Morning Attack and Flowers of Thankfulness

This morning was one of the days I don’t wish to repeat anytime soon.

Kids were stinkers, hubby was preparing for a big meeting and had a case of the jitters, and I was still in a pasta coma at 7am. (I ate 4 bowls of pasta last night. They weren’t huge bowls, but I lost all control.)

I can’t control a whole lot in my world lately.

So today I am simply going to name off a few things I am thankful for because I think I need the reminder.

1. I am very thankful for my husband. He’s precious to me. And I love him like no other.

2. I am thankful that my kids are stretching independent wings. As tough as it is, they are growing up. Mom and Dad get to deal with the bumps and growing pains of this tween-age time, but them trying to grow up means that we are doing things right.

3. I am thankful for my SIL/BFF Julia. Today is here birthday, and it has been 20 years of an enduring friendship that has lasts the test of whine. Uh, time rather. Happy Birthday, Julia! I’ll call and sing to you later.

4. I am thankful for my other SIL/BFF Tricky Nikki. She’s my link to sanity. She supports me in a way that most women could only hope for.

5. I am thankful for Lilacs that bloom in early spring.

On that note, today I am going to tell you about one of the most amazing things that God has ever done for me.

A few years back, we had to move out of “our house.” Matt couldn’t find a job, our house payment skyrocketed, and we were left no choice but to move.

And I was devastated.

As we moved into the crappy house (the one we are still living in) I was a broken woman and sank into a deep depression. I was angry that we went from a 2700 square foot to a 700 sq ft house with one toilet. I was bitter that we moved from the country into a neighborhood that is questionable at best. I don’t deal well with change as it is, and this change was a little too much.

One of my favorite things to do at the old house in the country was to walk outside in the morning (in my nightgown) and cut fresh lilacs from the side of the house. I have always loved lilacs, and I had 4 very well established bushes growing right outside my door. I girl couldn’t ask for much more than that.

6 months later, I was still in a deep depression about our new location. It didn’t feel like home, it was tiny and unwelcoming, and the winter had been long and cold.

And one morning, I was especially angry about things and to say I was having a rough patch would be putting it mildly. I was falling apart. I stormed outside to my car. On my way there, I detected the faint smell I would embrace in the mornings at our country house.

Lilacs.

I stopped in my tracks and just breathed. Breathed in the scent I associate with happiness. I could smell it not too far away.

Then I looked for it.

And wouldn’t you know it, right there in my back yard, planted firmly next to the trash cans, was a lilac bush.

Life is like that a lot, you know.

We look at our lives like a big pile of trash- frustrating, stinky and awkward. Dealing with trash isn’t fun. It’s bulky and it smells like every old rotten scent of the things we have thrown away in our lives has blended together to make eau du rubbage. It’s overwhelming.

And yet, even still, the scent of promise- the breeze carrying hope- is never far away. It is never far from the trash of our lives.

That was the day God challenged me to be content with my tiny house and my situation. To make the best of things. To find happiness next to the garbage. Because He had (and still has, for that matter) a plan for our lives.

And it’s firmly planted next to the crappy stuff. Right by the trash.

I bet you have some trash going on in your life right now. I know I surely do. My attitude this morning was stinkier than a land fill. But when I came home, today was the first day I could smell the lilacs. They have been blooming for a week, but you couldn’t catch a wiff if you tried.

They smelled like nothing at all.

And many days, God’s promise for our life doesn’t show any evidence of being fruitful either. We may not even realize it’s there. But soon, those little blooms of hope will start to open up, and you will breathe out of desperation for a fresh breath, and find God’s promise filling your senses once again.

What we lack- He makes up for in spades. Or in lilacs, perhaps...

How to meet your musical heroes and still look cool -if it’s opposite day

I had been waiting for this concert for 3 months.

Christabel and the Jons.

My absolute favorite band. I discovered them during Talley’s Folly (the show we did at Sleepy Creek Vineyard over Valentines day) and they have been burning up my MP3 player ever since.

I should probably preface this story by telling you that in 1997 I came precariously close to getting kicked out of a Christian concert being given by Miss Angie and 6pence None the Richer. I was THAT GIRL. You know the one. Who stands in the front row, singing along as loud as she can to EVERY SINGLE SONG. I actually got dirty looks from Leigh Nash, and when I met her after the show, she commented on what a lovely voice I had. (She said it nicely, but still…Lesson learned.)

So my goal at Christabel and the Jons was to not make the same mistake. I would not sing during the concert.

We got to Sleepy Creek after I spent HOURS getting ready. Yes, I said hours. You don’t meet your musical heroes without far too much thought in what you will wear, and how you will do your hair, etc.. Matt briefly mentioned the word “obsessive,” but I turned up the music so I couldn’t hear him.

(I also insisted on doing his hair. Any of you women out there know that how your man looks is just as important as how you look. Poor Matt took being a human Barbie doll like a man. As much as he could. I also picked out his outfit. Normally he can wear whatever. NOT to Christabel and the Jons. Enough said.)

Those of you who made it out to see Talley’s Folly in February know that Sleepy Creek vineyards has a really intimate feel to it. It’s small, quaint, and there’s no place for performers to hide. (There is a swing out back…. Hee hee) And being a total math whiz, I knew that this quadrupled my chances of meeting the band. We walked in, and the band is milling around talking to people. And I got a glass of Hen Pecked (my favorite wine ever) and tried my best to look cool.

Mentally, I was doing that thing all of us girls do on important occasions.

Checking hair (mine was fake) to make sure it’s in place.

Wiping any misguided mascara from corners of eyes. (Why does makeup always end up there anyway?)

Making sure lipstick has not feathered. (Matt had no clue what that meant when I asked him if my lipstick had feathered. He said “It’s on your lips.” I went to the restroom and checked for myself.)

Quick bathroom break and then making sure the dress had not gotten tucked up inside the back of my unders like Rachel on “Friends” (the bridesmaid episode).

And finally, taking one last look at my shoes. (these are the ones I decoupaged last year with scrapbooking paper and Modpodge. They only come out on very special occasions. Last night was a special night.)





And there the band was. All 4 of them, standing together, outside, enjoying a moment of peace before the show.

Being a stalker uber fan who was perfectly in place from head to toe, I made my move.

Casually as one can, I sashayed outside- right in front of them, and that was when my mouth took over.

“Hi my name is Charlie and you all have been burning up my Ipod and I absolutely love your music and I have been waiting so excitedly for tonight and I am your friend on facebook and I am so excited to hear you play and you guys are my favorite band ever and I just love the simplicity of your music, yet there is such depth, and the people here have no idea what they are about to experience, but they will be loving you by the time you finish, of course they will be slightly drunk, because they come for the wine, not like me, I just came for you, of course there is a different kind of drunk here, it’s not rowdy like most bars, because the people here are a little more classy, so it’s kind of like a classy drunk, or maybe a different echelon of drunk but I am so excited to see your band tonight because you are my most favorite band ever and I listen to you all the time and I brought my husband, he’s not really a music guy but he came here with me because I wanted him to hear you live and experience your music and I know I am gushing all over you, sorry for that- if you have a newspaper in the van you can smack me on the nose with it and I will stop!”

Now, of course, I am falling all over myself here. It’s sad. Matt rushed to my rescue.

“If you can’t tell, Charlie loves your music. She’s thrilled to be here tonight.”

Thank you Matt, for summing up what I was trying to say in 2 sentences.

By this point I am doing my best not to look any less cool than I already do. I made a few more unrelated, incomprehensible statements, and finally I relaxed. The band was exceedingly gracious. We talked for a few minutes more, and I was edging myself closer to the parking lot. I use my hands when I talk, and I tend to gravitate where I have space to talk and no one gets smacked in the face. I couldn’t trust myself after the last run on sentence of nonsense , and quickly decided wide open spaces were my best bet.

What I didn’t consider was the gravel on the parking lot would be so uneven. One big dramatic hand gesture, and I found myself in the slow motion fall backwards, with my decoupaged shoes to blame. My arms immediately went into windmill mode (you may have seen it before, where your arms circle around you in wild fashion trying to recapture your balance) and I stumbled backwards. In reality, I caught myself before I hit butt on gravel. But it was a very close call.

