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...

Always walking the line....

You all know me well enough by now to realize every good “get back on dieting track” blog post means a trip to the grocery store. Today is no exception.

I dropped the kids off at school, and decided that I ought to get the groceries out of the way. I putted over to Walmart, as Matt and I are now strictly adhering to a budget, and started my journey into the land of Rollbacks.

Pushing my cart, which was filling up quicker than a 120 pound woman at the Olive Garden, I realized that I had forgotten an important thing. A VERY important thing I ALWAYS forget.

Had I been wearing black pants, I wouldn’t have cared. But I was wearing light grey sweatpants. If I had gone home first, I would have remembered to take care of this “thing.” But of course, in the throws of making every trip count to conserve my drastically reduced gas budget, I did not.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, I am somewhat of a space cadet lately. I can't seem to pull everything together. It’s not like I am forgetting important things- like feeding my family- it’s annoying stuff like putting clothes from the washer to the dryer. Or putting a pad in my purse. Or in my unders at all, as this morning’s tale proves.

Yep, I have become Forgetful Francis.

But I had already done ¾ of the grocery shopping by the time I realized I had no Always to fall back on, and I willed my uterus to shut the doors till I was done. I was not going to leave a cart brimming to the top with groceries for some poor soul to put back. I only had a few more items to get, so I did what any woman in this situation does.

I hurried.

And when I got to the line, there were about 25 shoppers, who also seemed to be in a hurry, with carts as full as mine. Of course, as Murphy’s Law would dictate, only 2 lanes were open.

So I stood. And I waited. And I panicked a little bit.

Because I knew that the light grey of my sweatpants would not hold my secret safe for long. And that’s when I saw my (well meaning) cousin behind me. He’s in his 60’s, and everytime I come to Walmart in a rush, he’s there. It’s not that I minded talking to him. He’s funny.

What I minded was that I had things on the bottom rack of my cart, and was going to have to bend over with him standing behind me.

I gracefully attempted to do a “I’m meeting the queen” curtsey with my legs crossed. Bend from the knees, Charlie, bend from the knees…

At which point, I was so worried about keeping my butt from being seen that as I qwazi bent from the knees, I cracked my head on the cart.

THWACK!!!

And then, of course, EVERYONE in Walmart was looking at me. Exactly what I needed. Better than being accused of shoplifting, I suppose, but embarrassing none the less.

I got my groceries and myself into the safety of my van, where I KNEW I had a pad stashed in the glove compartment. I hastily looked around, saw that no one was near, and I pulled the wrapper off the pad and lifted up out of the driver’s seat, to stick it in my unders. Then I wiggled and squirmed as I attempted to get the wings on. I don’t know if you have ever attempted to apply an Always in the front seat of your car while keeping your pants on and half sitting down, but I don’t advise it. Unless you are due for a Brazilian wax. Apparently I was.

And just as I got situated, I realized there was an old man in the car next to me, waiting for his wife to finish shopping. His eyes were as big as dinner plates. I am seriously hoping it was from the extreme cataracts he had. (Please, God, let him have had cataracts!)

Was the trip really worth the bananas and fruit and healthy food I got?

Not when I realized I forgot to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy on the way home.

Sigh......

Back from Break at Breakneck Speed

To say that last week was one of the toughest weeks of my life would be an understatement of epic proportions. Not only was our family dealing with my Gma Bush’s death, we were also dealing with:

1. 8 performances in 6 days of Snow White and Friends.

2. Mama here stage managing 6 performances of the 8.

3. Racy Tracy having major surgery.

4. Teaching kids about loss and death.

5. Matt and I being emotionally distraught.

6. Constantly checking on Margaret the Saint, my brothers, and other family members to make sure they were doing ok.

7. Me writing a song and a eulogy for Gma’s service.

8. Dealing with a serious throat infection and sinusitis.

9. PMS. I was due for another round of Mother Nature’s wrath during this time.

10. Trying not to fall apart at any given moment.


So it should be no surprise that my house was hit by a tornado, I have what feels like millions of emails to catch up on, and I am missing most reasonable things in my pantry that resemble respectable and proper diet food.

