My friend Brenda has a blog. Now, I have lots of friends with blogs, as you can see for yourself if you check out the "Blogs I Follow" page. But Brenda's blog isn't just chatty and interesting (as I hope mine is). Hers is actually useful. If you're a busy mom, you should be following it. Like it on Facebook, and you can be notified whenever she makes a new post. Subscribe via email. Trust me, you'll be glad you did!
Brenda's blog is called "Meal Planning Magic," and it's all about planning healthy meals in advance to save time on busy nights (as opposed to running in the door after work or school or taxiing and going, "Now what the hell am I going to make for dinner?"). She also often adds tips for staying green in the kitchen, a topic that's near and dear to my own heart (and one of the reasons Brenda and I are such good friends, being two of the 25 or so Texans who are actually concerned about the environment!).
If you're a busy mom (that's pretty much all moms, right?) or dad who happens to cook, you really should check it out. Interesting AND useful all rolled into one blog. What a concept! To sweeten the pot, she's offering a back-to-school lunch kit giveaway right now. Read all about it at www.mealplanningmagic.com. For the giveaway, check out the August 17 post.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Receiving Grace Under Pressure
My thyroid is acting up again. No, I don't have the labs to back this information up (my endocrinologist recently left her practice, and I've yet to find a new one--again). But I know. I always know.
I have hyperthyroidism. When I tell people this, they get this kind of excited look in their eyes, and go, "Oh, that's the good kind, right?" Umm, no. It gives me headaches that can't be relieved. It makes me feel wired, like I've had 12 cups of coffee, even though I don't drink coffee or pretty much anything else with caffeine in it. It makes me irritable (OK, bitchy). I have trouble sleeping. I'm hungry all the time. And I cannot (possibly ever) get rid of the last 20 pounds, even though I work out and eat healthy pretty much all the time, because my body, in its infinite wisdom, recognizes that it's getting too much thyroid hormone and slows down my metabolism to compensate. This somewhat lessens my risk for a stroke or a heart attack (two risks with my disease), but it makes it difficult to look in the mirror on a daily basis.
But the reason I know it's acting up right now is the anxiety. It's a gut-wrenching, soul-grabbing, gripping anxiety that weighs me down and prevents me from focusing on anything that's actually important because I'm bogged down in worrying. Endlessly. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, the absolute worst time, and makes my insides churn. I shake and sweat, toss and turn, and I can't think one rational thought. I want to cry, but I can't. I don't tell anyone about the anxiety, not even my husband. The things I worry over are too petty. I fear that I'll seem like a silly little woman, blubbering over my tiny issues when there are real problems in the world. Hell, there are real problems in my own life.
So I pray. I pray for God to take this anxiety from me. And He responds. He says, "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more that He'll take it. And He responds again. "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more for Him to take it. And He responds once again: "Carey, give it to me. I've got it covered. You just have to let it go. I can't take it from you if you won't give it to me." But I can't. I simply don't know how to. It's not that I don't trust Him. I really do. I know He's got it covered. There are much greater things in my life that I could worry about, but I don't because I know God's got them covered, and it will all work out, and it will all be good. So when I start waking up in the middle of the night riddled with nonsensical worry, I know it's my thyroid pumping entirely too much of nearly every hormone into my system. And it sucks.
For whatever reason, my body grows nodules on my thyroid. So far, they've always been non-cancerous. But they are "hot," meaning they produce thyroid hormone over and above what my thyroid itself is producing. At this time, the amount is minimal. Eventually, I will probably have to have my thyroid removed either through surgery or radiation (probably radiation). My first endocrinologist wanted to do this the week she reached a diagnosis. I am not OK with this. In my opinion, it is simply trading one set of problems for another. Once my thyroid is removed, I will for the rest of my life have to artificially supply my body with thyroid hormone in order to function. And as changes occur in my life, everything from weight gains and losses to life events to menopause, we'll have to start over again figuring out the correct dosage to keep me functioning properly. And as anyone who has ever struggled with hypothyroidism knows, that is an ongoing challenge. One I will probably have to face one day, but I don't see any reason to face it just yet.
But other than removing my thryoid, there is no treatment for hyperthyroidism. However, I've found that I can keep my levels just above "normal" (rather than way above "normal") with a healthy diet and lots of exercise. There is no scientific proof of this. My endocrinologist simply smiles and gives me a look that says, "Whatever you say" whenever I mention it. But if I'm eating right and exercising, I can keep that anxiety at bay, and the lab work always shows I'm right (if I have labs drawn while I'm experiencing that gut-gripping anxiety, they show highly elevated thyroid levels every time).
I have been eating fairly well, but I've been up against insane work deadlines and haven't made it to the gym in two weeks. And it shows.
Yesterday God gave me the most incredible gift of grace. I woke up early, gripped with anxiety. I got up and got ready for church, still with the dreaded fist of fear churning in my stomach. During church, I barely heard the message, obsessed as I was with my petty problems. But I prayed for the problem to go away. I had been obsessing for several days over one thing, something not even significant enough to discuss here. But in an anxiety-induced state, even the most minor of issues seem enormous. This anxiety brings new meaning to the phrase, "making mountains out of molehills."
In church, I prayed for resolution to the minor issue so that my anxiety would go away, since I seem unable to hand it over. As I walked out of church, before I even stepped into the parking lot, I was literally handed the resolution to my problem. The anxiety left immediately and has not returned.
This morning, I still have the crazy work deadlines hanging over my head. But I went to the gym anyway. It's my way of thanking God for His gift of grace and promising Him to do everything I can to not allow the gripping fear to return. My body will not control me. I have been given the power to control it, and today I am thankful for that power.
I have hyperthyroidism. When I tell people this, they get this kind of excited look in their eyes, and go, "Oh, that's the good kind, right?" Umm, no. It gives me headaches that can't be relieved. It makes me feel wired, like I've had 12 cups of coffee, even though I don't drink coffee or pretty much anything else with caffeine in it. It makes me irritable (OK, bitchy). I have trouble sleeping. I'm hungry all the time. And I cannot (possibly ever) get rid of the last 20 pounds, even though I work out and eat healthy pretty much all the time, because my body, in its infinite wisdom, recognizes that it's getting too much thyroid hormone and slows down my metabolism to compensate. This somewhat lessens my risk for a stroke or a heart attack (two risks with my disease), but it makes it difficult to look in the mirror on a daily basis.
