Don't Call It a Diet

Ahhh...the "meal plan."  

Minimal. Spartan.

Sadistic.

I have been wanting to shrink for the purposes of health for quite some time.  I have been struggling as of late, due in part to a seriously backwards work and life schedule.  I get home late, hungry, eat, and then go to bed.  Not the best for keeping the weight down.

Now, I have additional motivation.  As matron of honor for my BFF Heidi's wedding in October,  I was charged with choosing the dress.  Here it is:

It is one of the very few dresses that actually has any sort of strap; all of the others being spaghetti or strapless altogether.   The downside?  Well, that's fairly obvious.  If it doesn't have sleeves, then I am in trouble.  The other problem is that it was ordered over 12 weeks ago, before this schedule began to take its toll on my eating habits (and conversely, my waistline).

So yesterday, I went for my yearly checkup with a new doctor.  In the past, doctors have skirted around the weight issue.  I would assume in an effort to be as politically correct and not lose patients.  To date, this method has not really served to motivate. All it has done is given me the ability to think: "Why should I worry? The doctor didn't seem that concerned about it?"

Enter Dr. B.

Of all the adjectives that could be used to describe Dr. B, neither warm nor fuzzy even enter my mind.  She is brash and tells it just like it is.  She told me we need to stop BS'ing ourselves and realize that losing weight means less food, more movement.  She managed to do this over the course of a conversation that took 40 minutes, never once making me feel berated or belittled. She never once made it seem like I was wasting her time or rushing me along.   She counted herself among those who try to delude themselves (even though she is probably a very respectable size 10).

While her method might not be what I am used to, it certainly is refreshing.  In that same conversation, she also asserted she would do whatever she could to support me.  I just needed to understand that at the end of the day, it was MY responsibility, not hers, to do something about the weight.  For all her stern words, they were tempered with an earnest desire to help me help myself.

And in comes the "meal plan."  Apparently, calling it that as opposed to a "diet" is supposed to make me feel better about the very few items I am allowed to consume.  Essentially, it's some egg whites, all the green veggies I can eat (UNLIMITED green beans, apparently), and lean meat, chicken, and fish.  I do get a soy protein shake each day, and as a treat, one whole (small) piece of fruit. And, thankfully, I can have two cans of diet soda per day, so long as I drink enough water to fill a kiddie pool each day as well.

But, it is for the greater good.  I will have weekly check ins, just to see how I am doing and get a pep talk if I need it.  It will go something like this: "if you fall off the wagon, just hop back on when it slows down.  All that matters is you don't let it run you over" (words that have already been provided by Dr. B).

So, here we are, day 2 of the "meal plan."  I'm hungry.  That's all I can say.  If I can make it through the first couple of weeks, I have been assured that it will get easier.  I am going to operate on faith on this one.

Because I sure won't be operating on food.

Five

Today, Aidan turns five.  He is hopping, skipping, and jumping.  He knows his colors, the alphabet, and can recite his address.  He is getting ready to start kindergarten.

All of which he is doing in Heaven.

Five years ago today, I said goodbye to my son.  I said goodbye to all of those dreams of watching him grow, of walking him to class on his first day of school, of blinking back tears as I wondered at how he had managed to grow up so quickly.

I still remember waking up on July 25, 2005 and wishing that it wasn't real.  I remember thinking that God wouldn't hand me a dream just to snatch it away.  I was so...angry.  I wanted to lash out.  I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.  And at the end, I wanted to crawl up in a hole and disappear.

But I couldn't.  As much as I wanted time to stand still, it wouldn't.  As much as I wanted life to stop, it didn't.

Life and time are funny that way.  No matter how much you think you need time to stand still, however briefly, it doesn't.  And now, five years later, I look back with amazement.  I am amazed that I survived, when I didn't think I would.  I am amazed that I write this without a resurgence of resentment towards the Almighty.  And I am amazed that God would give me a second chance when I spent a great deal of time lashing out at Him for taking away my first.

And I am amazed that I can breathe.

The pain is still there.  I know it will always be there.  I will never fully recover from losing Aidan.  Five years later, I cannot look at his first pictures.  They are stored away; a box of memories that I will one day be able to open.

When Z is old enough, I will share that box of memories of his big brother with him.   I will tell him how sad I was to lose Aidan, but that it was in that loss that I found the strength to move forward.  In that loss, I found compassion and understanding, and in the end, hope.  

So today, five years later, I think back on my son and realize that he IS hopping, skipping, and jumping.  He knows his colors, the alphabet, and can recite his address.  He is getting ready to start kindergarten.

He is just doing it in Heaven.

Overachiever

Goaded by my husband and due to feeling like I needed to be doing something "more," I have recently embarked upon the path that will ultimately end in the completion of my Master's degree.

