The TEST

Before I begin this blog post, I would like to state that I am NOT a Christian Blogger. I am a blogger who happens to be a Christian. I did not start this blog to witness to the lost, or to pour out my spiritual beliefs onto unsuspecting readers who thought they were going to read about a fat girl on a diet. That being said, this post is going to deal with my faith in Jesus Christ a LOT, and for good reason. My hope is that no matter what you believe about God, the universe and spiritual things, that you will read this post through to the end- if for no other reason than you want to know what I am dealing with. It is with great humility as a believer that I share this story with you. I am not trying to minister or witness in any manner. This is simply an important story about who I am that needs to be told. Thank you for reading this post.

Wednesday evening I took note that Mother Nature was running very behind schedule. Since I track all of this with my Iphone app “Period Tracker,” I am more on top of my bodily issues than ever. Feeling rather hopeful, I took a pregnancy test about 11pm. It was negative, so I threw it away and went to bed.

To some of you who know my story, this may seem foolish. My tubes have been tied now for over 8 years. For those of you who are new readers, this was not a choice I made for myself. I actually canceled the surgery twice, but my now ex thought it was what I had to do. I was forced into this surgery, being held captive with the threats of not being allowed to see my family anymore. It devastated me 8 years ago, just as much as it devastates me now. And since Matt and I got together, I have prayed and prayed that the surgery would miraculously reverse itself, my fallopian tubes would grow back together, and I would be able to have a child without having surgery to reverse it. And even though Matt and I have taken steps toward having the reversal surgery in the near future, I prayed with all my heart that God would heal me for a decision I did not make for myself.

On Thursday morning, I got the kids off to school, got Matt off to work, and began to get ready for my day. Even though I have been fighting a sinus infection, I knew I wanted to go to water aerobics and work out. So I got my swim suit and towels packed, which were in the bathroom. And while I was in the bathroom, I noticed my forgotten negative pregnancy test in the trash can.

Only it didn’t say negative. It said positive.

The ONLY reason I even looked at it again was because when I was pregnant with Natalie (the 9 year old) I had issues with home pregnancy tests. They kept saying negative. Until 3 or 4 hours later, and then would turn positive. Having this experience, I realized something. I could really be pregnant! This is it! It was starting to look like God had FINALLY answered my prayers!

I got on the phone and called Matt. And knowing that this could be a fluke, I worded the conversation very carefully. “I can’t say that this is for real, but my test turned positive. It says that I am pregnant.”

Of course, he was delighted, but it was a guarded happiness. We both have thought I might be pregnant in the past (random symptoms, late periods), only to find out shortly afterwords with a test that I wasn’t pregnant at all.

But seeing that positive sign on my stick o’ pee, well, it filled my heart with such incredible praise for God that my joy was uncontainable!

I called Julia at work, because she is a prayer warrior and prays for me all the time. (She’s been my best friend for 20 years. She knows I need prayer constantly!) As I shared with her about the positive test, we marveled at the power God has over our lives. I was filled with such fiery faith that I could do so little but repeat over and over, “I knew it! Everyone thought I was crazy for thinking that I could get pregnant, but God heard my prayers and saw my faith! I never stopped believing, and look!”

I made a few other calls to my circle of friends, and then headed out to water aerobics. I am pretty sure that the folks who saw me there were aware of the glow I had. I couldn’t stop smiling, and felt this amazing confidence in who God is rising up in me.

All in all, it was the best morning of being pregnant I have ever had.

I went to help Margaret the Saint at school for a few hours, and was still glowing. But as I was getting ready to leave, I made a pit stop at the bathroom.

And I noticed I was spotting.

Quickly I assured myself “This is implantation bleeding!” Racing home, I discovered that it was not implantation bleeding. It was normal monthly bleeding.

I was NOT pregnant.

I didn’t have time to fall to pieces, because the kids were almost home. I kept asking God to make it stop, don’t let me lose this! In all the months before, we had NEVER had a positive test. And I was sure that God was rewarding me for never thinking it was impossible. I never gave up hope that He would heal me, so surely He finally had.

But the bleeding continued, and pretty soon there was no denying that there would be no baby. Not this month. And I left Matt a voicemail stating that. To say that it broke my heart would be an understatement. It crushed me. I wanted to fall into pieces and cry and scream. But there were still 3 children to tend too, so I had to hold broken self together and get snack, help with homework, and be the kind of Mom who shows grace under fire.

Matt came home, and we were both pretty quiet. He fixed dinner for the kids, and I zoned out for a while. The kids had to go to VBS, and I needed some time to cry. So I offered to take them. I do all my best crying out to Jesus alone in the car. I dropped them off at church, went to Kmart and walked around for a while waiting for the dam to break, but tears wouldn’t come. I went home and immersed myself in my Bible. Normally, I go to the Psalms when I am hurting this badly. But this time, I went to 2 Timothy. And this is what I read from chapter 1.

“4 Recalling your tears, I long to see you, so that I may be filled with joy. 5 I have been reminded of your sincere faith, which first lived in your grandmother Lois and in your mother Eunice and, I am persuaded, now lives in you also. 6 For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands. 7 For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline. ---
12 That is why I am suffering as I am. Yet I am not ashamed, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him for that day.”

So the question was this: Was it wrong for me to be so upset (and angry) with God at that moment? Because I was. I was angry. I was mad because we had a positive test that turned out to be negative. We were so close, and yet discovered that we were just as far away as we were last month.

Pretty soon, the time came to go back to church and pick up the kids. And I got in the van and turned on my ipod. And I heard a song I had written a few months back. It’s a song called “Hannah’s Heart.” I wrote it about my frustration with my infertility. But I had no idea how prophetic that song would become. Listen….

After hearing the first verse, I became a puddle of tears. I began to cry like I wanted to cry when Gma had died, but couldn’t. I poured out my sorrows vicariously through that song.

Was this experience emotionally devastating for me? YES. A hundred times over, YES.

But will it make me any less hopeful? NO. A million times over, NO.

And here’s why. If I had given up on the diet every time I experienced a setback, I would still be 237 pounds. Probably more. Instead, I used that hurt of my failure to push me towards success. And when the pounds eventually started falling off, the success tasted even sweeter because I had tasted the bitterness of failure.

If Jesus stopped loving me the first time I sinned, I would have been given over to my evil nature the afternoon after I was baptized as a believer. But He constantly picked me up, brushed me off, and cleansed me again and again.

I don’t doubt that I will become pregnant. Not for one second. In fact, this has done nothing but bolster my belief that it IS possible. Just not today. God chose for today to let me go through this experience of tasting the bitterness. And I know that when it does happen, (and it will) we will be all the more blessed because here on earth, every sign pointed to its improbability. Therefore it could only be by the scarred hands of my Savior that it could come to pass. And it will be even more of a miracle. And that will be my testimony. How it looked impossible, but HE did it anyway.

I know some of you are dealing with infertility too. Or maybe you are desperately trying to lose weight and beginning to feel like it’s impossible.

It’s not. It feels that way, I know. But there is nothing we can’t do when we call upon the Name of the Lord and let our hearts dwell in His house. We are more than conquerors. We are given the keys to the Kingdom. We are rewarded for our faith. Especially when we are faced with the mountains of impossibility and we believe anyway.

I hope that the story of what I went through this past couple of days encourages you. While it still hurts my heart, I know this was a life lesson God didn’t want me to miss.

For those of you who aren’t believers, I know this all sounds crazy. But I have been through far too much with Him to think that life should ever be ordinary.

Please, don’t give up on yourself or your journey. Seek the extraordinary. Attempt the impossible. Look deep within yourself and keep trying to win over your struggles and the things that seem impossible. And when you get to the deepest part of you that you never knew was there, I pray that He meets you there- showing He was fighting right alongside you the entire time.

A Fishy Game of Clue: The Big Bang and Boom Theory

First of all, I am down to 181.6 as of this morning! I think I really am back on track this time. I’m working out, eating right, and all that jazz. It’s coming off slowly, but it’s back to coming off. If I can keep an average loss of 1.5 pounds a week, I could be at 138 in 30 weeks!!! (That’s only a 7 months. I can do 7 months.) (I WILL DO 7 MONTHS!)

Second of all, I did not go to water aerobics today because I am having major sinus issues again. Our weed pollen count is through the roof here in central Illinois, and it’s driving my nose crazy. I can’t go anywhere without my trusty roll of toilet paper. Cause I’m too cheap to buy tissues.

And finally, Mother Nature has yet to hit. Of course, the one month my purse is packed and ready for her, she’s running late. What a beast she is! Until then, I am dealing with residual water retention and frantic checking of panties for her arrival. (And random keys…)

OK, so on Monday night we discovered that our 8 year old son Tim had lost his pet fish. Needless to say, the actual fish outlived the excitement and promise of responsibility of said fish at time of purchase. In otherwords, Tim usually forgot he had a fish and mom fed it and cleaned the tank.

I had moved “Sonny the Beta” and his small tank into the kitchen on Monday morning so I could give him or her fresh water. Again. Betas are nasty little fish. Their water gets mucky so fast! Anyhoo, when I went to clean the tank later that day, “Sonny” had gone belly up. I put him in a Tupperware container with some water to dump him into the toilet for his sailor’s burial without flushing those stupid teeny tiny rocks in our commode.

I went into the kids’ room and told Tim his fish had croaked. Of course, I said it a lot more sympathetic than that, because Tim takes death pretty hard. I rubbed his back as I told him, waiting for the waterworks to start flowing and the hysterics to hit of replacing Sonny immediately.

