by Shelly Shelly

17
Dec

it’s been a while

(Since I’ve been getting an avalanche of spam comments, I figured I should probably post something else for the spammers to spam off of.)

It’s the Friday before the week before Christmas and I’m sitting at my desk, trying to find some motivation.  All I can think about, however, is how much I still need to do in a very limited amount of time – work-wise and personal.  There are still presents to purchase and wrap, projects to complete at work, packing to do for an upcoming trip, grocery shopping for Christmas dinner . . . and those are the things that I can think of off of the top of my head.

All of my problems would be solved if I won the lottery – of course, one has to play in order to win.

I’m planning on starting Weight Watchers again this January, which should be interesting seeing as this will be my third (or fourth – I’ve lost count) “start” with Weight Watchers.  Truth be told, I did fabulous on my first run through, losing just over twenty pounds.  What I don’t like to admit is how I gained that back – and then some – when I stopped tracking my Points and dutifully recording every morsel of food to pass my lips.  It’s to the point now, however, that I have to do something about my weight.

Mind you, I’m not excessively overweight.  If one goes by the “medical standards” for a woman of my age, height, and body structure, I need to lose about forty pounds in order to be within my “ideal weight range.”  The problem is that I really love food.  Really. Love. Food. This is why Weight Watchers always appealed to me.  They don’t tell you to cut out the things that you love to eat – just to eat them in moderation.  And, truly, I do great with that for the first several weeks.

It’s around week eight or so that the wheels fall off of the wagon and I find myself sitting on the couch with a tub of Toll House cookie dough and a spoon, hating myself with every delicious bite.

This time it’s going to be different (she said for the fourth time).  The plan has changed and so have I.  I’m older now and starting to really feel the effects of my weight on my body.  I’d like to be able to walk and talk at the same time without feeling like I’m going to pass out.  I’d like to be able to confidently pass the “plus size” department because I know that I’ll be able to find something that fits me properly in the “ladies sizes” instead of having to hop back and forth because I’m currently between departments.  I’m tired of my back causing me pain.  I’d like to be able to buy bras in the lower alphabet (or single letter) range.

And who doesn’t want to have their significant-other look at them with lust in their eyes?

So that’s my plan.  I’ve already officially joined and will be attending weekly meetings on Saturdays but I’ll be hitting the ground running in January.  This year will be the year for me to turn it all around and become less of a person – at least when it comes to my (m)ass.

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by Shelly Shelly

07
Nov

friday night lights

Last night marked the last, regular season, high school football game for my daughter’s school.  The home team was playing a team from North Florida (Madison County) and both teams are playoff bound.  The game ended in overtime with the home team winning by one point.  It was a beautiful night for football – clear and cool – jacket weather (a rarity in Central Florida).  The marching band – the real reason why I go to the games – was simply amazing.

My daughter plays the marimba and she is a sight to behold.  She certainly didn’t get her coordination from me (I still haven’t mastered a manual transmission).  She also plays the trumpet but I think that percussion will be her life-long passion.  (In the spirit of equal time:  my son, who graduated last year, also was in the matching band and played the flute for marching season, the bassoon for concert season, and the bass guitar for jazz band.)

I was thinking, last night, as I was snuggled up against my husband, rooting for the home team, what it was like when I was in high school.  We won’t go in to how strange it is that my kids’ home team happens to be my alma mater’s arch rival (I still bleed maroon and gold – they bleed blue and gold – what can you do).

I remember going to nearly all of the home games.  I would sit in the bleachers as close to the band as I could get without actually being in the band.  I was a band-geek without an instrument.  Most of my closest friends were in the band.  (I was in band for a short while in Middle School but quickly came to the conclusion that I would rather my voice be my instrument.  I dropped band and joined the chorus.)  I would cheer and hoot and holler when they were on the field performing the half-time show.

I still get annoyed when the football fans go to the concession stand or stand around and talk during half-time.  Don’t they know that the band works just as hard as the football team when it comes to practice and conditioning?  They deserve the same amount of respect and attention that the players do!  I’m sure I’ve embarrassed my kids but I’ve been known to stand up and cheer loudly and obnoxiously when they take the field.  At least I get the attention of the spectators around me so they’re aware that I’m a Band Mom.

