Where's Charlie Been?

I know I've been quiet lately. Just laying low. Not much to talk about on the diet front or the baby front. Just maintaining my weight loss (give or take a few pounds) and waiting for the next period to show up so we can try for a baby again.

In the meantime, I started a new blog. Just something to keep my mind sharp and to challenge me. You should go check it out!

www.alittleoffcolor.com

I'll keep you guys posted over here as soon as anything changes. Till then, I'll be at A Little Off Color doing my thing.

With much love-

Charlie

(R)Ode to Joy

I’m not afraid to admit it.

I am a bit overly emotional right now.

It’s not like I can’t function in life. I’m not in that place.

It’s just that it hurts. It hurts a lot.

I made the statement on Facebook the other day that “Joy is a choice, forever and always.” And I mean that with every fiber of my being.

That doesn’t mean, however, that choosing joy is easy. Sometimes it’s the hardest decision you can make.

This afternoon, I was having a small pity party. I invited me, myself, and I. Which is more than enough for this type of shindig. After having an ultrasound this morning, talking to the doctor, and having to come home and process all the information I got, my heart felt like it was going to explode. Oh sure, I was pleasant enough at the appointment. But after coming home, I felt the finality of it all.

I sat on the couch, folding laundry and watching House Hunters International. Every couple minutes I would get lost in this zone of pain. Where your mind feels like you are swimming in sorrow. Just knowing that I’m emptying out my heart, soul and womb at the same time leaves a woman feeling broken. I’m sure everyone reading this has experienced this type of hurt at some point or another in their lives. I know you all can relate to this place I was finding myself.

The problem with pain is that the more you think about it and give into it, the harder it hurts. That goes for emotional pain as well as physical. I knew that I needed to get off the couch and just do something different.

So I went outside to pick up trash in our yard.

It’s not that it’s OUR trash in the yard… the corner we live on has this weird wind vortex that blows all the neighborhood trash onto my sidewalk. Plus people are idiots and throw litter on the ground like the world is their dumpster.

Anyhoo, the wind vortex was blowing like mad today, and after I noticed candy wrappers, a shoebox and some empty cups had blown into our yard, it kinda got me frustrated. So I went out and started picking up OPT (Other People’s Trash). Meanwhile, I was having a conversation with God that sounded really whiney and annoying. Something like this.

“God, people are so stupid. Why don’t they realize how what they toss aside ends up as somebody else’s problem? And people don’t only do it with trash. They do it with other people’s feelings. Speaking of feelings, I know that people know what is going on in our world, and I know folks are praying for us. But right now, I just feel alone. Which I know that I am not alone. But in this singular moment of my day, I feel alone. I feel like all this hurt is welling up inside me and there’s not a trash vortex for me to dump it. I can’t process anything because THIS HURTS TOO MUCH.”

At which point in my very one sided conversation, I was almost to the point of starting the ugly cry.

And that happened to be when I looked at the particular piece of trash in my hand.

Dang it.

Because in that desperate moment of frantic grasping for understanding, I WASN’T CHOOSING JOY.

In fact, I was squelching it. Squashing it like a bug.

The tricky thing about joy is that it’s not always obvious. Sometimes you have to search for it. Sometimes it’s a needle in a haystack. Sometimes it’s a gosh darn speck of dust in the universe.

BUT JOY IS ALWAYS OUT THERE TO BE HAD.

I’m gonna be honest kids. I don’t know today how to be joyful about my current situation. Specifically, I know this means we “can” get pregnant again, and I know God has a plan, and I “know” that this stuff happens when there might be something really wrong with the embryo and it’s for your own good. I got that stuff covered.

Yet I think I’m being too hard on myself. I’m trying to be specific with my joy, when it simply needs to be general.

God doesn’t ask me to be “OK” when things are going all wonky in my life, but to trust that HE is ok and can be trusted to see me through. I can be hurt and cry and mourn during this season. It’s ok for me to be vulnerable with my heart for a little bit. It’s ok for me to admit that I am struggling, or that I could really use a long drive with sad music playing and have myself a good cleansing cry.

What God does ask me to do is to be joyful that not every season of my life will feel like this. To know without a doubt that this hurt is temporary. To take Him at His word that He’s gonna catch me if I fall down. To trust Him that He will pick me up and be the lifter of my head.

I love that phrase. “He is the lifter of our head.” It makes me imagine that I am sitting on the floor crying, and He kneels down to where I am, puts a finger under my chin, and gently lifts up my tear soaked face so I am looking right into His eyes.

And in that moment He says something like “It’s all going to be OK. Because I have overcome the world.”

For this moment, that is my general joy. God, somehow, has got this covered. I don’t understand it, and I certainly don’t enjoy going through it, but He’s got this.

Nobody ever said the road to joy was an easy one to choose. Nor is it an easy one to walk. But if we can choose it, and if we continue walking it, we will eventually walk ourselves to a better place than we ever dreamed we could be. All of those road blocks we face today will be distant memories tomorrow.

So to the best of my human ability, I’m going to continue choosing joy. Even when it hurts, even when it doesn’t make sense.

This is my rODE to joy.

Charlie, God, and the Pregnant Pause

Dear God,

If there was ever a week a woman needed a straight jacket, it would be this week of my life. We’ve suffered heartache after heartache. Tears have fallen until there were no more tears left under the sun.

Honestly, God, I’m used to things not really going our way. As much as I wish everything would go as I planned, they just don’t.

And I’m not gonna pretend like everything is ok, because it’s not.

This hurts.

But in all things, I am choosing to trust that YOUR way is better.

This pregnancy is ending. My HCG numbers have fallen beyond hope, and this morning I have started spotting.

HEARTBREAK.

Holy Father, while this heart is broken, let me pour out everything within it. Purify my heart while it’s wide open. Look closely to see what needs to be restored, what could be softened, what could be strengthened. Do not let this time of hurt be in vain of the wonderful things you could do. Let this pregnant pause grow something greater in my life than I ever dreamed. And if it is not a little duck today, then let me grow in my relationship with you.

Sweet Jesus, in the midst of our hurt, let me be a light. Let me point people to the hope I have in YOU. This world comes at us from all sides, twisting and turning our emotions until we can’t breathe. Situations rise up from nowhere, testing our resolve.

Do not let my resolve be moved.

