Primal In-Stinks

I've been slacking on the blogging front. AND I KNOW IT. It's been weird this week for me. I've been super-stressed out that my kids are 1500 miles away from me. And my control reflexes aren't as strong as I thought they'd be. So I've been stress eating a bit. Point is, I bounced back up. Uh, a lot.

 

I hit 178 this week.

 

7 pounds of total stress eating weight.

 

I could be ashamed. I could be upset. But I'm really not all that worried. It's mostly carb weight, and I've got it back down to 174.6 today. The next 4 will come off easily, if I keep myself together. So that's what I'm trying to do.

 

Eating really is my go to soother. When I hit primal states of being- complete fear, devestating loss, etc., I EAT. And I am learning to accept that about myself.

 

When my Grandma Bush died, it was a Sunday. And that day, I didn't cry. I ate. I ate until I threw up. Because I was hitting a primal state. I had no other way to control my emotions, save eating.

 

And on Christmas day, dropping off my kids to go to Arizona for a week, I hit that same primal state. Total fear. My kids have NEVER been so far away from me as they are now. And I panicked. So I ate. For 2 days I ate like mad. I prayed and I ate. 

 

I'm not going to try and figure out why that's my knee jerk response to extreme conditions. I'm just going to accept it for what it is. My primal instinct. It stinks, but it is what it is. And am thankful I have very few days when I feel like this. Today, when I am feeling better about things, I'm going right back to what I know. Healthy eating, proper portions, and control. I can't be perfect all the time. But I can be thankful most days aren't primal days. 

 

So, it's on to the plans for the new year. Can I actually hit 169? I have 3 days, and I'm pretty sure I can do it. I can at least get close. Close is really all I need. I am mentally preparing myself to go the distance this year. I have a new accountability partner for my quest (an old crush named Stephan who's a fitness coach now) and we are working on a plan together to get me to 138 in 2011. I'm helping Jia with out the Dirty Diet, a diet plan tailor made for her, I still have McMuscles, and as always- blogging blogging blogging. 

 

This blog is my life line. It helps ground me to what I need to do. It makes me think about what is really important for me. The power of a blog is incredible. It's a gift, and I want to share that gift with you. Not only with my blog, but your blog too!

 

In order for me to share that gift, I made a deal with my kick a$$ blog designer, April, and we are going to give away a blog makeover!!! You can read all about it on January 3rd. So make sure you come back to get the details. It's my gift to you. To start someone off on the right foot into a new life of health and weight loss.

 

 This week didn't exactly go as planned. But I'm getting through. And that's really all that counts. But in 2011, I am taking this diet by the horns, and riding it to the finish line.

 

Stick with me. We are going to see the end this year.

Reruns

Nope, I'm not recycling old blog posts. I'm not watching TV.

Yesterday I ran for the first time since Thanksgiving day.

I didn't mean for it to be such a huge absence. Just with weather, schedules, the flu... everything sort of interrupted my workout routine. And that means one yucky thing.

I have to work back up to where I was.

So yesterday, with much fear and trembling, I got back on my dreadmill and I faced it. Because I'm still dealing with the tail end of my sickies, I figured I better go slow- not slow speed wise, but slow distance wise. And I set my sights on ONE MILE.

After all the running I have done, I figured that I could handle a mile. But wow, it was tough.

I wound up running it in 13 minutes. Not too bad. And technically, I could have gone another mile. But I chickened out. Mostly because I wasn't wearing my Enell Bra or my knee supports. I figured I'd hit 2 miles today.

And here I am- looking at my dreadmill. It's calling out to me.

"Come run with me!"

It's actually slightly irritating, because also calling to me from the kitchen is the peppermint ice cream in my freezer. I got lots of voices going on in my head. But the running- it's gonna win. After such a tough haul as I had yesterday, it's important for me to get cracking on that. Otherwise, I'll never be ready for the half marathon in April.

Although my situations this last month couldn't really be helped, I am frustrated. I feel like I lost a lot of ground. McMuscles hasn't seen my face in WEEKS. (I haven't abandoned ship yet, McMuscles. I promise.) And the weight- it's holding at between 171 and 173 depending on the day. So I can't really complain.


And yet... here I am, complaining.

One of the greatest disservices we can do to ourselves is taking a "break." We fall back into bad habits. Our bodies get lazy. It takes a lot longer to build them back up than it does for them to go back to lazy. Amazing how the science works like that.

Our eating- oh, mylanta, the eating- just a week of bad eating can set us back a month's worth of work, if we aren't careful. I know lots of people are using the excuse "It's Christmas! Lighten up and eat!" But that doesn't fly with me. It's always some holiday or special event. There's always birthday cake, or anniversary dinners, barbecues and picnics. No matter what time of year it is, we could find an excuse to eat poorly if we wanted too. So this holiday season, I am forced to ask this question.

What is more important to me?

Celebrating the birth of Christ by stuffing my gullet to the point of bursting?

Or celebrating the birth of Christ by focusing on self control and patience and perseverance?

I know which one Jesus would pick for me. And it doesn't involve an all you can eat buffet. He's the bread of life, and He's not covered in spinach artichoke dip.

Here's the deal. I have vowed that I will start the new year weighing 169. I want to live the entire year of 2011 without being in the 170's. It's never happened before (unless you count the years I weighed way OVER 170. But I'm not counting that.) and I think it's time I start really reaching the goals I set out. This last year, I've whined, binged, gotten right, then took a month off. Granted 2010 was a hard year for me. I dealt with lots of stuff. But 2011- It's gonna be MY year. The year I hit goal. The year I start attacking my dreams instead of thinking they will come find me somehow.

What do I want for Christmas? To make GOOD HEALTHY decisions. To be the best person I can be. To make my blog more than just entertainment.

I wonder if all that would fit in a stocking?

Charlie wants a DOLLY

DOLLY PARTON.

(A choir of angels is singing Jolene in my head right now)

She isn’t classy, she’s a little trashy, and she’s a whole mountain-full of fun. 2 mountains full, technically. It should not be a big surprise to anyone that I am a big Dolly Parton fan. I have been since puberty. When the knockers starting blooming, my love affair with all things Dolly began. To be fair, she is the ONLY country musician that I adore and would pay to go see in concert. Otherwise, I’m not a big country fan.

But Dolly- something about her cartoonish image, like a blonde Jessica Rabbit- just draws me in. And knowing that she is one of those folks you can take at face value makes her all the more Dollylicious.

I was sick over the weekend, and then the tv went kaputz. What did I do with my time?

Read Dolly’s book “My Life and Other Unfinished Business.” I’ve read it about 30 times.

