Warm chocolate milk topped with whipped cream.
"Cheers" at the breakfast table with juice glasses and sippy cups all around (initiated by a very cute almost 2 year old).
A long afternoon nap.
A good hair day.
Cheering (too loudly) at a children's sporting event.
Bloody Marys and a good chat with the hubby after the kids are tucked into bed.
A science fair project COMPLETED!
Hearing the sound of children's laughter at the indoor climbing park.
A nice dip in the pool after working up a sweat on the elliptical machine.
Lunch on the town and nobody cries, or spills their drink on me.
Thank you for your kind words. I took time this weekend to focus on the positive and enjoy all the little things that make my life great.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Most of The Seven Deadly Sins
I know what it feels like to be thin and healthy. I remember not having to hide behind my hat, my makeup, and a bulky sweater. There is a part of me that wants to feel that way again, but there is also a cynical part that says, "Why bother? Have a piece of cake."
I've heard it all about a billion times. I know what I need to do. Eat less, move more. Drink a lot of water. Choose apples and carrot sticks instead of peanut M & M's. I've done it before.
I hate the feeling of my jeans being too tight, just about as much as I hate getting back photos in which I have 3 chins. But here I am. Somehow over the past few months the numbers on that scale have just kept climbing, and now, according to the BMI charts, I am officially "overweight".
I've heard it all about a billion times. I know what I need to do. Eat less, move more. Drink a lot of water. Choose apples and carrot sticks instead of peanut M & M's. I've done it before.
I hate the feeling of my jeans being too tight, just about as much as I hate getting back photos in which I have 3 chins. But here I am. Somehow over the past few months the numbers on that scale have just kept climbing, and now, according to the BMI charts, I am officially "overweight".
This milestone, this crossing of the border, signifies more to me than just the problem with my weight. It means I'm out of control, and I feel like I'm a plane that's missing one wing. I WILL crash eventually, who knows where and how bad. Most people looking at me probably don't know the struggle that goes on inside my head. I probably look average to most of the other parents I see at the park (or sit next to at ECFE). But lately, some days, I have seriously considered the option of putting a paper bag over my head and hiding in the closet (or at least just grabbing my snugie blanket and staying in bed). I feel fat, ugly, and disgusting.....and I don't just mean on the outside.
Wrath, greed, envy, gluttony, pride.....I've commited most of the seven deadly sins (and sometimes it seems, on a daily basis). I have this image in my head of who I want to be, and every day I fall short. I'm not the mother I wish I was. I'm impatient, immature, and impulsive. I'm struggling, but what am I supposed to do?
Seriously? What? Fat, ugly, sinful people can't take their kids to the park? I know it's ridiculous. Staying in bed is not going to help the problem. So, I pull on a hat, take a deep breath, and head out the door (most of the time) . But every day it's become a challenge.
It's a challenge, and it sucks, but I do it for them. Weston and Liam don't care about my flabby stomach, my zits, or my inability to grow up and get myself in order. They don't care that I can't button the top snap of my snow pants. They care that I participate, that I take them to do fun things, and that I smile while doing it and that I love them with so much of my being that it hurts. I may not be a perfect mother, but that's got to count for something.
Some days the smile on my face is strained and fake. Like when you have to hold a pose too long because some one's camera won't work. My lips are smiling but there is pain in my eyes as I hold back my feelings of inadequacy. The kids don't seem to notice. I hold the feelings in, but I worry that someone will see them seeping out from under the brim of my baseball cap. I will be caught. Found out. I'm an imposter. I really have completely no idea what I am doing in this life.
It seems so stupid. That a number on the scale can trigger all this uprising of emotion and doubt. I'm mad at myself for the shear vanity of it. What's wrong with me? Strong women (feminists) don't focus on their weight! Why does my self confidence rest on a number? Or maybe the number is a reflection rather than a trigger for the downward spiral.
A reflection of my lack of self control. Self control that requires the use of moderation and delayed gratification. You know........ being a grown up.
