Fed Up

Over the course of my life, I have lost enough weight to make up an entire person. Not all at once, mind you. Nope... I get rid of it, feel great for a while, get challenged by something of the emotional persuasion, gain it all back (and a few extra pounds for good measure) and then start the process all over again.

It's a horrible experience. But, it feels familiar. Which almost makes it comfortable in a twisted kinda way.

I acknowledged earlier this week that food is the only thing that has been consistently available to me throughout my life. Therefore, once upon a time when I was a very little girl, my little brain made an important link between eating and feeling good. So, I eat when I feel good. I also eat when I want to feel good. Who doesn't want to feel good?

For the past few months, as I've been regaining weight that I thought was gone forever, I've observed myself during meals. I have sat and thought, "I'm full," and then continued to eat. And then, "I'm full and I need to stop", only to continue to eat. "Okay, this is silly", my rational mind will say, "stop now, you've had more than enough," when there are about half a dozen bites of food left on the plate. And then there's a short, blank period.

Suddenly, the plate is clean and I'm so full it hurts. Shame overwhelms me. I consider going to the bathroom and purging, but I don't. That's too easy. A short term fix to a long term problem. I don't deserve that. I need to experience the consequences of my behaviour; the bloating, the searing sensation in my gut as my body tries to process the overload, the physical pain of the waistband of my pants cutting into my skin. Miserable, fat and stupid; trying to walk it off causes more discomfort so I sit until the feeling passes. Eventually, it does.

I promise myself that I won't do that again. It's not worth the pain. I'm smarter than that, there's no earthly reason to hurt myself like that, etc etc. Back on track I get, sometimes I lose the weight and sometimes it's just a few decent meals before BAM! something happens and there I go again.

I need to replace using food to meet my needs for love, security, comfort, acceptance and celebration with some other behaviour. I have no idea what that behaviour will be. I'm not even sure of what it could be. I am open to suggestion.

Fertile Minds

This morning my kids asked me why they get chocolate eggs for Easter. They thought it would make more sense to eat little chocolate Jesuses; after all, they had picked up from their friends at school that Easter is all about how Jesus died, was buried and rose again.

So, we had a little lesson in "what we believe". These seem to only come when we are challenged by someone else's religious teachings. Bad, bad parents.

Anyway, we talked about ancient pagan fertility rituals...about spring and how plants and animals (and in fact, the two of them) are born in spring. We talked about eggs and rabbits being symbols of fertility and that people have been leaving gifts for the goddesses Ostara and Eostre for many many years. I even went so far as to make the link with the female hormone estrogen... a bit of a stretch for their young minds, but I think they got the basic idea.

I finished up with a lil speech about how there is room in the world for everybody's beliefs and that it's important for them to develop their own, rather than blindly following something because someone else tells you it's the right thing to do.

The boychild then announced that chocolate is his god. My work here is done.

OH YEAH!

As you may know, I've been less than thrilled about my job situation here on the Emerald Isle. I've been off work since my ankle was broken in October and am just getting ready to return to the world of the working. The Occupational Health Doctor advised me on my last visit that she will be declaring me fit for work on April 6th. I have truly dreaded going back to "that place"; I'd tell you all the reasons why but after reading about all the people who've been fired/sued for blogging about their jobs I think it best to keep the details to myself.

What I will tell you though, is that I LANDED A NEW JOB! A Monday to Friday, 9 - 5, around the corner from our house, job. It's a transitional housing project for people who were homeless. They'll stay for 12 - 18 months, during which time they will gain the skills required to stay "housed", then move into a permanent dwelling. I've never worked in this sector of the field before, but I'm excited about the challenges it presents. Particularly, since none of them involve physically restraining anybody!

I do have to say that being a lady who lunches was a lot of fun and if we win the lotto, I'll be going back to that status in a very big hurry. Until then, I'm going to work my ass off at creating a career path that is both challenging and rewarding.

Slainte Mhath - Good Health

Yesterday I went to a Complementary Therapies Fair with a recently made friend. I met a psychic - she said I should be teaching, doing body work and nutrition or some combination thereof. And loving myself better. No surprises there...

