Fueled By Guilt

Fueled by guilt.
This has been my life long motto.

I eat too much and the guilt drives me to workout harder.
I say yes when I want to say no when asked to do things I'd rather not, because the guilt of not having a legitimate excuse persuades me.
I volunteer for all of Caroline's activities because I feel guilty for choosing to have an only child.
I feel like I should do the best I can and be the most involved because I've selfishly chosen to keep her sibling free.

It seems as if I'm ALWAYS feeling guilty about something, big or small, even when I shouldn't. Maybe I'm just happy being miserable? Nah, I'm not miserable. In fact, I've got it pretty good, which, you guessed it, makes me feel guilty. So many people struggle. Debt, unemployment, illness, infertility. And here I am, living a semi charmed life. Sure I'm neurotic and inflict worry upon myself, but I really have nothing of substance to complain about.

I'll never get over the guilt of choosing to have an only child. Now, as guilty and selfish as I feel, I certainly don't feel guilty or selfish enough to change that. Which, in turn, makes me feel even worse.
But this really isn't the point to my post.

What sparked the guilty talk is fact that Craig and I are going to be chaperones on Caroline's camp's trip to the local water park, Pirate's Cove (again with the pirates!), tomorrow. Perhaps I should shift my focus away from my guilt ridden existence and do something about the fact that I just wrote an incredibly awkward, choppy, run on sentence.
On Monday we learned of the impending trip. We also learned that they desperately needed chaperones to make the trip happen. No extra chaperones = no trip= 85 (!) unhappy kids.

We said no originally because Craig has to pick up a rental car tomorrow. He's driving to Florida EARLY Saturday morning and while his Civic has been nothing but faithful and reliable, it's old and I'd much prefer he took a rental. Besides, the Civic lacks cruise control, which is a much appreciated luxury whilst traveling up and down I-95.
So we said no, as we had a legitmate excuse.

That is until it was becoming quite apparent that the chaperone sign up list wasn't getting filled up as quickly as they had hoped. Craig toyed with the idea, but in the end chose not to. Until Caroline, who heard him say he *might do it* signed him up. I picked her up on Tuesday and she told me quite matter of factly that she signed Craig up to be a chaperone. As we were leaving, the counselors quickly handed me a volunteer consent form. Well, I guess the decision was made for Craig.
Of course, I felt bad that Craig was being forced into chaperoning, so I volunteered myself as well.

I could not fathom disappointing all those kids.
Even though there are a bazillion things I'd rather do than ride a hot school bus with a bunch of screaming kids and then try to keep track of them at a water park.
Somehow knowing that our lack of participation would cause the trip to be cancelled made my cold black heart turn all warm and fuzzy. I hate when that happens.

So, this evening I packed our field trip lunch that will sit on the hot bus for several hours. I get a shiver just thinking about it. The counselors specifically asked that the kids bring a non perishable lunch in a disposable bag as to not have to deal with lunch boxes. I can understand their thinking quite clearly, yet the germ freak in me cringes at the thought of our lunches roasting in the bus. However, I used my wits and had the good sense to freeze some juice boxes to use as ice packs to keep our pb&j sandwiches cool.

We'll have fun. Well, Caroline and the rest of the kids will. We have to get up extra early to pick up the rental car before camp starts, but it'll be worth it.

Speaking of parental guilt, Caroline has been hounding me for twenty minutes to come watch tv with her upstairs. I keep telling her I'll be right there.

I guess I should go join her before she turns into some horrid criminal who places the blame on me for not giving her a sibling and not watching enough episodes of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody with her.

Actually Mom.....

Caroline's favorite word is "actually."

"Actually mom, I'd like to have lunch now."

"Actually mom, I want to go ride my bike."

"Actually mom, I'm going to see if Rachel and Sarah are home."

"Actually mom, I'd rather use my other goggles."

It used to be that she started EVERY SENTENCE with "Did/Do you know?"

Do you know how annoying that got? That was a few years ago and she, quite thankfully, outgrew it.