Today, I posted my second response to the requisite discussion questions.  Next step, take a peek at what my peers have posted and comment, as applicable.  I did that, and this is when I ran into problems tonight.

All of the hard work put into my B.A. in English was formatted in the beautifully complex MLA style.  I spent HOURS stressing over formatting.  I would venture to say I spent more time with annotations and bibliographies than I did actually thinking through the composition that was the assignment du jour.

So, now that I have started my M.A., am I going to be rewarded for all of my hard work and breeze through page notations??  Ummm, nope.  The formatting for this one is APA.

I am VERY uncomfortable with not knowing everything about everything.  It is the OCD in my that requires full understanding of what I am doing before I can get started.  The result?  I have problems getting started.  The fear of mistakes and rejection are often paralyzing.  It is with this background that I went into the discussion boards.  I have to be honest.  When I see someone else's work and compare my own to it, I am not the first to say that the other person wrong.  Just the opposite is true. I often look at the work of others and wonder if that is what I am supposed to be doing.

This time, I wonder if my urge for perfection is simply causing me more work.  The other posts are simple, formatted differently, and MUCH shorter.  The other issue I find is that I am worried that others will look at my work and think I am just trying to earn brownie points.  Again, the opposite is true.   I am simply trying to ease my perfectionist ideals and complete the work on time.

But, I have decided this time to simply do my work and come what may.  This "class" allows me to not have to worry about being called out in class for finishing something better, faster, or first.  I will never see or meet my class members, as they are spread across the United States, and we only "meet" in cyberspace.  I will fulfill my need for perfection, regardless of the length.

Only this time, I really will remember that there is a deadline, and I have to finish...even if it is just shy of perfection.

The Brave Ones

Johnny.  Kathy.   Rachel.



Shocking?  Sometimes.

Outspoken?  Often.

Brave?  Always.



Bravery is something I find to be a very worthy personality trait.  Why?  Because I am often not.  I am not normally the voice of dissent in my physical life.  In my digital life, I am a little braver.  I speak up a little more, mainly because I don't have to worry about trying to justify why I feel the way I do.  The real brave ones?  They are the ones who can be who they are, regardless of the environment.  They are the ones who express their opinions without fear or reservation.  They are the ones of whom I am eternally envious.

Often, they get labels.  Rebel.  Controversial.  Difficult. Rude.

In reality, the brave ones are misunderstood.  While the brave ones happily express their opinions, they are also the very first ones to be supportive of those who try to express theirs as well.  The brave ones might not agree, but they always allow others to express themselves and be heard.

My beautiful friend is brave.  When I first met her, I will admit that I was a little put off by her brashness.  Her audacious behavior was surprising and at times down right shocking.  What her behavior wasn't?  Apologetic.

And that is one of the reasons why I love and admire her.  She's not just brave because she speaks her mind.  She has weathered many storms and has come out on top.  She loves fiercely, intensely, and loyally.  Her beauty, inside and out, make her incomparable.

Through her, I have met more of the brave ones.  Two who are brave enough to be who they are in the face of uncertainty and judgment.  Two who have been brave enough to stand together for over a quarter century. A brave new Mommy.  A woman brave enough to start again. Brave women who share the often comical outcomes of working and child-rearing at the same time.  And one who is brave enough to dream her dreams.


Inspiring?  Absolutely.

Beautiful?  Certainly.

Brave?  Always.

Baby Zebras

Ah, the Zoo.  The penultimate family vacation destination.   A place where small children can run around crazy with the other children and gawk at a variety of animals they would never encounter otherwise.

On our latest sojourn to this fun and educational locale, we selected the Atlanta Zoo as our destination.  My son, as always, loved it.  I too was enjoying this excursion when we happened upon an area set aside for children to explore animal development in real world applications.  For example, you can attempt to lift a handle weighing the same amount a baby, teenage, and then adult elephant can lift.  You can view, through a scope, the difference in the visual acuity of a chick versus an adult Snowy Owl.

And then there's the scale.

I will be the first to tell you that I have NEVER been a small person.  Due to a medical condition, my weight is a forever battle for me.  I know that if I even THINK about falling off the diet wagon and indulging my culinary whims for more than one meal a month, I will be fighting to take the weight back off for several months to come.  It is a battle that I have learned to manage as best I can.

That being said, this area also includes a scale that not only shows your weight; it will also compare your weight to that of an infant or adolescent member of the animal kingdom.  Z thought it was superfun to hear the noise it makes while tortuously slowly easing up the number line and slowly inch ever closer to the heaviest animal on the scale, a baby giraffe.  While I was perfectly content to skip that particular activity, Z would have none of it.  Since he is only three and doesn't quite understand the implications of PCOS and its unforgiving side effects, I decided to indulge him.  And promptly learned that his mommy is roughly the size of a Baby Zebra.