And at every stage in my life, I find yet another way that she and I are kindred spirits. It’s not the huge cans, or the love of wigs, or the over exaggeration of our makeup routines. It’s the candid honesty about the kinds of people we are and how we see the world. How we try to believe the best about everyone. How it breaks our hearts when we get taken to the cleaners.

In 1993 Dolly released the album “Slow Dancing with the Moon” and I loved it. More than just loving the album, I thought the album cover was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen before. I convinced “Chart Records” to give me the promo posters. One hung in my room until I moved out of my parents’ house.  I’m pretty sure the other is still hanging in the garage where my step-dad can enjoy it.

I used to stare at that poster while I was laying in bed- looking at Dolly- Dolly looking at me- and have conversations with her. Not in a crazy kinda way. More like in a fairy godmother kinda way.

“Dolly, I really wish this boy would like me. What can I do?”

“Dolly, I feel sad. Do you ever feel sad too?”

“Dolly, one day I want a boy to look me in the eyes. The ones on my face. I know you understand.”

And the look on her face told me she really did understand.

The only book on audio I have ever purchased was Dolly reading her book. I got it while I worked at the Cracker Barrel. I had to drive 30 minutes back and forth to work every day, so I listened to her and her homespun wisdom. I’m not a hillbilly, but I certainly came from a line of farmers who called it like they saw it.

One of my favorite expressions of Dolly’s happens to be regarding a backside.

“If I really had to haul ass, I’d have to make 2 trips.”

This woman understands me. Even though she has never met me.

Back in high school, my youth group took a trip to Gatlinburg TN. We didn’t get to go to Dollywood, (much to my chagrin) but it wasn’t for lack of begging. I wanted to see her. Just catch a glimpse. I also got into trouble when I had taped a sign in the back window of the church van that said “DOLLYWOOD OR BUST.” I always thought that would be the best bumper sticker idea ever, and was sure it would get me a meet and greet with Dolly. But I never got back down to Tennessee. And to date, I’ve never met Dolly.

I’m sure you are wondering why I am prattling on and on like a uber geeky Dollyfan (and fyi- I’m just fine with that), and it’s because I need a little more motivation to finish losing this weight. Before I thought it would be great fun if Matt took me on a cruise to celebrate losing 100 pounds. But then lots of people started getting sick and thrown overboard… that’s no good for me.

So I think it would be better if I came up with some hair brained scheme to try and get to DollyWood. Cause more than anything, I want to meet Dolly.

I’m thinking that I could start a facebook group to gain some publicity about it. But basically, I’m going to spend the next 4 months pounding out some serious promotion so I can meet Dolly when I have lost 100 pounds.

And I don’t just want to meet her. I want her to Dollyize me. Make me over. Give me some of her favorite treatments via hair and makeup. And let me be her little back woods Barbie doll. Cause she will know how to make me look best considering “our shape.” That being 2 life rafts attached to our front sides.

Everybody has to have a goal. And if a girl’s gonna dream, she may as well dream about getting a Dolly.

I’m 33 pounds away from Dolly.

Let the workouts begin.

Is honesty the best policy?

I pride myself on being honest. Almost to a fault. Sure I could tell you life is hunky dory when it isn’t- but what could we learn from that? Not a lot. Not much at all.

So I’ve been working in cahoots with Jia (whom shall never be referred to as a special friend again… lol) on our new weight loss blog “Letters to Jia.”

And here’s the thing. I’m pushing Jia to be really honest about herself and her goals, and what she expects to happen. She has been honest too. We are still learning how to work off one another- but some of the things she says blow my mind. Not because they are bad- but they are the same truths I am STILL admitting to!

(If you haven’t been over there yet, you should check it out. We are doing something that’s affectionately known as “A Dirty Diet.” We are bored housewives left with nothing but laundry and our minds to keep us sane. It gets a little “raunchy” in a very nice way. And we choose to let the comments from the readers be what they are. FLAT OUT AWESOME.)

In keeping with honesty about all things diet, I feel compelled to remind Jia at all times that I struggle with the same things as her. And I guess the only difference we have right now- her being at the beginning of her weight loss journey, and me being close to the end (back to 171 today!)- the only difference we really have is this:

I understand that not knowing makes you a better dieter. And I kinda wish I had that child like wonder back when it comes to the diet.

I’ve said it before, but there used to be a time when I stepped on the scale and GAPED that I lost weight at all. I was amazed by it. That was because I didn’t think it was really possible.

I’ve kinda become a diet snob. I expect that if I do A and pair it with B, I will lose X.

If you totally lost your sight today, what would your world be like? (And the correct answer isn’t “dark.”) Would you pay closer attention? Would you trust others who could still see to lead you from one room to the next? Would you use each piece of furniture as a marker of where you are in your house?

I bet we all would.

So if someone said “You need to do these things to lose weight- eat less, move more, and be willing to work hard for a little victory” how would we feel? Would you listen closely? Would you shake your head and clear off your treadmill?

Or are you such a diet snob that you think you can do it another way? Cause if I am really honest, I fall into the category of DIET SNOB.

One of the most excellent things about working with Jia is that I have to go back to the beginning. Where it all started. Me, a scale, a bad picture, and lots and lots of tears. What can I tell her that will keep her filled with wonder about her progress? Can I teach her the good habits I wish I had?

I hope I can. It’s a massive undertaking- making something as boring as a diet come to life with excitement (and some naughty innuendos)  but I’m up for the task. I want dieting to be fun for Jia. Heck, I want it to be fun for me again!

We need to remove the DIE from DIET. This is about life. Living. Changing from the people we are into the people we should be.

And I, for one, am ready to get back on track with the fun.

Smonday report

It's Monday. Snow Day Monday.

It's not really snowy outside, although it was nasty yesterday. Just cold. Really really cold. 13 degrees. And with the wind chill it's negative 4. Which is why I'm cooped up with savage maniacs who won't stop talking inside with my sweet children.

It's not quite noon and I'm already hitting the advil.

So there's nothing much going on here. I'm going to read some blogs, do some laundry, and maybe make the kids do something that requires manual labor (like cleaning their room) so they can burn off some of the energy they are using to drive Mommy UP A WALL.

I'm not going to talk about my weight today. It's not pleasant. Oh, forget it. 173. It's because of the instinct we have to hibernate when the weather gets nasty, I believe. I'm not sure. I haven't eaten horribly this weekend. So there's no real reason for the 3 pound gain. Therefore I'm not going to acknowledge it today. Because it will be better tomorrow. I know it will.

Everything is just kind of out of whack. That's what happens on snow days.

I'm not depressed, mind you. Just stating the facts. But I know, you came here for a laugh. I promise to deliver. Last January, we had a snow day and I shared my WORST SNOW STORY EVER. If you read it before, you can read it one more time and be thankful it didn't happen to you.

