Moving on is easy... or, it should be anyway.
Sometimes, it is.
Like when you realize you have a stain on your shirt from breakfast and you have to wear it for the rest of the day. Eh! No biggy, everyone stains their shirt, right?!
That's an easy one.
When a friendship is "on the rocks" and you're left behind wondering, "Now what do I do"?
That's not so easy.
In life we have so many friendships.
The ones we've had since childhood.
The ones we create in college.
The ones we make at work.
The ones we acquire when we marry.
The ones we gain after we have kids.
And that's where I'm at...
At a time in life that is so joyous and full of new life, we find people that are in the same place as us. We are pregnant together, sharing stories of how we're feeling, doctor's appointment details, due dates and finally, getting together on maternity leave and sharing ideas on how to be a mom for the first time.
These are strong bonds. Especially when you have your second babies together too!
Sometimes, friendships get defined for a time when one's weakness is another's strength.
One is struggling with depression and anxiety after having those babies. While the other friend is strong, and collected and able to help. One day at a time, the strong one picks the weak one up, until she can stand on her own.
Then what?
Play dates, phone calls, sharing secrets, life's ups & downs.
But what if that friendship is still one-sided?
On one hand, the strong one is still helping the weak one, whether she needs it or not.
On the other hand, the weak one is branching out, getting stronger by her own methods and meeting new people, trying new things. Even though she is still struggling, she's trying to move on to a new place. She's tired of complaining, crying, and being stuck in a vicious cycle of depression and darkness. But the strong one does not come along.
Why can't the weak one give advice to the strong one? Why can't the weak one be the listener for a time? Why can't the weak one ever be seen as strong and capable? Because she feels that way. She feels renewed, positive, energetic and wants to be able to be there for the strong one as she has been there for her over the course of the friendship. Why can't the strong one stop trying to do everything, be everything and control everything?
It's okay to ask for help, as the weak one has done so many times before. And look at where she is now. She's not on top, but right where she needs to be. Still figuring out life, but knows how to get through rough times and how to revel in the good times.
Sometimes, in her new-found confidence, the weak one says too much. She has learned from the strong one how to be courteous, how to treat friends, how to be tactful yet polite with her words. But what if a situation arose that the weak one can't help but to blurt out honesty? She tries to compose herself and speak honestly, but with love and concern in her undertones. And what if, with the strong one's pride in the forefront, the honesty given by the weak one is mistaken for judgment and cruelty?
The situation has come to a head. Both friends feel passionately about their own point of view. The weak one is passionate about giving the strong one advice and showing concern over the situation. The strong one is passionate in her belief that everything is under control, although she has lost control. She knows she has been struggling for a long time. The struggle has lead to conflicting feelings of wanting to maintain control of her life, and not reach out for help, but knowing she should.
The weak one sees this and tries to help, but is rejected. Should she back up and remain weak? Give in to salvage the miss-aligned friendship? What is there to salvage if we cannot look at our friends and give in? Give in to the fact that we have lost control, show our weaknesses and cry out for help? What are friends for?
Friends are for just that... giving in. The balance of friendships sway to and fro over the years. Never ceasing in give and take. We shouldn't need labels such as strong or weak, because we are all strong AND weak at different times in our lives. The key to success in friendships is to know when these times are and embrace them.
The blessing is at the end. The blessing always comes. And our true friendships become and remain stronger in spite of these troubled times.
I cannot begin to recall all of the times I have been on either the giving or receiving ends of mercy and grace by a friend. Friends SHOULD BE able to recognize which of these times we're in, and react accordingly.
The old cliché states that friendships come and go, as they ebb and flow. The key is to know when to hang on and fight, or move on and let go.
Relationships end. Some just last longer than others. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. That doesn't mean that the time spent together wasn't valuable and worthwhile. It just means that every relationship has a purpose. Whether that purpose is for one or both friends, hopefully they both take something memorable and positive from it when they do decide it's over.
In the end, the risk of relationships is always worth it. And I wouldn't change a thing about any one I've ever had.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Stress, Schmess!
I know it's been since Feb. since I've written. I've been busy and I've also been lazy (as far as writing is concerned). But it is now fall, and I will actually be sitting in front of my computer a lot more.
So, Ava is 2 and a half.
We're potty training.
Hot & heavy.
I've never had to potty train a child before. Yes, I know I have a 5 and half year old, but I was working 40-50 hours a week and paying the big bucks for those sweet ladies at daycare to train her! That was a breeze!!
This... not so much.
I will say, that Ava gets it. She knows what she needs to do. She just needs to pee after she sits on the toilet.
And, we've had a rough 6-8 months with her being able to go #2. She just can't. Even in a diaper.
So, today is day 3 of potty training. I'm not bribing, reading books, singing, babysitting (unless to clean her up), stickering, charting, toy-ing, NOTHING. I've tried all of that. I set the expectation very clearly.
And she heard it. Loud and clear.
The first day was awesome.