Then I happened upon the life coach that I've been meaning to call for ages. I liked her immediately and, being in the frame of mind that there's no such thing as coincidence, I made an appointment. It's probably a bit late as I seem to have carved a bit of a path for myself, but I think it'll be worth meeting with her anyway. If nothing else, she's going to prepare me for the job interview I have tomorrow.

Until recently, I would have felt confident in preparing myself for a job interview. In fact, I would have scoffed at the idea that someone like me would ever require the services of a life coach. Things change, however; I've had a lot of pretty icky stuff come up over the past two years, (not the least of which being a lovely bit of parental rejection) which has conspired to suck the life out of me and leave me bewildered in terms of direction and purpose.

Having always been a person who enjoys a good external locus of control, I think a life coach is just what the doctor ordered. Well, actually, the doctor ordered antidepressants, but I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than go down that road too frequently travelled and gain another forty pounds, thank you very little!

My friend and I had a bite of lunch and then continued on our journey. We both decided to have a kinesiology treatment. Having never experienced kinesiology, I was interested in seeing what the practitioner would say about me. So, I took my shoes off and hopped up on the table. She put my arms and legs in various configurations and asked me to resist her attempts to push me around while keeping my eyes open and my lips slightly apart which was rather a lot like trying to read while patting one's head while rubbing the tummy. I kept forgetting to perform one of the tasks.

After approximately twenty minutes of this shoving me this way and that while reminding me to keep my lips slightly apart, she declared me a very healthy woman; repaired a hole in my root chakra (which I didn't even know was there, if you can imagine!) and sent me off with advice to add significantly more vitamin c to my diet.

My friend and I then took ourselves out for a bit of mainstream therapy. Two lovely glasses of wine went down very well and then it was time to go home. Which, I must say, was preferable to the alternatives ;)

On the Other Hand

After having spent the last few days explaining all the things about Ireland that make me laugh, cry and want to smash my head against a brick wall, I think it's about time to share some of the things that I love about this country; ergo, what the hell I'm still doing here after two years and change. So in no particular order, here are a few of my favourite things:

• Dublin City Centre. I love this place. I'm drawn to the architecture, the history and the culture. I go to town as often as possible. Once there, my current mood will determine how I'll spend the day - will I shop til I drop on Henry Street? Stroll through St Stephen's Green? Lose myself in the Chester Beatty Library? Hang out and ride the tourist wave in Temple Bar? Pub crawl, crossing the Liffey by way of a different bridge each time? Check out the buskers on Grafton Street? Explore a corner I've yet to see? Whatever I choose, I know I won't be disappointed; Dublin is just that cool.
• The weather. I know, I know, everybody complains about the weather in Ireland. Guess what? It's a conspiracy. Ireland is a small country already almost overrun with tourists and the like so...They made up this story that the weather is always crappy to keep people away! At least, that's my theory. I find the weather really quite lovely. It almost never snows in winter and I've yet to have to shovel rain. June and September are usually warm and fairly dry if not sunny. There is almost always a breeze and you're never dying of heat prostration. All good says I!
• My home/family life. I love that I can look out my front window and see twenty children playing on the green. I love that it's a cul de sac and that the kids have the right of way. I love that we have neighbourhood barbeques where we all drag our stuff outside and share. I love that the Irish Sea is within walking distance of my house. I love that the butchers at the grocery store know my name. I love that my children go to a multi-cultural, multi-denominational, democratically run public school.
• You're a Star. Now I don't mean just the competition leading up to the Eurovision, (which by the way, I think is brilliant) I use this phrase as a description of how Irish people love to perform. I love that people will sing, dance, tell jokes and act in theatrical productions, all on demand. Absolutely fabulous.
• Newgrange. This is one of the most incredible spiritual places I have ever been. Built some five thousand years before the pyramids, it stirs my soul and touches the core of my being every time. When I'm there I always feel as though I know everything and nothing all at once; I am ancient about to be born.
• Ryanair. This airline has made continental Europe accessible to we commoners. The only way to fly for less would be to grow a set of wings.
• Cork. The city of culture for 2005. Wow!
• Blarney. A lovely little village just outside Cork where the infamous Blarney Stone was kissed by yours truly in January. Also the location of an ancient Druid site. Truly a magical place. The Blarney Park Hotel and the local Indian restaurant were delightful and accommodating and really made this place sparkle.

