Illness and Merriment.

The past two days have been awful. I was "blessed" with one of the worst immune systems known to mankind and have been chronically sick since I was a little Molly. I get ear infections, gnarly sinus infections, colds that put me down for days, and whatever else comes my direction. Of course, because of this, I spend almost every winter fighting off different bugs. It's not very fun in the best of circumstances, but it's even worse when there's no one here to help.

Yesterday morning I woke up feeling like death warmed over. I was clammy and had the chills, my throat was on fire, and I was dizzy. Thanks to some of my fellow Navy wives, my kids were cared for all day while I slept. I couldn't manage to keep myself awake for more than a few minutes at a time and it was terrible. Then, this morning, another friend watched the spawn while I went to the doctor. I tested positive for strep and was also diagnosed with a double ear infection. No wonder that I didn't feel well and couldn't stay awake!

After being given a shot of penicillin directly in my "upper thigh," I came home determined to take my other meds and give my children the Christmas Eve and Christmas that they very much deserve. Good thing for me that penicillin acts quickly. I got the house picked up (shit gets pretty gross when mom is sick for a day), started laundry, and baked cookies for Santa. Then I had it out with my toddler about whether or not he even deserves a visit from Santa tonight. Now I have to make a gingerbread house that I really don't feel like standing up for long enough to make. After bedtime, I have to assemble a bookshelf, a play table, and a push toy. Lucky for me, I have cool neighbors who are also handy and willing to help me assemble.

It's really hard to be merry and productive when you feel like garbage and miss your spouse. However, when you have little ones it is also very necessary to go through the motions despite the inclination to hunker down and ignore the world. My kids give me a reason to get up in the morning. They give me a reason to fake a smile and to keep on trucking when life gets messy. I don't know what I'd do without them. That said, I probably shouldn't let them eat the cookies that I handled. I don't want kids with strep.

Wind Down.

I think that any military spouse will say that deployments are stressful and that staying busy is the key to making them go by quickly. However, when you have kids staying busy is a given. The messes are constant, there's chaos, there is an endless string of things that need to be done. I am not really having any issues with keeping myself occupied. Even with the holiday break from school, I managed to compile a list of things that I need to do that I would have trouble finding time for with school going on.

I have been a Navy wife for over four years now, and the big thing that was drummed into my head by everyone. Imagine my surprise when deployment actually happened for us and staying busy is not the problem. Finding the time to wind down has been really tricky. Then, when I do have time to wind down, I find myself in my bed running through the massive list of things to do that I have for the next day. There's no wind down for the wife of a deployed sailor. I'm a mother, a pet owner, a student, a housekeeper, a laundromat, and a runner. How the hell am I supposed to relax with all of those balls in the air?

I have never been a masterful juggler. I like to get things done. I like the satisfied feeling that comes with checking things off of my to-do list. I like making the list because it makes me feel like I have a set of goals. Being that anal retentive has made for an interesting ride so far during this deployment. I'm very used to having a second person to pass some duties on to. Perhaps he drives me a little bit insane because he's not as driven to get things done as I am. Perhaps he doesn't always do those things to my specifications. However, he does them and it significantly reduces the size of my list.

Because of this challenge, I am learning to juggle and I am also learning to let go. If my house is not picked up, I have to let it go. I have to sleep. I have to care for my children. If there are Legos on the floor while I am doing that, I just have to suck it up and deal with them. It's not easy being anal retentive and learning to let go and wind down. It isn't easy doing all of this on my own. It's not easy trying to wind down when life doesn't ever wind down.

Woosaw.

Thankful Thursday. Again.

I never get tired of finding reasons to be grateful for the things that I have in my life. I forget, very often, how lucky I am. I don't fault myself for forgetting. It's easy to overlook all of the good when you are running around after your kids, trying to keep the bills straight, running to lose weight, doing laundry, doing dishes, putting food on the table, cleaning up after pets, doing homework, and trying to have a little bit of fun. That's a lot of responsibility.

I have to make to-do lists in order to keep it all straight. If I don't write appointments on my calendar, I won't make it to them because I simply cannot remember everything that I have going on. Another problem that i have is that if I don't receive a paper bill for something, I won't pay it. I would love to be all green and eco-friendly, but I need those little pieces of paper to remind me to pay for things.

Sometimes, I feel like it is hopeless. Tonight, I was sitting at my dinner table alone eating a meal that I didn't really like (too spicy) and thinking about everything that didn't get done today (new light bulb in the kitchen, skipped my workout because my knees hurt) and everything that I have to get done tomorrow (won't even go there). Then I started thinking about how fun my weekend was going to be, but how that fun comes with chaos and I just need a freaking break. I was mentally ticking off a list of things that I have going on and need to get done before the end of the month and I was getting more and more depressed about how lonely and isolated I feel. Then, like a bolt of lightening, my grandmother flashed into my mind.

My grandma is one of the greatest blessings of my life. I could go on and on about why I love her, but I won't do that here. What I will say is this: my grandmother has Alzheimer's disease. The person whose eightieth birthday we celebrated a couple of years ago is gone. She is skin and bone. She doesn't remember my kids. She forgets to eat. Her once immaculate home is dirty. She yells at my mother for reminding her to take her pills. She mutters to herself and her face twitches as she sits and stares at the television. She isn't really seeing what's happening, she's just trying to understand the world around her.

My grandma still makes to-do lists, the problem is that then she reads them and only becomes more confused. She doesn't remember exactly what the little notations mean or she loses the entire list in the massive pile of mail that she refuses to let anyone dispose of. If I think that I am overwhelmed and lonely and that the only person who cares about me is across an ocean, I should probably think again. My feelings are valid, but at least I can process them. At least I am here and now and I know what's going on. I can't imagine the loneliness and the overwhelming feelings that are associated with memory loss.

The thought of my grandmother humbled me today. She's amazing, she doesn't deserve this. I'm so, wonderfully, painfully alive. I am making memories both good and bad. I am present and I need to remember that. No matter how many things don't go as I have planned them, no matter how often I allow myself to feel let down, no matter what reality I am perceiving, I should always remember that I'm lucky, I am blessed, and I will overcome.

Oh! What a Busy Life!

Here I was thinking, "Molly- just count down to Christmas break. Then you can do crafts with the kids and take it easy!" Little did I know that I am a naive, optimist. I already have a to-do list a mile long for Christmas break, and it includes getting Elvish and assembling all kinds of things that I know are beyond my capacity to assemble. And this week before the break? Forget it. I am so busy that I feel like my head is swimming in circles while I look on helplessly from the outside. Who would have thought that my last fifteen credit hours as an undergrad would be so draining?

The last week has not come without a new set of lessons. Life without Dave brings at least one per day and not all of them are the fun kind. In the past week I have learned:

1. The cat, along with three medium sized stuffed animals, can fit into a toddler sized Buzz Lightyear suitcase. However, he will pee himself from fright and be close to expiring by the time that you find him. Salvaging the suitcase and stuffed toys will be pointless. Also- I have good instincts and I should follow them. I am still not sure what prompted me to open that suitcase.

2. Herman Melville is an asshat. He was an asshat when I was in high school, reading Moby Dick and he is still an asshat years later when I have to read his "short" stories for my elective literature course. He's also talentless and overrated.

3. Dogs and cats poop a lot. Pet ownership is a lot less awesome when you have to clean up after the pets without any help and while your child is flushing Captain America down the toilet inside.

4. Swallowing the SCOBY when drinking Kombucha is awful. Absolutely terrible.

5. Three-year-olds are amazing snugglers. They also smell really nice and give the best kisses. They know just when to tell you the right things.

6. My kids are the most annoying beings on the planet, but I like them better than I like anyone else on the planet.

7. Skype was clearly created by God. It also does not use the internet, my husband's images (though blurry) and his voice (though cracking) are streamed to me on the wings of angels.

8. Rio is a really cute movie, but only the first twelve times in three days. After that, the songs start to get a little annoying.

9. Friends are never overrated, and some times you meet the most important ones in adulthood.

10. There is not enough coffee and Zoloft in the world to get me through the next six months. I may have to invest in some Red Bull, Speed, or a medically induced coma.

As I look forward to the end of this week and the beginning of Christmas break, I realize that I am doing worse in my head than I am in real life. Rock on, Molly B., Rock on.

I leave you with a picture of myself, moments after I accidentally swallowed the SCOBY.

More Lessons.