So last night as we were watching "Wipe Out" upstairs in my bedroom, she very sleepily said to me "Actually mom, I don't want to go to pirate week camp."

Arrrrgh!

My plan, my precious plan. Foiled. Nixed. Pfffftttt.
I guess I spoke to soon. Counted my chickens before they hatched. Forgot that Caroline has an even harder time making decisions than me.

Oh well.
I can't make her go; it's supposed to be fun.
At least she won't come home with scurvy.

I did remind her that she'd have to come to the gym with me Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday because Craig will be away. She seemed fine with that.

Guess I better hit the library up for some books; it looks like we'll be spending lots of time at the pool next week.

My Plan Is Working

She says as she grins mischievously and twists the sides of her handlebar mustache. Wait, I bought one of those Smooth Away thingies, leaving me virtually free of all unwanted hair. Ahem. Scratch the mustache twiddling image you now have in your head, if you will.

Now, what was I saying? Oh yes, my quest for total world domination complete silence has been achieved. With minimal effort and a few cash dollars, I might add. Caroline has been happily attending a day camp provided by the parks department this week. We originally signed up for just one week to break up the monotony this summer. You know, add a little excitement and variety to our usual summer day of whining, eating all my snacks and going to the pool. As luck wouldn't have it, the two girls Caroline plays with most frequently will be out of town NEXT week. If I only knew, I would have switched weeks; now she'll be without playmates next week. And, as you know, that is completely unacceptable to Ms. Social Butterfly. This afternoon I suggested we sign her up for another week and she happily agreed.
This is a big relief. Mostly because I enjoy the quiet, but also because nobody likes it when Caroline is bored. She makes sure of that. My helpful suggestions to clean her room or read a book are usually met with ugly looks which amuses me but makes Caroline a little testy.

So my problem is solved. For the low low price of $98 (TOTALLY worth it, by the way) Caroline will be enjoying another week at camp. This week is all about travel; next week is a pirate theme. Aaaargh!

In other news, I had a baking disaster this evening. My chocolate chip pound cake was doomed from the start, so I'm not surprised it fell apart upon removal from the pan. Somedays things just don't work as well as you'd like. The streusel sunk beneath the surface and the outside got too brown. I was only trying to use up some extra buttermilk and in the process mutiltated a harmless loaf of pound cake. On the flip side, I made some outrageous butterscotch cashew bars that I'm pretty sure I'd marry if it were deemed socially acceptable to wed a baked good. I'm not kidding; they're THAT good. Sweet and salty with a caramel-ly shortbread crust.
I have some pretty strong feelings regarding nuts in baked goods, meaning, for the love of all that is holy and pure, please do not defile baked goods by putting nuts in brownies. Or cookies. Or banana bread. Contrary to my previous statement, these sweet bars, loaded with salty cashews are awesome. And totally not defiled by the presence of nuts. In fact, they probably wouldn't be any good without the cashews. I'm a big fan of the sweet/salty combo.

I'm some what annoyed with myself for my pound cake snafu, but on the bright side, I did make some successful butterscotch bars. I wanted to leave Craig's work peeps with a memorable dish because they won't be receiving any tasty treats for the next two weeks. Craig will be on leave for a few weeks, taking a trip to see his mom and then we're headed to Hershey, PA after that for some chocolate themed vacation fun.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be able to find some Hershey's Cinnamon baking chips when we're in Hershey. I love those things, especially in oatmeal cookies, but cannot find them anywhere around here. I bought them quite regularly when we lived in Arizona, but since then, I've had no luck.

And so this concludes my post of absolute random nonsense. Hey, at least it occupied me for half of the Obamacare press conference. I'm a self described political junkie, but I think I've heard all I can stomach for now.

Or maybe my stomach is churning because I ate so many bites of the butterscotch cashew bars as I cut them up.

Nah, it's the press conference.

If you must know, I just screamed at the television, uttered a few bad words and then hit the off button with some authority. I figured that would be better than throwing my shoes (ha, I just typed throwing up) at the tv.

Flip flops don't do much damage, but I'd hate for the neighbor girls to see me having a hissy fit.