It does not have to be as hard as it's been these past few months. I could feel good about myself again. My snow pants could fit, and so could my minds image of myself. I could make choices that would make my life better. So I've decided to start asking myself.....why?
It does not have to be as hard as it's been these past few months. I could feel good about myself again. My snow pants could fit, and so could my minds image of myself. I could make choices that would make my life better. So I've decided to start asking myself.....why?
Why do I continue to subject myself to this torture? Why don't I get my butt on the elliptical and my hand out of the cookie jar? Why don't I take a deep breath, slow down, appreciate, evaluate and make a better choice? Why should I go another day feeling miserable?
I have a mother with Breast Cancer and a doctor who tells me that keeping my weight at a stable and healthy level is key to preventing my own occurrence of the disease. So why is motivation in weight loss still such an issue for me. That should be all the motivation a rational person needs, right? I am very good at convincing myself that it just doesn't matter. What's a few extra pounds? It's the same way with my motivation to be the person I want to be...What's a little envy? A little greed? What does it matter?
I have a mother with Breast Cancer and a doctor who tells me that keeping my weight at a stable and healthy level is key to preventing my own occurrence of the disease. So why is motivation in weight loss still such an issue for me. That should be all the motivation a rational person needs, right? I am very good at convincing myself that it just doesn't matter. What's a few extra pounds? It's the same way with my motivation to be the person I want to be...What's a little envy? A little greed? What does it matter?
It does matter! It's matters to me, it matters for my heath. It matters that I am the kind of mom and wife I want to be. It matters that I want to just lock myself in a closet instead of taking my kids to see their friends. It matters that my smile does not feel as full. IT MATTERS!! Because what matters most.... is what it's doing to them...
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
One of the hardest lessons
It's taken me 31 years, and I still don't quite have it down. Accepting a compliment is not an easy thing to do. My natural instinct is to point out my other flaws or to diminish, default or defraud the compliment in some way, making it meaningless.
My mother always taught that the graceful thing to do is simply smile and say, "Thank you." Sounds easy enough, doesn't it?
How many of you actually do that?
How many of you who do secretly cringe and shrug it off when the person walks away, thinking there must be some ulterior motive for the kind comment? Why do women do this? Men certainly don't. Men relish in their glory, they do crazy football touchdown dances, they shout their praises from the rooftops.
I've been practicing (no, not my football dance). It seems easiest to start with the compliments that come for my boys (because I really do think they are fantastic). Yesterday, a woman commented on Liam's red hair (which people often do). "It's beautiful" she said. "Thank you." I responded, and then I stopped. I didn't go on to complain about how accident prone he is lately, or tell her that I'm sure his hair will turn brown when he gets older. I smiled.....and she smiled too.
So to those of you who complimented me after my last post on my makeup application skills, "Thank you." And to those of you who said I really do look a little like Julia Stiles (because I consider that a compliment too), "Thank you."
See, I'm becoming a pro. :)
My mother always taught that the graceful thing to do is simply smile and say, "Thank you." Sounds easy enough, doesn't it?
How many of you actually do that?
How many of you who do secretly cringe and shrug it off when the person walks away, thinking there must be some ulterior motive for the kind comment? Why do women do this? Men certainly don't. Men relish in their glory, they do crazy football touchdown dances, they shout their praises from the rooftops.
I've been practicing (no, not my football dance). It seems easiest to start with the compliments that come for my boys (because I really do think they are fantastic). Yesterday, a woman commented on Liam's red hair (which people often do). "It's beautiful" she said. "Thank you." I responded, and then I stopped. I didn't go on to complain about how accident prone he is lately, or tell her that I'm sure his hair will turn brown when he gets older. I smiled.....and she smiled too.
So to those of you who complimented me after my last post on my makeup application skills, "Thank you." And to those of you who said I really do look a little like Julia Stiles (because I consider that a compliment too), "Thank you."
See, I'm becoming a pro. :)
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