Magnificat

When I was in 8th grade, I was informed by my mother that my choices for high school were going to be Mags or Mags or, oh yeah, Mags. I had spent five years in the Westlake public school system and this news was more than upsetting to me. I was not prepared to leave the friends I had made and attend an all-girls Catholic high school. It was a long summer of fighting and pouting. I can not remember if I ever came close to getting my way, but I know in the fall I donned my navy blue pleated skirt and embarked on my mother's path for me. That same year, marked the end of my parents' 23-year marriage. My mom decided that being married to a man was rather inconvenient for a lesbian so off she went to discover her own path.

A crazy thing happened after I spent some time at Mags; I actually loved it. I made great friends, and I loved the comfort of not worrying about guys while I was at school. Of course, as soon as I liked it, my bitterly divorcing parents couldn't decide who was going to foot the bill anymore and informed me that I would not be able to return for my junior year.

So... I guess I got what I had originally wanted, just two years later. Let me just say, dividing high school between two schools, two groups of friends, and two different standards of education,,, that's a blast. I didn't realize the difference then, but the truth is, as good of a public school as WHS is, Magnificat grooms its girls for success.

With the advent of MySpace and Facebook, I have been able to reconnect with classmates from both schools, and I can tell you, the girls from Mags are insanely successful and driven. It wasn't just about getting good grades, it was about finding a path that would lead to a career to be passionate about. I don't know what my life would be like if I had a different Alma-mater. I am too old and have seen too much to believe that where I am is the result of any one life experience. But, still, I can't help but wonder . . .

A lost friend

I am overflowing with things I want to write about right, which is unfortunate because it probably means there is no way I will be able to get it all out of me before I forget a lot of what has been swirling in my head. Yesterday, I found out that an old friend of mine passed away in 2006. I had known her in grade school and then attended the same all-girls high school with her for two years. We weren't incredibly close but I would definitely call her my friend, and when I left Mags after our Sophomore year, she was very disappointed. Last night, after finding out about her untimely passing, I decided to do a Google search of her. I discovered that she had been living an exceptional life. After graduation, she attended a great college, where she continued pursuing her passion of gymnastics while completing both a bachelor's and master's degree. While in Germany, working as a civilian crime investigator for the US Air Force, she contracted a deadly bacterial infection. I am saddened by her passing. She was clearly a bright star, and it was evident by everything I read about her that she was an individual who touched a lot of people. I can only imagine how much she is missed by those who were closest to her.

baby weight

Everyone knows that having a baby comes along with weight gain. Some people take this fact as a luxury and eat everything in sight. Don't fool yourself, it takes a lot of effort, along with just pregnancy, to gain 80 pounds in nine months. The average weight-gain is probably somewhere between 20 and 40 pounds. I had a friend who delighted in telling me the insane milk shakes she would consume while pregnant with her daughter. She worked at a restaurant where she had easy access to shakes not only made with the traditional ice cream and syrups, but enhanced with brownies and cookies as well. I'm pretty sure she increased her weight by easily 75%. Of course, this was in Orange County, where tax refunds were often referred to as "plastic" funds and a mommy package was easily obtained. I really respect this friend, though, because even though she did get help in various areas, from chest to thighs (and a few things between), she also busts her ass to maintain what has been enhanced. She looks great. A guy we worked with referred to her as a MILF on more than one occasion. A term that most people only find offensive if they aren't one.

With each of our four children, I gained around 40 pounds. I didn't throw back a lot of cookie dough milk shakes, but I definitely didn't ignore my cravings.... oh, carrot cake, how I love thee. . . either. I am very fortunate to have a loving and accommodating husband too; he never shied away from a late-night store run for me. After Melaina, I lost most of the weight fairly quickly, but because of the evil depo shot (or so I like to blame) I gained back enough of the weight to meet my "resting" size. With no effort or work, I tend to weigh about 170-175. Next came Andrew. I never really payed much attention to what I maxed out at, but after he was born, I easily found my 175 and chilled. Third came Addison. While I was pregnant with Addy, my mother appeared to me in a dream, and in true Carol-fashion, she informed me that I was never going to lose the weight.

Perhaps out of spite for my mom, or maybe because I was just feeling good and ready, I finally engaged in my health. I educated myself about food, about what my body needed, and I had a plan. I used internet tools and calorie-tracking websites, and what I realized may shock people. Losing weight is not that difficult. It's really just a matter of being honest about your activity level and only giving your body the fuel it needs to thrive. Calories in < calories used (no gimmicks, no pills). I did not feed the disgusting weight-loss industry. I ate sensibly, and the pounds melted off. After less than a year, I found myself wearing size 27 designer jeans. I had transformed into a MILF. It was awesome.

For some strange reason, I thought that starting so small this last time would mean that the pounds would just magically melt off after having Megan, but here we are two and half months later and I am once again at my comfort weight. Hello 173.. it's been a while.. I can't stay long though. Time to get serious. I'm pretty sure I have a few MILF years left in me.

Four kids and a laundry shoot

There is no denying the amount of dirty clothes that comes along with a family of six, and I am no Rosie the Robot when it comes to keeping up with the laundry demands of this family. My only saving grace is that the dirty laundry is hidden from sight in a glorious laundry shoot. I have been caught more than once with one leg in the depths of the shoot pushing down Mt Laundrasuvious to make room for the day's dirty clothes.. out of sight, out of mind. From inside the laundry room, it even appears to be a harmless cupboard. I have even mastered the task of using a hanger as a hook to pull out the clothes I can not reach over the washing machine. I'm quite awesome at it, actually.

Susie homemaker would probably take advantage of the folding table in the laundry room to make the task a tad easier and fold it right then and there,,, I have toyed with the idea, but instead, have opted to bring the clothes upstairs to my room. It's more fun to fold clothes in front of a good movie, after all. Of course, with out fail, something distracts me from the task at hand or just plain laziness prevents me from putting away the clean clothes and Mt Laundrasuvious is erected on my floor... not so out of sight, out of mind. This asinine (yes, I can admit it) practice actually leads me to get mad at Brandon when he has the "nerve" to let his dirty clothes of the day come too dangerously close to my pile of "clean" clothes. Really. I'm not joking. I have started a conversation with, "I know the clean clothes shouldn't be on the floor, but would you mind making sure your dirty boxers don't get mixed up with them"... REALLY???

Maybe next time I get everything put away, we can just all become nudists. Addy would approve for sure. We are about to move into a new home with a laundry closet in the kitchen... no more laundry shoot and a kitchen island instead of a folding table. I can only hope it will be inspiration for me to get my laundry-doing act together. I'll keep you posted.

Trying this again!

I have to believe that as a mother of four young children, I have something to offer to the blogosphere. I have done this before and ran out of steam after just a few posts so here's to a more successful run at sharing my voice. First and foremost, my family:

Me: I suppose I'll go by Vanessa.

The husband: We'll call him Brandon. Pleased to say that after almost nine years of marriage, he still hasn't kicked me to the curb.

Number 1: Melaina, age 9. So refreshing to have a first-born that we have made absolutely no mistakes with.

Number 2: The Drew man, age 4. Everything and more that you would expect a boy to be.

Number 3: Addy, age 3. There once was girl with a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead . . .

and Number 4: Megan, 2.5 months. Simply to keep my days as a milk machine alive.

We are trying to be good parents. We would like to not screw any of them up too bad. Some days, I feel like we are doing it right. Other days, I'm pretty sure they are all going to pull a Drew Barrymore in Irreconcilable Differences on our asses. Time will tell, I suppose . . .