The concert was wonderful, and the band was just as amazing as I had hoped. I sat a few rows back where they couldn’t see me singing along to every song. And I sang very softly. I only disturbed Matt. But during the second set, there was a lull as they were discussing what song to do. And of course I shouted out my favorite (Extremely loud) “BOY CRAZY!”

Securing my place as the crazy stalker fan in their hearts.

As they prepared to do the song, Christa said “This is the song my good friend Charlie requested…”

And to be honest? I didn’t hear the rest of what she said. I was too over the moon to hear another word.

So, in grand Charlie fashion, I would like to share a new song of theirs. The lyrics are most appropriate for how I feel for acting like such a nerd to the band.


The song is called “I cried over you.”

Catcher in the Thigh

It’s all the power yoga I am doing. IT HAS TO BE.

Because parts of me are sore that I don’t remember ever being sore before. And it’s interfering a bit in the day to day activity of my life.

Mostly- it’s throwing a wrench in a basic staple of my routine. WALKING.

Walking for exercise, walking for purpose, walking to pee… wherever I am going, I am constantly reminded that I have been working out.

So Wednesday night, at walking group, my good buddy Hope showed up. She’s a hoot, and I have loved reconnecting with her as an adult, since we were high school friends. She wears a fanny pack like me to walking group (BLESS YOU FOR THAT, HOPE! I was feeling like a dork till you showed me it was socially acceptable to walk with an extra fanny on your middle.)

And for my readers in the UK, when I say fanny pack- I mean this:

(Hulk Hogan makes it look so cool....)


I don’t mean fanny in the way you use the term. (Just thought I better add that disclaimer, as I have a lot of gals on the other side of the pond who read this!!! LOL)

I explained to Hope that I was not going to be walking at my best that night because my thigh was hurting. The top of my thigh, to be exact. (Before I had always worried about the back of my thigh, as it contained so much cottage cheese, but all these lunges and crap are working the front of the thigh too.) So with every step I had taken earlier that day, I was VERY AWARE of the top of my thigh.

And I don’t mind admitting that through the duration of Wednesday night church, I was rubbing the tops of my thighs as inconspicuously as one can possibly do in church. They hurt!!!!

I figured that all that massaging had loosened them up enough to crank out our 6 laps or so (which equals 3 miles) but I am not so good at calculations.

So Hope and I began our circular journey around the footpath of the mall. We talk and chit chat about pretty much everything. And we got in 2 laps. I was doing a motion with my hips and booty to try and alleviate some of the pressure off my thighs. Especially my right one. And I am pretty sure that if you had been walking behind us, it would have looked like I was doing an impersonation of a rap video gone wrong.

When Tricky Nikki showed up, we were in the groove, but we stopped and got a quick drink of water. I stopped moving, for less than a minute, and got a good swig of water.

That’s when the cramp hit me.

Yep, the top of my right thigh seized up like a slug that gets salt poured on it.

And it literally knocked me off my foot.

To which I quickly compensated with the other foot to retain some sense of balance. But mostly I looked like I had consumed one too many cocktails before the walk.

To which Hope practically spit water out of her mouth from laughing, and Tricky Nikki, who is used to my frantic antics, giggled and asked if I was ok. By that point, I was pulling out every stretch I remember from high school gym class to get the cramp to go away. And it subsided a little. Little enough to start walking again.

I told them we better start moving before another cramp hit me. So we did. I spent the next 3 laps trying my best to find a way to walk without hurting the thigh more.

Those methods included (but are not limited to) :

1. Walking dragging one leg behind me in a limping fashion.

2. Trying to kick the leg out in a wide circle as I brought it around to the front. Like a mule. (But I looked like the other term for a donkey)

3. Skipping style.

4. Shuffle motion.

5. Whiney style, which was the preferred method of choice. I tried to keep it to myself, but every once in a while, I would declare a good “OUCH!” with a step. My poor friends. What they put up with from me!!!

It’s taken a lot of hot baths, a day off of the yoga, and heating pad/advil treatments, but it finally feels much better. Thank heavens.

So today I will be back on the yoga. But I will be careful, and do my best to keep the positions from hurting me again like they did.

And Hope, I am thinking about ordering us these tshirts….

Hair's to being BRAVE

Dear random hair near my bellybutton-

Poor little guy! I think that you got lost! Normally I find boogers like you on my chin! It is pretty obvious you are slightly irritated about your location. I understand. My tummy is constantly dripping with sweat lately, and it’s no fun for me either! Especially because it doesn’t seem to be shrinking as quick as I would like it too. So we are going to have to work harder on the tummy. And you, my little lost friend, have GOT. TO. GO.

On the flip side, I want to thank you for not growing a huge zit around yourself as protection. That disguise doesn’t work with me, anyway. You have simply grown as yourself. Slightly out of place, but true to yourself.

I feel like that a lot in life. You know, I am the one person who doesn’t quite fit in anywhere else. I used to be too young to be in the “in crowd.” Now I’m too old. I always feel too fat, (as fat chicks will do) but I hear people telling me how good I look. I don’t see it, near my belly button hair, and I think that you understand.

Cause sometimes it feels like I am standing out here on my own, looking totally out of place, in an area that I shouldn’t be growing. But honestly, I am THRIVING right here. Wanna know why?

Everytime I look around, I see other girls that are joining me. That are taking the plunge and coming with me on this journey.

It’s like other belly button hairs are popping up all over the place!

Realistically, I don’t want a furry belly button. So in practice, I have no choice but to pluck you out.

And sometimes I feel like the world does that to fat chicks too. We walk into a store, and some thinny salesperson says “We don’t carry YOUR size here.” PLUCK.

Or we go out to dinner and order something not so good for us and a diet coke (because it’s a splurge day), and the server smirks, thinking “lot of good that diet coke is going to do you.” PLUCK.

Or any time I turn on the television and see that I don’t look like any one on a sit com- just the documentaries. PLUCK.

In theory, little hair, I would keep you right where you are. I would nurture you and help you thrive. Because I am sick and tired of being the one who is out of place. I understand, hair, exactly how you feel. Really, if you had grown about 4 inches down, I wouldn’t have noticed you at all.

But you are brazen and wild, and are showing up on the vast white (and stretchmarky) canvas of my tummy. And you stand for something that impresses me.

You stand up for being yourself.

I have to pluck you, dear little hair, but know that everytime I look at my flabby belly from here on out, I will think of you, and remember that being brave isn’t always pretty. Not in the middle of what we are doing.

But when it’s all said and done, braveness is the most beautiful thing we could ever stand for. Even when it gets a little hairy.

-Charlie

The Note Pad

Dear County Market-

I was going to write you a lengthy apology letter yesterday afternoon. Not because I spent a crap ton of money at your store buying healthy and organic food…



And not because I stocked my cupboards with delicious foods that I can actually eat….



And certainly not because of the huge sale you were having on yougurt and I bought 30 containers of it….


But because I thought that I left you a present.

About halfway through the drive home, I realized that I could no longer feel my pad in the location it was supposed to be. And I thought, especially after the Shamwreck Run, that I had left a you a totally disgusting present from the leg of my shortie shorts (which are not so shortie as most young people would wear, but they are short for me.)

And I gotta tell you, County Market, I was praying that it wasn’t so. I was riding home, with my cheeks bright red, thinking of all the aisles I might have “dropped the bomb” on Easter Sunday, when your store was PACKED TO THE GILLS. Who saw it happen? Did they get a manager and point me out? Will I be allowed back into your store? At least 3 weeks out of the month?

Thankfully, I was Diva Cupping it, so it should have been nice and white. But you just never know. Accidents are prone to happen to girls like me, especially when they are focused on healthy food procurement and winning a contest, as I am.

You have no idea how relieved I was to discover (after racing to the bathroom the second I got home) that the pad was safely stuck to the inside of my shorts. I cannot imagine the migratory pattern of the pad, or how it got there, but I was ecstatic to see it stuck on the inside booty of my shorties.