But the reason I know it's acting up right now is the anxiety. It's a gut-wrenching, soul-grabbing, gripping anxiety that weighs me down and prevents me from focusing on anything that's actually important because I'm bogged down in worrying. Endlessly. It wakes me up in the middle of the night, the absolute worst time, and makes my insides churn. I shake and sweat, toss and turn, and I can't think one rational thought. I want to cry, but I can't. I don't tell anyone about the anxiety, not even my husband. The things I worry over are too petty. I fear that I'll seem like a silly little woman, blubbering over my tiny issues when there are real problems in the world. Hell, there are real problems in my own life.
So I pray. I pray for God to take this anxiety from me. And He responds. He says, "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more that He'll take it. And He responds again. "OK. Give it to me." And I pray some more for Him to take it. And He responds once again: "Carey, give it to me. I've got it covered. You just have to let it go. I can't take it from you if you won't give it to me." But I can't. I simply don't know how to. It's not that I don't trust Him. I really do. I know He's got it covered. There are much greater things in my life that I could worry about, but I don't because I know God's got them covered, and it will all work out, and it will all be good. So when I start waking up in the middle of the night riddled with nonsensical worry, I know it's my thyroid pumping entirely too much of nearly every hormone into my system. And it sucks.
For whatever reason, my body grows nodules on my thyroid. So far, they've always been non-cancerous. But they are "hot," meaning they produce thyroid hormone over and above what my thyroid itself is producing. At this time, the amount is minimal. Eventually, I will probably have to have my thyroid removed either through surgery or radiation (probably radiation). My first endocrinologist wanted to do this the week she reached a diagnosis. I am not OK with this. In my opinion, it is simply trading one set of problems for another. Once my thyroid is removed, I will for the rest of my life have to artificially supply my body with thyroid hormone in order to function. And as changes occur in my life, everything from weight gains and losses to life events to menopause, we'll have to start over again figuring out the correct dosage to keep me functioning properly. And as anyone who has ever struggled with hypothyroidism knows, that is an ongoing challenge. One I will probably have to face one day, but I don't see any reason to face it just yet.
But other than removing my thryoid, there is no treatment for hyperthyroidism. However, I've found that I can keep my levels just above "normal" (rather than way above "normal") with a healthy diet and lots of exercise. There is no scientific proof of this. My endocrinologist simply smiles and gives me a look that says, "Whatever you say" whenever I mention it. But if I'm eating right and exercising, I can keep that anxiety at bay, and the lab work always shows I'm right (if I have labs drawn while I'm experiencing that gut-gripping anxiety, they show highly elevated thyroid levels every time).
I have been eating fairly well, but I've been up against insane work deadlines and haven't made it to the gym in two weeks. And it shows.
Yesterday God gave me the most incredible gift of grace. I woke up early, gripped with anxiety. I got up and got ready for church, still with the dreaded fist of fear churning in my stomach. During church, I barely heard the message, obsessed as I was with my petty problems. But I prayed for the problem to go away. I had been obsessing for several days over one thing, something not even significant enough to discuss here. But in an anxiety-induced state, even the most minor of issues seem enormous. This anxiety brings new meaning to the phrase, "making mountains out of molehills."
In church, I prayed for resolution to the minor issue so that my anxiety would go away, since I seem unable to hand it over. As I walked out of church, before I even stepped into the parking lot, I was literally handed the resolution to my problem. The anxiety left immediately and has not returned.
This morning, I still have the crazy work deadlines hanging over my head. But I went to the gym anyway. It's my way of thanking God for His gift of grace and promising Him to do everything I can to not allow the gripping fear to return. My body will not control me. I have been given the power to control it, and today I am thankful for that power.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
I Am Free to Write
So it's 11:00 on a Thursday evening. Thomas has been called to Lafayette on business at the last minute, and we're leaving for vacation in less than 36 hours. Packing and preparation is all on me. The kids are asleep, and I'm facing a mountain of laundry, a pile of dishes, a list of things to gather and pack a mile long, an 8-hour work day tomorrow, and a writing "assignment" for tonight. I have agreed to be a prayer partner for a member of our church attending Big House (a youth mission trip) next week. Ashley and the rest of the youth and chaperones will leave the day after we return from our vacation next week. So I have to get my "assignment"—four cards of encouragement—completed tonight. And I have drawn the Assistant Youth Director as my prayer partner—a young man who appears to be about 10 times more God-inspired than I can ever hope to be! So I'm just at a loss as to what to write, and I've therefore been putting it off. I mean what could I possibly say to him that won't sound completely, well, stupid?
So I'm flipping through the mail I tossed on the counter when I came home two hours ago, and there in the pile is the Women of Faith CD I requested last week. I must admit my first, highly un-Christian thought was, "Great. Another unpaid writing assignment." And one that I asked for, no less! Last week they were looking for 50 bloggers to receive their CD for free in exchange for writing a 200+ word review on my blog plus a review on iTunes. I requested the assignment because I liked the idea of trying out a new type of writing. I received the assignment, apparently, because God decided it was time to hit me from a new angle.
Now, I have to tell you that I am a rocker chick at heart. Completely and unabashedly. If it's loud, fast, and has big hair, I probably have the CD. I love the worship music at church every Sunday, and I get fully into it. But when I walk out the door, while I don't leave my faith behind as some people do, I do seem to leave my love of worship music behind. I've tried, but I can't pull away from my rock 'n' roll! But I loved the music at the Women of Faith conference (if you haven't been to one, find one near you and GO! http://www.womenoffaith.com/), I liked the idea of writing a music review, and I knew it wouldn't hurt me one bit to give listening to worship music another try. Perhaps, like new foods, new types of music must be tried repeatedly for them to grow on you.
So I popped the CD into my kitchen player while I sorted laundry and washed dishes. I'm only previously familiar with the second track on the CD, "I Am Free." It's one of my absolute faves, so this is a good start. Before long, I've forgotten my grumpy and un-Christian thinking, and I'm singing along as I do up the dishes, finish sorting the mail, and find myself inspired to knock out those four letters of encouragement. And I have my review. The CD rocks in a gospel-y, worship-y kind of a way. I am humming track 6, "Indescribable," as I write. It might not replace Van Halen or Guns N Roses in my elliptical playlist...well, then again, it might. The songs are all fast enough to exercise to (with only the last three slowing down enough for a cooldown), and they are certainly more inspirational and less angry than GNR to keep me going when I get tired!
If you find yourself in need of new inspiration—or encouraging words to write to someone else—try downloading Worship by the Women of Faith Worship Team from iTunes. My favorite is still "I Am Free": "Who the Son sets free is free indeed!" Now that is freedom!!