Instead, Tim wanted to see the fish body and poke at it. To make sure he was really dead and not sleeping. We went to the kitchen and looked in the plastic container. And Tim poked. And he looked.

I asked him if he wanted to flush Sonny or bury it. (Eitherway, I was already planning on having a fishy funeral. We once buried a fish outside in the frozen ground. It’s our family’s grieving process, I guess) Instead, Tim requested that we wait till morning just in case the fish comes around and starts swimming again. I told him that wasn’t likely, but that was fine. And I kept the lid off the Tupperware so that the dead fish wouldn’t suffocate. Just in case he had taken up a new hobby of swimming upside down.

The kids went to VBS, I went walking with Tricky Nikki, and Matt spent the evening on the computer. And the whole family went to bed.

But I woke up at 3am with a ferocious headache. So I grabbed some sinus medicine from the bathroom and went into the kitchen to get a drink. I didn’t think about turning on the lights, because I could see well enough.

What I couldn’t see was that Puppy (our family cat) had knocked over the “possibly living but most definitely dead” fish’s Tupperware container off the counter and on the floor. And as I stepped with my bare feet into the kitchen, I slipped and fell on my kiester.

BIG BANG AND BOOM.

I stood up quickly and flipped on the kitchen light, looked at the water all over the floor and figured Puppy had made a sushi meal out of Sonny. I wiped up the floor and then realized my foot was still wet. I lifted my foot to wipe it off.

And I found Sonny.

Squished on the bottom of my foot.

And in-between my toes a little.

Which made my headache worse.

And I kinda wanted to throw up.

So there I am, sitting in my nightgown on the kitchen floor, wiping fish guts off my foot at 3am. And trying to figure out how to tell Tim I had completely decimated his “possibly living but most definitely dead” fish and not have him think there was fishy murder afoot. (Groan)

I had wiped my foot clean, but once you step on a dead fish and have it pop like a zit under the weight of you, you realize the desperate need for antibacterial soap. So I headed over to the sink to grab the washcloth and some soap.

And that was when the mouse came running up from the bottom of the kitchen sink.

And I screamed. Not because I am scared of mice, but because the situation had surprised me. All of a sudden, walking through the house with residual dead fish guts to the bathroom didn’t seem like a bad idea. So I heeled it to the bathroom and cleaned up.

I think I have figured out what happened. This is exactly like the game of Clue.

The family went to bed. Puppy went into the kitchen and heard a mouse. She jumped on the counter to catch the mouse, (because otherwise she knows she is dead meat if I catch her on my counter) and the mouse hid under my skillet in the sink, which was waiting to go in the dishwasher. Meanwhile, Puppy was probably pacing on the counter, trying to figure out how to get to the mouse, and knocked Sonny and his/her Tupperware container on the floor. Which knowing Puppy, probably scared the living daylights out of her. To which she hopped down off the counter and ran to our bedroom to hide. On top of me. Which woke me up, and made me realize that I had a headache. To which I went into the kitchen to get a drink and stepped on the “possibly living but most definitely dead” Sonny with a big bang and a boom. Meanwhile the mouse was still shaking under my skillet, and realized that if it didn’t get out of there soon, the sleepy looking blonde monster was going to find it and kill it. To which it hopped out of the sink and ran for better cover and made the sleepy blonde monster scream.


I don’t make this stuff up, people. Truth is fishier than fiction.

All's quiet on the home front....

So I skipped water aerobics this morning. I had a valid reason, though.

I fell back asleep this morning after getting the kids on the bus. I was sitting in my chair matching socks, and I woke up and it was noon. I figured since I didn’t get to take a birthday nap yesterday (yes, yesterday was my birthday. I turned 25. AGAIN.) I was counting this one as a gift. Plus, I had NO BIRTHDAY CAKE, nor cupcakes, or cake batter or icing. That is a first. I did, however, have a big bowl of broccoli. (BTW- thank you all for your b-day wishes on Facebook. I appreciated all of them!)

I also am a little hesitant to go bouncing in the water. Aunt Flow should be here any day, and while I am completely open to writing about my humiliation on the blog, starting my period in the pool was one blog post I’m not willing to risk. Mostly because I ADORE water aerobics. And I want to be welcomed with open arms. Not with fear and trembling.

So the weekend went fairly well. I did bounce back up a little bit (back to 185) however, I indulged with egg salad and a birthday bread bowl. I am back on track today, and as soon as Mother Nature drops off her gift, I will start sliding down. Because I feel fantastic!

My body is starting to tighten up again. It had gotten really flabby over the last year, and just after a few weeks of water aerobics I can feel the difference. I can’t see it yet, but I can feel muscles aching that haven’t ached for a long while. And I can feel the cottage cheese on my rear moving closer together. That’s a good thing.

Just to update you all on a few other points of interest:

1. Still no word about the Crystal Light commercial contest on Poptent. Hopefully there will be an update sometime this week. I’m doing my best to be patient. And we all know how patient I am about stuff like this.

2. I am getting my volunteer hours in at the kids’ school. Each family is required to get 26 hours in per year, and I am already at 9.5 hours. So there is something productive!

3. Matt and I are working on getting our credit cleaned up so we can buy a house in the next few months. We have fallen in love with one, and we are doing our best to figure out how to get it. You may also recall about the Diet Credit Report post I wrote a while back. I had my metabolism tested a few weeks ago, and I learned that my body burns about 2000 calories per day if I moderately exercise for 30 minutes. So as long as I stay in the 1400 zone (not counting veggies unless they are starchy), I will lose weight. Unfortunately, I struggle with 5 days of the week being satisfied with 800-900 calories. It’s not because I am starving myself, but because my metabolism is so slow. I just don’t get terribly hungry most days. My goal for this week is to eat breakfast every day. That is hard, because normally I fill up on coffee until noon. I think this is a good way to start changing the way my body handles calories.

I feel like this post is nothing but information slapped together. Sorry, gang! I have nothing exciting to tell you at this time. No hiking trips gone awry, no big news, no humiliation at the Y- just a simple quiet weekend with nothing exciting.

Although Margaret the Saint and Dan the Man did give me an emergency fanny pack for the next time we go out into the woods for my birthday… that was pretty funny! And I got to hang out with my bestie on Saturday while Matt and Tim were on a fishing trip in Indiana. Basically, I had a normal, low key weekend. Sorry if you were hoping for a big hoopla or something ridiculous. I-for one- found it to be a relief!

So how did your weekends go? Anything exciting or amusing happen to you?

Oh-Key-DOH!-Key

I use the word mental in this post several times. I know, it’s overkill, but half of my issues are all in my head. So it works. My apologies to any thesaurus lovers out there.

It all started because Tim had been playing with my combination lock I usually take to the YMCA.

I have been attending water exercising and water aerobics as faithfully as I can for the past 2 weeks. (Which equates to 5 times out of 10. Pretty good for me.) And the water aerobics have been really pushing me. I’m sore, but I keep going back. I love them. And I will go as often as I can.

But back to the lock. I couldn’t find my regular one for the locker. So I borrowed one from the Y. (which is free- you just give them your Y card and they hold that as collateral until you return the lock.) It was a regular Master Lock that comes with a key. Not a big deal.

But it soon became a big deal.

I got my locker all situated, put the borrowed lock on and secured my purse (which has nothing valuable in it, except for emergency tampons, which always seem to come out of the wrapper between one period to the next. What’s up with that?) and then had to figure out what to do with the key. Lots of times, the YMCA’s keys have one of those stretchy curly-Q bands on them so you can wear it on your wrist. This one didn’t. It was just a key. So I did what I always do with small stuff that I need to carry on my person.

I shoved the key into the bra like area of my swim suit.

I showered up, and headed out to water aerobics.

Admittedly, the teacher who leads the water aerobics is a “Jillian Michaels” in her own right. Not that she’s mean like Jillian… on the contrary. She’s smiley and nice. But she has a job to do, and that job is to whip my fat butt into shape. She is REALLY good at her job. She’s an Aqua Jillian.

So we start out by water walking, which is not tough, but you have to weave and bob around people because the class is packed. There are lots of the senior set that attend the class, because the water keeps them from wrecking their joints. I love listening to the older folks as they talk and discuss things- the weather, the pool temperature, the weather, the pool temperature- you hear the same topics coming up again and again.

There is also a group of teachers that attend 4 days a week. Some are retired, some aren’t- and I have to say they are hysterical. I like to gravitate towards them, but they are all tall gals, so they stay near the deep end. I am short with natural flotation devices, so I have to stay in the shallows or I don’t get a good workout. But any chance I have to listen in on their candid conversations, I do. Because I hear gems like this:

“I count carbs. I count them as they go right into my mouth.”

(While discussing the carb count of tortillas on wraps and suggesting using lettuce as the wrap device) “Lettuce was NEVER meant to be bread.”

“After a few months of this class, one day you will flex your arm and actually see a muscle!”

I’m telling you, these gals are a hoot.

So I enjoy the company, I enjoy the workout, and water aerobics are definitely my new exercise of choice.

Back to Aqua Jillian and the key.

We have gotten through our water walking, and we all grab our “noodles.” For those of you who don’t swim, this is a picture of noodles.

And we use the noodles for resistance training. Noodles- like hope and breasts- float and pop up to the surface. So we push them down in various fashions to work our arms, legs, and Aqua Jillian has even figured out a way to get sneaky sit ups with them. Ingenuous. Painful, but ingenuous.

We start our noodle workout and the water is splashing everywhere. Add to the splashing water that every time I go up and down, the under ridge of my boobs slap the water. They get knocked around pretty good during the workout. I am forever splashing myself in the face.