I think that it is truly amazing where life takes you and which sets of plans don't work out and which do. In 2003, I had been accepted to three different colleges and I was trying to pick one. In 2004, I was going to my local community college and living in the ghetto. In 2005, I was pregnant. In 2006, I fell in love. In 2007, I was pregnant again. In 2008, I suddenly found myself in Washington State with my husband. Now, here I sit in 2011 (albeit, the end). My husband is over seas. He won't be back for several months. I had another baby ten months ago. I am less than six months from finally finishing college, after a lot of obstacles and breaks. We are less than a year from ending our association with the Navy. We plan on staying in Washington. My husband has decided that he is going to go to school for a second bachelor's degree, in music. Life has led us in such an interesting direction, that sometimes I just have to stop and shake my head. I love where I am right now, but that doesn't mean that there aren't some things that I would change.

In the last six days, I have learned that best-laid plans are for the birds. No matter what, something will always come up that changes the name of the game. Today, the book store was closed and I was unable to pick up some books that my three-year-old ordered on his school field trip. It was small, but it was still a part of my plan for the day and it was still a change. When it comes to deployment, nothing is certain. I am less than a week in and I have already learned that. I expected my washing machine to be exploding and my children to be running rampant. Instead, my trashcan broke and they are having trouble sleeping. Nothing is ever the way that you plan it to be. Here are some lessons I have learned so far:

1. You will get the one person at the NEX who doesn't comprehend "fade" when you take your little boy in for a haircut. You will also need to know certain numbers for a fade, otherwise it will barely look like a haircut at all.

2. Recordable books are really annoying in the hands of a child who doesn't use them correctly.

3. Porcelain trash cans can suddenly and inexplicably break into two pieces.

4. Your support network can change at any given moment, in the Navy world people are not the most reliable thing.

5. A ten month old who suddenly starts rejecting food will go back to having seedy, breastfed baby poop but they will have more of it and it will explode all over everything.

6. Grocery shopping is not so bad when you do it completely alone.

7. Skype freezes a lot and always when you are making a weird face.

8. Skyping on a laptop while in bed creates a really unflattering angle, which also adds ten pounds.

9. Dogs get weirdly territorial and overprotective when they sense a major change.

10. Cat boxes are absolutely disgusting and cats are foul, filthy little buggers.

That is all for today. Good night. I shall leave you with a picture from the unflattering Skype angle.

The Weekend and the Store.

Weekends with a deployed spouse are the pits. Everyone else is using the time as their major family time for the week, which means that you either impede and tag along or spend the weekend alone.

I am entering into my first weekend without my husband at home. I have a lot on my schedule in an attempt to keep myself busy. I have a Dove Chocolate party today. I became a consultant a little over a month ago, with the sole intent of giving myself something to do while he's gone. Not that kids, housework, running, and school wouldn't keep me busy enough. I just felt like it would be nice to have something else going on for me.

Then tomorrow I am hosting a coffee date for some others who have deployed husbands. I am very much looking forward to getting to know them and hopefully having a good network going for the next few months. After they leave, I am going to go to the grocery store. That's usually Dave's job and I am not looking forward to it.

The grocery store gives me major anxiety. I deal with very severe depression. I have social anxiety coming out of my ears. I have a really tough time in small groups where I don't know everyone or in large groups period. I also diagnosed myself as agoraphobic a couple of years ago and the grocery store triggers that. I hate the fluorescent lights and all of the strangers. When I add screaming, whining, wiggling kids into the equation I start to really panic. My vision gets blurry and I have a hard time focusing. I usually am actually dripping sweat by the time I check out at the register.

Then, when I get home, I have to juggle fussy kids with the fact that the groceries need to get put away. Also, I can't stand to leave them out because I hate messes and clutter. After that, I have to settle the kids after the whole ordeal and by the end of it I usually feel totally defeated and emotionally exhausted. Then it triggers my depression and I get bummed out about what a basket case I am.

That may seem like a lot of writing just to describe a simple trip to the store, but it's my truth. The fact is that going to the grocery store is necessary. I am going to have to do it. Even if I am lucky enough to find a sitter once or twice, I am definitely not going to have one every time I need to go. This is one of my anxieties that I am going to simply HAVE to get past before my husband returns.

Wish me luck, and pray that the canned goods don't attack me.

Things I Have Already Learned.

Yesterday was the beginning of a new journey for me. My husband left on his first deployment. This is the first time since he was in boot camp that we will be separated for more than a month or so. He will miss all of our birthdays, Christmas, our anniversary, and my college graduation. I know that it isn't going to be easy, but I am very determined to face it with a smile and a positive attitude. I am looking forward to becoming more independent and bonding with my elder son, who's a major daddy's boy. It has only been twenty-four hours, but I have already learned quite a bit.

1. There are concrete barriers on base that are short enough to not appear in the rear view mirror.
2. Dogs relish the opportunity to try and claim your bed as their own when they notice extra space.
3. My three-year-old is perfectly capable of holding a long, meaningful conversation on the phone.
4. My mom is awesome, sometimes.
5. Bananas are a wonderful breakfast for a self-feeding baby who has the trots.
6. Deployed husbands mean no more breakfast in bed for me.

and 7. I fall asleep at 9:30 with no one to keep me entertained.

I know that in the coming months, the list of things that I will learn will only grow longer. Some of the things that I learn will be funny, others will be frustrating, and there might even be some sadness. The important part, however, is that I will be learning. No matter how old I am, I relish any opportunity to better myself and learn more.

I am so pretty.

I spent almost five years thinking that I was disgusting. I lived in my sweats, because I was afraid to admit what size I was and buy clothes that fit me. In the past 8 months, I have worked really hard to change that. My hard work has paid off and I am about eight sizes smaller than I was when I started and I am almost sixty pounds lighter. I am so fucking pretty, I could die.

I live in a world that is full of skinny girls, fashion statements, and materialism. There is way too much focus on physical self and it's hard for someone like me to feel good about myself because of it. I am average. I am not a super model. I am normal. But today, I feel so fucking pretty that I could just die.

I spend most of the day in bed because I have a cold. I didn't run today, which I usually do. I didn't put on any makeup and my hair is in a pony tail. I did brush my teeth, but I didn't get dressed. It doesn't matter though, because I feel absolutely gorgeous.

I spend so long feeling badly about myself that even now, when I know that I look good and I know that my body has changed, I still look in the mirror sometimes and feel gross. Sometimes I still see a fat girl because my stomach isn't tight and I don't have a six-pack. Sometimes, all I see in the mirror are the flaws that I have lived with for twenty-five years. I know them all in and out, but today I don't want to dwell on them. Today, I looked in the mirror and realized that I am really fucking pretty.

I have a really great head of hair. It's thick and curly and shiny, and I love it. I have a nose that fits really well on my face and I have a huge smile, with relatively nice teeth. My eyes are an interesting shade of brown and I have a great set of eyebrows. I'm a good height, not too tall and not to short. Right now, my body is a great shape. I'm relatively slender but I haven't lost my curves.

I woke up this morning really liking myself. I hope that I wake up feeling that way tomorrow. I hope, even more, that someone will read this and wake up in the morning feeling really, ridiculously, insanely pretty.

I love blogging when it's still dark out.

I woke up this morning around three with a headache that I attribute to TMJ and drinking five beers in order to stop thinking about my throbbing toe. I took some Advil and drank some water and then I went back to sleep. I woke up again at five because my baby was crying in his crib. Upon further inspection, I realized that the fever he has had for three days is the highest it's been and he is miserable.

I nursed him, loved on him, gave him some infant Advil, and then put him back to sleep. Now I am sitting here writing this and the only thing that comes to mind to write about is how powerless motherhood has left me feeling. Here I sit, this person who is all full of opinions and ideas and convictions and none of them can make my baby feel better.

All of my really strong opinions about fever reducers, vaccines, antibiotics, and illness come into question when my own baby is sick. It's a lot easier to tell someone else what to do than to do it myself. I am all about not over-medicating my children, letting fevers do what nature intended them for, and letting them build up natural immunities. But that game changes when my smiling, laughing, sweet boy has been reduced to a fussy mess with a head so hot that I can barely stand to touch it.

Today is day three of Puff's fever and I cracked. I gave him a fever reducer because I can't stand to see him miserable any longer. I compromised with myself because I love my baby boy so much. Motherhood has made me powerless. It has turned me into a mushy puddle of love that has a mind telling her one thing and a heart telling her another.

Darn these kids for being so captivating.

Thankful Thursday.

Three and a half years ago when Dave chose his first set of orders, I was shocked and a little disappointed that he got orders to some island in Washington that I had never heard of. I had pictured us taking orders to sunny Florida or tropical Hawaii. When we were driving to this island I was skeptical but excited. Then we got here and I was shocked at how small it was. I was picturing a huge shipyard with lots of carriers and big ships. That isn't what I got.

