Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Isaiah 14 weeks
Dear Isaiah,
I am exhausted. You are adorable.
Apparently, this is how parenthood works. Nick loses his hair. I lose my cuteness. You grow hair and gain cuteness. We give it all to you, my dear child.
Your Dad these days is putting up shelves in the kitchen. Wonderful bright, white, wide, and sturdy shelves are now gracing a once-empty wall. On these shelves will be glass jars full of colorful beans, pastas, dried fruit, and anything else we could move out of the cabinets and onto the walls. This has been a longtime project of mine and I'm so excited to see it come to fruition.
We took you to Home Depot for the first time this past weekend to pick everything up. Of course you slept through everything, even my nearly knocking the cart over with my clumsiness. You're such a champ.
You even survived the hours of drilling in our kitchen. Your eyes get really big and your whole body goes still, like there's a huge monster in the kitchen waiting to eat both of us up. It's just your Dad, though, trying to make me happy with my happy kitchen project. He's thoughtful like that.
Your Lola, my mother, goes home today after a wonderful 3 week visit. Oh, she is so attached to you, I think she was seriously thinking about taking you home with her to Virginia. And now, this morning, I am realizing how much I had come to depend on her over these few weeks. The kitchen sink is full, the vacuum needs to be run. Sheets need to be cleaned. Sleep needs to occur, and we need eggs, veggies, and juice in the fridge.
And it's Holy Week.
Mothers are the source of sanity, I've found. Having MY mom here calmed me in a way and freed me to do so many things, I can't help but feel like grandparents are the greatest people in the world right now. Everyday should be GRANDPARENT'S DAY in my book.
And now, as I write this, I can hear you wiggling around in your crib through the monitor. It's just you and me again, Isaiah.
You are now three and a half months and I don't think you have growth spurts, I think you just have had one long growth spurt since you were taken out of my womb. Your face is changing, you limbs are strong, and your neck is gaining stability. You no longer look like an infant, but a chubby, beautiful BABY. Your little face is starting to resemble that of a little boy and it often makes me tear up. Your father and I can hardly believe how blessed we are to witness you grow.
And now, as I write this, I can hear you start talking to yourself which, I know now, is a 10 minute countdown to a huge yelp that translates into: HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE AND LET'S GET GOING WITH THE DAY!
Love,
Mama
I am exhausted. You are adorable.
Apparently, this is how parenthood works. Nick loses his hair. I lose my cuteness. You grow hair and gain cuteness. We give it all to you, my dear child.
Your Dad these days is putting up shelves in the kitchen. Wonderful bright, white, wide, and sturdy shelves are now gracing a once-empty wall. On these shelves will be glass jars full of colorful beans, pastas, dried fruit, and anything else we could move out of the cabinets and onto the walls. This has been a longtime project of mine and I'm so excited to see it come to fruition.
We took you to Home Depot for the first time this past weekend to pick everything up. Of course you slept through everything, even my nearly knocking the cart over with my clumsiness. You're such a champ.
You even survived the hours of drilling in our kitchen. Your eyes get really big and your whole body goes still, like there's a huge monster in the kitchen waiting to eat both of us up. It's just your Dad, though, trying to make me happy with my happy kitchen project. He's thoughtful like that.
Your Lola, my mother, goes home today after a wonderful 3 week visit. Oh, she is so attached to you, I think she was seriously thinking about taking you home with her to Virginia. And now, this morning, I am realizing how much I had come to depend on her over these few weeks. The kitchen sink is full, the vacuum needs to be run. Sheets need to be cleaned. Sleep needs to occur, and we need eggs, veggies, and juice in the fridge.
And it's Holy Week.
Mothers are the source of sanity, I've found. Having MY mom here calmed me in a way and freed me to do so many things, I can't help but feel like grandparents are the greatest people in the world right now. Everyday should be GRANDPARENT'S DAY in my book.
And now, as I write this, I can hear you wiggling around in your crib through the monitor. It's just you and me again, Isaiah.