About half way through the workout, when my arms are good and worn out, it’s time to trade in the long noodles for the ones that are cut into foot long pieces. We do individual arm workouts with those. As I grab the short noodles, I did a quick pat of the chest area to make sure the key was still in place.

It was not.

In fact, I couldn’t locate the key.

Assuming it had fallen out while I was busy splashing around, I headed back to the place I had been before in the water and began doing a silent search with my foot. Feeling around on the bottom for the missing key, and scanning the water whenever 30 people weren’t splashing around, which makes the bottom hard to see.

With no key in sight (or on foot) I figured out that maybe the key had gone someplace else in my swim suit. Sometimes things fall to the under regions of my long gravity ravaged mammaries, and I find them later when I remove my bra. But the swim suit goes from my neck to my legs, so I figured it was somewhere in the torso region.

Meanwhile, Aqua Jillian is still working us with our short noodles. Bicep curls and chest flies and stuff like that. The whole time I am mentally scanning my body to feel if the key is in there.

By the end of the class my arms hurt, my abs hurt, and I felt thoroughly worked over. And the teacher group hangs out after and chit chat in the water while the old ladies shower. There are only 8 showers in the locker room, and 29 ladies in the class. So you stand a chance at getting a shower if you wait about 20 minutes.

So the teachers are talking, and I am half listening. Under the water, I look like I am rubbing my tummy and my breasts. BECAUSE I AM STILL LOOKING FOR MY KEY.

Finally I give up, and after scanning the pool floor one last time, I admit defeat and get out of the pool. Mentally I am preparing myself for walking home in nothing but a swimsuit and towel, and then realizing that I can even get into my house without my keys, which were in my purse in the locker that now had no key… well, it was going to be an interesting morning if nothing else.

As I am climbing up the ladder to get out and face my impending doom, something sharp and pointy sticks me right in the goody patch.

THE KEY!!!

I raced into the shower (because I can’t go digging in my crotchal region in public) and whipped off my swim suit. And there was the key, which had slid into the little 3 inch tan panty lining that all swimsuits have.

Giggling because this is the kind of stuff that only seems to happen to me, I work the key out of the lining, and decide that it would be kind of me to wash it off. I probably spent 10 minutes scrubbing the key in the shower. Because I am considerate.

I got dried off and dressed, and headed upstairs to the main desk. Sheepishly, I handed the girl my lock and key, and asked for my Y card back. At least it was better than when the boobs demagnetized my hotel key, but secretly humiliating none the less.

And as I walked to my crappy van, I laughed some more. Because I never thought that my feminine parts would hold the key to anything but unlocking Mother Nature’s wrath.

As soon as Tim came home from school, I had him locate my lock (which does NOT require a key) and put it in my workout bag.

So that was a KEY lesson learned!

(BTW, Weight is at 182. Getting better!)

Risky Business

So what does a woman back on track with her dieting look like?

Kinda like this…

Bitten up on her face with mosquito bites, dark circles under her eyes, and a look of exhaustion.

Isn’t it beautiful?

Something is drastically different within me. I can’t explain it, per se, but there has been some sort of cocoon that has opened up in my dieting life.

I am pretty sure that it has to do with experiencing sheer terror during our recent “accidental camping trip,” but it seemed to seal the deal for me. It didn’t start the change, and yet it sure made things a lot more clear in my head.

Here’s the deal. One week ago, I was terrified of being thin. I know, it sounds crazy. But I was. I was scared of dealing with something new and unknown in my life. Most of you know that I have never been smaller than 162 or 163, and that was just for a couple of days. The majority of my life, I have been hanging out in the 170+ club. Lots of times, the 200+ club. But never the 160- club. That club scared me out of my wits.

For me, and lots of you too- we like to complain about our fat, but we hide behind it. We hide inside it. It keeps us from taking risks. It makes sure we don’t set out to do something crazy. It protects us. It hinders us, but we let it.

So after fighting lots of invisible foes in the forest, I realized something. Being scared of being skinny is all in my head.

Sure, this is logical to ALL of us, including myself. It seems like such a simple thing to overcome. But it hasn’t been. This blog bears testament to that fact. I would get close to that land of 160, then I ballooned back up. Why? Because I WAS AFRAID.

If you aren’t a fat chick, or have never been one, you won’t understand this. The rest of us feel this fear every day. Dieting opens us up for failure. It’s easier to shove oreos in your mouth than to risk dieting, then blowing it, and falling flat on your face. I know that. I felt that too.

But not anymore.

I am currently hanging out at 183, a new personal best for the months of July and August, and I am pushing myself. I am no longer making excuses, and I am taking risks. (Just not in the wilderness) Today my legs HURT. I could barely walk when I woke up. But I made myself go and do water aerobics. And then I made myself swim a few extra laps. And tonight, I am going to make my family do Fat Girl Yoga before bedtime. Why?

Because that night in the woods, I faced my fears head on. And when the morning came, things weren’t nearly as scary as they seemed. In fact, although that night was the most traumatic night I have had in 7 years, that night showed me I have NOTHING to be afraid of.

Being skinny will be a change. But I won’t be worse off for it. In fact, I will walk out of the dieting wilderness and see the dawn of a new life breaking. It will be amazing! And I just know that I will have much more strength- physically, mentally, and emotionally- when it happens. I will know that I faced my imaginary foes when it was dark, and I couldn’t see what was coming at me. I will fight my way through until the path ends, and I am free from this chubby body.

I don’t care if it means that people see my cottage cheesy thighs while doing water aerobics. Or if my boobs slap the water like Shamu’s tail at Sea World. It doesn’t matter if I don’t feel like pushing myself. It’s gonna happen. Because the only thing I have been afraid of is myself. And that’s not going to cut it any longer.

I’m counting calories, fat, and fiber. I’m biting and writing. I’m sweating and swearing. But I’m tired of the way things have been for the last year. I’m tired of being in dieting limbo. I wanna see the end of the road. I want to see the sun rise of a new life.

It’s a risky business, folks. And I am finally ready to risk it all. And share my business with you along the way.

My goal for the next week is to get back into the 170s. And it’s GOING to happen. Cause I am ready to start doing what I know is right, and that means the weight is going to fall off of me. It always does if I apply myself. And I’m looking forward to hitting some huge milestones very soon. And getting back into my skinny jeans. And having those become my fat jeans.

I have no idea how to end this blog post, except to say that every encouraging word means the world to me. You readers make this journey so much better. Those of you who share, who nag (but I need the accountability, so keep it up!) who just let me know I made you laugh- every one of you keeps me inspired. And so, I shall close with this:

Thank you. I can’t do this without you.

Charlie and the Not-so Happy Trails

I am not exploiting my family’s trauma for a blog post. I want to make that very clear before we begin. However, as we were driving on our way home, we were cracking jokes about it. By the time we all were safe in our crappy little house, we were really laughing about it. Apparently this family has learned to laugh through the rough times. I have never been so proud of my little guy and gals. Or my heroic husband. So now, we shall begin our story.

BTW- This is a long one. You might want to get a cup of coffee and go pee first.

It started off as a last minute idea to take a family walk. We were all ready to have some well deserved family time, and taking a walk together seemed like such a quaint idea. I will also let you know that my family has long made fun of me for constantly carrying my iPhone with me. Making jokes like “It’s not a part of the family, Mom. Put it down.”

We decided as we were driving together that we should go to our county park and do a quick trail, at Tim's insistance. This is something we have done before, and most of the trails only take about a half hour to an hour. It was 7pm by the time we got there, and we found an unmarked trail and started off on our journey.

At first, it was really fun! We were all getting exercise, talking and laughing together, and decided this should be our new Sunday night routine. The trail kept getting longer, and we kept following the arrows. Pretty soon, we realized the sun was setting, so we started booking it. I have never power walked a trail until last night, but I was holding hands of kids and keeping their legs moving. And secretly trying to code to Matt that I was getting worried. The whole time I was writing the blog post in my head (as those of us who are serious bloggers do) about how dieting is like a trail that you aren’t sure where the end is, and you have to keep pressing on until you find the end. That is NOT where this blog is going today.

Pretty soon the trail got MIGHTY dark. I couldn’t see the trail anymore. It was at this point that my sweet little mini-me (Natalie) took the lead. I have never- in the entire almost 10 years she has been alive- seen such courage from my little lioness. She grabbed my hand and said “C’mon. I can still see the trail. We can do this.” And she led us a little further along. For the next 30 minutes, she was directing our family where to step, where not to step, and leading us through the darkness. Usually she is scared of her own shadow. Not during the time she was the head honcho, though. That girl had not one ounce of fear in her. I gained a new respect for her. She’s going to be ok out there in the world.

But pretty soon, it got too dark for her to see too. And she said, “Daddy, can you still see? I can’t tell where the trail is now.” He bravely took the lead, we all made a human chain and pressed on as long as we could. Matt said, “Honey, does your cell have reception out here?” “Yes, it does, but it’s in the car. We were having ‘FAMILY TIME,’ remember? I didn’t bring it with me!”

We had no phone, no flash lights, no water bottles, no clock or watch, and soon we would discover we had no guts, either.

Now, I had this crazy notion in my head that pretty soon, the park employees would see our car parked there after hours and know something was up. That they would come looking for us. So that is exactly what I told the kids. The park rangers would come find us. If not, God would keep us safe. No question about that.