So I'm flipping through the mail I tossed on the counter when I came home two hours ago, and there in the pile is the Women of Faith CD I requested last week. I must admit my first, highly un-Christian thought was, "Great. Another unpaid writing assignment." And one that I asked for, no less! Last week they were looking for 50 bloggers to receive their CD for free in exchange for writing a 200+ word review on my blog plus a review on iTunes. I requested the assignment because I liked the idea of trying out a new type of writing. I received the assignment, apparently, because God decided it was time to hit me from a new angle.
Now, I have to tell you that I am a rocker chick at heart. Completely and unabashedly. If it's loud, fast, and has big hair, I probably have the CD. I love the worship music at church every Sunday, and I get fully into it. But when I walk out the door, while I don't leave my faith behind as some people do, I do seem to leave my love of worship music behind. I've tried, but I can't pull away from my rock 'n' roll! But I loved the music at the Women of Faith conference (if you haven't been to one, find one near you and GO! http://www.womenoffaith.com/), I liked the idea of writing a music review, and I knew it wouldn't hurt me one bit to give listening to worship music another try. Perhaps, like new foods, new types of music must be tried repeatedly for them to grow on you.
So I popped the CD into my kitchen player while I sorted laundry and washed dishes. I'm only previously familiar with the second track on the CD, "I Am Free." It's one of my absolute faves, so this is a good start. Before long, I've forgotten my grumpy and un-Christian thinking, and I'm singing along as I do up the dishes, finish sorting the mail, and find myself inspired to knock out those four letters of encouragement. And I have my review. The CD rocks in a gospel-y, worship-y kind of a way. I am humming track 6, "Indescribable," as I write. It might not replace Van Halen or Guns N Roses in my elliptical playlist...well, then again, it might. The songs are all fast enough to exercise to (with only the last three slowing down enough for a cooldown), and they are certainly more inspirational and less angry than GNR to keep me going when I get tired!
If you find yourself in need of new inspiration—or encouraging words to write to someone else—try downloading Worship by the Women of Faith Worship Team from iTunes. My favorite is still "I Am Free": "Who the Son sets free is free indeed!" Now that is freedom!!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Feeding vs. Nourishing: An Observation
For several years now, I've been on a long, slow journey to get my body back in shape. Or maybe just "in shape" to begin with. I never worked out or was athletic in even the remotest sense of the word before. I was just naturally thin my whole life. Until I started having kids. And then I just kept losing most of the baby weight, but never all. After my last baby was born at the age of 35, I had to look in the mirror and wonder what the heck happened?
I have had a lot of stops and starts on my road to a body I can be happy with. Injuries, thyroid issues, and my own brain have been big factors in the effort to slow me down. Loved ones think they're helping, but they're really sabotaging. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to food. And my body itself is in an all-out war for control, from my thyroid at the top all the way to a 2-year-old foot injury at the bottom that refuses to fully heal and go away for good.
Having been naturally thin my whole life, I've never dieted before. I tried a few. Yeah, that will not work. I have no idea how people starve themselves to lose weight. It's impossible for me. If I feel hungry, I'm going to eat, and it's going to be the first crappy thing I can grab and shove in my face! So I did what I do when I have a problem in most other areas of my life--I grabbed a book and started educating myself. I read, and I read, and I read some more. I read about fitness, exercise, nutrition, physiology, metabolism, you name it. If it deals with how all the parts of the body function together as a whole, I've probably read it. It's possible I've earned a degree in exercise physiology and nutrition by now, but I never did any of my reading in affiliation with any university, so the world will never know. My body might not reflect it (yet), but I know what I'm doing in both the gym and the kitchen just as well as any personal trainer or chef.
What I've learned is that getting your body back has a lot more to do with what you eat than how much you exercise. Yes, you must exercise—this keeps all the parts working together properly, stokes your metabolism, and—for me at least—keeps me happy and sane. Some of it is genetics, and there's not one damn thing I can do about that but learn to love the body the good Lord gave me. But that doesn't mean I don't have to take care of it, too. The Lord gave me my children, and I love them with no effort whatsoever, but I also must take care of them. Just like Mom always said--when someone gives you a gift, it's your responsibility to take care of it. Regardless of what that gift is or who gave it to you. And a relatively healthy, functioning body that does everything from digest food properly to walk me from point A to point B (even if there are 10 miles between points A and B), and even creates human life in just 9 short months is certainly a gift that deserves to be well taken care of.
So rather than feeding my body a bunch of diet foods, I've been nourishing it with proper foods. I've started and stopped this a few times over the last two years or so (there is truly an addiction factor to overcome after years of putting processed garbage into your system), but since January of this year, I've gotten very serious about it. After all that reading, I knew what I needed to do. It was simply a matter of putting it into practice. If it has an ingredient list more than 5 or 6 items long, or if there was anything in the ingredient list I can't easily pronounce, it doesn't go into my body. I've worked hard to remove the idea that I should eat for pleasure from my brain (not that eating is no longer pleasurable; I just try not to think of it as a primary source of pleasure anymore) and replace it with the idea of eating for nourishment and fuel. I chart my macros and work toward about 40-50% of calories from protein on any given day, with another 30-40% of my calories coming from complex carbohydrates, and 20% from fats. (Disclaimer: don't try to just adopt this breakdown for yourself. This works for me because my goals are to burn fat and build muscle, and I workout very hard, lifting a lot of heavy weight at the gym, at least five days per week. If you're not doing the same, those ratios will not work for you!).
Anyway, eating this way is not nearly as complicated as it sounds. It basically means eating 3-4 oz. of lean protein (such as egg whites, chicken, or shrimp), plus a small handful of complex carbs (e.g., brown rice, whole wheat pasta or bread, and plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables), and a bit of healthy fat (such as avocado or olive oil) 5-6 times each day. Most of the time, it's actually easier than cooking a fancy meal. I've lost about 15 lbs. and 4% body fat so far this year. Not as much as I'd like, but I'm stronger, faster, and I have lower cholesterol and blood pressure than I did at the beginning of the year. And I've gotten my thyroid issues under control without the surgery my endocrinologist was certain I'd require this time last year. So it's well worth it.