Wow, a few turned into eight pretty quickly! There are more, but until An Post delivers my cheque from the Tourist Board, I'll say no more...

Paddy's Happy Day

So the whole of Ireland as well as much of Europe, Australia, Canada and the US are celebrating St. Patrick's Day today. And why is that? St. Patrick's claim to fame is that he rid the Emerald Isle of snakes.

Am I the only one that thinks this was a bad idea?

The Irish Times reported in November, 2004 that the Health Board has determined that there are some 6,000,000 - yes, that's six MILLION rats in Dublin. It is believed that in the city, one is never more than twelve feet from a rat. Ewwwwwww!

Yes snakes are gross. Yes, many people are phobic. But your garden variety snake will do everything in its power to stay out of your way. It can't hurt you. It can't even give you Weil's disease (a potentially fatal bacterial infection contracted by humans who come into contact with rat urine). But it will eat a rodent. In fact, it will hunt them down and kill them. That, in my opinion is a good thing. And I'm sure that anyone else who has had one of those nasty little bastards look you in the eye before going back to its dinner would agree with me.

Oh yeah, and have you seen the size of the spiders in this country??? JAYSIS KROIST! In the name of all that's holy, bring back the snakes Paddy!

A Dreadful Oversight

I don't quite know how it happened, but I made a terrible mistake, well, several really, in the Irish to North American Dictionary. I forgot to explain the "th" phenomena. You see, in the Irish language there is no "th" sound. Unfortunately, in Canada, there are two sounds for "th". Damned difficult to describe without the benefit of sound, I might add!

So, instead of soft, or long "th" found in the, this, that, these, those, them and there, we have "d" as in, da, dis, dat, dese, doze, dem and dere. And for the sharper, shorter "th" sound, we hear "t" - tink and tot for think and thought. It also works in the same way for the words ending in "th".

Now that may seem straightforward, and it is. For some reason doe, I was woken from a dead sleep last night with da tot dat you should know wha I'm dealing wit here. Did I mention the silent "t" in words like what?
A'righ I tink dat's abou enough for now!

Irish - North American Dictionary

With Paddy's Day nearly upon us, I thought it might be nice to provide you with the benefit of what we've learned in our short time here on the Emerald Isle. If you've never been here, you might not see the need for an Irish to North American dictionary. If you are planning to come here, you'd do well to take note of the following, after all, it's not all leprechauns and shillelaghs!

