SAHM I am (3 page)

I asked the good doc, and he said it was probably because I haven’t been exercising much. I’m like, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN? Not exercising, my foot! I chase after a 3-year-old and twin toddlers all day long, and I live in a two-story house where I have to run up and down the steps every time McKenzie tattles on her sisters. I most certainly do get exercise!”

But he just shrugged. Evidently, low good cholesterol is as bad as high bad cholesterol and cannot be changed much by diet. So the only chance I have to rescue myself from premature heart attacks is to increase my aerobic activity.

I personally think it’s a bunch of nonsense. It’s a conspiracy, I tell you. The doctors are all in league with the fitness clubs and exercise equipment manufacturers—they’ve signed a secret pact to scare their patients into spending thousands of dollars on gym memberships and elliptical machines. Not to mention the Ab Blaster. They’ve been so successful on our parents that now they’ve turned their malevolence against us innocent gen-Xers.

I’m so mad, I’m going to have a 1,200-calorie burger for lunch, in protest. No, wait…nobody could possibly be THAT mad.

Waiting to die,

Dulcie

Dulcie, are you sure you count as a gen-Xer? I’m 33 so I KNOW I do. But 26? I mean, we can’t let just
anybody
don that title of distinction anytime they want to…. What do you think, Ham? Can we count her? She’s SOOOOO young!

Of course, anyone at high risk of heart disease by age 26 may not live to reach her 30s, so maybe we’d better bestow an honorary designation on her, just in case. Sort of a “make a wish” concession.

Sorry to hear about the weigh-in. I understand—each of my four babies has done something strange and unique to my body. By the way, there are worse things than being told to exercise more. Some of us actually like to do it.

Love,

Jocelyn

I don’t know about the gen-X question, she might want to hang her hat with the millennials. They’re the ones everyone is pinning hopes of the future on—as if the future is going to be that bright with global terrorism, disease, poverty and political corruption, but that’s just my gen-X cynicism.:) After all, I turned the big 3-0 last month, so I have a right to be cynical, don’t I?

Enough talk about generations. It’s all nonsense anyway. I want to hear about the rest of Dulcie’s day. So far, it doesn’t sound bad enough to explain us getting stood up. I mean it—I wait all week for the chance to chat with you. I’m still suffering from emotional trauma.

I’ll bill you for therapy, okay?

Z (aka Ham)

Am too a gen-Xer. I have baby-boomer parents, both my brothers are gen-Xers, and so is my husband. So, if nothing else, I’m guilty by association.

And I don’t want to hear any complaining about emotional trauma. I went to a meeting at church last night, wearing jogging pants and a baggy T-shirt. It occurred to me that I might want to change clothes, but then I’d have more laundry to do, so I didn’t. The pastor’s wife saw me from across the room and waved at me over about thirty people’s heads. Then she looked me up and down and got a huge grin on her face.

“Dulcie!” she exclaimed. “When, when, WHEN?”

Of course, all thirty heads swiveled my direction, sixty eyes suddenly riveted to my midsection. I got all flustered and my face felt sunburned. All I could manage was, “Not, not, NOT!”

Her response? “Are you sure?”

I’m not kidding! She actually frowned and stared harder at me. What? Does she think I’m lying to her? Or does she expect me to shout out across all those people, “No, I assure you, my husband has been gone on business trips almost constantly the past several months, and when he is home, I’m
too irritated by his absence to want sex, so I am quite certain I’M NOT PREGNANT!”

Anyway, she wasn’t done consuming her own leg yet. She shook her head and smiled brightly at me, as if she’d just solved the problem for herself. “Oh, well, I guess you’re just wearing your all-you-can-eat clothes.”

MY ALL-I-CAN-EAT CLOTHES? Why, why, tell me, would a slim, 40-something pastor’s wife say such a humiliating thing to a defenseless SAHM? Was it really necessary to remind me, in front of all those people, that my figure has yet to recover from the distortion of carrying twins? Have I not already been ground into the dust of the earth?