You are now three and a half months and I don't think you have growth spurts, I think you just have had one long growth spurt since you were taken out of my womb. Your face is changing, you limbs are strong, and your neck is gaining stability. You no longer look like an infant, but a chubby, beautiful BABY. Your little face is starting to resemble that of a little boy and it often makes me tear up. Your father and I can hardly believe how blessed we are to witness you grow.
And now, as I write this, I can hear you start talking to yourself which, I know now, is a 10 minute countdown to a huge yelp that translates into: HEY! GET ME OUT OF HERE AND LET'S GET GOING WITH THE DAY!
Love,
Mama
Monday, March 29, 2010
And It Went PING!
What possessed me to order a large soda at the CAVS game yesterday is beyond me. I hadn't had caffeine in over a year, not since I was pregnant, and suddenly, I decide - in some sort of a daze - that WILD CHERRY PEPSI was a fantastic idea to wake me up to witness some Lebron magic.
After scoring CAVS tickets from my friend, Alexis, as a belated birthday gift, Nick and I enjoyed an adults-only afternoon and dinner, courtesy of Alexis who supplied the tickets and my mom who supplied childcare.
The game was unexpectedly thrilling as the Sacramento Kings kept it interesting. Although, the most interesting part of the game had nothing to do with the game. After my bulb of brilliance went off and I slurped down my drink and immediately began to have a headache, I heard a sharp PING! noise from the floor and felt Nick tense up and began looking frantically through the legs and feet of strangers sitting around us.
Hyped from our favorite legal drug of choice, I shouted a caffeinated, "DID YOU JUST DROP YOUR WEDDING RING? HERE? AT THE Q? HERE?! IN THE NOSEBLEED SECTION?!"
The man next to us looked at me. His eyebrows went soaring. The men in front of us sensed troubled and Nick asked them to look down at their feet for his ring. As they fished around for Nick's half of fidelity, affection, and honor, I muttered obscenities into the popcorn and furiously slurped even faster. The Wild Cherry was wild indeed.
Luckily (for Nick) it was retrieved and returned to his fourth finger. Of course, my motor mouth couldn't stop running, "JUST PUT IT ON AND KEEP IT ON!"
This would be a hilarious time to mention that I do NOT have my wedding ring on either. I took it off when I was pregnant because my hands were often swollen and I have yet to put it back on.
Caffeinated hypocrite, you could call me.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday Weigh-In: Round 3
Worry not. Next week, I shall come roaring back. It will be Easter Sunday and, appropriately, you will see a second resurrection that morning in addition to Christ's.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Evolution of the Grandson
My brother Fran has four kids, 3 of them are boys. Nick and I try to visit their family in North Canton as often as we can. Now that the weather is turning, it's easier to get down there and let all the kids run around. (Well, Isaiah, for now, just kind of lays there.) It's amazing to me to know they will all grow up together and are so close in age. Cousins are an invaluable part of our lives and I know it's true for Nick and I that we love spending time with our cousins. So, it's important for us to see Isaiah grow familiar with his.
When we see our niece and nephews, we get a glimpse of what's in store for us down the road. A lot of it looks wonderful. Some of it looks a bit intimidating...
Right after this picture was taken, Zach started hiding in the living room. He finally admitted to Suzi (my sister-in-law and Zach's mom) that he had swallowed a nickel. Specifically, it was Jesse's nickel.
Apparently this wasn't the first time one of the kids swallowed a coin. So after a scolding and punishment, Zach was sent to his room. Jesse, looking adorably confused as to why Zach was in trouble asked what happened. When he realized his beloved little $.05 was missing he screamed at the top of his lungs, "MY NICKEL!!!!!!"
As sad as he was, I couldn't help but laugh my butt off -- he was just so darned cute and the situation was so ridiculous. He left the table with his head down in utter sorrow.
I looked at Isaiah, munching away on tongue and watching angels float around him, and wondered what was in store for him. If he was going to swallow any precious heirlooms or coveted trinkets in the future.
God, I hope not. I still need to learn know how to do the heimlich maneuver.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Sunday, March 21, 2010
A Near Apologetic Letter
CLICK HERE FOR MORE PICS
Dear Isaiah,
I want to be able to apologize for what we put you through in your first trip to Cincinnati, but, honestly, I don't think I should because it was a trip you had to make. While the traveling threw all kinds of baby wrenches in your schedule, the payoff was immeasurable and I can assure you, you had a great time.