Having come to terms with my condition and what it takes to ensure my weight remains manageable, I can happily say that I didn't fall into a complete depression that ruined the remainder of our trip.  Long ago, I was taught by my mother that the measure of a person's worth is NOT equal to the measure of that person's girth. I am not content with my weight, I never will be.  But I also no longer allow my dress size to dictate how I feel about myself.  I try my best to be a decent and loving person.  I don't always get it right, but I never stop the journey.  I don't beat myself up if I have more than one of the aforementioned "cheat" meals in a month.  I simply allow myself to understand that I am human and take the stairs instead of the elevator.  By allowing myself to be free of the guilt, I am happier and able to show my son that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes.

And, really, aren't stripes supposed to be slimming provided they are vertical??

Pants On The Ground

I like to think of myself as an open-minded person.  I was raised to believe (and do) that a person's worth is not based on his/her color, class, creed, sexual orientation, or whatever.  I like to think that people are innately good, regardless of how naive as others may find that line of thinking (or how many exceptions I see to this rule).  That being said, I received a lesson today that I thought should be shared.

A woman was attempting to get a shopping cart of her own this morning.  The carts were stuck together, and she was having a difficult time getting one to use.  Before I could get , I saw a young man stop in his tracks,  turn around, walk back out of the store, and pulled a cart loose for her.

While this would normally just be seen as common courtesy, I was struck by the scene.  The young man who went to help her was African-American, wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head, and jeans that were sagging to his knees.  The woman was petite, Caucasian, and of a mature age.  I was admonished and learned three things in that very instant:

1.  Chivalry is NOT Dead.  I often have doors slammed in my face and have other drivers cut me off in traffic just to get to the next turn two seconds faster.  We often think that kindness is a lost art, generally because it seems that way.  This young man proved to me today that this is certainly not the case.  There are many people in this world who take time to hold doors for Mothers who struggle with strollers, individuals with limited mobility, and anyone else who happens along the way who could use a day brightening moment.  I watched this woman's  face light up at the small gesture provided for her.  That, dear friends, is the true beauty of the world.

2.  People ARE innately good.  At any given moment in time, you can check out the news to hear any manner of sad and desolate news. It is nice to see those stories that detail how kind we can be to one another.  This are the rule, not the exception.  Jackson Browne said "Our character is what we do when we think no one is looking." I agree, and the young man I saw today proved he is of impeccable character.   He also restored my faith in the belief that people, for the most part, are innately good, regardless of what the news says.

3.  Don't Judge a Book by Its Cover:  I will never understand the point of wearing jeans so large that the wearer has to walk with legs two feet apart just to keep them up or who continually pulls them up in an effort to prevent mooning the world.  That being said, in the end they are just clothes.  Teens in the 60's who had long hair and wore bell-bottom jeans were looked upon as lazy, and those teens grew up to become some of the most influential members of our society.   There is all the possibility in the world that the young man I saw today will do the same. And I would do well to remember that.

Still Wandering. Just a little lost.

As a standard rule, I am the strong one.  The rock.  The stable, dependable, stalwart one.  Basically, I am a Labrador Retriever.  Once you become the LR, it's very difficult to get out of that role. Others rely on you to be the one to whom they can come if they need a pick them up.  You are expected to have all of the answer, because you normally do.

I don't generally resent this role.  I actually relish it, because I find my mission in life to ease the worries and concerns of others.  If, for just a brief moment, I can make life a little better for someone else, then I feel as though I have fulfilled my purpose.  Lately, I have been wishing that I could really break out of this mode.  There are days where I would like to be the one who gets to step back and break down.  I would like the opportunity to just make the world stop, even for a brief moment.

Because lately, I am feeling a little empty.  I feel like I am running in circles; wearing myself out and not really getting anywhere.  And the worst part-I don't know how to change it.

It was during my most recent search for something to sing during church service in a couple of weeks, that I stumbled across a song called Resurrection. Unlike most songs on the subject, this one speaks of personal resurrection.  It is in listening to this song that I realize why I don't know how to change things.  It's because I CAN'T.  No matter how much I want to take my life by the reigns and go in the direction I want, I know that this is the actual root cause of my problem.

The chorus of this song says "Here I am once again I'm in need of resurrection." And that's the way it feels.  I feel like I keep coming back again and again to have the scattered pieces put back together.  

Isn't that what's supposed to happen?  In my human mind, I think that I should be as strong as the other humans around me expect me to be.  But God doesn't.  He doesn't expect me to be the LR.  He isn't coming to me to be rebuilt and be formed once again.  That's not how it works.  Instead, He's the rock.  He's the strong one.  He's the stable, dependable, stalwart one.  And in remembering that, I continue to wander, feeling a little less lost.