What I can tell you is that I received such an outpouring of love from my readers! Not one single day passed when I didn’t get an encouraging email or phone call from someone who was sending me extra love and prayers. You all kept me afloat. And that is not an exaggeration in the slightest. I cannot thank you enough for reaching out to me, even though I was unable to reach back. Your expressions of love to me were amazing, and it has done nothing but bolster my resolve.

In otherwords, we are jumping back into the dieting game.

One of the most amazing things happened this last week that changed everything. I guess losing someone you love will either break you, or make you stronger. I chose to find life in death.

I saw all the people who knew and loved my Gma come to pay their respects. They talked about how hard she worked, her work ethic, and how she didn’t make excuses. She just made the impossible happen.

Perhaps I am making a stretch here to think that something like that could be genetic. It’s probably not. But I am running on the hope that it is. I can DO THIS. I can finish losing the weight. (Which by the way, to get to my goal of 138, I need to lose 43 more pounds. I’m sitting today at 181. Emotional eating. It’s a b---h.) If nothing else, I KNOW that I can do this. Really and truly. Here’s how I know.

Last week before the funeral and visitation, as I was painting the toenails of all my female family members (and a few brave male big toes) to match Gma’s pedicure- an idea Margaret the Saint had- I realized that there was a song in me. A song about Gma that needed to be sung. And I decided to sing it. At her funeral.

If you have ever met me in person, then you are privy to a vital piece of information. I cry at the drop of a hat. Always have. When I cry, I am unable to sing. Or butcher a piano accompaniment as I usually do.

I tried to figure out a way to record the song for Gma’s service ahead of time, so I wouldn’t lose it. But every attempt failed. And I cried out to God.

“Lord, I can’t do this! I might as well forget it, because I can’t handle this. I am unable to sing this song.”

And that was when I heard that still small voice I usually ignore.

“Then you will have to lean on me and trust that I can do this for you.”

And that was the end of that. I sat on my bed in disbelief, wondering how in the world God could part the waters of my grief- and hold back the flood of tears I so desperately wanted to cry. So I prayed that God would get me through that song. And knowing that I couldn’t pray hard enough myself, I sent out an SOS to my favorite prayer warriors- the girls that pray for me at the drop of a hat. I knew that I also wanted to speak at her funeral, but I had no idea what I wanted to say. And as soon as I sent out a Facebook message to the finest prayer warriors this side of heaven, God answered my call, and the words flowed out of me onto my computer like butter.

I had my song, I had my message. I just had to get through it all without losing my mind.

So I prayed. And I practiced. And when the fan in my bedroom was blowing the music off my keyboard, causing me much frustration, and I couldn’t find the tape, I grabbed an Always out of my purse and stuck it on the top of the music and attached it to my keyboard. And it made me giggle. Because that is something Gma would have done in my situation. You make due with what you have. And I looked up to the heavens (which resembled my ceiling at that moment) at said “Jesus, I hope you let Gma look at this, because she will laugh her butt off!” and I kept right on going.

I asked my girls to pray me to Noon on Thursday- to hold back my tears till then. And you know what?

I got through the funeral. And I didn't fall apart! Then Thursday noon came and went.

And I felt peace.

Oh, I felt utter despair, but I also felt unexplainable peace. I know that’s an oxymoron- like jumbo shrimp or plastic silverware, but I felt peace amid the sorrow. And I cried a little bit, but God has sustained me. Every moment since.

Girls, as far as the dieting goes, I need to tell you that I lost that dependence on God to sustain me through to the end goal. I started acting high and mighty like I could handle this all myself.

Like if I worked hard enough, I could do it. I could get to 138 on my own.

And I am here to tell you that I was wrong. I need to ask for your forgiveness. Because if I have led you to believe that we can do this if we are determined enough, then I have sinned.