I'm way too mature for that!

Williamsburg

I'm happy to report that our trip to Williamsburg was quite enjoyable. Craig and I have a tendency to bicker while traveling; I'm pretty sure my parents think we fight all of the time because of it. Despite one small airing of grievances on the way up, the rest of the trip was bicker free. I think it must have something to do with being cooped up together in confined spaces.

Caroline, on the other hand, loves being stuck in a hotel room. Where else can you jump from bed to bed? I have pretty strict rules concerning the care and concern of our furniture at home, but hotels are a free-for-all. Jump and climb away, Caroline.

The first stop on our trip was to Water Country USA. We arrived just as the gates were opening and as the Star Spangled Banner was playing. I found that a wee bit puzzling, but I'm all for showing your country some love, so we went with it.

Here is Caroline, mad at the sun for being in her eyes.

That kid is going to be taller than me in no time.

The wave pool was hands down, Caroline's favorite. She went on a few water slides, but I think she could have stayed there all day.

We saw a show that mixed diving with tumbling and rhythmic gymnastics. At one point all four of those guys dove into the pool at the same time!

Lunch time! That is a picture of Caroline's $15 lunch. And yes, that's a big honkin cup of sweet tea; she's a southern girl at heart.


Waiting for the waves to start.

Ack! I was not interested in the waves after awhile, so I decided to take some self portraits.

The sun was bright there and I couldn't tell what I was doing.

Caroline looks like a bug in those goggles; she's super fly.

We went to Busch Gardens the second day. Let me just say, that we should have flip flopped the days. The weather at the water park was gorgeous. Warm, but not blazing hot, with very little humidity and some decent cloud cover. The weather at Busch Gardens was the EXACT OPPOSITE. Hot, humid, humid, humid. Melting humidity. Not awesome.

We rode several rides, many of which lead me to scream like a girl, and had fun. The storm clouds rolled in during the early afternoon and we took that as our cue to head back to the hotel.

That was smart thinking, because it poured not long after we left.

No trip is complete without the addition of another Webkinz to Caroline's growing collection. That is Tommy, the Boston Terrior.

Here we are withering away in the humidity, taking a gondola ride to go fetch some lunch.

A bald eagle.

The Budweiser Clydesdale! I couldn't get a shot of his face because he was busy. Poor horse!

They offered a movie about the Clydesdales, but it cost $20 per person. Uh, no thanks.

We spent our last day at Colonial Williamsburg. Earlier in the year Caroline and her classmates learned a lot about the colonial days and I thought she'd be more interested, but who am I kidding? She couldn't have cared less. Oh well.

The only smile of the day....until it was time to leave, that is.

While the colonial Virginians drank dirty water they fetched themselves from a well, it's nice that Colonial Williamsburg offers alternative, albeit non traditional, beverage choices for it's visitors.

And last but not least, my favorite picture. Caroline was not amused. She was bored, hot, hungry and the sun was in her eyes. It took all I had not to leave her stuck in there.

After leaving Colonial Williamsburg, we fetched some lunch and headed home. As luck would not have it, we encountered high traffic three different times. It took us three and a half hours to drive 140 miles.

Edited to Add: I hate that there is a mile of blank space after the text of this post ends. That seems to happen when pictures are included in a post and I'm not savvy enough to figure out why. For the record, I'm sorry. I realize it's there, I don't think I can do anything about it and for that I am truly annoyed. Pfffft!

Edited Again to Add: Thanks to my very smart and wise pal, Sissy, I fixed my wide gap of blankness. Thanks Sissy.

Lots To Say

But I'll say it tomorrow.

I'm buried under a pile of laundry right now, so I'll wait to tell you the exciting tales from our trip to Williamsburg tomorrow . Don't get your hopes up, it wasn't THAT exciting.
However, here is a tidbit of information for you: Williamsburg, VA is the Pancake and Waffle House Capital of the World. Well, I'm not sure if it officially holds that title, but judging by the number of Pancake and Waffle houses we encountered on our trip, one might feel inclined to think so. I'm not kidding, we saw no less than ten different restaurants within a five mile radius of each other.
We didn't eat at any of them (yay for free breakfast at the hotel), but if you've got a hankering for pancakes or waffles, take a trip up to Williamsburg. You won't be disappointed.