Until this past weekend. I knew this would be a bad weekend, food- and exercise-wise. Friday was my birthday (I did start the day at the gym!), Saturday was Jason's 9th birthday party, and Sunday was Jason's actual birthday plus our church family cookout. I figured, "It's one weekend. How bad could it be?" And a look on the scale this morning reveals that it really wasn't terrible from that perspective. I ate healthy for the first 4 meals of the day on Friday, and then had pizza and margaritas for my birthday dinner (while cleaning the kitchen for the next day's party!). Saturday was party food for a late lunch/early dinner (read: one enormous mid-afternoon meal rather than 3 small meals during the same hours like I usually do). This includes cake, puffy orange Cheetos, and several beers. Sunday morning I fed the overnighters Shipley's donuts. As it's been over a year since I've eaten a donut, I convinced myself that I "deserved" one. By midway through church, I couldn't stop yawning, although I felt mildly wired. This was the first sign of trouble. Today, I had to force myself to eat my usual oatmeal and protein powder combination for breakfast (I really wanted a pancake with butter and syrup with my kids), and I was glad I had my daughter's school awards assembly because I didn't feel I could drag myself to the gym (those who know me and my gym schedule understand how shocking that is!).
Today I sit here alone in my house, working, with a big slab of leftover birthday cake calling to me from the kitchen every few minutes. I'm exhausted, unmotivated, and, well, really, really grouchy. Everything and everyone is pissing me off today. Yesterday was similar. I blamed it on being tired from having 9-year-old boys spend the night Saturday night, but the fact is, I got 6 hours of sleep Saturday night (as much as I get on many school nights), and I got a full 7.5 hours last night. Lack of sleep is not causing me to be tired. Or grouchy. Or unmotivated. Poor nutrition is. Yes, only 48 short hours of it!
I used to feel tired, grouchy, and unmotivated most of the time. I thought I was changing, growing up, becoming a better person, and that's why I felt and acted better. In fact, I was just nourishing my body rather than merely feeding it!! The sad part is, just three days of feeding myself garbage has been enough to make a portion of my brain want to just throw in the towel and go back to eating whatever I want—and skipping my beloved workouts! It's a pretty loud voice in there telling me that, too! The Sugar Monster has returned. I thought I had banished it for good, and I am shocked to find just how easily I slid right back into its grip! Now I must start the process of detoxing the garbage from my body again so that I will not be tempted anymore. During all the months I ate healthfully, I never once cared about cake, cookies, donuts, chips, or any of the other garbage I formerly ate with abandon. Three days, just four short meals, and all that hard work is out the window.
Back to the drawing board...and time to learn the lesson for good!
I have had a lot of stops and starts on my road to a body I can be happy with. Injuries, thyroid issues, and my own brain have been big factors in the effort to slow me down. Loved ones think they're helping, but they're really sabotaging. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to food. And my body itself is in an all-out war for control, from my thyroid at the top all the way to a 2-year-old foot injury at the bottom that refuses to fully heal and go away for good.
Having been naturally thin my whole life, I've never dieted before. I tried a few. Yeah, that will not work. I have no idea how people starve themselves to lose weight. It's impossible for me. If I feel hungry, I'm going to eat, and it's going to be the first crappy thing I can grab and shove in my face! So I did what I do when I have a problem in most other areas of my life--I grabbed a book and started educating myself. I read, and I read, and I read some more. I read about fitness, exercise, nutrition, physiology, metabolism, you name it. If it deals with how all the parts of the body function together as a whole, I've probably read it. It's possible I've earned a degree in exercise physiology and nutrition by now, but I never did any of my reading in affiliation with any university, so the world will never know. My body might not reflect it (yet), but I know what I'm doing in both the gym and the kitchen just as well as any personal trainer or chef.
What I've learned is that getting your body back has a lot more to do with what you eat than how much you exercise. Yes, you must exercise—this keeps all the parts working together properly, stokes your metabolism, and—for me at least—keeps me happy and sane. Some of it is genetics, and there's not one damn thing I can do about that but learn to love the body the good Lord gave me. But that doesn't mean I don't have to take care of it, too. The Lord gave me my children, and I love them with no effort whatsoever, but I also must take care of them. Just like Mom always said--when someone gives you a gift, it's your responsibility to take care of it. Regardless of what that gift is or who gave it to you. And a relatively healthy, functioning body that does everything from digest food properly to walk me from point A to point B (even if there are 10 miles between points A and B), and even creates human life in just 9 short months is certainly a gift that deserves to be well taken care of.
So rather than feeding my body a bunch of diet foods, I've been nourishing it with proper foods. I've started and stopped this a few times over the last two years or so (there is truly an addiction factor to overcome after years of putting processed garbage into your system), but since January of this year, I've gotten very serious about it. After all that reading, I knew what I needed to do. It was simply a matter of putting it into practice. If it has an ingredient list more than 5 or 6 items long, or if there was anything in the ingredient list I can't easily pronounce, it doesn't go into my body. I've worked hard to remove the idea that I should eat for pleasure from my brain (not that eating is no longer pleasurable; I just try not to think of it as a primary source of pleasure anymore) and replace it with the idea of eating for nourishment and fuel. I chart my macros and work toward about 40-50% of calories from protein on any given day, with another 30-40% of my calories coming from complex carbohydrates, and 20% from fats. (Disclaimer: don't try to just adopt this breakdown for yourself. This works for me because my goals are to burn fat and build muscle, and I workout very hard, lifting a lot of heavy weight at the gym, at least five days per week. If you're not doing the same, those ratios will not work for you!).
Anyway, eating this way is not nearly as complicated as it sounds. It basically means eating 3-4 oz. of lean protein (such as egg whites, chicken, or shrimp), plus a small handful of complex carbs (e.g., brown rice, whole wheat pasta or bread, and plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables), and a bit of healthy fat (such as avocado or olive oil) 5-6 times each day. Most of the time, it's actually easier than cooking a fancy meal. I've lost about 15 lbs. and 4% body fat so far this year. Not as much as I'd like, but I'm stronger, faster, and I have lower cholesterol and blood pressure than I did at the beginning of the year. And I've gotten my thyroid issues under control without the surgery my endocrinologist was certain I'd require this time last year. So it's well worth it.
Until this past weekend. I knew this would be a bad weekend, food- and exercise-wise. Friday was my birthday (I did start the day at the gym!), Saturday was Jason's 9th birthday party, and Sunday was Jason's actual birthday plus our church family cookout. I figured, "It's one weekend. How bad could it be?" And a look on the scale this morning reveals that it really wasn't terrible from that perspective. I ate healthy for the first 4 meals of the day on Friday, and then had pizza and margaritas for my birthday dinner (while cleaning the kitchen for the next day's party!). Saturday was party food for a late lunch/early dinner (read: one enormous mid-afternoon meal rather than 3 small meals during the same hours like I usually do). This includes cake, puffy orange Cheetos, and several beers. Sunday morning I fed the overnighters Shipley's donuts. As it's been over a year since I've eaten a donut, I convinced myself that I "deserved" one. By midway through church, I couldn't stop yawning, although I felt mildly wired. This was the first sign of trouble. Today, I had to force myself to eat my usual oatmeal and protein powder combination for breakfast (I really wanted a pancake with butter and syrup with my kids), and I was glad I had my daughter's school awards assembly because I didn't feel I could drag myself to the gym (those who know me and my gym schedule understand how shocking that is!).
