The Candy Mom Can...

Who can take a sunrise,
Sprinkle it with dew
Cover it in chocolate and a miracle or two
The candy Mom
The candy Mom can
The candy Mom can, cause she mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good!

Okay, so I can't do most of that, but I can cure me and my son Dylan's candy obsession. As a kid I was always perceived to be fat so I spent my whole childhood on a diet. Okay correction my whole life on a diet. That meant no cookies after school, no sweets in the house at all, and only candy at holidays and that was strictly controlled. In my house every treat I consumed came with a complimentary side order of guilt and shame. My mom's heart was in the right place, but as shocking...considering my figure now, but all her efforts to control my food and to help me lose weight FAILED. I went from stocky, to chubby, to over weight, to fat, and now I am have been hanging steadily for the last 10 years at obese. Over the years my weight has gone up and down, but the shame and guilt are forever ingrained, at least they were until now.

My friend Carol read an article by as it turns out my weight issues hero Geneen Roth. The article basically said that there is a unconventional way to rid kids and even us stubborn adult of our food obsession. That way is by allowing yourself or your kids to have as much of that food as they want with out any limits. Yes you read correctly with out any limits. Then after 3 weeks the compulsion to eat that food will greatly diminish.

Both my son Dylan and I have issues with the C-word. CANDY. I am terrified of candy. Candy speaks to me. Candy calls my name and I can ignore it's calls for a little while, then I am into the candy bag up to my elbows until every piece is gone. Then I feel horrible, ashamed, sick, guilty, self loathing...etc. I swear to myself and to God that I will never ever do that again and I don't, until the next bag of candy comes into the house. I am sad to report that my son Dylan is the same way. At least my craziness over candy has made him this way.

When candy comes in the house the boy becomes a monster. The boy is obsessed about the candy. Eating the candy. Playing with the candy. Sleeping with the candy. On second thought maybe he is just afraid that I am going to eat all of his candy? Oh I am so ashamed.

So back to the article. The article says to give the child as much of the food as they want for three weeks. On Wednesday I went out and bought enough candy to fill the bathtub. I bought 3 kinds of Hersey's kisses, peanut and plain M&Ms, 4 packs of gummy works, Bulls eyes, peanut butter cups, gummy hearts, marshmallows candies, Kit-Kats, Almond Joys, Sugar Babies, Tootsie pops, Dum-Dum pops, Jolly Ranchers, Junior Mints, Whoppers, Sweat Tarts, Butter Fingers, Rolos, and any other candy that I could grab.

I made Dylan a candy bag, myself a candy basket, and Alice a small candy bag. Dylan's candy bag is a large soft cooler that can hold 12-15 sodas, My basket is a simple light wooden container that can probably hold about a gallon of water, Alice is using her little Dora kid sized lunch bag. All of our vessels were filled to the brim on the late afternoon on Wednesday. Today, 2 days later Dylan and I have eaten about half of ours, Alice is not one of us, She has already forgotten about hers and has left it under the sofa. I went out today and bought a huge supermarket bag full of candy and filled us back up. I also went to fancy shop and bought myself some special designer fufu candy.

Our candy eating only has three rules. We have to eat at the kitchen table, we can not eat the candy instead of a regular meal, and we can not feel bad or guilty (that rule is only for me). Eating candy at the kitchen table was a new experience for me. In the past I preferred watching TV in the dark and using my hand like a forklift shoveling the candy in to my mouth, then throwing the bag away deep in the trash so no one would know. I played games with myself, like if no one found out about my sneaking then the calories didn't count. Yeah um looking at myself in the mirror, I am sad to report that wasn't in fact the case.

I was scared to allowed myself to actually sit at the well lit kitchen table with my husband and kids, and where the neighbors might be able to see in, if they had binoculars. How could I enjoy candy in front of other people? What if I couldn't stop and not only ate all of the candy but ate the basket as well? What kind of role model would I be? Can a human even digest wood fibers?
I had a lot to consider.