Off to fold some laundry....and find my glasses.

I wore them last night, but can't seem to remember where I put them. I have a back up pair, but I like the ones I lost better. So instead of going upstairs to retrieve the back up pair, I'm sitting here squinting at the computer.

The Appointment That Wasn't

It's a good thing I'm so laid back. If you read my blog, you might think I'm being sarcastic when I say that, but I kid you not. It's true that I'm a bit tightly wound; I do prefer order and control over chaos; but I'm also a very patient person. As long as I don't have other pressing matters on my to-do list, I could wait for hours. I remember way back when I was pregnant and went to the OB for check ups. My doctor was notoriously behind schedule, or across the street at the hospital delivering a baby, who was in hurry to enter the world, instead of considerately waiting until after office hours. Needless to say, I did a lot of waiting; the nurses were always so happy and relieved that I didn't seem bothered. It's true, I was not bothered. If I had other children at home, or a job to get back to, I may not have been so pleasant. No, I'd still be pleasant. I tend to save my unpleasantries for the privacy of our own home.
That's where I turn into Bizzaro Alison.

Anyway, Caroline had an appointment this morning at 11 to see the pediatric pulmonologist. This was recommended since she had pneumonia twice in a nine month period. I assume this is just standard procedure, which I can appreciate. I originally made an appointment for Caroline down at Walter Reed Army Hospital. Walter Reed is a ssssscary place. It's old. It's rickety. It's in the ghetto. I just don't like going there. Knowing that a pediatric pulmonologist comes here to Ft. Belvoir once a week, on Monday I called and tried to finagle an appointment here instead. As luck would have it, an opening was available for today.

Since I know not to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took it. Except, (there's always one of those) after I took the appointment I realized that I had agreed to keep an eye on my neighbor's kids after they returned from VBS today. Their au pair was going to be tied up doing some paperwork and I was going to have them at my house until she got back.
Just a slight problem, no? Thankfully I remembered that Craig would be around, since he doesn't start work until 2pm. Problem solved.
Uh, nope. I forgot that Craig is officially on a "pass" from work for our mini trip, but he still had to go in from 1-5 for some sort of class. Oopsie.

Not to worry, we devised a plan. I was to take Caroline to the doctor and Craig would stay home and wait for Bailey and Seth to arrive. I figured the appointment wouldn't take long (ha! I'm funny) and we'd be back in time for Craig to leave for work by 12:30.

After circling the parking lot for an open space, navigating our way through a narrow one way street and parking far, far, FAR away, we arrived in time for the appointment. Breathless, but on time. I asked the lady at the front desk of the pediatric clinic if we were in the right spot to see the specialist.
"Yes" she told me.
So we sat down.
And waited, waited, waited. Occasionally the girl at the desk would check and report back that the doctor was still with a patient, they're short staffed, blah, blah, blah.

Thankfully there were many babies in the waiting room to occupy Caroline. She kept commenting that there were so many babies and I kept commenting back that duh, this is the pediatric clinic, what did she expect? Caroline is a baby and dog magnet; I'll often find her yapping with the owners of the dogs in our neighborhood. They must think I approve of her wandering the streets meeting up with strange dogs. It's not that I don't approve, Caroline is quite a friendly kid, but sometimes I think that they think I'm buried in a hole, blissfully unaware that my kid is traipsing through the neighborhood befriending every dog (and dog owner) she encounters. Did I ever mention that we used to call Caroline "The Wal Mart Greeter"? She'd be great at that job. When she's sixteen I may casually slip a Wal Mart job application under her bedroom door, just as my dad, on a whim, came home with a McDonald's application for me at the same age.

