Two Sizes Too Small

photo from aoltv.com

I admit it.  I have a case of the Grinch. My normal abundance of Christmas cheer is nowhere to be seen.

While Christmas isn't my favorite time of year under the best of circumstances (that honor is reserved for St. Patrick's Day), I do normally look on this time of year with at least a little anticipation.

This Christmas is different.  I didn't rush to put up my tree.  I haven't volunteered to listen to Christmas Carols (although I have been forced to listen to them under duress).

For a while, I couldn't really put my finger on why I was feeling this way.  I normally am chipper and have childlike excitement about Christmas, particularly when seeing my son's eyes fill with joy after Santa's visit.  It is in my son that I found both my reason and my fix.

You see, Z turned five this year.  It has been such a bittersweet birthday that I have battled with being thrilled about it.  On one hand, I LOVE watching him grow and develop into his own person.  I see so many pieces of A and myself in him, and then I see pieces that are purely Z.  The world though his eyes is just an amazing place.  There is so much to learn, so much to discover, so much living to do.

For me, this is the reason for my melancholy.   While I love watching him grow and develop, it also makes me sad.  With each passing minute, hour, day, month, and year, I know that is a little more time that is slipping away.  I would not trade even a second that I have spent with him:  I just want more of them.  Greedy?  Probably.  Possible?  Of course not (time waits for no man).

photo mine

Z also provided my cure.  This past weekend, we took him to see the lights at Opryland Hotel.  There are three main conservatories that are decorated for Christmas.  As Z walked around, eyes aglow with wonder, pointing and shouting "See Mommy!!,"  it was impossible not to have a lighter heart.  That overwhelming, childlike joy was so contagious.

I remembered what someone told me once.  She said that "sometimes we spend so much time worrying about what we don't have that we forget to be thankful for what we do."  I want more time with Z, but it will do no good to spend time worrying about how fast time is passing and forget to relish the time I DO have.

And as I watched him run this and that way,
I remembered the beauty in childlike play.
I made a choice to push worry away,
And my heart grew three sizes that day.

Merry Christmas!!

Friendsick

photo mine

I'm homesick.

Or maybe the better term would be Friendsick.

Seven weeks ago, I traveled to my home state to see one of my best friends.   I have always had a very tumultuous relationship with Kentucky, not really appreciating the beauty that is to be found there.

I think that with age comes understanding and appreciation.  As I traveled north towards Paris, I passed places that I remembered from my childhood.

I was born in Bowling Green, grew up around Western Kentucky University, and lived in Smiths Grove while I was in high school.  All of these are places you pass as you head the direction I was.  I remember spending many days on WKU's campus for academic and music competitions, ruing the fact that they are called the Hilltoppers for a reason.

I passed the Corvette museum, where members of my high school choir and I sang Christmas carols the first year it was open.  The museum has expanded, I saw.  As I passed the Corvette plant, I fondly remember visiting the plant as a child, a requisite field trip for all local elementary school students.

The entire drive was full of beautiful views and fond memories.  While not all of my life there was great, it was as though a filter had been inserted that was only letting through the great things I remembered.

Some of my greatest memories in college were visits to Paris with Rachel.  I remember passing the Castle (I am sure it has some other wonderful name that I don't know).  I loved (and still do) seeing the walls that were built by Irish masons that run the length of the highway headed to Rachel's house.

Beyond the places that I miss is the conversation.  Even though I hadn't seen her in over seven years, we stepped right back into conversation like we had just seen each other last week.   We have weathered storms together, celebrated together, cried together, and laughed together.  With my mother, Rachel is one of only two people who get me.

And I get her.   I am lucky to know the Rachel that most other people never meet.  She is brave and wonderful, strong and silly.

I miss her.  It has only been seven weeks, but it feels like another seven years have passed.  I wish there were some way to combine our homes and remove the distance between them.  

I didn't leave Paris and Rachel the way I arrived.  I walked away with more great memories, and a couple of great food finds.  I can now make brown butter rice crispy treats (which have been a big hit at work and taught me why other rice crispy treats just aren't great...it's the butter!).

Today, I sent text messages to Rachel for the ingredients for the second.   I can now make it as well (see photo above).   It brought me right back to that kitchen in Paris, having conversation over Greek salad, tuna, and orzo salad.  

We have already decided that seven years between visits is SO not going to happen again. Until we can work that out, I will rely on my memories and recipes to ease the friendsickness.  

And lots of text messages.

Just Me

Why are you trying so hard to fit in when you were born to stand out?
      Ian - What A Girl Wants

I was not born to stand out.  I am sure someone, somewhere would like to debate that, but I really am okay with it.  I have spent a great deal of my life just wanting to be included.

In barely over five days, I will venture to Lexington to see one of my dearest friends.  I haven't gotten to actually spend time with her in many years, so I am thrilled to get to go.  

While I am there, Rachel has planned a get-together, where I am hoping to get to meet some of my cheerleaders.  I am SO exited.

And SO terrified.

Many of my insecurities are rearing their ugly heads.


What if I don't fit in?  
What if I say something stupid or offensive?  
Will I make a good impression?  


Will they even like me??


These are some of my never-ending questions that are running on a continuous loop through my head.

At just over 30, I have basically figured out who I am.  While I still have my moments, I am fairly comfortable in my own skin.  I can easily be lost in a crowd of three and find myself generally unremarkable.

I'm just me.

But you know what, just me is just fine.

I learned long ago that part of being who I am is not trying to fit into the mold of others' expectations.  Like everyone else, there are a lot of facets of my personality.  This blog post would go on forever if I tried to explain "me" to the world.

So, I am at the point where excitement is overriding the nerves.  I am both giddy with anticipation to see one of my oldest friends (in terms of length of friendship ONLY) and to meet the newest ones.

Just them.  Just me.

I can't wait!