Well I threw my concerns and my diet out the window and have been enjoying my candy basket for two days and none of my fears came true, I think, but neighbors can be sneaky. This experiment is just crazy enough to work. But even if it fails at least we get to eat lots of candy! I'll keep you all up dated.

Post Op Comment

Thanks for all of your support things went great at the Vaginolagist. I went for black ankle socks with red hearts and heart shaped pom-poms. B. was right about the doctor not seeing our outfits. I wore khakis, black shirt, and of course the fun socks. Nothing to report. I peed in the cup and all over my hand. I spread my stuff and tried to go in my mind to my happy place. Then viola I am dressed and running out of there for another 12 months.

Vaginologist

Tomorrow is the day that I have been dreading all year. My annual visit to the Vaginologist. This visit isn't really an annual visit as I haven't been in at least 20 months. I know, I know, you are supposed to go every 6-12 months to make sure that the pluming is working correctly. But, I simply hate going there! When I was pregnant with the kids I got used to prancing around half dressed and having my nether region exposed on a regular basis. I haven't been pregnant in 4 years and since then and I have gone back to embracing the idea of keeping my private parts private.

I am trying to be mature about this after all I am the one who called them to make the appointment. I know that I have to go and I am going. Come 11:00 o'clock Friday morning, I will be stretched out on the cold table legs spread wide open and ready for business. But before that uncomfortable, horrid event occurs I have some questions about primping and preparations for Vaginologist exams and no one knows more about stuff than you my beautiful smart readers so hear goes.

Does everyone shave their legs? Right? Because if you are like me in the winter time your legs are almost as hairy as your husbands? Oh it's just me? Actually right now my leg hair is more of a prickly peach fuzz. Prickly sharp peach fuzz I am sure that these hairs are sharp enough to bust a balloon. Maybe that's why Dave kept yelping in pain when I was trying to cuddle last night?

While we are on the subject of shaving does anyone shave down there? I kinda did one summer and the area got itchy and unbearable. I spent the week scratching myself like major league baseball player which is much more offensive that a little unwanted body hair. Does anyone wax? I have had my eyebrows waxed regularly since I was old enough to drive, so I know waxing. There is no way that I am ever letting someone pour hot wax all over my most delicate sensitive part and rip it off. If any of you have had the nerve, the chutzpa, and the high tolerance for pain to do that I am truly in awe. My 90-ish-year-old Nana told me that she gives herself a little trim to neaten things up down there. I did try this once and I ended up snipping my thigh. It's hard to cut upside down and when you use a mirror everything is backwards. I have sworn to never have another pair of scissors anywhere near there. So I guess that I am going on Friday as is.

Does anyone dress up? I want my doctor to see me in a great outfit, nice make-up, and coiffed hair, hoping that she will remember my spiffy put together style and not the fact that I didn't wax or shave. I do have an odd sense of humor so I do like to wear funny socks. I mean your legs are up in the air in those things why not lighten up the mood with day-glow skull and cross bone socks? I was thinking that this visit I would wear my white and red-heart socks or are those to predictable? Maybe I'll mix it up and wear my black, purple, and orange witch hat socks? Hey I wonder if I still have those silly toe socks? Have you seen these? They are like gloves for your feet?

Okay girls, I obviously have a lot to think about concerning how to prepare for tomorrow. Thanks in advance for your help. Or perhaps you could just comment to say hi? Who are you people? Like the Who have asked for decades and the TV show CSI has made famous "Whoooo are you? Who-who who-who-who-I really want to know."

Apple Picking

I love apple picking. I dream of apple picking. Once September and October roll around we are out in the orchards at least once a week picking delicious fresh crisp apples. The kids and I eat apples morning noon and night. Galas, Empires, Honey Crisps, McIntoshs, Macouns, Cortlands, if they grow on a tree we pick them. As a kid we lived in the city and I thought that apples grew in plastic bags at the grocery store.