Thursday we left for your parents' ol' stompin' grounds - the Queen City of Cincinnati. This is the place where, above all other places we could have gone to college, your father and I chose to go to Xavier. This is the place we met, where we became friends and also where we got married. It's an important place to us and we will always be visiting - and not just because my favorite restaurant, Ambar, is in Cincinnait, but because some of our closest friends are here as well.
So, you'll have to forgive us for what we put you through. Oh, I could see it in your muddy olive-colored eyes -- you couldn't recognize anything or anyone around you. We, as the books call it, overstimulated you. In return, you wailed like you had never wailed before in your entire 3 months of existence. This broke our hearts.
But they mended quickly when we got to introduce you to all of our friends, including the long time server at Ambar who I once thought I would eventually marry because I tipped him well enough over the past twelve years to purchase a new Ferrari. Luckily, I didn't marry him. I married your Dad, who celebrated his 31st birthday on Friday, March 19.
And to prove how lovingly patient your 31 year old Dad is, let me tell you what happened Friday morning...
We were staying with Julie and Pat Ryan, aka Julie and Goatee, and that morning we were getting ready for a full day of visiting. I thought to send a quick email reminder to my family that it was Nick's birthday and wrote, "Don't forget that tomorrow is Nick's birthday..."
Your Dad, who loves to read over my shoulder, gently cleared his throat, "Um, you know that TODAY is my birthday right?"
Me. I fumbled the days of the week. Me.
The person who makes a SPEECH on her birthday every year. I got your Dad's birthday wrong.
Le sigh.
But, as usual, he was laughing and forgiving while I buried my face in his shoulder and two fat tears of embarrassment sloped down my cheeks. I felt horrible. He thought it was hilarious which only made me feel worse because you know, my dear son, had the situation been reversed, I would've been bawling my eyes out if Nick got the wrong day for MY special day.
You slept like a true Factora on the way back home. You even slept through the fist pumping as we listened to Northern Iowa take down the indomitable Kansas over the radio in a true NCAA thriller.
Anyway, you met some very wonderful and important people and got your first taste of southern Ohio and March madness.
So, in addition to seeing Grandma & Grandpa Borchers and your Uncle Keith and dine at Palomino's (didn't you LOVE your window seat overlooking Fountain Square?), you learned some important lessons:
1) Forgive like your father.
2) Always root for the underdog.
Sleep well, little one.
Love,
Mama
The Difference Between Baseball Players and Isaiah
Me: Isaiah needs new clothes. His legs are getting too long. Thank God my mom bought some new clothes for him because I hate cutting the feet off of those pajamas.
Nick: I saw that baseball outfit though. That fit him well.
Me: For now, but it's starting to get tight. That's the first time he wore that, too!
Nick: Well, baseball uniforms are actually supposed to fit like that, slightly form-fitting.
Me: You realize, though, that it's a BABY OUTFIT that supposed to mimic a baseball uniform. He's not really supposed to be an actual baseball player.
Bottom line - he needs bigger clothes.
Nick: I saw that baseball outfit though. That fit him well.
Me: For now, but it's starting to get tight. That's the first time he wore that, too!
Nick: Well, baseball uniforms are actually supposed to fit like that, slightly form-fitting.
Me: You realize, though, that it's a BABY OUTFIT that supposed to mimic a baseball uniform. He's not really supposed to be an actual baseball player.
Bottom line - he needs bigger clothes.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Happy St. Patty's!
Growing up Filipino, I never thought I'd say this: my son is part Irish.
Happy St. Pat's!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Control
My wonderful mama has flown in from Virginia to stay for a weeks with us so she can help out with Isaiah. I never appreciated another set of hands around the house so much in my life. You'd think that between Nick and I, we'd have everything under control.
Shatter those expectations right now. There's no such thing as control when you're learning how to be a parent for the first time. Quite the opposite, you'll find that nearly everything is actually OUT OF CONTROL.
For example - let's take the bathroom.
