A Surprise Family Visit at Christmas

Dear Aunt Flow-

Your impending visit this Christmas is reeking much havoc this week. I am trying to keep my head above water with the plans, parties and get-togethers for the holiday season, and be the good little dieter that I (should be but am not) am, but the close proximity of your visit is really throwing a wrench in my gears. The horrormoans, the water retention, the compulsive eating for no reason at all... it's all adding up to equal a not very hopeful Christmas at all. A delicious one to be sure, as I am smelling the Bourbon roasted sweet potatoes in my crock pot as we speak, but not a good one for a skinny Christmas.

Yet even as I write this, I have a secret weapon in my arsenal. Not Midol, although it's healing powers are great, but my Iphone.

You may recall that I received it last month right after you left, and purchased an application called "Period Tracker." It has opened my eyes to the inevitable truths about our too close for comfort relationship. Because it makes it easy to track EVERYTHING that has to do with you, even if I think it doesn't. Like hunger.

See, for a long time I have blamed myself and my lack of will power for the way that I eat. When I get hungry and chow down (on 3 bowls of Capt'n Crunch Crunchberries in the middle of the night. And NOOOOO, they don't count as a fruit, even if they are berries), I ticked off a little box that said "Moods- hungry." When I drank a whole 2 liter of diet 7up yesterday I checked another box that said "Moods- thirsty." And when all the children were surrounding me in a 1 square foot proximity (with one attempting to sit on my lap and another quite possibly on my head) and it got on my nerves, I looked for a box that said "Moods- Claustrophobic" but settled for "Moods- Frustrated."

And I noticed a trend.

Once I ovulate, you take over with your travel plans to visit me.

It's not noticeable at first, or if you look on the surface, but when I took a second look, I realized that a lot of my issues with food are an attempt to appease you. To make you tolerable. And I have been living in ignorance about that fact for the last 20 years.

I always assumed you had me the day before you came and the next solid week once you arrived, but really it's much longer than that. I get weepy, I get mad, I get hungry, and it's all because of you.

I know this in certainty because I have changed. I now know that I want to be healthy. I strive to live within guidelines that my doctor would approve of. I eat fruits and veggies and do my best to stay away from the really fattening stuff that you seem to love so well. Like gravy, which you seem to consider a 5th food group.

And now, dear Auntie, you are on my radar. I've got your number.

Because when I am aware of your actions, I can control them. I can take charge, and talk myself off the all- you- can- eat- buffet ledge. I can do something about it.

OK, so you are coming in 3 days. Give or take an emotional breakdown or so. But I know it. I know that right now I am retaining water like nobody's business and it's adding to the weight I am working so hard to lose. I know that my muscles are achy because you have attempted to thwart Jillian Michaels attempt to Shred me. (I'm not complaining about that one, actually. She's is still eeeee-vil and my thighs are thankful for the reprieve.) But I am fully aware of the curves you are throwing at me.

And now, dear Aunt Flow, I can say no.

I can remind myself that this is simply a form of biological warfare which YOU are the cause of. I can release my frustration at the horrormoan situation and move forward. I can win against your plans. Sort of. You will win for a short period, but I am going to win the other 20 days. So watch out.

And you know what? It would be super awesome if you wouldn't keep showing up for major events. Like my 32nd birthday. Or now, for Christmas day. (Thankfully, you should be heading out the door on Christmas morning. Which is good, because the kids will be gone for a week, and let's just say that Matt and I would like to enjoy the "quiet time.")

So be aware that you are a marked member of this family now. I will be watching your every mood. Uh, every move.

I am even going to get you a gift this year. Seems fitting that you have something under the tree as well. I'm thinking about these....

Love-

Your not so nice niece,

Charlie

Jeepers Creepers, How'd ya sock those Peepers?

I totally blame my friend Melissa.

See, she has been on a journey to lose weight too. And recently, she did something that I couldn’t believe. She did the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred. And she even did it for 30 days. AND LIVED.

If Melissa can do it, so can I, right???

Before I begin my story, may I remind you of- and share- a few facts?

A. I have been lazy about exercise lately, and haven’t walked more than 3 miles at a time since I got the flu. Nor have I swam a mile, done yoga, or anything else notable. I have, however, dropped a few pounds in tears after seeing what my laziness has done for my numbers. It ain’t pretty. 174.2, I say with despair and frustration in my heart.

B. I own the Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred. The last time I attempted it, I was approximately 219 pounds, and I made it precisely 5 minutes into the DVD before I had to decide if I was going to have a heart attack with a side of exercise induced panic attack, or stop and sit on the couch- reminding myself to breathe. I chose the latter.


C. I was dealing with a serious case of Triple Chocolate Chunk Muffin guilt. DoubleTriple Chocolate Chunk Muffin guilt, actually, because I ate two of the durn things at 3am. I made them while waiting for clothes to finish drying so I could switch uniforms from the washer for the kids to wear to school this morning. I was going to fall asleep if I didn’t do something, so I made muffins. I did not realize how dangerously close to brownies those frickin frackin muffins would smell as they were baking. As soon as they were cool, I tasted one- BUT ONLY, OF COURSE, to make sure they were fit for consumption. Then I had to eat another, to make sure the deliciousness wasn’t a fluke on the first muffin. I was wise enough to call it quits before (inhaling) nibbling on a third. I still have my pride. It’s just prettier with a girdle to hold it in.

Now, flash forward to 5am. Still not sleeping, still remembering the taste of muffins. So for a swift kick of reality, I weighed myself. Then I decided I should go to an exercise class at the YMCA. But I really wasn’t sure that was the best idea, because I hadn’t slept and was genuinely tired. So I opted to look at my unusually large collection of workout DVDs and keep the humiliation on the home front. But which DVD to choose?

Lotte Berk. Not a chance.

Billy Blanks TaeBo Bootcamp. When pigs fly.

Barry’s Bootcamp. When H-E-double hockeysticks freezes over.

Sarah Ivanhoe’s 20 minute Yoga Makeover. Forget it.

Bob Harper’s Biggest Loser Workout- maybe, 'cause I loves me some Bob Harper, but the DVD would take longer than I had at that moment.

Jillian Michaels 30 Day Shred. NO FREAKING WAY.

That is when I remembered Melissa. And what she did.

I’m actually not sure if she made it the whole 30 days. But in my mind, I totally give her credit for it. I know I applauded her on Facebook every time she said she had to leave and go let Jillian work her over (especially as I was sitting on my rumpus “still recovering” – aka being a lazy butt- from the flu). Melissa persevered. She didn’t like it, but she did it.

And I thought to myself “if sweet Melissa can do it, so can I.”

Not that I am as strong as Melissa, but ever since I read her reply to my first email to her, I was bonded to this woman. She is my kinda girl.

Jillian, however, is not even close to being my kinda girl. She is eeeee-vil. To the third degree. Nay, eeeee-vil to eeeee-leven. And like I said earlier, the last time I tried 30 Day Shred, I almost had to call the paramedics. It was bad. And that was 5 minutes into it. I only wish I was exaggerating.

And I was freaking myself out.

So I started my mantra.

“For Melissa. For Melissa.”

‘Cause if I repeated it over and over, I would see Melissa’s face instead of Jillian. Melissa loves me and doesn’t want me to die. I honestly believe Jillian could care less if I kicked the bucket, as long as kept kicking while I was down.

So I began.

It really didn’t help that I was trembling before the opening credits were over. That is how fearful I am of this DVD. “For Melissa. For Melissa.” Maybe it was because I hadn’t slept, or maybe it was the double triple chocolate chunk muffin guilt, or it could have been the fear of God that was rising up within me. Whatever it was, it wasn’t getting Jillian and I off on the best foot.

She smiles and talks about how she’s going to transform your body. I reminded myself that I had already done a butt load of transforming, just me and Jesus, and perhaps this time, if me and the Big J added Jillian into our sucessful mix, it would be easier. Plus, I was down a third of the woman I was back then!

Vanity, vanity....

I’m going to break this down to the highlights. You don’t really want to read a play by play of my torture.

Jumping Jacks- One of Jillian’s favorite forms of (torture) exercise. Normally, I would attempt to pound them out, and best my eeeee-vil foe. But as I started bouncing out the jacks -cause with my jigglies, there is no jumping. Just residual movement from the initial action of a singular JUMP- two facts became alarmingly clear.

1) If I bounced like Jillian was on the DVD, I was going to wake up everyone in the house with my elephant sized booms, perhaps causing a sizematic catastrophe.

Or...

2) I was going to wet my pants. No room for error. One hearty hop and I’d be puddle jumping.

So I modified the jumping jacks. I lifted one foot at a time and did more of a side kick action, keeping things quiet and dry. It was about the time I was exceedingly pleased with myself when the eeeee-vil one spouted off, “If you are looking for a modification for jumping jacks- well, there isn’t one.”

Whaaaaat?

“I’ve got 400 pound people doing jumping jacks, and if they can do it so can you!”

Excuse me for a moment, Jillian, while I bury the remains of my pride. I’ll be stomping down the dirt of its grave with one foot at a time.

It was deflating.

So I imagined Melissa replacing the soundtrack in her southern accent.

“Honey, if you can only do one foot at a tiiime, you can only do one foot. Keep kicking, sister!”