I AM FOR YOU. I AM FOR WHAT YOU WANT FOR MY LIFE. I AM FULLY CAPABLE OF HANDLING MY HEART BREAKING, BECAUSE I KNOW THAT YOU WILL KNIT IT BACK TOGETHER. I KNOW THAT YOUR NAIL SCARRED HANDS HOLD THIS SHATTERED HEART.

I am not considering my current situation the end. This moment of life You are proving to me once again that YOUR LOVE IS ENOUGH. Because I trust that You are for me, I know that You have fully equipped me to find solace and peace and comfort. It is only by Your miraculous grace that I can come to terms with the state of my life today.

Today I choose joy. I choose joy joy joy that you loved our family enough to tell us no, not yet.

I often think about the times when the kids ask for really big expensive stuff. I know it’s not in their best interest to give it to them. Sometimes we want them to work towards those things. Sometimes Matt and I want to be the ones who give it to them, surprising them just because they are loved. I know they don’t like to feel the disappointment of being told no, but with each and every no they hear, there are loving parents who are teaching them that getting a NO doesn’t mean no-not-ever, it just means that we want you to feel the full impact of this gift. That it will mean something more to you because you had to wait.

And as I think about those times, I see clearly how Your love is so much like that.  Maybe this is something You want us to work towards. Maybe You want to pour down such spontaneous blessing on our lives JUST BECAUSE YOU LOVE US, but we need to wait for You to make that move.

Whatever the reason is You are telling us no today, I thank You. I will embrace this moment as a sign of Your love and favor upon our lives, that we would be purified again and again during our lives. When we are broken to the point of barely hanging on, that is never a sign of Your anger or proof that You have abandoned us as some might think. It means that You love us so deeply, so completely that You want to pull us close and hold us tightly as we cry. You want MORE for our lives than what we presently have. Your love is closer than ever when our world falls apart, and the bigger the damage path, the deeper we will find Your love goes.

I WILL PRAISE YOU THROUGH THE TEARS.

And through this heartbreak, I will wait for what YOU have for this family.

I wait for the LORD, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope. - Psalm 130:5   

How Charlie managed to spend 3 days in utter confusion and come out ok on the other side

(Today’s post is lengthy. Just wanted you to know ahead of time.)

So it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged.

It’s not that I’ve wanted to keep the nutty life of Charlie from any of you, it’s just that I’ve had a LOT going on lately. It’s showchoir season, and the kids’ schedules are packed with activities. There are few nights when we are all home and can enjoy the company of each other. My days have been packed with trips to school, sewing costumes, running to the store, and my latest obsession:

Peeing on sticks.

As you all know, we are trying to get preggers, and I have to tell you the urge to see a positive test has been a bit like my obsession with the scale once was. CONSUMING. And that’s the reason for today’s story.

So on Saturday afternoon, I still had not started my period. Which is good. I had been taking pregnancy tests that whole week leading up to the day my period was expected, but they all turned out negative, except for the one on Friday morning, which (not even kidding) turned polka dotted. (Faulty test, I assume) After a trip to the store to grab some dog food, I picked up one more box of pregnancy tests. And I got home and took one.

Faintly positive….

Of course, Matt and I are now jaded about faintly positive tests ever since the mysterious orb fiasco last year. Plus last month we had one that was faintly positive as well. But the more the test sat there, the more positive it looked.

We decided that a digital test might be a better option.

So I ran to Walgreens, got a pack of 2 digital tests, stopped to show Julia the faintly positive test (which she agreed looked positive indeed) and came back home. I took the next test.

And it said… (exhibit A)

Which just left us in shock. I mean we always knew it was going to happen, but still when it actually does happen you are kind of in shock. We agreed that the next morning I would take the remaining digital test before we allowed ourselves to get excited.

Sunday morning, I peed in a cup with my first morning’s urine, then went back to sleep for a couple hours. After Matt and I both got up, I dipped the digital test in the oldish pee and we waited. Those 3 minutes were taking forever.

And finally the answer popped up.

“Not Pregnant.”

What? But I was so sure!!!!! And I felt like I was pregnant! Plus, mother nature was still MIA!

At that point, the obsession part took over my head (Or perhaps a surge of undetermined pregnancy horror-moans) and I went to the walmarts on a mission. After consulting the website www.peeonastick.com I tried to gather the most accurate tests I could find. Multiple packs.

I went up to the cashier who looked at me like I had lost my mind.

“I’m getting mixed results” I said quietly.

“Why don’t you just go to the doctor?” she asked, kinda snarky-like.

Sigh… “Because it’s Sunday.”

I took my bag full of tests and went home.

After peeing in a cup, I began the frantic routine of unwrapping and dipping. Setting the timer.

And THEY ALL CAME UP POSITIVE.

(See? Exhibit B)

So Matt and I started to get a little giddy. And when the kids got home we told them that while it still has to be confirmed by a doctor, it looks like we are pregnant. And joy swept over this house.

Now, fast forward to Monday afternoon.

I stopped by the kids’ school to drop off a few things, and one of the 5^th graders was standing in the office. She looked at me and smiled.

“I heard you are pregnant!”

Whaaaaaa????? I guess I never told the kids to keep it under wraps. Epic mom-fail.

Of course, our secretary (who is awesome, by the way) waited till the girl had left the office and then said “Yeah, we heard that earlier. One of the teachers called me to ask if I’d heard anything, and I hadn’t, so we checked your facebook page to see if you’d mentioned it. But you hadn’t. So?”

“Well, yes, but I’m going to the doctor to get it confirmed.”

More joy bouncing all around!

I left the school and headed to the doctor’s office.

They got all my information, I peed in a cup for them, and went on with the appointment. The doctor (who I also saw during the Mysterious Orb fiasco) didn’t seem to remember me. She was asking lots of questions about the tubal reversal, why I had it done, where, etc. Then one of the nurses walked in with a post-it note. Suddenly the tune of the visit changed.

“What symptoms are you having?”

“Well, besides not getting my period on time or at all, I’m exhausted, my boobs hurt to 11 (**she did NOT get the This is Spinal Tap reference**), and I’m hungry all the time. But mostly I’m just tired. Oh, and bacon doesn’t sound good to me, which is just not normal on so many levels.”

“And you had some urine tests come up positive?”

“Yes, 8 of them.”

“Hmmmmm… because the urine test we just did was negative.”

And that was when my world SLAMMED INTO THE FLOOR.

Suddenly, she seemed to recall I was the woman who thought she was pregnant last year, and you could tell she did not think I was pregnant at all. Like any good hormonally surged woman would do, I whipped out my iphone to show her the picture I showed you above entitled Exhibit B.