Cheerleaders

It is true that the motivation for my weight loss had to start with me.  What is also true is that the kind words of others served to motivate me beyond what I could do for myself. 

Over the last year, I have learned something amazing.  When you have rough days, days when you think you might not be able to make it, you reach out, and there is always someone with a kind word to pull you through.


For me, there were a lot of someones:


First are those who are physically closest to me: my husband, mother, pop, and son.  They were always there with a "great job" and "good for you" right when I needed one.   When I was exhausted, hungry, and really wanted to throw in the towel, they always seemed to know what to say to keep me pressing on.  I am truly blessed by the family God has given me.  


Next, my wonderful BFF Rachel.  Through thick and thin, high and low, we have traversed many journeys together.  She has sent text messages and coined hashtags that have kept me pressing on.  She has a beautiful heart, and I more grateful to her than I have words to express.   Tu es ma soeur dans mon coeur, toujours. 


There's Tom, whose food posts have allowed me to live vicariously through his creations and has helped to forge a different relationship with food.  Just as importantly, his guidance led me to a church family unlike any other.    There is beauty in his food, greater beauty in his spirit.


And his husband, Michael, who, in the midst of his own unexpected life and career changes, still manages to offer kind words of encouragement.  His insight is incomparable.  More than once, I have pondered what he has said, only to end up in a different place altogether (in the best possible way).  


Not to be alone in this journey, I have read as Emmie fights her own weight loss battle, only to be a great encouragement to me (and others).   I have never subscribed to the idea that it is easy for any one who has done it.  Through her ups or downs (whichever applies at the time), Emmie has shown me the payoff for sticking it out.


Holli goes out of her way to give pep talks.  I also appreciate her take on motherhood, in that she doesn't shy away from the less glamorous aspects.  She meets them head-on with signature wit and grace.  


I am continually in awe of Greg's strength.  I have read as he stands strong with Jason, in the face of those who would have him be someone less than he is.  Again, beauty in that strength and such an example.


Cheers from Kristina are amazing!  She has her own whirlwind life, but she still takes the time to cheer me through mine.   She fights the good fight and stays strong for her family, particularly her daughter.  In that aspect, she reminds me of my mother fighting for me as a young girl. A blessing for sure. 


Bonny is brave, outspoken, and amazing.  We have walked in the same shoes, on the same path and came out stronger on the other side.  I adore her outspoken voice and unwavering faith.   


Over the last year, I have had cheers from Christina, Heather, Ann, Brad, Jacqui,  Beth, Michael , Thom, Tracie, Michelle, Nancy, Tia, Larry, Stacey, Rachel P, Brenna, Dean, Crisi, Julia, Dixie, Ashlee, Belinda, Betsy, Denise, Flo, Lisa, Deah, Dianne, Jeanine, Lydia,  and Scott.


In no way do I think I caught everyone, and I apologize profusely for anyone I missed.  Please know that each of you has lifted me on days when I was at my lowest, even if you didn't realize it at the time.  


I hope, in due time, I can provide that same encouragement when you are in need.   I will be forever grateful for such an amazing host of cheerleaders, peptalkers, bullies (you know you were sometimes),  and friends.


In the end, simplest is best: 


Thank you.

What A Difference A Year Makes

One year ago, I made a decision. I did it because I was tired.

Tired of being tired.

Tired of feeling like less of a person, even though there was more of me.

Tired of worrying about what my family would do if my weight led to the end of me.

I had learned that I could use the money in my flexible spending account to pay for weight loss programs.  To do so, I had to get my doctor to sign off on the need.  Dr. B was willing to do so, but she wanted me to give her the opportunity to help me first.

When I stepped on that scale a year ago, I was flabbergasted.  I wanted to believe that I couldn't figure out how I had allowed myself to gain that much weight. But deep down, I knew.  I ate what I wanted, in the quantities I wanted, and I got very little in the way of exercise.   The plans I had laid at age 30 to get healthy had gone by the wayside.

I haven't previously talked about what that scale said.  I honestly have been too embarrassed.   While many believe that a picture is worth a thousand words, I still think the words need to be said.

My weight one year ago was:  379.6 pounds.

You might as well call it 380, I sure did.   I also call it unbelievable.  I had major issues coming to terms with that number.  I wanted to tell myself that the scale was wrong, but I knew better.

So, I set out on a journey.  I worked to change my relationship with food, get myself moving, and finally take control of my weight and my life.

A week ago, I asked my mom to retake that picture.  Here's what we got (I'll re-post those side by side below for comparison sake):

I feel like a different person.  I sleep better, move better, am healthier, and know I am making the right changes.  I no longer live to eat.  Food is fuel, nothing more.

Don't get me wrong, I still love food.  Tom's blog is still another type of poetry for me.   Even with that, I no longer feel the need to gorge myself. There will always be more, so there is no need to feel like I have to eat everything I want all at once.

When I stepped on the scale today, my new weight was 296.5 pounds.


For those doing the math, that is a loss of 83.1 pounds!!


A testament to the change I have made is how I feel about that.  I set out to lose 100 pounds.  Previously, I would have been devastated that I did meet the goal and would slide back into my old habits.  

Not this time.

I lost 83.1 pounds!!


That's all that matters. A even mentioned that this morning.  How important it is to focus on what I HAVE done and not what I haven't.

I eat better.

I feel better.

And I run!

If that's the difference this year has made, I can't wait to see what happens during the next one!

Before

After

Cuts Like a Knife

Z has a affinity for H2O.  It is my fervent belief that he is part fish. He must be, as I have never had to fight to get him in the bathtub.  He would be eternally pruney-fingered if I would simply allow him to spend as much time in the water as he wants.

It is this joy of the water that I got to experience with my son, husband, Mom, and Pop this past Sunday.