Once the pride and joy of our house when we got a few things redone, but since Isaiah has come along, it has evolved into a banished and neglected corner on the second floor. It is in such dire need of a cleaning that even NICK said something about how we need to get control of that thing. By "thing," we're talking about the overdue scrubbing of the tub. Our BRAND NEW tub that we've neglected for months now.
Control is a funny illusion of life. We THINK we know what's around the corner because we anticipate problems, we logically hypothesize the risks and factors of every decision and, understandably, wait for the expected outcome.
Remember, though, that an illusion is something that appears to be real. It presents itself as something actual, something tangible, but it is, in fact, not.
It's like how I believe I have Isaiah's schedule in control and then, out of nowhere, he decides he's bored out of his mind and wiggles like crazy for an hour. He's fed, dry, and not tired. He's just wiggling. Wiggle, wiggle.
He wiggles out of his bouncer, he wiggles off the blanket on the floor, he wiggles out of my arms, he wiggles to the corner of the couch. And I think, "I can't control this boy."
Ah HA! Parenting lesson #827462 - NO CHILD IS UNDER OUR CONTROL, PARTICULARLY CHUBBY NEWBORNS.
And thus Nick and I feel out of control at times. We do our best to stay in routine, not make any plans and be nerdy 30-somethings with no lives outside our jobs and domestic responsibilities that include trips to Home Depot. We have learned that control is, quite frankly, laughable.
I thought I had control of nursing Isaiah and yet, still, every stinking week, something comes up. This week, for example, I developed a low grade fever on Sunday. My leg muscles were achy and my whole body was sore. I couldn't believe I was sick. Considering how neurotic I've been about washing and/or sanitizing my hands every time I touch an unsterilized door knob, I didn't think I'd catch any bug.
And as it turns out, I was dehydrated. I kept drinking waterbottles full of H20 and didn't have to pee at all. Miraculously (insert sarcasm there), the next morning my fever broke. I kept drinking and drinking and by the early afternoon, I felt as fine as a shiny new button.
How could I forget to increase my water intake? Nursing, working out, the weather is *just* beginning to warm up...hello? Water? More of it?
Before I admonished myself too harshly, Nick shared a story with me that made me feel oodles better...
The other night Nick woke up in the middle of the night because he heard Isaiah on the monitor. Nick thought Isaiah was just fussing around but he still got up to listen to the monitor more closely. He was alarmed, though, when he realized that Isaiah's breathing was making an irregular high pitched squeak, like he was having trouble breathing. As he started to move quickly toward the door, concerned that maybe Isaiah was sick or in a bad sleeping position, he noticed that the high pitched noise was moving with him, despite he was growing further and further away from the monitor.
"It was my own breathing," Nick told me. "It was my own freaking nose that was making those noises. I couldn't even distinguish my own self from a baby monitor."
Mhm. That's bad, babe, I thought.
So, you have a dehydrated and dizzy mom and a dad who can't hear his own nostrils.
Perfect.
Shatter those expectations right now. There's no such thing as control when you're learning how to be a parent for the first time. Quite the opposite, you'll find that nearly everything is actually OUT OF CONTROL.
For example - let's take the bathroom.
Once the pride and joy of our house when we got a few things redone, but since Isaiah has come along, it has evolved into a banished and neglected corner on the second floor. It is in such dire need of a cleaning that even NICK said something about how we need to get control of that thing. By "thing," we're talking about the overdue scrubbing of the tub. Our BRAND NEW tub that we've neglected for months now.
Control is a funny illusion of life. We THINK we know what's around the corner because we anticipate problems, we logically hypothesize the risks and factors of every decision and, understandably, wait for the expected outcome.
Remember, though, that an illusion is something that appears to be real. It presents itself as something actual, something tangible, but it is, in fact, not.
It's like how I believe I have Isaiah's schedule in control and then, out of nowhere, he decides he's bored out of his mind and wiggles like crazy for an hour. He's fed, dry, and not tired. He's just wiggling. Wiggle, wiggle.
He wiggles out of his bouncer, he wiggles off the blanket on the floor, he wiggles out of my arms, he wiggles to the corner of the couch. And I think, "I can't control this boy."