“But look- I took all these yesterday, and they are all positive!”  

“That looks expensive.”

REALLY? I AM SITTING HERE TELLING YOU THAT I AM 99.9% SURE I AM PREGNANT AND THIS PICTURE IS GIVING ME ONE OF THE HAPPIEST DAYS OF MY LIFE BUT YOU TELL ME IT LOOKS EXPENSIVE?

Calmly (or at least I tried to be calm about it) I stated, “Can we just do a blood test?”

“Maybe we should wait a couple days and see if you start your period.”

“I’d really rather have the blood test today. I need to know.”

You could tell that she really didn’t think it was necessary. But she ordered it anyway.

And I got my blood work done.

On the way home, after calling Julia and sobbing through the whole fiasco, and leaving a frustrated and cryptic facebook status, I had a talk with God.

“God, this isn’t really fair. I either should be or I shouldn’t be. This middle ground of not knowing things and living in limbo is pushing me over the edge. This whole issue of trust is something we know I’m pretty good at, but today is not the day I can be calm and wait things out. If this is Your timing, then lets go. But if it’s not, please, I can’t be run over the emotional coals about one more issue in my life. I’ve already got enough on my plate. Don’t tease me with maybe you are maybe you aren’t. Not that You are a God who teases, but really, I just need to know one way or the other. Plus if I’m not, I’ve got to go back to the kids’ school and tell them all it was not meant to be. It would be hard, but I could do it. Just get me through this afternoon and let them get my test results back today and not tomorrow. Please God, I’m begging you.”

And the afternoon had no problem dragging by at a snails’ pace. Finally, at 4:30, I called and left a message if they could see if the results were back in.

About 5 minutes later, my friend Carrie called me from the doctor’s office. (It’s good to have a friend behind the counter. Plus, she knows how much we really want this, so her attitude is compassionate and sweet. A total Godsend.)

“Hey girl! Ok, your results are back in.”

Charlie begins taking deep breaths and trying not to pass out from the suspense.

“Anything over 5 is considered pregnant.”

More deep breaths. “OK…”

“You are at 17.”

Doing crazy hormone math in my head. 5 and under is no, and I got more than 5. So that means…

“So it’s positive?”

“Yep, but just barely.”

Barely is good enough for me!!!!!

“Now, you need to come in again on Wednesday, because we need to retest and make sure those numbers are coming up like they should.”

“No problem. I will be there Wednesday morning.”

So that’s where we are.

Barely pregnant, but pregnant. Now the hard part of this process begins.

The risk of having a tubal pregnancy after a tubal reversal is higher than for the majority of women. So we have to make sure the numbers are climbing up (they should be doubling or close to doubling every day for a while) and once my numbers hit between 1500 to 2000 there will be an ultrasound to make sure the baby has attached itself onto my uterine wall and that there’s a heartbeat and everything is ok.

Matt and I talked a lot about what we wanted to do in regards to announcing it and telling people. And frankly, it all came down to this fact.

Blogging and writing is how I process things. I grow, I come to understanding, I arrive at acceptance when I am sharing our lives with you readers. I didn’t want to take this journey without you.

When I began this blog, I didn’t really know if I could lose the weight. It was a journey. Not always good, not always bad, but it was honest and real. I experienced more self acceptance knowing you all were out there, cheering me on, rooting for me. No matter how this experience with our pregnancy ends, because I can’t guarantee anything in life, nor can you, I NEED TO HAVE THE FREEDOM TO SHARE WHAT I AM GOING THROUGH. The good, the bad, the horror-moans, I’m looking forward to taking you all with me. With our family. With the new duck.

So we need your prayers. Prayers that the little duck is where he or she is supposed to be and for high numbers on Wednesday.

Thank you for being such a wonderful and important part of my life. Knowing you are out there makes me see the beauty of the world in a whole new way.

I’m gonna go take a nap now.

Charlie and the Juice Cups

I know.

I have always been very tight lipped when it comes to talking about s.e.x. on this blog. (And that statement right there is a joke unto itself.)

Today, like all of my best intentions, I am going to have to skip my usual protocol and just talk about the heart of the matter. Because according to my facebook poll last night, people don’t care if it’s something that could happen to them or not.

Nope. They just want to hear the story.

And this story is about kittens.

 Kittens to 11.

And if you are squeamish, this is your warning.

STOP READING NOW. I MEAN IT.

Just walk away and imagine I talked about inner strength or ditching my love affair of oreos or something.

For the brave and the bold, continue reading on.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, the fun fact about trying to conceive is that there is no shortage of odd and wacky advice about HOW to get preggers. Move your bed to a south facing wall. Check your cervical mucus for consistency and color. Or, try some (what I have affectionally dubbed) JUICE CUPS.

These juice cups are the same concept as another product I once used and blogged about, which I will never name or talk about again, because there was a woman who called me from their company and proved that she was the mean product nazi and made me cry, then asked me to change some parts of the story so they could use it as something funny to share on their website. (First of all, if you want to use my stuff, don’t ask me to change the story to make your product look superior and me look incompetent. I can do that just fine without assistance. Second of all, you have no right to be uppity about your product- especially because if I use crayons and color in the vague drawings you provided on your instruction manual, it would be porn. All women have the inherent right to complain and joke about menstruation “aides.” It’s our only added bonus to the monthly terror that happens to our abdomens.) (Stepping off of my soap box now)

Back to the juice cups.

Here’s what they are.

Now, how in the world do you use these to assist with trying to get knocked up?

According to the world wide interwebs, you insert the juice cups after “copulation” to keep the semen closer to the cervix.  It’s kinda like playing tag but the person who is IT gets to take a 3 minute head start to catch you. You can then leave them in for 12 hours to insure that the ones playing tag have a successful game.

Now, when it comes to all things girly, I have long felt I was a complete expert. Only because I have learned the hard way how NOT to use certain products. When it comes to new items, I always feel I learned enough from my last disaster to be wise with the new.

This is a fatal flaw that I have dealt with my entire life.

So I dutifully put the box of juice cups next to our bed, ready to use at the right time.

And according to the ovulation predictor, the right time was the other night.

So, after the kids were all tucked in bed and sleeping like rocks, Matt and I snuck away into the safety of our locked tight bedroom for some kittens.

The deed was done (and fun…), and it was time for the juice cups.