Today I sit here alone in my house, working, with a big slab of leftover birthday cake calling to me from the kitchen every few minutes. I'm exhausted, unmotivated, and, well, really, really grouchy. Everything and everyone is pissing me off today. Yesterday was similar. I blamed it on being tired from having 9-year-old boys spend the night Saturday night, but the fact is, I got 6 hours of sleep Saturday night (as much as I get on many school nights), and I got a full 7.5 hours last night. Lack of sleep is not causing me to be tired. Or grouchy. Or unmotivated. Poor nutrition is. Yes, only 48 short hours of it!
I used to feel tired, grouchy, and unmotivated most of the time. I thought I was changing, growing up, becoming a better person, and that's why I felt and acted better. In fact, I was just nourishing my body rather than merely feeding it!! The sad part is, just three days of feeding myself garbage has been enough to make a portion of my brain want to just throw in the towel and go back to eating whatever I want—and skipping my beloved workouts! It's a pretty loud voice in there telling me that, too! The Sugar Monster has returned. I thought I had banished it for good, and I am shocked to find just how easily I slid right back into its grip! Now I must start the process of detoxing the garbage from my body again so that I will not be tempted anymore. During all the months I ate healthfully, I never once cared about cake, cookies, donuts, chips, or any of the other garbage I formerly ate with abandon. Three days, just four short meals, and all that hard work is out the window.
Back to the drawing board...and time to learn the lesson for good!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Standing in the Crossfire
One of the things I've always been most thankful for is my freedom of speech. As a writer, how could I not be? That doesn't always mean that I choose to exercise it, though. Just because one is free to do something does not always mean that one should do it. When it comes to politics, I generally choose to hold my tongue.
There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is that I live in an extremely politically conservative part of the country, and I am most definitely not politically conservative. This will come as a shock to many of my readers because I don't advertise this fact. Neither am I a liberal, however, and one of the reasons I don't flaunt my politics is because many of my politically conservative friends and relatives find the idea that someone not politically conservative might not be exactly liberal either utterly ridiculous. In fact, I stand somewhere squarely in the middle, one foot firmly on conservative ground with the other planted solidly in the middle of liberal views. Directly in the line of crossfire.
Little wonder I am loathe to exercise one of my most precious freedoms when it comes to politics, no?
Another reason I choose not to discuss politics frequently is that those who do know my standing feel that this gives them freedom to try to sway me to their "side." Endlessly. As if I am not intelligent enough to figure it out for myself. Let me assure everyone now that I am of high intelligence, and the reason I stand so firmly in the middle is that I study nearly every issue and decide on an issue-by-issue basis where I stand on it. And on some issues (for example, health care), I'm pretty conservative. On others (for example, the environment), I'm quite liberal. This means I do not vote along party lines. I've voted for many Republicans. I've voted for many Democrats. In the same election. But I always vote. Even in the "small" elections. And I always know what I'm voting for and about. I just choose not to discuss it ad nauseum with everyone I meet in the checkout line at the grocery store. And I choose to assume that if you are voting differently, it is because you have done your own research and believe the way you are voting is the right way for you and your family. And that is your right. Just as it is my right to vote differently from you and still be treated as an intelligent human being.
I do not, and never will, understand people who vote strictly along party lines. Because of where I live, I am surrounded by many people who believe that if the Republicans say something is true, that's the same as the Word of God. And often they're getting they're information on what the Republicans say is true from Fox News. The worst news information source since CNN. Can someone please tell me what happened to "unbiased media"? It was still being preached during my journalism courses when I was in college a mere 20 years ago. So why is it that in this day and age, when we can get our information any time of day or night, anywhere, anyhow, it is OK for a major news source to be unabashedly biased in everything it reports on? These agencies don't even try to hide their obvious slant; in fact, they apparently embrace it. And otherwise intelligent people eat it up!
I absolutely do not understand this at all. To my stubborn little brain, it is like having them whisper in my ear, over and over again, "We think you're too stupid to figure out your own opinion on this issue, so we'll just go ahead and tell you what you should be thinking." Can someone please just report the facts to me and give me some credit for being able to figure out how I feel about it for myself? And why am I apparently one of only about 3 Americans who feels this way about it? What am I missing here?
In my humble opinion, this is a big part of what is wrong with America today. No one wants to take responsibility for anything. If someone else tells them what to think, then they can blame that source if yet another person disagrees with them. If they don't like what the President is doing, they can simply claim that they voted for the other party. If greedy big business drags the entire country into bankruptcy, we can blame the government, and then (again) claim that we voted for the other party. "Don't blame me," that's our motto. It's not our fault!
I get daily email forwards blaming President Obama for everything bad that is happening in this country now, while giving no credit for any of the good. Never mind that many of these problems existed two years ago, too. And guess what? Two years ago, I was getting similar emails about President Bush. Make up your mind, folks.
And you know what? It really is our own fault. We sit back and allow this to happen by not using our own brains and our own voices and our own rights to free speech and voting. In my opinion, what needs to happen to government in this country is that we just kick them all out on their asses and start over again. If you've held a major political office in the past, you're not eligible anymore. Too bad, so sad, you're morally corrupt, and we're sick of that crap. Then when we've wiped that corrupt slate clean, we can kick out every greedy CEO and CFO in corporate America who is more concerned with this year's bonus check than with what doing what is right and replace them all, too.
Technically, we can't do it that easily. But if all of us "small" people would stop being so lazy and take some responsibility for thinking for ourselves and speaking up about it, we could absolutely make some change happen. It will take some time, and it will be hard work. And everyone will have to pull his or her own weight. No more blaming everything and everyone else. If you don't have an answer yourself, come up with one or back a different one that's already out there. Don't just stand there and complain about the answer that's in front of you. If you don't like it, use your freedom of speech and own up to a better idea!
Put up or shut up, America. And check your sources. If it's an email forwarded from someone your brother's friend's half-sister's daughter "knows and trusts," it's probably not a great source. I'm just saying. And if it's a biased media outlet that freely mixes fact with opinion, you'll have to sort it out yourself. The facts are most likely good facts, but the opinions are still just opinions, even if they're stated as fact. So exercise your God-given freedom to think for yourself. You were given a brain by a greater power than even the President of the United States of America. So use it already!