The second day was pretty good too. Only 1 accident on her way to the potty, she just didn't get her pants down in time.
Today... not so good.
She peed on the dining room chair while she was eating her breakfast.
She peed on another dining room chair while she was eating her lunch.
She peed on the (tile, thank God) bathroom floor 3 times on her way to the potty.
She peed on the stairs from playing in the basement on her way to the potty.
And... the Hershey's squirts.
She still can't go #2, and it's the squirts that kill me (and her, I suppose). She squeezes with all of her might to hold that in, surely it's gonna hurt!
And all I get is a squirt! (Hey, that rhymes).
I feel so bad for her, and she is doing SO well. I can't take this frustration out on her! So, I do another load of laundry (9 in the last 2 days - we only have 4 people in our house), clean the floor, or the chair, and Ava, and move on again.
I remind her about every 10 minutes to see if she has to go. The mere mention of a chance to sit on the potty makes her have to go! So, about every 10 minutes, I'm up, I'm down, I'm up, I'm down.
I tried cleaning the house today. Handwashing the tile floors, bleaching and sanitizing the bathrooms, vacuuming, you know, the normal stuff... It took me 5 and a half hours to vacuum and shake the rugs, vacuum the hard floors (pre-wash) and clean one bathroom.
Every. Ten. Minutes.
All. Day. Long.
Now, I'm not one to hold back on admitting my weaknesses. If you've read my first ever blog post, "Flashbacks to Losing it", you'll know - I'm not ashamed of weaknesses. I will tell you this...
Potty training has pushed me to the end of sanity. I don't know why. Granted, it would push "normal" moms to the brink too, but they seem to just brush it off and move on. Me? I almost had a panic attack today. I just wanted to cry.
So, tomorrow is a new day. Ava is so proud that she gets on the potty by herself, announcing to the household that she's going potty, while unravelling the entire roll of toilet paper to wipe (whether she goes or not). I am proud of her too.
It is such hard work. Some things are easier for others, but this... this has really tested me.
I love my girls, and I'm so proud of them. I keep my frustrations to myself, never exploding or showing them that I am stressed. But, being a single married woman (I'll explain that someday), it's TOUGH.
The blessing in this is that at the end of the day, my girls go to bed. They are obedient, sweet, loving, kind and they love their Mommy. They would do anything to please me. When they go to bed, I miss them. I miss their sweet faces, their sweet voices.
And I get to have a glass (or two) of wine... FINALLY!!
So, Ava is 2 and a half.
We're potty training.
Hot & heavy.
I've never had to potty train a child before. Yes, I know I have a 5 and half year old, but I was working 40-50 hours a week and paying the big bucks for those sweet ladies at daycare to train her! That was a breeze!!
This... not so much.
I will say, that Ava gets it. She knows what she needs to do. She just needs to pee after she sits on the toilet.
And, we've had a rough 6-8 months with her being able to go #2. She just can't. Even in a diaper.
So, today is day 3 of potty training. I'm not bribing, reading books, singing, babysitting (unless to clean her up), stickering, charting, toy-ing, NOTHING. I've tried all of that. I set the expectation very clearly.
And she heard it. Loud and clear.
The first day was awesome.
The second day was pretty good too. Only 1 accident on her way to the potty, she just didn't get her pants down in time.
Today... not so good.
She peed on the dining room chair while she was eating her breakfast.
She peed on another dining room chair while she was eating her lunch.
She peed on the (tile, thank God) bathroom floor 3 times on her way to the potty.
She peed on the stairs from playing in the basement on her way to the potty.
And... the Hershey's squirts.
She still can't go #2, and it's the squirts that kill me (and her, I suppose). She squeezes with all of her might to hold that in, surely it's gonna hurt!
And all I get is a squirt! (Hey, that rhymes).
I feel so bad for her, and she is doing SO well. I can't take this frustration out on her! So, I do another load of laundry (9 in the last 2 days - we only have 4 people in our house), clean the floor, or the chair, and Ava, and move on again.
I remind her about every 10 minutes to see if she has to go. The mere mention of a chance to sit on the potty makes her have to go! So, about every 10 minutes, I'm up, I'm down, I'm up, I'm down.
I tried cleaning the house today. Handwashing the tile floors, bleaching and sanitizing the bathrooms, vacuuming, you know, the normal stuff... It took me 5 and a half hours to vacuum and shake the rugs, vacuum the hard floors (pre-wash) and clean one bathroom.
Every. Ten. Minutes.
All. Day. Long.
Now, I'm not one to hold back on admitting my weaknesses. If you've read my first ever blog post, "Flashbacks to Losing it", you'll know - I'm not ashamed of weaknesses. I will tell you this...
Potty training has pushed me to the end of sanity. I don't know why. Granted, it would push "normal" moms to the brink too, but they seem to just brush it off and move on. Me? I almost had a panic attack today. I just wanted to cry.
