Wish it weren't Sunday...From my old blog "They Grow Like Weeds"

March 20, 2011

So, here's another Sunday, almost gone.  I hate how fast the weekends go, and then how slowly the weekdays in between trudge by.  I mean, I love my job, and when I say I love my job, I really mean I LOVE my job.  My students make me happy.  They make me laugh.  They make me feel complete.  They inspire me in ways I've never been inspired before.  I find myself gushing to their parents at conferences as if they are MY kids and I'm bragging to someone about them!  I learn as much from them as they learn from me.  Being a teacher defines me in ways I never imagined.
But I LOVE my weekends home with my family too.
I love spending an entire day curled up on the couch with popcorn and a movie.  We watched "Ernest Scared Stupid" with Harley last night, and she was petrified during parts of it, but who can really be scared of trolls who are killed with shots of MILK?!  Riley doesn't really care to watch movies with the family anymore, but we did our share of that when he was younger and still enjoyed a good movie with the parents...Now it's Harley.  That's the thing with having kids 6 years apart.  Riley got 6 years as the "only child", everything about him, everything for him, etc.  Then there was the "shared time" with he and Harley together where they were little together and we had those precious years of the park and the zoo and the state fair and Elephant Hall and Chuck E. Cheese, and the Children's Museum.  I would give ANYTHING to have those years back because even though the whole time they were happening I was taking pictures and telling myself to treasure them because they go by fast, they DID go by fast and now they're over.  Those were the most wonderful years of my life, watching my babies be "little" together...
Now Harley's experiencing the "only child" years while Riley is a teenager, while he goes through that stage where parents are NOT cool, where he knows more than we do, where his world revolves around himself first and foremost.  And that's OK.  That's normal and that's typical and that's how life is.  And as long as he still hugs me, says he loves me no matter who is around to hear him, and kisses me when we part ways, that's what matters to me because that's how I know he still loves us and still needs us, still does want us around.  In less than two years Harley will start Middle School and Riley will start his SENIOR year and it's going to be so hard.  SOOOO HARD.  It makes me tear up to think about it.  Yes, being a teacher defines me.  But so does being a mom and giving my babies everything in the world that I can emotionally and mentally.
Yet, here I am, alone in the house on a Sunday evening, supper not mad yet, laundry not done, blogging...Rob ran to the store for something we needed for supper.  Riley finished skateboarding and is now cooling off with a swim.  Harley is playing at a friend's house.  The dogs are outside enjoying the beautiful weather.  Two cats are on the deck, one is asleep in the window.  The bunny is resting in her cage behind me while I type...I don't like the empty house.  I don't like the silence.  I miss my babies laughing in the yard.  I miss giving them baths and wiping their faces.  I miss being the number one, most important thing in their life.
I wish it weren't Sunday...I wish time would slow down...I wish things didn't have to change...

Looking for the inspiration...From my old blog "They Grow Like Weeds"