As we sat down to finally rest, because it was too dark to fumble through the woods any longer, Matt said he would try to find water. He promised he would stay where we could hear him. The kids and I sat down in the pitch dark, grabbed hands, and prayed our tired little butts off. This part of the evening, still being confident that the local rangers would find us, I was confident that we were safe. So we prayed, and I shared with the kids that I pray for the friends they make, their future spouses, and everything about them. It was a fantastic time to tell them how much I love each and every one of them, and that I appreciate who they are as people. Not just as our kids, but as humans. That part of the night was amazing.

Pretty soon Matt ventured back, saying he couldn’t find water, and we would have to think of other things.

So we started telling stories. Matt told the kids that he had accidently eaten a bowl of ants on Saturday, to which they laughed uncontrollably. (And yes, he did. Everyone makes fun of me for putting boxes of cereal into containers. It’s to keep the ants out. One box didn’t make it in the containers like it was supposed to, and the ants got to it. Matt ate half a bowl before he noticed they were crawling over his peanut butter crunch.) With everyone in such high spirits, we decided to lay down on the poison ivy infested forest floor and wait for dawn.

Now, there a few fears I have. I hate being in wide open spaces, I am scared of dogs of any breed that I don’t know, and I am scared of ghosty stuff. I don’t watch horror movies. One time Matt told me that “The Blair Witch Project” wasn’t scary. So I watched it. And he then had to hold my hand as I peed in the bathroom cause I was so freaked out.

So with my fear of wide open spaces, fear of unknown dogs, and ghosts, we were supposed to fall asleep on the ground, covered with spiders and sticks up our rears and possible coyotes. When it is pitch black in the forest, you can hear every sound the creatures make. Raccoons climbing up trees, deer rubbing antlers on tree trunks, rabbits hopping around- every sound made us jump. I seriously thought at one point that I was going to have a heart attack. The kids were praying for Jesus to return, for the park rangers to rescue us, and for us to get home because they were scared. It’s hard to put on a brave face for your kids when you are terrified out of your wits. But Matt and I did our best. Each of us laid on the outside, with the kids huddled together in the middle, so anything that might eat us would get to mom and daddy first. No coyote was going to drag away one of our babies.

We couldn’t sleep. We were cold, thirsty and scared. And it was DARK. You couldn’t really see your own hand in front of your face. Barely. And the moon made freaky shadows onto the ground. Natalie mentioned that one shadow looked like a body without a head. It did, and I told her she was scaring her brother. Nope. She was scaring her mom. I peed my pants a little.

So we laid there, and pretty soon we heard the inevitable pack of nearby coyotes. Howling. Running. Plotting to eat us alive. We all got worried then, and each of us (except for Matt) was crying as quietly as we could, so as not to attract coyotes closer.

Pretty soon, we must have all fallen asleep. I don’t know for how long, but I awoke to the sound of footsteps going right in front of my head, and Natalie saying “MOMMY!!!”

So I started screaming. And Natalie started screaming. And then the whole family, including Matt, got on our feet and began screaming. For a full solid minute at least until we gained our composure.

We realized that we were super jumpy and it was probably just a rabbit or a coon or a possum meandering through the woods. And with all of our screaming, we were certain we had either scared it off or sent it into little woodland creature heaven.

Pretty soon, we were all standing in a circle, our backs to the middle so everyone could watch for something creeping through the woods, with Mama and Daddy holding all three kids at once.

And that was right when my stomach growled really really loud.

And Natalie started screaming. And everyone started screaming. And I was worried that something was really attacking us.

Now, I have never seen Matt jump into action quite like this before. He was 5 places all at once. He was behind us, in front of us and on all sides within split seconds. He was screaming and throwing his life and body in front of our unseen attacker on all sides.

Which happened to be my growling stomach.

The kids saw him protecting them, and I saw him protecting us, and he officially became our hero of the night. Pretty soon, we all figured out what had happened, stopped screaming (again), and calmed down. It was then decided that as soon as my stomach growled again, I was to softly say “tummy- it’s my tummy” so that no one started screaming again. We also had our 5th family prayer circle. This time facing outwards and keeping our eyes open.

The worst part was we had no clock to tell us what time it was. For all we knew, it was barely midnight. It was the longest night of our lives.

But pretty soon, the light began to change, and we could almost see the trail again. It was close enough for us, and we began walking again. As we walked, the trail began to open up from a narrow passage to a wide path, and the dawn began to break. Right as we got to a spot where we could clearly see the lake, we saw the sun rising. It was gorgeous. And we saw it together as a family, still holding hands. Confident that we had faced utter darkness and unknown foes together, the dawn was here, and we didn’t wind up as coyote food. We kept walking for another hour, crossed the dam, and pretty soon we saw asphalt. Sweet civilized asphalt. I have never been so relieved.

By the time we found our car, we must have walked at least 12 miles. And checking my phone (which was in the glove box) we saw it was 6:02am. We piled in and drove out of there headed to our sweet little house. I called the kids in from school, and then called my mom. It happens to be her birthday.

Happy birthday, Margaret the Saint. Your kids and grand kids didn’t get eaten by coyotes.

We got home, Matt fixed hot chocolate for the kids, and I helped them with showers, scrubbing any part of them that came into contact with poison ivy. They were something akin to the shower scene from the movie “Silkwood.” But no one complained. I washed backs and made sure the kids got every bit of their body that was exposed washed off. So far, no one seems to be breaking out from the ivy. Thank heavens.

I gave everyone in the house (including mom and daddy) a Benadryl, made oatmeal for all the kids (which Tim didn’t eat. He tried…. by the way, his shirt says "Every great idea I have gets me in trouble" and it couldn't be more ironic.)



and we went to bed about 8am. I lost 3 pounds yesterday (I think from the constant shaking with terror) and we are all fine with hating nature.

Matt asked me before we fell asleep, “So, do you really think we should do this every Sunday night?”

I cannot repeat my response, but let’s just leave it as being in the negative. From now on, THIS FAMILY is hiking at the mall.

I’m leaving the coyotes for the wolves.

Hump day report

Things are improving.

185.2

BETTER. Not great, but better.

I am back hardcore with the food aspect of dieting, and last night finally kahonaed up and did Fat Girl Yoga with Amy (our 10 year old). This morning we could both feel it in our arms and back- Amy informed me she had squeezed her kidneys too hard.

I did too, darling. My kidneys are screaming.

So this morning I am heading off to Old Lady Water Aerobics. I fully intend to have my butt kicked by the blue hairs. That is what happens when you go in with youth and pride. You get your rear served to you by someone 50 years your senior. But at this point, with my knees and back messed up and a tad bit achy, water aerobics is my best option.

AND- I have a new swim suit. I FINALLY found one built for a girl with a long saggy boobylicious build. It has a mesh lining that covers me to my neck. Nothing will be floating to the surface in this baby. I'll post pictures later. Maybe. If I find the courage to show you how untoned I have become.

Seriously, go a few months without exercising and your nice firm muscles turn into moosh. It's pathetic. That's ok, though. I'm working on it. I don't mind being mooshey if I'm in transition. And I can feel it this time. I'm gonna lick this thing.

Food went well yesterday. I found a new application for my Iphone that allows me to see exactly what I am eating. And the calorie intake. And the fat intake. Scary. The cool thing is I can upload it so you all can see my food log at the end of the week. (Just in case you are nosey like me. I like to see what other people eat.) I'm planning to upload it all on Saturday night.

So today, the short list is water aerobics, a quick trip to walgreens to get more gummy vitamins, and clean in my room a bit more. Cause I love my husband. He's awesome. And he would like a bedroom where you don't have to scavenger hunt for t-shirts and socks. I think he should have it.

So- how are things on your hump day?

Phasing the Truth

(Photo by my 16 year old nephew Tyler. I love this picture. Feels like where I have been for a year!)

Phase one: Get really motivated, start a weight loss blog, and lose a crap ton of weight.

Phase two: Get unmotivated, bounce back up to 186.8 and hang out within a 15 pound spread for a year. A FLIPPING YEAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Phase three: Look at a really crappy picture of yourself, realize how bloated you feel, recognize that your knees hurt again, and get your fat butt back on the dieting wagon.
Guess which phase I’m in?

If you guessed three, you’d be right. The truth is I’m tired of thinking about, writing about, and dealing with the diet. I’m so sick of it, I just want to finish this. Get it over with. Make myself get down and dirty with the diet and just do it.

So what does that mean?

That means OBSESSION with all things diet. Making up with Jillian. Eating Smart Ones. Drinking Crystal Lite Pure Fitness. Indulging on Quaker Pure Delights Raspberry Mocha Café Bars instead of Butterfingers. (Holy cow, have you tried those yet? 2 weight watcher points per bar, and they are delectable!) Eating FACON (pronounced Fake-un) sandwiches.

Yeah, I said Facon.

Cause in order for me to maintain any semblance of control over my diet, I need to skip the bacon. I KNOW what eat this, not that says. But I know my body. It craves more than just one strip of bacon. So I tried these last night for the first time.

The review is mixed.

They do NOT replace bacon in my book. However, once I am in a state of utter desperation for something “bad” in my diet (and we all know it happens) these are not the worst case scenario. I read an online review about the facon, and it made me laugh pretty hard. Cause it’s all true. Yet these strips of smokey chemical madness only have 1 weight watcher point per serving. So they stay on the short list. Plus, Facon is very fun to say. Facon facon facon.

Last night, while talking with my BFF Julia, she encouraged me to start writing everything I eat. My friend Tanya did too. Julia even challenged me to put it all here on the blog. (She understands that I behave when publicly open to humiliation) And although I am all about full disclosure here on the blog, there is no way I can commit to writing down on OSCBB things as I eat them. I’m not nearly that disciplined.