So, tomorrow is a new day. Ava is so proud that she gets on the potty by herself, announcing to the household that she's going potty, while unravelling the entire roll of toilet paper to wipe (whether she goes or not). I am proud of her too.
It is such hard work. Some things are easier for others, but this... this has really tested me.
I love my girls, and I'm so proud of them. I keep my frustrations to myself, never exploding or showing them that I am stressed. But, being a single married woman (I'll explain that someday), it's TOUGH.
The blessing in this is that at the end of the day, my girls go to bed. They are obedient, sweet, loving, kind and they love their Mommy. They would do anything to please me. When they go to bed, I miss them. I miss their sweet faces, their sweet voices.
And I get to have a glass (or two) of wine... FINALLY!!
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I worked out so hard my skin tingles...
I just got off the treadmill. I was only on it for 38 minutes. I burned (according to the treadmill) 455 calories. And I'm not done yet...
I discovered there's something I like to do on the treadmill - - - - - - -
R-U-N.
I worked out today while my kids were awake. Usually I do it while they're still in bed in the morning. But today, I slept in till 7 so I didn't want the morning to be rushed. I figured I'd take a shot at working out while they're playing so nicely together this afternoon.
Let me preface this by saying my "workout room" is in the basement. The main room in the basement is split into two halves - one half has my treadmill and Bowflex, while the other half (or 3/4, whatever) is the kids' tv/movie/book/toy area.
Well, they were playing nicely - until they saw me on the treadmill.
Hannah, my oldest daughter, wanted to take a turn on the treadmill. I said, through my panting, that she could have a turn when I was finished.
Then the baby fired up. Ava, my youngest daughter, just shy of 2 years old, wanted a turn too... NOW. I stopped the treadmill and tried to explain that it was Mommy's turn and when I was finished she and Sissy could take turns. This seemed to work.
As I resumed my workout, I watched as Ava went over to the couch, crossed her legs and tensed up. I knew what was happening. I just watched her stand there and moan, red-faced, until it seemed the job was done. Then she came over to me and demanded, "POOPY! POOPY! OUCH! ICKY!!" And she didn't stop until, once again, I stopped the treadmill and took her upstairs to change her.
She seemed happy again for about 2 minutes until she came over to me, back again in a full run, whining. And whining. And whining. Then whining turned into crying and crying to screeching. I told her to go upstairs and wait for mommy. I only had 10 minutes left!
Then I remembered that I didn't want to be that mom again (see previous post), so I thought, instead of running at my usual leisurely 5mph at no incline, I'd kick it up a notch.
So I took the incline up to 5 and turned the speed up to 6mph, which, for this girl, is almost a sprint.
It felt so good!
I ran and ran and ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore, and I was completely drenched in sweat. But I was no longer irritated. I cleared my mind and just... started running.
I loved every second of it.
It must have felt good to my body too because I sweat like I didn't think was possible to sweat, and my skin has that feeling similar to when you're out in the cold too long and you step into the warm house or wash your cold hands and they burn and tingle. It's so weird!
I can't wait to do it again tomorrow...
I discovered there's something I like to do on the treadmill - - - - - - -
R-U-N.
I worked out today while my kids were awake. Usually I do it while they're still in bed in the morning. But today, I slept in till 7 so I didn't want the morning to be rushed. I figured I'd take a shot at working out while they're playing so nicely together this afternoon.
Let me preface this by saying my "workout room" is in the basement. The main room in the basement is split into two halves - one half has my treadmill and Bowflex, while the other half (or 3/4, whatever) is the kids' tv/movie/book/toy area.
Well, they were playing nicely - until they saw me on the treadmill.
Hannah, my oldest daughter, wanted to take a turn on the treadmill. I said, through my panting, that she could have a turn when I was finished.
Then the baby fired up. Ava, my youngest daughter, just shy of 2 years old, wanted a turn too... NOW. I stopped the treadmill and tried to explain that it was Mommy's turn and when I was finished she and Sissy could take turns. This seemed to work.
As I resumed my workout, I watched as Ava went over to the couch, crossed her legs and tensed up. I knew what was happening. I just watched her stand there and moan, red-faced, until it seemed the job was done. Then she came over to me and demanded, "POOPY! POOPY! OUCH! ICKY!!" And she didn't stop until, once again, I stopped the treadmill and took her upstairs to change her.
She seemed happy again for about 2 minutes until she came over to me, back again in a full run, whining. And whining. And whining. Then whining turned into crying and crying to screeching. I told her to go upstairs and wait for mommy. I only had 10 minutes left!
Then I remembered that I didn't want to be that mom again (see previous post), so I thought, instead of running at my usual leisurely 5mph at no incline, I'd kick it up a notch.
So I took the incline up to 5 and turned the speed up to 6mph, which, for this girl, is almost a sprint.
It felt so good!
I ran and ran and ran and ran until I couldn't run anymore, and I was completely drenched in sweat. But I was no longer irritated. I cleared my mind and just... started running.
I loved every second of it.