The WORST Snow Story Ever

By Charlie

  I had just started a new job as a sales manager at a craft supply distributor. We were living in the middle of the country, and it was snowing pretty good. Schools had been canceled, and at that time Matt was a stay at home dad and I was his Sugar Mama. He told me, “I don’t think you should try driving in this weather. It looks pretty bad.”

“No, no, it will be fine. I’ll head out early and be back by 5:30 this evening.”

It took me an hour and fifteen minutes to get to work (which I got reamed out for) and to top it off not ONE of my sales staff came in. They all called and said they were stuck at home.


About noon, the weather watches and warning systems were going crazy, and I figured I better get home. Thankfully, the place I worked closed for the day (5 people were there out of 50. We got nothing done, except for chewing me out for being late) and I headed home. I got stuck and had to have good Samaritans help me 3 times during a 4 mile stretch. I ended up at my brother and sister’s house, crying because I couldn’t get our van to stay on the road.


Enter Dan, the superhero. He’s my stepdad. Filled to the brim with what can only be described as an “English” sense of humor. Real dry, but in a good way. You never know what the man is going to say. So he heard that I was stuck at Todd and Julia’s (bro and SIL/BFF) and decided to come rescue me. He’s good about stuff like that. Anytime we have moved from house to house, Dan is always there to help out and tell us how to pack the moving truck efficiently. You can count on him to take care of manly stuff.


So Dan the Superhero decided to get me home. Driving in the snow makes me a nervous wreck, so the tummy was a little upset already. As we started out from Todd and Julia’s place, he was very excited to try out the 4X4 option on his new Olds Bravada. Then he decided that we could take the scenic route home. Cause his new SUV could take it.


What neither one of us anticipated was the severe drifting on the country roads. And wouldn’t you know it, about ¾ of a mile from any houses in sight- we got stuck. Poor Dan got out and started to dig the tires out. When he got done, we could only move a few feet and then got stuck again. Thankfully, because he is the manly type of guy, he insisted I stay in the SUV and let him try and get us out.


That was when a real “country boy” (stifling the urge to use the term redneck) and his buddy (also a Country Boy) with a pick up truck came along. He offered to help us get out of the embankment of snow. He was overconfident in his truck and you could tell. His truck was filled with gun racks and hunting gear and stuff straight out of Deliverance. But we were needing help, so Dan took him up on it.


The truck pulled up in front of us with Country Boy proudly coming to our rescue, and wouldn’t you know it! HE GOT STUCK TOO!


This was right about the time I realized that my tummy and intestines were working against me.


I started squirming. I started cinching. And even though I was freezing cold, I got the sweats. But I was bound and determined I would wait till I got home to explode.


Enter the 3rd vehicle. A farmer was watching all of this from his house up the road. And he decided to come down and help. So driving his BIG HONKING TRUCK, he came down and offered to help get all of us unstuck.


Meanwhile, Country Boy was freaking out that his truck had failed him, and was ranting in disbelief at the turn of events. It was like someone had shot his best hunting dog. Needless to say, he was freaking. And he was going to get his truck out first.


I started scoping the distance between me and the closest house, because I realized if the fellows dug Country Boy’s truck out first, I would not be getting home by the time I needed too. I already had on sweat pants, the legs were soaking wet from all the snow. The cold wet pants were not helping the situation. Every sensation was adding another piece of straw to the sinking camel’s back. Soon, I gave in to the inevitable truth.


I was going to have to bite the bullet and go outside. In the snow.
Nothing more humiliating than having to poop outside, but even worse is when you have one Kleenex and a used napkin to help you. Not one leaf in sight. Everything was under the frozen tundra of farmland.


Going outside, I stealthily snuck behind Dan’s SUV, squatted down, dropped the drawers, and let my intestines relax at last. There was no stopping it. Imagine the last time you had a really bad case of the trotts, and your rear became an unrelenting exit for everything in your body. It was like that. Complete with horrific noises. Except MY cheeks were in the snow. And I had no toilet paper.

So I tried to use the snow to clean off my rear (with 4 guys trying to chain a truck and needing to come over my direction to admire their handywork, till they realized what I was doing and they quickly got back to work…) and when I couldn’t get it any more without causing frostbite to my rump, I gave up and pulled the sweatpants back up. I then tried to cover the mess I had made in the snow with more snow, but the temperature difference between the snow and the OTHER STUFF made it impossible. It kept melting and spreading out even worse. I had a huge brown hole behind the SUV, and there was nothing I could do. Admitting defeat, I headed back into the SUV to try and warm up.

Eventually we got unstuck and headed to my house. Carefully avoiding the snowed over country roads this time.

The rest of the way home, Dan the Superhero kept sniffing the air, as if to say “What is that peculiar odor my nose is detecting?” But to his credit, he didn’t say a word about it. Just cracked the window and focused on the road.


And that, my friends, was the worst snow day I have ever had. And I have not one intention of repeating it. So today I am staying inside no matter what. Close to my kids. And a toilet. No way am I going out.

Snow way.

THIS POST CONTAINS NUDITY

In the beginning of the world (as I believe it to be) God created man. Then he created woman.

So God created mankind in his own image,
   in the image of God he created them;
   male and female he created them. - Genesis 1:27

They were just fine on their own, hanging in the Garden with their Creator. No feelings of inadequacy, no hiding behind trees in shame- just 2 brand new people and a supreme being. And I should point out that they were naked.

I’m not going to throw out my interpretation of the facts, but I do find it interesting that those 2 kids were created in the image of God, and they had no clothes. I would love to ask “Does God wear clothes?” but I don’t want to change the subject of this post.

It wasn’t until someone abused food in the Garden (dang you EVE!!!), that clothing even came into play. She ate something she wasn’t supposed to. And she was immediately aware of the fact her body wasn’t good enough to be seen naked anymore. Not by her Creator, and not by Adam. Figures this whole mess starts with food…

From the beginning of time, food has been a sore spot for us girls. And some guys. We eat the things we aren’t supposed to, and we become ashamed. So we hide under robes, and animal skins, and sweat pants, and lycra. We hope our clothing minimizes the transgressions of our appetites. We say it’s because of modesty, being pure, not leading others to sinful thoughts. But I wonder--- if we stripped away all the cultural taboos of the human form…

...would we still be ashamed of our bodies?

I have a blogging friend, Julia (author of JewliaGoulia) who is 26 years old. She is an art student. And she has lost a STAGGERING 141 pounds. In one year. Her journey is amazing. And you should meet her. I really love this girl, her kahonas, and her determination.

Jules has been working on a project for her Photograhpic Problems class. Her new series, entitled TRUTH, has been met with some shocking opposition. Her pictures deal with what some might consider “body issues” and are not limited by size or gender.

For example, these are some tidbits from her series:

But the real problem was when Julia BRAVELY stepped out from behind the camera, and showed the world her body. After losing an entire person’s worth of weight.