Problem solved, and now I don’t have to send you a letter at all. THANK HEAVENS!!!

Almost sincerely yours-

Charlie, Queen of Mishaps

Just to let you know...

I'm over heeeeeeeeeere today!

Charlie is WORKING IT OUT

PS- If you haven't done it already would you please go to my page on the Flab to FAB blog and become a follower? I keep forgetting to ask you!!! Thanks sooooooooooo much!!!! I love you!!!

The events of the day...

I finally have a few minutes of down time. It’s the first moment I have had to breathe for a few days.

So I am starting this crazy Flab2FAB contest at 178. (GROAN) I know, it’s a number we keep seeing on my scale. I’m sick of hearing it too. Trust me on that.

But the good news is that we are making major headway with getting everything set up. It’s been a chore and a half, but we are very close to having all the parts and pieces in place.

Ug. I need a nap.

But instead, I am going to tell you about the fact that I am honored that you all read my blog.

That sentence doesn’t make much sense, and an English teacher could probably have a field day with it.

But I am truly honored.

And I wanted to thank a second and thank you. I don’t have time to dance out my thanks like last time, but the thought is there.

Other than that, life is status quo. Matt is safely back home, my house didn’t make my mother tremble in fear when she came over today, and I actually got a refund check from the dentist. (Apparently he was paying me for my services…) So things are looking up.

Now I’m just waiting for Mother Nature to grace me with her presence, and I will be utterly back to normal. Whatever normal is.

On the flip side, I am going to do Jillian Michaels Power Max Yoga. For real. I promise. I need to face my fear of her and just do it. Because it is crunch time, and I need to start hitting this diet.

Otherwise the other girls are just going to laugh at me. (Actually, they won’t really. We picked a group of FANTASTIC women, and the support system we have whipped up in 3 days time is unheard of. There is no way I can fail.)

And more importantly, if I start to feel discouraged, I can just check out the linked up BLOGTOURAGE and get even more inspiration!!! These women are really giving it a shot. And you have no idea how proud that makes me. Because all I ever wanted to do was inspire girls who needed a swift kick like I did. (ahem, and still do...)

And inspired they are. They are inspiring me right back, too!!!

So that’s all for now.

You WILL hear about Killian Michaels. Whoops, I mean Jillian. Because I may be confined to my couch, heating pad, and laptop tomorrow after her DVD. But I’m sure I’ll have a good story for you then.

I BETTER get a good story out of it. Otherwise what's the point?

Oh, yeah, exercise.....

What floats? Witches! Tiny rocks! And maybe… a little hope!

I am not the best person to have in a hot seat. I am all about conflict diffusion. I want everyone to get along. I want everyone to see the best in everyone else. I want there to be free coca-colas in glass bottles and rainbows and butterflies.

What do I usually get instead?

A hot mess while in the hot seat.

I got called a witch yesterday by someone who doesn’t even know me at all. I got some pretty harsh words flung my way by a few others. And I also got something else I didn’t bargain for!

I got hope and peace.

Yep, it came out of no where. As I was taking a bath after bawling about the entire day’s events into Matt’s chest hair (as is the custom in this house) I got that wonderful warm feeling that can only come from the throne of God.

I was reminded about the parable of the rich man (and I promise this has everything to do with dieting) who asked Jesus what he must do to enter the kingdom of heaven. (Mark 10:17-24) Jesus tells the man to obey the 10 commandments. The man replies that he does that already. So Jesus tells him to sell everything he has and give it to the poor. And the man walks away. His life is still full of stuff, but it’s safe to say that he leaves Jesus empty handed.

The man’s intentions were good- he wanted to become a disciple and go to heaven. But he wasn’t willing to make the necessary sacrifices to get to the final stretch. And with that realization, God pricked my heart as He often does.

“You know I want this for you. I know you want this for you. So when are you going to take that final plunge? When are you going to give the final piece of your heart and let me shine through you?”

To be honest, I didn’t really have an answer for Him. Because I was too busy crying all over again.

Sunday was a hard day anyway you look at it. We had some family issues to be taken care of that have been a long time coming, but today was a day of finality and decisions. Reality was already kicking me in the teeth. I was reminded that our house is crappy, our furniture is crappy, and that my grandmother is in poor health. The grandmother that is my genetic twin, who I am very much like- I can sense that we are coming close to the end for her. And I don’t want to lose her.

I am PMSey, which didn’t help matters at all, people were calling me names and accusing me of things that were stealing my joy- and then God is bugging me about surrender with the weight.

I wanted to shout “WORLD GO AWAY” from the safety of my bath tub.

Instead, I could only look down at my flabby belly floating in the water and be humble.

Because when we look at the truth- it doesn’t matter how many women I have inspired to help lose weight. It matters that there is discord with ones who need a friend.

And I wasn’t willing to be a friend. I wanted to be mad. I wanted to be hurt. I wanted to fill up a bathtub of tears.

Because sometimes a girl just need to have a moment. A moment to break down and feel the frustration of what the world is throwing at her. The sticks and stones of hurtful words. And the tiny rocks that land in your shoes. Those little ones hurt the worst.

My goal has never been to alienate on this blog. I have tried very hard to encourage people of any weight, any size, any religion, any persuasion, any lifestyle. I have never wanted people to feel like they were rejected. I wanted this blog to be a safe haven for all.

Unfortunately, with our Flab to FAB challenge, we picked people to join us on our 8 week journey. And when people didn’t get picked, they picked on us.

Where is this blog going? I think here….

If I am truly willing to devote myself to this weight loss journey, then no amount of naysayers can stop me. I have to hand over the things I am clinging to- like approval of people, trying to please man, and those doggone oreos- and focus on one thing.

GOD.

I am not losing weight so I can just be skinny. I am losing weight so that I can allow Him to shine through my victory. I want to show others that character is found in all things- on your plate, in the way you speak about others, in the forgiveness you extend and ask for in return. That who you serve makes all the difference.

So I spent the last hour writing encouraging comments on the blogs of people who were (and some who were not) being nice to me. Some were short, some were long. But every last one was sincere. Because character can shine no matter what. Even if you had to cry your eyes out to find it. The tears just make it shine a little brighter.

And what ended up happening was I felt peace. I felt restoration! I was reminded of how far God has brought me on this weight loss journey, and how by HIS UNREASONABLE GRACE ALONE- I am still fighting this battle. And it’s almost won.

So today- let’s do something new. Let’s each say 3 nice things to people you may or may not know. Encourage them. Speak life into their bones. Show kindness, even if it isn’t reciprocated. Let’s show the world what kind of characters we crazy gals really are!!!!

Project “Pass out HOPE” has officially begun!

How will you pass out hope today?

Vloggy Friday!!!!

FYI- Applications are due Friday night at 11:59. I would say Saturday at midnight,

but I would confuse myself by stating it that way!

Flab to FAB Blogger Fitness Challenge- we want YOU!!!

Sleepover doesn't mean there will be sleeping....

So I am not a good blogger.

And what I mean by that is I do not follow my life around with a camera and take great pictures that will lead to a fantastic story.

Instead, I suppose I will have to tell you what happened!

4 tweenage girls, in 3rd and 4th grade, all sleeping over at my house last night.

Their loves?

Twilight
Junk food
Giggling
Nail polish
Fashion
Computers
Being rowdy.

The aftermath of their loves?

One broken headboard on Amy’s Bed.
A consumed bottle of Red Crush- which they used for a bloody refreshment.
Crumbs on (and in) my couch from the s’mores and cookies.
8 Advil removed from my bottle (for Mom of course- throughout the duration of the evening and morning, mind you.)
One 20 minute Skype conversation with April at midnight, complete with screaming, singing, and acting silly.
And, of course, Cinnamon rolls for breakfast (which we are fixing at 12:45).

So right now, they are begging for the computer back, and I’m going to wrap this up. Because I am out-numbered. And that’s a dangerous position to be in.

But the sleepover queens are pleased with the night’s events.

And I cannot WAIT for Matt to come home so I can spend Saturday sleeping in.