It must have felt good to my body too because I sweat like I didn't think was possible to sweat, and my skin has that feeling similar to when you're out in the cold too long and you step into the warm house or wash your cold hands and they burn and tingle. It's so weird!
I can't wait to do it again tomorrow...
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
I Was THAT Mom
Something has been eating at me since last week. I've debated over & over whether or not to blog about it, because I don't want to write about my bad days - just the good ones. But I can't seem to get over it...
I was that mom - once.
I yelled at my daughter, Hannah. When I say yelled, I mean yelled - through grit teeth and tight lips.
Here's what happened:
My oldest daughter Hannah, my youngest daughter Ava and I all share a pickup truck. I'm not talking about a deluxe-four-door-tons-of-room-extra-large pickup truck. I mean standard cab shortbed, nothing extended and no bed cover. No child latch system, standard seatbelts. Nothing heated, dent in the door, ABS disabled... you get the picture. We are packed in like sardines!
My youngest daughter still has to have the toddler booster seat, and she sits in the middle, because my oldest daughter Hannah needs the shoulder strap for her seat. Everytime we get in, Hannah tries to buckle her seatbelt by herself, but the carseats are so crowded and close together she can barely reach (or find) her buckle. When she can't do something, she starts to cry. She doesn't ask for help or use words to tell me what's wrong, she just cries.
So I looked over at her and I immediately knew what was wrong - this happens often. On that night, I was tired, I hadn't had any adult interaction in over 3 days and I just let her have it.
"You're almost 5 years old! You should know how to buckle your own seatbelt"!
"I can't believe I have to get back out of the truck and come over there and buckle that belt for you! This is ridiculous!"
"Are you kidding me? Why do you just cry? Why can't you use your words and just ask for help? Then I wouldn't get so mad! Why does this happen every single time we get in the truck?"
"Well, if you can't get buckled then I will just start driving and hope nothing happens. Or better yet, you can just walk. Anyone who can't buckle their own seatbelt can just walk".
It was brutal.
The second my mouth stopped moving, I felt like dog poo. Serious dog poo. And by this time, both girls were crying, I was crying and I looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching.
This incident took me back to the time Hannah was born (see my previous post Flashbacks to Losing it) and what an incredible short fuse I had. It has taken me years to get control of my emotions and actually plug in so that I can control them.
What was my excuse today?
I had none.
None that was valid anyway. My sweet little girl did not deserve to be spoken to this way. If she ever spoke to me that way she'd be in BIG trouble. Just because I'm the mommy doesn't give me a free pass to do and say whatever I want. I'm supposed to be teaching my girls - teaching them how to properly express their feelings.
I immediately wrapped my arms around her and apologized. I told her that I had no right to speak to her that way, that I was sorry to have yelled at her. I told her how special she is to me and that even if she can't buckle her own buckle she can ask for help anytime. I will help her with no problem. And someday, when we get a bigger vehicle that's a little more family-friendly we won't have this problem.
She said she forgives me, and the little one said, "Mommy, y'ok? Ssssss (Sissy), y'ok?" And I gave her a big squeeze and told her how sorry Mommy is too. And we told her that we are all okay.
I am still trying to figure out why I got SO angry over a seatbelt! I wasn't mad at Hannah, I think I was frustrated with being crammed into the bed of a truck. We have no room for storage, and being winter, everything gets touched by wet boots or shoes and ends up wet or dirty.
All that aside, I need to remind myself that I am blessed. I'm blessed to have a husband that loves me and goes to work everyday to support us. I'm blessed to have a truck that gets us around. A lot of families can't afford 2 cars, or any vehicle for that matter. I'm blessed to have healthy children who are learning to do the tasks that will get them through life. I'm blessed that Hannah knows to buckle herself - safety first!
I could go on & on. It's unfortunate that I needed to remind myself and put myself in check. But I did. And it's been eating me up ever since.
I need to confess this (which I'm doing here), forgive myself and move on.
It's not a setback, it doesn't happen often and hopefully my daughters won't remember that moment.
I have learned from it and I will handle it better next time.
I don't ever want to be that mom again. Ever.
I was that mom - once.
I yelled at my daughter, Hannah. When I say yelled, I mean yelled - through grit teeth and tight lips.
Here's what happened:
My oldest daughter Hannah, my youngest daughter Ava and I all share a pickup truck. I'm not talking about a deluxe-four-door-tons-of-room-extra-large pickup truck. I mean standard cab shortbed, nothing extended and no bed cover. No child latch system, standard seatbelts. Nothing heated, dent in the door, ABS disabled... you get the picture. We are packed in like sardines!
My youngest daughter still has to have the toddler booster seat, and she sits in the middle, because my oldest daughter Hannah needs the shoulder strap for her seat. Everytime we get in, Hannah tries to buckle her seatbelt by herself, but the carseats are so crowded and close together she can barely reach (or find) her buckle. When she can't do something, she starts to cry. She doesn't ask for help or use words to tell me what's wrong, she just cries.