• "After" - means just finished. If you just returned from shopping, you'd say "I'm after getting home from the shops"
• "All it ever does is rain in this fuckin' country" - Irish weather report. Also a direct quote made by the pregnant, seventeen year old manager of the Allied Irish Bank!
• "Bin" - garbage can. If you throw something out, you "bin it".
• "Black Pudding" - a delightful sausage like substance made from blood and oatmeal. Fried and served for breakfast.
• "Bollocks" - this colourful word for testicles is very versatile. You can obviously kick someone in the bollocks, you can express disappointment, anger or frustration (oh, BOLLOCKS!!), you can insult someone (you're a bollocks) or describe a mistake (I really made a bollocks of that)
• "Bono" - God/Prime Minister/King
• "Brian McFadden" former member of Westlife; on record for having written the worst song ever to enter the Eurovision song contest.
• "Colin Farrell" - beer drinking, woman chasing Irishman, well on his way to icon status in this country. Often refered to as "your man". Stunning example of the Irish male's lack of knowledge in eyebrow care.
• "Craic" (pronounced crack)- another of those words with many meanings. Fun (it's good craic), news (what's the craic?), catch all (spent the night at the pub and all that craic).
• "Dinner" - lunch
• "Directions" - asking for these is THE easiest way to get lost in Dublin.
• "Dublin Bus" - means late. I'm still trying to figure out how they are always late when their average speed is eighty miles an hour. The standing joke is they come every thirty minutes or whenever they feel like it. I've hit a sign post, another bus and several trees while riding the bus and our friend Donna has been hit by one! She's fine.
• "Eejit" - Idiot.
• "Eggs" - well, eggs are eggs but there are no white eggs in Ireland. Just an interesting tidbit.
• "Feck" - Irish people say fuck so often that they have developed a second word so they don't repeat themselves so often. Using this strategy, they can say fuck up to four times in one sentence!
• "First thing in the morning" - noonish
• "Fuck" - pronounced fook. Same meanings as Canada, just used more here. In Ireland, you're more likely to hear the "F" word used by teachers, doctors, police, bank managers, real estate agents, little old ladies.....
• "Garden" - back yard
• "Get the boat" - f*** off
• "Give out" - telling off, scolding
• "Give out yards" - add a few fecks and fooks while "giving out"
• "Gobshite" - asshole
• "Grand" - means fine, good. When asked how you are, you'd reply, "I'm grand"
• "Garda" - police
• "Guinness" - mmmmm Guinness
• "Hob" - stove top
• "Holding your piss" - biting your tongue, not saying stuff you shoudn't say
• "Holy Communion" - eight year old gets the day off school, parents throw a big feckin party. Kid gets more money than s/he knows what to do with. No one seems to know or care that it's connected to religion.
• "Holy Confirmation" - twelve year old gets the day off school, parents throw a big feckin party. Kid is given a ridiculous amount of money. No one seems to know or care that it's connected to religion.
• "I couldn't be arsed" - means I couldn't care less. Also the motto for customer service in this country.
• "Irish Breakfast" - heart attack on a plate. One slimey egg, rashers, sausage, fried mushrooms, black pudding, white pudding and toast. Costs about thirty bucks
• "Kip" - shit hole. eg - "your house is a kip"
• "Knackered" - tired
• "Messing" - kidding. Everyone is "just messin" or "only messin"
• "Muppet" - idiot
• "Muppet mobile" - you've seen them... those stupid little cars all done up. Usually driven recklessly by some muppet.
• "Not a bother" - no problem
• "On the pull" - out with the intention of hooking up with someone.
• "Press" - cupboard. I have no explanation for this and neither do the Irish.
• "Poxy" - crappy. You'd say "that poxy phone company still hasn't been out to hook me up"
• "Rasher" - back bacon
• "Session" - a night on the town
• "Shite" - variation of shit. Same meaning, just pronounced with a long I.
• "Slag" - means to make fun of, usually in a cruel way.
• "Slapper" - woman of questionable virtue.
• "Sorted" - fixed, sorted out.
• "Supper" - an evening snack
• "Taking a piss" - when your drunk cousin jumps off a horse drawn carriage in the middle of Dublin and urinates on a hotel.
• "Taking the piss" - joking. "Are you taking the piss with me?"
• "Tea" - supper
• "Tree" - three. The Irish don't pronounce their "H's". 33 1/3 is pronounced, tirty tree and a turd.
• "Tuesday week" - a week from Tuesday
• "We'll send someone right out" - see "taking the piss" or "Tuesday week"
• "Westlife" a highly popular boy band who make their living singing covers. Which is good. See "Brian McFadden" above.
• "Wreckin me head" - making me crazy
• "Your Man" or "Your Woman" - replaces the subject in a sentence when both parties know who they are talking about. Does not necessarily mean their partner. "I'm after running into your man at the bank"
• "Yoke" - can mean anything. Often used to replace a word when you can't think of the real one, or just couldn'd be arsed to say it. "Put the box over there on the yoke"

Detox

It's a rainy Monday and I am still in my pyjamas. I am hungover which bodes well for the five day detox I started this morning. Today, I don't want to eat or drink anything that is remotely unhealthy.

No wheat, no sugar, no alcohol, no processed foods. Limited amounts of caffeine and dairy.