Now, here I sit in the place that I call home. This is where David and I have built our life. This is where we truly became a family. This small town on this beautiful island is where I became an adult and where I learned to flourish as a mother and as a wife.

People ask me all the time if I am going to go "home" while Dave is deployed. I am home. I have this place where I have amazing friends. I have friends who are moms and who have similar ways of parenting to my own. We go to play dates and we do fun things. I know my way around and I know which restaurants are good. My son was born in the living room of this house.

When I think of Dave coming home and where I feel safe, it is here. It's within these four walls. When I consider what will grant my family the most stability in a really unstable time, I know that I belong right here. I belong in this town house on this island.

I have no idea how it happened. I have no idea why reality and my expectations are always so different. What I do know is that I am on this island for a reason. I was put on this cold, windy rock because I was meant to grow into myself here. I am so glad that a simple twist of fate led me to Washington.

A whole 15 days.

The B-Man and I have made it fifteen whole days without eating out. I have no idea how much money this endeavor has saved us, but my best guess tells me that it's a lot. I have no idea what compelled us to take up this challenge, but I am glad that we did.

I drove all over Washington this weekend and because eating out was not an option, all that I spent was what the ferry cost me (less than $25, round trip) because I ate breakfast at home, packed a lunch, dinner at my friend's, breakfast with her, leftover dinner for lunch, and then a home-cooked meal at home when I returned.

It was fantastic. For one thing, I simply sat and visited with one of my favorite people on the planet. There was no pressure, no stress because I was enjoying a weekend that I couldn't afford, and it was relaxing and amazing to get away from home. Our kids love each other and were ridiculously excited to see one another since they are used to seeing each other a lot more than they have lately. I needed to get off of my island and do something on my own.

I also proved to myself that it is possible to take a road trip without spending a boat load of money. I found out that leaving Dave at home without me doesn't mean coming home to a burnt down house. He didn't even break our deal, he ate leftovers and managed to not eat out. Someone should give that man a medal. I am guessing that it would have been the most tempting before I got home on Sunday.

Today was officially our fifteenth day. We are halfway there. I know that we can make it 30 days. I know that we will be happier for it because we will have more money and be healthier. I pride myself on making good choices for my family, but I have found that where food is concerned I sometimes sacrifice for the sake of convenience. Who can fault me? I am a Navy wife, full time student, wife of a full time student, runner, and mom. Convenience is important to me. This lesson is teaching me that I don't have to sacrifice convenience completely for the sake of nutrition.

The bottom line for my family is that we are living on Junior Enlisted pay, in a high cost of living area, in a period where prices are higher than our pay allows. We can't afford to eat out. We could be enjoying other things in life a lot more if we weren't spending money on restaurant food. I think that if we can make it thirty days, we can make it sixty. Now I just need to convince my husband.

The Clouds Have Come.

I look outside my window right now and I see grayness. It's ugly. It's mid-September and I am guessing that fall has come to Whidbey. That would be great if I were in Colorado. I love the fall in Colorado. The leaves turn and it's still relatively warm and the air smells like fall. On Whidbey, when the fall comes, it just smells wet and looks dirty. Whidbey fall is my least favorite Whidbey season. It also means that I probably need to up my dosage of Zoloft. I don't do well in the Washington winter. My first winter here was the lowest trench of depression that I have ever experienced. It was truly awful and I am not eager to repeat it again.

Ironically, on this thankful Thursday, it is the clouds and the ugly (both outside of my house and inside of me) that I am thankful for. At this time last year, two years ago, and three years ago I was completely unaware of it. It was consuming me. I was not showering, I lived in sweats, I would go weeks without leaving my home, I was dangerous to myself and my family. Today, even though I feel it, I am safe from it. I am aware of it and am addressing it. I confront it head-on every time I swallow a Zoloft and every time I run.

I have been having a pretty crappy day and I was really close to coming home and taking a nap. I wanted to crawl in bed and make the day go away. But today, I made the active, conscious choice to stay awake. I made the choice to sit down and blog and then do homework. The conversation that I had with myself went something like this:

Dark Molly: Today sucks. If I nap, it will be over sooner.
Rational Molly: No, if you nap today you will feel worse.
Dark Molly: But it would be so much easier.
Rational Molly: It's a bad habit to start napping on the cloudy days. The cloudy days are going to become more frequent, you should start facing the cloudy days and not hibernating.

I'm so, unbelievably glad that I have come to a place in life where I can talk myself out of my depression related behaviors. I even passed up on buying a cookie at the coffee shop, because I knew I would be stress-eating. Mental health is winning.

Yesterday and Today.

Ahhhhh Thursday-the most thankful day of the week. Here I am on the heels of my three-year-old's first day of preschool and I am feeling blissful.

Yesterday, my little man and myself went to a nearby town to ride ponies. I haven't spent much one on one time with him that didn't include yelling, timeouts, or bedtime stories lately. It was much needed. I went to bed excited and looking forward to it and I woke up ready for it. It went wonderfully. He's three, so he's not easy but he's mine and I love him endlessly.

Having $15 extra dollars to take him to ride a pony, $15 more to get him a pre-pre-school haircut, and an extra $5 to treat him to a small toy was amazing. We just came out of the most brutally long pay period ever and we were broke beyond words. It was nice to actually feel like I had the means to make one of his dreams come true. He loves Betsey the pony. He can't wait to go back and see her again.

Yesterday led to today, which also held a lot of joy. Aside from a couple of mega tantrums and a small dog getting kicked, my little man was ecstatic to go to school and then came home to more joy when he got to sleep over at the neighbors'. One of my biggest downfalls as a mother is the fact that I am a full time student. There's a lot of TV watching and solo, indoor play around here. I often feel like I crunch all day long in order to try and get out of the house and do something fun, only to discover that I finished too late and the day is wasted.

Lately, I have felt a lot better about it because for the first time in FIVE LONG YEARS we have neighbors that we like. They're cool and actually want to talk to us and come by and ask us to do things. Archer is absolutely smitten with their son who is around the same age. Every time he sees his new friend, he wants to go out and play. I could not be more thankful. Having cool neighbors is the biggest win I can think of.

Thankful Thursday and Angry Molly.

I skipped Thankful Thursday this week and planned to reconcile that on Friday. Then, first thing on Friday, I had an epic fight with my mother and didn't feel very thankful for anything because I was so busy being angry.

I am still really angry. I still have no intention of ever speaking to my mother again. To forgive may be divine, but I am not divine. I'm just me and that's all that I will ever be. I've never been a very forgiving person and it was recently brought to my attention that I am very stubborn. I plan on sticking to my guns with this one. Until my mom can actually listen to me and hear what I am saying as opposed to hearing what she wants to hear, I won't have a relationship with her. I am really tired of having a dysfunctional family.

I am tired of it on all ends. Dave's family is dysfunctional, my family is dysfunctional, we're all dysfunctional and it's absolutely exhausting. I can't do it anymore and I won't. I won't subject my kids to the dysfunction any more than I already have. So that's that.

I am really grateful that I have a healthy, functional relationship with my husband. The very nature and dynamic of our relationship is so different than the relationships that we both witnessed growing up that I feel that we are bound to, at the very least, be dysfunctional in an entirely different way than our families are. I am ready to make my own way and to follow my own path. I can create and deal with my own dysfunction, but I can't deal with other people's dysfunction and I am not going to anymore.

I never would have thought that epic, raging, pulsing anger would be something to be grateful for but as of today I am very glad that I got angry. The huge fight that I had with my mom made me realize that I'm really, truly mad. I have an anger problem. I get mad and I just want to hit, hurt, and destroy. Had I been face to face with her yesterday, there is no doubt in my mind that it would have gotten physical and that is not good. I'm an adult. If I want to be treated like an adult, I need to act like an adult and rational, healthy adults know how to control their anger.

So today, I am happy. I may still be angry, but I am also happy. I recognized a flaw within myself and now have a plan to address it. I have washed my hands of negativity and plan on turning over a new leaf. I am going to focus on being healthy. I hope that if I am healthy then my relationships will be healthy in turn. I can't fix other people, but I can fix myself and I am not ashamed to try and do just that.

I'm terrified.

I am scared shitless.

Today I proudly announced on Facebook that I am 12 pounds from my ultimate goal weight. Then I proceeded to eat like crap for the rest of the day, because I am scared to death.

What if I fail?
What if I lose all of this weight and then can't maintain it?
What if I lose all of this weight and still feel fat?
What if I stop running and get mushy?
What if I don't look as good as I feel?