This is the living breathing picture of her form, 141 pounds lighter, and FREE:

The majority of the comments she received were positive- it is a beautiful piece. Perhaps not to someone who doesn’t know the story behind her journey, but for those of us who DO KNOW, it is a declaration of her spirit.

In her artistic genius, she has done all of us a favor. She exposed the world to what is really under the weight loss. And every single one of us owes her a THANK YOU.

So often, we get caught up in the “skinny” trap. What we perceive to be beautiful is only what we have been trained to see as beautiful- thin, airbrushed, and photoshopped. When someone mixes things up with raw real photography, can we still see the beauty? I do, absolutely, but I wonder, if this is our reality- after the weight is lost and we have reached our goal- how many of us will keep fighting? Do we just want to be skinny?

OR DO WE EARNESTLY WANT TO BE FREE?

I am turning off the comments on this post. After all Julia has heard (including an anonymous heckler calling her disgusting) I feel it is my responsibility to shelter her from any more comments like this. If you have something to say, you can email it to me directly at oscbb@yahoo.com . This is not something she has asked me to do, but the mother inside of me feels it’s my duty to protect her. Because I want this for ALL my readers. I want us to break free of the stereotypes of our culture. I want us to be so confident in who we are that we are unafraid to step out from behind the camera.

I want all of us to find FREEDOM.

Julia- on a personal note, this picture blew me out of the water. You already know how I feel about it, but it merits being said again: I was so deeply moved by this photo that I WEPT. I see the passion behind this photo. I know every feeling that is found in each roll, each piece of excess skin that you wear. Every stretch mark speaks of a battle you have fought and won. I am so proud of you that my heart breaks.

I have never seen a picture that is so unique, and yet reminds me why I endure this journey week after week. It is for freedom that we diet. It is to be  released from ourselves, inside and out, to reach beyond society and be comfortable in our own skin. All of it. I am pleased beyond explanation that this picture will be gracing my home very soon. It reminds me every single time I see it how hard this battle is, and that winning means a lot more than being THIN.

It’s all about being FREE.

My darling girl-

YOU.

ARE.

BREATHTAKING.     

Winning by a LANDSLIDE

Dear Readers-

The outpouring of love I have received over the past 24 hours has been astounding. You have prayed for me, prayed with me, written me letters of encouragement, told me your own stories of life in Family Court, and basically- gave me a landslide of support. I am doing my absolute best to respond to all of them, but after getting 150 emails yesterday (from the blog and facebook) and 14 phone calls- I’m behind. And that’s ok. I'm feeling strong today, and am coming to grips again. It will be OK. Somehow... :)

I remember the first blog post I wrote back in the day. The Yoga Incident. I knew it was funny, but I had no idea the support system I was starting. How that support system would carry me, not only in my weight loss journey, but through the ups and downs of life, like yesterday. So many names and little profile pictures, virtual friendships, cheering me on from the sidelines- I have come to know so many of you through this blog. And I can’t tell you how important you all are to me.

I may not have been homecoming or prom queen, or most popular in my class. I wasn’t voted most likely to succeed. I don’t have 80 million followers like some blogs. I don’t have advertising supplementing my blogging habit. I don’t have a glamorous life to follow.

BUT…

What I do have is a group of loyal men and women who reach out day after day, reading my words, listening, commenting, sharing…

And it makes me feel like the Blog-coming Queen.

You all voted me in, and I won by a landslide.

I’ll take my crown and wear it “humbly-proud.”

 Humble that I could ever be in a position to have so much love surrounding me.

Proud that the same girl who meekly wrote the Yoga Incident has come so very far.  

There are those who think blogging is silly. They think it’s a waste of time. People who blog don’t have a life. For any of those people who might be reading this: YOU ARE DEAD WRONG.

Blogging gives us a freedom! It supplements our life by forcing us to reach out, when before we didn’t reach at all. It can be silly at times, but it brings us laughter and hope! It chases away our dreary feelings of “stuck in the rut” and proves that life is worth living. The good, the bad, and the flabby- we share it all.

There is power in blogging. It changes us. It makes us better. It makes us stronger. Trust me. I’m wearing the crown. I know what I’m talking about.

And with that, I will let you in on a little secret. I am starting 2 new blogs.

One is called “WWED?” or "What Would Erma Do?" (in reference to the late Erma Bombeck). It will be my blog about motherhood. No diet stories there. Just plain old fashioned rants and raves of a mother doing her best, day in and day out. I’ll be launching this blog after the first of the year. I'm super excited about this one.

The other blog is with my special friend Jia. You may have seen her name on here a few times. She featured me on her blog’s feature “Self Esteem Saturdays” and we chat and FB constantly. Now we text. Jia has been working to lose weight (like all of us here) and we decided to try a new approach.

That blog is up and running already, although we are still tweeking it. You can check out “Letters to Jia” and see what we are up too. We use the word “whoreface” liberally, and it’s not an insult. It’s a testament of our devotion to each other. So don’t be offended! (And a special thanks to the 2 girls who discovered that blog already and left comments, and the one who became our first follower. I have no idea how you found it, since we only started the blog 2 days ago, but we appreciate the support!)

So that’s all I’ve got. I’m at 171.4, I have a heart full of love for my readers (thank you thank you thank you), and I can’t wait to begin 2011. It will be the year that EVERYTHING changes.   

Love-

The Blog-Coming Queen

Losssssst innnnnnnn Faaaaaaaaaith

This has NOTHING to do with dieting. Just wanted to give you a heads up.

Dear God-

No matter how much I prepared my heart for today, I still walked away devastated. Today I stood in a court room, pleaded on behalf of the safety of my children. Just make them stay in Illinois during Christmas. That was all I wanted. So if something bad happened, I could get to them quickly.

I knew, after talking to my attorney on Monday that is was a long shot. But I still trusted you. And today- I got called all sorts of names- including a liar (when I wasn't even stretching the truth)- and lost. My kids will be boarding a plane on Christmas day to go to Arizona. Without me. Without Matt. And the reality of that made me die a little inside.

I know I'll probably hear about this from other Christians, but I'm kinda pissed off. And it's kinda at you. I don't mean that in an "I hate you" way. I just don't understand the outcome here, and I'm mad. I've had faith in all sorts of things over the years. I've trusted you about having another baby. I've trusted you while seeking your purpose in my life. But most of all, I've trusted you DAILY to take care of my big bully.

And I didn't see that happen today. And it sucks.

I wanted you to swoop in with armies of angels and fix this. Or make time stand still and do your thing. Something, ANYTHING!

But you did nothing...

Did you get lost or something?

OK, I know that's totally not true. You never get lost. You never allow us to be in situations that you haven't given the green light for. You showed the light. It was green. But I was too busy seeing red to notice.