Much better. My blood pressure reduced. (It really is a good thing I have an overactive imagination. It comes in handy sometimes.) And despite there not being a modification to jumping jacks, my single action Chuch Norris-ish kicks got my heart rate up there. I promise.

Next up- The HAND WEIGHTS

Now I may be delusional about my abilities, but I am not insane. I knew that if she said I needed hand weights, I would not be wise to dig out my 5 pounders. I was quite content to grab the puny 2 pound dumbbells. (Or as Matt calls them, my dumbbellettes.) Say what you want, but I still needed to function after this for the rest of the day. So little weights it is.

Except that after the lifting and pressing with the same motions for what seemed to be an eternity, those little weights got big. And heavy. Like when you hold a baby for 15 minutes and your arm starts to cramp up because you are out of practice. I was totally out of my element here, and it hurt like holy thunder. My arms went on autopilot. They were moving without my brain telling them to. I think they knew that it was inevitable.

That was about the time that my glasses started slipping down my nose because of all the sweat I was producing. Without a second thought, I went to push them back up my nose, nerdy style. Uh, with a handweight in my hand, and my arm completely unaware that we were changing intensity and heading for my face. My arm was focused on the movement at hand. (pun intended) So as the glasses went back up my nose, so did the handweight. Right square on the bridge of my nose. You know those cartoons where a person gets hit on the head and they see stars? Huh, I can say without a doubt that I saw George Clooney. Right there in my living room. At 5:20 am. Who knew he was in town?

The glasses flew off, and I gave up on seeing what I was doing. It was much easier to imagine Melissa’s head on Jillian’s body with them gone anyway. And I listened for my guardian instructor’s voice above the shrilling of the shred.

“It’s just a miiinor setback, hon. Keep going. Just a little while left. You can do this, girl. I know you can.”

I muddled through the next 10 minutes best as I could. If you have never done the shred, it cycles you through the movements. And you all know how FOND I am of cycles. Harumph.

Finally, the last cycle of the “strength portion”-

By the time the last round rolled through, I was a broken woman. The eeeee-vil one has you laying on the floor for the first bit, doing chest presses with the dumbbells. Then she says “Quick, stand up. No resting!” And I tried. I really really tried. But there was no getting up. I was just laying on the floor like the sad muffin eatin sack I was. And the eeeee-vil one goes back to the confounded jumping jacks. So I, in the vain hope of pleasing my cruel mistress, started doing pulses of being spread eagle down on the floor, still lifting my weights, praying that Jillian would be appeased with my pathetic offering. I also prayed that none of my kids would wake up. I could just imagine my explination...

“Mommy, what are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing, just doing jumping jacks on my back…”

Thankfully, everyone stayed in bed and no explanation was necessary.

So what is the verdict about the shred?

A. Pee first. NO EXCEPTIONS.

B. Wear contacts or fly blind. I nose what I am talking about.

C. Get yourself a Melissa. Someone who loves you and wants what is best for you. It makes the whole thing tolerable.

D. Double Triple Chocolate Chunk Muffin guilt is highly overrated. I wasn’t left with a shred of dignity at the end. They weren't worth it, and they won't be the next time either.

But I survived. At least, I survived day one. I’ll keep you posted on the next 29….

Heavy Things to Deal With...

I really should know better by now.If you aren’t having a great day, don’t step on the scale expecting it to make you feel better.

Especially if your horrormoans have been driving you to madness and compulsive eating.

I have to tell you (because I don’t want to gloss over the truth) that I had a complete melt down, standing buck naked in my kitchen at 5am this morning. I thought I’d weigh myself quickly just to make sure I hadn’t thrown myself too far off track.

What a stupid idea.

Although I wish I could tell you a lower number, I know that if I fudge the truth now, it won’t do anybody any good. AT ALL. So here it is.

(wincing and grimacing as I type this.)

175.

Yeah, I managed to gain myself 5 pounds in 2 days.

How is that possible?

Well, I realized I was super hungry coming home from the video store with the movie “Julia and Julie” in my clutches. So I picked up a bagel with cream cheese. But they were sold out at Royal- Donut- Royal Donut, so I went to a coffee shop and got one I don’t know the calorie/fat content of. And they didn’t have reduced fat cream cheese. And if you are going to watch that movie, please do yourself a favor and watch it with a full stomach. Because it does nothing but make you hungry. That duck dish made my mouth water!!! So I ate more. Lots more.

Then, because it’s was Wednesday, I had to watch the season finale of Top Chef on my DVR. (So bummed Kevin didn’t win. He earned it, and I would let him fatten me up with pork any day of the week!!!) That also made me hungry. So, instead of going to bed like a good girl (because I’m still fighting the insomnia) I decided to eat. Not a fiber one bar, not some 97% fat free popcorn, not even veggies. Well, I did have one veggie. A sautéed onion, mixed in with pasta and hollandaise sauce. Bliss! Pure bliss!

Then Thursday, I made a crock pot full of chili. I haven’t made any for a year, and it tasted soooooo good! I had way too much. And I also should have laid off the left over muffins. And I know it.

So did my scale.

It was not happy with me at all this morning.

More importantly, I am not happy with me.

Now before anyone starts in on a lecture, I am going to share with you what I know to be self evident truths. I will then follow with my frustration about the truths.

Truth 1: My body rages with hunger about a week and a half before my period. Some months are worse than others. This month has been the worst in a long time.

Frustration 1: Yeah, my body does get extremely hungry- like a bottomless pit, as it were. I can deal with that. What I can’t deal with is the fact that I made poor choices when I got that hungry. My body didn’t force me to eat an entire can of French Fried Onions. (Did I forget to mention those in my list above? There were French fried onions. Emphasis on the “were”.) I chose to eat those all by myself. After this whole time, and I still don’t know better. Wait- I DO know better. It’s like the Calvin and Hobbes comic when Calvin says “I have plenty of common sense. I just choose to ignore it!” That is me. Ignoring the obvious.

Truth 2: Cheating is going to happen. That’s just the way life is. Especially if you are on a diet.

Frustration 2: Yes, cheating is going to happen. But why now? I have been half cheating/ half dieting for months now, and I was ready to get over it and battle it out! I was all psyched to move past this and get into the land of 160s. Like this weekend. But instead, I am sitting here regretting eating that food. I don’t like regrets. But I am owning up to the fact that I was not thinking with my head. I was thinking with my tummy. Smooth move, ex-lax.

Truth 3: I will encounter temptation often when it comes to food.

Frustration 3: I will run into food every day. Food is everywhere. It’s not like I have the luxury of a substance abuse problem (stick with me here, I’m not being demeaning or pious. I promise.) and I can AVOID places that serve or sell that substance. I am stuck having to eat and control my addiction every single day. This is where us fat chicks run into trouble. Food is necessary. Food is emotional. Food is… frustrating. It’s like a pair of new work shoes. (Maybe I should start a blog about my obvious love of shoes. It keeps coming up, doesn’t it???) You have to wear them, but they hurt. The cause blisters. They make you ache. And I keep trying to put my junkie flip flops back on. NOT APPROPRIATE. But those flip flops are familiar. And they don’t cramp my style. I love the taste of all things fattening. Fat is familiar. And I feel the emotional pull every time I wake up. This is where us fat chicks are like the folks who have been sober for years. That desire, whether we like it or not, is still there to drink. Or shoot up. Us fatties? We eat. And we can’t avoid it or we will die.

Now that I have perhaps thoroughly depressed everyone (I know I sure am) I need to look at some positive things that are happening.

Even though I am back up to 175 today, a lot of the 5 pounds will come right back off if I behave the next 3 days. That’s just how my body works.

Even though I am wearing the number 175 today, I was wearing a 230 or so this time last year. A marked improvement. I should be proud of that fact.

Even though I am a 175 right now, I know that I can use my frustration at seeing that number to get me back on track. I don’t want to stay here, and I know that. So I have to use my anger to fuel the desire to perspire. I have been totally lazy on exercise since I got the flu in November.

Tomorrow I must do a hard workout. It is a must. Feel free to call me about it. I’m posting my number under the “contact Charlie” part of the blog. Call me Saturday afternoon and yell if I haven’t done it.

OK, I need to go to bed now. I’m exhausted and am hoping for some rest tonight. The insomnia is catching up with me, and I’m feeling the exhaustion kicking in. That’s good, because it means that the spell of me not sleeping well is almost over.

Thanks for listening, gang. It is so good to know that you all are there when I need you most!

Love-
Charlie

P.U.S. in Boots

What can a girl accomplish in 10 weeks?


Not a superwoman, but a real girl- filled with excitement, emotions, extenuating circumstances and family obligations… in the midst of holidays, visits to 2 different Grandmas who are under the weather, and housework that never stops… who is foolishly trying to write 2 books of completely different genres, keep up on a blog (which I really don’t mind) and the heaps of emails she receives from women who need encouragement…who is trying to keep her love life hot with her hubby, short people in her house from killing each other and who need endless amounts of bandaids for survival because of invisible booboos…who has to get through 5 (count em) 5 holiday celebrations and face her evil foe of pecan fudge and divinity…


What exactly can she do in 10 weeks?


Because that is all the time that I have. And the goal is being delivered as we speak. Tracking says that it is somewhere between here and Kansas. This is the goal.

Cute, huh?

It’s for the show I told you all about a few days ago. Remember me saying that Matt gave me an opportunity to step out of my comfort zone? Well, everything looks good so far, and as soon as we get the final word tomorrow night, it will be a confirmed go. And that is when the real fun begins.