I wisely positioned myself into a quazi – headstand on the bed, and grabbed the box. They weren’t opened. Probably should have done that earlier. I opened the box and pulled out the product. Unwrapping it carefully, I looked at it. There is not an easy way to tell which side is up and which side is down. Especially since I was kinda doing a headstand.

Matt, being the amazing husband he is, was trying to decide if he wanted to watch this unfold, or if he wanted to look away. He did a little of both, as you will see.

I determined that I had the correct side upside down, to match my own position, and began to put it in. But it wasn’t easily gliding in to the correct positioning. Something wasn’t right. The plastic-ey bag part started to puff up inside. What the heck was going on?

I made the split second decision to pull it out and try again. Except this time, I was going to stand up and do it.

So I pulled out the juice cup, and rolled over so I could stand.

And THAT was when the air up there started escaping.

There is nothing sexier than a woman quaiffing as she rolls out of bed.

At this point, Matt is trying very hard to hide the giggles he’s got. I believe he had one eye peering out from the covers, watching me from behind tears of muffled laughter, cause this moment was comedy gold.

But funny or not, the clock was ticking, and I was going to get that juice cup where it needed to be.

So there I was, standing with one leg cocked up to Sunday, and the other balancing me on the floor (thank heavens for yoga) and a slippery juice cup in my hand. (You might need to Clorox the eyes of your brain after reading this. My apologies.) And I’m pretty sure I was making that face Michael Jordan made when he was up in the air ready to make a slam dunk.

CONCENTRATE, CHARLIE, CONCENTRATE!

But the harder I concentrated, the tighter my grip would get on the slippery juice cup. And because we all know you cannot tightly hold a slippery fish, the thing started to pop out of my hands.

By this point, Matt was totally engrossed in the mayhem going on, and he felt he needed to step in and give me some encouragement.

“Oh my gosh, DON’T WASTE IT!”

Helpful, oh love of my life, that was so very helpful.

Quickly, I caught the cup before it landed on the floor, changed the leg position because the one I was standing on was getting numb, and I jammed the juice cup in before it had a chance to pop out of my hands again.

SUCCESS!

And a blog post.

I got a two for one deal.

So fingers crossed this works. And in the mean time, I’m going to practice with the juice cups again at a later less crucial time. Just in case this wasn’t our month. And I have to do this again.

Thank you for reading. You may now go Clorox the eyes of your brains.

Kittens

Wow.

I have not blogged in almost A MONTH.

A whole super long time in which I have been not hiding from the world, but simply existing in it. Healing, loving, crying, sharing, hugging, and changing.

That really sums up what I’ve been doing.

Thankfully, though, I’ve also been maintaining. I’m currently at 140 pounds. Which I consider success. I may not live every single day in the 130s, but averaging 2 pounds away for over 2 months is impressive, by my standards at least.

And then there’s the whole issue of TRYING TO GET PREGNANT.

And that’s what I’m going to talk about today. Because this is something totally new to me. I never tried to get pregnant before. It just always happened. Even using birth control.

But now, as a woman in her mid thirties, I’m not sure it will be as easy as it once was.

Last month, I admit we only gave it a half hearted attempt. Mostly because doing the “Baby Dance” as it is called on most “trying to conceive” sites, required 2 vicatin to even get through it. I happened to ovulate shortly after the surgery, so I wasn’t feeling my best, and it wasn’t nearly as fun as it normally is.

By the way, we call it “kittens” in this house.  

This time around, as mother nature has finally wrapped up her week long evil deed of lady-time, and I no longer require any painkillers to get through the day- including advil (woot!), it’s time to start thinking about kittens again. (which seriously, regarding mother nature, I am still gunning for human evolving in this area, so that one day my daughters and grand-daughters won’t have to have a period. Just once a month there will be a post it note in their unders saying “Not pregnant” or “Start stocking up on Pampers” or something nice and not annoying and un-disgusting like that.)

Wrapping my head around kittens being something more profitable than an amusing extra-curricular activity is weird. And to be honest, I’ve read some of the horror stories online of couples attempting to get preggers and having kittens becomes a chore for them.

KITTENS A CHORE? Say it ain’t so!

Maybe it’s easy for me to be optimistic because:

A) this is only the second month we are attempting to be makin’ bacon. (a term my grandpa uses on the farm for animals mating) (he’s a pig farmer. Lol) It is still thrilling to think that (brace yourself, this is another family saying from grandparents) soon I will take serious what Matt is poking in fun.  (That is hilarious to me.)

B) I’m a fan of kittens. BIG FAN.

C) I am totally in love with my husband, and kittens isn’t just about fulfilling primal needs. It’s about drawing close to each other, reconnecting, and remembering that our relationship is more than just being mom and dad to the 3 kids we have, or being Matt at work and Charlie the housewife. One day, we will be old and retired and living in a house with just the 2 of us hanging around. If our relationship is only about those other things, what happens to us when we have an empty nest and are living off of a 401K? Kittens is a healthy way for us to remember that we are passionately in love (or as Matt likes to tell me “Madly in love”) because of who the other person is, beyond the insane schedules and duties we share. (I just said dooty.)

Kittens is important for more than just making a baby.

So as we head into another month of focused well-timed (hopefully) productive Kittens, I figure we can use this time to re-kindle some of the romance that gets lost in the never ending piles of laundry. How am I going to do that?

FLIRTING

If there is anything that makes me swoon faster than a corset wearing southern belle on a hot day in August, it’s flirting. When we are in a room packed full of people, and I see my husband wink at me, to quote SWV- “I get so weak in the knees I can hardly speak.” I don’t know what it is about that little gesture, but it knocks me off my rocker EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

Not to mention that when Matt comes up and wraps his arms around me while I’m doing something normal, like making dinner. It reminds me that beyond being mom and home chef, I’m still a woman who is appreciated.  

But those are the ways Matt flirts with me.

How can I flirt with him?

He’s a different type of flirter. He’s not big on PDA (public displays of affection) nor is he one to be moved by lengthy love letters written by yours truly. (OK, but in all fairness, that is what I do full time. Writing. It’s what I excel at. I suppose it would feel the same way if he came home with a 500 page policy packet of why he loves me and the proper ways to express that love. Since that’s his job at work, I’d be unimpressed too.)

Here are the top 5 ways I’m going to try and flirt with my husband.

1. GIVE HIM THE REMOTE and don’t ask for it back. Not even when he picks a show I don’t like. Even if it’s “Ghost Hunters.”