Unless, of course, I can get my hands on a big greasy cheeseburger with fries and gravy and a rootbeer float to wash it all down. Highly unlikely as that would require getting dressed and going out in the rain. Gawd, I miss rootbeer.

CHAIN BLOGGING

All my favourite bloggers are doing this, so I thought I'd jump on the blogwagon!

This is what you do:

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don’t you dare dig for the “cool” or “intellectual” book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

The book nearest to me is Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix by J.K. Rowling.

"Except for the filthy rag tied like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. It looked very old. Its skin seemed to be several times too big for it and, though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a quantity of white hair growing out if its large, bat-like ears."

Y'know, if I wasn't already reading this book, this passage would inspire me to do so.

Skool Daze

It's official...I am part of the student body. Not a big part, but there all the same. If I had to use an analogy, I'd say I'm like a hair follicle on the body of formal education.

I'm taking a course in massage therapy. I've been to two classes. So far, I've taken in everything my instructors have said, including the mistakes. My instructor for practical massage told me last night that a tumour can be malign or belignant and that I, as a massage practitioner, would have no way of knowing. No shit? I highly doubt that an oncologist would have a method for determining the belignancy of a tumour...

Tonight, I met my instructor for anatomy and physiology. She was 40 minutes late and ill-prepared at best. She did, however, know her stuff.

The good news is that I paid my money, so I'll get my certification. That's the way private education works. I know this because once upon a time, I was an ill-prepared instructor at a private college with a habit of using malapropisms. This is also the reason I am willing to overlook all of the above.

I may have found a place for myself in Ireland after all!

IWD

Today is actually International Women's Day. The women of Turkey just happened to choose the 6th to mark the occasion - my bad!

I got a wonderful text from a friend this morning. It says: "Happy international women's day. Here's looking at our choc cravings, our backbones, our emotional intelligence, our pmt, wish lists, to do lists and vaginas...because we're worth it!"

Yes. We. Are.

Unfortunately, in my current state, my backbone won't allow me to look at my vagina. Prolly has something to do with the chocolate. I need to get back to yoga; better put that on my list!

Turkey's Foul

Yesterday was International Women's Day. Last night on the news there was a piece about the rally and march in Turkey. The video looked very familiar at first; women (and a few men) waving placards and chanting protests about unequal treatment.

And then the scene became very different from the many rallies I have attended over the years. The police moved in and began swinging. Batons, shields, fists, feet, anything they could connect with, they used to drive these women to the ground. Many were beaten and/or pepper sprayed once they were down.

When asked why they behaved so violently toward this peaceful protest, a spokesperson for the police stated that the women had gathered illegally. (Note to self: NEVER forget to acquire a permit.)

That this could happen in 2005 in a country that is actively seeking entry into the European Union is nothing less than shocking and appalling and abhorrent and just plain wrong.

Hmm... evidently I'm not as cynical as I thought I was.

I Don't Like Mondays

Thursdays however, are great fun. After dropping the kids to school, hubby and I, or some combination thereof, head to the nearest town to do our business.

Up until recently, we had to go to the bank each week and deposit our paycheques. We therefore leave all banking that requires an actual human to Thursdays.

Specialty coffee, noodles made from rice or bean and vitamins are all acquired on these Thursday expeditions. So too, are the likes of underwear, toiletries and any other bits and pieces needed to make life run smoothly. This often includes, but is not limited to, used books and new shoes.

The best part about Thursday though, is lunch. Every week, whomever among our friends slash colleagues is available meets at the same pub for lunch, drinks and a chat. Sometimes the group is large, sometimes small; I've even been known to go by myself on occasion. We discuss finances, job prospects, books, massage, tattoos, piercings, current affairs,love lives (they are not the same thing!)and sometimes we talk about work. We try to not talk about work too much but after all, it is what brought us together.

Usually, lunch involves a good deal of liquid. Sometimes it even spills over to dinner and beyond; mostly though, we're home by five to share the evening with the kids.

Thursdays are an island in my week where I can be away from the constant tides of mommyhood and recharge my batteries. I am grateful for them and those who share them with me.