Honestly, God, I'm too upset at the moment to praise you like normal. It's nothing personal. I just have lost my grip. It's gonna take me a while to get it back. But I KNOW that I know that I know- YOU HAVE GOT THIS SITUATION. You have a handle on it, even when I don't. So at least someone's in control here, even if it isn't me.

That's as optimistic and faith filled as it's going to get at the moment. I prayed for a miracle. I got BUPKISS. Yet another notch in my bedpost of disappointment. The one thing I can take away from this whole big fart of a mess is this:

You still have things to grow me in. This is going to take every ounce of motherhood I have in me- because even though I'M NOT OK with my kids leaving this state and being so far from me, they can't bear the brunt of my feelings. It's not their fault. So I have to encourage them to have fun and enjoy it, even if it makes me want to gag. (I know that sounds harsh, but I've lived this hell for 12 years. I gag.) Make me the kind of mother who speaks blessings over her children as they leave her sight. The kind of mom who shows conviction, but can set her conviction aside to show compassion. Who teaches her kids that losing is a part of life, and we have to make the best of it.

But that's all I can promise at the moment. I'll grow more later. Right now, I just want to be mad. And that's all the compassion I can muster.

I don't think I can write the words "thank you for this loss" because right now, it isn't true. I'm not thankful at all. But you are a big enough God to handle my emotions- you are far more thick skinned than me. I know you understand. You aren't mad because I'm mad. You get it.

I feel like the kid who just got spanked and turns around and wants a hug. It's not fair. But you are all I've got. So I'm running into your arms, with a bee in my bonnet, and letting you deal with me.

Love - a severely pissed off Charlie

PS- I'm writing a mean song. About my ex. It's country. And I'm going to send it to Dolly Parton when it's recorded. Because she will laugh her wig right off. And it would be a wonderful twist of fate if it became a top 10 hit and I got rich. I'm calling it "Lord, I trust you- but I don't trust this man." Just putting a bug in your ear....

Give My All 4all

It is a rare occasion when I write 2 blog posts in a day. But this???? It was too fun to pass up. I got an email, and it had a challenge enclosed. I'm taking that challenge. So, I'll post the email, then I'll post my response. If you want to jump on this band-wagon, feel free. I just couldn't resist. :)

 

Dear Charlie,

We’d like to invite you to join us in our search for Team 4all!

Are you an early rising, sun saluting, net charging, lunch packing, carpooling, super(role) model blogger? If you play for guts, glory and fun, then you have what it takes to be part of Team 4all!

4all is holding tryouts for Team 4all, ten blogger brand ambassadors who will receive the latest 4all news and products and access to exclusive brand opportunities throughout the year.

Think you have what it takes? Tell us why you should have a spot on our roster. What or who inspired you to start a fitness/sports routine and how are you planning to gain power in the New Year?

To apply: Write a blog post answering the prompt above and post it to your site. Tell us about yourself and why you would be a great fit for 4all. Visit www.4allbyjofit.com for more information and please feel free to forward this email to any of your friends who may be a good fit. Good luck and please let me know if you have any questions.

-K.

ABOUT 4ALL

4all is an innovative golf, tennis and fitness apparel company that specializes in creating high quality performance apparel. 4all focuses on designing stylish clothing while providing a perfect fit for all women. The brand’s garments allow women to have a comfortable fit that’s also flattering as it slims, lengthens and performs.

Dear K and 4all Fitness Clothing Company-

I got your email about becoming an ambassador for your company via blog. And to be honest-

I laughed right off my chair and hit the floor.

To THINK that I would ever be invited to potentially endorse anything sporty and/or fitness related is pretty darn hilarious.

Because you see- I am not, nor have I ever been, a lettered jacket kind of girl.

Except the one I got for choir. Which was a really really high C. I nailed that note. EVERY TIME.

Looking back on this journey, I wonder- what could THIS girl have represented as an ambassador?

TV Watching

Oreo Dunking

Napping

Stretchy Pant Stretching

Couch Holder Downer

Pants Pee-er

But as you know, (because you at least checked out my blog briefly enough to click around and get my email addy) I am not that girl anymore. I am this girl.

I am ambassadors of much grander things now.

FlyBaby Cleaner

Inch Shrinker

Mile or 4 Runner

Weight Loser

Boot Camper

Water Aerobiciser

Pants Pee-er (Still holding onto that title, apparently)

To be honest with you, I can’t think of a worse person to wear your clothes and pretend like I am a tennis racket wielding, golf club swinging, country club attending kind of chick. I’m not that girl at all. And if that’s what you are looking for to represent you- then I must humbly decline.

Because of all the things I am, those are the things I am not.

But of all the things I’m not- I suppose there are lots of great things that I am.

I AM AMBITIOUS.

There is this side of me that is extremely competitive. I like to play to win. Mostly I just play with myself (Oh, that sounds wrong on sooooooo many levels) but I'll explain!

My greatest opponent is ME. I spent years stopping myself from getting in the game. Any game. I figured since I was feeling like a loser, what was the point in trying? But something inside me changed back on January 1, 2009. I snapped. I decided to jump into the dieting game. Win or lose, I was in.

To my surprise, I learned the rules, I played a few rounds, and I started winning. (Or is that whining? Perhaps..) Regardless, I managed to eek out a few wins in my mental chess game with my evil scale. And I have got to tell you- WINNING feels so much better than losing. And now, I’m happily winning a lot. Or losing a lot- that whole "losing to win" bit gets confusing. Let’s just call it winning. WINNING. On the scale, perusing my career as a freelance writer and becoming the person I want to be. I am winning at making the outside match the inside, and vice versa. I’m far from done yet. I’ve got a ways to go. But my ambition is getting me there, one pound, one truth at a time, one silly blog post after the other. I really like that about myself. Maybe you will too!

I AM HONORABLE.

I know, my blog talks a LOT about boobs, bellies, periods, the occasional hemorrhoid, and other crazy stuff. But that’s my way of keeping it real. If you are looking for a girl with every hair in its place, then look somewhere else. If you are looking for a girl who admits to the random hair on her chin and bellybutton, well then… keep reading!

The journey I am on hasn’t ever been glamorous. There were hopeful moments- but they don’t last long (if I get any glamour at all, that is). I’m a gritty sweaty stinky fitness (un)enthusiast who does what she has to do. I put on my big girl panties with the control top and do it. Sometimes “IT” is mucking up messes from sewers that back up in my basement. Other times “IT’s” showing people the look under the lycra- the flabby stretchmarky truth. Or sweating my cans off trying to run a flipping 5K. This business of losing weight isn’t pretty. I refuse to pretend it is. That’s why I’m so darn honorable! I admit the reality. It is what it is. And I think this is possibly why people love reading my blog! All 6 of ‘em. This type of raw- soul bearing- mistake admitting- honesty is hard to find nowadays. You get a whole new perspective on life when you enter Charlie’s land of the triple B. Big Butt Blog. Mostly, you will be thankful your life isn’t as adventurous as mine. And I’m totally cool with that.