The truth is- we can’t do it.

We can have moderate success I suppose. But the reality of dieting is that it is just like every other sin we face in our lives. We need help dealing with it. Otherwise it becomes an idol to us. And God will stop it in it’s tracks. Because HE is ELOHIM. He is our Jehovah Jireah. He is our sole provider. Nothing we can do will ever be close to what He will do- if we humble ourselves and cry out to Him.

I am not trying to give you all a sermon here, but I felt it is important to share this truth with you. Because we are in this dieting business together. And we cannot do it on our own.

I know that now. He parted the waters of my grief this last week and made a way for His work to be done, despite my humanity. He came down with His mighty Right Arm and held me tight. And I’m not leaving this place anytime soon.

So I am praying my prayer once again- a prayer that I had lost 7 months ago, right about the time I stopped losing weight. And if you want, you can pray it too. It’s been tweeked a little bit, but goes a little something like this:

Heavenly Father-
I can’t do this. I cannot lose the weight. Not unless you help me. I seek your forgiveness for ever thinking I could do it on my own. I need You to make this happen. Give me wisdom to make good decisions about what I put in my mouth. I pray You would give me an attitude of humility, and guard my body against the temptations of fast food, oreos, and high fat entrees. When I am feeling weak, I ask that You would place Your hand over my mouth and keep me from blowing the day. I know I will make mistakes, but let my mistakes be minimal- let them not throw me off track very far. If I experience failure with the diet, or have a bad week, I pray that You would halt any negative self talk- no failure is a true failure if we learn from it. And hitting a plateau does not mean that WE- You and I- can’t do this together. It just means we need to work harder and draw closer to one another. As I experience success, I ask that You would remind me to give You all the glory. This is Your miracle. Not mine. And I thank you for choosing me to walk this road- I pray that I surrender in obedience, even when Food Network has me by the throat. I cannot do this on my own, and I humbly call out to You- guide me on this dieting journey. In Jesus Name- AMEN.

The Goodbye

My Gma Bush passed away yesterday morning.

I feel relief- because she is out of pain now and her body is now perfect in the arms of Jesus.

I feel sorrow- because losing someone you love will do that to you.

I feel numb- because… I don’t know why. I spent so much time crying last week I seem to be out of tears. I’m sure that will change. But for now, I’m holding my own.

I feel tired- I couldn’t sleep enough.

I feel hungry- I’m finding out just how much of an emotional eater I am. This is going to set me back a month at least. Gma would smack me upside the head if she was still here. Lucky for my head, she isn’t.

Most of all, I feel loss. The hurting kind. But Gma would be happy that she is missed so much already. She was a drama queen just like me. She loved people falling all over her. So a good amount of grief seems fitting.

I will be taking this week off from blogging. We have a lot of things to do- the girls are going to be in their first play this week. Every day during school. They will have to miss Thursday for the funeral, but other than that, they have 7 performances to get through this week. And Tim is struggling with the idea of death. Matt and I are going to do our best to support the kids through this confusing time. And Matt has a hot mess on his hands with me. Pray for him to have strength and wisdom of how to deal with his wife.

Thank you all for your prayers and encouragement through this difficult time.

Every word you have said is sincerely appreciated.

Hot Pink Conversations

Dear Gma,

I guess it was about the summer of 2004 when I became the head honcho of your pedicure department. I remember you had just come home from the hospital where you used up what I calculate to be #6 of your 9 lives, and we were sitting in the kitchen, running our mouths as usual.

“I need my toe nails cut.”

“Want me to do that for you, Gma?”

“Sure. While you are at it, why don’t you paint them too?”

And that was how the hot pink conversations began. We determined that if we painted your toes a fun (somewhat racy for an older broad) color, that we would talk about whatever we wanted. Anything goes during hot pink time. That was also the first time I called you Ethel. (Even though your name is Winnie.)

So we did. We ran our mouths and solved all the world’s problems- but never our own- during pedicure time. And we have continued that tradition. Every year about this time, your toe nails get a hot pink infusion of life.