Ah HA! Parenting lesson #827462 - NO CHILD IS UNDER OUR CONTROL, PARTICULARLY CHUBBY NEWBORNS.
And thus Nick and I feel out of control at times. We do our best to stay in routine, not make any plans and be nerdy 30-somethings with no lives outside our jobs and domestic responsibilities that include trips to Home Depot. We have learned that control is, quite frankly, laughable.
I thought I had control of nursing Isaiah and yet, still, every stinking week, something comes up. This week, for example, I developed a low grade fever on Sunday. My leg muscles were achy and my whole body was sore. I couldn't believe I was sick. Considering how neurotic I've been about washing and/or sanitizing my hands every time I touch an unsterilized door knob, I didn't think I'd catch any bug.
And as it turns out, I was dehydrated. I kept drinking waterbottles full of H20 and didn't have to pee at all. Miraculously (insert sarcasm there), the next morning my fever broke. I kept drinking and drinking and by the early afternoon, I felt as fine as a shiny new button.
How could I forget to increase my water intake? Nursing, working out, the weather is *just* beginning to warm up...hello? Water? More of it?
Before I admonished myself too harshly, Nick shared a story with me that made me feel oodles better...
The other night Nick woke up in the middle of the night because he heard Isaiah on the monitor. Nick thought Isaiah was just fussing around but he still got up to listen to the monitor more closely. He was alarmed, though, when he realized that Isaiah's breathing was making an irregular high pitched squeak, like he was having trouble breathing. As he started to move quickly toward the door, concerned that maybe Isaiah was sick or in a bad sleeping position, he noticed that the high pitched noise was moving with him, despite he was growing further and further away from the monitor.
"It was my own breathing," Nick told me. "It was my own freaking nose that was making those noises. I couldn't even distinguish my own self from a baby monitor."
Mhm. That's bad, babe, I thought.
So, you have a dehydrated and dizzy mom and a dad who can't hear his own nostrils.
Perfect.
Friday, March 5, 2010
It's On...It's SO On
For those who know us best, the gene that determines competitiveness runs strong in both Factora and Borchers families. It has to. I've never met anyone who's more competitive than I am. That is, not until I met Nick.
Competitiveness comes in many forms. There's the obvious kind that reveals itself in sports. The Michael Jordan/Tiger Woods (sans sex scandal) kind of competition. This is the "I CANNOT LOSE. EVER." gene which makes athletes train twice as hard and cultivates a near military discipline that most of us civilians would find unbearable.
Then there's other genes of competition, more subtle but just as lethal. This competitive gene revolves around the oratory debate stratosphere, aka "I MUST BE RIGHT. I AM RIGHT." kind of thinking. It's a gene that makes its way into the most innocuous of situations - bowling, finding a parking space, starting a campfire, any household project, insurance claims...
You think these situations are not competitive? Move in with us for a week, you'll understand after that.
No matter what the situation, Nick and I often pit ourselves against the opponent, be it a piece of stubborn firewood that will not flame up along with the others or a slow car in the Panera Bread parking lot who is blocking traffic. Everything's a competition. No dispute too small, no challenge too big. There are two trophy words uttered in our house that carry more weight than anything: I WIN.
Sometimes it's shouted, sometimes it's whispered into a billowing pile of laundry. Whatever needs conquering shall be conquered in our house.
So, you can imagine the kind of raised eyebrows and smack talk in our marriage when the competition is between us. It can get ugly, but it's always entertaining. Many people do not know that Nick is, as Keith Borchers said in his best man speech at our wedding, "an ego maniac who thinks he's sweet at everything."
Save opera and any form of dancing, this is true about Nicholas David Borchers. He hates losing. He can't stand being second. He likes strategy and mind-games during poker. He's all about focus and readjustment. Don't be fooled by his calm demeanor. There's a beast inside him called THE WINNER'S CIRCLE.
And then there's me. Don't think that I don't have my own monster and even according to Nick, I may be more competitive than him. There's a reason why I have the Rocky IV soundtrack on my iPod. Most people wouldn't see it coming, kind of like a CATEGORY FIVE HURRICANE that didn't come up on your weather outlook.