I’VE GOT GUTS.

You think it’s easy to talk about stuff like crapping your pants or having a “pad malfunction” when people you know are reading your blog? People you WILL SEE later that day? There have been many a man who was unable to look me in the eyes the next time he saw me, because his wife was laughing so hard at the computer that he asked what was so funny and she made him read my blog post and that man was schooled on something he had quite happily been oblivious to before BUT NOW it’s all he can think about and he associates that particular thought with my blog and is therefore unable to look me in the eyes when he sees me in person. I know, that sentence is grammatically incorrect, and a huge run-on. But it’s the gospel truth. (What’s even more hilarious is that men secretly start reading my blog on their own after that happens. I know they do. And I love it when they are brave enough to leave a comment.)

Out in the blogosphere there is a happy epidemic. People pretend like their lives are perfect, their houses are perfect, and they only post pictures of themselves that have been photoshopped appropriately.

Me? I spit the truth out there and don’t give a flip. Well, I suppose I do, but that doesn’t stop me from my goal or the pursuit towards it. I’ve got MOXY. My pictures are real, my weight is real, my struggles are real. I am who I am, and who I am is what you get. Even if you don’t like me, I’m still pretty darn entertaining. Just ask the menfolk. They are the ones looking at the floor when they see me…

And that’s my last point. I AM FUN.

Say what you want, but when I get comments like “I just peed my pants reading that” or “I’m choking on my Crystal Light from laughing” I know I'm on to something. And that makes me feel great!

So am I a good candidate to be an ambassador for your company?

I have no clue. Honestly, if you have any business sense at all, you’d probably say no. I know I’m not the typical or safe choice. I’m the wild card. If you like adventure- then pick me. If you want your company associated with someone who gives it everything she’s got- then pick me. If you aren’t afraid of taking a chance on a girl who barely took a chance on herself 2 years ago- then pick me.

Oh, I’m supposed to answer who inspired me to get fit. That first girl. The horrible picture up there. She was the reason. She was so unhappy- so lost- so broken- it was for her. My ambition, my honor, my guts (quite literally, oddly enough) and my sense of fun… I risked EVERYTHING for her. And ya know what I found out?

She deserves it. She deserves a win. And she’s getting it.

And there’s my entry. That’s why I should (or possibly shouldn’t) be an ambassador for your adorable clothing line. If you don’t pick me, could you at least send me an outfit? Just for funzies?

(I’d like to wear it during Fat Girl Yoga and feel legit.)

Warmly-

Charlie Hester, a thinny in progress   

That kind of FRIEND....

Kids, I’ve got to be honest with you. This week is going to be a rough one.

Without going into major details, this Thursday I will be facing one of the greatest giants in my life. Some of you know what’s going on, others don’t. But I’m going to ask that you keep me in your prayers this week as I do some major battle that has been 7 years in the works. Because while I can pretend that I am totally 100% perfect and have it all together, the reality is I’m just as “normal” as the rest of you. Which means I’m far from normal. I have fears, flaws, imperfections, and a whole bunch of (as the southern gals say) “ISH-YOUZ.” Therefore I am not going to act like this week isn’t shaking me up, because it is.

But there is one thing this week isn’t doing to me.

Making me eat.

I’m sitting pretty at 171.0 this morning. Actually that’s what I was last night. I didn’t weigh this morning. I needed an immediate infusion of the java, so I guess I can weigh later.  Fact is, I’m learning that food is NOT a comforter. Food isn’t a friend when I’m feeling scared, sad, angry, or alone.

I know that sentence sounds like it came out of “Remedial Dieting for Dummies 101” but that lesson right there is the product of 2 years (almost 3 now) of hard work, sweat and tears. It’s something I wish that you could learn by my mistake of shoving calories and fat and carbs down my gullet in times of hardship. But you probably won’t. Heck, I’d read that statement several times coming from other books, blogs, and user manuals of the body. But it hasn’t ever sunk in like it has over the past 2 weeks.

Food was my friend. Unhealthily so. The one friend you have who always getting you into scrapes and trouble. Seriously. That’s how it is. I can prove it too.

I would look around on a website (most likely Dominos) and check out all the options. I’d feel my mouth start watering at the thought of what I was going to get. Which was the same, all the time. Forget that the one item I wanted most had more calories than I needed in a day (for the whole day that is, and part of the next one too…), that was beside the point. I was already typing in my order. Any variation to the item was quickly put back the way I wanted it to taste. I needed consistency. I counted on exactly how it would taste, and wanted no mistakes. Any difference would leave me feeling gyped. I would wait the next 30-60 minutes, listening for cars coming up the road, waiting to hear footsteps on the porch. And then the delivery driver would show up bearing gifts like a Santa in a greasy checkered hat. I would eat the item in the same place (on my couch) in the exact same way.

It was never about the food.

My relationship with food was really about control.

Because when everything in my life felt out of sorts, I could control the one part that was consistent.

Taste. Texture. Temperature.

Am I speaking anyone’s language?

This week, because I am facing that old issue of control once again, I’m fighting it differently. I’m looking at food as fuel. Not like a friend. Because it’s not. It only accelerates the problem I have with my weight. And control. Food has never wiped away my tears of frustration. It has never made my heart feel light and free. In fact, it only leaves me feeling heavy and weighted down. Worse than before.

So if I’m struggling this week, I’m making a vow (publically) NOT to go the old route of emotional eating. I’m going to do other things. Things that help.

Hug my kids. Laugh. Peel ugly wallpaper. Laundry. Paint my living room. Worship. Pray. Have kittens with the Mattster. Dance. Call a friend. Sing. Scrub my floors by hand. Run.

All of these things are proven methods for me to workout stress and frustrations. After I do these things, I feel better. I feel lighter. They help me break the bondage food has over me, and the shackles of my own self inflicted prison will fall to the floor.

I know this isn’t a funny post, but they will come. Because part of freedom is laughing when the chips are down. It’s learning that when we are standing in the storms of our fears, we can walk away feeling refreshed and clean. Perhaps a little windblown, but that’s part of the process. It gives us the chance to put things right again. Sometimes we get to put them back in places that are even better. And I’m excited for that.

That’s all I’ve got for today. I hope it helps someone out there. Besides me, I mean. But it helps me tremendously today. It gives me a game plan. And as long as there’s a plan, I can relax a little. I will relax.