This is our fourth year living in the country, but I still get all excited when we walk up into an orchard and see rows and rows of glorious red fruit glistening in the sun. every fall I am like an excited kid dragging my kids up and down the rows. I am always delighted by the beauty of the fruit and awed by the privilege of living so close to nature. My kids on the other hand have grown up here and already take our glorious country side and fall harvest for granted. They have grown up picking apples and every other kind of fruit that is locally grown in Massachusetts. I guess I am making up for lost time.

Why am I bringing this up now in the middle of winter? Because oddly enough this week I have been apple picking in my house. I have been picking up apples from under chairs, stuffed in the couch, and in the bathtub. All of these apples have one thing in common. They all have one or two little bite marks in them. Little three-year-old sized bite marks. My beloved daughter seems to enjoy biting into new apples but not eating them. At first I thought that maybe she just got distracted. Took a bite or two and then put the fruit down and started playing and forgot about the fruit. But, in the bathtub? Then I went to cut up and Apple for their lunch from the apple bowl and found the mother load. Every single apple in the bowl had a little bite taken out of it. My instinct was to find the child sit her down and make her eat every single ruined apple. But this is my sensible Alice. Dylan is the impulsive crazy one. He would eat a bite out of every apple just for fun, Alice had to have a reason.

I sat down in front of the bowl of apples and pondered. As I tried to think of why my darling daughter would kill a whole bowl of brand new apples I picked up an apple with a tiny nibble
and took a bite from the other side. Yuck! The apple tasted like sour chemicals. What the heck do they process these things with? As I ran to the sink to spit out the horrid tasting morsel the solution to the apple nibbler hit me.

My three-year-old daughter has been brought up eating fresh from the tree picked apples. This batch of store bought apples was not up to her apple tasting standards. I have created a pint sized apple snob! She tasted every apple in the 3 pound bag looking for one that was palatable for her elitist taste buds. After her taste tests she was stashing the rejected fruit all over the house so I wouldn't find out. I am angry amused and somewhat proud at the same time. Laughing at my daughters determination and trade mark quirkiness I throw out the bowl of nibbled apples and decide next time to buy oranges.

Kid's Rule

Kids today are so pampered, spoiled from their beauty shop coiffed heads down to their disposable diapered butts. Just look at the names of the diapers we put our kids into. Pampers, Luvs, Huggies, ooh, only the best for my baby and her fragile butt. Back when I was a baby we ran around in wet soggy rag diapers with sharp pins sticking in our thighs. Do you remember? They'd put rubber pants over the cloth diapers so that the diaper wouldn't leak on the furniture? It was fine that we spent the first few years of life with diaper rash, but God forbid the good sofa got wet.

Come to think of it, my sister and I weren't allowed to sit on the good sofa. The good furniture was only for company. Now Pottery Barn sells little sofa's and club chairs just for kids. They fit perfect in the playroom. Because today's kids need more than their own perfectly styled bedroom. They deserve a whole extra room just for their toys. Is anyone else pissed about this?

How come we got treated like crap when we were kids, but now if we don't treat our kids like royalty and put them before ourselves we are considered bad mothers? When did this happen? When did kid's rooms become designer show places and play rooms become the norm? When did birthday parties become full blown social affairs? Seriously? Or is it just me?

Also when did we start running ourselves ragged just to make them happy? This week is school vacation week and I am making myself nuts keeping them happy. They want McDonald's for lunch. They want to go to the movies in the afternoon and they want to eat the TV dinners that they see commercials for on TV. for dinner. I am like a rat on a treadmill! But, I know that if I don't keep them happy and busy then they will turn on me. Then I will have whiny, screaming, wild cats trashing my house and trying to eat me.

I end up throwing catnip mice at them and hiding in my bed room. Then as I sit there eating from my stash of half price Valentine' chocolates, and wondering how I got to this place? I don't know that my parents gave my happiness or my opinion much thought. Kids just did what they were told and that was that. On our birthdays we had small parties at home with a lopsided home made cake. We were thrilled just to go to McDonald's, they didn't even invent Happy Meals yet... We were just happy to be able to drink soda and eat the food. Now all my kids do is complain about getting the wrong toy in their happy meal.