So I looked over at her and I immediately knew what was wrong - this happens often. On that night, I was tired, I hadn't had any adult interaction in over 3 days and I just let her have it.
"You're almost 5 years old! You should know how to buckle your own seatbelt"!
"I can't believe I have to get back out of the truck and come over there and buckle that belt for you! This is ridiculous!"
"Are you kidding me? Why do you just cry? Why can't you use your words and just ask for help? Then I wouldn't get so mad! Why does this happen every single time we get in the truck?"
"Well, if you can't get buckled then I will just start driving and hope nothing happens. Or better yet, you can just walk. Anyone who can't buckle their own seatbelt can just walk".
It was brutal.
The second my mouth stopped moving, I felt like dog poo. Serious dog poo. And by this time, both girls were crying, I was crying and I looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was watching.
This incident took me back to the time Hannah was born (see my previous post Flashbacks to Losing it) and what an incredible short fuse I had. It has taken me years to get control of my emotions and actually plug in so that I can control them.
What was my excuse today?
I had none.
None that was valid anyway. My sweet little girl did not deserve to be spoken to this way. If she ever spoke to me that way she'd be in BIG trouble. Just because I'm the mommy doesn't give me a free pass to do and say whatever I want. I'm supposed to be teaching my girls - teaching them how to properly express their feelings.
I immediately wrapped my arms around her and apologized. I told her that I had no right to speak to her that way, that I was sorry to have yelled at her. I told her how special she is to me and that even if she can't buckle her own buckle she can ask for help anytime. I will help her with no problem. And someday, when we get a bigger vehicle that's a little more family-friendly we won't have this problem.
She said she forgives me, and the little one said, "Mommy, y'ok? Ssssss (Sissy), y'ok?" And I gave her a big squeeze and told her how sorry Mommy is too. And we told her that we are all okay.
I am still trying to figure out why I got SO angry over a seatbelt! I wasn't mad at Hannah, I think I was frustrated with being crammed into the bed of a truck. We have no room for storage, and being winter, everything gets touched by wet boots or shoes and ends up wet or dirty.
All that aside, I need to remind myself that I am blessed. I'm blessed to have a husband that loves me and goes to work everyday to support us. I'm blessed to have a truck that gets us around. A lot of families can't afford 2 cars, or any vehicle for that matter. I'm blessed to have healthy children who are learning to do the tasks that will get them through life. I'm blessed that Hannah knows to buckle herself - safety first!
I could go on & on. It's unfortunate that I needed to remind myself and put myself in check. But I did. And it's been eating me up ever since.
I need to confess this (which I'm doing here), forgive myself and move on.
It's not a setback, it doesn't happen often and hopefully my daughters won't remember that moment.
I have learned from it and I will handle it better next time.
I don't ever want to be that mom again. Ever.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Take Another Step
I started wearing a pedometer every day.
Today since I woke up, I have taken 10,598 steps. That doesn't seem like enough.
This pedometer measures total steps taken, aerobic steps taken, calories burned and fat grams burned.
It's pretty cool.
Except it doesn't tell the whole story.
I wish it could count the time I stand and clean the kitchen.
I wish it could count all of the dirty diapers I've changed... we won't get into that again.
I wish it could count the countless trips I've made from the basement to the woods with a wheelbarrow to load wood into our indoor woodstove...
I'm currently working toward a goal to lose 50 lbs of "baby weight". It's not really baby weight, although I did gain it all from my two pregnancies, and never lost it. It should be called "lazy and made poor choices while pregnant" weight. But that's okay.
Either way, I need to lost 50 pounds. I'm in week 3 - week 1 I lost 2.5 lbs, last week I lost 6.5 lbs. My weigh-in day is Friday, so I don't know how I'm doing this week. But today, I busted my you-know-what. I had the time (or, I made the time) and I did it.
I did 2 miles on the treadmill (it said I burned 400 calories), I did 50 minutes of Biggest Loser Yoga (it's not "pleasureable" yoga - it's lead by Bob Harper and he's a butt-kicker), I burned 250 calories playing Wii Fit Plus.
Tomorrow I have Zumba. If you know anything about Zumba, whether you've tried it or know someone who has, you know that speaks for itself! Can you say 1,000 calories burned in an hour?!?!
So, I'm wearing my trusty pedometer and logging the steps I take in the computer. It actually downloads the information into a neat graph for me. I don't know why. Between the pedometer I wear on my hip and the inner pedometer in my brain, I know I'm doing my best. I am making good choices with food, and I'm definitely working out.
So, tomorrow I will wake up and do it all over again. I'll remember my goals, remind myself that I'm worth it. I've struggled to feel worth it. In this case, it's mind over matter. My mind knows that I'm worth it, even if my feelings don't believe it. Fake it till I make it, right?
I'm not looking for happiness, although I will be happier when I lose at least some of this weight. I'm looking for health, and to be a better, more active mom to my girls. My short term goal is to be down 25 lbs by my 30th birthday - in 7 weeks.