Cabin Fever

Okay. It's official. I need to get out of the house. I need to return to society. To be among the living. The well. The productive.

My life, which wasn't exactly speeding along, has ground to a halt with this latest round of girlflu. Well, that's not exactly fair... I'd been doing a fairly good job of shutting out the world for a few days after the big "you suck" from the parental units. But being the resilient kinda girl I am, I was just about ready to bounce back to humanity when the flu struck.

The first day or two was ok. I was too busy with chesty coughs and fever reducers and overall motherhood to worry about the world passing me by. But, it's become increasingly difficult to maintain the martyrdom over the long haul.

This morning I was determined that everyone would be going to where they were supposed to be today. I made everyone get up, dressed, eat breakfast and groom their fine selves. We were organized and on time. No excuses. I could not be swayed.

We were just putting our shoes on when the girl burst into tears. "I don't want to go to school today", she wailed.

"You need to go to school," was my reply.

"But I'll miss you too much!" she tried.

"oh, c'mon", I said, "it's only a few hours, you've been going to school for three years now. You'll be fine."

And then she came up with the arguement winner of all time...she barfed. Okee dokee..stay home. Do whatever you want, just do that in the toilet. And don't miss fer chrissakes.

So ended my day of independence. We'll try again tomorrow.

Burning Down The House

Picking up where we left off, the girl so generously shared her flu with not only myself, but also the boychild. Hubby was lucky (?) enough to be working night shift and so hasn't had enough contact to acquire the dreaded virus... yet.

In an attempt to save at least half the village from the same fate, I kept both kids home today, where they could fester away without infecting anyone else. I know, I'm a martyr. Especially when you consider that the babysitter gets paid regardless of whether they attend, I probably do qualify for some small indulgence from the universe. But alas, today was not the day.

Not only did I get my nose rubbed in it by way of not one, but two invitations to be a lady who lunches, but then I got company. And not the kind of company it's ok to get when you are still commando in your ancient (read translucent at best) pyjamas at noon o'clock on a Tuesday with your hair unwashed and uncombed. Ohhh no....not for me.

I got the kind who not only has never seen me outside of work, but is now doing so when the kitchen table has yet to be wiped down and there are actual coffee stains on the floor. Nice one. Oh yeah, and not a biscuit in the house. Thank Gawd the milk didn't curdle in the tea - that would have just been too much.

But wait. It gets better. Not only does said company show up unannounced, and "doesn't mind" that we're all sick, Company then proceeds to unload not only its job-related woes, but also its misery, and its insanity - right there in my kitchen. With my sick kids in earshot. Four hours. Pardon? No, I spelled that correctly, yes...four, count em, 4, hours.

Why, you ask, did I put up with company for this long, particularly when I'm sick? Good question. I need to meet with Miss Manners. Or Doctor Kevorkian. But, in fairness, after a reasonable length of time, I was (well, I thought I was) rescued by needy children. Who played the part brilliantly, by the way, coming into the room all pasty white and shit and asking for lunch. So, I fed them...and tidied afterward; which, by the way, isn't easy to do when you are trying to keep your ass in its transparent bottoms from being on parade.

Not wanting to be rude, I had deferred the roasting of the chicken until company left. Incidentally, is there anything better than roast chicken dinner when you're sick? So, it was 4:30ish by the time company actually left (if you do the math that's two point five hours after the announcement that company was leaving, but who's counting?) I figured I could use the fan assisted feature of the oven to start the bird and that would cut the roasting time thereby making dinner ready at the appropriate time. WRONG!

Thirty minutes into bird cooking and the living room filled with smoke. This was particularly impressive as the living room is two rooms away from the kitchen. When the smoke detector sounded, I dragged myself from the blog I was currently reading and went to investigate.

Once I let enough smoke out to actually see inside the oven, I was able to inspect the chicken through my tears. At first glance, it was perfect...all golden brown and lovely looking. Unfortunately, however, it was raw. And it stayed that way. For hours. Not four this time, but hours all the same. How on earth can you burn and undercook a chicken at the same time?

My eyes are still stinging.