2. I will not wear the grey underwear I have washed 80 berjillion times and are the comfiest pair I own. They are horrid and unattractive. I vow to wear the uncomfortable stuff.

3. I will not pick apart the things he does. All wives are guilty of this, including yours truly, and it doesn’t help a person in your house feel appreciated for the ways they help out.

4. Speaking of which, I will NOTICE all the little things he does to help out around the house, and comment how much I appreciate each and every one.

5. I will remember that my husband is the kindest, funniest, most generous man I have ever met. And I will let all my thoughts about him help me cherish those attributes of his character.

And finally, as my last random thought for the day, I wanted to share with you something I’ve been struggling with. This is kind of a big thing.

I’m wondering what to do with this blog.

See, I’ve met my weight loss goal, and Charlie’s Big Butt has officially been shrunk. For those people that come here to get inspiration (or otherwise) regarding weight loss, I’m not focusing on that right now, and I don’t want to annoy people talking about things like kittens and periods. Or eventually, being knocked up. (Fingers crossed!)

I’m toying with some ideas, but none of them seem to be the right fit. Not to mention that I’m not sure how far I can go with talking about trying to get preggers. Especially when we finally get there and have to wait and have an ultra sound to make sure it’s not a tubal pregnancy. I’m not sure how to process all of this, nor how much I want to share about it. Then again, this blog is how I process things. It’s my way of coming to terms with the situations at hand.

Honestly, gang, I’m rather torn about it all.

So if you have any thoughts about it, or encouraging words, please share them. I don’t want to just walk away from OSCBB, but I also want to stay true to the nature of this blog. And I just can’t figure out what to do!

I also have no idea how to end this post….

So… uh…. The end.

Charlie and the ACTUAL OPERATION

I really don’t know where to begin this post, because aside from the not always comfortable recovery process, it still kinda feels like a dream. But it’s not a dream. It’s not something Matt and I are talking about and hoping will happen for us one day.

The dream has become a reality.

I’m fertile again.

See, a long time ago, Matt and I made the decision that we wanted more kids. We KNEW that our family wasn’t complete. We were still missing a couple more personalities in our household. But because my tubes were tied from my previous marriage, it just wasn’t happening.

But how my heart wanted it! Every month, I prayed and prayed that God would look past my “broken paths” and let it happen. Having the initial tubal ligation was never what I wanted, but a decision I was forced into, even after cancelling the surgery twice. At the time, I was in a place I couldn’t fight for myself or my feelings, so I had no choice but to go through with it.

Over the past 8 years, this one simple surgery I had has been an albatross around my neck. It was about so much more than not being able to have more children. It was about a bondage I still lived in, quite literally tied up tightly to my past. It was a daily reminder there were parts of me I still had no control over, and was unable to be freed from. It was a piece of my former life that grieved my heart because I couldn’t move past it on my own. I knew God had other plans for me, but I just couldn’t achieve them.

Several years ago, I did a Beth Moore Bible study at my church, “Believing God.” It was a powerful time of release for me, learning not only to believe IN God, but to simply believe Him. I could trust that He loved me just as I am. I could believe that He would restore “land” that had been taken from me. We were supposed to write down one issue in our life that we were going to believe God about. My paper simply stated “Make the broken paths whole again.” That was it. I was going to trust God, to believe Him that he could do this for me. It was about letting Him reassure me that the past will not and should not dictate who I am today. It can shape it (for better or for worse) but if I work towards emotional healing, He is faithful and will show justice and grant mercy and grace.

When we first made the decision to have a tubal reversal, I wasn’t eligible for the surgery. My body mass index was too high. It needed to be a 37, and mine was 41. That, coupled with the fact I felt awful about myself physically and emotionally and couldn’t tie my own shoes without breathing heavily, led me down the rabbit hole of this blog. It sent me on a path I never dreamed I would travel. I worked hard, lost weight, and learned to love myself like God loves me. Or at least more like God loves me. Honestly. Completely. Un-judgementally. Unconditionally.

And I learned to embrace others in a new way. Learning the best way to encourage people was to go out into the world and do things for myself- to show them that changing yourself, your habits and your mindset is possible. That it doesn’t matter what you have gone through, if you want to change your life for the better, IT CAN BE DONE!!!!

Finally, when I hit my weight loss goal, I thought it was time to check into the surgery. There was one opening left the week the kids are gone, and before I realized what had happened, it was OUR scheduled time. And so began a whirlwind of planning and activity. We chose Chapel Hill Tubal Reversal Clinic in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. They were beyond helpful, from making sure all the forms and labs were filled out, to the general nervousness before surgery. They answered all our questions, reassured us, and made the entire experience amazing for us. CHTRC specializes in this surgery, and have very high success rates. We were in very good hands.

We flew out on Tuesday of last week REALLY EARLY IN THE MORNING, and arrived at Chapel Hill about 9am. We were taken to our hotel, then to the clinic where I got all the pre-op appointments done. (There will be a separate blog post about this, and after I write it, you will understand why it’s a story all its own. But it’s a very Charlie experience! hee hee hee) We grabbed a quick nap, headed to the day spa where we got massages (yep, even Matt got a massage. And it was worth every penny!) and then went to dinner. After arriving back at the hotel, we went to sleep and prepared for a very big day.

Wednesday was surgery day. I woke up, took a shower, and we headed to the clinic. I was the first surgery of the day, and we had to be there by 7am. I got changed into a gown, they got my IV started, and I was in surgery by 7:45 (I think. Time was a bit wibbly wobbly after the IV.) Matt got settled into the waiting room, and I remember them asking me a few questions in the operating room. And then I blinked. When I woke up, I was in recovery.

Everything went really well. Dr. Berger was able to fix both of my fallopian tubes and make sure they were clear of any blockage. But that wasn’t the best part.

The best part was when our surgeon sat down with us and talked about the results as I was in recovery. He gave Matt and I his full attention. We video taped it (of course, we did. We film everything.) and it was a tender sweet moment. Here was the man who God used to embody the miracle I had prayed for, telling us that we now had the ability conceive. I will be showing you that footage later, but it makes me cry. I also had Dr. Berger sign my little scrap of paper from my Beth Moore Bible study. Whenever we do have a baby, that paper will be framed and hanging over the crib of our new little one. Or ones. Because even though it wasn’t a miracle in the way I expected it to be, it is still a miracle in every right.