So I'll get up and take another step.
And another...
And another...
And another...
Today since I woke up, I have taken 10,598 steps. That doesn't seem like enough.
This pedometer measures total steps taken, aerobic steps taken, calories burned and fat grams burned.
It's pretty cool.
Except it doesn't tell the whole story.
I wish it could count the time I stand and clean the kitchen.
I wish it could count all of the dirty diapers I've changed... we won't get into that again.
I wish it could count the countless trips I've made from the basement to the woods with a wheelbarrow to load wood into our indoor woodstove...
I'm currently working toward a goal to lose 50 lbs of "baby weight". It's not really baby weight, although I did gain it all from my two pregnancies, and never lost it. It should be called "lazy and made poor choices while pregnant" weight. But that's okay.
Either way, I need to lost 50 pounds. I'm in week 3 - week 1 I lost 2.5 lbs, last week I lost 6.5 lbs. My weigh-in day is Friday, so I don't know how I'm doing this week. But today, I busted my you-know-what. I had the time (or, I made the time) and I did it.
I did 2 miles on the treadmill (it said I burned 400 calories), I did 50 minutes of Biggest Loser Yoga (it's not "pleasureable" yoga - it's lead by Bob Harper and he's a butt-kicker), I burned 250 calories playing Wii Fit Plus.
Tomorrow I have Zumba. If you know anything about Zumba, whether you've tried it or know someone who has, you know that speaks for itself! Can you say 1,000 calories burned in an hour?!?!
So, I'm wearing my trusty pedometer and logging the steps I take in the computer. It actually downloads the information into a neat graph for me. I don't know why. Between the pedometer I wear on my hip and the inner pedometer in my brain, I know I'm doing my best. I am making good choices with food, and I'm definitely working out.
So, tomorrow I will wake up and do it all over again. I'll remember my goals, remind myself that I'm worth it. I've struggled to feel worth it. In this case, it's mind over matter. My mind knows that I'm worth it, even if my feelings don't believe it. Fake it till I make it, right?
I'm not looking for happiness, although I will be happier when I lose at least some of this weight. I'm looking for health, and to be a better, more active mom to my girls. My short term goal is to be down 25 lbs by my 30th birthday - in 7 weeks.
So I'll get up and take another step.
And another...
And another...
And another...
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
"Mommy! There's POOP in the bathtub!"
Yes, I said it... POOP.
My 221/2 month old has been constipated. She's cutting molars. She doesn't get the runny teething poo - she gets all blocked up.
I've tried apples, fiber bars (borderline mean-mommy), citrus, you name it. So, I started using Epsom Salt baths.
SUCCESS!
While Ava is on the "Epsom Treatment", she can't have baths with her big sister.
Tonight, I wasn't paying attention. Hannah decided that baby sister was having a bath, so she should too!
When I realized Hannah was in the bath with Ava, I told Hannah about the "Epson Treatment". She didn't care - I don't think she quite realized what could happen...
20 minutes later, Hannah comes running out of the bathroom screaming, "Mommy! There's Poop in the bathtub!!"
After I stopped laughing, it hit me. What about the bath toys? Ava's still in that water! Eeeewwwww!
Hannah told me she saw her sissy "grunting" a little so she got out. "And sure enough, Mommy, she pooped!"
So, after I got the toys out (there were only 2) and put aside to clean (NOT a fun job), I pulled Ava out and bleached the tub. Then I put her back in and washed her up good. She was flying high as a kite! Her belly must have felt like brand new!!
I got Hannah back in the tub and washed her up and finished our bedtime routine.
My week wasn't complete without POOP in the bathtub!
My 221/2 month old has been constipated. She's cutting molars. She doesn't get the runny teething poo - she gets all blocked up.
I've tried apples, fiber bars (borderline mean-mommy), citrus, you name it. So, I started using Epsom Salt baths.
SUCCESS!
While Ava is on the "Epsom Treatment", she can't have baths with her big sister.
Tonight, I wasn't paying attention. Hannah decided that baby sister was having a bath, so she should too!
When I realized Hannah was in the bath with Ava, I told Hannah about the "Epson Treatment". She didn't care - I don't think she quite realized what could happen...
20 minutes later, Hannah comes running out of the bathroom screaming, "Mommy! There's Poop in the bathtub!!"
After I stopped laughing, it hit me. What about the bath toys? Ava's still in that water! Eeeewwwww!
Hannah told me she saw her sissy "grunting" a little so she got out. "And sure enough, Mommy, she pooped!"
So, after I got the toys out (there were only 2) and put aside to clean (NOT a fun job), I pulled Ava out and bleached the tub. Then I put her back in and washed her up good. She was flying high as a kite! Her belly must have felt like brand new!!
I got Hannah back in the tub and washed her up and finished our bedtime routine.
My week wasn't complete without POOP in the bathtub!
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sleep? What's that?!
Am I tired?
Of course I'm tired... I'm always tired.
