Not a day goes by that I don't complain about my weight. It's like this giant, looming number ready to ruin my day. I don't remember the last time I stepped on a scale.
I also don't remember the last time I stepped in a gym. I get in these spurts where I'll exercise, eat right, lose weight. But I'm friggin hungry! So inevitably, I break down. And eat. And eat. And eat.
And then not a day goes by that I don't complain about my weight. Especially during the summer. Bathing suits are my nemesis. So are shorts. I hate my legs. Always have, always will. And I've got this tire that refuses to deflate around my midsection. Then again, I'm not doing anything to help it go away, except complain, and eat more crap.
I admire those people who are accountable to themselves. They write food diaries. They have a workout partner. My sister has asked me several times to go to the gym, and I honestly don't feel like it.
Today I downed last night's dessert for breakfast. I know. Gross. But soooo good. And then I decided to do sit ups and leg lifts. On the bed. But I do them on the bed for a legitimate reason...my back. My back won't fuss at me if I do them on the bed.
A friend of mine recently made herself accountable for Art Every Day. It's an awesome blog. I look at it every day. I definitely create art every day. It's just in me. But I don't move every day, or eat healthy every day.
I complain every day, but that's pretty much as far as I get. People tell me I don't need to work out. "You have an active toddler. Running after him is enough." But that's just it. He runs circles around me. I don't run with him.
So I've decided to be more active. Sit less. And at least think twice about dessert for breakfast. I'm not quite ready yet to record weights, food intake and exercise, but I'm thinking about it. And at least I've made a conscious decision to move. That's got to be better than nothing, right?
And I haven't forgotten about my commitment to write about my grandparents, either. Each one deserves the best. And I'm at my writing best when I'm inspired. And lately I've pretty much only been inspired to eat dessert for breakfast. But I'll get there...
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Mind Games
I've never been big on mind games. But what my mind does to itself it just plain ridiculous. Anytime I feel boated, or get the slightest nauseated, or feel anything even the slightest bit like what I felt when I was pregnant, I psych myself up into thinking I'm preggers.
And that's not a good thing. The panic sets in, the shakes, the sweats, the not being able to breath. Today I didn't eat enough breakfast before taking my morning pills, and that can upset my tummy. So of course, right before lunchtime I get hungry, and my tummy doesn't feel so good. So I spent the last hour fighting the panic attack. Once I began to sweat and get scared because Jasen isn' home, I realized it was time to take my medication. My doctor lets me decide the dose, up to a certain amount, so I took what I thought would be enough to knock it out. And the medication dissolves on my tongue. Forty-five minutes later, the panic attack has passed, and now the meds are working SO well I'm thinking another baby would be cool.
Today I hate my brain. I know it's impossible for me to be pregnant...birth control, timing, everything is just perfect for no mistakes. But still. I couldn't talk myself out of it. And that's absolutely infuriating to me. I have a master's degree, and can't rationalize and reason with my own brain? What the heck is that?
About and hour after taking my panic medicine I crash, and desperately need a nap. So hopefully, I can snuggle up in the chair with and just catch 20 minutes of sleep. And since he just climbed into my lap and yawned, that's my cue to get the heck off of here and try to rest. I'd just like tell my brain that I'm sick of its mind games. They're not fun. And it's just not playing nice.
And that's not a good thing. The panic sets in, the shakes, the sweats, the not being able to breath. Today I didn't eat enough breakfast before taking my morning pills, and that can upset my tummy. So of course, right before lunchtime I get hungry, and my tummy doesn't feel so good. So I spent the last hour fighting the panic attack. Once I began to sweat and get scared because Jasen isn' home, I realized it was time to take my medication. My doctor lets me decide the dose, up to a certain amount, so I took what I thought would be enough to knock it out. And the medication dissolves on my tongue. Forty-five minutes later, the panic attack has passed, and now the meds are working SO well I'm thinking another baby would be cool.
Today I hate my brain. I know it's impossible for me to be pregnant...birth control, timing, everything is just perfect for no mistakes. But still. I couldn't talk myself out of it. And that's absolutely infuriating to me. I have a master's degree, and can't rationalize and reason with my own brain? What the heck is that?