My competitiveness is often stuffed away because of its monstrosity. It can and has ruined moments of friendly game playing. While everyone else shrugs after a loss, I seethe inside. Competitiveness is like a constant search for perfection, which can never be attained. So, the desire to win or be right or dominate knows no rest. But, it's not always appropriate to be competitive so I, along with Nick, keep it to myself. We're like two man-eating sharks in a Sea World tank: it's in our blood and in our nature, but we're trained to be harmless.
That was a long introduction into the heart of this post, but it's critical for you to know the background of our competitive edges.
Nick and I have a combined goal to be and become healthier parents. Running around with Isaiah necessitates optimal states of health so we decided to commit to losing a few pounds. I need to shed my pregnancy weight and Nick, many months ago, invented a campaign called, "Don't Get Fat" because of his fear of rolling into a "fat new dad."
So we made a deal and the stakes are high.
Beginning Sunday, March 7th, we are having our own personal Biggest Loser competition. We adapted the show to our own lives and here are the ground rules:
Weekly weigh-ins on Sunday
Largest percentage of weight loss wins
Two goal dates: June 4, 2010 (our 5 year anniversary) and September 4, 2010.
Whoever has the largest percentage of weight loss on June 4, 2010 has the intermediate prize - winner gets one evening of their choice every week to go out and do whatever s/he wants while Isaiah is with the other parent.
If you don't understand the impact of that reward, go back and read it again. This prize is HUGE. This can mean going out with your friends. For Nick it can mean going to play racquetball with Books and Sam or going to the library for a few hours. For me that means extended trips to a coffee shop or taking my time at a farmer's market.
The ultimate prize, come September 4, will be individualized. Nick has yet to announce what his prize will be if he wins. If I win, I get to go to the conference of my choice in any part of the United States. (I'm such a nerd. I adore conferences on writing, feminism, media, etc...) Beside the fact that I want to shed my preggers weight, that conference-attending prize alone all but guarantees that I will win. Hello? Travel? Hotels? Learning? Meeting new writers and artists? That's what I was born to do.
This competition is huge and normally, I would not post something like this on our blog, but I figured if our friends and family - and God knows who else on the internet is reading this - is in the know, we are accountable to seeing this through. And we will.
It's man vs. woman. Focus vs. Passion. Tall vs. Short. Endurance vs. Intervals.
Choose your team now and place your bets. Nick is team blue. I am team green.
Cheers to a healthier Borchers/Factora-Borchers family in 2010.
(And, here's to ME, cause you know I'm going to lick this thing...)
Competitiveness comes in many forms. There's the obvious kind that reveals itself in sports. The Michael Jordan/Tiger Woods (sans sex scandal) kind of competition. This is the "I CANNOT LOSE. EVER." gene which makes athletes train twice as hard and cultivates a near military discipline that most of us civilians would find unbearable.
Then there's other genes of competition, more subtle but just as lethal. This competitive gene revolves around the oratory debate stratosphere, aka "I MUST BE RIGHT. I AM RIGHT." kind of thinking. It's a gene that makes its way into the most innocuous of situations - bowling, finding a parking space, starting a campfire, any household project, insurance claims...
You think these situations are not competitive? Move in with us for a week, you'll understand after that.
No matter what the situation, Nick and I often pit ourselves against the opponent, be it a piece of stubborn firewood that will not flame up along with the others or a slow car in the Panera Bread parking lot who is blocking traffic. Everything's a competition. No dispute too small, no challenge too big. There are two trophy words uttered in our house that carry more weight than anything: I WIN.
Sometimes it's shouted, sometimes it's whispered into a billowing pile of laundry. Whatever needs conquering shall be conquered in our house.
So, you can imagine the kind of raised eyebrows and smack talk in our marriage when the competition is between us. It can get ugly, but it's always entertaining. Many people do not know that Nick is, as Keith Borchers said in his best man speech at our wedding, "an ego maniac who thinks he's sweet at everything."