Not because of the pages and pages of lines we will have to memorize. Or that we will have to rehearse often. I’m looking forward to that.

No, what worries me is that for some reason in my hairbrained Lucille Ball mindset, I had the brilliant idea that I should be in the land of the 150s when I perform. Which gives me exactly 10 weeks to lose between 11 and 20 pounds. Do the math and you will see that I am still hanging on to 170.

BARELY.

So I have 10 weeks to get unsuper me whipped into shape for my return to stage after a 4 ½ year absence/hiatus. Last show I did was “Chicago” when I got the dream role of Roxie Hart. A plump Roxie Hart.

But this show requires more. It says in the script that my character, Sally, is thin. THIN!

THIN???

So I did the most impractical thing I could think of to get me on track.

I bought a costume that is too small for me.

That ought to do it. Right?

The dress is a size 10. “I thought you were wearing size 10 already, Charlie!” And yes. I am.

In jeans.

But not in shirts. They are still clingy on my size 14 belly/boob combination. And I still have a barrel chest problem. I have to shrink more. For the sake of the theatre.

This might actually be the swift kick I have been needing. Because if I can get down to a reasonable 155 by show time, I can strut my stuff with confidence. Actually, it will have to wait till after the show, because the character is unassuming and rather mousey. But I’m not. Once I step off that stage and become Charlie again, I can rejoice that I pulled off such a feat.

Me. The princess of UN-SUPER. (Thank you Shannon for inspiring me with that phrase. I needed it! lol)

I’m going to work out a rigorous schedule for working out, figure out a diet plan, and fill everyone in.

But for today, I’m gonna look at that picture of a too small dress and let myself get scared. Because dieting takes a hefty amount of fear (pun intended) for it to stick. For me to be willing to make the changes necessary to get me from a “size 10 jean only” to a “size 10 vintage dress.” Remember my babbling about changing my shoes and finding some red vinyl thigh high boots to wear?

This Princess of Un Super (PUS) is looking for her boots.

I will update you soon, but for now you should know that I am sweating bullets.

And that’s not a bad thing at all…

A Bad Case of the WHY ME's

I hate it when my body gets stuck on a third shift schedule. Those of you who have been with me for some time know that I have frequent trouble with insomnia. Truth be told, if I could be up all night and sleep during the day, I would. My body is ready to fall into bed by 5am, and I love rising at the crack of 3. PM.

When my body gets stuck on such a schedule, it takes me almost 3 weeks to get it back to normal. Because it isn't as easy as staying up for a full 24 hours till it's time to go to bed like normal people. I have to ease my body back into the routine of waking up at 6am. And the body doesn't like that much at all.

Part of the reason I prefer to sleep in the daytime is that I am scared of the dark. Yep, a 32 year old woman still hates sleeping in a pitch black room. I like opening my eyes from a deep sleep and seeing exactly what is in front of me. And I wake up from sleep often. It's the A.D.D in me, I think.

Point being, I PREFER to sleep in the day because I long for the security of the light.

I long for security often. Not just in my sleeping, but in many things. Like money. I often think that the security of great sums of money would make things so much better. I would relax. I could breathe easy, and take some of the pressure off of Matt as the sole bread winner. But everytime I try to make headway in that area, something inside me pulls towards something else.

I have learned to be confident over the past year, that's for sure, but am I SECURE???

Security is something I seldom felt. I grew up in a home where there wasn't much security. It was a constant state of walking on eggshells. Then in my first marriage, I wound up achieving the same type of home life- never knowing where I stood with the ex from one moment to another. Now, although I am extremely happy with Matt in our marriage, I wonder about the future, the kids college, getting enough money to have my surgery so I can have more kids...all those things weigh heavy on my heart. And in seeking security, I look around to see what things I can change to make it better.

And I always think that money will make those situations better.

But tonight, as I was watching a dvd of the show "Heroes" I felt God tugging on my insecure heart once again.

"Your security must be in ME."

Of course, I argue with God. (It's not a bad thing. I think God likes a little intelligent conversation with His children now and then.)

"Well, sure, YOU are the reason I have anything at all, but I need to pull my weight."

"But there are things planned for you that you would miss if you take the short cuts."

"What kind of short cuts are You talking about?"

"You need to finish what you have already started."

"God, that is fine and dandy, but I have to help take care of things now."

"Why? Do you think that I won't?"


And there it was. The ugly truth of my disobedience staring me square in the face. I don't think that God will take care of me like I want to take care of me.

Now, I will admit this notion is pretty darn laughable. After all. I do a horrific job of taking care of me. (Shall we point out who allowed herself to be a fatty fatty two by four?)

But I know the things I want! I know what I need! I know what I greed! And that's probably why God has a problem with me being secure in myself alone. I take the easy route.

And God's ways are never easy. It's kind of like the whole diet process. I do good for a while, then have to take a few steps back in failure. Because He wants to teach me a lesson. For my own good of course, but nevertheless, lessons in the "hard knock category" suck. So I tend to avoid them.

Instead of trusting God with all my heart, I trust Him just enough to get me by. So it looks like I trust Him completely, but am still hanging on to those little pieces that I think I could do better with.

Like my past.

And my hurts.

And my weight.

And my checkbook.


Something has been burning on my heart lately, and I can't shake it. See, New Year's Day is coming up very soon, and women everywhere are going to be looking for a place to turn. Because their New Year's resolutions are going to be the same. "This is the year I am going to lose that 'X' number of pounds." Am I going to be too busy planning my own security, seeking what only helps me and my family, and neglecting the good I can do to help others reach their potential? Am I going to be selfish enough to say "I'm doing what is good for me" and not be there 100% for those who need a helping hand and a good belly laugh?

Or will I put my security in God and what He asked me to do over a year ago?

Because He told me that where I was going, the weight couldn't come along. (He also said the smoking had to go too. And I'm working on it. That's what New Year's resolutions are for, right?) But regardless of the fact that I am still striving for holiness, He calls me still. He asks me to seek out the women who have lost hope because of their weight. He asks me to believe in them and to instill confidence in them- even when they gave up on themselves long ago.

1st Corinthians 15:10 says "But by the grace of God, I am what I am, and His grace to me was not without effect." And to be honest gals, His grace was all I had when I started this journey over a year ago. I had no hope, no confidence....nothing. My family and friends supported me, but I don't think anyone actually thought I would really do it this time. But by the grace of God, I did what I did, and His grace effected me so profoundly that life would never be the same again.

The security I think I really long for is knowing that when I look at a woman in walmart, at the library, through an email, wherever she is- I will have the courage to share God's grace with her and show her what happens when you hang onto Him like there's no tomorrow.

So why me? Why is He asking all this of me? I'm no one special. I'm just a bratty woman who got herself in so deep with her weight and her depression that she had no place to look for hope but up.

And I think that's exactly why He has placed this mission on my heart. Not to make women thinner. Not to be a comedienne. Not to have a place to write and release my creative juices.

But because His grace to me would not be without effect.

I have some serious praying to do. I don't know what will happen. I don't know if my checkbook will fall into line. I don't know if I will ever get that earthly security that I long for.

What I do know is that I am going to push forward into reaching my weight loss goal, and I am going to see what effect He is going to have next on my life.

Why me? We'll see.

A Message from the Sole. Soul. Technically, both would work!

It started with a silly flair that someone sent me on Facebook. A button that said “Shoes can change your life. Just ask Cinderella…” How perfectly clever!

Because shoes change throughout your day. You can’t run a marathon in heels. You can’t attend a black tie affair in Chuck Taylors. Not even if they are silver. You can’t march in the snow wearing flip flops. And you would be remiss to go to the beach wearing thigh high red vinyl boots. (No, I don’t own any, but I intend to one of these days!)

So why is it we think our diets, or even our lives, have to stay the exact same day after day in order to be good for us?

I don’t know about any of you, but I get stuck in a rut a lot. I eat the same things day in and day out. I stick with what I know works because it’s safe. I do that with more than just the diet, in fact. I do it with food, my wardrobe, my whole life. I get stuck in a rut.

But I don’t do that with shoes.

In fact, with shoes, I enjoy more freedom than in any other area of my life. I change it up. I have shoes for walking outside. Inside. For dancing. For going on hot dates with my hubby. For funerals. For being on my feet all day. Even different slippers for the changing seasons and their varying temperatures.

Girls, I have got to tell you. When it comes to my life, I don't experience that kind of freedom. The "shoes" of my old life are worn and tattered. I have been wearing them a long long time. They are dependable, and I know they fit me perfectly. But I don't want to stay the same. I want to start changing things up! I think it’s high time I throw caution to the wind and spruce up the life with some heels. Or some thigh high boots.

Are you picking up what I am putting down?

What if I start taking more chances? What if I start making decisions that are risky and will not promise a reward, but will always know that I am following my heart? What if I start living life like I’m not the same old fat girl, ditch the girdles, and embrace the opportunities that are out there?

Over the past 3 days, I have received 4 emails and had 2 conversations with girls who are on the edge of making some hardcore decisions. They want to lose the weight, but it’s the same old dieting dilemma. What if I try it and fail? What if I can’t stick with it? Is there a miracle cure for fat and where can I get it?