What I can do is find creative ways to keep you informed about my eating habits. So here’s what I will do. If I cheat- I’m putting it on the blog. If you don’t hear anything, I’m in the clear. But if I tell you I’ve eaten something rotten, or go over on my points for the day, you will hear about it. Pinkie swear.

SO that’s where I am. Starting over. From the new square one. No more painful challenges I watch sail by me. No 2 pound goals per week. I’m just sticking with the Weight Watchers program. 23 points per day, with an extra 35 a week to binge on, and finding ways to get activity points in. Tricky Nikki and Lee Ann and Theresa are going to help hold me accountable. I am not starting up the walking group again, but we are going to find times to get together and walk. My friend Kara is going to be at the YMCA more too, so I can meet her there some mornings. It’s all a good thing.

186.8 feels awful to say. It looks worse in the mirror. Especially when some of the final contestants on “Dance your a$$ off” weigh less than me now. Yikes. How the mighty have fallen.

That’s ok, though. I’m determined to stay on track till Christmas. Hardcore weight watching. It’s about time to dance to the finish line. I’ve been dragging my two left feet for far too long anyway.

Mother Daughter Mug Shot

It started with a prophetic facebook status.

“My life is a series of misadventures.”

And this statement rang true today, loud and clear.

Sticky too.

Amy (our oldest daughter) and I made a quick run to Elder-Beerman, the local upscale department store, to get her a white cami shirt. The girl is blossoming this summer and it’s sending Matt and I into parental conniptions. But she is enjoying these leaps and bounds into adulthood, and we have no choice but to let her grow up as much as we can stand.

Amy is one of those kids who follows the rules. All the time. You tell her to do something a certain way, she goes through every step. Because of this , she is probably the most reliable kid in the world. She is working this summer on losing her baby fat, and when I suggest that she needs to give up the chips and have a salad, she does it every time. How I raised a child with that much willpower, I will never know.

So we were in the van, discussing where to get the cami, and we saw that Elder-Beerman was having a yellow dot sale. Everything is marked on sale, and you get an additional 60% off the sale price. We thought that would be a great place to start.

Within 3 minutes she found what she needed, but it was Mama who lingered, enjoying alone time with my budding daughter. It reminded me of all the trips Margaret the Saint and I made to the exact same store years ago. Although Amy is nothing like me, so there wasn’t any fighting or tears or begging with this Mother and Daughter Duo.

I found a clearance shirt too, and happily we headed up to the counter to bring our shopping journey to an end. However there was no tag on my shirt, so one of the associates headed off to find another one like it. Setting my coffee mug on the counter (I don’t go anywhere without my coffee before 3pm) I started telling her I had looked for another one like it, and couldn’t find one, so I didn’t know the price.

She asked what area of the store we found the shirt, and I circled around to point to a corner.
As I was circling around, with my hand gracefully extended to act the part of a hoyty-toyty shopper in a department store, that was when Amy and I got the most interesting science lesson.

When a coffee mug is precariously placed on a 4 foot high counter, and it gets knocked over, the 32 ounce travel mug does not simply fall to the floor. In fact, it bounces on the floor, the lid pops off, and 32 ounces of coffee immediately explodes onto the floor.

Thankfully, we were not near clothes. It hit tile floor.

Unfortunately, it does splash on your blossoming and highly emberassable 10 year old daughter, and she stands there looking like her mother has just committed a hainus crime of prision sentence proportions.

So there we are, standing in the middle of a seemingly posh department store, in a puddle of French vanilla humiliation. We couldn’t run. You can’t run on wet tile. Plus we still wanted our shirts. As associate number 1 scurried off to look for a twin for my unmarked shirt, associate number 2 had to stand there with us and try to make conversation for the next 5 minutes.

Customer number 1 (obviously not my daughter and I) was giving me the stink eye. You could tell she was glad it wasn’t her, and moved seamlessly from utter sympathy – “were you drinking hot chocolate, dear?” “No, it was French vanilla coffee. I don’t go anywhere without it.” “Perhaps there are some places you should consider leaving it at home.”- to full on condemnation.

I was left wondering how much longer the janitorial staff was going to take to the scene of our crime, and Amy was still standing there with her jaw hanging on the floor.

And I started to laugh. And the associate number 2 began to giggle. Customer one did not see the humor in our predicament.

Meanwhile, customers 2 through 7 lined up behind us. (of course. My shame is never private.) And none of them seemed to get the joke either. I could feel their eyes drilling holes in the back of my head as they stood in line for the worst checkout in the county.

Amy finally began to laugh herself, making comments about how she can’t take her mom anywhere (she’s right) and telling herself that at least she was getting a shirt out of the deal.

Associate number 1 finally returned, announcing that she couldn’t find another shirt like the one I had, and rang up another shirt in its place. We stood around for a minute after we checked out, waiting for the clean up crew. I have no idea why we did that, it just seemed like the right thing to do. I was hoping my daughter would get some sort of morality lesson out of this. Maybe “we clean up our own messes” or “you stay till the job is finished.” However, with no mop or paper towels to help us, all we could do was LOOK at our mess. MY MESS.

Amy grinned and said “I told you to leave it in the van.”

I could hear customers 2 through 7 snicker that I had been schooled by my 10 year old daughter, and I decided that the moral lesson was over.

Walking out, Amy giggled and said, “You better buy what you want now, Mom. I don’t think we will be allowed back in here ever again.”

I looked at my daughter and said, “We will just add this store to the list, honey.”

(Big Lots, Big R, Elder-Beerman)

Things are just BULLY

Nobody likes a bully. It amazes me how as adults we still deal with bullies. Maybe you have someone in your office, a sibling or relation. Maybe you are married to a bully. Or maybe you divorced one. No matter who they are, bullies can rattle you to your core.

If you haven’t guessed yet, I happen to be dealing with a bully right now. Don’t worry. Matt and I aren’t having issues with each other. It’s a much bigger bully lurking in our life.

Bullies are people who can’t take no for an answer. They can’t allow you to make your own decisions, to stand up for yourself, or to question their judgement. Bullies like a good fight, and to come out with the other guy crying “UNCLE!”

The major issue with a bully is control. They like to know that if they say jump, we say, “How high?” They want to know that if they ask for your milk money today and you give it up, they can get it tomorrow too. Sometimes there is just no reasoning with a bully.

And in dealing with my bully over the weekend, it got me to thinking.

Am I a diet bully to myself?

I know, this sounds like a weird question. But as I mulled it over, I realized that sometimes I put ridiculous stipulations on myself. “You shall forever abandon cake. Domino’s bread bowl pastas will make you fail and if you eat them, you are a gonner. Once you hit a certain weight, you will find it impossible to get under that.” That’s the self talk I seem to discuss a lot in my head.

Sometimes, I bully myself into thinking that there are some choices you can never recover from. It’s a psychological predicament, bullying one’s self. But as dieters, we do it a lot.

How many times have you tried to start fresh with a diet on Monday, blown it by Tuesday, then gone back to your old ways by Wednesday? How many times have we stepped on the scale and beaten ourselves up? I’ve done it all time and time again.


In my personal life, as a proud survivor of domestic violence, I have learned that if you let someone bully you, they will keep doing it. You have to draw the line in the sand (and sometimes, that line has got to be embedded in concrete) and stop rolling over. It takes courage to get out from under a bully. It’s scary. You often don’t know how to tell a bully to “KNOCK IT OFF.”

For me, it was realizing at the local women’s shelter that no matter what, I was going to protect the ones I love- my kids. It took the realization that they weren’t ever going to be safe until I stopped the bully to change my reactions. The second chances stopped. The emotional and physical abuse ended. When I pulled myself up out of that situation, and saw what kind of a life was really out there waiting for me, I realized that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. I could stop a bully. I could be strong and unyielding, and do anything I needed to in order to keep my children safe.

So in your dieting life, who is really in control? Are you being bullied?

Unfortunately, my diet life has not been quite so easy to deal with. I bully myself about the weight. I let the temptations of food bully me. I get pushed around by my cravings and moods and emotions. (Before you even ask, I emotional ate this weekend cause of my returning bully. Plus Aunt Flow is here visiting. I wish I didn’t have to say 185, but I do. However, I get a 5 pound handicap/bonus for honesty, right???)

Tonight, as I was out in my quiet spot, praying for guidance about the situation I am in, I realized that God gave me a wonderful gift when I came out of my abusive situation. He gave me SCRAP. Yep, I walked out of that terrible situation willing to go to the mats for my kids. I became scrappy. Unafraid to stand up to a bully who seems so much bigger than me. I figured out that all my Goliath needed was for me to pick up a rock and go for it.

And I think (as is my usual custom) that I can finally see the diet that way too. I don’t NEED icing or cake batter or bacon. Those things bully my resolve. What I need is to get scrappy again. I must see my weight as this big shadow looming over the life I really want. And I need to go to the mats. To fight for the things I know are right. Healthy. Will burn calories.

Fear of failure is no longer an option for me. I want to know that my body is safe, that I am fighting things like diabetes and heart failure. I have to focus on the fact that no one else is going to stand up to my bullies except for that little part of me that sees the light at the end of the fat tunnel. I’m picking up my scrap and jumping back on board.

And I think Monday is a good day to come out swinging. What do you say?

OSCBB NEWS

Unscripted.

Yes, we are crazy over here.

Can someone please buy me a better video camera? Mine sucks. Thanks!

Confessions of a Dieter. Take 2.