Save opera and any form of dancing, this is true about Nicholas David Borchers. He hates losing. He can't stand being second. He likes strategy and mind-games during poker. He's all about focus and readjustment. Don't be fooled by his calm demeanor. There's a beast inside him called THE WINNER'S CIRCLE.
And then there's me. Don't think that I don't have my own monster and even according to Nick, I may be more competitive than him. There's a reason why I have the Rocky IV soundtrack on my iPod. Most people wouldn't see it coming, kind of like a CATEGORY FIVE HURRICANE that didn't come up on your weather outlook.
My competitiveness is often stuffed away because of its monstrosity. It can and has ruined moments of friendly game playing. While everyone else shrugs after a loss, I seethe inside. Competitiveness is like a constant search for perfection, which can never be attained. So, the desire to win or be right or dominate knows no rest. But, it's not always appropriate to be competitive so I, along with Nick, keep it to myself. We're like two man-eating sharks in a Sea World tank: it's in our blood and in our nature, but we're trained to be harmless.
That was a long introduction into the heart of this post, but it's critical for you to know the background of our competitive edges.
Nick and I have a combined goal to be and become healthier parents. Running around with Isaiah necessitates optimal states of health so we decided to commit to losing a few pounds. I need to shed my pregnancy weight and Nick, many months ago, invented a campaign called, "Don't Get Fat" because of his fear of rolling into a "fat new dad."
So we made a deal and the stakes are high.
Beginning Sunday, March 7th, we are having our own personal Biggest Loser competition. We adapted the show to our own lives and here are the ground rules:
Weekly weigh-ins on Sunday
Largest percentage of weight loss wins
Two goal dates: June 4, 2010 (our 5 year anniversary) and September 4, 2010.
Whoever has the largest percentage of weight loss on June 4, 2010 has the intermediate prize - winner gets one evening of their choice every week to go out and do whatever s/he wants while Isaiah is with the other parent.
If you don't understand the impact of that reward, go back and read it again. This prize is HUGE. This can mean going out with your friends. For Nick it can mean going to play racquetball with Books and Sam or going to the library for a few hours. For me that means extended trips to a coffee shop or taking my time at a farmer's market.
The ultimate prize, come September 4, will be individualized. Nick has yet to announce what his prize will be if he wins. If I win, I get to go to the conference of my choice in any part of the United States. (I'm such a nerd. I adore conferences on writing, feminism, media, etc...) Beside the fact that I want to shed my preggers weight, that conference-attending prize alone all but guarantees that I will win. Hello? Travel? Hotels? Learning? Meeting new writers and artists? That's what I was born to do.
This competition is huge and normally, I would not post something like this on our blog, but I figured if our friends and family - and God knows who else on the internet is reading this - is in the know, we are accountable to seeing this through. And we will.
It's man vs. woman. Focus vs. Passion. Tall vs. Short. Endurance vs. Intervals.
Choose your team now and place your bets. Nick is team blue. I am team green.
Cheers to a healthier Borchers/Factora-Borchers family in 2010.
(And, here's to ME, cause you know I'm going to lick this thing...)
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Irony
Writing, for me, serves many purposes. Not only is it my passion, my center, my lifelong dream and goal, writing is also cathartic. When I write, it always relieves something. It helps me share the good. It also helps me release the aggravation.
Today, I am writing for the latter.
It is my first taste in understanding how parents can simultaneously love their child and also want to run away to Bora Bora alone and get lost in the beauty of the ocean, away from screaming cries and milk stains and the smell of diapers and the sight of bad eczema.
Today Isaiah was a complete paradox. After sleeping through the night consistently for over a month (I know, I know - we're incredibly blessed and I shouldn't be complaining), he didn't last night. He WAH!ed and AIGH!ed for an hour while I tried everything to calm him down, but...to no avail.
He woke at 8am and was just as fussy. So I stripped him down to his diaper to look for any signs of...anything - rashes, bumps, bruises - signs of discomfort or hurt. Nada.
While he laid on our big bed squirming like a fish out of water with nothing but his diaper on, I couldn't help but laugh at how adorable he looked. His pure smooth skin (except his face where he has eczema, poor guy) and fat rolls...he looked like an enormous human cinnabon, just ready to be eaten. So I leaned over and teased him, calling him my favorite pumpkin and gave him a friendly zerbert on his stomach.