I spent the last 24 years of my life wishing I was somebody else. I was a pair of comfortable shoes dying to be a set of red heels. I was overweight, extremely vulnerable, and thought no one else understood where I was in life. I was a pair of shoes that had been worn past their prime.

Today, I was told by Matt that I had an opportunity to shake things up. I have been invited to do a very special show locally. Here’s the kicker. It’s a 2 person show. And it would be just me and Matt. That’s it.

And at first, the thought of Matt and I performing scared me out of my wits. Even though I have acted on stage before, I am no where as good as my darling Matt. (He’s freaking brilliant on stage. You all have no idea what you are missing in the cornfield community theaters when Matt is starring in a show!) And I felt that old comfortable shoe aching to be put back on. I immediately wanted to spurn the chance because of my own insecurities. Those old shoe laces started creeping tightly around my feet.

“You aren’t good enough.”

“You are going to look like a hack next to that other guy.” (and I’m next to that other guy all the time, and he even sees my stretch marks and occasionally pops the zits I can't reach!)

“You won’t be believable.”

“You are going to fall flat on your face.”

I want you to think about something for a minute. (Yep, another fat fairy tale is just around the corner.)

What would have happened if Cinderella hadn’t changed her shoes? What if she had donned the beautiful ball gown of opportunity, but had kept on her feet the clunky reminder that she was still a servant? A maid? Would she ever have approached Prince Charming? Or would she have hung back, her feet firmly planted in the shoes of her past and even her present, to ashamed to dance into her future?

Maybe you have an opportunity to make a change. To step out of your comfort zone. Maybe you have a big solo coming up at church. Maybe you are going to make a presentation that could land you a promotion at the office. Maybe you are finally ready to face the truths that you see in the mirror and the scale and make some changes.

What would be the worst thing that could happen if you put on a new pair of shoes?

Would you walk a little taller? Would you carry yourself differently? Would you step with purpose and direction instead of wandering aimlessly?

I can only speak for myself here, but I have lived for too long in the well fitting form of my comfy shoes. I have let opportunity after opportunity pass me by, all because I felt unworthy, too fat, too ugly, and like I wasn’t “enough” to do it right. And you know what? Maybe there are times I am some of those things. Maybe even all of those things. But that doesn’t mean I can kick around in a new pair of shoes and give it a try. Because perhaps all I needed to walk into a new opportunity was the same me- but wearing a new pair of shoes that were fitted for the course I was supposed to take!

Charles DuBois once said:

“The important thing is this: To be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.”

Am I willing to stick my foot out for the chance of becoming something better than I am now?

You know, when Cinderella put on those glass slippers, she was still a maid. She was covered from head to toe with the filth of her stepmother’s house. There was no denying that she cleaned houses that afternoon. But that night of the ball, she wore those slippers anyway. Even though she wasn’t a princess...yet.

I am firmly convinced that YET is the best word in the English language.

Yet means that there is still hope. It still can happen. For you. And for me.

So what if we spent the last year dieting and exercising and sweating to improve our health and our appearance? If we never put on the glass slippers of opportunity, the boots of change, then all the things we have worked so hard to achieve mean nothing.

We change ourselves so that our selves will change.

I can’t know where you are on your journey from maid to princess. From fat to thin. From wallflower to blooming centerpiece. But what I do know is that in order for any of us to get from one thing to the other, we have to be brave like Cinderella, and let a pair of shoes change our life. We have to step out of the comfy shoes, and get our tootsies moving toward those glass slippers.

You may have to try on a couple of pairs before you find the ones that fit you and you alone, but what woman doesn’t love shopping???

I want to encourage you to step out today. Make a change. Improve yourself somehow. Take a chance! Do something today that is for your future, instead of being planted in the present.

As for that show that I told you about with just me and Matt that scares me to death?

I'll let you know as soon as tickets go on sale. You aren't going to want to miss this!!!

Sequins of Thanksgiving Events

I told you about the showchoir costumes that fell into my care briefly. And I told you I was up at 2 in the morning on Monday still sewing. And now, my good readers, I want to elaborate on that story. Cause you deserve to know what took me away from you for almost a week. And I need to (insert the word that rhymes with itch.) I used it once in proper form with the kids, as they were bellyaching, and it was hour 3 of whining and tattling. And I blew my stack and told them to “stop itching”, except I didn’t say itching. And now I am forever reminded about the time I swore at the kids. I’m a fantastic mother, huh? But seriously, I know I am not the only mom who has ever said that when she was on the verge of wits end. Am I???

What I must first tell you about showchoir is that I am a jazz hand junkie.

I started the wild ride of showchoir in Jr. High and continued it through High School. I had a husband and wife team who were the directors, Mr. and Mrs. V, and I have the deepest respect for both of them. They taught me about breath support, trying to be light on my feet (a lesson I never really grasped) and of course, something called a musical orgasm. (OK, before you freak out, it’s not what it sounds like. Plus, Hillary used the word douche recently on her blog, so I can use the word orgasm.) For those of you scratching your head, that is the point in the song where everything crescendos (gets louder) and builds until the singers and the audience gets goosebumps. (Musical O’s are important. I get them in worship all the time. And it’s not weird at all. It’s heavenly!) This couple was dedicated to taking a group of hyperactive melodic divas (both male and female) and getting them to work together as a team. It took a lot of ego tempering, yelling, tears, slamming hands on the pianos (something they both are famous for) and a big butt load of commitment. I owe them a lot, and if I ever win a grammy, a dove or a tony, they are on my thank you speech, right under Jesus. I love you both, Mrs. and Big V!!!

Now, the reason I am so obsessed with showchoir is that it was the one place I knew that although I was the biggest girl in the “Contemporaires” (our group’s name) I also knew that I had something special to offer. I have a very expressive face, a strong voice, and I hear harmonies like nobody’s business. It’s no surprise that I took the phrase “It ain’t over till the fat lady sings” as a personal challenge. And sing I did. The musical values instilled in me by Mr. and Mrs. V have carried over into my adult hood, and I am a better person, both on stage and off, because of them.

More than anything I want my kids to feel the passion of music and understand how a little song and dance can change a roomful of people from sleepy and stoic to spirited and inspired. I also want them to NEVER be afraid to get up in front of people. My mom, Margaret the Saint, has a wonderfully strong case of stage fright, something I have never been afflicted with. And it makes a world of difference. I can talk to people, sing for people, and yes, even break into a jazz square with a nice grapevine and dance. Our kids deserve that freedom too.

So when Nick, the elementary music teacher, suggested a showchoir for the 4th and 5th graders at the kids’ school, I was all over that like me on French Fries. Or a steak n’ shake buttery burger. I was in before the opening 4 counts.

Because I was trying to be supportive, I offered my services anywhere I could be used. Bringing snacks to rehearsals, being a live body in the room to remind kids to not talk during the instructions, and to sing out during the song. I also briefly offered to HELP sew on SOME costumes.

If only I had known!

(Please know, I am honored that I could be a part of this. My 10 year old Amy and my niece Gabbi are both in the showchoir, so it’s my parent duty. I also think that the director Nick is fantastic. He’s been a great addition to our school. Funny and bright, ambitious and energetic, he’s a perfect match to our pint size performers.)

Enter the score of my drama- the Jackson 5. Yep, the kiddos are singing “I’ll be there,” “Dancing Machine” and “ABC” for their set. Only they haven’t got the choreography done for “ABC” yet. So for their winter/holiday concert this Thursday night, they going to dance to the “Dancing Machine.” But they needed costumes. And Bell Bottoms are totally in order.

And lots of parents signed up to help hand sew sequins on the flare leg jeans. Unfortunately, when I went to deliver the jeans to others, they sweetly declined.

Which left me with 25 pairs of jeans to sew.

And each pair ended up taking me between 45 minutes to an hour to finish. And that’s if I was booking it.

Now you can only sew sequins for so long before a few things happen.

A) Your back begins to get sore from hunching over to see the teeny tiny hole in the middle of the sequin.
B) You get blinded by the light of the lamp hitting the silver sequins and shining back into your eyes.
C) You run the needle up your fingernail or stab the tip of your finger.
D) You want to cry because the pile of unsequined jeans appears to never get smaller.


But I pushed through, and conquered the mountain of jeans. It took me all weekend to finish them, and I could hardly type yesterday because I have mutilated the tips of my fingers, but I got them done.

And it felt great.

What was even better, was that I was so wrapped up in finishing the jeans that I totally forgot to whine and cry about over eating during Thanksgiving. And I didn’t gain a single pound. In fact, I am sitting pretty at 170.

So what was the secret to my dieting success during the holiday?

I guess it was all in the jeans….

SOME REALLY BIG NEWS!!!

So you may recall that a few weeks ago, I told you I had big news. Really big news. Life changing news.

Then I totally didn't tell you what it was.


Remember that???

Instead I posted the picture of me that woke me up and started me on this crazy journey.

Well, no more pictures instead of news. Today, I get to tell you.

Are you bursting with curiosity yet?

It turns out, about 8 months ago, I submitted an article to be considered for submission. To a real bonafide nationally subscribed to magazine. The Proverbs 31 Magazine.

And now, it turns out that you all may need to run to their site and get a subscription. Cause I'm gonna be in it!

YEP! The article I submitted is going to be published in March of next year! Which is HUGE!!! This is my first national publication. EVER. And I couldn't be more pleased that it is in the P31 Woman. Cause those girls at P31???