Flabulousness is the word of the day!

And finally, I can announce it for real. And you can join us. If you dare...

We are having a super awesome contest. To see what we can accomplish in 8 weeks. IF WE REALLY TRY.

April and I promise to entertain you with super funny videos about each week's progress, and you can watch how we change!

Or, you could become one of the "Flabulous 6" and join us!

Yep, we have some open spots in our crazy contest, and we want you to apply. We have no idea how many people will actually sign up for this, so we are hoping for a total of 6. We could have as many as 10. But we gotta get some applications first and see what we have got.

All the official jargon is available to you on our Flab to FAB Challenge page, and you can check it out and see if you want to particapate. We had to include a bunch of legal talk so we don't get our big butts sued over anything. But it's pretty simple.

You sign up, we give you lots of info and links, you video your progress on a weekly basis, and agree to partake in a weekly challenge, upload it all, and we make you look good. People can read and view your progress over the next 8 weeks, and you could win prizes!!!

See? It's that simple!

We are really excited about this, and I'll still be blogging on here the whole time. I'll give you the scoop as I go along. But for today...

Go check out our pretty new site!!!

Calgon, do you wash laundry too???

It is 9:49 on Monday morning and I am finally home. I had to take Matt to the airport. (sniff sniff)

I know some of you don’t understand what the big deal is. Most women would be happy to get rid of their husbands for a week.

Not me.

I miss the way he makes me laugh from the other room ALREADY. And it’s only been 3 hours.

It’s gonna be a long week.

But, in order to fill that long week, the kids and I are going to tackle a major overhaul of our house. This includes upteen loads of laundry, scrubbing, and painting. Yep, we are going all out while he is gone. Mostly cause the kids are on Spring break for the next 3 weeks and we are too poor to go anywhere cool. So we are going to make our house cool.

On the diet front, I don’t mind telling you that I enjoyed the weekend, foodwise. I didn’t weigh myself this morning, mostly because we were scrambling to get Matt to his flight on time. And because out of the 5 people that live in our house, only ONE of them is a morning person.

And that one person is not me.

So that’s all for today- nothing terribly interesting. HOWEVER make sure you come back tomorrow for some very exciting news about the Flab to Fab contest. We are opening up the contest tomorrow. And you won’t want to miss this. It’s gonna be a blast!

And, uh, does anyone happen to know the number of the laundry fairy? I’ve heard she exists, and I sure could use her help this week!!!

Excuses, excuses

So I should be blogging. I know it. I should be telling you all the reasons why I have blown it this week, and how I hate exercise, and probably peed my pants doing it.

But I can't tell you that.

Cause Charlie's got her groove back.

Oh, yes, my friends, a letter from my friend Tara threw on a lightswitch, and I'm working this diet- FULL TILT AND BOOGY.

So, after ending Sunday on a yucky 179, I am down to a 176.4 and very very happy about it. Because this is not me trying to pad the numbers and feel better about myself. I am going back down, and there's no stopping me now.

My friend April and I have a project in the works, and we are going to run a biggest loser type contest. Except it's for Bloggers only. We are working on the rules and regulations at the moment, but here's the skinny.

Bloggers can apply for 3 available contest seats. (I'll let you know when we open up to accept the applications.) You will work from where you are to lose the weight. And blog about it. And VIDEO yourself doing things. (Nothing that will require you to buy something. Mostly we are thinking pushups or some physical challenge. ) We are going to make a weekly show about it, and readers can come to a main site to see your progress and the progress of others in the contest.

And we CANNOT WAIT to get this party started.

I guess that's why I am so pumped and working the diet thing. Cause I don't need those first 3 week issues working against me. Nope. I want to win this thing.

IF YOU have a business and want to contribute, let us know! We will be linking up any one who donates a prize for the kitty. On the main website and the 6 bloggers who participate. But there will be 2 winners, so plan on a prize you can comfortably provide 2 of. If you want to do that- email me at oscbb@yahoo.com with the words CONTEST PRIZE in the subject line. We appreciate anything you can throw at us.

SO that's the word. We got stuff cooking. And it's all diet approved.

How has your week been?

Touching on Important Things Toe-Day

First of all, happy St. Patty’s day. May the grass be greenest under your treadmill and you go there to celebrate.

Next, I bought the Jillian Michaels Yoga DVD this morning. I have yet to work up the courage to actually do it. It’s sitting next to me on my desk taunting me. I’ll try it later today. MAYBE.

Finally, I am super de duper busy today, but wanted to at least leave you a giggle for the day. So I am sharing a good friend with you. April.

April designed this blog (and it’s bee-you-tea-full, don’t ya think?) and she is very fun to hang out with- virtually. Never met her face to face. But we face to book, and I stalk her blog on a regular basis. http://www.aprilshowersblogdesign.com/ You should see what that girl is able to do with her brain, her artistry, and a PC. Amazing.

And now, you get to see what ELSE she can do! I was impressed, and she is just as goofy as me. So I had to share this. She has been losing weight as well, and is doing quite well. Maybe one day I will invite her over to share her story.

So, without further adieu, may I present April and her Toe Touch…

Shamwreck Run

On Saturday, I participated in my very first ever competitive event since I was forced to participate in high school gym class.

Tricky Nikki and I went to Indianapolis for the Shamrock Run and walk.

And I took away some valuable lessons from the day.

1. I am not a runner. You may recall last summer that I had delusions of grandure that I could be a runner. (This links to one of my favorite videos to date, by the way…oh, panda bears) However, I was horribly mistaken. Running for most people is at least easy. Or tolerable. Not for me. Tricky Nikki and I (under the encouragement of our friends Katie and Nik’s sister Tracy- she used to be known as Skinny Witch, but henceforth is only to be referred to as Racy Tracy. It’s a double entendra and suits her well in both aspects. You shall see why as a minute.) were highly “motivated” to take our best attempt at starting off strong and jogging.

2. Competitive events are a lot like shopping the day after thanksgiving. Sure, nobody gets trampled. It’s a civilized event, after all, racing. But you find yourself running for no particular reason at all. Because we people are a lot like lemmings that way.


3. Much like shopping with a high interest credit card, running causes an aftermath of misery. Oh, you don’t feel the pain right away. You feel a sense of accomplishment. Then, when you have to pay for your actions, you feel how high the cost really is.


We got to Indy the night before, slept at Racy Tracy’s house, and woke up early. Fun fact about Illinois and Indiana- they are subject to that confounded time change. Indy is an hour earlier than Illinois. So when it said that registration for the race began at 8am, that was 7am for us Illini folk. That meant the event itself started at 8. And have mercy, I do not do well with mornings. Not without a POT of coffee.

But I did my best. I wore makeup and Dolly hair, looked uber cute, and even had my Ireland ball cap- deeming that I looked sufficiently “sporty spice” enough for the event. See?

In all honesty, I had no idea what was about to take place. I did not fathom the only thing that proved to others I belonged there were my Asics gel shoes. It had nothing to do with my walmart jogging suit. Or my ponytail of fake hair. Or my special wintergrade moisture wicking shirt to keep me warm.

So we get to the event (which took place in Indy’s “circle”) and signed up for the event. We got our numbers. I got 1801. Nik got 1783. Katie got 648. And Racy Tracy?

She got 69.

And that made her a star. Because everyone giggles when they see the number 69, morals or not. It was like winning the Racing Lottery.So that sent us into fits of laughter right out of the gate.

Then there was the problem of my own moisture wicking. See, you all know I am famous for wetting my pants. So I wore a big honking pad. There would be no accidents today. Problem was that the pants I was wearing were continually shoving said pad into my crack. So making a pre-race trip to the bathroom, I tried to rearrange the pad a little further back. Then forward. Basically, I ensured that the sticky part of the pad would no longer stick to my unders.

After a picture with a few wandering leprechauns, and one final stop at the portapotty, it was time to begin.

THREE! TWO! ONE! GOOOOOOO!