And thus came Isaiah's first laugh.
3 hearty, adorable chuckles erupted from his tiny little mouth and I squealed in delight.
That was the highlight of the day.
The rest of the day he was either fussing, crying, yelping, or sadfacing. I was at my wit's end and contemplated what Bora Bora looked like this time of year. I could hear it calling my name. Liiiiiisssssaaaaaa...LLLLLLLiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssaaaaaa
I was brought back to reality when Isaiah spit up on me for the fifth time.
It was a toss-up between me and his burp cloth for WORST SMELL IN THE LIVING ROOM. We both were covered in Isaiah's regurgitation.
Of course it had to be a night when Nick worked late until 9pm. He walked in to find me on the floor, lightly bouncing Isaiah in his bouncer while his eyelids drooped closer and closer to a close. My other hand was stuffing dinner in my face because I hadn't eaten in hours. Taking care of Isaiah required both hands all day. Food was secondary. By 9pm, I was so ravenous, I felt like I was going to eat a piece of old firewood laying in the fireplace. It looked like a hotdog at the time.
Luckily, I was able to scarf down dinner while Isaiah bounced around for a few minutes. Nick had barely entered the house when I announced that I needed to go upstairs and get my sanity back. "I'm going to take a shower. If you need me, I'm NOT available."
It's ironic that Isaiah's first laugh came today when I spent most of the day near tears with Bora Bora dreams. Nothing, not even the promise of spring in three weeks could alleviate the stress of a restless baby.
And so, I write.
Today, I am writing for the latter.
It is my first taste in understanding how parents can simultaneously love their child and also want to run away to Bora Bora alone and get lost in the beauty of the ocean, away from screaming cries and milk stains and the smell of diapers and the sight of bad eczema.
Today Isaiah was a complete paradox. After sleeping through the night consistently for over a month (I know, I know - we're incredibly blessed and I shouldn't be complaining), he didn't last night. He WAH!ed and AIGH!ed for an hour while I tried everything to calm him down, but...to no avail.
He woke at 8am and was just as fussy. So I stripped him down to his diaper to look for any signs of...anything - rashes, bumps, bruises - signs of discomfort or hurt. Nada.
While he laid on our big bed squirming like a fish out of water with nothing but his diaper on, I couldn't help but laugh at how adorable he looked. His pure smooth skin (except his face where he has eczema, poor guy) and fat rolls...he looked like an enormous human cinnabon, just ready to be eaten. So I leaned over and teased him, calling him my favorite pumpkin and gave him a friendly zerbert on his stomach.
And thus came Isaiah's first laugh.
3 hearty, adorable chuckles erupted from his tiny little mouth and I squealed in delight.
That was the highlight of the day.
The rest of the day he was either fussing, crying, yelping, or sadfacing. I was at my wit's end and contemplated what Bora Bora looked like this time of year. I could hear it calling my name. Liiiiiisssssaaaaaa...LLLLLLLiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssaaaaaa
I was brought back to reality when Isaiah spit up on me for the fifth time.
It was a toss-up between me and his burp cloth for WORST SMELL IN THE LIVING ROOM. We both were covered in Isaiah's regurgitation.
Of course it had to be a night when Nick worked late until 9pm. He walked in to find me on the floor, lightly bouncing Isaiah in his bouncer while his eyelids drooped closer and closer to a close. My other hand was stuffing dinner in my face because I hadn't eaten in hours. Taking care of Isaiah required both hands all day. Food was secondary. By 9pm, I was so ravenous, I felt like I was going to eat a piece of old firewood laying in the fireplace. It looked like a hotdog at the time.
Luckily, I was able to scarf down dinner while Isaiah bounced around for a few minutes. Nick had barely entered the house when I announced that I needed to go upstairs and get my sanity back. "I'm going to take a shower. If you need me, I'm NOT available."
It's ironic that Isaiah's first laugh came today when I spent most of the day near tears with Bora Bora dreams. Nothing, not even the promise of spring in three weeks could alleviate the stress of a restless baby.
And so, I write.
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