Do any of you have an unhealthy friend relationship with food? Is it something you have recovered from? Are you still recovering? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Tails of the Clean House

This morning, I realized I weigh 17 pounds less than my husband. I’m not sure how I feel about that. In my head, I am fatter than him. But he keeps calling me skinny. (he’s a beanpole. His weight is deceptive, because you would never guess he weighs what he does. Unless you are Irish. Which is a joke only he will get. This is how I will know if he really reads my blog like he says he does…) (I love you, babe!)

So I’m going to have to think on that one for a while. Maybe I need to re-assess how I look and match it with how I feel. Seems like the 2 aren’t quite lining up.

Moving on…

I will never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever mention on my blog that we get visits from the occasional mouse. I did that yesterday. Apparently, I have visions of startling accuracy, something like a modern day Nostradamous. Who knew?

Last night, in an attempt to help myself form good habits, I vacuumed the “foyer” of our house. Aka: the 3x2 foot leopard rug that resides by the front door. I was wearing super comfy shoes, and enjoying the look of a clean house. (at least once I vacuumed the rugs it would be) Little did I know, my super comfy shoes caused some static electricity to build up in my system, and as I went to turn the sweeper off- ZAP. I got shocked. Not like someone scooted their feet across the carpet and shocked you on your earlobe (something my brothers and I got spanked for on numerous occasions. Mostly because we did it in the middle of Sunday morning Church…). No, this was a drop you to the floor kind of shock. It scrambled my brain for a minute. After that, I got a little jumpy.

The kids thought (seeing as Mama was really ok) this was terribly funny. So they kept jumping out at me, poking me, making a nervous Mama pee a little, and laughing hysterically. (Again, I deserve this. My brothers and I made Margaret the Saint wet her pants several times while we were growing up. She would be so mad she’d cry the whole way home from church ((I guess we were really bored at church, because it was a good homebase for our antics)) and when we got home, we’d get a butt swat or 5.)

Needless to say, I was super edgy last night.

So about midnight, as I was waiting for the laundry to finish so I could switch over a load of uniforms for the morning, I saw Puppy- our renegade cat- go tearing through the house. Immediately I patted myself on the back, knowing that even the cat was finding joy with so much floor space recovered. She could run like a cheetah in the wonder of the Little Hester House that Could (Get Clean), and what a joy to watch her! She was having lots of fun, running around, getting into that pounce position, then pouncing, almost like she was really chasing a…

MOUSE.

Once I realized this fact, I got a little nervous. I don’t like my cat, but I feel sorry for her when it comes to the usual cat-like activities. I don’t know if we ruined her by naming her Puppy or what, but when it comes to chasing mice- she’s kinda like the friend you have who gets fired from their job because they always show up late, and then crashes on your couch for an indefinite amount of time. She’s got some issues.

Mostly because she likes to play with it, and can’t figure out how to catch it dead. She’s a catch and release kind of cat.

The last time Puppy caught a mouse, she went the pizza delivery route, and had one already caught for her. On a GLUE TRAP. Which got stuck to her too. That was a mess that involved peanut butter and scissors, and I had the good sense to film it all. If you haven’t seen it, you can watch it here.

But tonight, she was determined to catch that mouse. Thankful that my feet were up on the couch, I watched her run around like a cat on crack. She pounced and bounded for 10 minutes, and eventually I became re-absorbed in Top Chef All-Stars. I quit paying attention to her.

Pretty soon she hopped up onto the couch with me and I absentmindedly reached over to pet her. (I don’t like her at all, honest.) My hand jerked back when I heard a pathetic little squeek.

THE MOUSE WAS IN HER MOUTH.

I shoved her (and the mouse) off the couch, Puppy let the mouse go, and I had to take a few deep breaths to get calmed back down. And get a towel. (Yeah, that made me wet my pants. All the way) I decided this was a good time to switch the laundry over, clean myself up, and go to sleep. On my way back through the living room, I noticed that the mouse had apparently hidden himself underneath an empty laundry hamper (so nice to have those again) and Puppy was doing her best to catch it, going from one side to the other, stalking her prey. I figured the mouse would get away and move out, since Puppy was on the prowl. And I went to bed.

So this morning, 6am came. And I got the kids ready for school as I always do. 2 of the 3 were in a good mood, which I consider a great morning, and they made their 7am rendezvous with the bus.

I turned the lights in the living room off, and snuggled onto the couch for a little time with Will and Grace on Lifetime. Matt got ready for work, headed off, and I began folding a load of laundry on the couch. Pretty normal stuff. I went downstairs to the scary basement and got the next load from the dryer.

I decided I would sit on the floor and fold the next basket of clean duds. I sat down criss-cross-applesauce style (cause it’s now unPC to say “Indian style”) and lost my balance a bit. I put my hand on the floor to catch myself, and there was something like a pencil underneath my hand.

That’s odd, I thought, my floor is spotless!

Until the moment I realized it wasn’t a pencil, or a pen, or anything else I would WANT to touch.

It was a mouse tail.

I snapped on the overhead light in the living room, and this was what I saw…

UG.

So, I got the dustpan, poked the poor mouse to make sure he wasn’t mostly dead, but verify he was all dead. (He was toast.) I scraped him up with the dustpan, promptly took him outside to the trash can, and Clorox wipe-ed my floor at the crime scene.

And that is why I will never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever mention a mouse potentially visiting my house again.

But every once in a while, we DO have a winning lottery ticket show up…

Charlie VS FlyLady: How My House went on a Diet

The other day I got mad. I couldn’t find my favorite comfy boots. Because my house was a wreck. AGAIN. Seemed like no matter how I “piled” stuff (Charlie’s version of cleaning) the piles eventually exploded and our happy little home, while still happy, was a good candidate for the TV show Clean Sweep.

About a year ago, I tried to completely organize my house. I even signed up for an awesome website called FLYLADY. This FlyGal sends you wonderful reminders about things you need to do the next day. And she sends them EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. A few months weeks days into her plan of attack, I gave up. (I get points for honesty on that.)

Because my house had sooooooo much stuff, I would never find the carpet again. So things kinda sat around for a year. Clothes, papers, items from my Gma’s estate I couldn’t part with (including grocery lists that she would write when I went to the store for her)- all of it PILED in not-so-neat stacks in our 750 square foot home- that we share with a mom, a dad, 3 kids, a cat named Puppy, and the random visits of an occasional mouse and our next door neighbor girl, Fred.

We lived, in our self induced CHAOS (which FlyLady dubs as “Can’t Have Anyone Over Syndrome”) and existed. With piles of stuff.

Me, and A.D.D. (which I dub as “Avoiding Domestic Duties”), and all this shhhtuff. Not much of an existence at all

Flash forward to last week.