The race began and people took off like lightening. Everyone was all excited and the energy was in the misty morning air. Racy Tracy and Katie shot out. They have been training for a mini marathon, and they feel about running the way I feel about French Fries. We couldn’t see them anymore. And Tricky Nikki and I decided we would jog as long as we could, then walk quickly the rest of the way.

Our goal was simple. WE WILL NOT BE LAST.

And we jogged. Not fast, but we jogged our little hearts out. And after what felt like we had been jogging for an eternity, Nik and I began discussing that she might need her inhaler and I was going to keel over if we didn’t stop. So we did.

We made it 2 blocks. (In our defense, the blocks in Indy are very very very long. At least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

So by the time we quit jogging, I was totally out of breath, and my shins were more than warmed up. Cause remember- I am not a runner.

One thing I have learned about walking outside in the elements- you layer your clothing. It’s important to do, because it’s easier to strip off layers like an onion.

So off went layer one. Green jacket. I also had to go around a parked car to spit out my gum, which is code for yank my pad from the deep recesses of my crack. Remember, this is a civilized event. I still had make up and Dolly hair and pride.

We walked and walked, and finally saw a sign. 1 mile. We were officially 1/4th of the way done.

The second mile, we walked and talked. People were passing us like crazy, and Tricky Nikki felt the urge to powerwalk a little faster, as we did not want to be last. And my moisture wicking shirt was getting pretty warm. But we muscled through.

We finally made it to where Katie and Racy Tracy had made it around the loop and passed us on the opposite side. Much yelling ensued , and many references to “Hey 69” were made. And we made it to the half way point. Where kids were standing with cups of water for us. But you could tell by looking at the kid’s faces they were thinking “you are walking and probably don’t need water.” So our cups were only half full. Cheapskates.

After yanking my pad out again, we began the 3rd mile. And we were starting to feel the push. I believe for those that run half marathons, this is what they experience in the 8th mile. Not being a runner myself, I was happy to experience it during the last half of the race. Which was beginning to get serious. People were playing musical chairs, passing each other, falling behind, and it was a lot like driving on the interstate. And I felt like the big RV that was going 30 in a 65.

I realized that I could not remove my moisture wicking top, because the exercise support shirt underneath it showed my bra. Really badly. So I pulled the front part of my shirt over the back of my neck, so my chest could get some air and still hide the straps of my bra. It looked ridiculious. But I didn’t care. And we made it to the last mile.


By this point, I was dying. For the record, we walk about this far at the mall. However, it’s on a flat surface, we don’t do the first lap running, and it is at night when I am energized. All the odds were stacked against me. Including the lower moisture wicking issue. By this point, I don’t mind giving you a visual as to how it must have looked under my walmart pants.


Nice, huh? There was no digging it out any longer. Now my goal was to keep it from falling out of the leg of my pants. Water/sweat/pee dribbles plus adhesive do not a sticky pad make. Oh no, it makes one that is hanging on for dear life, much like I was.

Enter “Beer and Feathers.” There was a woman who was wearing a hat that looked like a beer mug and a green feather boa. And she was rocking this walk. So Tricky Nikki and I determined we simply needed to keep up with beer and feathers. And that’s what we did. We would speed up a little to stay right behind beer and feathers. Mostly. I repeated it a lot, because it was fun to say. We kept her in our sights till the last 10th of a mile.

Finally we got to the last tiny part of the race, almost crossing the finish line, and Racy Tracy was already there and done. She came up beside us and said “C’mon girls, finish strong!”
So we jogged around the last bit of the circle and the race ended. And we jumped around and cheered. And my pad fell out of my unders and stuck to my shin. I reached down to tie my shoe, grabbed the pad, wadded it up and shoved it in my pocket. Sigh. I am a mess.

When we got home, the rest of the evening, I was totally wrecked. My shins kept cramping, my toes were curling, and I came very close to exceeding the legal limit of advil. But I finished the race.


And all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

35 and counting...

Monday is my dahling hubby Matt's 35th birthday. I decided that this year, in leiu of a gift, he would be receiving a clean bedroom. So all day Monday I am going to be finishing up what I started. Cleaning my room.

But I wanted to leave you all with a wonderful montage of some of my favorite pics. Cause this man has stolen my heart over and over and over again. He has also been my number one support in the diet. This blog wouldn't have been without his encouragement, so ya'll should be thankful for him too. (giggle...I believe his exact words were something like "If you started a blog, then I could read it and you wouldn't have to obsess every night about it"...)

So I mixed up some songs and raided my hard-drive for the bestest photos I could find of my man. It would have been longer, but this was precious time I could have been cleaning. I had to speed the process up. Cause I still have a ways to go on the room!

Tuesday, I will be sharing about the Shamrock Race I participated in, but for now? I gotta go clean.

For this man. Right meow....

I love you babe. I hope we get many more years together. Happy Birthday!

New Kids on the Soap Box

Dear Cover Girl-

You rejected the most awesomest video in your “Stand up for Beauty” contest. I am not ashamed to admit that it was mine. Here’s what you missed out on (for you blog readers who are not on FB or haven’t seen it yet- if you have just keep reading…):

Now, you may have kicked it out for any number of reasons. It could have been because someone found the phrase “peed my pants” offensive. I agree. It is offensive. Especially when someone who has a teensy bladder sneezes and wets her pants. Continuously. I know.

Or maybe it was because you thought I got hurt falling off the exercise ball. I did not. There are lots of exercises I avoid doing because they hurt me way more than the prat fall I did in the video.

Perhaps it was the Tanya Harding Manicure that got me kicked out. Not all of us have time to get our "nails did" you know. We are too busy scraping gum and toilet paper off the back of our pants.

But most likely, you booted me out of your contest because I showed a screen shot of my blog. Yes, I know you only want to promote Cover Girl products, and that showing people the name of this crazy mess of a blog caused a ruckus.

But I wish you would reconsider and let me back in this contest with my video AS IS. And here’s why:

Not all of us are cover girls at heart. Many of us fat chicks would never be brave enough (or stupid enough) to put ourselves in the running of your contest with a bunch of 20 year old skinnies who have their whole life ahead of them and not one stretch mark to be found- with perfect complexions and who probably don’t need makeup. Or have random hairs growing on their belly buttons like me. (And others, hopefully…)

Instead, we have been told by the media that we are probably better off hanging out in low light to no light areas, taking care of our kids and eating Ben and Jerry’s and Oreos all day.

I say- Poot on THAT!

I am here to tell you that we, although we don’t like what we are right now, love WHO we are.

We embrace that we are courageous enough to look in a 3 way mirror and say “It could get better, but for today I am doing my best!” We love that we support one another on our journey to losing the extra weight, and we are gonna overcome this. TOGETHER. We have fears, but we are putting on a brave face. With or without makeup. And we are the New Kids- on a Soap Box.

There are so many women out there who have NO ONE to support them. They feel scared and fat and alone. They have no idea that this blog is out there for them. And I have to tell you- there is support here on this blog. That is a proven fact.

Tonight I read through all the comments left for me on this blog. I sat down and read them all in one fell swoop. And do you know what I figured out, Cover Girl?

Every single one of these women (and the rare gentleman, but one good period story and they usually head for the hills!) deserves to win your contest on principle alone. Each one of these women has taken a moment of her day to gather here and reach out. To face change in a completely unconventional way.

Each one of these women has found herself inadvertently Standing up for Beauty.

By the time I finished reading all my 400+ comments back to back to back, I was crying. Because I felt so beautiful and loved and WORTHY. And as much as I love your TruBlend Whipped foundation, your makeup cannot do that.

I figure that you will want to thank all of these women personally for taking the challenge to be brave and beautiful, but you wouldn’t be willing to have someone work overtime and find all of their names. Well, Cover Girl, today is your LUCKY DAY!!!

Because I went though and wrote down every last name for you.

I figured that you would appreciate my wasting an entire night typing name after name, but in a REAL cover girl fashion, I found it to be one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.

Let my video back in the contest. Pretty please? There are THOUSANDS of women out there who feel just like me and my Big Butt Gang. (Oh, that makes us all sound so butch, doesn’t it?)