For the last few years, The Company has sponsored a summer event at Nashville Shores, a water park situated on the shores of Percy Priest Lake.  We get a bargain price on tickets that includes all day fun, food, games, and parking.  We went for the first time last year, and so I knew we were going to go this year as well.

As we went about the park, finding more and more fun, we found ourselves in the Lazy River.  There are currents under the water that keep everyone moving around the space, regardless of how much energy you expend (or how little).

It was during this little venture with my family when I heard it.

The comment.

As I was walked along beside my husband and son, I heard someone say "Look there!  It's the white hippo.  And there's another one!"   The only people of larger size around were me and another woman walking further ahead.

It has been quite some time since I have been subjected to verbal assaults from people in public arenas.  The last time I dealt with them was because of the fact that we were an interracial couple in an small-minded town.  I don't believe that I have heard comments about my weight since before I stood up to my brother as a teenager.

As I looked back, I realized those comments weren't from some immature kid whose parents hadn't taught him better manners.  They were from a 30-something guy whose parents hadn't taught him better manners.

I will be honest, I was taken aback by the fact that someone my age would be so disrespectful to other human beings.  Not to mention that he was so bold as to state this as close to me as he was.  After all, I am fat. Not deaf.

When I look back on how I would have previously handled my emotions in the face of such a hurtful remark, I remember the pain.  Comments about my weight had the power to slice me to ribbons in an instant.  No matter how many times I had worked to feel better about myself, the words could destroy all of that work in an instant.  I buried myself in food to hide the pain those damaging words would inflict.

Now, it's completely different.  I have worked to heal myself, both outside and in.  I have changed how I eat, how I live, and how I feel about myself.   No longer do I need to hide myself away and smother my feelings with food.  No more escape.  No more fear.  I AM strong. I AM beautiful.  And I am NOT a damn hippo.

I also would have previously allowed John Doe to return my blistering gaze with his smirk and cowered under the power of my own inadequacies.

Not this time.   I didn't rail.  I didn't even bat an eye.  I looked back at Mr. Doe and politely stated:

"Oh, look!  It's a jackass in his natural habitat!"

Smirk gone.  Balance restored.  Fat Girl: 1.  Loser: 0.

Cuts like a knife?  Not anymore.

Parents Strongly Cautioned

When my mother rented Robocop for my brother and me, she was probably just thrilled that we were able to agree on something.  I can still remember the look on her face and the shrill "TURN THAT OFF RIGHT NOW!!" as the main character is brutally (and graphically) gunned down towards the start of the movie.

While the movies rating system was introduced in the late 60's, not many paid very close attention.  Tom and Jerry were as violent as any movie we could have watched, so what was the difference?

For our generation, we are hyper-aware of the ratings the government places on our movies, television, and music.

Well, at least you think we would be.

I am the first to admit that I am constantly confused by the ratings applied to movies:

Shrek is rated PG, but Monsters, Inc (released the same year), with its growling hairy monsters only earned a G rating.

Anastasia and A Bug's Life earned G ratings in the late 90's, but movies with similar content (with regards to the violence, fighting, and innuendos) earn a PG rating today (see: Kung Fu Panda and How to Train Your Dragon).

This past Saturday, we went in search of a movie that was playing to which we could take our 4 1/2 year old son.   He has already seen Mr Popper's Penguins (PG), Cars 2 (G-huh?), and Winnie the Pooh (G) was not going to be released for another couple of weeks.

The only thing that was even close to what we'd find interesting was The Green Lantern (stretching the boundaries with a PG-13 rating).

Me being me, I went in search of reviews that might give me some insight on the movie's content and if it really deserved to be rated so close to the edge of R.   Most of what I read listed it as "not so bad" and "nothing so terrible."  There were mentions of no sex, little foul language, and just some cartoon-ish mahem.

It was armed with this that we went forth to see The Lantern.

Idiots.

The fact that there were NO other children in the theater should have tipped us off.  The first part was fine.  However, as the movie progressed, it was clear that we had made a bad decision.   Older children would probably be fine...as in the 13 and older recommendation made by the Motion Picture Association. As for our son, two thirds of the time was spent with closed eyes and covered ears.

It leads me to question the toys that are geared towards younger children.  We are behind told that toy makers want you to play with the toys that represent the movies you should probably avoid taking your kids to see at the theater.

A mixed message of merchandising that goes right along with the mixed message of the ratings system itself.

Now, let me point out that I do NOT expect the government to tell me how to parent my child.  Last time I checked, that is the job of the hubs and myself.  It is our duty to determine what Z should and should not be allowed to see.

I count this experience as a lesson learned.  No parent gets it right all of the time. Many may think that I should have known better.  Again, I point out the flawed ratings system that is supposed to help me determine to what I should expose my son.

At the end of the day, everything is up for inspection.  I know that I cannot shelter my son from all of the world.  He needs the life experiences to grow and develop.  However, if there are any questions about what he'll see, then it's off the table until hubs and I can watch it ourselves and make a decision.

Parents Strongly Cautioned indeed.





 

Transition

Tran*si*tion  [tran-zish-uh'n]  noun.  "A movement, development, or evolution from one form, stage, or style to another."

Change is coming.

In reality, change is always coming.   It is the inevitability of change that is, in the end, its constant.  You might not know what is going to be different, but you can count that something is going to be different.

My job is transition, literally.  90 days ago, I left my rotational position to join a previous boss in The Company's Transition department.  It is my job to guide the newest members of The Company through training and their first twelve weeks on the phone.

Fear. Trepidation. Excitement. It all comes out in Transition.   We have those who have worked in a call center, those who haven't.  Those who have worked with customers, those who haven't.  Those who will be successful, those who won't.  And it is my job to usher them in and guide them along.

This past week, my first Transition class graduated.   And my second class started training.

In the midst of this, I had to say goodbye.

My wonderful friend Scott is moving on to another position.  It's a perfect one for him, one that will use the skills he spent years perfecting.  He is smart and brave, even if he sometimes doubts both of those. He also doubts what he can do, but he should know that he will be amazing in the new role.