Anyway, we talked to the babies' moms, got all their vital info, shared our deepest, darkest family secrets (that Caroline is a blabber mouth) and had a grand old time. At 11:40 the lady at the desk took my ID card and went to check on the doctor. As it turns out, I should have been across the hall. Uh, thanks for telling me lady. She kept telling me that none of this was my fault; it must have been her fault. Poor girl. I think she was kind of new to the gig.

Knowing that I needed to leave by 12:15 to get home in time to relieve Craig of his kid watching duties, I asked how long the appointment would take. An hour, she told me.
An hour!

So, to make a long story short (or only slightly longish) we rescheduled for next Wednesday.

And here's the kicker: Bailey and Seth never came over. We waited for them, I even made a pot of macaroni and cheese for their lunch. Baffled by their failure to show, I had Caroline run over to their house at 1pm to check and see if they were there. Guess what, they were home the whole time.
Their au pair is new and probably didn't think to let me know she would be home to greet them.

Oh well.

We don't have anything exciting planned for next Wednesday anyway.

My House (and Car) Smell Like Smoked Turkey

It's July and in opposite land, where I've taken up permanent residence, that means turkey time. More specifically, that means that Craig and his work mates must have been dreaming of Thanksgiving dinner one slow night at work and decided that July would be the perfect time to have a Thanksgiving style potluck. Here's my deal with Thanksgiving: it's my favorite holiday, but I break out in hives when I think about having to roast a turkey. I brined and roasted one perfect turkey back in 2002 and I have not been successful in duplicating that masterpiece since. I've come close; my turkeys are always edible and tasty; but not nearly as tasty as that turkey in 2002. Every year I have a turkey meltdown. Every year. Shameful, I know.

Some year's meltdowns are more dramatic than others, but I usually end up sitting down to dinner, covered in sweat and sulking because I didn't obtain perfection. It's nearly impossible to have all the dishes warm and ready to eat at the same time and that bothers me so very much. So, I wolf down my food, thinking only of the gargantuan pile dishes that are waiting for me and then console myself with pumpkin pie. I wonder why I list Thanksgiving as my favorite holiday? Maybe it's like childbirth and I just forget the pain every year. However, I still remember what little pain I did feel during child birth, so I don't think I believe people when they say things like that. Sure, I had an epidural, but the back labor I had preceding the injection of the most wonderful drugs ever is permanently (permanently!) etched in my memory.

Not to worry though, Joe, once of Craig's fellow warrant officers, and a culinary master, offered to smoke a turkey for them. I tip my hat to Joe. So that was the plan. Joe would provide the turkey and everyone else would chip in with their offerings. I was signed up for pumpkin chess bars and macaroni and cheese.
Since Joe doesn't work at night, Craig picked up the turkey from Joe's house after work yesterday and it was my task, along with my dishes (oh, and the mashed potatoes that somehow crept onto the list) to warm up the turkey.
No biggie.
It ended up being quite a success even though the smell of smoked, bacon wrapped turkey has permeated into the walls of my house and car.

We're leaving for a mini vacation to Williamsburg tomorrow evening. As luck would have it, Caroline was exposed to strep throat. Isn't that great?!? The day before we're set to leave for our PREPAID vacation, there is a possibility that she was infected with strep. Life is truly awesome sometimes.
The two sisters, who are the germ carriers, have passed the bacteria back and forth to each other on a couple previous occasions and Caroline, quite thankfully, wasn't affected. Hopefully that will be the case this time.
Oh please, oh please, oh please, let this be the case.

She can have strep next week.

No, I take that back. Next week she's signed up for a day camp at the local elementary school.

Watch, I'll get it instead of her.


Hey, the more I think about it, I actually did get strep throat (the first time since I was 13!) the day after Thanksgiving last year. Wouldn't that be funny if I came down with it again after this years mock Thanksgiving?

It that's the case, not only will I be a prophetic genius, but I'll also have no choice but to remove Thanksgiving from the top ranking on my "favorite holiday" list. We'll have to break up. And then we'll eat pizza next Thanksgiving. But we'll still have pumpkin pie.

Nothing will ever be so horrible that I would feel compelled to remove pumpkin pie from my life.