And women like us need to know that we have a place to go that accepts us just as we are. Fat rolls and stretch marks and bellybutton hair and all. Women should know that we can be loved as we are right at this moment. That’s why putting the name and picture of my blog in the contest commercial was so important. And I will not take it out. It’s not worth 50 grand to me. (Even though that money was GOING to buy a house for me and get my tubal reversal surgery. Sigh)

Cover Girl, you are awesome. And I use your stuff every day. But today, you need to see the other side of beauty.

And you need to see it set to New Kids on the Block.


Anxiously awaiting your reply-

Charlie- Imperfect and loving every minute of it


(And don't you dare watch the first 10 seconds and think this is just a list of names. It gets really really really good near the end. You will want to see it. I pinkie swear!)

Paper Trail....

I cannot take myself anywhere these days...

Another One Bites The Dust

I am changing names to protect the innocent.

Today I went back to Dr. Cableblue, my new dentist. This is approximately 3 times in the last month that I have gone to the dentist. Before that, I went when I was 16.


That was the last time till now.


Yep. We are talking a 16 year span of what Dr. Cableblue kindly called “home management.” I am terrified of the dentist. More scared of a DDS than rats, dogs and drowning combined.


What was horrific about today was that I, having an unreasonable fear of drowning, feel the need to continually swallow, lest I drown in my own saliva. And because I was getting one of the white fillings, I could not swallow for one whole minute so the epoxy or acrylic or whatever it is could set.


I would like to address what went through my head during that one minute of not swallowing.


Seconds 1-10: This isn’t so bad! I have my MP3 player in one ear, I can’t feel a thing, and the noise isn’t so bad if I crank up the MP3 to the max level and blow out my eardrum. Charlie, you are conquering your fears of dentistry! Way to go, kid! Oh dear, there is a little liquid collecting at the back of my mouth. Don’t swallow, OK? You can do this.


Seconds 11-20: Seems like I ought to be pretty close to getting to one minute now. I just need to remember to breathe through my nose, not my mouth. When did I become a mouth breather, anyway? When I kiss Matt, I breathe through my nose, right? What if I have been breathing into him and he is totally grossed out by it? Goodness, how DO I kiss him? I better think about this- kinda like this?


(At which point I am French kissing Dr. Cableblue’s finger. His eyes got a little wide)


Seconds 21-30: ACT COOL, Charlie, I’m sure that it’s not the first time that has happened to him. He knows how hard this is for you, and he’s a good sport. Plus, you are so close to being done, and by the time you come back to him, he will have forgotten that you just accidentally erotically licked his finger because you were trying to distract yourself from not swallowing. Oh my GOSH! I HAVE TO SWALLOW!


Seconds 31-40: Think about something else, ANYTHING but swallowing. I wonder if he’s gonna write this on my chart. I wonder how many people drown from the dribble of water they put in the back of your mouth? His assistant isn’t even doing that part right now, it’s just me and Dr. Cableblue’s finger and a piece of cotton. If I accidently inhaled the piece of gauze stuck in my mouth, what would happen? Would I be able to cough it back up? Would I be able to poop it out if I can’t? What happened to all the gum that I swallowed in Jr High? I should have pooped that out already, right? If not, I should be dropping at least 5 pounds soon. It was a lot of gum I swallowed. SWALLOW! DON’T SWALLOW!


Seconds 41-50: Dear Lord, I know I just watched 2012, and that movie showed these awful scenes of people getting swept up in a tsunami. Does it feel like this? And then they had that horrible water scene where John Cusack is under there for 4 minutes trying to fix the gate and save mankind as we know it. I always try to hold my breath during underwater scenes. I remember watching this movie as a kid where kids got kidnapped on a school bus, and they were locked in a cave, and the only way out was to swim under a tunnel. That’s when it started, me holding my breath along with the movie just to see if I can do it. I never can.


Seconds 51-60: OH MY GOSH, I forgot to breathe! BREATHE, WOMAN, BREATHE! MUST NOT SWALLOW MUST NOT SWALLOW MUST BREATHE MUST BREATHE......


And that’s when it happened.


I BIT Dr. Cableblue’s finger.


HARD.


It was an accident, I promise. He kind of joked it off and said he still had 9 more. But I felt terrible.

Really really really bad.

So Dr. Cableblue- this impromptu song is for you. And your finger. I have on mo makeup yet and my lip is still numb, but my heart is sincere.

Cleaning up the Double Standard

So yesterday I cleaned for 8 hours straight. I got a lot accomplished, and I should be ready to paint very soon. Which is great! I’ve never had a really nice bedroom to sleep in. Not one that was all coordinated and stuff. I’m going to show you pictures of the half way point, but there is a disclaimer. About 4pm yesterday my vacuum cleaner bag took in a little more than it should have, and filled to the tippy top. So there is still a lot of gunk on the floor because we moved furniture around for the first time in 2 and a half years. Oh the joys of domestic life!

Here’s a nice shot with (unvacuumed) carpet showing…

See? I have been working! Now, a nice little montage of some of the interesting things I found while cleaning…

My glasses from high school…

Matt’s extensive dumbbell collection… complete with cobwebs.

*giggle* (he can never give me crap about not using my treadmill again!)

5 alarm clocks… (Charlie is REALLY NOT a morning person.)

I forgot we had this! That is fun stuff...

And of course, the keychain that says “Keys I haven’t lost yet.” Please note that the keys are missing… (man, I gotta get my bottom wolfie tooth fixed. I hate that tooth!)

Paint has been picked out and is hiding in the van at the moment, so we are going to be well on our way to our very own Clean Sweep!

In other breaking news, I got a wild hair this morning at Walmart and purchased Alli. Yeah, the stuff that gives you “treatment effects” if you eat too much fat. We will probably get a few good blog posts out of this experiment.

OK. Normally, I don’t like to address blog comments on the blog. I like to send you all a note in your email if your comment comes with one. Manic Mommy’s does not. SO we are going to talk about her comment here together. Mostly because I think it is a brilliant thing to talk about and I know we all feel it. This is what she said…

“random thing about the weight - do you sometimes feel like two people? I can't get excited about the weight I've lost because I've been here before, and it's like I'm waiting for the other-me to tap on my shoulder and say "The charade is up, you can't lose this weight, just go back to your old ways . . . ." I've been here so many times!!! All I can do is keep trudging through and hoping that if I hit a wall, this time I'll find a way to get through it (or over it, or under it - whatever it takes!).”

I feel like 2 people all the time, Manic Mommy- I think we all do. Especially those of us who have never known a “thin” life. It is so easy for us to associate WHO we are with WHAT we are. We take our bodies at face value – “because I look like this, it must mean I am that.”

So when we start finding success for the first time (or the second) (or the twentieth) we don’t allow ourselves to embrace our successes. Women feel this internal need to punish ourselves. We think that because we are a certain __________ (and please insert anything you struggle with in the blank) that we must beat ourselves up for being less than what we see other women are.

So there is the side of me that says “Whoopee! I have lost a crap ton of weight and I’m gonna keep going till I’m skinny and take a bunch of other gals with me!” Then there is the part of me that lays in bed saying “I never should have started such a public journey of my mess. I am going to let them all down when I gain everything I’ve lost back.” I do that almost every single night.

I think the problem is that we are trained from an early age to second guess ourselves. We don’t look at what is right for us, we try to put what looks right on someone else onto ourselves and make it work. Then when it goes horribly wrong (like the time I tried Atkins. But that is a blog for another day) we get frustrated and call OURSELVES the failing factor. Instead we should be taking signals from our bodies about what works and what doesn’t. We look around for answers instead of looking within.

I don’t know how to tell you we are supposed to fix this double life we live as dieters. I wish I knew so that I wouldn’t do it myself. What I can tell you is that we can “hear” the voice telling us we are going to fail, but we don’t have to LISTEN. We don’t have to believe it. We can’t ignore it, but we can say “I am going to prove you wrong on this one.”

And then we keep putting one foot in front of the other. We keep eating fruit till we are leaving Trix in the toilet, we eat Smart Ones till we burn out our microwaves- we drink water till we float away. We let Jillian Michaels shred us, and we let Richard Simmons make us disco dance till we drop.