From the age of 18, right out of high school, I had a great job. 7 - 5, full benefits, the whole she-bang. I could've gone anywhere... then I got laid off 2 years later. My next job I held for 7 years and I left that one for a "better opportunity" somewhere else. 2 years later, I was laid off (at least they severanced me), and another year and a half after THAT, here I am.
In those years, I'd gotten engaged, turned 21 (fun times), gotten married, lost friends, gained many new friends, built a house, had 2 awesome children.
Right now, I stay at home with my girls, patiently waiting for them to both be in school full time so I can go and get a "fun" part-time job somewhere.
Why am I SO tired?
I don't work.
I can sleep when I want to.
I can stay up as late as I want and sleep till the kids get up.
{Insert big game-show LOSER buzzer}
I DO WORK. 30 hours a day, 8 days a week, 6 weeks a month, 14 months a year - without pay. Well, monetary pay.
I can't sleep when I want to - I might miss a smile, or the baby's new word. I might miss a teaching moment with my preschooler.
I can stay up late and sleep till the kids get up, but then I'd be rushed all day. And with me, rushed = GRUMPY!!
The thing is, I am tired. But being a mom is tiresome. Last night my preschooler was up with the flu all night - from midnight to 4 AM. Then 5 AM, then 6 AM. My girls share a bedroom, so my baby thought it was time to wake up and rock & roll. So, I sat in their room and helped my big girl while she was sick. Inbetween, I was on their bedroom floor, watching the baby in her crib, while she played the Fisher Price Fish Aquarium over... and over... and over.
If I made the slightest move to leave the room, she screamed. And I mean SCREAMED!! So, to keep the peace and allow my husband (who does get up very early every morning for a paying job) and my big girl to get some sleep, I sat there. Awake. The. Whole. Time.
Around 4 AM, the baby fell asleep. Then my big girl got sick again. So, it was after 5 o'clock before I went to bed. The kids were up for the day at 8.
Yeah.
Tired.
But, days like that are long, and tiresome. I feel so bad for my kids - one is sick. One is over tired. And Mama is walking around in circles, cross-eyed.
How in the world did I ever do this, even for a minute, while holding down a job???
But looking at it from another angle, How in the world did I ever hold down a job, and still manage to get through nights like this - effectively??
We adapt. We change. We grow. We do what needs to be done and we don't think twice about it. It's hard sometimes, and thankless. Not unrewarding. Thankless.
And, we're tired?? What's wrong with us?!
I'll tell you - nothing is. It's natural, it's normal. And yet, God always manages to give us the strength and alertness when we need it. He gives us rest when we need it.
And just when it seems it will never end, my daughter looks at me and says, "Mommy, I love you. Thank you for taking care of me and washing my hair and face after a night like that!" And the baby comes up to me and says, "Go. Mommy. Eye-yub-ooooh".
So worth it.
Of course I'm tired... I'm always tired.
From the age of 18, right out of high school, I had a great job. 7 - 5, full benefits, the whole she-bang. I could've gone anywhere... then I got laid off 2 years later. My next job I held for 7 years and I left that one for a "better opportunity" somewhere else. 2 years later, I was laid off (at least they severanced me), and another year and a half after THAT, here I am.
In those years, I'd gotten engaged, turned 21 (fun times), gotten married, lost friends, gained many new friends, built a house, had 2 awesome children.
Right now, I stay at home with my girls, patiently waiting for them to both be in school full time so I can go and get a "fun" part-time job somewhere.
Why am I SO tired?
I don't work.
I can sleep when I want to.
I can stay up as late as I want and sleep till the kids get up.
{Insert big game-show LOSER buzzer}
I DO WORK. 30 hours a day, 8 days a week, 6 weeks a month, 14 months a year - without pay. Well, monetary pay.
I can't sleep when I want to - I might miss a smile, or the baby's new word. I might miss a teaching moment with my preschooler.
I can stay up late and sleep till the kids get up, but then I'd be rushed all day. And with me, rushed = GRUMPY!!
The thing is, I am tired. But being a mom is tiresome. Last night my preschooler was up with the flu all night - from midnight to 4 AM. Then 5 AM, then 6 AM. My girls share a bedroom, so my baby thought it was time to wake up and rock & roll. So, I sat in their room and helped my big girl while she was sick. Inbetween, I was on their bedroom floor, watching the baby in her crib, while she played the Fisher Price Fish Aquarium over... and over... and over.
If I made the slightest move to leave the room, she screamed. And I mean SCREAMED!! So, to keep the peace and allow my husband (who does get up very early every morning for a paying job) and my big girl to get some sleep, I sat there. Awake. The. Whole. Time.
Around 4 AM, the baby fell asleep. Then my big girl got sick again. So, it was after 5 o'clock before I went to bed. The kids were up for the day at 8.
Yeah.
Tired.
But, days like that are long, and tiresome. I feel so bad for my kids - one is sick. One is over tired. And Mama is walking around in circles, cross-eyed.