I would like to preface this blog post by saying that I am PMSing out of my head today. This post shall contain whining, groaning, and frustration. If you are having a great day, DON’T READ THIS! If you are of the mindset that misery loves company (especially when that company happens to be named Ben and Jerry!) then feel free to proceed. Just know that this is going to be like picking up your big sister’s diary, and being amazed at all the garbage that goes through her head too.

It is 1:27 in the morning as I am writing this. And I am eating.

What are you eating, Charlie? Carrots?

Nope.

A nice diet conscious treat? Like 94% fat free popcorn?

Pssssshaw. I had that 3 hours ago.

Then what are you eating? A cookie?

Worse.

One of those Pepperidge farm cakes you so dearly love?

Close. Think out of the box.

CAKE BATTER??????????? HOW COULD YOU????????????

It beats the living daylights out of me. But I was thinking I’m either going to go to the store and purchase something, or find something in my cabinets. I’m too lazy to drive. And I don’t mind saying the only exercise I got tonight was whisking the white cake mix for 2 minutes. Except my arm got tired after a minute, so the batter isn’t as smooth as it should be.

What the heck is wrong with me?

Most likely, it is a case of bottomless pit disease brought on by Aunt Flow impending visit. Don’t worry, my Diva Cup is on standby.

But here’s the kicker. I did really well dieting today! Until about 11pm. And then, when the house got quiet, I started the craving game.

And if you are expecting some inspirational BS here today, you aren’t going to get it. Because I am frustrated with myself, and I feel like I need a swift kick in the fanny. I am so mad I could just spit.

Because it’s no fault of anyone’s but my own. I officially suck at losing weight.

I am not going to say that it’s always been that way, cause it hasn’t. In fact, it seems like just yesterday that the weight was practically sliding off of me. No drugs, no starvation, just good old fashioned diet and exercise.

And you know what? The longer I sit here at my computer and think about things, the madder I get.

(Insert a 5 minute break with high quantities of cake batter comsumption and previous blog post reading here)

OK, I just took a break, and read the first “real” post I ever wrote. Confessions of a dieter. Back in March of LAST YEAR. Apparently I was struggling with the same crap then that I am now.

(Feel free to go back and check it out by clickity clicking here...)

I didn’t realize that until right this second.

Apparently, that first 20 pounds wasn’t any easier then than the next 20 seem to be!

(WHO AM I KIDDING WITH THAT 20 BUSINESS? GIMME A SOLID 10 AND I’D QUIT CRYING ABOUT IT!) (WHO AM I KIDDING WITH THAT “I’D QUIT CRYING ABOUT IT?” hee hee- couldn’t resist that one. We all know better than that!)

Huh. I’m a little bit at a loss for words. And I have set the bowl of cake batter aside. (no, the bowl isn’t empty…)

Why have I been thinking all this time that the first 6 months were so easy for me? That has been 99% of my frustration with myself. I kept wishing that things were like they used to be on the diet.

And apparently, wishes do come true!

OK, I just read the next “real” post I wrote after that last one.

Stuck in the Middle with YOU.

Dang it. I hate it when I read something I penned and it feels like a stranger wrote it.

Where is THAT GIRL? Where is the girl so full of belief in what a woman can accomplish? Why doesn’t she stumble out of my bed, instead of this PMS mongering mess? I especially love the bangs analogy. How true is that? Crap. I have bitten off more than I can chew with this reflection business!

For the record, I am so glad that I have blogged all this whiney-ness. I know it’s annoying to read when it comes up (everybody loves the funny stuff…) but I can’t tell you how helpful this has been to learn about myself!

Tomorrow, I am going to unearth my treadmill, and give myself a half hour goal every day. I’m also going to make my daughters do Fat Girl Yoga with me in the morning. Not because they are fat, but because mommy needs support and accountability. I am also going to re-learn the fine art of “you bite it, you write it.” Because I can’t go on feeling like this. Feeling like a dieting failure.

Failure isn’t for the brave. It’s not for the tenacious. Failure is for the ones who aren’t willing to do what it takes. (medical issues aside, of course) Mentally, I cannot fail. As long as I keep trying, it’s not failure. It’s just a setback.

I am done whining. Thank you for working through this with me. I’m going to take a midol, throw out this d@#m cake batter, and get some sleep. It’s going to take a back hoe to find the treadmill under the laundry. But I CAN do this. I just have to push myself a little more than I like.

Looks like I need to work out plan Q. Pretty sure that’s the letter I’m on.

I love you all, readers. And don’t give up on me yet. This girl’s not going down without a fight.

Behind the scenes of the Crystal Light Commercial

For those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook, you know I worked on a Crystal Light commercial. (And if you aren't friends with me on FB, WHY AREN'T YOU???? My FB badge is right there, and I am easy to find!)

I will link you to the final product (aka- my commercial) but first I have to tell you what a trip this was to film. As you well know, I love video media. I love editing and filming, and making something cool out of random shots. This one was a little different though. There is something about filming yourself doing silly things that makes you a little self consious.

So, instead of telling you all about it, I created a video about it. Cause that was more fun to me.

But first, I need to tell you a few important things about the shoot.

1. This commercial was for a commercial contest on Poptent. This is an online community of creative types. I was in a commercial this last June that won an honorable mention, and that got me excited. So I joined the Poptent community and started plotting my first commercial.

2. I "rented" a camera from Walmart. I thought that my camera quality paled in comparison with the other commercial creators. I have observed that their cameras are insanely good and professional. All I have is a Kodak camera from 2004 and the Kodak version of the Flip. Great for making vlogs, but not what I need to make commercials. So I bought a camera at Walmart to test during the commercial filming. And honestly, while the quality was better than what I had, it still is not nearly good enough to beat my competetors. (Not trying to be a negative Nancy here, just speaking the truth.) After using the camera, I decided I didn't like it at all anyway, because the compartment to get the memory card out was difficult to operate. So after the commercial was done, I took it back. (I HATE being broke and not being able to afford a sweet camera so I can create magic! But the good ones are $2000 to $4000, and that is not something we can swing right now. So the rented camera had to do.

3. Crystal Light Pure Fitness is AAAAH-MAZ-ING! If you haven't tried it, then you are missing out. It's only got 15 calories a serving, the taste is outstanding, and my family is now addicted. Yours should be too.

4. In the spirit of generating some press about my commercial, I am linking it here. Right now, my commercial is number 8 out of the 10 most watched commercials. Can we get it into the top 3? Can you watch it again and again and link about it? So I can win the $7000 prize? That would be wonderful if we could! Not that voting matters, because there is no voting. I am just hoping that pure popularity will work in my favor. And please be sure to leave me a comment here and let me know what you think of it!

So please watch the commercial,


then come back and enjoy the behind the scenes. Fingers crossed, gang! I really want to win!!!

Weight Loss Credit Reports

So after a few days of making up for the Funnel Effect, I think that things are back on track.

180.2

A MARKED improvement.

I feel like I am getting back in the groove of things. I'm eating right, considering exercise again, and am back to creating art of all kinds. Per your helpful suggestions, I am doing a needlepoint project to distract me from the late night munchies. And I intend to use this trick over the weekend and see if it helps me stay on the dieting bandwagon.

My friend Kathy has been writing me on and off via Facebook, and she brought up some frustrations she is experiencing about dieting. I think there are some major points we need to talk about here. And of course, I am happy to tackle this topic head-on, in keeping with my promise to obsess and overanalyze.

Every woman has a different body. Some of us (like me) carry lots of weight on our middle and tummy sections. Some carry weight in their legs and thighs. Some carry it... well... all over! While I find that the basic principles of Weight Watchers do the trick for me, there is something to be said for investigating your options.

If all our bodies were the same, if we all liked the same foods, if we all had similar metabolisms- then dieting would be a piece of no fat cake! If I liked fish, I would eat tuna every day. But I don't like it, so I have to find other options. If you had a kicking metabolism, then you could eat pasta every day and it wouldn't settle on your rear. If the skinny girl at the baseball game had MY fat burning capabilities, she wouldn't be eating that candy bar and Pepsi like it's no big deal.

Our bodies are very much like our credit reports. Everyone has something different on theirs. Your debts are not the same as mine. You may have something outstanding physically that needs to be taken care of before you can improve things. Things like diabetes, allergic reations to gluten, thyroid issues- I'm sure you understand what I am saying here.

If I go into a bank right now and ask for a loan, they aren't going to give me one today. There are previous problems that must be paid off or removed before they are ready to hand me a cashier's check. But here's the thing.

I have a copy of my credit report. I know what I am looking at, and am working on fixing those things that are wrong. It's going to take us till August to dig ourselves out of the hole, but come fall, banks will be fighting over us to give us what we need most. A new house.

This Friday, I am going to get my dieting Credit Report. I am going to have bloodwork, a physical, and even my personal favorite- A PAP SMEAR. (Oh the bloggy goldmine of hilarity that should bring!!!) They are going to investigate where my body is doing well, and where it is lacking. I will learn more about how I work, and take steps to fix the things that are wrong. It's not a pleasant journey, by any means. But it is a necessary one.

I really like the idea of working out a dieting credit report. That might be something I work on in the future. Everyone is at a different place in their weight loss- beginning, middle, uh... end? Regardless, it might do us all some good to look at the major gains and losses over the years, and consider what led to those events. For me, I know that a lifetime of fad dieting and over indulgance has wrecked my metabolism, so I have to work harder than some. But I'm up for the challenge!

Are there any suggestions out there of things we should add to a dieting credit report? Does this make sense at all?