And maybe- just maybe- one night when we are laying in bed, we will shut that voice up and get to say my 4 favorite words.

“I TOLD YOU SO.”

So keep rocking the diet, Mama. Keep on trucking. We can do it this time. I just know it.

Room for Improvement?

I am writing this on Sunday night, but am going to let it post on Monday. So when I talk about “tonight” it will actually be LAST NIGHT. Just in case the grammar Nazi is reading this….

So tonight, I did the most peculiar thing. I cleaned my room. Not 2 hours at a time, like I (ahem) promised to do last time (what was that, like a month ago?). Nope. I got in there and dug through the relics. Got my hands dirty. Sucked it up, put on my big girl panties with the control top and just did it.

To be honest, I am a little less than halfway done. But I can actually walk to the bathroom now without tripping. Accomplishment in itself right there. I am a total slob.

Here’s my point. I found lots of cool and interesting things I had forgotten all about. I found a grand total of 8 purses I totally forgot I had, 4 ½ pairs of shoes that are really cool, and an entire trash bag of socks. Some of them even match! (No judging here about my mess. I have issues, people. Deep set issues. And they revolve around me being safe in my fat body and messy house. Therapy sessions are not necessary. That’s what this blog is for!)

I found some clothes I have stashed away for when I am finally back into sizes 10 and 8. (yes the 10s are not fitting quite like they did last fall. I know, I know…) And it got me excited. It made me realize that great things are waiting for me to find them and wear them. Outfits that I haven’t seen in a long while. Necklaces I kept thinking would look great with “that dress when I finally fit into it.” Thrift store finds that never found a home in my dresser because I couldn’t open the drawers. Stuff that I have forgotten I love.

I am not telling you this to brag about what a superstar I am for cleaning my house. I am far from it. It wouldn’t take me hours if I would buckle down and do the daily stuff before it mounds like Target (Tar-jay) just threw up all over my room. If I would be disciplined enough to do a little each day, it would not look like this...

(And yes, I am going for the brutal honesty here, despite its horrific-ness. This is as humiliating as the bikini pictures from a few weeks ago. Don’t hate me.)

Yikes. Margaret the Saint (that would be my mother for you newbies) is cringing right now. Probably dialing the phone to lecture me as you read this. Poor woman. Lord knows she tried her best with me. Good thing I have talent as the artistic type or she would disown me for my pathetic lack of housecleaning abilities. For the record, we keep the bed cleared off for sleeping. It was just crammed full of stuff today so I could decide what to get rid of. I promise I don't make Matt sleep on boxes.

Good news is, the rest of my house doesn’t look like this. It’s better. It’s liveable. But MY ROOM, MY SPACE- it looks like this. This is the neurotic mess of my life. And I am showing you this for one specific reason. And wouldn’t you know, it has to do with a certain epiphany about weight loss.

It has to do with certain questions I regularly ask myself. About the room. And about my diet/puffy body.

1. How did you let it get to this point?
Well, it’s simple. I let it get to this point because a) I am lazy, b) I don’t like hard work, and c) this part of being a grown up isn’t any fun.

2. Why haven’t you done anything about it till now?
Hmmm, I have tried- but with cleaning AND dieting I have found problems with making little changes today that never seem to make a difference the next day. The weight and mess are still there, and I get discouraged. I want to see instant results. And with house cleaning and weight loss that is not going to happen. I will not get “biggest loser“- ed or “clean sweep”-ed. (and thank you Lord for that. I would lose my ever lovin mind…) Instead, I have to find my own path on this journey to a great house and fantastic body. Because God knows if I do it myself (with His help of course) I will appreciate it much more. So I have to jump into the mess and get started.

3. Is this something that is really important to you?
Yes, but not for reasons you might think. I want to lose the weight so I can be more “promotional.” Fat chicks can write, but they don’t get listened to very well. And they get shoved aside for the more marketable girl. (Don’t fight me on this one people, cause I know first hand it’s true.) And I want my home to look fantastic because a) a clean house is an aphrodisiac for Matt and b) I want to invite friends to my home and not make them uncomfortable. Plus if it’s all done, I think I could finally do aerobics in my room again. And feel the desire to get to goal of the big 1-0-0 and write my greatest book ever- Dancing From Fat to Freedom. Yep, it’s in the works. Just have to get to goal and finish the DANG THING!

So what would change if I looked at dieting like I looked at cleaning my room today? I remember the day when I looked at that scale and thought it was hopeless. I felt that way about my room this morning. The mess was too big for me to conquer. I am a smart person (and alec) and I know that was the truth. But somehow, a year ago- I was on FIRE to lose weight. I wanted it so bad that I didn’t question what the diet plan was. I just did it. I didn’t deviate from the plan.

Folks, I have deviated much over the past 6 months. It’s lucky that I have not gained more than my 8 pound spread. But there has been no magical loss. Nothing to scream happily into phones or shout on Facebook. Nothing but “the scale is not my friend today.” What an encouraging message I have given you. And for that, I want to offer my sincerest apologies. I kinda suck.

I think the thing for me to do is to get back into the diet and rediscover the things that I have forgotten I loved. The freedom to know I was doing right by my body. The thrill of knowing that IF I KEEP ON THIS COURSE, I WILL SEE RESULTS.

So messy room, you have inspired me. I will keep showing you guys pictures of my room and how it’s going to get better over the next few weeks. (realistically, it’s going to take that long.) I'm even planning to paint while Matt is out of town in 2 weeks! (sssh, don't tell him. That's his birthday surprise. He will come home to a new bedroom!)

But if I hyperfocus my activities on those 2 things- my room and my diet- amazing things just might happen. I might be able to get back to my glorious 169 (which I hit for exactly 1 day) AND have a clean restful room! Which would be fantastic! Plus there is a whole new wardrobe I am finding under the clutter and trash that is inspiring me like you wouldn’t believe. I feel a spring cleaning coming on that is going to be about more than my house.

Are the warm winds of change hitting you yet?

March is in like a Lion

Today my buddy Hillary is having a bloggy carnival about favorites. And I love a good carnivale! Especially when it takes the heat off the fact I am back down to 177 but haven’t moved beyond that point, YET.

So I thought I would share a few good favorites in honor of today. They all have to do with SHEER.

First of all, my favorite sheer luxury item in my caboodle (remember those?) is my Cover Girl TruBlend Whipped Foundation. I am in love with this stuff! It feels so light and fluffy- it’s like putting silk on your face. I can’t go back to any other type of foundation. It’s amazing! You should try it out!


Next up on the sheer list- my favorite movie that is sheer delight- DOWN WITH LOVE. I have watched this movie at least 100 times (and I’m not ashamed to admit it, either) and it makes me laugh every single time. It’s qwerky like me, and is done in the vein of a Doris Day flick. (I also own the Doris Day/ Rock Hudson box collection too. Shameless, I tell you…) If you haven’t seen it and need a good girlie movie, this ornery show will make you giggle. Oh sure, it sounds innocent enough….




Finally, on my list of sheers, is my sheer funny factor. Yep, I am directing you to an old blog post of mine, Charlie’s sweaty balls and the YMCA. If you haven’t read it yet, please click on the letters that are red and check it out. It’s my favorite blog post I’ve done so far when it comes to the funny stuff. I laugh just thinking about that day and the look on Tricky Nikki’s face when…. Well, go read it and see for yourself.



In case you are wondering, the above pose on the exercise ball is impossible to achieve. Just thought I'd let you know in advance. Not gonna happen.


Those are all my sheer favorites. Now, I have to tell you there is quite a bit of propaganda in the words above, because I am excited to tell you about a new project I’m working on. Cover Girl is having a contest. With a $50,000 prize. I had to make a video about “how I stand up for beauty.” You all may remember that I do not consider myself a cover girl in the literal sense, but when it comes to standing up for beauty, THIS is how I do it. By blogging about the things that happen to the everyday woman that we normally don’t talk about. And I could really use an extra 50 grand to get a house...