In my mind, I might as well just eat whatever because it's hopeless. I don't know if any amount of Zoloft will ever change that for me. In my mind, I still have three chins and should only fit into sweats. I can't imagine looking pretty in a dress. I'm just a fat girl. Nothing is going to change that.

I really don't like ending my day feeling this way.

An Overwhelming Sense of Goal.

Lately I have hated school. I have to force myself to do my work. I feel like I should have been done a long time ago (because I will be 26 by the time I finish, and I should have). I am just burnt out. I love my major and have always had the intention of getting my master's degree immediately after I finished my bachelor's. But lately I just keep thinking of getting my teaching license and going straight to work.

I just have this overwhelming sense of goal. I feel like I need to get to the finish line. I cannot wait to hold my degree in my hands and tell people that I am a college graduate. Dave is a junior enlisted sailor in the Navy, and his paycheck is ridiculously small. I should really go straight to work and get my master's simultaneously. They would be the best decision. But the fact is that I just don't want to.

What I want to do is this:
-Find a job that allows me to use my knowledge and love of history.
-Make good money at this job.
-Work a reasonable , flexible schedule that enables me to spend time with my family.
-Never write another paper again in my life.
-Be normal, smart, and not constantly working.
-Read books that I enjoy as opposed to books that I am required to read.


Seriously, that is what I want to do. Unfortunately, I think that in order to lead the life that I want I am going to need a master's degree. I am going to have to keep going to school for another two years. That means that I will probably have senioritis for another two years of my master's. Life.is.so.unfair.

So instead of asking myself what I want to do, I have been asking myself what would be best. Should I get my master's in Education or should I stick with History? I just don't know. Should I work as a substitute teacher while I get my master's or should I just go full steam on the master's and try to finish in a year?

I have been having this debate with myself for over a year. I have less than a year until I finish my bachelor's and I really need to make a decision. I just want to be happy. I just want to find success and feel good about what I am doing. Why do goals have to be so ridiculously hard to accomplish?

Thankful Thursday- only not.

Yesterday was supposed to be Thankful Thursday, however I really wanted a 4-day weekend from school so I put my nose to the grindstone and got a lot done yesterday and forgot to blog. Also, my friend Sarah, who I was thankful for in last Thursday's post, is leaving town for a week or so and I wanted to hang out with her. So you lovely folks get Thankful Thursday on Friday morning. That's me for ya, a day late.

What I was thankful for yesterday is a little bit different and may strike you all as a little bit odd. Yesterday I walked my three-year-old to day camp in a dress. I knew it was sunny, but didn't realize how hot it was so it was a strapless, floor-length dress made out of something synthetic. It was freaking hot, but the dress is super cute and I felt pretty in it. Walking in it may not have been the best decision, considering I was dripping sweat by the time that I got home, but that aside I was glad that it was sunny and I was glad to get in the extra, light cardio.

As I walked him to school, I had to pass through all of the construction going on in my neighborhood right now. It is a pain in the butt, but yesterday it paid off (for me). One of the construction workers whistled at me. My husband might not be thrilled that this made me swell with pride and gratitude, but it did. I've been overweight since 2007. I have felt disgusting for over four years. I have also felt a little bit invisible.

I have felt like just another overweight Navy wife, in her sweats, with a shopping cart full of unhealthy, budget-friendly foods. Hearing that whistle made me feel like I was visible again. It made me feel visible in a way that doesn't cause people to awkwardly turn away from me and talk to my feet instead of my face. I fully recognize that this skeevy construction worker would probably talk to my rack instead of my face, and that he wouldn't have given a damn about the interesting, intelligent things that I have to say (and which I am very proud of). My knowledge of these facts does not change the feeling I have of gratitude for that whistle. Someone saw me and didn't turn away.

I am grateful to be alive and to be seen. I am also thankful to have realized that I have no desire to be whistled at by anyone other than the B-Man. Though it felt good to be seen, I walked a little bit faster after I heard that whistle.

Shower Epiphanies.

I love the fact that when I am in the midst of my shower routine, singing "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on it)" I have some of my best thoughts. Often they are about my life and the immeasurable blessings that fill it. Tonight's shower epiphany was no different. In this case, something that a friend said to me the other night suddenly became crystal clear and took on a new meaning.

On Sunday night, we had dinner with friends that we enjoy immensely. Throughout the conversation of the evening, I complimented my friend on her daughter's cute face, pretty hair, and infectious voice and she mentioned her beautiful, baby-soft skin. I don't remember her words well enough to quote her directly, but they were something along the lines of, "Her skin is so soft, I often wonder how skin goes from the beautiful soft stuff she has to what I have." I think that at that point we started a conversation about skin care and also relating to the fact that my skin looks terrible from all of the running and working out that I have been doing in the last six months.
I didn't realize that over forty-eight hours later, that conversation would cause me to have a revelation.

This evening I ran a 10k on my treadmill, Facebooked a little, and then came upstairs to shower and hit the hay (and watch Dexter with the hottie I married). After my shower, I was washing my face and putting on my night cream. As I was doing this, I was thinking about how I have spent a fortune on skin care in the last year and none of it seems to be doing the trick. Then I reminded myself, yet again, that it is probably not a short-coming of the products so much as a result of the fact that having babies changes one's body chemistry and working out six days per week makes for a sweaty, greasy person.

It was at this point that I looked up from my counter and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and it dawned on me, "I have earned this face." My face has changed remarkably in the last few years. First it got really fat, then it got even fatter, now it is getting skinny again, and it has gotten somewhat pimply lately. I also noticed (amidst my epiphany) that it looks harder. That's right, harder. My face looks tired some nights and I think it looks like the face of an adult.

There are some lines in certain places and I have gotten freckles in the places where I get a tan. My skin is not as firm and I don't think that I will ever look as fresh-faced as I do in some pictures I have seen of myself. But, I earned my face. I earned it as an adult who worries about making it from paycheck to paycheck. I earned it as an adult who has carried and borne children, then stayed up with them all night and worried about them falling off of swing sets. I earned it having to talk about and face adult things. I earned it by getting fat and then fighting my way back to being healthy.

I'm not saying I won't have to remind myself of that from time to time. I'm not saying that baby soft skin isn't loverly. I just think that babies don't have weathered skin because they haven't had experiences. I've always been determined to be proud of my experiences, so I think that I should start being proud of the ways that they have changed me as well.

This is a Test.

I feel like I am being tested. We are currently at the end of our first week of the first (and only) sea duty that Dave will experience before he separates from the Navy in November 2012. Tomorrow Dave has to work. He will be working 6 days (or more) per week until he leaves on deployment. I knew that this was what sea duty would be like, but the reality of it is depressing.

It depresses me that I won't have "back-up" two days per week. It depresses me that my husband is going to miss out on all of the fun we try and have on the weekends. It makes me sad for all of us. I love him, I want him to be home. Eventually, I won't even get a few hours in the evening and two days per week, he will be gone. He will be completely gone for a long time, he will miss birthdays, holidays, and milestones. Our youngest son may not even really know him when he returns.

I should be grateful. I should be happy that we have a steady income, a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and an all-around nice life. I am grateful for those things. I just wish that they came with a husband who got to enjoy them too (and I wouldn't mind a better paycheck for all of his hard work, either). It's weighed on me heavily that lately I have seen my adult friends and Facebook acquaintances saying that they sleep til noon and "struggle" to find ways to entertain themselves all day.

I ask myself, "are these people kidding??" We struggle from paycheck to paycheck to make it. My husband's heart is absolutely broken at the thought of missing Puff's first birthday. It must be nice to do nothing and get paid for it. I wish that we could sleep til noon and wake up and go and play at the park as a family.

It's even worse on days like today. I fought with my three-year-old for most of the day. We had a forty minute fight over an apple and the apple is still on my table, turning brown. My dog threw up seven times on the way to the dog park. I had to miss out on a picnic for my husband's new command that I really wanted to go to because he couldn't leave work for a work function.

Today was not a barrel of laughs and I think that I have more of these days headed my direction. On days like today, I have to remind myself that this is a test. This is only a test. I have a habit of dominating tests. I wreck them and make them my own. I will do the same with this test. I can handle anything that the Navy gives me. My husband is my favorite person on this planet, and deployment will only make us stronger. Perhaps some people will be better rested, but they certainly aren't building character. I have what I have because I can pass these tests.

Happiness, Hear it Comin', Like a Train on a Track...

Today is thankful Thursday and I decided to do a morning post instead of an evening post because it's only 9:15 a.m. and I already have SO much that I am thankful for, that I wanted to document it.