Last night, I learned that you are starting hospice. And that from this point on, you will no longer receive IV fluids. You don't want to eat or drink anymore, so I know that we are on the final countdown. You aren’t going to be here on this earth much longer.

Needless to say I had a stiff drink after that realization. And I went to sleep early.

When I woke up this morning, I had such an incredible peace in my heart! I knew what I had to do. I had to go give you one more pedicure.

That’s exactly what I did. You were resting so peacefully, and hardly moved at all!

(Except when I accidentally tickled your toes a little bit. Sorry ‘bout that.)

And I talked to you. Just like always. Well, I toned it down, because you have a roommate at the nursing home. I didn’t want to freak her out with our “colorful” conversations.

Cause that is something you are famous for. Not that you swear every other word, but that you put a hilarious spin on things. You make off the wall analogies, pepper in some folksy words, and 9 times out of 10, I will learn something about life I did not know before.

But today, I didn’t get lippy, per the usual. I talked quietly about the kids and what they are doing, talked about the flowers that are starting to grow, and showed off these awesome nail color pens that dry quick.

And I gave you a manicure…. Yeah, your nails now look better than mine.

And even though I couldn’t trim your toenails today, I gave you a pedi to beat the band with.


When you get to heaven in a few days, Jesus is going to tell you how good your toes look, I just know it! Not that a pedi will impress the Big Guy or anything, but He appreciates art and creativity- it’s all part of the Imago Dei.

Then I brushed your hair, because if nothing else- being hopped up on morphine is no excuse to look disheveled. And then I snapped a pic of us. You even opened your eyes for a moment!



(I think you wanted to verify that I was blubbering like a baby and there wasn’t a beached whale in your room. You may be drugged up, but we ALL KNOW that you are still micromanaging us. Trust me. We are well aware.)


As I prepared to go, I thought about all the things I wanted to make sure and tell you while we had a minute alone. Just us. (And your potentially nosey roommate a curtain away.)

And that’s when it hit me like a lead balloon.

There is nothing I want to tell you that we haven’t said already. We have spent the bulk of my adult life being frank with each other. We have always been the kinds of women that speak our minds. We don’t mince words, and we say our peace. It amused me to no end last Saturday evening, which was your last good day, and you said, “I don’t believe I talk to my granddaughter like this.” (We were talking about sex, one of our favorite topics.) I don’t believe we had that kind of a relationship either, Gma.

But I am so thankful we did.

You were the one who told me to start writing. You were the one who taught me the valuable lesson of hiding from the world every 3 or 4 days, and how that helps keep us sane. You were the one who told me “It takes more energy to cry than to laugh. Sometimes you have to cry, but you are always better off if you can laugh about it.” That, Gma, is my life motto. And let’s just say right now I have a lot of laughing to catch up on.

I walked out of the nursing home, bawling because this sucks, and I got into my crappy van. I looked in the rear view mirror, and discovered that the tissues you have in your room had exploded all over my face. I looked like I had cut my eyeballs shaving and stuck toilet paper on them. And my nose. And I looked down at my boobs and they were covered with paper wads. There was lint and tissue everywhere.

If you would have seen me at that moment, I was such a pathetic sight, you would have laughed your butt off.

I know I sure did.

Crazy on Saturday

It’s really hard when you are losing someone you love. Sometimes you just don’t know how to cope with it.

My Grandma, who is my kindred spirit, my genetic personality twin, is losing ground. Fast.

Today I sat with her at the hospital, and she curled up next to me and cried. Because it hurts. And knowing that she is in pain is tearing me up inside.

I am at that point of wishing for her sake that she would go home. Not to this home, but to heaven home. Grandma never was a Christian her entire life. But last Thursday, she became one. And we rejoiced over that! What a blessing knowing that we would see her again on the other side!

But then the reality hit me- now she is ready to go home. Am I prepared to let her go from this life?