What's not amazing?  It is a position that is not in our call center.  For the last nine months, I have worked with him nearly every day. Joked with him nearly every day. Lunch, nearly every day.  Same trainings, same time. I have learned about Family, Librarians, and Betty.  And I have gained a forever friend.

Tomorrow, that will change.  Tomorrow, I am on my own.  Tomorrow, I am in transition.

I know my abilities, although I tend to question them.  I like people, although (as previously mentioned) it takes me time to open up.   And I know I can do this, although I'd rather not do it alone.

But, it is time to change.  Rearrange.  Rewrite the agenda.

I am in Transition...

...in more ways than one.

The Introverted Extrovert

I am a people person.

Sort of.

I have never had an issue with speaking to people on the phone, which I suppose is beneficial in my line of work.  I like solving issues and working to relate to them.

The funny thing?  I have serious issues doing this in person.  Every personality test I have taken has labeled me as an Extrovert.  Essentially, I am supposed to be completely comfortable in group settings.  I should be thrilled with the idea of interacting with new people and working a crowd.

Yeah, not so much.

I am rather inept at those situations.  I don't mean to be standoffish, it's just my go-to habit when I want to prevent rattling to the point of being that annoying person.  There doesn't seem to be much middle ground for me.

A couple of weeks ago, I RSVP'd my son for the birthday party of one of his daycare classmates. It was a spur of the moment decision.  It wasn't until the morning of said party that I realized the full impact of this decision.

I was taking my son to a party.

A Pool Party.

With people I had NEVER met.

I still wonder why I did it.  I know I'm not comfortable in these situations and, truth be told, I am a bit of a hermit.  I like to be at home.  I don't have some overwhelming desire to be a mover and a shaker.

So, we went.  Z obviously had fun.  He is part fish, after all.  It also appears that when you stick 15 kids in a pool with a water slide their size, you don't have to worry about social ackwardness.

As for me, it was a little difficult.  I normally have the buffer person.  There is at least one person I know, so I am not completely alone in the new situation with new people.

This time, no buffer.  No one I knew.

Commence freak-out.

Thankfully, there was one of those extroverted extroverts who truly doesn't ever meet a stranger.  She was kind and chatty, making the discussion effortless for me.   Which works for me.  Once one of these highly friendly, knows-no-strangers people breaks the ice, I am welcome to go with it.

So, it appears that I will be attending more birthday parties and accepting invites for outings.  I am hoping that this might help me step out of my comfort zone and meet new people.  Additionally, I hope this helps Z become a little more outgoing and independent.

And that I learn to do the same.

The Journey of a Thousand Miles

"...begins with a single step."


For the last few days, that single step has felt like it is in quicksand and the journey has never felt longer.

I am going to be honest...I feel off the wagon.  No, it's probably more accurate to say that I willingly jumped off the wagon while it was still in motion.

On Friday, a follow up appointment didn't go as planned.  I hadn't expected to hear great things, but I also didn't expect to get news that puts some plans on the back burner of a stove in China.

Based on that, I have fallen into bad habits.  I really didn't care much about what I ate this weekend.  If it appealed to me, I had it.  Wings? Yep.  Dessert? Sure.  It was emotional eating, I know.

And I really didn't care.

On the heels of several days of caution to the wind noshing, a work email caught my attention.  Our Wellness Center will be having a Biggest Loser contest.  While I am feeling like the Biggest Loser right now, that's not quite what they have in mind.

I thought back to this same contest from two years ago.  Two years ago, I was on the team that won this very contest.  I was committed and really, really worked to do so.   There were other people counting on me to succeed.

While I am not necessarily a competitive person by nature, I am very much dedicated to the team spirit.  I don't want to disappoint anyone or be the one factor that could cause us to miss a goal.  I also want to do it for me, to prove that I am not a quitter...I am NOT a loser.

So, while the journey is still feels endless, and my feet still feel leaden and burdened, I am pushing on.

One step at a time.

Pure Imagination

Come with me

And you'll be

In a world of 

Pure Imagination

With each passing day, I grow more and more amazed at the little person gifted to me.  

One of my favorite things to watch my son do is create his own world.  Today, it is talking dinosaurs and invisible flowers (a gift just for me).  He is constantly creating his own games with rules that change.  He is able to take something as simple as a cardboard box and small figures and create a whole world.  

With each generation, it seems that the time for children to BE children gets shorter and shorter.  Whether it is circumstance of life or simply the way of our world, it saddens me.  

As Z gets older, I find the changes bittersweet.  I love watching him develop and grow.  At just over four years old, he can get dressed on his own and has an opinion about everything.  Even with that, he still is little boy in that he lives for his blankie and loves to cuddle.   He gets wound up and runs like a madman...and then curls up to snuggle to sleep.

Right now, I fight to keep his imagination alive.  I nurture the dreams and build the cities.  I enter the world he creates and allow him to build his dream world around us, taking us to magical places with magical people.

And for every day that he builds this world, I will come.  I will build the forts and feed the animals and pretend that we are the wranglers and dinosaurs, cats, turtles, and lobsters.  

Because, at the end of the day, "we are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams."

Don't Speak

I am currently at war.

Every so often, the opposition gets the upper hand.

At the last moment, the champion rallies and is able to push back the onslaught.

So far, there have been no casualties.  No blood has been shed, no collateral damage.

Because this war is contained.  It has not spread, it has not become a plague upon the Earth.

It's a war of words.

And it's a war against myself.

I have always been the nice one.  I generally go along to get along and choose to pick my battles.  Since I don't normally get irritated, those battles are few and far between.