Freaking awesome. All of them.

Now, I'm spilling the beans that am I'm going to lie to myself. Perhaps that is a bit irrational, especially considering that I am getting published in a Christian women's magazine. But hear me out before you judge. There's a reason for my madness.

See, I have been looking for some motivation to really keep myself on my toes with the diet. Something to kick me in the seat of the diet pants. So, here's the lie I'm telling myself. Cause I already know that it isn't going to happen.

What if....(and stick with me here)... what if I worked on really losing weight because they will need someone for the cover of the issue? (Cause let's be real. Your old pal Charlie here is NOT magazine cover material.) However, if I keep that thought in the back of my head for the next 4 months, then maybe it will be just the motivation I have needed to get me down the next 15 pounds. And it might make me work extra hard. At this point, I am so desperate to finally hit the land of 160's that I will lie to myself all day long if I have to!

OK, I really need to go to bed, cause it's 2 in the morning, and I have been sewing show choir costumes for 4 days straight. That's another blog post for later this week. But I wanted you all to know that good things are still happening to those that chase their dreams.

So what are you chasing after today???

A Letter to MOTIVATION

Dear Motivation-

(I apologize to you readers that I write so many letters to people and inanimate things. I do have a habit of it…Note to self, Mother Nature...but it really makes sense to me to write letters and put things out there. Helps me travel emotionally and leads me to breakdowns…I meant breakthroughs!!!! Ahem, I better start over.)

Dear Motivation-

Hi there, old friend. I know that you will read this when you get back, because I think you are on vacation. Ever since I got the flu a few weeks ago, you have been mysteriously absent in my life. While this was not a pre-approved vacation, I do understand. You have been working overtime for a year, putting in extra hours, standing strong in the face of French fries, sweating bullets when it should have been your day off… you’ve done a fantastic job this year. Bravo!

So I know that you needed a break. But it seems that we are right on the cusp of a break through, and I don’t think that now is the best time for you to slack off! I mean, Thanksgiving is in a few days. I know that most people will be taking a holiday then, and you deserve that day above anyone else. But here’s the thing. That is the hardest day for me. And I will need you. Because that’s when all the yummy food comes to the table and I find myself going back for seconds. And thirds. And dessert. Heaven help me, the desserts…

But in all seriousness, we have some huge hurdles to overcome in the next month. I would like to say that I ended the year at a 73 pound loss. And that means that I have got to shed a few more pounds. 73 pounds will put me midway in the land of 160’s, a land I have not seen in years. I know that once the new year arrives, I’ll be all gung ho again (simply the nature of this beast) but we have got to get moving on getting to 165. Just 6 more pounds. I am so close that I can feel it! But could we really drop 6 pounds during the holiday season?

I think that we better come prepared. And there is only one cure I know of for this predicament. Thanksgiving and Christmas. The NIBBLE holidays. The time of year people set out cookies and junk food and stuff that adds up quick. In order to make your job easier, Motivation, I will take some precautionary steps.

We are bringing our own plate to the party.

Yep. Forget the oversized platters, the chinets that are good for more than one round thru the buffet, and grandma’s special turkey plates that are 3 feet in diamater.

I am bringing a kiddie plate.

Not only is it a kiddie plate, but it is one with dividers. Yeah, that should help.

The largest portion will have any veggies that aren’t terribly overloaded with butter, cheese or extras.

The medium size portion will be for a small sampling of each of the goodies that I don’t normally get. Like green bean casserole. And mashed potatoes covered with noodles. And other fun stuff that might pop up. If I only use the medium divided section for those things, and I have to fit it ALL in that section, then that will only give me a small taste of each, and satiate any desire I may have for those high carb, low nutrition, yummy succulent dishes.

And the smallest portion of the plate will be saved for my protein of choice. Either ham or turkey. But not both. And only a serving.

The hardest part of this whole process is going to be this-

I WILL ONLY MAKE ONE (count ‘em- ONE) TRIP.

I will not go back for seconds. I will not get just one more bite. I will set the timer on my phone for 20 minutes after I have finished the allotted food on the kiddie plate, and wait before going to get some dessert. No matter how hard that will be. And no matter how much I want more on that little plate.

Truth be told, if I finish the small amount of food on the kiddie plate and wait, I will feel full. Not stuffed, but full. And I will be able to pass up 90% of the desserts offered.

As for the remaining 10% that I can’t resist?

Well, Motivation, I’m counting on you to help me stick to a small serving of sweets. So you have to come back to work. Sorry. But you had a nice break!

As for all the food that is perfect for grazing? If it ain't on the plate, it ain't going in my mouth. NO EXCEPTIONS. NONE. Unless it's naked veggies. Those are acceptable.

And once Thanksgiving is over, we are going to stick to this plan for the rest of the Holidays.

Cause we are going to hit 165 by New Year’s Eve. I pinkie promise.
Love-
Charlie

A Perfect 10

So today, I had to run to the store because Matt used the last of the coffee. And didn’t tell me we were out. Which would have been fine, except…….

I woke up this morning groggy and tired, so I reheated the leftover cuppa joe from yesterday by turning the coffee pot on, and sat down to answer an email or two while it warmed up.

Meanwhile, my darling husband woke up, went to the kitchen, saw the coffee pot was on, assumed that I had already gotten my coffee, and took the last cup that was warming up. (NOTE- He adds protein powder to his coffee. Bleeeeck!)

He sits down beside me on the couch with his steaming hot cup of coffee, takes a sip and smiles lovingly at me.

I look up and say “Was that the coffee I was warming up in the pot?”

M: “Uh,” (insert uncomfortable silence here) “maybe. I think so. You can have my cup.”

C: “Did you add protein powder to it?”

M: “Oh, gosh darn it, I did. Sorry!”

C: “That’s ok. I’ll just go make a fresh pot.”

M: “Well, I used the last of the coffee yesterday morning.”

C: “Why didn’t you tell me?”

M: “I forgot.”

C: “I see…..” (insert long uncomfortable silence here with me shooting daggers.)

M: “You can have my cup of coffee. It doesn’t taste that bad.”

C: “No thanks. I guess I’ll just run to the store.”

M: “Ok,” (insert nervous giggle here) “sorry about that babe.”


*Note the tone I shall try to convey with the phrase I say next. In your head it should sound disappointed, irritated, and with the inflection of responsibility for said disappointment and irritability. Also slightly perturbed with a heaping (empty coffee) cup full of highly annoyed.

C: “Mmmmm hmmmmm.”

Let me add that I am a PMSing monger right now.

(I got a new iphone for my job, and I downloaded an application that tells me when my next period will be. So you guys are no longer responsible for reading about it because I never remember to write it on the calendar. I now have an app for that. And unless something profoundly ridiculous happens, I won’t have to share. Except that I just did. So I suppose there is no harm in me sharing that I should be starting in 2 days. Which means that Matt is going to have a very long and frustrating 2 days. Cause I get CRANKY!!!!! )

OK, back to the story. I now had to go to the store. So I threw on a bra and shirt, and looked for a pair of jeans. And I found a pair that I had never seen before. Turns out my sister in law (Tricky Nikki) sent them home with my daughter this week for me to try. They were teeny tiny jeans. I looked at the size- it was a 9/10. I can get myself into an 11/12 no prob. But the 9/10s are still hit and miss. Sometimes they fit, sometimes they don’t even come close.

So I figured I’d at least try them on. If they didn’t fit, that would make me realize how wrong it was for me to eat a whole Butterfinger candy bar last night. (I even licked the wrapper. I think that’s why I didn’t realize till this morning that I was PMSey. Cause I ate and experienced the healing power of chocolate last night! Holy cow, it was divine!)

I pulled the jeans up one leg, and they got up past my calves and part of my thighs. Still had some room, so I inserted the other leg, and slowly pulled the jeans up over my hips. And thanks to the extremely pliable nature of my shrinking tummy, I moved some fat around to button the button fly.

And every dang button buttoned!!!

I was in complete shock! They actually fit! I mean not just “hey, look, I got these buttoned, and now I have to take them off before I pass out” but it was more like “hey, look, I got these buttoned and now I can walk and sit and breathe just like a real girl!”

What a great feeling. It helped the PMS decrease slightly. And I made Matt take pics so that I could remember this day forever. The day I didn’t have to wear a girdle to be a perfect 10. It totally made up for my severe PMS, lack of coffee, and unplanned trip to the store. (Where I bought coffee AND Midol.)

So here they are! My second pair of 9/10s that I can officially wear. In public. (As long as I lose the granny panties that cause horrible VPLs. Visible Panty Lines. I mean they are really bad. I guess I’ll be purchasing a thong for when I wear these jeans. Tricky Nikki will be so proud!!!)

See, I TOLD you they were bad! Although in my defense, they are VPLs in size 9/10 jeans, so I didn't care. I have no shame. Luckily, I do have long shirts.


And this was just to compare. I wrote to you about my size 26 jeans that I started in. I couldn't find them tonight, but I did find my 24W jean shorts. I just wanted to show them together so you can get an idea of the change that has happened and why I don't give 2 hoots about showing VPLs on a public domain like the blog. Check this out...

See? What a huge change! So today, grumpiness aside, I would have to say that over all, the day was a perfect 10.