First, I am BEYOND thankful that Puff slept eight whole hours in his crib last night. I have been a little under the weather and I really needed that full night of sleep.




Second, I am proud and thankful that my husband is on his way home to change into his dress whites because the water is off for the day and I wouldn't have been able to have coffee without him coming home.




Also, I am thankful that my husband is nominated for PC of the Wing (which is why he is coming home to change). I am so grateful that he has a job that he excels at and enjoys. He performed so well in his job the last couple of years that he got a lot of acknowledgment for it. I am thankful that there are others out there who recognize how amazing he is.



Finally, I am SO grateful for my friend Sarah. She comes over a lot and keeps me company. She works out with me, eats with me, and is just all around awesome. In the Navy world, it can be kind of challenging to find friends. You meet some awesome people, but also some not so awesome ones. It's hard to find that "good fit" in friendship and I feel like I have found it with her. That is something for which I am exceptionally grateful.

Angry, Lonely, and Drunk.

I was watching Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew just now (I love Dr. Drew, I wish he was single and I was his type) and someone on the show was talking and said, "if we don't, we will be angry, lonely, and drunk." It made me think of my mom, right away. I love my mom, and my mom is nowhere near the person she was a decade and a half ago. She has come a long way, but she was angry, lonely, and drunk for a long time.

It made me wonder about something that I often wonder. I wonder if I could have helped my mom with her anger and loneliness and if that would have led to her not being drunk as much. The rational, healthy part of me knows that this is not the case. My mom was my mom because she is my mom, period. Her drinking and drug use was not my fault and never will be. Then my train of thought kept on rolling and I went a different direction.

I began to wonder if my mom thought that motherhood would ease her loneliness. If she did, what would make her think that having a baby would accomplish that? Did having a baby who was a baby (and therefore not good company) make her feel more angry and lonely, and drive her to get more drunk? My answer? Probably. And then I started thinking even more and wondered how many other people that I know have unreasonable expectations of their children.

How many of us think that our kids are meant to be our companions? How many people think, "this kid is going to be my best friend," and how many people think that their kids will be their eternal companions? Probably a lot of us. It's something that I have to talk to myself about. I want to raise little people who will love their lives, who will grow to be successful, wonderful adults. In order for my kids to do so, they are going to have to leave me. My kids are going to live off of me for eighteen years, and then they will strike out on their own. If they do this, I will have been successful as a parent.

That is kind of hard to swallow, as a mom. Especially as the mom of an infant. I can't imagine my sweet, squishy baby leaving me. I cannot imagine not being the one who illicits the most brilliant smile from him. But the fact is that some day, he will leave. Someday, he will not really care about what I have to say. Someday, he will be a man and that man will not be my responsibility. And that is the way that it should be.

Ultimately, that is where my train of thought led me. My train of thought led me to where I decided that I don't want to be angry, lonely, and drunk. I want to have reasonable expectations for my kids. I want to encourage them to grow and do great things. My greatest success will likely be tinged with heartbreak, because my kids will leave me in their dust. But is that not the way that many great successes work? That's parenthood. Parenthood hurts a little from time to time, if you do it well.

Gratitude.

The friend with whom I run when I run with another human started a blog about gratitude. It can be found here. Today she "featured" me on her blog and I was beyond flattered. I was flattered for two reasons:

1. being blogged about makes me feel edgy and cool.
2. being blogged about as something that is a positive in some one's life makes me feel like I am doing something right.

Before my big, blog debut my friend asked me if she could use one of my pictures and I told her that she could. I also expressed to her that I loved the idea of a blog that was all about gratitude. It was at that point that she told me that stealing her idea was totally legit.

Unfortunately for you, dearest readers (all 1 of you), I have decided NOT to steal her idea. I have, however, decided to give it a place on my blog. I will be doing a gratitude blog at least once per week.

I think that it is obvious that I am grateful for certain things in my life. I am grateful for losing weight, running, and my family and I say it a lot. The fact is that those things are at the top of my list, but I have so, infinitely much more to be grateful for.

Today I am grateful for:
1. Camp- which gives me a 3 hour break from my three year old, three times per week.
2. Beer- which is delicious and an indulgence that I think that I deserve.
3. Cake Batter Pancakes- which I will eat tomorrow and NOT feel guilty about, because I deserve them and I ran 6 miles today, AND I will be carb loading for a race on Saturday.
4. Friends- who motivate me to go out and do things I would normally shy away from (Brooks) and who hang out with me despite my weirdness (all the rest of you).
5. Distance- which separates me from things that I need to be separated from. Being isolated has its perks from time to time.

What are you grateful for?

Bliss.

Bliss is only having one pair of pants that fit, because all of the rest are too big.

Bliss is waking up next to a milky baby, with a half smile on his face.

Bliss is Dave.

Bliss is the memory of my Papa on what would have been his 78th birthday.

Bliss is being able to run 6 miles, at a decent pace.

Bliss is the sound of a tantrum occurring downstairs.

Bliss is not feeling guilty about eating a slice of cake.

Bliss is pumping 4 ounces after a feeding.

Bliss is feeling beautiful.

Bliss is the thought of seeing my mom in a couple of weeks.

Bliss is inhaling when I hug my grandma.

Bliss is the thought of a meeting with my father, who I haven't seen in almost a decade.

My life is blissful. I am blessed beyond measure.

A Run with a Friend.

The day before yesterday, I ran with a friend.
We kept a good pace. We talked the whole time.
We ran on grass, we ran on pavement.
We ran past the body of a small bird.

We talked about people, places, and things.
We talked about our pace,
We talked about our route,
We spoke of God and Faith.

There were lots of trees,
More than a few cars passed us by,
The people in one yelled something out the window.
We couldn't hear them.
We were too busy, conquering and talking.

We both had on headphones,
But I know that I didn't use mine.
She sweats less than I do and
I think she runs with more grace,
But she still wants to run with me.

We finished our run
and we realized
we had gone farther than we thought.
We beat the roads and the trails and the cars.
We beat our goals.
I'm very lucky to have run with a friend.

Regarding the Ownership of Lefty and Righty.

There are very few things in this world that are all mine. I have to share pretty much everything, and that is even more true now that I am a mom. Nothing is my own, everything is ours. I spent a long time thoroughly convinced that my breasts were my own. They are, after all, attached to my body. Three and a half years ago, when Archer was born, I found out that I was wrong.

My breasts belonged to him for twenty six months. He pulled them, pushed them, pinched them, laid on them, held them, snuggled them, and made basically every decision regarding my breasts. He decided if and when they should be whipped out in public for a feeding. He decided the duration of their exposure. The only thing he didn't decide was to name them Lefty and Righty, but that's only because he didn't know how to talk. There is nothing in the world that Archer loved as much as he loved Lefty and Righty. For twenty six long months, he knew that he could count on them to help him out if he was hungry, thirsty, tired, hurt, sick, crabby, or just plain lonely.

Then, as he got older, he fell in love with our dog and began to make friends who were people, rather than breasts. He started seeing less and less of Lefty and Righty. Eventually, he decided to forfeit ownership completely. I was thrilled. After twenty six beautiful months of breastfeeding, I was ecstatic to have my body to myself again. I figured that I would really enjoy actually owning myself for a little while. Imagine my surprise when a mere two weeks after Archer fully weaned, two little pink lines populated a screen in my bathroom.


Once again, I had to forfeit ownership of myself. I knew by then, that I would not regain my body after forty weeks, sure I would have my uterus back, but Lefty and Righty would not be returned to me until the new little fetus decided that he or she was done with them. I also knew that Lefty and Righty were a little bit concerned about being used and then discarded. They hadn't weathered the storm too well the last time. But, they were also excited to have a new little friend that they could count on.

Forty-one weeks later, along came Olwyn. My brown eyed baby boy immediately loved his new friends. He's been with us for six months and he has spent the vast majority of his time building a relationship with Lefty and Righty. He is not even remotely shy about asserting his ownership of his favorite duo. He pinches, pulls, hugs, loves, and cares about his boobies. They are 100% his, and he always likes to be within range of them in case he needs a snack. Lefty and Righty bring him comfort when disaster strikes (getting stepped on by a two legged or four legged sibling is the most common calamity) and they fill his belly morning, noon, and night. He knows that he can always count on the contents to be both nourishing and refreshing.

As for me, I have surrendered. I know that Lefty and Righty were never truly meant to be mine. They were always destined for greater things than a casual relationship with the woman whose chest they call home. If I love Lefty and Righty, I will let them achieve their destiny. They're in their prime now, livin' the dream.