I tried to laugh it off, but Marianne saw me, and you know I can’t hide anything from her. She walked over and told me she had something for me in her car, and when we got there, I just bawled. Marianne is very sweet, but she already has her figure back and Helene is only 8 months old. And Brandon comes home every day from the biochemical lab he works for and spends time with her. And she went to college to get a home economics degree, just so she could become the most brilliant and content SAHM in the world (but humbler than Rosalyn). She spends all day quilting and scrapbooking. The only fly in her utopian ointment is Helene. Where that baby got such a temper, I have NO idea—Brandon and Marianne are both so soft-spoken. But, hey, nobody’s life should be absolutely perfect.

Anyway, I digress. Needless to say, Marianne was scant comfort to my tattered ego. So I skipped the meeting, came home and put the girls to bed, and ate some ice cream and watched a stupid reality show on TV. I thought about chatting with you, and went to put on my all-I-can-chat pajamas. But as I was washing my face, I looked in the mirror, and guess what I found?

MY FIRST GRAY HAIR!

Thus, the fetal position and no chat. How on earth did I get so old? Sunday night, I was still the energetic, perky 20-something mom of three toddlers. Monday night, I have one foot in the grave with impending heart disease and look as if I frequent all-you-can-eat buffets. Not to mention the lingering odor of bodily excretions wafting throughout the house. If that doesn’t say “nursing home” to you, I don’t know what does.

Waiting glumly for my social security check,

Dulcie

I think you should tell the whole sahmiam group about it. For encouragement—we can read and think “Gee, what am I complaining about? Things could always be worse!” :) Just teasin’

Z

Dear Future-shapers,

Dulcie, what a horrible day! However, I suppose if you’re going to wear jogging pants and a T-shirt to church, you might be asking for problems. I always believe in looking my best, even if I’m home all day.

Jocelyn, so sorry to hear that Tyler’s team lost. That’s too bad. But at least it’s an opportunity to build good sportsmanship. That’s something I worry about with my kids—Suzannah and Jefferson haven’t ever had to experience the pain of losing, though they are involved in piano and Bible club competitions. Of course, they are only 6 and 5, but they already have quite a collection of ribbons and awards. And Abigail’s just 3, but I anticipate she will follow in their footsteps. We’ll have to figure out how to teach them good sportsmanship some other way, I guess.

That reminds me—I am very pleased to announce that my recipe for Fresh Figs with Warm Balsamic Glaze won grand champion in the open division of our county fair. It will be headed to the state fair later this month. I’ll be glad to share the recipe with all of you. The key is to use sucanat or organic sugar—none of that refined junk. Just e-mail me if you want the recipe.

Have a fabulous SAHM day!

Rosalyn

I’D LIKE TO TAKE THE BREAD OF IDLENESS AND SHOVE IT DOWN HER THROAT!

Dulcie

Now, Dulcie, I don’t think that’s
exactly
what Christ had in mind when He said, “Feed my sheep.”:) Give her grace, okay? She doesn’t mean to be…well, the way she is.

Peace,

Jocelyn

You’re right. I’ll drizzle it with “warm balsamic glaze” first. Using refined sugar, none of that organic junk.

Dulcie

Hi Darling,

I’ll be home around 6 this evening, and we’ll have the whole weekend together, OK? Sorry I wasn’t able to return your phone call on Monday. Sounds like it was a rough day. But by the time I got done with meetings and everything, I just went back to the hotel and crashed. This entire week has been wild. Glad it’s over.

I miss you, can’t wait to get home and see you and the girls.

All my love,

Tom

Virtuous Women,

This week I thought we could discuss the highlight of our children’s day—when Daddy comes home. What little things can we do each day to make this important event special, not only for our children, but also for our dearest
hardworking husbands who sacrifice so much to provide for our families?

In our home, we spend from 4 to 5 every afternoon in preparation activities. These include the following:

Then we have various extras we throw in on a rotating basis. Sometimes, we literally “roll out the red carpet”—a carpet runner laid on the sidewalk leading up to the front door—and give him a paper crown the children colored. Other times we simply have soothing music playing in the background while we rub his feet and shoulders. But my children’s favorite (and Chad’s) is the “Daddy’s Home” song. I wrote the lyrics a few years ago, and set them to the tune of “Oklahoma!”

Cute, huh? :) (And it’s even educational, with the spelling at the end.) Chad actually gets tears in his eyes when we sing it. It’s such a great way to bless him.

So what do you do to celebrate your husband’s homecoming?

Your faithful servant,

Rosalyn Ebberly

SAHM I AM Loop Moderator