If I was brutally honest with you, I would share that this has been a crisis of faith for me. The preacher in me is ready for her to go- to a new body, to see her loved ones, to share in the glory of Christ.

But the brat in me wants her to get better. Because she is my GMA. The one who makes me laugh and tells me how to do things better (in a loving way). The one who always swats my butt with a firm love pat.

You all may have noticed that I have been quiet lately. It’s because I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to encourage folks. Because I don’t feel encouraged myself. I can’t share peace with you, because I am struggling to find peace. I’m not acting hopeful, because I don’t know WHAT to hope for.

What I do know, and don’t doubt for a second- is that God is in control. He has never moved. He has not left my side (or Grandma’s, for that matter) and will never leave. I must choose to see Him. I have to look until I find Him. Not because He has moved far away, but because I was the one who wandered.

This last week, I read the book PLAN B, and it revolutionized how I am thinking. If I told you I was having a bad week, it would be an understatement.

Gma is sick. The paycheck didn’t go as far as it should have. My ex-husband is causing me grief like you wouldn’t believe. And I am hitting bottom.

The good news here is that I am free to rest in the truth that God is controlling it all. Things are not necessarily going to work out in my favor with any of these situations. I would be foolish to think that the blanket of Christ’s love absolves me of any pain and suffering. In fact, that is the way He purifies me and makes me draw closer to Him.

In the book Plan B, the author Pete Wilson describes many reactions to the times in life we have gone from a Plan A situation to a Plan B. I am going to lose points on eloquence here, because I cannot describe to you the healing I experienced reading this book. I have often felt like my entire life has been a Plan B. Nothing ever works out the way I thought it would in my mind. And that fact has crushed me time and time again.

But it also introduced me to the idea that we worship our dreams. We focus on those aspects of our life and ignore all the others. Ladies, I have so many idols in my life, I could line them up on my block and would probably have to use both sides of the street. And that was a wakeup call that I needed desperately. In this season of my life, I don’t need to carry around anything but my Jesus.

I am making a commitment to honesty- and it’s not fun to admit these things. Right now, I am experiencing depression, grief, frustration, and have been turning inward for solace. Instead, I am going to lean on my own type of community. The Big Butt community. I am going to be brave and tell you that there is no shame what so ever in feeling these emotions. I can be angry, I can be hurt, I can cry. Because God experiences those emotions too. There are many passages in the Bible that describe the emotional state of God- He feels sorrow, jealousy, malice, and hurt. He dreams- God Himself is working toward His own dream of a world that is healed, a world at peace. The only emotion God does not feel is FEAR.

So as I am going through a time of considerable Plan B living, I am going to be rocked with emotions. But I will do my best to keep fear of the unknown at bay. The cross gives me license to live, the empty tomb promises that fear of tomorrow is useless. It may be the Saturday when I can’t see what is happening.

But Easter Sunday is coming. And God’s got everything under control.

Interested in learning more about the book Plan B by Pete Wilson? Check out this Promo!

Conquering ChaLEAN

Want an update on my pain? You will have to go to my Flab to FAB page!!!

Pictures of days gone by

So I have been feeling very BLAH about the whole aspect of dieting lately. This has been my diet for the past 2 weeks.

I eat very well in the morning. Late lunch, then the kids come home from school. I buzz around for the next 6 hours- making dinner, helping with homework, running to rehearsals and baseball practices/games, and the kids finally go to bed. At which point, I want something filling, tasty and fast. That usually means I load up on unhealthy stuff right before bed time.

And I wonder why I am so frustrated with my scale! (ahem, 180 yesterday morning. Yep, I am back up again.)

My mom, Margaret the saint, knows I have been in a slump. And she shared something incredible with me.

“Maybe weighing 180 pounds at the moment isn’t so bad. Look how far you’ve come!”
And then, I saw these…

For the first time, I realized how far I have really come.

Sure, there are the weight loss pics that I have looked at all the time. I am kinda used to those shots. I am immune to them. But when I saw what was on Margaret the Saint’s camera, it took me completely off guard.