Bittersweet.

Last year on July 24Th, it was the first time I ever intentionally planned and did something fun on that day. It was the six year anniversary of the death of a very dear friend of mine. It was the anniversary of the deaths of two other friends as well. It was always a bitter day for me because I have never fully recovered from that loss and I still miss my friend every day. However, after six years I decided it was time that I start to heal. I went and saw Amos Lee on that day, because he is my favorite musical artist and I couldn't pass up the concert. It was wonderfully healing, sitting there in the grass on a beautiful day, with a good friend, hearing his wonderful music.

Then, we drove home and when we arrived I found out that another old friend had passed away that day. I had not been close with this friend in years, but I was still heartbroken. It was someone whose hugs and smiles I could always count on. My healing day had been interrupted by another loss. My heart has ached for the last year because I have yet to go home and pay my respects to this friend.

On January 24, 2011 I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy named Olwyn. Ever since the moment I lifted him up out of the water (which was in a pool, in my living room, and was totally rad), I have been absolutely smitten with him. He's the happiest baby I have ever met. However, I immediately connected the dates and realized that his half birthday was going to fall on a day that I consider cursed. Nothing good has ever happened to me on July 24Th. I'm not the world's most superstitious person, but I was freaking out. I still sort of am.

Yesterday came and went. I mourned my friends. I prayed for them. I looked up at the sky and told them that I loved them. I also celebrated my baby. My sweet, perfect boy was six month old yesterday. He woke up six months and one day old this morning. Yesterday was sunny and yesterday was a good day. It almost fills like the hole in my heart where my friend was is growing smaller. The memories of her are growing sweeter, just like my son. It was so bittersweet to realize that maybe, just maybe, my son is God's (and Charlie's) way of giving me something sweet to think of on a day that has always been clouded for me.

Maybe I can start finding peace that has eluded me. I know that Charlie, Vanessa, Sam, and Nathan are at peace. I like to think that they would want all of the living to be as well.

The Journey.

I really don't want to be a diet, weight-loss, and running blogger but here this goes anyways:

I have been on a journey since March 1st. That was the day that I started doing the C25K running program as well as the day that I first tracked my points with Weight Watchers. I started out not being able to run for a minute without wanting to die. Now I am training for and registered to race in a 10K. I am also more than 40 pounds lighter and two sizes smaller than I was on March 1st. I have exceeded my wildest dreams of where I would be in less than six months. I feel overwhelming pride and am experiencing a new level of self-love.

This morning, I set a new weight loss goal. I have been setting small goals this whole time and rewarding myself along the way. Today I am rewarding myself by reaching my current weight by going and getting my hair cut and dyed. When I reach this next goal, I am going to go and buy myself new pants and shirts because the ones I have are hanging off of me and I look ridiculous. When I reach my next goal, however, there will be something more significant than clothing that will make it special. The next goal that I set will be my ultimate weight loss goal.

This is both exciting and scary to me. For one thing, it is an accomplishment that I have looked forward to and dreamt of for three years. For another, I am scared of what I will do when I am NOT trying to lose weight. I know that I will keep running because I love it. But will I decide to lose a little more? Will I be able to maintain it? What will I look like? Will I be able to accept and love my body at my goal weight? Or will I always be unhappy with the way that I look?

This has been a long journey for me. I have had to confront the fact that for a long time I was being dishonest with myself about how committed I was to losing weight. I also have had to really evaluate my relationship with and habits concerning food. I have had to confront my expectations and fantasies regarding my body and place them in context of the reality of what I look like. At times I have felt fantastic and there have been low points, but for the most part I cannot believe how much I have learned about myself. I always thought that weight loss commercials were cheesy when they talked about empowerment and inner strength but I have spent the last 5 months eating my words as I learned firsthand that weight loss requires much more than diet and exercise.

I am just hoping that this isn't the end of my journey.

Inspired.

Lately, I have had a lot of trouble feeling inspired to write. But, I have not had trouble feeling inspired in general. I feel inspired all the time these days. Since writing is the only thing not inspiring me right now. I have decided to compose a short list of things that inspire me and how.

My children inspire me to be a better person. I want them to love me.

My husband inspires me to succeed. I want him to be proud of me.

My dog inspires me to be loving. When I feel misanthropic, I can still snuggle him.

Running inspires me to love me. When I run, I feel pretty.

School inspires me to keep going. I am way over the hump. The finish line is in sight. If I can finish this, I can do anything.

Books inspire me to leave my worries behind. Even the things that are the hardest to set in the back of my mind go away when I am wrapped up in a book.

Breathing when I run inspires my faith in God. It's been a long time since I felt that connection, but when I hear myself breathing when I run, I know there's a God.

My exchange student inspires me to slow down. He is so quiet and has trouble understanding me. I have to slow down for him, and it feels pretty good.

My days inspire me to not waste my nights. It's amazing what living more fully during the day will do for a person's sleep patterns.

My mom inspires me to be a good friend.

My grandma inspires me. Period.

Like.

I like that when I weigh myself, the number is going down.

I like getting dressed every day, because I feel like I look good in my clothes.

I like that my husband lets me sleep in and lay in bed and read if I want to.

I like the company of books, often more than the company of people.

I like my major, history moves me.

I like my kids, they are very cute.

I like the milky smell of my baby, which he won't have much longer.

I like music and I like a wide variety.

I like to run, it clears my mind and makes me feel like I could conquer the world.

I like my mom, she's a heckuva gal.

I like living in Washington for more reasons than I can list.

I like my husband much more than I like anyone else.

I like my dog, he's the best friend God could have given me.

I like my mama cat because she's so sweet.

I like food too much sometimes.

I like beer, but only the good stuff.

I like the interwebz, the interwebz iz entertaining.

I like me.

I like today.

On Weight Loss, Running, and My LIfe.

Sometimes I go months without blogging because I fall into a routine and I'm happy and life is blissfully normal. Generally, as far as my blog goes, no news is good news. This is the case right now. I have not written since the beginning of April because life has been great and I have nothing to report.

I ran in my first 5k race. I ran every step and I finished with a time of 41 minutes and 48 seconds. I was the 98th overall female finisher. I was ecstatic. I am registered for two more races in July and I am looking forward to them immensely. I am planning to find one or two to register for in August and I would like to attempt to run a 10k in September sometime. I just have to find the right event.

I love running. It has become a crucial component in my plan to not be depressed and crazy and it keeps me going. Every time I run, I feel like I have conquered myself. It's amazing. All of the demons and bad thoughts are gone and I am whole. I also have no cares beside the next mile. I don't have to worry about diapers or about vacuuming. Homework is on the back burner. It's just me and the road. Nothing compares to the feeling I get when I run. I wish I had the time to run in the morning and at night too. The best thing about running is that I get the wonderful feeling for free. My treadmill is paid for and it's all mine. My running shoes are paid for and have miles to go. Running doesn't require me to look pretty or smell good. It doesn't even require me to have happy thoughts. I just have to show up and pound the payment. The road is free. When there is nothing else for me to do, not a dime in the bank, and I am tired of life, I can run to be with my thoughts and to clear my head. I really love running. In fact, at this moment I am waiting for my husband to get home so that I can run.

Running has aided in my weight loss process, too. However, I think eating right has been the most crucial factor. I have almost completely had to abandon my love affair with sweets. I had to give up my hobby of baking (in favor of running, which is a healthier hobby). I miss baking and I have to fight with myself almost every day not to gorge on candy and sweets but the fact of the matter is that I love myself more right now than I have in three years. I am nearing the 40 pound mark, which will put me 20 pounds from my goal weight and I actually like looking at myself in the mirror these days. There was a time when I actively avoided mirrors and I would have never willingly let my picture be taken. To some, having twenty pounds to lose might seem like a lot but for me, it is marginal. It means that I have lost the majority of what I want to lose. That is me looking at the glass from a half-full perspective. I am over the hump and I can do it. I am big on proving things to myself and I have proved myself to myself. Now I just have to prove to myself that I won't quit until I cross the finish line. I think that when I reach my goal weight, I will probably ceremoniously break my scale. I think that will be healthy and freeing and awesome. Perhaps I will have a party when I break my scale and allow everyone to help me smash it.

That is all.

Last Week vs. This Week

Last week, when I stepped on the scale, I was disappointed but not surprised. I had gained about 2 pounds back. I knew that I had a bad week. I didn't count my points most of the week and by the weekend I had kind of resigned myself to not seeing results that week so I just ate what I wanted. I also had not worked out at all that week. I knew that I was not going to see the results that I wanted, but it didn't make it any less disappointing to see that number on the scale and to know that I had gained back weight that I had worked really hard to lose.