How in the world did I ever do this, even for a minute, while holding down a job???
But looking at it from another angle, How in the world did I ever hold down a job, and still manage to get through nights like this - effectively??
We adapt. We change. We grow. We do what needs to be done and we don't think twice about it. It's hard sometimes, and thankless. Not unrewarding. Thankless.
And, we're tired?? What's wrong with us?!
I'll tell you - nothing is. It's natural, it's normal. And yet, God always manages to give us the strength and alertness when we need it. He gives us rest when we need it.
And just when it seems it will never end, my daughter looks at me and says, "Mommy, I love you. Thank you for taking care of me and washing my hair and face after a night like that!" And the baby comes up to me and says, "Go. Mommy. Eye-yub-ooooh".
So worth it.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Tangled? Life can be a lot like hair...
Tangles.
Snarles.
Rat's Nest.
Our favorite in this house is Nappy Hair.
My (almost) 5 year old daugther will ask me while I'm brushing her hair, "Momma, do I have Nappy Hair today?" To which I'll answer, "Yeah, a little, but I'll be gentle and get the naps out so your hair is smooth and beautiful!"
Whatever you call them, they're no fun! Not only do they look horrible , but they hurt when you pull them out! We have our share of tangles in this house with 3 girls, all with long hair (the baby's hair is getting there).
We also have our share of tangles - - in life.
Everyone does.
The tricky part is getting them out, and knowing how pretty you want to be when they're gone.
While I was little, my tangles seemed mountainous. My parents were my hairbrush; in that they were always there to help me through them.
As a teenager, my tangles still seemed mountainous. My friends, and my parents were again there to help me through them.
Now, as an adult, sometimes my tangles still seem mountainous. And as a wife and mother, I not only have my tangles, but my husband's and my daughter's tangles to brush out too. What kind of hairbrush I'll be depends on the tangle.
I prefer the soft bristled, massaging type of hairbrush.
Sometimes, I have to be brillo-like and rip the tangles out. Some tangles are just too big and I have to cut them out with scissors. Hopefully they don't leave a short clump of hair that everyone can see.
Tangles or troubles, we like to appear put together to everyone we see and everyone we meet. Unfortunately, sometimes the tangles that we cut or rip are visible to others. Sometimes, we look at someone else and see many tangle scars. Sometimes we see none.
But I guarantee they're there.
Everyone has or has had tangles of some sort. Some people do a great job at brushing them out, while others don't. At times, we need another person to brush them out for us. Sometimes, we don't see our tangles and others will point them out. Hopefully, they'll be gentle with us so we can be "smooth and beautiful" again.
Either way, I am hoping to teach my girls to be good hairdressers for life. Gentle with themselves and gentle with others. It's a skill that took me a long time to hone in on, and I'm still learning.
So, when life resembles your hair, go find your perfect hairbrush.
If you can't find it, you can borrow mine anytime.
Snarles.
Rat's Nest.
Our favorite in this house is Nappy Hair.
My (almost) 5 year old daugther will ask me while I'm brushing her hair, "Momma, do I have Nappy Hair today?" To which I'll answer, "Yeah, a little, but I'll be gentle and get the naps out so your hair is smooth and beautiful!"
Whatever you call them, they're no fun! Not only do they look horrible , but they hurt when you pull them out! We have our share of tangles in this house with 3 girls, all with long hair (the baby's hair is getting there).
We also have our share of tangles - - in life.
Everyone does.
The tricky part is getting them out, and knowing how pretty you want to be when they're gone.
While I was little, my tangles seemed mountainous. My parents were my hairbrush; in that they were always there to help me through them.
As a teenager, my tangles still seemed mountainous. My friends, and my parents were again there to help me through them.
Now, as an adult, sometimes my tangles still seem mountainous. And as a wife and mother, I not only have my tangles, but my husband's and my daughter's tangles to brush out too. What kind of hairbrush I'll be depends on the tangle.
I prefer the soft bristled, massaging type of hairbrush.
Sometimes, I have to be brillo-like and rip the tangles out. Some tangles are just too big and I have to cut them out with scissors. Hopefully they don't leave a short clump of hair that everyone can see.
Tangles or troubles, we like to appear put together to everyone we see and everyone we meet. Unfortunately, sometimes the tangles that we cut or rip are visible to others. Sometimes, we look at someone else and see many tangle scars. Sometimes we see none.
But I guarantee they're there.
Everyone has or has had tangles of some sort. Some people do a great job at brushing them out, while others don't. At times, we need another person to brush them out for us. Sometimes, we don't see our tangles and others will point them out. Hopefully, they'll be gentle with us so we can be "smooth and beautiful" again.
Either way, I am hoping to teach my girls to be good hairdressers for life. Gentle with themselves and gentle with others. It's a skill that took me a long time to hone in on, and I'm still learning.
So, when life resembles your hair, go find your perfect hairbrush.
If you can't find it, you can borrow mine anytime.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)