The reality of it is that I spend 80% of my time filtering what I say.  The other 20%, I am speaking to my mother or sharing text messages with bluebelleinbg. Even then, I consider how what I say/text will be taken and sometimes even filter that (because I refuse to hurt those I love).  I would love to say that I don't filter what I write here, but that would be untrue.  I find often myself typing, reading, erasing, and retyping what I am thinking.

This ongoing battle recently came to light when I saw posts from "friends" on Facebook.  I read through Christians spouting hate for what they either don't understand or simply feel they are "above."  I see comments asking for funds to support "causes" that I find completely ridiculous.  My hands itch to type...to respond...to spout my opinion in unlimited characters.

Every time, I either stop or type and then erase.

As I think on it, I realize I have always been this way.  I'm not sure if it is just my nature to work to keep the peace or if I have adapted myself to be that way.  As a leader at The Company, I absolutely CANNOT say what I am always thinking.   To do so would not only be career suicide but could very well end my employment at the same time.  For obvious reasons, I don't post The Company related comments on ANY social media outlet.

I would love to say that this has led to some grand epiphany, which will now lead to the floodgates of my thoughts/feelings/opinions being opened.

Yeah...not so much.

At the end of the day, I am still me.  I am still going to consider the feelings of others before I spout off.

And I am still going to laugh at those whom I love who throw caution to the wind and type/say exactly what they think.

And hope that each of you is aware of how thankful I am that you give my thoughts freedom, even when I don't.

Rent-A-Cat

After spending over a decade together, I have come to understand my husband very well.  Last week, he informed me of his desire to add a feline member to our household.  To anyone else, that might seem like a random request.

However, I have learned that hubs very rarely (if ever) acts rashly. That meant that he had been contemplating the addition of a feline friend for a while.

Since there are lots of worthy animals in our area awaiting new homes at our local shelter, my first stop was their website.  All available animals are listed at PetFinder, so off I went in search of a kitty to fit our family.  We located a couple online who looked promising and fit our desires (adult female, short-haired), so we planned on a trip on Friday to the shelter.

In the interim, I mentioned the search to my mother.  Since both boys have a history of allergies, she proposed an idea.  Instead of getting a cat who might have to go back due to the allergies, she recommended we ask Poppa about "renting" one of his kitties.  This would allow for us to try out the cat without worrying about the cost or sadness for Z if he got attached and the cat had to be returned.

So, last week, I ventured over to collect our Rent-A-Cat: Abby.  The first night was the "getting to know each other" night.  Lots of curious wandering for her...lots of following to make sure nothing was ingested, scratched, or left behind for me.

As you can see, I clearly needn't have worried:

Two days later, the question came.  I had expected it much sooner, so two days was a stretch.   The question?  "Mommy, can Abby live with us forever?"

Thankfully, Abby didn't trigger allergies the way our previous canine companion did.  However, the ultimate decision would be left up to Poppa.  Would he let her stay?

Apparently, the contract included a rent-to-own clause.

After years as dog people, we are now venturing into cat ownership, as we are officially Abby the Tabby Cat's owners.  While we don't have the basics to worry about (feeding, watering, litter-boxing have all been taught, since she's an adult kitty), we are quickly learning her personality and her quirks (not a fan of kitty treats or her new collar, loves plastic eggs).

So, we're getting to know one another, one day at a time.  So far, so good.

We might turn out to be cat people after all.

Giving Back

Cancer is the uncontrolled growth of abnormal cells in the body.


Such a seemingly simple definition.  If you didn't know, you would think the condition being defined was just as simple.  In reality, there are over two hundred different kinds of the disease with countless treatment plans and account for 25% of the yearly total of deaths in the United States alone (and a total of 13% of them worldwide).

Until last year, my family had been blessed to have never been touched by this deadly disease.   Last year, that changed.  Last year, my mom met a fantastic man.  With their marriage early this year, he is now my stepfather.  Poppa is a gentle, kind man with a heart of gold.  My son, who takes forever to warm up to people, took an instant shine to his new Poppa.   Poppa is not just a wonderful new dad and grandfather...

Poppa is a cancer survivor.

So when my friend Scott recruited me for his Relay for Life team, I didn't mind at all.   All I could think about was the treatment that so many others might not get and the opportunity to raise money for research to create more survivors.

When I first joined the team, we sold raffle tickets for a day of Spring cleaning.  Three weeks later, I was up to my elbows in dirt, snapdragons, and mulch.  

It was a chilly, fresh after the rain day, and I couldn't have been happier doing what I was doing.  Knowing that I could in some small way contribute to our team's success and give back to the American Cancer Society left me with such a feeling of accomplishment.

Today was yard sale day.  After braving the doctor's office to get treatment for an ear infection, I headed over to the yard sale to do what I could.  Another great day with the proceeds benefiting Relay for Life and the American Cancer Society.

In thirteen days, the actual event will take place.  There are lots of activities starting at 6 pm on Friday, May 13th and running into 6 am on Saturday, May 14th.  

With thirteen only days to go, I am at 20% of my personal goal.  It's a small one:  only $100.   But with matching funds from The Company, I can make it $200.

That's where I ask you to come in.  I only need to raise $80 in 13 days.  It's absolutely possible, but not without help.

Please visit my personal page here and give anything you can.  Even $1 becomes $2.

Please help me fight cancer and fight back!!

Perfect Imperfections

When Z was just a few months old, he started suffering from repeated ear infections.  We were at the doctor no less than ten times in just four months.  I was beginning to worry that I was overreacting.  I worried that the doctor would think I was crazy.   Yet, each time we went, either one or both of his ears were infected. Finally, we were given the option to have vent tubes put in his ears.  With him being so young, we weighed the pros and cons and made the decision to go ahead. Once the tubes were in, we were only at the doctor for checkups.    