About and hour after taking my panic medicine I crash, and desperately need a nap. So hopefully, I can snuggle up in the chair with and just catch 20 minutes of sleep. And since he just climbed into my lap and yawned, that's my cue to get the heck off of here and try to rest. I'd just like tell my brain that I'm sick of its mind games. They're not fun. And it's just not playing nice.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Grandaddy at Blackwater, aka Big Dan
I spent today in the boat with Jasen, Juni, my dad and his wife Kim. I absolutely love the smell of the brown water.It's earthy, fishy and fresh, all at the same time. I love the wind in my hair. As a child, I'd perch in the bow and howl like a wolf into the air.
Today reminded me just how much I miss all of my grandparents that have passed. I think about each of them almost daily, but even more so on days like today. And so I decided to write a little something about each one. This is the first installment about my Grandaddy at Blackwater, as we called him. My Dad's Dad.
Grandaddy was called Big Dan for a reason. He was big in every way. Tall, fat, boisterous. A truly larger-than-life personality. The man had giant hands, like my Dad's, and gave the best bear hugs you
imagine. He would hug me so hard my shoes would lift off of the floor. And he had huge cheeks - jowls, really, that blushed when he laughed.
He had bright blue eyes and delicate silver hair. He used to love it when my sister and I would fiddle with his hair while he drove the car.
My Grandaddy loved his family, food, and life as a whole. I have the feeling he was a little wild in his youth - he was a moonshine runner, drinker, and rumor has it he once took a bullet to the belly.
He worked hard as a young adult, built a hugely successful business, and retired early. Grandaddy took risks. He bought property, played the stock market, dreamed of developing.
Here are some of my favorite memories:
Seeing Grandaddy squeeze himself into my freshman dorm room at Tech. He said it felt like a jail cell, and he started to sweat. "How can you stand it in here, girl? The walls are cinder blocks! And I can hardly turn around in this room. I need some air. Let's go get some dinner."
The way he looked when I graduated college. He wasn't hard to pick out of the crowd, not only because of his size, but because of the enormous smile on his face. I was the first in our family to ever graduate, and it meant the world to me that he made the trip.
Riding in the boat. I felt so safe and secure, even though he drove way too fast with motors way too big. We took Jasen out when we were first engaged. Jasen grabbed the console so tightly his knuckles turned white. "What's wrong whitcha, boy? Scared?" I'm pretty sure only the prop was in the water at that point.
My 13th birthday, when he let 25 newly-dubbed teenagers spend the night in his Shop (which is a house with commercial kitchen, Jacuzzi and pool table). He stepped on grapes the next morning on the floor, and found Elizbeth's very frozen bra in his freezer. "What the heck is this, girl? A band aid?"
His chitterling parties. Women, thank God, were not allowed. Jasen and his grandfather went to the last one he threw before he died, and burped pig guts for 3 days. Grandaddy loved to entertain so much that he put in a commercial kitchen in the shop. I loved t watch him cook. He had huge steamers, pots, knives. It was like being in a restaurant. And the more the merrier.
Being driven to high school in his Rolls. They never drove that car. But he drove me to school in it, and picked me up a few times. They also drove it to Tech once, and I'm pretty sure he just about had a heart attack when he saw the on-street parking.
Spending the night at his house, and having a weekend-long panic attack. I couldn't sleep, so he and Corky would take turns rubbing my head and back all night. When it was Granddaddy's shift I'd know it, because his giant fingers would beat against my head rather than scratch or rub. He also snored. Loud. Even during naps in his over sized La-Z-Boy, the man snored.
His stories. Just talking to this man made me happy. He was loud, with a unique accent, and had the best stories.
His hugs. The best ever, hands down. I could never get my arms around him, but I did manage to snap his red suspenders every time I saw him. He was a financially successful man, but wore a pair of blue overalls all the time, with tan shoes.
His diamond. He bought some crazy diamond - it's over 10 carats, I believe. He kept it in a safe along with some other jewelry that he'd take out and show me sometimes. I remember seeing all of his perfectly pressed clothes and thinking I'd never really seen him in any of them.
When he was sick in the hospital, and I told him I was engaged. "You've picked a good boy, girl. He's a boy that can take care of you." He then turned to Jasen, tears glistening in his eyes, and told him he loved him. I asked him if we could get married on the water at his house and have the rehearsal dinner in the Shop, and we spent the afternoon planning the food. I love that he got to see my house, and know I was going to be well taken care of. He knew Jasen would work hard and provide for our family. He passed away unexpectedly from a massive stroke 4 months before the wedding.