THE FUNNEL EFFECT

It started off as an afternoon trip to see my husband and daughter perform.

Arts in the Park, an annual festival at the park down the street, was happening, and right after Tim's baseball game, he and Natalie and I headed to the park. And about a block away, I could smell them.

FUNNEL CAKES.

I have an issue with funnel cakes. You may recall that I drove to Burger King to try out their Funnel cake sticks, and found them greatly lacking compared to the fair-related concoction. Ever since then, I promised myself that I would one day remember their greasy goodness.

So after dropping an insane amount of cash on one elephant ear, a large lemon shakeup, and one funnel cake for mama, we found a bench.

Now, I will say something for my blog readers. THEY ARE LOYAL. In fact, a few of them were sitting between the funnel cake vendor and the bench. And they saw me carrying an elephant ear that was bigger than my head and that darn funnel cake.

And Debbie P., who has been on an incredible weight loss journey of her own- and is down 60 pounds (probably more by now- she looks it!)- piped up. God bless her for that. She said-

"Now I read your blog, and we are supposed to be holding you accountable, and you don't need that funnel cake and elephant ear. You asked us to help, so don't do it."

I assured her that it was supposed to be for the kids, and went on my way. I told Tim, "you guys are supposed to share these with each other. But leave me a few bites of the funnel cake. I just want to taste it."

And I walked away, knowing that my kids wouldn't move with such yummy food on their laps, and talked to some people for 10 minutes, watching the back of their sweet little heads on the bench the whole time.

When I sat back down with them, the elephant ear was completely gone, and there was one teeny tiny bite of the funnel cake left on the paper plate. My kids had powdered sugar all over their faces, and looked rather guilty.

Irritated by the fact they had just inhaled the funnel cake, I asked them, "Did you chew it, or just swallow it whole?"

We then proceeded to watch the performance (Matt and Amy did very very well- I was extremely proud of both of them) and they came down to the bench when they were done. Matt said "Can Amy and I get something to eat?"

"Sure! But if you get a funnel cake, will you give me some? I didn't get any from the one I got before. Well, I got a bite."

"Of course you can have some!" said Matt, as he took the cash I had and headed for the food vendor of temptation.

And as I chatted with a few more people, I dreamed about the greasy goodness of the funnel cake. I imagined Matt and I, standing over the paper plate, looking at each other with absolute love in our eyes, sharing the funnel cake like Lady and the Tramp with the spaghetti. Only I can make food sound like a Harlequin Romance Novel. I am a sick sick woman.

We started walking home, and our daughter Natalie asked to carry the funnel cake as we walked. This was bad for two reasons. A- she is kinda clumsy, and that funnel cake was going to hit the sidewalk. B- I knew she would help Daddy EAT THE FUNNEL CAKE.

So I took Matt's drink from him and told him to eat while we walked. About halfway home, I asked him if I could have some of it. And he tore off one last piece, leaving me a third of it. So I took the plate and my eyes took in the beauty of the funnel cake. And my husband sweetly said:

"Um, I tore off the piece for you. I wasn't gonna give you that much."

In Matt's defense, he has had to listen to me whine about being fat for years now. And he was trying to help me.

But in all honesty, I can say that all it did was really piss me off. Not that he was helping me- but that I wasn't going to get any more of the funnel cake I had been fantasizing about.

Here's the thing about me. I feel justified when it comes to food. I feel like if I have done a good job dieting (which I had this week) then I deserve a treat.

And I have come to the conclusion that this is the mental downfall of dieters everywhere. We think that one bad choice makes up for all the good ones we sacrificingly made. And this could not be farther from the truth. Every choice matters. Every stronghold we have with food has to be broken.

I wish I could tell you that I came to my senses by the end of the night. But I didn't. I was so mad about missing out on the funnel cake that I ordered a Domino's breadbowl and ate every bit of it. And now, today, I am paying the price for it. Cause I weigh 183.8 and that is not where I wanted to be on Monday morning. Because I was upset that my family was so selfish (which is an absolute joke. I am the queen of selfish) I retalliated to teach them a lesson. But all I did was hurt myself.

As I push forward with this losing weight business, I am finding so much about how I associate food with making me feel better. This is not a thyroid condition, or lazy metabolism. This is Charlie making herself less (and pick your word here...) angry, sad, discontent- whatever I am feeling, I try to make it better with food.

Obviously, if I knew the solution to this problem, I would tell you. But I can say that years ago I went to a counselor for eating disorders, and didn't find the answer there either. I thought it was brutally unfair that she was skinny, and thought she had no idea where I was coming from.

But WE- us who gather on this silly blog- we know exactly where everyone is coming from. We understand how hard it is to pass on something so simple as a funnel cake, or Domino's. We know all to well that our emotional state directly effects our eating habits. I think the best thing we can do for each other is allow ourselves to recognize that this is our modus operandi. And fight it together. If we talk openly about our dieting shortcomings together, we can fight it head on.

I will tell you I have no problem dieting Monday through Friday. It's the weekends that I struggle with the most. So I need to get a game plan together for the weekend. I have 5 days to formulate a solution. I am willing to take any suggestions you all have.

HELP!!!!!!

The Anniversary

A wonderful anniversary date night with my husband has thrown me into a merciless panic stricken state.

We were discussing all of the things that we did CORRECT over the last year of our marriage. Things we were happy about. Things we enjoyed doing together. Things that were exciting for us. We were naming off quite a few. And Matt, looking at me with love in his eyes, said “You lost a bunch of weight this year!”

And I thought about it. And I did some math.

And after eating a scrumptious dinner at Red Lobster, I came home and weighed myself.

I didn’t like looking at the truth.

I don’t like it at all.

Cause I posted about our anniversary dinner last year. And I (per the usual) talked about how much I weighed that day.

Well guess what? It’s been one whole year, and I’m 5 pounds lighter. How’s that for a shot of truth in the butt?

I didn’t realize that a full year had passed since I had really applied myself to the diet. I am going to share some fun facts with you, to remind myself why I need to get back to the beginning.

1. In the first 6 months of dieting, I lost 50 pounds. When I was really applying myself I was losing an average of 1.9 pounds per week.

2. When I was dieting in the beginning, I didn’t believe it would actually work. Not for the first 3 months. Even after I started losing weight, I didn’t actually think I would lose as much as I did.

3. I looked at every pound I lost in awe and wonder.

4. I got cocky about my weight loss. (It’s the truth. I am a horrible person)

5. My body got very in shape- I could walk 8 miles before my legs got jello-ey.

6. I looked forward to working out.


Here are the not so fun facts about where I am one year later.

1. I mentally think that I know everything there is to know about dieting.

2. I consider myself “at a good place” right now.

3. I currently dread any form of exercise and have avoided it like the plague.

4. I have rekindled my love with bacon. The real stuff, not the turkey kind.

5. I do not FIGHT for the weight loss like I used too.

6. There once was a day when I took food to restaurants, got salads, and ate my own diet foods at parties. Notsomuch anymore.

7. I have straight up gotten lazy about the weight, and 99% of the time give into any food craving I have.


YUCK. I don’t like the way that reads. Or feels. Or how I look. And feel.

Matt says that I am the queen of inspirational speeches. I can give a great speech about why I am not doing what I should be doing. And he’s right. I do that every time. I tell myself I have valid reasons why I am not finding success. Why I am not fighting for the diet anymore.

And it stops here.

No more Domino’s breadbowls. No more beef house rolls. No more skipping out on exercise. No more ice cream over fruit. No more Mary cake over salads. The bullcrap stops here. No more making fun of Jillian and making love to Ben and Jerry.

Honestly, when I realized it had been a full year and I have only lost an additional 5 pounds, I was HUMILIATED. To 11. Especially because of what I learned that first 6 months.

I CAN lose weight. I can apply myself to this diet and find success. I can inspire others while doing it. I can reach my goal.

To be frank, what scared me is this. I have never been thin. In my whole life. And people started telling me how skinny I looked. And it freaked me out. Because I don’t know how to respond to that. What if I don’t look right as a skinny person? What if my body looks weird? What if my boobs totally deflate (even more than they already have) and I lose the part of me that Matt finds irresistible? (He is attracted to more than my boobs, rest assured. But let’s face it. He’s a boob man.) What if they end up 3 feet long?

These are the things I struggle with in the pit of my stomach when I can’t sleep. This is what I obsess over that stops me dead in my tracks when it comes to dieting.

And I don’t want to give in to that fear. I really don’t. Not anymore. Because a year passing with only 5 pounds leaving me (and not achieving ANY of my goals, btw) is just plain stupid. I am smarter than believing the lies of my fear. I am stronger than my greatest weakness. And I have scriptures to back it up.

Today, I am back on the Weight Watchers Wagon. I am focused and ready to fight for the final round. Think of me as Rocky Balboa fighting the Russian dude and it’s the final round. I’m beat up and bloody, but my resolve stands firm.

We are going to hyper obsess, over analyze and talk about dieting until we are blue in the face. I am going to put my “Charlie weighs” ticker on the side of the blog again, and for better or for worse, I am putting my daily weight on there. Because I need the accountability.

I am calling in every favor I have got, and feel free to flood my email with questions about how I am doing, if I am sticking to the diet, and avoiding French fries and bacon. The more the merrier. Because I won’t lie about it. And if I know you are going to ask, then I will get cracking on it.

So there you have it. That’s how our anniversary went down. With me struggling to come to terms with where I really am, and being yanked out of my fantasy world.

And it’s exactly what I needed.