However, there is always a silver lining and the silver lining to my weight gain was that it renewed my motivation to keep on losing. I began this past week with new determination and I stepped back onto the treadmill and started running again as well as keeping good track of my points and making an earnest effort to make good snack and meal choices. I was very determined to get back those 2 pounds that I had gained.

This morning was my weekly weigh in and today I was overjoyed. Not only did I lose the 2 pounds that I gained last week, I lost an extra pound. That puts me below my initial weight loss goal. Today I set a new weight loss goal of 10.2 pounds. I have already lost a total of 11.8 pounds. If I lose the next 10.2 pounds in a reasonable amount of time, I will reach a secondary goal that I had set for myself to lose about 20 pounds by summer. Sure, I will still have a long way to go but for some reason I have a feeling I will stay motivated through the summer if I manage to lose the next 10.2 pounds before summer starts.

It's really easy for me to lose my motivation and talk myself out of doing what I need to do. If I have a bad day or make one bad choice, I start telling myself how pointless it is for me to keep trying. I start thinking of how nice it would be to just eat whatever I want and I even reason with myself that it isn't so bad being overweight. Then I eat more and start to feel more guilty. It's a vicious cycle. I had never realized before that I am a bit of an emotional eater. I guess I can thank Weight Watchers for helping me to learn that about myself.

The problem is that when the dust settles, I remember that my blood sugar has been high and that I am not an overweight person with good eating habits. I think it is very possible to be heavy and healthy. I know people who are plus size who have excellent eating habits. I truly believe that some people are just built bigger than others. That is not the case for me. I am overweight because I make poor dietary choices and lead an inactive lifestyle. If I eat right and stay active, I will lose weight because my body is made to be a lot more slender than it is right now. So after I eat my feelings away, I realize that I am not very healthy and that I am setting a really bad example for my kids.

I don't want to be a bad example for my children in any way, especially not when it comes to being healthy. I want my kids to be healthy and active and to enjoy their lives. It starts with me. I have to be healthy and active and enjoy my life with them and hope that they will follow suit. So when I have a bad week and I gain back 2 pounds, I need to be aware that my kids are watching and learning from my behavior. When I have a good week, they are seeing me as well and I hope that they are learning from that. I need to remember that as I change, I am leading by example.

Wish me luck as I enter into the coming week. My goal is to lose two more pounds and to work out three times. I think those are reasonable expectations to set for myself.

Lowering My Standards.

After having breastfed my older son for 26 months, when I became pregnant with my nine week old I talked a big game. I both knew immediately and still know now that I would breastfeed him until he weaned himself, no matter when that was. I entered into parenting him with the intent of breastfeeding for at least two years.

Over the past nine weeks it has become clear to me that I cannot think like that. I need to set shorter goals for myself when it comes to breastfeeding or I am going to get frustrated. If I think in terms of breastfeeding for two years, I start to think about the back pain and the leaking milk and the constant sweating and milk smell that comes from holding a hot little body and feeding him all the time. Those thoughts are intimidating when I think of them in terms of two years.

I have decided that I am going to think of them in shorter terms in order to help myself get through it. When I was breastfeeding the last time, I set an initial goal of six months and when I hit that goal I realized that it would be really awesome if I made it to one year. After a year I felt like that was too short and eighteen months was really a more suitable time to start thinking about weaning. When eighteen months rolled around, I noticed that I had friends who were still nursing their two year old. My inner competitive bitch was not to be outdone. I just knew that I had to make it to two years.

Those short, six month goals left an end in sight for me. I could imagine the day when
I would be able to leave my baby without having to rush back to nurse him. I could imagine a time when the smell of milk would not seep from my pores. I could envision a little bit of autonomy when I thought of nursing in terms of shorter goals. I liked that. It was bearable for me that way.

This time around, the things that are hard for me are somewhat different. I still don't like that I am constantly a sweaty, milky disaster, but I don't mind the thought of my baby being attached to me for two years. What is really getting to me is the back pain. Being hunched over my baby, nursing him is painful for me. I am only really comfortable when nursing if I do it laying on my side. The problem is that I can't lay down to feed him all the time, there are other things (and people) that I have to take care of.

Thinking about enduring this back pain for another 22 months was making me crazy. It made the thought of a nice, easy bottle of formula given by daddy sound like a brilliant idea. It would offer me some relief if I could supplement. It would give my back a much needed break every once in a while. It just sounds so good when I think of 22 more months of nursing. I don't want to do that, though. I don't want my baby to ever receive any formula. I want him to have only the best, and my milk is the best. I can't turn my back on my beliefs and give him formula even if it means some relief for my back. So I'll get through it the best way that I can. I'll think of it in the short term.

This means that as of today, I am a little bit more than one third of the way to my six month goal. Go Me!

Ignorance Should Not Be Blissful.

A couple of days ago I awoke to a very active Facebook feed. My mom friends had gone crazy and all of them were posting the same link. Apparently the AAP has changed its recommendation regarding car seats. The new recommendation can be found here. For many, including myself, this was a long awaited development. Personally, I have known for a very long time that rear facing is the safest position to ride in a vehicle. In fact, everybody would be safer rear facing but we all know that the driver could not rear face for practical reasons.

There is a ton of information available on the subject and any parent or caregiver wishing to research their options should be able to easily find what they need. A couple of really good articles and resources are as follows:

Here

Here

Here

The evidence in favor of leaving your children rear facing as long as possible is overwhelming. Yet, I was surprised to find a number of people on Facebook saying that this new recommendation by the AAP was "stupid" and saying that they wouldn't be putting it into practice unless it became a law. Many of them were utterly convinced that their child was too big to rear face past one year. Some people stated that their child's legs were too long and were crunched up, some stated that their kids outgrew their seats. There were some who were convinced that their kids would have been hurt worse if they had been rear facing during specific incidents.

I am generally a "to each their own" type of person. But I draw the line regarding the safety of my children and regarding the safety of yours as well. These people are WRONG. Let me slow that down. These excuses are W-R-O-N-G. They are excuses. First, and foremost, rear facing is a matter of simple physics. I am not scientifically minded and even I know that. All that a parent has to do is watch one or two videos on extended rear facing to actually see the difference between an accident with a child who is rear facing vs. an accident in which a child is facing forward.

Children are flexible, they will make their legs comfortable. They will find a way to drape their legs over the sides of the seat or they will put them up on the back of the seat. And if, by some small chance, there was an accident and the child's legs were broken the legs would surely be a smaller concern than the spine. I would certainly rather have a child in a leg cast than a child in a casket, due to a broken neck. My son is a long, skinny type of guy and he rear faced comfortably in his car seat until December 2010, when he was 3 months shy of his third birthday. He never complained because rear facing was all that he knew. His legs were fine because he made them so. There goes that argument.

The other argument is that rear facing is only safer in a front end collision and that the parent is concerned over what would happen in a rear end collision. This is a wonderful account of rear facing in a rear end collision. Here is some information on rear end collisions and rear facing car seats. Certainly, in these cases, rear facing is not making the odds worse for the child.

Finally, the fact of the matter is that unless a parent is referring to the bucket-seat style infant carrier that we use in the first months of a child's life then it is highly unlikely that a child under one year would outgrow a rear facing seat. Most infant carriers fit children until roughly 22 pounds (in my experience). But after that, you do not have to turn your child around. There are plenty of options available in all price ranges to keep a child rear facing beyond the 1 year and 20 pound minimum. Let me say that again, 1 and 20 is the MINIMUM. My long, skinny son also rear faced in a Cosco Scenera until he was over 2. The Scenera is found here and it is extremely budget friendly. In fact, my son only had to be turned in his Scenera because of his height. He is now three and has just barely crossed the weight threshold for that seat (and it is my understanding that the Scenera has a lower rear facing height in comparison with many of its competitors, so there are surely options for everyone).

In my opinion, it is ignorant to have these facts staring you in the face and to choose to remain ignorant. In fact, many of the arguments that I was seeing were based on convenience for the parents which is a whole new blog post in and of itself. Ignorance should not be blissful. To ignore facts about child safety, for whatever reason, does not make you a cool, edgy parent. It makes you a parent who is refusing to see truth at the expense of the well-being of your child. Ignorance should not be blissful and it certainly will not be blissful when a child gets an injury that could have been prevented by extended rear facing. I'm not suggesting that people run out and spend $300+ on car seats that keep their children facing rear until they are 18 years old. What I am suggesting is that we embrace the truth and we all leave our children rear facing until they outgrow the rear facing limits of their car seats.