Holding his hand when the doctors turned off the machines. It was definitely a Steel Magnolia moment. All three of his granddaughters were by his side. I remember trying to imprint on my brain just how big his hands were, and how strong his body was. It was a moment I never want to relive, but am so grateful to have had.
Seeing his picture propped above Jasen's head in the gazebo where we were married. A hot tear rolled down my cheek.
I inherited many things from Grandaddy. His bunions. His blue eyes. His round head and pronounced cheeks (Juni is a spitting image sometimes). I even inherited his insatiable appetite and love for food. I love entertaining like he did, and family.
Anyone who met my Grandad never forgot him. You couldn't, really. He was just that cool. I'm sure there are countless other memories I have hidden somewhere in my little pea-brain, but to be honest, I'm getting a headache from controlling my tears. And my face is beginning to burn from the salt. I just hope he knows how much I love him, and how proud I am to be his granddaughter. Big Dan was definitely one of a kind.
Today reminded me just how much I miss all of my grandparents that have passed. I think about each of them almost daily, but even more so on days like today. And so I decided to write a little something about each one. This is the first installment about my Grandaddy at Blackwater, as we called him. My Dad's Dad.
Grandaddy was called Big Dan for a reason. He was big in every way. Tall, fat, boisterous. A truly larger-than-life personality. The man had giant hands, like my Dad's, and gave the best bear hugs you
imagine. He would hug me so hard my shoes would lift off of the floor. And he had huge cheeks - jowls, really, that blushed when he laughed.
He had bright blue eyes and delicate silver hair. He used to love it when my sister and I would fiddle with his hair while he drove the car.
My Grandaddy loved his family, food, and life as a whole. I have the feeling he was a little wild in his youth - he was a moonshine runner, drinker, and rumor has it he once took a bullet to the belly.
He worked hard as a young adult, built a hugely successful business, and retired early. Grandaddy took risks. He bought property, played the stock market, dreamed of developing.
Here are some of my favorite memories:
Seeing Grandaddy squeeze himself into my freshman dorm room at Tech. He said it felt like a jail cell, and he started to sweat. "How can you stand it in here, girl? The walls are cinder blocks! And I can hardly turn around in this room. I need some air. Let's go get some dinner."
The way he looked when I graduated college. He wasn't hard to pick out of the crowd, not only because of his size, but because of the enormous smile on his face. I was the first in our family to ever graduate, and it meant the world to me that he made the trip.
Riding in the boat. I felt so safe and secure, even though he drove way too fast with motors way too big. We took Jasen out when we were first engaged. Jasen grabbed the console so tightly his knuckles turned white. "What's wrong whitcha, boy? Scared?" I'm pretty sure only the prop was in the water at that point.
My 13th birthday, when he let 25 newly-dubbed teenagers spend the night in his Shop (which is a house with commercial kitchen, Jacuzzi and pool table). He stepped on grapes the next morning on the floor, and found Elizbeth's very frozen bra in his freezer. "What the heck is this, girl? A band aid?"
His chitterling parties. Women, thank God, were not allowed. Jasen and his grandfather went to the last one he threw before he died, and burped pig guts for 3 days. Grandaddy loved to entertain so much that he put in a commercial kitchen in the shop. I loved t watch him cook. He had huge steamers, pots, knives. It was like being in a restaurant. And the more the merrier.
Being driven to high school in his Rolls. They never drove that car. But he drove me to school in it, and picked me up a few times. They also drove it to Tech once, and I'm pretty sure he just about had a heart attack when he saw the on-street parking.
Spending the night at his house, and having a weekend-long panic attack. I couldn't sleep, so he and Corky would take turns rubbing my head and back all night. When it was Granddaddy's shift I'd know it, because his giant fingers would beat against my head rather than scratch or rub. He also snored. Loud. Even during naps in his over sized La-Z-Boy, the man snored.
His stories. Just talking to this man made me happy. He was loud, with a unique accent, and had the best stories.
His hugs. The best ever, hands down. I could never get my arms around him, but I did manage to snap his red suspenders every time I saw him. He was a financially successful man, but wore a pair of blue overalls all the time, with tan shoes.
His diamond. He bought some crazy diamond - it's over 10 carats, I believe. He kept it in a safe along with some other jewelry that he'd take out and show me sometimes. I remember seeing all of his perfectly pressed clothes and thinking I'd never really seen him in any of them.