There are a number of reasons for this, not least of which is that I live in an extremely politically conservative part of the country, and I am most definitely not politically conservative. This will come as a shock to many of my readers because I don't advertise this fact. Neither am I a liberal, however, and one of the reasons I don't flaunt my politics is because many of my politically conservative friends and relatives find the idea that someone not politically conservative might not be exactly liberal either utterly ridiculous. In fact, I stand somewhere squarely in the middle, one foot firmly on conservative ground with the other planted solidly in the middle of liberal views. Directly in the line of crossfire.
Little wonder I am loathe to exercise one of my most precious freedoms when it comes to politics, no?
Another reason I choose not to discuss politics frequently is that those who do know my standing feel that this gives them freedom to try to sway me to their "side." Endlessly. As if I am not intelligent enough to figure it out for myself. Let me assure everyone now that I am of high intelligence, and the reason I stand so firmly in the middle is that I study nearly every issue and decide on an issue-by-issue basis where I stand on it. And on some issues (for example, health care), I'm pretty conservative. On others (for example, the environment), I'm quite liberal. This means I do not vote along party lines. I've voted for many Republicans. I've voted for many Democrats. In the same election. But I always vote. Even in the "small" elections. And I always know what I'm voting for and about. I just choose not to discuss it ad nauseum with everyone I meet in the checkout line at the grocery store. And I choose to assume that if you are voting differently, it is because you have done your own research and believe the way you are voting is the right way for you and your family. And that is your right. Just as it is my right to vote differently from you and still be treated as an intelligent human being.
I do not, and never will, understand people who vote strictly along party lines. Because of where I live, I am surrounded by many people who believe that if the Republicans say something is true, that's the same as the Word of God. And often they're getting they're information on what the Republicans say is true from Fox News. The worst news information source since CNN. Can someone please tell me what happened to "unbiased media"? It was still being preached during my journalism courses when I was in college a mere 20 years ago. So why is it that in this day and age, when we can get our information any time of day or night, anywhere, anyhow, it is OK for a major news source to be unabashedly biased in everything it reports on? These agencies don't even try to hide their obvious slant; in fact, they apparently embrace it. And otherwise intelligent people eat it up!
I absolutely do not understand this at all. To my stubborn little brain, it is like having them whisper in my ear, over and over again, "We think you're too stupid to figure out your own opinion on this issue, so we'll just go ahead and tell you what you should be thinking." Can someone please just report the facts to me and give me some credit for being able to figure out how I feel about it for myself? And why am I apparently one of only about 3 Americans who feels this way about it? What am I missing here?
In my humble opinion, this is a big part of what is wrong with America today. No one wants to take responsibility for anything. If someone else tells them what to think, then they can blame that source if yet another person disagrees with them. If they don't like what the President is doing, they can simply claim that they voted for the other party. If greedy big business drags the entire country into bankruptcy, we can blame the government, and then (again) claim that we voted for the other party. "Don't blame me," that's our motto. It's not our fault!
I get daily email forwards blaming President Obama for everything bad that is happening in this country now, while giving no credit for any of the good. Never mind that many of these problems existed two years ago, too. And guess what? Two years ago, I was getting similar emails about President Bush. Make up your mind, folks.
And you know what? It really is our own fault. We sit back and allow this to happen by not using our own brains and our own voices and our own rights to free speech and voting. In my opinion, what needs to happen to government in this country is that we just kick them all out on their asses and start over again. If you've held a major political office in the past, you're not eligible anymore. Too bad, so sad, you're morally corrupt, and we're sick of that crap. Then when we've wiped that corrupt slate clean, we can kick out every greedy CEO and CFO in corporate America who is more concerned with this year's bonus check than with what doing what is right and replace them all, too.
Technically, we can't do it that easily. But if all of us "small" people would stop being so lazy and take some responsibility for thinking for ourselves and speaking up about it, we could absolutely make some change happen. It will take some time, and it will be hard work. And everyone will have to pull his or her own weight. No more blaming everything and everyone else. If you don't have an answer yourself, come up with one or back a different one that's already out there. Don't just stand there and complain about the answer that's in front of you. If you don't like it, use your freedom of speech and own up to a better idea!
Put up or shut up, America. And check your sources. If it's an email forwarded from someone your brother's friend's half-sister's daughter "knows and trusts," it's probably not a great source. I'm just saying. And if it's a biased media outlet that freely mixes fact with opinion, you'll have to sort it out yourself. The facts are most likely good facts, but the opinions are still just opinions, even if they're stated as fact. So exercise your God-given freedom to think for yourself. You were given a brain by a greater power than even the President of the United States of America. So use it already!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
You've Got a Friend (Request Pending)
When I was in junior high, my best friend, Aimee, lived across the street. Aimee was 17 months older than me and two grades ahead in school. Why on earth she ever bothered to hang out with a dorky girl two grades behind her is (and was) beyond me. But when we weren't in school, we spent all our free time together. We had a lot of fun, and she was really good at being a friend.
She once made me a framed photo collage made of a photo of us together mounted on a piece of construction paper with all these cool friendship phrases clipped from magazines in various fonts glued around it. You could probably make something much nicer-looking much faster using Photoshop these days, but to this day, it is probably the best gift I have ever gotten from a friend because it was created with so much heart and personality.
When she was in 8th grade, she had an English assignment for a poetry unit where she had to take a popular song and add pictures to it. She had a sister who was about 4 at the time, and the two of us went around the neighborhood with Elizabeth and her little friend, posed them in various photo ops to coordinate with the song, and took pictures. She then created a slideshow (using actual slides and a cassette tape recorder—again, technology was far behind where it is now) to the Carole King version of the classic "You've Got a Friend." To this day, pictures from that slideshow pop into my head every time I hear that song. Two years later, I had the same assignment, but I have no idea what I did for it because it was not nearly as cool or as much fun to create.
At some point during our friendship, we decided that if our parents were friends, we could spend even more time together. So we arranged a dinner party for the four of them where we cooked and served everything and just let the grown-ups have time to visit and get to know one another. It worked like a charm! That was the beginning of a friendship among our parents and several other neighbors that endured for over 20 years. In fact, I believe (although I'm not certain) that my mom still has some Christmas card-type contact with Aimee's parents.