Football season is over now – as is the marching season.  The team will be going to the playoffs and they’ll, hopefully, make it to the state championship.  The band will accompany them – always in support of the team – but not as a performance band.  I’ve only got one more year of band camp, marching practice, band drama (oh, yes, there’s a lot of drama in the band), forgotten uniform socks, third quarter breaks, marching competitions the Saturday morning after a late night at an away game, and sitting in the bleachers cheering on the athletes who play musical instruments.

I suppose I could still go to the games and hoot and holler for the band after my daughter is off to college.  But it just wouldn’t be the same.  There’s something special about looking out onto that field and catching the eye of your child and sharing that moment – that swell of pride – because what they’ve worked so hard for, for so many months, has come together so magically.

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by Shelly Shelly

03
Nov

the problem with having a blog

The problem with having a blog is that throughout the day, as things happen, I think, “I am SO going to blog about this.”  Inevitably I either forget that I wanted to blog about whatever the flavor of the moment was or, in the clear light of day, I realize that no one other than myself is going to be interested in whatever it was that made me think, “OMG!”

So, instead, I want to take some time to remember my youth.

I’m a Floridian – second generation.  My grandparents moved to Miami from New York before my mother was born and I was also born in Miami.  (If you’re keeping score, this means that my kids are third generation Floridians and, believe me, this is a rare thing.)  My grandparents had a great little house in Hialeah.

There were ficus trees all around the house that were just perfect for climbing.  I remember laying in a wading pool underneath the tree in the front yard and watching the iguanas up in the branches.  And they were gigantic!  Grandpa used to warn me about trying to catch them (I was an avid lizard catcher – a skill I still possess today) because they could bite off my thumb, their jaws were so strong.  (I believed him, at the time, but now wonder if I wasn’t told that partly because he was afraid that I would actually succeed at catching one and try to bring it into the house.)

I used to catch the baby Lubber Grasshoppers when they’d hatch, too.  They were cute when they were first born – black with bright red or orange stripes down their backs.  They hatch in swarms and were easily found because they formed black puddles on the grass.  They grew up into monstrously ugly things, though, and I think that Grandma was pleased that I ended up killing a lot of the babies while collecting them for play.  There was also an overabundance of Liguus Tree Snails who made their home in the croton bushes which surrounded the house and I collected them, too, in jars with holes punched in the lids.

My grandparents didn’t have air conditioning but it wasn’t unbearably hot.  Perhaps, because they were close enough to the coast, there was a breeze most of the time.  There were oscillating fans in the living room and the bedrooms and sometimes, if the humidity was high, the nights could be stifling.  Overall, though, I don’t recall being miserable from the heat.  I think air conditioning has spoiled me and I wonder if my kids would have had as much fun playing in the trees and bushes around my grandparent’s corner lot as I did.

My grandfather convinced me that I could catch a bird by sprinkling salt on its tail in that yard.  My grandmother taught me how to play badminton in that yard.  I hid for hours up in the trees in that yard.

I miss that yard – and I really miss them.

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by Shelly Shelly

31
Oct

diving in

Today I am 37 years and one day old.  I’m feeling my age this year, perhaps because my kids are nearly grown (I’m one of those early-starters).  30 was a walk in the park.  40, I think is going to kick my butt.

Twenty years ago, when I was in high school and my future was wide open, I wanted to be a journalist (or a biologist, or an archaeologist, or a spy, or a private detective, depending on the day of the week).  I worked on the school newspaper as the page editor for the “Clubs” section and even had an article printed in the community newspaper.  It was thrilling to see my picture and name in print (and not in the police blotter!) and I thought, at the time, that I’d found my calling.

Life, however, had other plans, and I found myself expecting my first child nine months after graduation.  Understand that I don’t regret a single thing that I’ve done in the past twenty years but, now that I’m staring 40 in the face, I’m looking back and remembering all the plans that I had and wondering how, exactly, I ended up here.

While in the midst of a pity-party earlier this week, a dear friend suggested that I start a blog to ‘scratch the itch’ of being published.  Another dear friend pointed me in the right direction so, here I am.  Sure it’s cheating, in a way, but it’s a means to an end.  If someone comes across this blog, reads it, and enjoys what I have to say, then I’ve done my job.

I don’t have any particular agenda.  I can only promise that I will write about whatever suits my fancy – be that books, movies, television, music, my family, or current events.  If I offend, it’s unintentional.  If I entertain, it’s intentional.  If anything, in the end, I might feel better about myself.

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