When he was sick in the hospital, and I told him I was engaged. "You've picked a good boy, girl. He's a boy that can take care of you." He then turned to Jasen, tears glistening in his eyes, and told him he loved him. I asked him if we could get married on the water at his house and have the rehearsal dinner in the Shop, and we spent the afternoon planning the food. I love that he got to see my house, and know I was going to be well taken care of. He knew Jasen would work hard and provide for our family. He passed away unexpectedly from a massive stroke 4 months before the wedding.
Holding his hand when the doctors turned off the machines. It was definitely a Steel Magnolia moment. All three of his granddaughters were by his side. I remember trying to imprint on my brain just how big his hands were, and how strong his body was. It was a moment I never want to relive, but am so grateful to have had.
Seeing his picture propped above Jasen's head in the gazebo where we were married. A hot tear rolled down my cheek.
I inherited many things from Grandaddy. His bunions. His blue eyes. His round head and pronounced cheeks (Juni is a spitting image sometimes). I even inherited his insatiable appetite and love for food. I love entertaining like he did, and family.
Anyone who met my Grandad never forgot him. You couldn't, really. He was just that cool. I'm sure there are countless other memories I have hidden somewhere in my little pea-brain, but to be honest, I'm getting a headache from controlling my tears. And my face is beginning to burn from the salt. I just hope he knows how much I love him, and how proud I am to be his granddaughter. Big Dan was definitely one of a kind.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
As if going to the GYN wasn't uncomfortable enough...
I love my OB-GYN. He's hilarious. And thorough. His bedside manner is spot-on, and I'm comfortable talking to him.
The problem is, so does everyone else. He's always late. Hours, sometimes. And that annoys the crap out of me. Like my time is worth less than his because I'm not a doctor. But whatever. Doctors are always like that.
My yearly exam is not something I look forward to. Poking, prodding, paper clothes. Stepping on the scale. It all sucks. Big time.
But as if going to the GYN wasn't uncomfortable enough, my dear doctor decided to put a television in the waiting room. And not just any television. This television is one big infomercial for STDs, sexual dysfunction, pregnancy and any kind of discharge you can thing of.
I realized the addition when I sat down in the waiting room, next to an expecting couple. They were adorable. And then the woman on the tube began talking about the signs of Chlamydia. In men. I never knew something could be so disgusting and graphic with no pictures. This poor couple and I turned 14 shades of red. It was horrible.
The television made it's way through every possible sign of every possible STD. Fun times. Then it turned to self-exams for men and women, annoyances during pregnancy, and random sexual issues.
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for education and openness. But in the waiting room? Seriously? Whatever happened to setting out a stack of brochures? I felt like I was in the middle of Crazy Town. Like there was a camera on me, waiting for me to just bust out laughing.
I'm pretty sure everyone else in the waiting room felt the same way as I did. We were all staring at the floor, feeling our cheeks burn, and giggling like a middle-schooler in sex-ed/
The problem is, so does everyone else. He's always late. Hours, sometimes. And that annoys the crap out of me. Like my time is worth less than his because I'm not a doctor. But whatever. Doctors are always like that.
My yearly exam is not something I look forward to. Poking, prodding, paper clothes. Stepping on the scale. It all sucks. Big time.
But as if going to the GYN wasn't uncomfortable enough, my dear doctor decided to put a television in the waiting room. And not just any television. This television is one big infomercial for STDs, sexual dysfunction, pregnancy and any kind of discharge you can thing of.
I realized the addition when I sat down in the waiting room, next to an expecting couple. They were adorable. And then the woman on the tube began talking about the signs of Chlamydia. In men. I never knew something could be so disgusting and graphic with no pictures. This poor couple and I turned 14 shades of red. It was horrible.
The television made it's way through every possible sign of every possible STD. Fun times. Then it turned to self-exams for men and women, annoyances during pregnancy, and random sexual issues.
Don't get me wrong. I'm all for education and openness. But in the waiting room? Seriously? Whatever happened to setting out a stack of brochures? I felt like I was in the middle of Crazy Town. Like there was a camera on me, waiting for me to just bust out laughing.
I'm pretty sure everyone else in the waiting room felt the same way as I did. We were all staring at the floor, feeling our cheeks burn, and giggling like a middle-schooler in sex-ed/
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