We shared clothing crises, Halloween costumes, the birth of MTV, first kisses, first dates, break-ups, dreams, wishes, tears, slumber parties, TP'ing of boys' houses, and fights with our parents for several years, but Aimee's and my friendship did not endure nearly as long as that of our parents. Being two grades older, she was often allowed to do things that I wasn't. One thing that readily comes to mind is attending school dances. When she was in 9th grade and I in 7th, she invited me to attend a high school dance with her. I desperately wanted to go, but my parents decided that I should wait until high school to experience high school dances. As the mother of a 6th grade daughter now, I fully understand and concur with the wisdom of my parents' decision. But at the time, it felt like the end of the world! I was often jealous of Aimee's ability to do these kinds of things. At some point, she possibly got tired of hanging out with someone so much younger and probably much less mature. I don't really know what happened, but we had a huge fight during the summer between my 8th and 9th grade years. Try as I might, I cannot for the life of me remember what it was about.
Later in that school year, Aimee's dad was transferred to Colorado, and that was pretty much the end of our friendship. Eventually, he transferred back, and our parents—never really having lost touch—picked up where they left off with their friendship. My dad died shortly after their return to Texas, and it was Aimee's mom who took my little brother to her own son's pediatrician when he had an asthma attack in the middle all the chaos. That pediatrician was so good that he eventually became the first pediatrician I took my own kids to. I was invited to Aimee's engagement party with my mom around that time, and then later to her wedding in New Orleans. But it was more of a family courtesy than an act of friendship—I barely saw or spoke to her at either event. In fact, I'm embarrassed to admit, I was having so much fun in New Orleans that I actually missed the wedding ceremony itself! (My mom did attend. In all honesty, I was 21, in New Orleans for the first time, and with my boyfriend. By the time of the wedding, I was not in any kind of shape to step foot into a church!)
That was nearly 20 years ago. Two years later, I married the man I had so much fun with that I missed an entire wedding (who wouldn't marry a guy like that?). We've had three kids plus many other adventures, including last May's 40th birthday trip to New Orleans that topped the missed-wedding trip by a mile! Aimee and her husband divorced a few years later. She eventually remarried and had kids of her own. I know these things about her through our parents, but I don't know anything more.
A few months back, in a moment of sentimentality, I decided to search for her on Facebook. She popped right up, and I sent a friend request without giving it much thought. It's been over 25 years since our fight, and I can't even remember what it was about, after all. I do remember that at one time she was the closest friend I had. So I thought I'd go for it.
Apparently, she does remember our fight. Or maybe she just remembers that she doesn't much care for me anymore. Whatever the reason, she has never accepted my Facebook friendship request. I know she is active on Facebook because having a friendship request pending is enough to allow me to see some of her activities: "Aimee and ___________ are now friends." "Aimee has joined the group _________." Because of the spelling of her first name, every time I go into my Friends List, she's right there on top, almost-friend #1. This distresses me because it reminds me every time I see it that I once screwed up a friendship that was important to me, and that although I've pretty much forgiven and definitely forgotten, she apparently hasn't.
Facebook offers a "Remove Request" option, but it will not allow me to use it. Whenever I click it, it tells me I'm denied access. Not sure what I'm denied access to. A former friendship, for sure, but I don't think that's what Facebook is getting at. How I can be denied access to remove a request that I made and she's not interested in is beyond me, but it is what it is. That "Friendship Request Pending" status stares at me whenever I look at my Friends List.
So today I am thankful for my former friend Aimee. First and foremost, I'm thankful for all the fun memories I have from my junior high years that include her. Those years are awkward and difficult at best, but nearly every fun memory I have of those times includes her. But I'm also thankful for her because without having any knowledge of it, she reminds me regularly to cherish the friendships I have and treat them with care. Because no matter what slight a friend might seem to throw at you today, tomorrow you might look back with great fondness on that friend and wish you could catch up for a little while.
She once made me a framed photo collage made of a photo of us together mounted on a piece of construction paper with all these cool friendship phrases clipped from magazines in various fonts glued around it. You could probably make something much nicer-looking much faster using Photoshop these days, but to this day, it is probably the best gift I have ever gotten from a friend because it was created with so much heart and personality.
When she was in 8th grade, she had an English assignment for a poetry unit where she had to take a popular song and add pictures to it. She had a sister who was about 4 at the time, and the two of us went around the neighborhood with Elizabeth and her little friend, posed them in various photo ops to coordinate with the song, and took pictures. She then created a slideshow (using actual slides and a cassette tape recorder—again, technology was far behind where it is now) to the Carole King version of the classic "You've Got a Friend." To this day, pictures from that slideshow pop into my head every time I hear that song. Two years later, I had the same assignment, but I have no idea what I did for it because it was not nearly as cool or as much fun to create.
At some point during our friendship, we decided that if our parents were friends, we could spend even more time together. So we arranged a dinner party for the four of them where we cooked and served everything and just let the grown-ups have time to visit and get to know one another. It worked like a charm! That was the beginning of a friendship among our parents and several other neighbors that endured for over 20 years. In fact, I believe (although I'm not certain) that my mom still has some Christmas card-type contact with Aimee's parents.
We shared clothing crises, Halloween costumes, the birth of MTV, first kisses, first dates, break-ups, dreams, wishes, tears, slumber parties, TP'ing of boys' houses, and fights with our parents for several years, but Aimee's and my friendship did not endure nearly as long as that of our parents. Being two grades older, she was often allowed to do things that I wasn't. One thing that readily comes to mind is attending school dances. When she was in 9th grade and I in 7th, she invited me to attend a high school dance with her. I desperately wanted to go, but my parents decided that I should wait until high school to experience high school dances. As the mother of a 6th grade daughter now, I fully understand and concur with the wisdom of my parents' decision. But at the time, it felt like the end of the world! I was often jealous of Aimee's ability to do these kinds of things. At some point, she possibly got tired of hanging out with someone so much younger and probably much less mature. I don't really know what happened, but we had a huge fight during the summer between my 8th and 9th grade years. Try as I might, I cannot for the life of me remember what it was about.
Later in that school year, Aimee's dad was transferred to Colorado, and that was pretty much the end of our friendship. Eventually, he transferred back, and our parents—never really having lost touch—picked up where they left off with their friendship. My dad died shortly after their return to Texas, and it was Aimee's mom who took my little brother to her own son's pediatrician when he had an asthma attack in the middle all the chaos. That pediatrician was so good that he eventually became the first pediatrician I took my own kids to. I was invited to Aimee's engagement party with my mom around that time, and then later to her wedding in New Orleans. But it was more of a family courtesy than an act of friendship—I barely saw or spoke to her at either event. In fact, I'm embarrassed to admit, I was having so much fun in New Orleans that I actually missed the wedding ceremony itself! (My mom did attend. In all honesty, I was 21, in New Orleans for the first time, and with my boyfriend. By the time of the wedding, I was not in any kind of shape to step foot into a church!)