All of these shots are from fall of 2008. When I was at my heaviest. And I wasn’t weighing myself anymore. When I was so filled with shame about my weight that I didn’t care what I wore. Cause it wouldn’t make any difference to how I looked.

Maybe these pics are just the wake up call that I needed. Cause I have been in a slump that has lasted forever. At least it feels like it’s been forever. I need to stop whining about what I am NOT doing, and look at what I HAVE ALREADY DONE!

I don’t have much more to share, it’s been a heck of a week already. But I am going to look at these pictures again and again, realizing that this is completely doable. I’ve done it to the halfway point. Now I gotta get it in gear and work on the last half.

What inspires YOU to change?

A Shocking Self Expose- like ants at a picnic

After 20 years of living in secret shame, I have decided that today is the day I am breaking the silence. What you are about to read is one of the most shockingly honest and brutal posts you will ever read from me. And researching this particular topic, there are no records anywhere. This has NEVER been the topic of even the juiciest girlie conversations. Instead, women have been living in secret shame with this ailment.

And I am determined to speak up about it.

I’m sure you are all waiting with baited breath to know what this topic is. But first, to set it up properly, I need to tell you about my dream last night. Trust me, I need to ease into this one.

Gotta work up my own courage.

I was at a picnic on a beautiful plot of land in Ireland. Matt and I were sitting on the quintessential checkerboard red and white picnic blanket, and we were eating what could only be described as a “French Feast”- wine, cheese, fruit, and proper baguettes. Like all good dreamy picnics, there was romance in the air. Until I felt the ants.

Funny thing was, the ants weren’t crawling just anywhere. Nope, there were only crawling down the crack of my rear. Not the blanket, not on the food, just marching up and down the hills of my rumpus. And in my dream, I scratched and scratched to make them go away. As the picnic there on that green Irish hill pressed on, I did my best to rid myself of the little boogers.


Finally, the alarm went off, and I woke up.


THAT’S WHEN IT HAPPENED.


Period Fingers.


(I told you this was shocking.)


It looked as if my finger had spent the entire night participating in Fight Club- it was crusty and yucky with dried mess that does not just wash off with soap and water. No ma’am, you have to take a toothbrush to the corners of your fingernails, entirely cut away the cuticle, and then soak your finger in peroxide to remove the remains of your problem.

Period fingers are an epidemic.


And to my knowledge, I have never heard another woman discuss, address, or even ADMIT that it happens to her.


But after 20 years of waking up with it- sometimes on my left hand, sometimes on my right, never more than 2 fingers at a time- I figure this is kinda like belly button hair.


SURELY I am not the only one out there who deals with this.

In my quest to talk about all things women contend with in secret, bringing unity to women everywhere, I feel that this is a momentous day for all of us. To bring such a secret topic to the light, and face it together.

I will be the first to admit that I love a good French manicure. But when it’s time for Mother Nature, I grab the closest bottle of dark nail polish I can find knowing full well that period fingers is going to occur. I still wash and scrub my hands, but for some reason, the “product” of that time of the month seems to stain only things I don’t want it too. Like my mattress, or the one pair of white cotton unders I own that are not previously stained. (And let’s face it. Nothing will bring a period faster than a brand new pair of drawers.) And for some reason, the light pretty colors of nail polish I like seem to turn a little yellow after an episode of period fingers. Therefore, I have a hefty collection of blues, browns and garnet reds. They are worn for a week at a time.

I know, this is totally disgusting. But it is a topic that has bothered me for years. And I don’t want my daughters growing up with the same self inflicted trauma that I have dealt with. I want them to know that this is completely normal. But I can’t get ANYONE to talk about it.

So now is your opportunity. If you deal with period fingers too, let me know. I won’t be bothered if you put a comment on here under the anonymous setting. I understand. This is pretty taboo. But I think we could all stand to speak up about this. Mostly so I don’t get irritated when I have to deal with it yet again tomorrow morning.