I couldn’t find my dang boots. I had to wear the hooker heel boots to Thanksgiving with Matt’s family. Not the image your mother-in-law wants her daughter-in-law to present- "I'm thankful for my own corner of the world…"

And something inside me snapped while my feet were aching from the hooker heels.

I lost a bunch of weight, and am still going… (173 ya’ll! Whoo-hoo!)

What if I looked at my piles of stuff as POUNDS? What could I lose?

My whole life I had told myself I couldn’t diet. But I really could.

Likewise, my whole life I have been saying I don’t like cleaning. But what if I really did?

And so began the diety version of my (now close) relationship with the FlyLady.

Step 1. Shine your sink everyday. That’s all you do the first day.

Now, I had spammed enough of the FlyLady’s emails (sorry FlyLady! Just being honest with ya!) to know that it gets more intense with each day. Plus Matt is in charge of the kitchen. (Dishes, mopping, and cat litter. Yes folks, he does it all!) (Which is usually why the kitchen is the least chaotic room in the house!) So I skipped step 1, and with my zeal to redeem my honor at Christmas with Matt’s family by finding and wearing proper mommy shoes, and my newfound poundage/cleaning analogy, I jumped head first into the house diet. I did it exactly like I begin all my diet episodes.

Throw out the stuff you don’t need.

So I began sorting Clothes Mountain. I took plastic storage tubs and lined them up across the living room. Each person had a tub of their own, and we also made a “give away” tub, and one for costumes. (Because we are that kind of a family. Theatrical and such.) We sorted and folded and debated about what to keep and what to toss. We ended up with 5 trash bags full of donation clothes. Just in the living room. By the end of our time sorting, we were giving practically everything away. Cause we didn’t want to deal with it.

And my living room became a living room again, instead of looking like a second hand store barfed on my treadmill.

I imagine FlyLady to have a big authoritative voice, thundering down from the heavens: It is GOOD.

And just like when I lost those first 12 pounds, I got excited. Because I COULD do it. And now, I wanted to see how much more I could do.

Matt was a total sweetheart, and bagged up all the laundry in our room (a haven for clothes that have been worn once, and are too dirty to put back in drawers, but not dirty enough to re-wash). After he did that, I was able to get my game plan together. I would clean off the tops of my dressers, and re-discover my writing desk. (I knew it was in there somewhere.) So the Friday after Thanksgiving, while the kids were gone, we attacked the areas of our bedroom that vexed us the most. The tops of dressers that had been catching everything from dirty socks to paperclips, unopened mail to Christmas ribbon. (Not kidding you- my dresser was loaded 3 feet above the top of the dresser.) But with every item I put in it’s place (a lot of which got put in the trash), I kept thinking “You started at 238, and now you are almost back down to your lowest recorded weight. It didn’t happen overnight, but I did take effort and sacrifice. Keep going!” and that helped soften the blow to my A.D.D. condition. And before I knew it, I had completely cleaned off, polished, and arranged the top of my dresser! Matt got his done too!

And FlyLady said: It is GOOD.

Next, I went into the bathroom. Not to pee (although you know me, there’s plenty of that going on.), but to scrubba scrubba organize. I shined my toilet, hand mopped the floors, and even cleaned out the bathroom sink cabinet. Including the drawer with 80 jagillion band-aid wrappers and not one actual band-aid to be found. I dustbusted out the drawers, Clorox wipe-ed them, and threw away everything we don’t need. I washed the trash can, something I used to make fun of Margaret the Saint for doing when I was a kid. I was even able to actually put CLEAN TOWELS and washcloths onto the rack I specifically bought for such a time, but had never encountered the time they ended up on said rack. Until now.

And FlyLady said: It is GOOD!!!!

I never thought in a million years these 3 rooms would be clean all at the same time. But they are. Not only are they clean, but they are organized. Pounds and pounds of stuff lost. That’s a train I can ride all night long!

So today, I tackled the dreaded dining room. Piled with secrets only Jesus would know about. Cause I hadn’t touched a few of the piles for so long I couldn’t remember what was in them.

I am going to go off track for a minute and talk about that point as it relates to weight. 2 years ago, I had what I considered solid reasons for staying fat (no pun intended, but it’s pretty funny!). I was scared of hard work, I was afraid of diets, I thought I would lose my “fat and jolly” demeanor if I got skinny. Looking back at all those things now, I think to myself “Why did I wait so long to do this? Why was I so afraid? Why did I think I couldn’t do it?” It almost seems silly to me now, but for those who are in the first steps of the journey, it’s exactly how you feel. And I will never forget feeling that way. Now that I’m over the halfway point, and a few pounds away from 70 pounds lost, I know that my worth as a person has very little to do with my weight. But I let it (weight) be the driving force when making decisions. I’m already fat, so what is one more oreo going to hurt? I’m too fat for the gym, so I’ll just sleep. Stuff like that. I’m betting lots of you know exactly what I mean.

Back to the house diet… the piles of things had been in my dining room so long, I forgot WHY I kept them. The beautiful thing about this is once I was removed from the reasons- legit or totally BS- it was easier for me to let go. To toss unnecessary things out. (Just like pounds!) And I got exactly half of my piled up dining room cleared out. Scary thing is, I was having fun while I was cleaning. Yep, folks, hell has officially frozen over. Expect flocks of pigs in the morning sky… plus I found my comfy boots. The hooker heel boots can be put away until Date Night. (((GRIN)))

Right now, I can see over 80% of my floor in my house as a whole. I have space, I have freedom, I am comfortable moving around.  And I wonder…why DID I wait so long? I always push myself to the brink of total destruction before I make a move that changes my entire existence. That’s probably not a good quality, but it is an honest assessment of my reality. (Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?) Once I start making the change into a new way of thinking, I can do anything. So can you.

I can lose weight. You can lose weight. My house can lose weight. And we all can come out smelling like roses. Or Lysol. Or whatever you like smelling the best.

WE CAN DO THIS. One pound of shhhhhtuff at a time.

FlyLady said: THIS IS GREAT!!!!!
And Charlie wholeheartedly agreed.

If you would like to know more about Fly Lady and her perpetual quest to save us from our A.D.D. and CHAOS, please check out her website at www.flylady.com  where she will grow you in all things cleaning. Love it!

In her defense, her saying "It is good/great" is totally in my imagination. Although I'm 99.9% sure she's proud of the progress I have made. This is not how she intended folks to do her program at all, but it’s working for me this week since McMuscles is on vacation. And I am not lifting weights and being sore all dang day. So I’m hitting the house diet hard this week, then can start the maintenance phase with the FlyLady's daily flight plans next week. Just working with the time I’ve got!  And a big shoutout to my favorite WF Jia, who encouraged me to be active on the FLyLady's wall on FB and start confessing my domestication difficutlies. THANKS JIA!!!! I lurrrrrrve you!