The Turkey Trilogy

Today is the day that all my hard work and drama pays off. Today is Mary's Giving Up on a Perfect Thanksgiving. And the sole reason I made the Turkey tutorial. Next week, I will get back to talking about dieting and weight and all the usual stuff. But for today, it's all about Tom the Turkey for me.

So those of you who have linked over here from Mary's blog, you are probably interested in reading the Turkey Trilogy. Which are the 3 posts below. One is the Turkey Tutorial Video. The other 2 are well worth a read. Because stuff like that probably happens to you. I know that this is par for the course for me, but that's just fine. It's good blog fodder. So you can read the 3 posts below, in no particular order. Doesn't really matter, because it's all about the making of the Turkey Tutorial.

If you like what you are reading, make sure to become a follower, over there at the left, and come back for more. I hope you enjoy my Turkey Trilogy.

Best wishes for a Happy (and un-perfect) Thanksgiving-
Charlie

"Behind" the scenes of the Turkey Tutorial

For those of you who have come to Operation Shrink Charlie’s Big Butt to see the highly acclaimed Turkey Tutorial (stepping away from the computer momentarily to avoid the inevitable lightning strike…) let me warmly welcome you to the blog!!! I promise you that if you are on a diet, (or need to- but we don’t point fingers here) you will find OSCBB is a common gathering place for a world of dieters. Which is good, because we can’t meet at the donut shoppe anymore. Too risky.

Please explore and wander ‘round the new and improved site. (just got my blog did. Nice, huh? All the good looking credit goes to April Showers Blog Design. I would say that she is cheap and talented, but that wouldn’t be very polite!) The Turkey Tutorial is on the post below this one. But if you have a few minutes, stick around and keep reading this post. I vow on my evil scale that it’s a good and funny one.


For those of you who have been here for a while, and are now stalking me (*cough* April!) welcome back, and the post you are about to read is one you are sure to love. Classic Charlie moments below.

I want to tell you about behind the scenes of the Turkey Tutorial. You read about my Sunday preparing for the filming of my tutorial, which was a disaster. But what you don’t know is the painful torture I endured to present you with my pathetic (yet highly amusing) attempt at a cooking show. The drama of post production. Editing. The cherry on the fat free yogurt sundae. Spraying the hairspray on hair that hasn’t frizzed out yet. I hope you get it because I am stopping the analogies now.

Brace yourselves.

So Sunday evening, shortly after pulling the turkey out of the oven, my husband kindly offered to edit the video for me, since he’s the computer whiz with the theatre degree- and I accepted. Which was great. I had stuff to do. But when the video he pulled off our digital camera was not converting correctly so he could edit it (because our camera isn’t meant to be a camcorder but it works in a pinch), he got frustrated. And he got a headache. So he went to bed. And I REALLY wanted the tutorial to be done. (Turned out he had the flu and would be out of commission for the next 2 days.)

I decided that determination had worked for the diet, so it would work for editing stubborn video clips too! And I messed with it. And twiddled. And fiddled around with numerous programs promising to convert with ease. But nothing worked for 2 clips in particular… one was a commercial for the Proverbs 31 Girls Get Away Cruise and I really wanted a commercial break in the show. Before I knew it, it was 4am, and I still wasn’t done. Or even close. In fact, I was not one second closer to the finish line than I had been at 10:30 the previous night. So I laid on the couch for a moment to think. With my eyes closed.

Tap..tap…tap…

“Mom, are we going to school today? It starts in 10 minutes…”

My daughter Amy woke me up the second after she did. Mind you, my other 2, who were seen in the tutorial, had no intention of waking me up. They were too busy playing Club Penguin on the computers. I shot them dirty looks as I ran to the kitchen to see the time. 7:51am. School starts at 8.

CRAP.

The next 15 minutes were a flurry of activity. I pulled wrinkled uniforms out of the overflowing clothes hamper, found 6 random socks that didn’t feel “too crunchy” for wearing, counted out $5.25 in nickels for lunches since I didn’t have time to pack any, grabbed book bags to inspect for toys and ice cream (and there is a blog for another day to explain THAT!), signed agenda books, made sure kids had a granola bars and bananas to eat in the car, and made sure the girls brought a hairbrush for the drive to school. Also gave each of them a stick of gum to chew right after eating in the van. I shoved the kids out the door and grabbed my keys.

“Mom, you will have to take us inside and sign us in since we are so late. You can’t wear your robe and slippers!”

CRAP. CRAP.

(And yes, I have driven the kids to school before wearing that same outfit. I have no shame and I hate mornings)

SO- I grabbed sweatpants from the hamper, an exercise muscle shirt (no time for a bra), and a red zip up hoodie. (I love my sweatshirt- dit dit dit, my red hooded sweatshirt) (Sorry, I couldn't help myself!) I grabbed a generic plastic croc type shoe and looked for it’s mate. But to no avail. So I grabbed another generic croc type shoe. Both were right footed, one pink and one blue with rainbow swirls. I chucked a hat on my head and we all scrambled out the door and headed for school in the van. Oh, I should mention here that it is POURING DOWN RAIN.

If you are laughing at this point, I strongly suggest that you stop and take a quick moment to empty your bladder. You have had fair warning.

The time was 8:20 when we got to school, had parked, and the kids had all spit out their gum. The school doors were locked. As we waited outside in the rain to be buzzed in, I realized that the leg of my sweatpants was soaking wet from dragging on the ground. They are men’s sweatpants, and I am short. ‘Nuff said. I shook my leg to try and remove some of the moisture before I dripped all through the hallways of my children’s educational establishment.

We got inside and started walking towards the office. Apparently the previous shaking of my leg was just enough to launch the pair of yesterday's underwear (conveniently stored in the leg of my sweatpants) loose. They fell right out onto the floor as we entered the office. I quickly hit the deck, and tried to hide the bright blue panties in the pocket of my hoodie while laying down. I stood up and the secretary was looking at me kinda funny. Which could have been about anything, really…me dropping to the floor in her presence, the mismatched-both-right-footed shoes, the kids in wrinkled clothes, the crazy woman hair sticking out under from the hat, the pair of blue undies I thought were hidden but were really half hanging out of the pocket of my red jacket…take your pick. I was a disaster smorgasbord.

Finally the kids were signed in, and I slunk back to the van to go home where I belonged. Then I remembered that I needed to hit the bank and pick up cash to pay for the kids guitar lessons. Since the bank has a drive thru, and I was already on that side of town, well- why the heck not get it overwith?

The very nice lady at the bank offered me a free calendar. I said sure, and she showed me the options. There were two that weren’t hideous, and without coffee coursing through my veins, I was powerless to make a decision.

She smiled and whispered, “You can have two, hon!”

“Thanks! You are making my horrible Monday a little less horrible.”

“You are having a bad day? Why is that?”

(And I really did this. This is not an exaggeration in the slightest.)

I reached down, pulled off my mismatching generic "just right" crocs, and held them up for her to see. She started laughing. And I quickly gave her my schpeel about the day’s events and she took pity and I took her pity.

“I think you might need 3 calendars instead of 2 today.”

As I began to pull away, she called out, “Be thankful, it could be worse!!!”

I smiled back and said, “Good point!”

And I was genuinely thankful that things weren’t worse than they already were.

I got home without any more collateral damage, grabbed a Special K protein shake and a thermos of coffee, and set out to at least edit the video clips I could start with. My tummy was a mess, but I figured all the stress was giving me thunder down under. Not to mention I was starving. So I sucked down both the shake and coffee, and set about my editing task.

About the 3rd time that my computer locked up and crashed and I lost all the work I had done in triplicate, to say I was on edge was an understatement. And my tummy kept cramping. I thought that maybe if I simply passed a little wind, I would feel better.

So I tooted. There in my comfy computer chair (that reclines, thank you very much!) I just let one little stinker. And I felt better. But it smelled bad. We are talking “put a frat boy to shame” bad. And it kept getting stronger. And STRONGER. Then I realized I was experiencing a little extra humidity in the south regions. Yep. It was not just a fart. I had - how to put this delicately? Pooped my pants. Yes, that's pretty delicate. And it had leaked onto the upholstered computer chair.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(NO POINTING FINGERS. EVERYONE HAS DONE IT BEFORE!!!!!!!!)

Add an extra load of laundry to an already great day. Plus I had to clean the chair.

In total, it took me about 15 hours to get all the editing done, and it was frustrating as all get out.

But the end result was totally worth it. (although I could have lived without the pants pooping part.)

So to validate all the work, drama and (quite literally) crap I went through to get the Turkey Tutorial to you, would you be a friend and forward it to everyone you know? Maybe tell them it will make their day or make them smile? Because that would ease the pain and suffering. A little.

Who knew that this video would be such a stinker???

THE TURKEY TUTORIAL

I know that the size may make my commentaries (aka smart alec remarks about myself) hard to read. The end should be fine, so I just posted the first part on Youtube, and then search for Charliegirl2490.

Have fun watching my Turkey Tutorial!!! Then go check out Giving Up on Perfect as my bloggy friend Mary prepares to "Give Up on a Perfect Thanksgiving!"

(And the video quality is not great. Can you imagine the fun I could have with an HD video camera? Santa, please leave THAT under my tree!!!)

Trashy Turkey Talk

OK, the perfect turkey video is now in the throws of editing and should be done Monday night sometime.

The turkey is made and it is DEELISH!!!!

But behind the scenes of the "Turkey Tutorial", things were not exactly going my way. At all.