Two years later, the tubes were gone and the infections were back.  The choice was tubes again or to try and establish the cause with testing.  So, to the allergist we went.  The recommendation at that point was to start weekly shots to try and lessen the impact of Z's environment.  Again, we were charged with making a choice.  Did we subject him to weekly injections in an effort to allow him to be a "normal" kid?  Would it even work?   We did the research and decided to go ahead.  As a child who hated to be confined, the biggest issue was how traumatic these shots would be.  We nixed the idea of holding him down for the shots, and he simply hands over that week's arm for the "pinch."  To date, Z is still the best shot patient. 

And, again, a good choice.  Z can now play outside in the grass without coming back inside and scratching gashes into his legs.  To date, there have been no ear infections.  OTC allergy medicine now works to squash the worst of the problems.

A month ago, we were charged with yet another parental choice.  

Some background: when Z was two, I began to notice that his right foot was turning in.  I mentioned it during his checkup, and his pediatrician assured me it was normal.  At age three, the foot was worse.  I mentioned it again, and again was advised that it was perfectly normal and should correct itself within the next year.   As that year passed, I noticed his left foot had indeed begun to face forward.    The right foot?  Not so much.

I again began to wonder if I was overreacting.  Everything I read said that it should be fine by the time he was six.  That meant two more years of "watch and see."   

Everything I could see said we didn't need to wait that long.  While I realize that a little clumsiness is normal; the inability to run even a short distance without falling is not.  Growing pains are normal; nearly screaming in pain because your leg hurts is not.  I had already learned through my own interactions with doctors who refused to act that sometimes you must take control of your own health.

And so, I had decided that if his doctor didn't recognize what I thought was a problem with his foot, I would get another opinion.  

Again, I needn't have worried.  Z has an amazing pediatrician.  He has taken care of Z since the moment Z was pulled into the world.  I trust his judgement and his advice.  So, when I again mentioned Z's foot, Dr R decided to send us to a podiatrist.

The verdict?  Correction was needed.  I was barely able to hold back the tears.  

Tears for relief.  Tears for fear.  Tears for the unknown.

Would we again have to make the decision to allow someone to put our son to sleep and surgically correct the problem?  What would the recovery be like?  (Can you tell I am one of those "what if" people?)

Again, I needn't have worried.  The fix was simple.   Z has been fitted with his "special shoes."  They fit into his regular tennis shoes and are barely noticeable. He'll wear them for a few months, and then the most major issue will be corrected. 

With this newest addition to Z's list of "imperfections," I have come to a realization:

Moms are too hard on themselves...and each other.  I, of course, wonder what I could have done differently.  Did I wait too long? Not long enough? Is every decision I make really the best for him in the long run?

In the grand scheme of life, Z's small issues are nothing.  There are brave mothers who wake up every day to another round of tests, another set of treatments, or another day of care on a schedule.  My family trials are small in comparison; yet I still work to do my best.  Sometimes it doesn't feel like enough, especially when the advice I am given leads me to think there is more blame included than actual helpful hints.  When we should be lifting one another up, we are instead judging each other based on how well we doing are at mothering, as if this is some sort of contest.  

If we do that, no one wins.   

The reality is, there are no perfect parents and no perfect children.  But the other reality is that we are all loved perfectly.   

Perfect imperfections made whole through God's love.  

What could be better?

Food, Glorious Food

Courtesy Fellow Cruiser

If you have been on a cruise, then you are well aware of how wonderful the food is.

And how much of it there is to be found.

If you desired, you could really eat 24 hours a day.  There are the basic sandwiches and pizza, to sushi, buffet, exquisitely prepared dishes, and on our ship, the Steakhouse.

The food is phenomenal.   You can have it prepared any way you choose, in any combination.

I took the trip as an opportunity to expand my culinary horizons.  I chose dishes that I might otherwise pass up.

The one meal that fell most outside my comfort zone was Seafood Newburg.  It was touted as a wonderfully rich seafood stew with a side of saffron infused rice and broccoli.

As a note: I love seafood.  If it lives its life under the water, it is highly possible that I will eat it.  The exception in the past has been mussels (and non-sustainable seafood).  I have tried to eat the large version. The chewy, funky texture was just more than I could handle.  I had sworn them off forever.

So, Seafood Newburg seemed like a fantastic idea.  With the ingredients listed as scallops, shrimp, and lobster, I thought I was safe.

Imagine my surprise when the plate placed before me not only had two small mussels in their black shell homes circling the plate, but also had them nestled in the creamy sauce along with the plump shrimp, succulent scallops, and juicy chunks of lobster meat.

There really were only two choices here:  1.  Eat around them.  2. Let go of the past and dig in.

For a brief moment, I considered option number 1.  The idea of eating the little slugs really almost did me in.  But, I figured in for a penny, in for a pound.  When you are surrounded by wait staff who have given up eight months of their lives to earn money for their families in poor, 3rd world countries, wasting food just seems wrong.  Unless it is really inedible or there was an allergy concern, I couldn't even consider wasting a meal.

So, I dug in.

And they were awesome!  That slug-like texture of the larger mussels was absent in the smaller version.  They complemented the other seafood wonderfully and were just amazing.

From a ship perspective, it was one of my two favorite meals.

Rich, decadent, and adventurous.

Food, glorious food.

Reunited

When the Mr and I started talking about what we wanted to do for our 10th wedding anniversary, we kicked around several ideas.

First, we talked about Australia.  A coworker of mine lived there for several years and talked about how wonderful it would be.  We also talked about going to Japan.  Both of those were bypassed because of the cost of plan tickets.

We were going to go to a resort, but that brought about the question of which one on which island.

It was really the desire to see different things that led us to choose the cruise option.  For a set price, meals and lodging were covered. We would also get the opportunity to see several places to which we had never been.  Most importantly, we had the opportunity to be.

Be away.

Be together.

Be lazy.

Be disconnected from our regular lives.

Be connected to one another.

Reunited.

