ups

- Sofia believes that cotton candy is a good breakfast

Only through the eyes of a child do we remember how funny and wonderful life can be.

Thank you, Sofia for reminding mommy that even with all the daily stresses and challenges,

life is still beautiful and simple and fun...

I love you.

A Taste of My Day...

This blog was written back in 2004 when I my kids were 1 and 4 years old.. It feels like just yesterday!

It’s a madhouse at 43613 W.Chambers every morning. Getting ready to go anywhere with two young ones is a major production. And maintaining a spotless home is not even in my vocabulary. There are times when I just want to throw in the towel, but I’m a glutton for punishment. Let me give you a taste of how a typical day for me goes:

 

4:45am: I look up at the clock and tell myself that I can sleep in 15 more minutes. I look over and see that my 5 year old, Mia is lying horizontally in my bed with her legs jammed up against my stomach and Sofia, my 1 year old, has her face mashed against the side of my head. Our dog, Greztky is sprawled out on the other end.

5:22am: I look up at the clock and realize that I overslept. I carefully spill out of my bed so as not to wake my 1 year old.

5:24am: I make my way to the bathroom and no sooner than I sit down on the commode, Sofia starts crying. I do the “supersonic-pee-and-wipe” technique, run to the bed and comfort her. She does not go back down. She’s hungry.

5:30am: I’m downstairs in front of the fridge. I warm her a bottle and then wake up Charlie. He takes her and holds her while she enjoys her warm breakfast.

5:40am: I sprint back upstairs, plug in my flat iron, brush my teeth, wash my face, apply my make-up, flat iron my hair, pick out anything in my wardrobe that matches, and is unwrinkled.

6:05am: Attempt to wake up Mia while I go through her closet for something unwrinkled without a set-in stain. I do the same in Sofia’s closet.

6:10am: Like her dad, Mia is not a morning person. She is slowly waking up. She complains about her stomachache. (She has a stomachache every morning between 6:10 and 6:30) My daily response to her ailment is, ‘Go poo, you’ll feel better.’

6:20am: Sofia is done with her bottle and plays with the dog. (Our dogs are very good babysitters)

6:30am: Charlie staggers into the bathroom and asks if I washed whites. When I tell him they’re in the dryer he shoots me a frustrated look. (It looks as if Super Mom is not up to par this morning.)

6:35am: Mia tells me she feels like throwing up. I tell her to go poo..she’ll feel better.

6:36am: I help Mia get dressed and she hates her shirt. It’s itchy, it’s too short, it’s too long, it’s made of cotton, it’s not made of cotton. It’s pink. It’s not pink enough.

6:37am: I attempt to do Mia’s hair. Mia has hair that goes down to her waist. Beautiful..but a lot of work. She insists on 2 braids. I whip up two braids to her liking…so I think.

6:38am: I come back into the room, Mia’s braids are gone. I didn’t braid them tight enough and she insists I do them again.

6:40am: Mia’s wearing a hair band and is in tears.

6:41am: I finally make it downstairs. Charlie is preparing Mia’s snack bag and Sofia’s diaper bag.  I step in pee. Our dog, Gretzky decided that taking a leak next to the closet was a bit more convenient than making his way outside.

6:42am: Sammy our dog is hacking up a pink Barbie stiletto along with yellow phlegm.

6:45am: I hand Mia her socks. She hates them. She hates the “line” that goes across the toe part. I force them on her and tie her shoes. Her shoes don’t fit right. They are too loose. They are too tight. They are not the right color. The shoelaces are too long.

6:50am: I change Sofia into her clothes. I comb her hair. I put her shoes and socks on. She looks cute and ready to go. She poos.

6:55am: I search for wipes. I change Sofia’s diaper. I don’t remember what I fed her the night before, but it looked like a burrito exploded between her butt cheeks.

6:56am: I tell Mia to brush her teeth. She whines. She gets toothpaste on her shirt.

7:00am: I hardly have any makeup left on my face. I sweated most of it off. My hair is unruly. I can’t find my watch.

7:03am: Charlie stands by the door and asks if I’m ready yet. If looks could kill, I’d be picking out his casket on the way to work.

7:05am: Everyone is strapped in the car. Mia asks her for her snack bag, Sofia starts to whine. Mia eats the Skittles for breakfast that daddy packed in her snack bag.

7:10am: I give Sofia her sippy cup. She drinks out of it then flings it against the side of Mia’s head. Mia cries.

7:15am: I give Sofia some Cheerios in a snack cup. She pours it out all over Mia. Mia cries.

7:25am: Before I go into “major-meltdown-mode” I Thank God for the DVD player in the car. I put on “The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly.” We all sing. Everything is once again joyous with the Baumunk clan.

7:50am: We make it to school/daycare. I hand over my precious gems to their respective teachers. Mia says she is sad and is going to miss me. Sofia looks over and could care less about me.

8:00am: Charlie is already waiting for me in the car wondering “why I took so long”. (Argh) We leave and head to work ready to sign divorce papers. I look at the mirror in my sun visor in the car. I look like crap and it’s barely 8:00am.

8:05am: I get to work, open up my office and breathe. I take a sip from my Diet Coke and relax. I love my job. I love adult conversation. I love using the restroom and not being asked ‘what I’m doing in there?’ I love getting to go to lunch and actually enjoy my food instead of inhaling it or worry about who’s spilling what or who needs to use the potty.

 

Despite the major work it takes to get our family going in the morning, it’s an event I wouldn’t trade anyone for. (Yes, a day off from it every now and then would be nice) And I know that after work it’ll be the same routine, but in reverse…and I welcome it with open arms. I understand that I am truly blessed to have happy, healthy children. I am blessed to have a beautiful home with a helpful husband and I am thankful every day that God allows me to enjoy another sunrise and sunset. Yes, I’m a working mother who tries hard to balance her career and family life. It’s not easy, but it can be done. When I start to feel overwhelmed and guilty about being a working mommy, I think back to a quote from the actress, Amy Brenneman. She was in her makeup trailer thinking about her five-year-old, and she didn’t want to be working.  She turned to her co-star Tyne Daly, and asked, ‘Why am I working?’ She said, ‘Because you need your daughter to witness that women can work with pride and dignity…”

 

And that’s what gets me through each and every day.