For the video, I tried to capture some of those moments (kinda like a living blog montage, only I didn’t tackle some huge project like in a sitcom from the 80’s) and the ball incident was one that I knew had to be in there. Which meant that I had to get the ball from my house to the place we were filming. Matt was at work, so my friends Joe and Dawn from Sleepycreek Vineyards helped me out on this one. Joe has a rocking camera (with HD film quality. Ug, the pores hate me for that) and a keen eye for direction. So a few days ago we tackled the project. And I had to get the huge exercise ball from point A to point B.


Now, I was all gussied up for the occasion. Dolly hair, makeup on and fully tweeked, outfit was decked to the nines. Including heels. Nothing makes a woman feel lovelier and walk a little prouder than a pair of heels. It is March in the Midwest, which means there are still a few mounds of snow, mud, and a wind that blows like nobody’s business. So leaving my front door to head out to shoot the video, I was carrying these things in my hands.

My generic Caboodle filled to the top with makeup I might need for touchups.

4 changes of clothes for authenticity during the show.

Dolly Hair. (a Sassy hairpiece that I LOVE!)

A very hot and very full cup of coffee.

Keys.

A 3 foot round exercise ball already blown up to full capacity.

As I am trying to get the front door locked, a gust of wind came along and blew the Dolly hair out of my hand onto the porch. I bent down to pick it up and spilled coffee on my hand and burned it. OUCH! As I straightened myself back up, I cracked my head on the doorknob. Just about that time another gust of wind came along and blew the huge exercise ball out of my hands. And it started rolling on the porch. No problem, that made getting the door locked easier.

Once I got that settled, I went to pick up the ball. Only the wind kept blowing, and the ball bounced down the stairs. Remember that I am in heels, so I am carefully working myself down the steps to the sidewalk, so I don’t fall and muss up all my pretty I worked so hard to achieve. As I am gracefully walking down the stairs all lady like, the ball keeps rolling, through mud. I am tiptoeing across the yard trying not to sink my heels in the inches and inches of mud. And the ball just keeps on rolling across the street.

By this time, my coffee has mostly been poured out onto the yard and my shirt from bouncing, and I have had it. I throw my stuff down on the ground and take out after the ball like a lion in pursuit of a gazelle. I am slipping and sliding all over the place. Maybe I looked a little more like a cow on ice skates and not so much like a lion.

If I had been wearing tennis shoes, the whole thing would have been overwith quickly. But NOOOOOOOO, I had to wear the red heels. Not to mention we live on a street made of bricks with no traction whatsoever. By the time you add the brick and the inches of mud covering the bottom of my shoe it was like walking on vaseline. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall.

So I finally tackled the ball, got mud on my shirt, had to go back inside and find a new outfit PLUS wash the ball, and my heels, which I put back on for round 2 of “Pin the ball under Charlie’s arms tightly and don’t let go.”

The next time I made 2 trips.

I promise I will post ball outtakes from the video as soon as I can!!!

DIET is a Dirty Word

I noticed a bizarre happening in our house last evening. Matt was sweeping in the kitchen, and using the broom he collected a small pile of dirt in the middle of the floor. (From one day. Honest…) I was standing in the kitchen, getting ready to head back out to the hospital to visit my Grandma, as I wittnessed the most amazing thing.

Matt was looking for the dust pan, and focusing on the missing dustpan, he stepped right into the pile of dirt.

Next, Natalie (9 years old) came into the kitchen and walked right through the pile also. She was busy talking, and didn’t stop to look what she was stepping into.

Then Tim (our 7 year old) came in on his rollerblades (with his pants around his ankles- I kid you not) and skated right through the pile. By the time Matt found the dustpan, the pile had to be re-swept. (and Tim was singing that horrific “Pants on the ground” song. I could wring the neck of whoever decided to make that song a part of pop culture. HATE IT.)

And of course, I got a huge blinking sign out of what had just occurred.

(Because I am a writer and I overanalyze everything that happens.)

When it comes to dieting, I keep stepping into my own dirty pile!!!

(I won’t insult you by adding a “Huh?” or a “How do you figure that?” because you all know gosh darn good and well I’m going to tell you anyway.)

See, I started this crazy idea of losing 100 pounds with the best of intentions. My end goal is to finally lose the weight and keep it off. FOR GOOD.

But as I am amassing the poundage into a pile on the floor, I keep stepping right back into the mess. And I bet some of you are too. Only you don’t call it a pile. (Or a “farty dirt patch” like I do, a la “The Office.” Hillary, aren’t you proud?)

You probably call it Yo-Yo dieting.

And I did too. That is, before I saw the farty dirt patch tonight. But now, I know exactly what I do. The truth has piled right in front of me!

I need to figure out how to NOT step in my own pile. And you probably do too. Even if you don’t need to lose weight. (No, REALLY! There are people out there like that! I didn’t believe it either at first! But it’s the gospel truth. I’ve even met one. Frightening….) What I mean is that when we have a goal, we have to take steps to get to our end goal. More than just eating right and exercising. There is a mental change that has to take place. And thanks to the broom incident, I think I can describe what we need to do pretty clearly!

Step #1. Look where you are going.

A tough step for someone who is a “big picture” type like me. I look at where I am going be 5 steps from now, not where I am stepping currently. Maybe you do the same thing. Maybe you look ahead instead of where you are right now. I dream about the bikini that actually looks good, and the size 6 jeans and the black dress that my husband will take me to the opera in. I don’t like to think about the fact that the ice cream I want to eat today will curb the dreams of tomorrow. I want to exercise tomorrow, not today when I can raise my metabolism and kick a few more calories off. We have got to be realistic about how what we do today will effect where we eventually end up. We have to look at where we are.

Step #2. Keep holding the broom.

It’s an unspoken rule that when someone in the house has a broom in their hand, you know they are sweeping. When Matt was searching for the dustpan, he put the broom down. Therefore he was making it that much harder for people to know what he had been doing. (Including himself, which is why he stepped in the dirt pile too.) We have got to hold the brooms of our diets constantly. (No jokes allowed about how dieting does entitle us to a broom- a flying one…) We have to carry that thing around like it is an Olympic torch. We have to keep reminding ourselves, those around us, and everyone we meet --- that we are women on a mission. There is no putting our broom down to do something else. That’s when the pounds come back. Nope, we eat with our broom, exercise with our broom, shop with our broom. We never put it down. EVER. (and the crazy look in the woman's eyes on the above picture? That's about the way we should look, too...)



(I can’t resist. 2 brooms were in a closet, and the girl broom says to the boy broom “I think I might be pregnant.” Boy broom says “That’s impossible! We haven’t even swept together!” I told that joke when I was 10 at Church Camp. I thought it was hee-larry-us! Church Camp, however, was not amused…)

Step #3. Protect your pile.

OK, so maybe you are like me and have said some success with weight loss. Maybe you have been off the wagon a little, but now you are looking at your pile and have the broom back in hand. Don’t be afraid to get a little loud. I seriously think I could make millions if I created a robot that follows you around and yells “Don’t EAT THAT!!!” Today I was driving past several fast food joints. And I pulled into one. Then I talked myself out of it. “Tomorrow starts today” I told myself. No one else is going to protect your pile but you. Other people are going to suggest you eat at calorie laden places. They are going to suggest that you sleep in or skip a workout. They are going to lead you astray. Not intentionally, of course, but they will. You and I need to view everyone we see (including ourselves) as a fat enablers. A fat enabler is someone who doesn’t realize how quickly we can fall back into the old routine of “gorge and sleep.” So you have to guard that pile with your life. So do I. Don’t listen to anyone else’s rationale on what you should or could do. You follow what is working for you. Fight for it, if you have to. But we MUST GUARD THAT PILE.

We need the restorative powers of a Clean Slate Monday, and start things fresh. Unless you are reading this blog with a donut in your hand, you haven’t blown it yet. And today is the day that things can change for us, if we aren’t afraid to work for it. So let’s go out there and start things off right.

(If you are reading this blog with a donut in your hand, put it down!!! You will thank me tomorrow!)

Maybe DIET isn’t such a dirty word after all!