I think that the mother's should get the toy. We are the ones who have to pay for this unhealthy gross food that my kids hardly actually eat. Hey maybe there should be a McDonald's Mom Meal? The meal would consist of a good quality salad, gooey candy bar, with the choice of a margarita or martini. The meal would come in a cute pink polka-dot reusable bag and the toys could be make-up samples? We deserve it we work really hard. Being a mother in this child centered society is exhausting. Let's rebel! Let'sstop the treats and toys for no reason. We'll show those little buggers who's boss! Let's say "No and mean it."...but let's just keep this between us. I don't want anyone to think I'm a bad mother.

Oh, I have to get off the computer, my son Dylan wants to use it.

Valentine's Day Means Bed Room Fun!

My husband and I spent a romantic Valentine's Day on Cape Cod. What could be more romantic that going to most beautiful special place in Massachusetts...with your kids and staying with your mother? Everything. Actually Dave and I did escape and run off to have a romantic fun lunch at the Land-Ho in Orleans, and then we had a nice time strolling lovely Main St. in Chatham. We held hands as we walked and had a wonderful time.

Then we returned to reality.

By the time we returned our children had trashed my mother's house and were bouncing off of the walls from eating pounds of candy. By dinner time they were both whiny chocolate covered savages. We rounded them up and herded them upstairs to the guest room to go to bed. My mom and sister had made them a beautiful bed on the floor between the two high twin beds. I was looking forward to spending some quality time with my mom and step-dad. Perhaps have some wine and share some adult conversations. With the kids running wild it's hard to communicate more than one or two words over the chaos.

Before we could open the wine we hear the kids upstairs crying. I tip-toe up the stairs and hear my son Dylan, his little voice is croaking out grievances in between sobs.

"They scammed us... They are making us sleep on the floor...They left us all alone...Why do they get the big beds...That's so unfair...They tricked us...I am so disappointed in them...". I cover my mouth to stifle my laughter.

I go down stairs and hope for the best. Thirty minutes pass...still crying. My mom goes up to see if she can work some grandma magic... No luck...Twenty more minutes go by and auntie goes up to see if fun auntie can calm them down...No luck...finally after thirty more minutes I sacrifice my fun adult night and go up to soothe the little beasts.

I change into my pajamas and climb into bed. Dylan hops in beside me Alice decides to stay on the floor in her princess bed. I spend thirty minutes fighting for blankets as I am being kicked, slapped, and nudged by Dylan. Then a forty pound little girl hurls herself on top of me. She wiggles and burrows herself a little bear cub den in my small portion of blankets by my legs. Now I am freezing cold and she starts kicking, rolling, and twisting across the bed. Her legs eventually are smacking me in the back. I try to move away from her sharp claw like toe nails I find myself teetering on the edge of the bed. I let myself free fall to the bed on the floor. I instantly fall asleep.

Before I can begin dreaming of a huge soft bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and a down quilt a forty pound bag of sand lands directly on my back.

"Momma! Das my bed!" She wiggles in to the small space resting finally with her torso on my face and her legs curled around my chest. I lift her off of me and escape back on to the bed above where Dylan as spread out like the letter X. I push and pull him over to his side of the bed. At this point I don't even bother to fight over a pillow or blankets. I am just happy to be alive.

Before I can begin my dream of being single and living alone on an island Alice starts screaming.

"Momma! My blanky! My Binky!" During her bedroom tirades she has misplaced her blanket and her binky. Now I must turn on the lights and over turn mattresses, blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals until the precious objects have been found. Some how Dylan has slept through this whole ordeal. I set Alice's bed back up again and pet her to lay down by holding her hand from the bed above. I have no pillow, no blanket, and my arm is being stretched and contorted. I don't think that this is what people mean by a wild time in the bed room on Valentine's Day?