I am healed.

I am fertile.

I am FREE.

So there you have it. That’s what I did over my Christmas vacation. It was an amazing experience, and I’m healing up nicely. A few weeks of not lifting more than 15 pounds, a week more of taking it easy, and no running for a while. I can handle that.

Hopefully, I’ll soon be able to announce that we are preggers. But it’s going to take a while before we will announce things for sure. I have to follow a strict protocol once I do get a positive pregnancy test, because now I am at a higher risk for a tubal pregnancy. There are multiple blood tests, then an ultrasound to make sure that the baby is where it’s supposed to be. If it isn’t, well… I PRAY that this isn’t a situation we will have to face. Time will tell, I guess. But it is all in God’s hands now. He knows the plans He has for us, and there has never been a time in my life when He hasn’t been faithful to the end. So I trust that we can brave these new waters of the unknown and be held tightly in the grip of God’s grace. And with Matt by my side, we can face anything. He’s the best sidekick/husband/best friend/partner in crime that there ever was!

But for now, it’s all about babymaking.

Let the fun begin!   

Charlie and the Laboratory Chicken

Here’s the thing.

Ever since I hit my goal weight, I’ve been running like a chicken with my head cut off. No time to take a breath and enjoy life. Because the kids still have 8 million activities and appointments. Matt and I are trying to finalize some big plans for our family. We are still going through some court related issues that leave my heart spinning. All of this is still happening while I’m supposed to be celebrating this uber huge weight loss.

I’ve not really had time to come to terms with all of it. Because even though it’s a wonderful thing, I’m feeling emotionally vulnerable.

(Not to mention an hour after I announced my weight loss victory, the local news called me and wanted to know if they could talk to me and film in my home. For a recovering recluse, this was a BIG step towards getting over my old “You can’t come inside” habits. Breaking chains, people, even when there’s not enough Xanax in the world. If you didn’t see it, click here and catch it!)

So I’ve been running, dashing and speaking, but had yet to take a moment to celebrate all that’s happened.

Now, yesterday was one of those fart in a can kind of days. And what I mean by that is I was so busy, there wasn’t even time to sniff your own stink. (Admit it. You’ve pookered and waved the bottom air up to see what it smelled like. And sometimes, I bet you even were impressed with yourself. We’ve ALL done it. I’m just stupid enough to admit it. Moving on.) I had 8 tasks to complete in the 2 hours between getting all the kids on the bus and having to work at the middle school for parent volunteer time. INSANITY.

I was rushing from place to place to place to place, trying to make every microsecond count. And finally, I got to my doctor’s office where I had to get some routine blood work done. (Regular checkups, people. It could save your life.)

There I was, sitting in a PACKED laboratory waiting room. And I finally had a moment to breathe. And it kinda scared me. Just the hugeness of it. (That’s what she said.) And I knew I needed to laugh or I would cry from physical and emotional exhaustion. I needed a distraction.

So my friend Christine had linked up this story on my facebook wall from The Bloggess, with a comment of “Charlie Hester...you will laugh your butt off!!! I can see us doing this if we ever went shopping together. Too bad we don't live in the same town! We'd be TROUBLE!” (And THAT, my friends, is how you successfully bait and triple dog dare me to read something.)

For those of my friends who have more delicate sensibilities, I’ll warn you that the Bloggess doesn’t have a cursing filter. For my other friends, (especially Results not Typical Girl and Jia) this post won’t even phase you (in fact, you’ve probably already read it). 

I’m linking it up here if you would care to read it for yourself. You’ve been disclaimed. (But really, the rest of this post won’t make any sense at all if you don’t read it. So maybe just go for it. You can thank me later. Or send me irritated emails that I violated your eyes. It’s really your call.)

Now. There are a few things you need to know about me to understand this post.

A) Matt and I are “catch phrase” junkies. If it’s funny to us, we will repeat it until the day we die. (We quoted lines from the movie Supertroopers in our wedding vows. Me: “I will love you from meow until forever.” Matt, without missing a beat: “Did you just say MEOW?” He didn't even know it was coming. I LOVE THAT MAN SO MUCH! We are THOSE kinds of people.)

B) We are always on the lookout for phrases we can add to our repertoire. Again, if it’s funny, we will repeat it.

C) Matt and I have a fantastic relationship without being unrealistic about the other’s personality. We know we both have “qwerks” and even though they occasionally annoy us, we also find them hysterical about one another. (He makes fun of my fantasticly over exaggerated “Phone-Voice.” I make fun of the fact he drives like Mr. Magoo. Touche.)

D) We love having fun. We would rather have fun than be romantic. That’s just who we are.

E) When I really get to laughing, it’s loud, obnoxious, snorty, and annoying to others who aren’t laughing.

Back to the point of this story. (Assuming it has one.)

Packed lab. 20 + minutes to kill. Triple dog dare. And, this leads me to starting to read the Bloggess for the first time in a packed room of cranky people.

So there I am, sitting in a chair between 2 old gals on one side, and a really old gentleman on the other side. My iphone is out, the blog post is up, and I started to read.

And the laughing started almost immediately. Because Matt and I have had the same *types* of conversations about me spending money. I come home with useless crap from Big Lots ALL. THE. TIME.

At first, my laughing started as the church giggles. (Laughing in inappropriate places at inappropriate times.) As I kept reading her witty banter (especially the part about *giving* a person perspective) I thought I was going to lose it. Church giggles turned into snort laughing as QUIETLY as I could. (which frankly, it’s impossible to snort laugh quietly.)

AND THEN:

I got to the picture of her chicken on the front door. I was GASPING FOR AIR, imagining Matt’s reaction if he answered a knock and saw that beauty blocking the front door. Because as annoyed as he would be, it would be hysterical. TO ME. And whomever was brave enough to help me haul a ginormous metal chicken up my driveway and wait in the bushes with me to see what Matt's response would be.

AND THAT WAS WHEN I READ THE CAPTION UNDERNEATH THE PICTURE OF THE CHICKEN AT THE DOOR.

And I first read it as “knock knock, mother clucker.” And I did a screaming gasp of laughter, because this was going to be a new quote between Matt and I the second I got home and made him read it. And I did the screaming gasp of laughter again (but louder) when I saw that *it did not in fact say clucker*

I WAS GONE. My laugh was echoing through the entire clinic. 95% of the people were shooting me dirty looks, totally annoyed that I was being so inconsiderate and cackling like a fool.