We spent a great deal of time just talking.  With an awesome upgrade to the balcony (thanks again for the push Tom), we had the opportunity to watch the sun rise. the sun set, the shorelines appear on port days, and disappear as we left ports in the evening.

We watched shows, had a few drinks, lots of laughs, lots of fun together. We perused stores while in port, walked the decks when not, and really spent our time falling in love all over again.

We ate dinner at a "romantic table for two for the honeymooners" (per our hostess). When we informed her we were actually celebrating our 10th anniversary, she was shocked.  She told us that with our heads together and the attention we paid to one another, she automatically assumed we were newlyweds.

Mission Accomplished.

Reunited.

And it feels so good.

Unplugged

I am going to give fair warning: the next few posts will be Cruise-centric.  I would apologize for that, but in the end, this is my blog and the topics are my prerogative.  I appreciate your visits...I really do.  So, I will try to keep the extended versions offline and on paper only.

It has been a long time since I have been detached from some form of technology.  I work for The Company, after all.  I carry two Android devices, have Facebook and Twitter accounts, and text like a fiend.  I, like most people, enjoy the instant gratification that comes with connecting to others in an instant.   Recently, my BFF Rachel have decided to connect offline in an effort to bring that more personal touch to our communication.

This past week, Hubs and I made the decision to be as unplugged as possible.  Since Z stayed behind with Nana and Pap, we did need to have at least one voice device for emergencies.   So, I changed one of the Android phones to a really basic flip phone, its purpose only for calls and minimal text messaging.

I will tell you that this initially became the plan once we realized the cost of connecting when on the ship.  For the bargain price of $100, you can purchase 250 minutes of Wi-Fi time.

Yeah.  No.

Add in the cost of maintaining a global data plan (even with my discount) and it just didn't make fiscal sense.

More importantly, this trip's purpose was to reconnect, recharge, and rejuvenate.  We spend so much time moving in opposite directions that it was so wonderful to be moving in sync.  Hubs and I really had an opportunity to hang out together and just be us.

I do have to tell you that I also took this as an opportunity to really examine the hold all my connections have on me.  Every time Hubs asked me a question to which I didn't have the answer, I realized that my first instinct was to Google it on my Android browser.  Nearly every meal, I had an overwhelming desire to text either Rachel or Tom to figure out what in the world I was choosing for my dinner (more on the food in a later post).

And yet, I am still in no real hurry to reconnect completely.  Those blog posts might take some time, since Z is filling me in on his wonderful week.  I did want to make sure that my wonderfully supportive friends knew we were back safely (a priority only achieved by instant communication), but I still have tons of unread emails.

I know that I have to dive back in full force soon.  There are messages to answer and connections to be maintained.  Questions will arise that need research and conversations will occur online that I will just itch to join.

But I come back to it with a new perspective.  Unplugging is good.  Reconnecting, even better.  Technology has its place and purpose, but there is also a time to log off.

And that time is now.



   

Giving Up

This past week, I gave it all up.

I threw in the towel and decided I have had enough.

All this food restriction, exercising, hunger, and changing of my food relationship have just left me a different person.

You see - the cruise is now in just under three days, and two weeks ago, I had absolutely nothing to wear (literally).  I scoured online sites looking for clothes that I could take, realizing that they are few and far between because Spring clothes just aren't out yet.

After finding a couple of gems (clearance from last year's Spring/Summer collection), I still needed more to take with me.  So, I made the decision to unearth a few totes that have taken up residence in my closet over the years.

Every time I have tried to lose weight in the past, I hold on to my larger sizes.  I am not sure if it's this idea that I am going to fail or just prudence on my part because every other time I have failed.

But this time, as I was digging through the items and finding Spring/Summer clothes that now fit again (yeah me!), I realized something.

I am NEVER going to be that person again.  I have worked too hard to even allow the idea that I might fail to enter the picture.

And so, with a very light heart, I bagged up the clothes that are now too large and packed them off to my local Goodwill dropoff.  They have a mission in which I believe and work diligently to employ those who might otherwise struggle to find a job.  It is almost impossible to find good condition plus sized clothes at Goodwill, mainly because the cost of them means they get worn until they are nearly falling apart and unable to be donated.   So, the clothes are serving a great purpose and will hopefully soon find new homes.

And with that, I have given up.  I have given up the idea of failure.  I have given up thinking food is going to make anything better.

And I have given up on giving up on myself.  

I'm So Vain

When I got my first pair of glasses at age nine, I thought the world would come to an end.  I had put it off as long as I could, choosing to move closer and closer to the front of the room in an effort to prevent the end of life as I knew it.  Glasses were so not attractive, as a couple of my classmates had already learned.  Since I already held the "chubby girl" distinction, I didn't need to add "four eyes" to that (although, I really still don't understand that taunt).

However, that year, my highly observant teacher sent home the dreaded "I think Robin needs glasses" note.  My mother promptly carted me off to the eye doctor, where I was fitted for my first pair of glasses.  Due to the traumatic nature of the experience, I have blocked out what that first pair even looked like.  Rest assured, since it was the mid-80's, I highly doubt they were anywhere near as cute as the ones above.

I detested my glasses.  Even once cuter styles emerged, it was a long time before I began to appreciate the tools that afforded me the gift of sight.   The one pair that was the exception was a gold pair of square frames that once belonged to my mother.  They fit perfectly with my tie-dyed, bell-bottomed sense of style (yeah, I was that girl).  I wore those until they could no longer stand up under constant adjustments and lens replacements.

Once those glasses were retired, I began to ask for contacts.  It wasn't until after I turned 16 that my request was given serious consideration.   I was granted reprieve from my glasses, only to learn that the first contacts I had required more care than I expected.  I can count more times than I care where I stuck them in after a night of enzyme cleaning without scrubbing the eye-frying cleaner off.   I did move into the land of disposable contacts later on, which eliminated that step.