Besides the fact that I didn't have time to write out and memorize a script (so I am winging it the whole way. And you can totally tell) I realized from the moment I purchased the bird that the odds were against me.

I was looking for a 15 pound turkey. Apparently that is a very popular size by way of Thanksgiving, because I couldn't find one. Searched 2 different stores, and I finally gave up and got a 12 pounder. A little puny, but it would have to do.

While purchasing the bird, I found these nifty turkey flippers that help support the turkey while lifting it up. Last year I almost scalded my hand off, so I decided the flippers were a wise investment indeed.

But when I got home, they were no where to be found. I left them at walmart. Or lost them on the way home. I have no clue where they went!

Then, being home, I got bra-less and in my comfy pants, when I realized that I had forgotten to purchase honey for my recipe. So I put off the tutorial recording from Saturday to Sunday. The family was bummed out, but they still knew they were getting a turkey soon, so they eventually settled down.

I went back to the store to purchase honey Sunday afternoon, and got everything lined up for filming. Except there was one problem. I had forgotten to pick up a disposable roasting pan. SHOOT!!!!!

Trip number 3 to the store, and of course it was raining. I had already done my hair and makeup, so the rain gave my makeup an "Alice Cooper" effect. It also gave my hair a "North Carolina in August fighting severe humidity" effect. Trying to save the last strands of hope for my hair and makeup, I ran across the parking lot in the pouring rain.

And that was when I heard something drop.

My phone. In a puddle. In 2 parts.

I bent down to pick it up, and the car that wasn't paying attention (because she was talking on her whole dry phone) screeched to a halt just moments before crushing me.

I ran into the store, mumbling, and desperately tried to put Humpty Dumpty back together while simultaneously wiping the eyeliner from my chin, which was the resting place for my soggy hair do. Or hair don't as it were. I admitted defeat, shoved the pieces in my pocket, and shopped.

I picked up the stuff I needed and started driving home. The cell phone store was on the way, so I pulled in for a minute to see if they could fix it or give me a loaner or something. I can't function without Jesus and my phone. I laid my phone on the counter and this was the conversation that followed.

Me: I broke my phone. Can you fix it?

Her (shaking the phone and a cup of water pours out): You broke your phone.

Me: I know. Can you fix it?

Her: What happened???

Me: I broke my phone.

Her: Wow, you really broke your phone.

Me (through clenched teeth): Yes. I DID. CAN YOU FIX IT?

Her: I don't know. Hey Sonja, this girl needs help.

Sonja: What happened?

Me: I BROKE MY PHONE.

Her: She broke her phone.

Sonja (coming over to inspect, shaking it and water pouring out again): Huh, you really broke your phone.

Me: Thank you. It took special training to break it like this. I'm that good.

Sonja: Hey Cliff, this girl needs your help!

Cliff: What happened?

Sonja: She broke her phone....

By this point, I am both breathing fire and laughing at how ridiculous the conversation was. Eventually, with the help of a hair dryer and a clear plastic case and some tape, we got it straightened out. It turned back on, and I dashed out of the store with a working phone. Or so I thought.

Dang it! I forgot to pick up another set of turkey flippers!

Oh well. I didn't have them last year, I could do it without them again this year.

So there was the drama. All this so you all could make a perfect turkey. And so people that call me could now sound like Charlie Brown's teacher. I hope you use the tips that are disclosed on the video we are finishing up. I hope your turkey is flawless. Cause that would make today worth it.

It was a very fowl day.

Catching up...

I have to make this short and sweet, because I have a sick kid home with me. Again. So much for being over the flu…

Old business:

It came to my attention that in my “artificial unintelligent state” (that being my trashy bleached blonde hair) I totally forgot to announce the winner of the Sentsy Giveaway. Sigh. Sorry folks. I’m not super good at making big to-do’s unless I lost a pound or something. (172 and holding, FYI) And the winner is- drum roll please-

Rebecca!!! Also known as Cross.


Her name was drawn from a hat here at the Triple H (Happy Hester Headquarters), and I couldn’t be more pleased! She’s been with us from the beginning. Yep, the Yoga Incident was the thing that sealed our friendship forever. (Ok, possibly it was that I assisted at her ahhhhhmazing wedding with my SIL Julia, but the blog has definitely maintained the friendship.) Congrats Cross! Your stuff should be here shortly. I’ll even gift wrap it. Ok realistically it will be in a gift bag. But HOORAY!


Next order of business…folks, I have exactly $7 bucks in our joint savings account. The time has come for me to get a job. So I have found an opportunity that fits the bills. Most of them. I think. Starting next week, I’ve got to focus on that instead of blogging and facebooking first. Because I just couldn’t figure out a way to have that be a cash cow for me. If you know of some super top secret opportunity to get me enough for a down payment on a house, share it with me ASAP. I will still be around, but I may have to cut it down to a few posts less a week. I’ll still be faithfully yours, just from 8pm to 11pm. Does it suck? Yep. But am I ok with it? Amazingly I am.


Finally, in New Business... this weekend, in order to show off my turkey making skills, I will be making a “Turkey Tutorial.” In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I will share with you my secrets of making a super easy super deelish bird that will impress even the grumpiest of mother in laws. (Mine is great, BTW. I lucked out on this one.) There will be a video. So prepare for it. I should have it up early next week. I am doing this because my friend Mary over at Giving Up On Perfect is having a bloggy carnival, talking about giving up on the perfect Thanksgiving. I am all about helping a sister out. Plus if people are raving about your moist yummy turkey, they won’t complain about the cobwebs on the ceiling corners. I know ALL the tricks.


OK, my little one needs her Mommy. I’m enjoying it before she discovers boys. Cause then, it’s curtains for Mom’s snuggle time. I’ll take it while I can.

A Mighty Upheaval with the Ones Who Flu the Coop

A new reader, Stephanie, made this comment recently on a previous post:

"your stories aren't really the traditional, church lady devos, are they?"

I almost peed my pants with this comment. How right you are, Stephanie, how right you are!!!


And today is a perfect example of that fact. Because I'll be talking a little about my faith. And the diet. And the flu.


I promise this will not discuss puke in detail.

I may, however, address it in generalities.


As you all know, things have been mighty interesting around here. We have been dealing with flu. Not the swine kind. Just the regular ‘ole body achin, tummy quaking, intestine shakin flu. It’s not by anyone’s fault (I am not blaming my husband who works in a hospital) (or the children who sneeze on MY children at school and pass this nasty stuff) (Or the parents who send their sick kids KNOWINGLY to school because they need to go to work instead of letting their kids stay home) but regardless, with it being no one in particular’s fault, we got it.


Oh my, did we get it.


Today, everyone seems to be OK. Not great, but OK. Everyone ate a reasonable amount of food for breakfast. Everyone brushed teeth without incident. Everyone grumbled about hating mornings and asked “WHEN are we gonna homeschool?” So it seemed pretty normal. Except everyone still looks a little peckish. Just 2 shades whiter than they ought to. But the kids, who didn’t really want more makeup homework than necessary, voted to try school today.


Therefore, being the fantastic mom that I am, I let them go, with disclaimers to teachers, secretaries, and gym teachers.


There are conditions to being back at school.


Like…

1. No running. I don’t want people getting overheated. I don’t want headaches to come back with a vengeance, nor do I want tummies to start hurting.

2. If anyone, for any reason, starts acting ill, they get to come home.

3. The school is to call me if there’s any problem. I don’t care what it is, they are gonna call.



Because the flu is nothing to sneeze at. (groan) It’s something that we have to take very seriously. Which lead this attention deficited mind to thoughts about the diet.

Do we introduce conditions when we are on a diet?


Granted, dieting isn’t exactly like the flu. It’s something we choose to do. But if you have been, or are in a situation like me, you are forced to choose dieting. We have allowed ourselves to not take care of us like we should, and now we have to pay the piper. We have to get our weight under control.


So, in taking back control, what are some of the conditions while we are on a diet? What rules do we make so that we can achieve success? As I was pondering this, I couldn’t help but giggle. Here’s why.


Last night, Matt was retelling the kids about what happened when Mommy got sick on Saturday night. We are big into storytelling around here, and the kids love hearing about what happens from someone else’s point of view.


Here’s how the story went down…or came back up. For discussion.


“So your mom was lying on the couch, watching a movie. And she wasn’t feeling so hot. She was taking lots of deep breaths, telling herself ‘I’m not gonna puke..I’m not gonna puke.’ Finally, after about 30 minutes of that, she started to consider that maybe she would feel better if she didn’t fight it. Maybe if she just went with it, she would get her tummy to quit hurting.”


By this point, the kids are all wide eyed with delight and on the edge of the couch, waiting to hear what Mom would do. (Even though they already knew)


“Mommy got up off the couch and walked very slowly to the bathroom. She laid a towel down on the floor in front of the toilet. Then she got down on her knees and assumed the position. You know, when you rest your chin on the seat of the toilet and put your arms on there to hang on for dear life…anyway, I was standing behind her, making sure she was OK. I said, ‘Are you gonna be sick, babe?’ and she answered, ‘Yeah, I’m just waiting for it to star…BBBBLLLLLEEEEAAAACCCCHHHH.”


Now at this point, our kids, who have all thrown up themselves in the last 48 hours, are practically in tears, giggling with joy. Not because Mommy got sick, but because we made it OK to be sick. We found a sliver of happiness in what had happened, and the horrific moment. Matt continued on.