For further reading, I suggest any interested parent or caregiver go to this site:

http://www.cpsafety.org/

It offers a plethora of information on car seat safety. I see at least two pictures of incorrectly used car seats on my Facebook feed every.single.day. This, to me, is unacceptable. It has to end. We need to keep our children safe. Keeping them facing rear is an easy way to start and it is one of the most crucial arenas in which we should be concerned about our children.

Goals and other things.

I just scored the winning goal. I hit my first weight loss goal today after 3 weeks of Weight Watchers. I'm really proud of myself because that means two things:

1) What I am doing is working and I am losing weight.
2) I am losing weight at a healthy pace that will enable me to keep it off.

I felt like a million bucks when I stepped off of the scale this morning. I still have a long way to go but if I keep losing at this pace, I will hit my goals in the amount of time I was hoping to.

I was really worried this wee that I would be tempted to over eat and I was concerned that my weight loss would halt because I didn't work out at all this week. I am not sure why, but I could never motivate myself to get on the treadmill. I would think about it and I had intentions of doing it many times but I talked myself out of it each time. This week I hope to do better. I need to run or otherwise work out at least three times.

I noticed this week that I was much more gloomy than I have been previously. Even though I managed to eat well, I still felt like "depressed Molly," much of the time. I think that exercise would have helped with that. Perhaps I would have been in less of a funk if I had gotten my endorphins pumping with a good run. I also ran out of my placenta pills last week, so I should have been even more mindful to exercise. I need to be doing everything that I can to stay ahead of my depression right now.

It's very important to me that I maintain my sanity. I remember what I was like two years ago and it was not pretty nor was it pleasant. I could barely get out of bed. I was failing as a wife and as a mother. Not to mention, I was failing myself as a person because I had let my depression get so bad that I couldn't even move. I had no fight left in me. I don't want to live like that ever again. I missed out on so many things with my family.

Depression ate me up and kept chewing. It never even bothered to spit me back out. As good as it feels to have seen that goal number on the scale this morning, I know in the back of my mind that right now I am extremely vulnerable to depression. I know that if I lay down, I could probably sleep all day. Sure, I would eat right at meal times but the other 23 1/2 hours each day I would be a lump in my bed. I've got to fight and the fight begins now.

On Natural Disasters.

We all know that last week there was a catastrophic earthquake in Japan. That earthquake led to a tsunami. Both events have led to a possible nuclear meltdown in Japan. I have a friend living in Japan who has been ordered to stay inside of her house in order to avoid the radiation. Watching the footage was horrifying for me. I sat here frozen in horror as I watched a wall of water taking over the streets of a Japanese town. I saw fires erupting and people fleeing. I watched from the other side of the world and I felt helpless. I would have done anything to help some of those people and to save some of those lives. Sadly, all I could do was to watch from the other side of the world.

Shortly after the disaster in Japan, the Facebook statuses started. Many of my friends seem to think that the end of the world is near. They believe that Jesus is coming back to Earth to take them up in the rapture. Earthquakes, they believe, are signs of the impending apocalypse. I am not here to crap on any one's beliefs. I don't do that. I hate when people do it to me, so I try my hardest not to do it to them. But I am here to say that natural disasters freak me out. They make me question the certainty of my existence and they make me doubt and mistrust the ground beneath my feet.

I hate the feeling that I have after a catastrophe strikes our planet. Whether it be a flood, an earthquake, or an act of terrorism, these catastrophes make me feel powerless and vulnerable. When I really start thinking about it, I realize that it's because I am powerless and vulnerable. I am a small person on a big planet. I have control over very little. It's terrifying. Perhaps that lack of control would feel better and less horrifying if I thought that Jesus was coming to take me to heaven. Maybe I could take comfort in the paradise that awaits me. It seems like if I was a devout Christian, all of this would be much easier to stomach. But I'm not.

I'm not a convinced, faithful follower of Christ. I'm at best a skeptic and possibly an atheist. I'm just unconvinced. I'm not ruling out that there may be a God and that he may be sending signs that he's going to bring an end to our puny, human existence. But I am also not ruling out the possibility that we have simply abused our planet too much and now it's changing. Either way, I am powerless. Either way, I don't want to think about it.

As a mother, I want my children to grow up. I want my kids to experience life and grow up and fall in love. I want them to go to college and read books. I would love it if they got the opportunity to live abroad and meet new people. I have hopes and dreams for my children that don't include not being able to save them as the ground crumbles beneath them and we all fall into a flaming abyss. But my fears and my desires don't change the fact that if it's going to happen, there is not much that I can do about it.

All I can do is keep doing what I am doing and hope for the best. I don't want to sit here and stress about the impending apocalypse. I know that some people might be excited about it because they believe that they get to go home to Jesus, but I'm not. Even if there is a Jesus and my kids get to go and be with him, I still think it sucks that they don't get to live out their lives. And more than anything, I am really sick of people on Facebook reminding me that my children's untimely demise is a possibility.

The number on the scale.

I officially started Weight Watcher's on Tuesday, but I signed up last Sunday night and I tracked my points on Monday. I made no effort to watch what I ate on Monday and I went out with a bang. As promised, I ate a donut and I even polished off a few Girl Scout cookies as a way to say goodbye to being able to stuff my face. I mostly tracked my points on Monday to get a feel for where I was "going wrong" with my food choices and to see whether a few of the things I ate daily, that I thought were fine, were really unhealthy. They were, just as I had suspected.

Starting on Tuesday and continuing through the rest of the week, I stayed well within the amount of points I was allotted daily. It wasn't easy and I had to make a very conscious effort to do so. It was difficult because I have such poor eating habits but the real challenge was on the weekend when The B-Man was home from work. His eating habits are absolutely terrible and he's a horrible influence on me. I used my daily points much more quickly when he was around and I had to use a lot of will power to shut down some of his ideas. He's got great taste in what tastes good, he just has no concept of what's healthy. He's a big boy and he can eat whatever he wants, but it takes a lot of effort on my part when what he wants sounds good to me too.

All week while I ate healthily and worked out, I kept wondering how much I weighed. I have made a choice not to expose my weight on my blog. I don't want to for several reasons, which I will not discuss here. However, my first weight loss goal is 11 pounds and I just knew that all of my hard work and diligence had to be paying off throughout the week. A couple of times I jumped on the scale and I was never disappointed. I am losing weight, so I know that what I am doing is working.

However, every time I got off the scale I had to remind myself of a few things. First, I should not expect to reach my first goal in the first week. I should just work to reaching my first goal without stopping and without getting discouraged. Second, Weight Watchers requires that I do weekly weigh ins for a reason. A person's weight fluctuates a little bit each day and therefore weekly weigh ins will give me a more accurate idea of my progress. Third, just because the scale is showing me what I want it to this time doesn't mean it will next time and it also doesn't mean that I should reward myself with a Twinkie.

The only times I weighed myself were in the first couple of days. I didn't weigh myself yesterday on purpose. Since I signed up for Weight Watchers on Sunday, today was my first weigh in. Even though I ate "normally" last Sunday and Monday, according to my tracking software I should have been on the program for a full week as of today. Sunday weigh ins are fine with me anyways because they will allow me to go into the week with an idea of a short goal and some perspective of how I can achieve it. I feel like if I weighed myself mid-week, I would overwhelm myself and possibly create some setbacks.

Today, the day of my first weigh in, I was pleasantly surprised. I have lost 5.8 pounds since the weight I entered in as my starting weight. I know that 5.8 pounds in a week is a lot to lose, but it's the kind of start that will inspire me to keep going. I don't expect to lose nearly six pounds per week from here on out. I would be happy if I lose 2-3 as long as I keep losing and am doing it in a healthy fashion.

I still have a long way to go, but I loved the number on the scale today. The number on the scale today made me look forward to seeing the number on the scale next week. The number on the scale today made it worth it to have ignored last night's craving for chocolate ice cream. I am really glad that I had an orange instead, now that I have seen my progress.

I am so proud of myself and the best part is that I earned that feeling. I earned that happiness and that pride in myself. I earned it by paying attention to what I ate. I earned it by planning meals and anticipating my next move. I earned it by getting on the treadmill and being active almost every day. It wasn't easy for me. There are a million things that I would have loved to eat this week that I didn't (in fact, I watched my husband eat several of them). I could have watched T.V. shows that I enjoy and napped when I instead chose to run on the treadmill. I worked hard for that 5.8 pound loss. I earned the right to be proud of the number on the scale today and I will be proud of the number on the scale next week, even if it isn't a 5.8 pound loss. I will be proud of that number because I will have earned it as well.