And before some well meaning woman suggests that I wear a tampon at night, I grew up old school- you don’t wear tampons to bed if you can help it. And having known a few girls who have had TSS, I take tampon (and even Diva Cup) safety very seriously. And frankly, you should too.

So- am I the ONLY ONE?

Graduated steps

This morning I watched my big brother walk across a stage and graduate from college. He just has one test left to pass and he will officially be a nurse.

And although it was hectic getting to the graduation on time for me (I thought it was at 11am, but it was at 10:30- I discovered that at 10:12 while still in my jammies) I am so glad I didn’t miss this important day in his life.

Jason has been working on graduating from college for a long time. He has taken breaks to be deployed in the US Army in places like Iraq and Kosovo, he spent time in Germany, and has been sent to places here in the states when disasters strike. He has worked at going to school through the birth of 3 children, the adoption of 1, and making sure his little sister didn’t jump off the deep end. :) With all the distractions and life changes going on around him, he studied and wrote and worked towards graduation.

And as I watched him walk across that stage, and heard him get the loudest applause of anyone else graduating, (which he completely deserved, by the way) I realized something important.

It is not that we hit our goals quickly. It is that we always keep the end goal in mind.

If Jason had stopped and looked at all the crazy stuff going on around him, graduating might have looked impossible. He has a learning disability, and while he knows EVERYTHING there is to know about medicine (and he does. Just ask him, and you will get more gory details than you bargained for!!!) he has a hard time translating the things he knows into writing. And when you are a college student, trouble with writing makes things doubly difficult. Throw on top of that a healthy case of A.D.H.D., and you can imagine how tough learning could be for him. But anyone who has ever met Jason knows how smart he is, and how he cares about people. I have never met anyone who loves getting to know other folks as much as Jason does. He has this knack for being- what some might consider- the loveable underdog. And you can’t help but root for him to succeed. Maybe this process of graduating took him longer than it would others who didn’t have a career that takes you far from home 16 months at a time, or someone without 4 kids may have done it faster, and you could say that someone without any difficulty in learning might have breezed right through this program.

But walking across that stage today, he wore the same cap and gown (or “dress” as his son Trace put it) as everyone else. The end result was exactly the same. AND, even though we (my two brothers and I) still tease and give each other crap like we are kids, I know that there was not a prouder sister sitting in that auditorium full of people today. Jason not only reached his goal, but he has more life experience than anyone who received their diploma today.

I know that I get frustrated about my own goal. There is this part of me that wants to be thin now. I want to have lost 100 pounds today. But I think I need to take a lesson from my big brother on this one. Life is going to interrupt the best of plans. There are going to be celebrations with cake, and picnics with potato salad. There are going to be moments on the journey that I don’t want to miss. As I continue on this process of losing weight that seems to be taking forever, I look back over the last few months and see the things that I have accomplished. There is nothing I would change. And although I wasn’t losing weight, or getting closer to my goal at that moment, I was LIVING. I need to stop apologizing that this is taking longer than I anticipated, and learn to enjoy the ride a little bit more. I need to be more like Jason.

I can count calories and walk myself across this town and back until I can’t see straight. Or I can try to be better about incorporating healthy decisions in the moment. I can take walks with our daughters and talk. Sure, I may not get 3 miles in. But our daughters will remember those times that we were able to connect. I can play baseball with our son, and end up not getting a workout at all. But when he is older, he will know that Mom made time for him with the things that were important to him.

I have always had this mindset about dieting- you deny yourself and work hard. But today, I am here to tell you that I was wrong. It is not about that at all.

It’s about learning to weave it all together- life, food, exercise- and keep working at it till you hit your goal. Never forgetting the end game, but learning to play somewhere in the middle.

Jason, I am so very proud of you. You worked at your goal, and you got there. I didn't realize till today how much I look up to you. And how amazing you looked in that navy blue dress.

I love you, Bro- and you DID IT!