“I mean, your Mom, she puked so hard that she was peeing on that towel she’d laid on the floor under her. Which was very thoughtful of her to lay down. Then she kept going, and kept getting sick, and I couldn’t look away. I felt bad, but it was fascinating to watch! Mommy got so sick, it was almost violent!”


By now, our kids are on the floor, laughing. Matt makes sure we all have a good time in this house, no matter what is going on that looks bleek. Or bleck as it were.


The reason I am telling you this (somewhat gross, yet strangely fascinating) story is that we all come to a point when we know we can no longer fight the inevitable.


If you want to gain your health, you have to lose the weight.

If you are ready to drop the insecurities, you have to drop the pounds.

If you want to expand your self esteem, you have to shrink the waist.


But FIRST- it requires you to kneel down before the Throne in humility, and surrender to what lies before you.


(Yes, you all just read right. I equated a toilet to the Mercy Seat of God. If I can spiritualize a tampon and equate it to my faith, then bringing some Holiness to a toilet is a snap!)


What are your conditions to embarking on this journey?


Surrender.


This weight loss process, much like the flu, is filled with nasty moments. You may question yourself and your capabilities. You will get frustrated and fight with yourself to keep going. But if you are kneeling and giving it all over to your Maker, bite by bite, pound by pound, then you are going to make it. Not because of your own strength, but because the flying white flag of surrender is your banner.


Surrender makes it OK. No- this process will not be fun. Not all the time. But looking back on it, if you have surrendered yourself, then there is no shame, and no condemnation. You are making changes from this moment forward. There is no more beating yourself up for getting into this position. You say, “Ok, I’m gonna feel better after this is all said and done. I’m going to get through this. But for right now, I have to give over to this. I have to surrender.”


And you rest your chin on the seat, wrap your arms around your God, hanging on for dear life, and you let the upheaval begin.


“For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land- a land with streams and pools of water, with springs flowing into the valleys and hills.”

Home Sick

Today I have a little boy home with me. He’s got a temperature, he’s throwing up, and is mostly miserable, except he is well enough to appreciate that he is watching cartoons while laying on the couch and Mom is at his beck and call. (Or bucket and call.)

If you are sick, you aren’t supposed to be grinning.

Last night, as some of you may have read on facebook, Tim came up to me and said (quite jovially, I might add) “Hey mom, I think I am going to blow some chunks tonight.” Then he smiled this huge Cheshire Cat smile at me.

And to be honest, we have too many kids round here crying wolf about being sick. Someone is always hurt, or coughing, or has a booger. Someone’s legs are always growing and hurting, or someone has the hiccups. (Which is a seriously crippling condition around here. Hiccups mean that you have a valid excuse to try and get out of doing chores. It's an epidemic.)

So when Tim told me he was feeling yucky, he didn’t LOOK like he was feeling bad. He seemed pretty happy about it. Like he was excited to get flu. Or maybe it was because he wanted to stay home and watch TV all day without big sisters controlling the remote. Anyway you look at it, he knew something was wrong. But he still smiled.

So maybe I’m the one who is looking at things all wrong.

Maybe grinning is the answer.

Perhaps we need to focus on why laughter makes things better when life stinks. Like with dieting. Some of the best moments through this diet were fraught with mayhem and hilarity. Like all my yoga experiences. Or disasters with gas. And of course, when my exercise ball went flying in the air like a rocket in the packed gym at the YMCA. All of those moments, embarrassing as they may be, have spurred me on to keep going. Because they really are funny.

And laughing sure beats crying about it.

Now, I want to know what your funny experiences are. I can’t be the only one around here providing entertainment, you know. I’ve given you songs and stories. Now it’s your turn. Tell me about the stuff that you gone through on your diet. Or maybe on a date. Or at your job.

But try to make me laugh. Because I would like to grin as I am busy scrubbing the carpet on the floor where Tim missed the bucket 10 minutes ago.

I'll start you off with a story from my friend Lisa about her experiences with a road trip and a sick kid. It's a riot!

Laughter is necessary. So, what have you got?

The Girl and the Prison- A Fat Fairy Tail

Once upon a time there was a girl held captive. She was in a prison of her own mind, a dark lonely room with no sunshine or happiness. She was desperate to break free. Her cruel guard was a small, lying, conniving, evil metal box. It showed magical numbers that could elate her within this prison, or draw her deeper into the forgotten corners. This girl knew nothing else except that she wanted- NEEDED- to get out.


She had heard about others breaking free, but never had the courage to run for herself. It was too hard. The path wasn’t clear how far away her liberty would be, or how she could even find the way. She had encountered myths and legends about finding freedom: Grapefruits, 6 week body makeovers, some woman named Jenny (who charged lots and lots of gold for freedom), and even going on a hunger strike. All of these options might lead her away for a while, but she knew that eventually she would find herself right back in this same spot.


One day, when her prison became too much to wear…I mean bear... she decided that she would try something new. She would find her own wings, watch for the right time, and get out of this hell hole called obesity.


For the next year, she tried many different variations of the wings. Over time, and by a process of elimination, she discovered ways to lose the fat chains, get proper nutrition, and gained stamina instead of fat rolls. Her wings were finally starting to come together!


And that’s when something magical happened. A window appeared, looking out from the confined spaces of her mind. And as her wings grew stronger, the window started growing larger and larger, while she got healthier, happier, and smaller.


Pretty soon, she was ready to leave her prison for good (as she could finally fit out of the window that had appeared!).


But just as she was about to venture out for freedom, she noticed something quite peculiar.


She could see other girls, JUST LIKE HER, trying to jump to their own freedoms. And it was awful. The moment they jumped (head first), they thudded on the ground, and instantly appeared back in their own cells of confinement. Try as they might, they couldn’t break free.


And that was when this girl, ready to take off and never come back, made a decision that would change her life forever. If the wings she had fashioned worked, she would spend her life teaching others how to make a pair for themselves. She would talk to others about the fears of flying and jumping head first, and show them how they could do it. This was to be her mission. But first, it was time to test her wings.


Gathering every ounce of courage inside of her, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and jumped. And she started sinking. Down down down to her doom. And right as she thought that the wings had failed, the wind began to lift her up. Quickly she spread her wings open wide, and touched the sky for the first time in 20 years. Her heart raced and pounded! The blood rushed within her!

"This is what life should feel like!"


She twirled and dipped in the air, shrieking with joy! She glanced over her shoulder and saw others were watching her from their prisons. And with delight in her heart, she cried out into the sky…


“I am coming back for you! YOU WILL BE FREE!!!”

Note to Self...

Dear Charlie-


Yes, you are writing a letter to yourself today. This is a letter for you to read in a year.

Because if you could have written yourself a letter for beginning of this weight loss journey, standing where you are today, you would be so encouraged! I just know it!

So, I have to tell you a few things about the last leg of this diet, and why you are going to stick with it.

First of all, you are strong enough. I know that everybody teases you about being flakey, and never sticking with anything very long, especially diets-but this is a journey that you are going to walk with a quiet confidence and endurance. You have already conquered a whole year, and look at the changes you have made!

Can you believe the difference so far? And although you are over half way to your goal, the changes are only going to get better from here. (And ignore the fact that your hair was totally uncooperative last night so you threw a crappy ponytail in and gave up, even though it was sticking up and looks yucky.)


Remember that first day on the treadmill when you were huffing and puffing at walking 2 miles? And remember how proud you felt about that 2 miles? Well, sister, you kept going. You kept pushing the distance. And now you can walk 8 miles without cramps or falling over. What will you be saying in a year? Will you be able to walk 15 miles then??? Maybe. But all the flakey nature in you ceases when it comes to taking back your body. You have proven that even though it is one of the toughest things you have done, you are capable.

And remember how you could never imagine a life without 2 liters of Coke every day and Papa John’s Pizza? Now, a little over halfway to the finish line, you don’t even crave Diet Coke. You crave water! Your body has finally fallen into line with this “clean living” stuff and even though it took a while, you are on the right track. Because you have gone slowly, your body didn’t go into major shock, and you have discovered a diet you can deal with your entire life.

Today, weighing 172 and having lost 66 pounds to date- I want to encourage you to keep this up. Enjoy the feelings of accomplishment you have over the next year. Embrace putting on size 12 pants without worrying they won’t fit. Because they do fit. Nicely, and not too tight. The 10’s are still iffy and require a girdle. But you are no longer a slave to the plus side of Fashion Bug. For the first time in your life- settled in your 30’s- you are a JUNIOR.

I can’t wait to see what you accomplish in the next 6 months. The weight loss is going slower, but stick with it, junior. You survived the first year amid massive amounts of self doubt, frustrations, and a see-saw of emotions. And you never dreamed you would be sitting here today, breathing comfortable in your size 12 goal jeans, writing this letter. If I could go back in time, I’d show you where you were heading- the changes in your body, how you found yourself again and raised your voice above the crashing waves. You survived this first year, and you are going to make strides into unknown territory now. Push ahead, and never forget where you came from.

Because others are watching, waiting to see if you- the most obstinate person you have met to date- can do this. If she can walk ahead to her dreams and a new life. Your dreams are getting bigger as you are getting smaller. Pound by pound, the prison of your body is melting away.

And you are finally breaking free.

Loving God and loving yourself-
Charlie