March 14, 2011

So, tonight I should be sleeping.  Tomorrow morning is going to be ROUGH.  My students will need to be extra entertaining so that I can keep my eyes open because every time we spring forward or fall back, my clock is messed up for a week!  I don't know why if affects me so badly, but it always has.  BUT, here I sit, typing away because I have all these thoughts running through my head and after my hour-long nap at 2:30, I don't feel all that tired at the moment...Now ask me again at 6:30 and I probably won't even comprehend the English language...
Something I've really been battling is my weight.  It's been a battle since I was a child.  For the rest of my life I will remember the day I took my Chocolate Royale Slim Fast shake out of my orange Snoopy lunch box and as I began to drink it, a boy asked me, "Why are you drinking that?"  I said, "Because I need to lose weight."  He said, "Oh you're just like my mom, always dieting.  But you're not fat!"  Sean Julian was his name, and I will remember those words forever.  Now, I can see now that as a 10 year old little girl, only a little older than my own little girl, I should NEVER have had Slim Fast shakes in my lunch box.  I should have had a sandwich on whole wheat bread, a piece of fruit, some cut up veggies, a yogurt maybe, but never a Slim Fast shake...So there began the battle.
Following that day I experienced it all.  I had crushes on boys who told my friends, "Tell her if she loses 50 pounds I'll date her."  I couldn't shop in the "5-7-9" store with my friends when we went to the mall because they didn't carry a size 18 at "5-7-9" obviously.  And I wouldn't have shopped with them anyway because then they'd have known my real size!  In high school, after a heartbreak caused by my first real love, I dieted, exercised to "Sweatin' to the Oldies" in my bedroom every night, spent hours on a towel in the backyard getting tan, and felt pretty good about myself after getting down to a size 14 for the first time ever.  But, in no time I was back to my "normal" weight, size 18.  Once we hit high school, I did OK in the boyfriend department.  My weight wasn't so much of an issue for me because it seemed that the boys I liked were a little less superficial than they'd been in junior high.  I had a steady boyfriend from my senior year into the first couple of years in the "real world" and weight was never an issue for me.  But, through my adult life it was always there, always looming in the back of my mind, and while I tried all kinds of diets and pills and even prescriptions, I didn't want to live my life "on a diet". 
Now, I have to say, my husband is an AMAZING man.  He loves me for who I am and for how I look.  He thinks I'm absolutely beautiful inside and out.  He thinks I'm gorgeous, attractive, physically appealing, and tells me all the time.  He has made it clear he loves me when I gain 50 pounds, when I lose 50 pounds, when I'm 9 months pregnant with my stomach swollen like a watermelon, and every day in between.  We have had many, MANY ups and downs in our marriage, downs that were about as "down" as we could be, but never has my appearance been a factor.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  A serious issue has often been him not feeling that he's receiving ENOUGH attention and affection from me, especially when I'm too busy with work and kids and school.  He gets angry when I criticize myself, upset when I run myself down.  But, while this is wonderful, it often gives me that mental "OK" to eat whatever I want whenever I want too.
Yes, I know the sayings, "I love my kids more than I love food" and "Eat like obesity is a medical condition you have to control" along with all the other lines.  I've heard it all.  I've said it all!  People who have never battled weight issues, who are natural thin, who have high metabolism, who don't have emotional eating disorders, or food addictions cannot fully grasp the concept.  Food addiction is much like an alcohol or drug addiction.  People don't WANT to feel bloated and unattractive and fat.  People don't WANT to need food in order to cope with the stresses and tragedies in their lives.  It's not a CHOICE.  It's a battle, an every-single-day-of-your-life battle and it's not easy.  It's hard and it's emotional and it's stressful and it's humiliating.  It's a very personal, private issue.  It's not one I'm comfortable discussing with just anyone because it is so painful and personal.
With the announcement that my brother was getting married and that I was going to be a bridesmaid I dieted.  I didn't even actually "diet".  I changed my life.  I changed how I ate.  I borrowed my future sister-in-law's elliptical, and I worked out 4-5 days a week.  I counted every calorie that went into my mouth, I obsessed over recipes and finding ways to still cook the foods I loved to cook and serve my family in ways that were more healthy and lower in calories.  I found the challenge of being able to have the occasional ice cream or candy bar and stay within my calorie allowance exciting.  I lost 40 pounds by the wedding, 10 months later, and by the one year mark, I'd lost 52 pounds, officially.  I felt better than I had in years, even though I honestly had another 100 pounds to go to reach my long-term goal.  When I touched my face, I could feel bone structure I didn't know was there.  When I scratched my back I felt bone and muscle that felt foreign to me.  When I looked in the mirror, I saw a face I hadn't seen before.  I was doing it and it felt amazing.
But, life got stressful.  Marriage got rough.  Work got rough.  Kids were moody. Family issues arose.  Money was tight.  My brother wanted the elliptical back.  I felt helpless and sad and emotional 24/7.  I needed that one thing that made me feel better just for a little bit, and that was food.  So, I ate when I wanted to eat and I ate what I wanted to eat.  And I thought, "OK, I'm going to maintain."  And I did.  For 5 months I maintained and that was OK.  Summer hit, I decided I was tired of being sad and emotional and depressed and that I needed to work on my emotional and mental health, and I did.  My marriage was better than it had been in years.  I was teaching summer school and earning extra money.  We even took our very first family vacation and spent 5 days in Colorado.  I was happier than I'd been in years.  But, I gained 15 pounds in the process. 
Now, 9 more months have passed, and I've gained back 25 pounds.  I'm sad about it.  I feel fat.  I feel ugly.  Since I threw out all my old clothes when I dropped down a size, now my clothes are all tight and uncomfortable, which makes me feel even worse.  I don't feel that bone and muscle when I scratch my back, and in all honesty, it's more difficult to reach my whole back.  When I touch my face, I don't feel that bone structure I was noticing.  When I look in the mirror, I see the double-chin and the droopy, puffy face again.  My husband gets angry when I call myself a sow.  My daughter says, "You're not fat, Mommy," but I know she's lying.  My son just says, "Sorry..." when I complain to him about how unhappy I am. 
But what is going to motivate me?  Inspire me?  Drive me?
I haven't been to the doctor for a check-up, Pap, or pelvic in 4 years.  I haven't had my blood work done, my thyroid meds monitored, my thyroid levels checked in 4 years.  I don't want my doctor to see what I weigh.  I don't want him to see what has happened to me.  I don't want him to know I weigh more than I did when I was 9 months pregnant with my daughter.  (Yes, puking all 9 months when I'm pregnant means I gained almost nothing with either pregnancy, but still...)
This is such a personal issue with me.  This is such a private, personal part of me.  Yet, here I am, sharing it with the world because I wonder how many other people might feel what I feel, how many people might relate to my story, how many people might be inspired just by the fact that they are not alone in this battle. 
So, each day is a new day and each day is a new chance to get it right and if I did it before, I can do it again.  I know that I can.  I need to just find a way to prove to myself that I deserve it, that a lifetime of insecurities and feeling unworthy and unloved and unwanted cannot continue to hinder me because my husband and my children and my students and my friends deserve me at my best.  And by "my best", I don't mean a size 6, fashion model bombshell.  I mean ME, at my best, feeling good, feeling healthy, feeling confident, feeling strong, feeling in CONTROL.
Yes, tomorrow I'm going to come home from work, feel famished, and crave a brownie or cookies or a McDouble or onion rings and it's going to be a battle.  And honestly, I don't know if I will win or lose the battle.  But I know that I have to try...