While I was unemployed, contacts were a luxury we could ill afford, so they were briefly retired.  Once we moved and had vision insurance again, I decided to go back to them.  Alas, my work environment is a dry one, and I again let them fall by the wayside.  I also stopped really paying much attention to how I looked, so glasses were fine.

Since I have taken the time to focus on myself and my health, my "vanity" has transferred to other parts of my life.  I made a promise to myself that I would no longer purchase warm up suits to live in (which had been the norm).  Regardless of how I feel on any given day, I make an effort with my clothes, hair, and makeup.  I get my hair cut ever 8-10 weeks, and I took the time to find makeup that works for me.

Today was my 23rd-ish eye exam.  I went in to get my routine check, and the new eye doctor asked if I had considered contacts.  I explained the above issues, and she recommended the daily wear.  You wear them once, and then you toss them.  With the idea that they could be worn every once in a while without needing storage or cleaner, I was sold.

I walked out today with a five day trial, so we'll see.  I have always loved the idea of skipping glasses.  A whole new world of sunglass options open up, which is perfect for the cruise.  With the amount of sunshine that will be around, contacts will come in handy.

One more piece of vanity.  One more moment to think of myself.

And, you know, it's not such a bad thing.

Old School

Yesterday, while out and about having time with my boys, I happened to see a Blockbuster video with signs in the windows declaring that "Everything Must Go!"  I missed the closing of my local Blockbuster for movie deals, so I had hubs pull in.

I was particularly looking for a copy of Pixar's The Incredibles (which I refuse to pay full retail for now that it is several years old).  No luck there, but we did find several Indie films (for me), a NASA documentary (for hubs), and some Care Bears (for the boy).  For my take on "boy" things, please see here.

I have fond memories of the Care Bears.  The Care Bear movie was the first one I remember seeing in a theater.  I was on a mother/daughter vacation when I was little in Savannah, Georgia, and I felt like I was all grown up.

As my son watched the episodes in the collection to the left, I was taken back to my childhood and that trip.  To rushing out of bed on Saturday mornings to see my favorite Care Bears (Good Luck Bear and Hugs 'n Tugs) and Care Bear Cousins (Tender Heart Elephant).  My Care Bears went with me to watch their animated counterparts in action.

After he finished watching the first collection, he moved on to this:

This is touted as the Care Bears' "first CGI Animated Movie!"

Within the first few minutes, I began to wonder if this was a good thing.  With all fairness, there are 16 years between these two DVD's.   There is a push to move away from old school animation.

And it is sad.

As I pass each birthday, I look back on the things of my childhood with fondness.  Nostalgia takes over, and I grow wistful with remembrance of movies, music, and stages of my life that have moved into the past.

While "classic" Disney movies like Beauty and the Beast and Snow White are "Digitally Remastered" to be brighter and improved, they are not subjected to a complete overhaul with new sub-par versions of themselves.

I battle with how I feel about this.  I like the updates, but I am concerned about the potential for a time to arise when the joys of my childhood have well and truly passed away.

And so, I don't waste a moment.  I take every opportunity to share the loves of my childhood with my son, hoping that when he has children he will do the same.

Heavy

While I was perusing the endless world of On Demand searching for "something special" per request of Z, I saw a commercial for "Heavy," a new series on A&E.  In the same tradition of "Intervention" and "Hoarders," "Heavy" focuses on two individuals looking to save their lives by changing their eating and exercise habits.  

Rather than focus on weight loss surgeries (which I believe to be entirely necessary for some people, but that's another post), the show takes two people out of their lives for 30 days to work solely on retraining them in the areas of food and weight loss.  They employ trainers, dietitians, and therapists to ensure that all aspects are addressed.   There is no competition here.  No prizes to be won, other than getting life back.

So, I thought I'd take a peek.

I was very struck by Jodi (one of the participants) on the first show.  In the middle of exercising, she had a breakdown.  It's one that I have had time and time again.

You see, when I have started on this journey in the past, I have been excited about the beginning.  I go in with guns blazing, knowing that I am going to do it this time.  I am not going to fail.

Jodi was the same way, but she found herself stumbling over the same roadblock I have in the past: the expectation that you should be doing more.  It's the idea that you can take it off in an instant.  That you should be dropping pounds like sweat.  You have spent so much time ignoring yourself that you expect to be superwoman.  And you have watched so many episodes of "The Biggest Loser," that you believe it's completely normal to lose 8-10 pounds a week (not outside the highly regimented life of The Ranch, it's not).

For me, when that didn't happen before, I gave up.  I figured if I couldn't see immediate results, then it meant I had failed...again.  But this time, it's different.

And I have no idea why.

Ever since I had a Twitter conversation with Holli a couple of weeks ago, I have been trying to find the answer. I know my relationship with food is different, I just don't know why.  I know that I have stopped looking at it as "I only lost X pounds/ounces, whatever" this week and now think "Sweet!  Lighter than last week!," but again, I don't know why.

And, while I wait for that answer to come to me, I keep pressing on.  I look at how far I have come.  I am now six pants sizes and two shirt sizes smaller.  I play with my son, and he doesn't have to slow down.  I enjoy finding new ways to eat my old favorite foods, and I have discovered that I really do like to cook.

My journey is far from over.  But I no longer think I have miles and miles left to go.  I enjoy my small victories and know that I am making changes that will last a lifetime.  I know that I am teaching my son to have a healthy relationship with food and a love of being active.

As a check-in, I am almost halfway to the 30 pounds I wanted to lose before the cruise leaves in March.  WHEN I make it, I will be a total of 60 pounds lighter (which is the average weight of a 9 year old boy).

On the eve of the six month anniversary of the start of this journey, I am healthier and happier than I have been in such a long time.  I love me.  Not in the egotistical, narcissistic way.  But in the way that drives me to be better for myself.

In the end, maybe that's the answer.  Maybe it has to be about me first.

And now, it is.