But the other 5%? Those are the people that freaking make my day.

The two old gals sitting on one side of me were chuckling to themselves, and I finally heard one of the ladies say “I can’t stand it anymore.”

Tap tap tap on my shoulder.

Me (trying not to sound like a crazy person): “Ye-hehehehehehehehe. Sorry. Yes?”

Old gal: “Honey, WHAT on earth is so funny?”

Me: “It’s… (giggle) a story… (snort) about a… (wiping tears from my eyes) BIG… (volume control of my voice has now escaped me and I’m now yelling at full throttle) METAL CHICKEN! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!” (at which point I resumed my uncontrollable laughing fit)

Other old gal: “What’d she say? All I heard was metal chicken.”

Random person ALL THE WAY across the room: “We ALL heard about the big metal chicken.”

And that was my very first time reading the Bloggess. And I feel much better now.

The End.

How to tell the world you lost 100 pounds without a single ounce of dignity

Charlie, the Progress Pictures, and the Parking Lot Syndrome

So last night after the kids were gone for the weekend, I had Matt help me take some new bathing suit pictures. It wasn’t nearly as scary as the first time because after doing my measurements from beginning to practically the end, I KNEW I would see a huge difference.

And I wasn’t disappointed.

But for those of you who didn’t get the sneak peak on facebook, or those who have come over from FB and want to see the rest of the side by side pics, you are going to have to wait a minute and read what I’m about to say first before we get to the photos.

 Because of all the places I expected the parking lot syndrome to happen, I wasn’t prepared to have it go on in my living room last night.

What is the parking lot syndrome?

My, am I glad you asked!

Parking Lot Syndrome: When you know exactly where you park your car at the beginning of a shopping trip, but after finishing at the store (usually totally flustered) you walk out to the parking lot and 2 things happen. A) You cannot remember where you parked your car… and B) You have a hard time remembering what your car looks like because you are seeing other cars that look similar in style but aren’t quite right.  When A and B happen, you usually end up walking around the parking lot for 5 minutes looking for ANYTHING in your vehicle that looks familiar to you.

See, all this dieting and personal growth has CHANGED me in ways I’ve never thought possible. At this point in my life, as pleased as I am with the changes on the outside, I am thrilled-to-betsy face-on-the-ground-thankful for the changes that happened in me that no one can see.

Like---

-becoming a recovering agoraphobic who now not only leaves her house on a regular basis, but also lets people come inside and even has spontaneous company without having a panic attack.

 -being a girl who understands that pain is an important part of life. It is OK for us to be hurt, physically and emotionally, and I have learned to embrace pain when it happens.

-learning that my biggest hurdle with any challenge I face has nothing to do with the circumstances around me. It has everything to do with the 6 inches in between my ears. That headspace is the most powerful weapon we own, and it can be used for evil (negative talk, self doubt, discouragement) or for good (positive encouragement and ego boosting).

I promise I am not going to turn this message into a sermon, but I would be remiss without stating once again that this journey didn’t happen because of me. It happened because I surrendered it to God. I promised Him I would do all the outside work (controlling my food, exercising, etc.) and be determined, but HE would have to make the physical changes happen. I know for a fact that if I hadn’t surrendered this issue I could never have done it. I walked into this diet with the mindset of “I cannot do this on my own. I KNOW THAT. So help me, God. As long as You keep showing up and being faithful, I will never give up.”

I’m not saying you have to believe what I do to lose weight. Lots of my friends believe differently than me, and they have also found success in weight loss. But for me, it took that moment of realizing how inadequate I was and being left with no choice but to just relax. By giving it to God, it took all the pressure off of me to not fail or fail. I knew that no matter what happened, I would see results.

And that, my friends, is exactly what brings us to the parking lot syndrome in my living room last night. Because I had been peeking in my “before” pictures about a half hour before we started snapping the updated pics. (Honestly, I was waiting for my bra lines to disappear. That takes a good while. ;)

So I was looking at all my “heaviest” pictures in a bathing suit. I have looked at them lots of times, but I suppose the scope of my past had not really hit me with the magnitude it was about to come down with.

I got into my smaller suit, posed for some pics, checked them on the camera, and deemed they were ok to use. I plugged in the camera’s memory card, and started cropping the pics and adjusting the exposure (to lighten them up a bit so we could see better.) I didn’t change the dimensions (I didn’t stretch them to make myself look skinnier) and then I compared them side by side with the before.

AND THAT WAS WHEN IT HAPPENED. PARKING LOT SYNDROME.

I saw this one first. The backs.

Because I kept thinking that I still looked like the girl on the left. (Went into the store and parked one place.) But looking at the girl on the right, it’s a totally different car we are talking about. (Walked out of the store and thought where the heck is my car?) It was hard to believe that it was really me. I mean, I KNOW it was me, because I was there for both pictures. (And trust me, you don’t ever forget the emotional trauma of those first bathing suit pics. EVER.) But it just didn’t seem like this kind of an enormous change was possible. I knew I’d lost a lot of weight and a lot of inches, but this was crazy.

Then I saw the side pics.

I knew I carried most of my weight on my belly. And as a recovering girdle addict, I know that I still have issues with how my tummy looks, especially with the excess skin I have. But once I saw these pictures next to each other, I realized that I have nothing to be ashamed of. Flappy excess skin or not, I’m a different woman all together. 

Then, finally, the fronts.

Wow. Just wow. It’s not very often my own transformation leaves me speechless, and I think that's because I see myself every single day. I'm used to the changes and don't notice too much of a difference. 

But this one just left me slackjawed and silent. And it also made me cry.

Here’s the thing. When I look at the girl on the left, I don’t just see myself. I see a woman who is broken- emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I see a person who looks so uncomfortable in her own skin that it’s painful. I see aching knees and back and shoulders, constant headaches from poor nutrition, and eyes that are swallowed up by a puffy face. I see a woman who is sick and tired of being sick and tired. It’s not that I see a fat girl. I see a sad girl. I know she’s smiling here, but it’s a forced smile for the sake of the camera.

But the girl on the right?

Effortless smiles. Concentrated joy that is exploding from her posture. Thighs that are forever free of chub-rub.  Shoulders that have had an enormous weight lifted from them. (And I’m not talking from the weight loss, either.) I see a woman who is confident in herself for the first time.

I parked my car, walked into the store, and came out to find my old keys fit a brand new car.

And now, it’s time to start really seeing what this baby can do.  