My Heart in Haiku...From my old blog "They Grow Like Weeds"

March 9, 2011

Perfect, my sweet son
A gift that changed my whole world
Bright as summer sun


Answer to my dreams
Created by truest love
My precious daughter


Prince Charming he was
When he swept into my life
My treasured husband


Though not mine by birth
Yet another gift from Rob
Two more boys to love


Learning to love her
Has been a life-long challenge
Reflection of mine


Closer than sisters
A bond that withstands all time
Best friends forever

Bathtubs, shelves, and other mishaps...From my old blog "They Grow Like Weeds"

Monday, March 7, 2011

So, I've been told that one of the biggest challenges in a marriage is home remodeling, that if a marriage can withstand that it can withstand anything. I'm going to say I agree with that 100%! We have been working on our "work in progress"home for 3 1/2 years now. With the misfortune (or fortune) of our bathtub cracking and leaking water onto the floor and making our sub-floor a mushy danger zone supported by 2 x 4's, we have been forced to put in the much needed 2nd bathroom in our basement so that we can then gut and rebuild our main floor bathroom. This is a project I'm both thrilled about and dreading. I'm thrilled to soon be a "two bathroom family" with a whirlpool tub, ceramic tile, and a brand new toilet no family before us have ever sat on. Harley, my 9 year old daughter, is thrilled to get a tub she can lay down flat in! However, I dread the thought of not having a bathroom 3 feet from my bedroom door when I wake up at 3:00 A.M. feeling like my bladder is going to explode and I have to walk through the house, down the stairs and into the basement to use the new bathroom down there. This in itself is a nuisance, along with the fact that, despite the knowledge that Riley, my son and firstborn is sleeping in his bedroom in the basement, I am absolutely certain the Boogie Man is lurking there somewhere, waiting to pounce on me if I enter the basement after dark. So, looks like Rob may be making some late night trips to the basement with me to guard me from attackers...Maybe this will give him motivation to complete the bathroom project faster! See how things kind of work themselves out?
Tonight's project was the hanging of the shelf. I have wanted one of those cute, white wire shelves above my washer and dryer forever. I thought how nice and orderly it would be to have all of my bottles of laundry soap, bleach, and spot removers lined up neatly on that shelf instead of sitting in a dusty cluster on top of the dryer. I guess that part about me wanting to be able to reach the shelf, or more specifically, the things on the shelf, was something I'd failed to mention. Rob can reach just fine. Riley showed me he also could reach just fine. (Amazing how quickly 15 year old boys grow!) Me however? If I stand on the very tips of my toes, I can brush the edges of the Tide bottles just enough to get my hopes up, but not quite enough to actually grab the handle...It's the thought that counts though, right?
Something I've learned over the past year is this: Don't sweat the small stuff. It's hard to remember. I have great difficulty actually following that rule. But I'm trying because in this great big world with all of its problems is arguing over ceramic tile colors, the placement of a shelf, or deciding on the triangle or rectangle whirlpool tub really what matters? Nope, not at all. Instead, I need to remember that the guy who put up the shelf and the kids who are going to enjoy that whirlpool tub are what matter. As I type while I listen to Rob work away in the basement, I know that there will be many mishaps along the way, but in the whole big picture, that's what makes life fun...