The Diva Sized Disaster

Normally, I can pee anywhere. Outside, inside, toilet, coffee can, big gulp cup… really doesn’t matter to me.

But when you factor in a few variables, you can find out exactly what your limits are: Where you draw the lines and boundaries of your bladder. In order to set up the story properly, I need to share the variables with you, so you can understand how this story came to pass.

Variable #1: NOEL. (Pronounced “NO WELL”)
My Gma Bush’s farm is currently without running water. They are digging a new well this week, and there is no place to wash your hands or flush. There are, however, a plethora of secluded areas a girl can cut loose.

Variable #2: Rummage Sale in 97 degree weather
This means that lots and lots of people are hovering around and looking in places they shouldn’t (cause people are nosey- they just are) and all your secluded areas become null and void. And with the heat, your clothes become sweaty and wet and clingy. You can’t whip your pants up fast if someone comes nosing around the corner and catches you with your pants down.

Variable #3: Mother Nature
Normally, on the second day of Aunt Flow’s visit, I do not leave the house unless there is a national disaster (such as running out of milk- a disaster of epic proportions in this house) because– and there is no pleasant way to say this so I am just going to spit it out- I throw more clots and clods of mess than a golfer with a bad case of anti-depth perception. Disgusting, but true. What happens on days like this if I use a tampon is the clot attaches itself to the top of the tampon, and everything else falls out instead of being absorbed. Lovely, isn’t it? So I have discovered by using a Diva Cup I can catch everything. But it has to be emptied out about every 2 hours to do its job on days like this. And you have to wash your hands to change it, and need water to clean it. Normally, when you are not dealing with NOEL, it's no big deal. However, removing access to water changes everything...

Variable #4: Treatment of the “Yeastie Boys”
I learned a long time ago that if you “apply” a treatment for a yeast infection just before wearing a tampon, the tampon becomes null and void- along with the medicine you just insterted with the plunger/turkey baster. Then you have to start the whole treatment process over again. And I don’t do those 1 day egg shaped treatments. I have never had success with them. I get the drawn out 7 day ones, that lick the problem completely.

Variable #5: TWO hours of sleep
This left your old pal Charlie here exhausted and not running on all 4 cylinders. As you will soon find out…


So Matt and I got to the farm about 7:20am, in preparation for the big rummage sale on Saturday morning. I was excited and exhausted, but ready to do whatever needed done. Anything to help out my Mom, Margaret the Saint. She has been bogged down with details and things ever since Gma passed away. She’s stressed, so Matt and I want to do as much as we can to help. This includes crawling out of bed at 6:45 on a Saturday morning. The things we do for love…

In preparation for the day, I thought ahead and washed 5 pairs of underwear. My reasoning behind this was simple: if your underwear is soaked with sweat, you can’t apply a backup pad. So if I took extra unders with me, I could simply put on a fresh pair, stick on a fresh pad, and go about my day. (Sometimes my brilliance astounds me…)

Armed with my 5 pairs of skivvies and an insane amount of coffee, we drove to the farm. And people were already shopping. They had been since 6:30am. (The garage sale started at 8am. WHO DOES THAT?) (No offense, Bonnie- I heard you were there before Matt and I arrived. Thanks for shopping! Hee hee) So Margaret the Saint was stressing out a little more than I anticipated.

Matt and I kicked into overdrive and got busy, marking final items, moving stuff onto the driveway, etc.. Before I knew it, it was 8:30, and I needed to empty the Diva Cup and get a fresh pair of undies on with a dry Always. (it was dripping with sweat)

I went into the house, washed my hands with the water in a jug, and took care of business. I used baby wipes to wipe out the Diva, and got it back in place. I had to pour out it’s contents onto a stack of toilet paper I had in a little garbage can, then discretely tied it up in a Walmart bag. I then peed in a cup, walked outside with my cup and my bag, emptied the contents of the cup on the flower bed, and threw the pee cup and the bag in the dumpster. Not the best plan, so I figured I’d do it differently next time.

And true to my character, I sat for the next 2 hours, wheeling and dealing and formulating a plan. 10:30 rolled around, and I was mentally prepared to deal with the Diva.

THIS TIME, with my purse on the floor beside me, I stood in the bathroom and peed in a cup first. Last time, I almost peed on the floor from not doing it first. Then I grabbed the Diva cup. This time, the contents of my Monistat had decided to join the period party, so the cup was extremely full- almost to the top. I had a wad of toilet paper in my hand, and I shoved it into the Diva Cup, so it would soak up the contents and I wouldn’t have to see it. It was the perfect plan!

WHAT HAPPENED INSTEAD: As I shoved the toilet paper in the Diva Cup, I forgot to shove it in uniformly, due to my exhausted state. I focused on the side closest to me. The nasty-yuck in the cup shot out the other side (thankfully away from my bright yellow shirt) and slopped out onto my purse. My white and black CANVAS PURSE. Which now looked like a crime scene.

Horrified, I grabbed a stack of baby wipes and started scrubbing the purse, trying to remove the bloodstain as quick as I could, leaving my Diva Cup on the counter of the sink. I finally gave up on saving the purse, and looked back to the Diva Cup. Everything, including the toilet paper (if you could still call it that) and the other parts were slowly oozing down the counter and getting ready to go over the edge onto the floor. THE CARPETED FLOOR.

I scrambled with another stack of baby wipes and panic strickenly wiped my little heart out. I saved the carpet, but wound up killing half a box of baby wipes, and my favorite purse. And was in the bathroom for 20 minutes.

Then I had to deal with getting protection again. I figured since I had already lost the monistat, I might as well wear a tampon and change it every 30 minutes for the rest of the morning and afternoon. I NEEDED my Diva Cup, but the no water or flushing toilets issues sure did complicate matters. So tampons it was. Annoying, yes. But considering the present state of matters, it was worth it in the end.

I also decided that it would be best to hide ALL evidence of my Diva Sized disaster and shoved the gross baby wipes into another walmart bag. I grabbed another walmart bag and put the Diva Cup in there too- no way would I throw it out accidently. (FYI- once I searched through a garbage can to dig it out after it accidently fell in there. That's how much I love my Diva Cup!) Then I walked out into the throws of the rummage sale, holding my purse awkwardly so it wouldn’t get onto my yellow shirt, and went straight to my car, where I dumped my pee cup by my tire, and hid any other evidence of period chaos under my front seat.

All in all, Margaret the Saint had a wonderful turnout for the day, made some decent money, Matt and I both got sunburned, and it was a fantastic day overall.

And what did I learn???

Every Diva has her “day.”
PERIOD.

(And for the record, I would recommend a Diva Cup to anyone. I love it, and although I had technical issues with it this day, the problems were with the operator, not the cup itself! For more information about the Diva Cup, please visit their website!)

I should have been blogging....

It feels like forever since my last blog post. And I probably should have been blogging this whole time. But I am feeling a little stretched and overextended lately, and have been doing other things instead.

Things like....

...helping my mom clear out my Gma Bush's farmhouse. I have learned a lot about my Gma and the things that were important to her by sifting through her belongings. The woman had an intense love (bordering on sickness) of OFFICE SUPPLIES. Highlighters, paperclips, rubberbands, and pads upon pads of paper. The majority of those items are now residing on my new "desk," which to me represents Gma best. It's a set of filing cabinets with an old door on the top for the actual workspace. Matt said we didn't have room for it. I MADE ROOM.

...writing my very first novel. Yep, I have launched myself into the world of fiction. Even I will admit that was not a long leap for me- the girl with an overactive imagination. It's a thriller. Is there a genre called that? Does Borders have an aisle labeled "thrillers?" Maybe that is just considered a dance genre. Perhaps my novel will be sold under "suspense." I am certainly in suspense, wondering if I can actually pull this book off. I am finding writing fiction is far more challenging than reporting my life on a blog and facebook.

...avoiding the gi-nor-mous box of "Mary Cake" that is sitting on my dining room table. Most delicious cake ever. Seriously. I expressed that I would take a piece or 2 of the chocolate cake home after my brother's graduation/birthday party, and my husband came home with 3/4ths of a sheet cake. Sheet. This cake is killing me.

...learning how to stick to a budget. That is almost as hard as avoiding the Mary Cake! Thankfully, I have lots of support in this area, so that's a good thing. But it's hard. Those impulse buys get me every time.

...trying to cope while the kids are on their week of summer vacation with my ex. This is the toughest time for me as a mother, and it happens twice a year. Once in summer and once at Christmas. Never never never go cheap when hiring an attorney. EVER. You will pay the price for the next 18 years of your life.

...recovering from this insanely impossible to get rid of sinus infection. Today is the first day in a week and a half that I have felt close to normal. And I am still blowing my nose and coughing every 5 minutes and talking a bit scratchy. As an added bonus to my misery, the antibiotics gave me a front row seat to my least favorite band- THE YEASTY BOYS. You know, when they ask me if I'm allergic to any medicines next time, I think I will tell them I can't take penicillin. It is not worth the agony of a yeast infection when the humidity and heat index are outrageous.

So that's what's been going on in my world! Nothing new on the dieting front. Still maintaining at 180. (I refuse to say plateauing at 180 from this point forward. Plateauing makes it sound like I'm failing. But if I am maintaining, then I am finding incredible success! I could seriously stand to have a win in my corner this month. Especially with Mother Nature breathing down my neck. 2 more days and I will get to mess with Always AND Monistat! Yippee!!!)

What's going on in your world? Anything awesome or inspiring? Feel free to share!

A "Demi" Glaze

Weekend Video Update

I should know by now to do my hair and makeup before pouring out my heart. Sigh...