Just ONE MORE... thoughts of a woman one pound from goal

For some reason, the aspect ratio is off, and it's not letting me fix it at the moment.

(Dear Santa, please bring me Final Cut Pro for Christmas so I can make kick butt videos that look amazing. Mmmmkay, thanks.)

Introducing Merlin...

So I haven't really taken the time to properly introduce you all to our dog, Merlin. He's part boarder collie, part mutt, and big part pain in the butt. He's almost 8 months old. Such a big boy...

Seriously, I can't imagine having a different dog than him. He's bright, completely housebroken (only took us about 7 weeks) and cute as heck.

Our family is in love with him, and after watching this video, you might understand why. (Ok, so Puppy the cat isn't THRILLED, but she tolerates him.) (Kinda-sorta.) (Ok, not really at all...)

Not to mention he is my new running partner. Lands sake, how that dog loves to run!

So, like all members of our house, Merlin has some qwerks. And he couldn't be more precious.

Just take a look...

Bad Case of THE WANTS

So today in my inbox, I get this letter…

Hello Miss Charlie,

I have waited long enough to hit that little button up in the top right hand corner that says “Contact Charlie”! 

Did you fall off the blogging wagon my dear?
 

I’m 15 pounds down since September 26^th and you have been an inspiration…get back online would ya!?!?!? 
  

Jennifer

If you happen to be a fan of this blog, ya’ll can thank Jennifer for this post.

Have I fallen off the blogging wagon?

YES. But it’s not because I don’t want to blog. I do. However at the moment, finding time to get in some quiet time to really capture my thoughts has been difficult. Because life has been happening.

I’ve been volunteering at each of the kids’ schools at least once a week (usually more, though, cause these showchoirs keep me hopping!). I’ve been cleaning out closets and pulling out winter clothes (Cause it snowed here last week- YIKES).  I’ve been trying to get all the Christmas presents before the week of Christmas (a new personal record if I can pull it off…). And trying to reconnect with Matt after a long couple months of theatre obligations. (Sweeney Todd was fantastic!) I’m getting ready to launch a self-esteem building program for pre-teen girls in our area. (The “All About” Girls, which you will hear “All About” soon!)

And through all of this- I’ve not strayed far from the lifestyle principles I have adopted. Still not “dieting” but watching portion sizes, making more healthy choices than unhealthy ones, and only eating French fries every so often instead of every day.

AND…

I’m just 2 pounds from goal.

I saw 140.8 on the scale this week, so that’s all that’s left for me.

2 measly little pounds.

I know for a fact that even when I hit that goal, it’s not close to being over for me. After that, I’m really going to start focusing on trimming up the flabby parts of me, tightening my abs and arms, and continue training our dog, Merlin, for a cross country 5K. There’s much to do once those final 2 pounds are gone.

So it will be far from over.  This blog will continue, even after goal.

I know there are some of you out there that come here for inspiration, and I want to give it to you with a message that has been burning on my heart.

Here’s the thing. I have been busting my butt for the last 3 years (almost 4 now) to hit my goal. And that equals out to 25 pounds a year or so.

But it’s not the weight loss that has changed me so drastically.

It’s the inner strength I have gained. It’s learning who I am, where I need work, and getting my hands dirty in all the emotional crap that I had been carrying around.  It was about saying that it was JUST FINE to take some time for me.

Life before this massive undertaking was frustrating. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t commit, I just couldn’t….

Every diet attempt I had ended up pretty much like this (which I find hysterical- this was in our local paper 2 days ago.)

I had all the tools right in front of me, but I was unwilling to use them.  

Could I have taken a walk? YES.

Could I have only eaten 2 cookies instead of an entire box? YES.

Could I have gotten my butt off the couch and made this change a lot sooner in my life? YES.

But I didn’t do any of those things because I didn’t WANT IT BAD ENOUGH.

There is no real secret to dieting, much to the billion dollar diet industry’s chagrin. There is no magic pill. There is no perfect diet plan.

There is only “DO YOU WANT THIS BAD ENOUGH TO GET UP AND GET IT?”

I knew there was still something inside me that was holding back, because before 2009 I didn’t REALLY want it. I wanted to explore the deepest parts of me, and then fix the broken bits. I was tired of living life as a victim of all that has happened in my life. And that victim mentality was the exact thing that was keeping me fat. But to get up and get it for myself was a daunting terrifying task. It scared the living crap out of me. What would life be like if there were no more excuses to hide behind? What if I was mentally, physically and emotionally at my best? Would people expect more from me than I was able to give? Would I disappoint folks? Would I gain all the weight back and be a miserable fat failure once again? I’d been down that road more times than I could count, and had no desire to head onto that path again.

AND YET…

I wanted to risk it. I wanted to start living dangerously. To take a huge chance- on myself. To find out what really is on the other side of being a slave to the scale and my baggage.

I finally wanted it enough. And that was when my life really began to change.

As I get closer and closer to goal, I find myself using less excuses about why I can’t accomplish things. Before I would always say yes to things, then be frantic when I couldn’t make them happen. But now, I am able to say NO- because this is not something I feel passionate about. And I don’t worry about pleasing people. I am only concerned with what is best for myself and my family primarily.

I know that I cannot change the world.

But because I WANTED IT, I was able to change MY WORLD.

What are the things that are holding you back? Fear? Frustration? Apathy? All of those things are excuses.

I’m going to come down hard here, and say this:

IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOUR SITUATION IS. YOU CAN STILL LOSE WEIGHT IF YOU WANT IT BAD ENOUGH.

Our culture and society has taught us to blame our surroundings and our circumstances for the reason we don’t change. But I CRY SHENANEGINS. That is a load of malarkey.

Can’t exercise? You can still control what you eat.

Unable to buy tons of “healthy foods” because of finances? You can still count calories of the food you do have and watch portion sizes.

Lost weight before and gained it all back, leaving your confidence shaken? Then YOU, my friend, have the advantage, because you know that your body will respond positively to hard work and dedication.

If I could go back in time and change anything, I would have gone through this journey sooner. I wouldn’t have wasted 30 years of my life being complacent. But I can’t change the past, I can only change life from this moment forward.

So for you- don’t wait another day to start your own life transformation. Who cares if it’s Thursday and the weekend is coming? Nobody says your destiny can only change on a Monday. Or after the holidays. Destiny waits for no man. Or woman.

Your destiny can start today.

My question is this.

Do you really want it to?