That was nearly 20 years ago. Two years later, I married the man I had so much fun with that I missed an entire wedding (who wouldn't marry a guy like that?). We've had three kids plus many other adventures, including last May's 40th birthday trip to New Orleans that topped the missed-wedding trip by a mile! Aimee and her husband divorced a few years later. She eventually remarried and had kids of her own. I know these things about her through our parents, but I don't know anything more.
A few months back, in a moment of sentimentality, I decided to search for her on Facebook. She popped right up, and I sent a friend request without giving it much thought. It's been over 25 years since our fight, and I can't even remember what it was about, after all. I do remember that at one time she was the closest friend I had. So I thought I'd go for it.
Apparently, she does remember our fight. Or maybe she just remembers that she doesn't much care for me anymore. Whatever the reason, she has never accepted my Facebook friendship request. I know she is active on Facebook because having a friendship request pending is enough to allow me to see some of her activities: "Aimee and ___________ are now friends." "Aimee has joined the group _________." Because of the spelling of her first name, every time I go into my Friends List, she's right there on top, almost-friend #1. This distresses me because it reminds me every time I see it that I once screwed up a friendship that was important to me, and that although I've pretty much forgiven and definitely forgotten, she apparently hasn't.
Facebook offers a "Remove Request" option, but it will not allow me to use it. Whenever I click it, it tells me I'm denied access. Not sure what I'm denied access to. A former friendship, for sure, but I don't think that's what Facebook is getting at. How I can be denied access to remove a request that I made and she's not interested in is beyond me, but it is what it is. That "Friendship Request Pending" status stares at me whenever I look at my Friends List.
So today I am thankful for my former friend Aimee. First and foremost, I'm thankful for all the fun memories I have from my junior high years that include her. Those years are awkward and difficult at best, but nearly every fun memory I have of those times includes her. But I'm also thankful for her because without having any knowledge of it, she reminds me regularly to cherish the friendships I have and treat them with care. Because no matter what slight a friend might seem to throw at you today, tomorrow you might look back with great fondness on that friend and wish you could catch up for a little while.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Death Watch
This week has been a death watch. Not the most pleasant topic, perhaps, but there you have it. I feel like everywhere I turn, someone I know is waiting for someone they love to die. It is a part of life after all.
My husband's grandmother is the one closest to us. She is in her 90's, has recently been diagnosed with lung cancer, and her body is shutting down. In full renal failure, it is only a matter of days. Thomas and his father are trying to get to New Jersey to see her before she passes, but the weather (full-force blizzards, the likes of which have not been seen in more than a decade) is not cooperating. I only pray that they make it before she goes. She, however, seems at peace. She is coherent and comfortable and ready to go be with her husband, who passed more than 15 years ago, and her Lord. While she will be missed greatly, her time has come, and it is OK. All in all, not a bad way to go--after a long life, ready to go on to what comes next, with little pain, and with a few days' notice to say your good-byes.
A friend in Illinois is waiting for her estranged mother to pass. She has good reasons for being estranged from her mother, and she is at peace with her decision to remain that way even now. But she is trying to be there for her siblings, and it is causing her emotional stress. So I pray for her that her mother's time comes quickly and peacefully so that my friend might get on with her life.
Then there is the most heartbreaking death watch. A total stranger. I have never met her or her family, nor is it likely that I ever will. She is a neighbor of a friend of my sister's, and I only know of her through technology--blog posts on Facebook. A two-year-old baby, Layla Grace, with neuroblastoma. Her family has prayed for a miracle and asked others to do so as well, but they will not get the miracle they have hoped for. I believe they have already received their miracle, but of course they won't be able to recognize that for some time to come. At this time, Layla's body is shutting down, and her family is waiting, knowing that the end is very near and their baby girl will soon be whole and healthy and pain-free again--but not with them.
Why is this death, the death of someone I will never know, the hardest to take? Because she is a child. Because, as a parent, I can imagine the pain her own parents must be experiencing. I can imagine it, but I do not know it, and I hope I never will. Just the thought of the pain of losing a child is crushing, almost beyond bearing. Actually experiencing it must be nearly intolerable. My own father died over 20 years ago, at the age of 43. This was, of course, difficult for the whole family. But time heals and life marches forward. However, my grandmother, his mother, has never fully recovered from this loss, even though he was a grown man when cancer took him. Parents aren't meant to bury their children, no matter how old those children are when they are buried.
And yet life goes on. Even now, I look out my window at cold rain. Dreary, yes, but it is preparing the ground for spring that is around the corner, giving nourishment to the plants that are dormant and soaking it up for a few weeks from now when they will burst forth with life anew. Some of my plants will probably not make it back from this rather harsh winter, but most of them will. The cycle of life.
And human life goes on. My youngest sister recently announced that she is expecting her first child. My first niece or nephew in over 13 years. I am so excited that I think of it every single day, several times a day, even though my sister lives halfway across the country in Los Angeles. I am easily as excited about this new niece or nephew as I was about my own pregnancies (perhaps more so--there's no puking involved this time, at least not for me!). And my brother is about to get married to a girl our whole family adores. Showers, parties, wedding festivities and plans, and loads of out-of-town relatives we haven't seen in too many years! Not to mention my hot husband, the best man, in a tuxedo! I can't wait!
Even in sad times, there is much to look forward to. That is the way of life, and I am thankful for it. Today I am thankful to be alive. And I must paraphrase from a friend's earlier Facebook status because it is fitting for me today in ways she could never have known when she posted it:
"This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." Even though it is cold and raining and has been for days and days. Because the sun will shine again...soon.
My husband's grandmother is the one closest to us. She is in her 90's, has recently been diagnosed with lung cancer, and her body is shutting down. In full renal failure, it is only a matter of days. Thomas and his father are trying to get to New Jersey to see her before she passes, but the weather (full-force blizzards, the likes of which have not been seen in more than a decade) is not cooperating. I only pray that they make it before she goes. She, however, seems at peace. She is coherent and comfortable and ready to go be with her husband, who passed more than 15 years ago, and her Lord. While she will be missed greatly, her time has come, and it is OK. All in all, not a bad way to go--after a long life, ready to go on to what comes next, with little pain, and with a few days' notice to say your good-byes.
A friend in Illinois is waiting for her estranged mother to pass. She has good reasons for being estranged from her mother, and she is at peace with her decision to remain that way even now. But she is trying to be there for her siblings, and it is causing her emotional stress. So I pray for her that her mother's time comes quickly and peacefully so that my friend might get on with her life.
Then there is the most heartbreaking death watch. A total stranger. I have never met her or her family, nor is it likely that I ever will. She is a neighbor of a friend of my sister's, and I only know of her through technology--blog posts on Facebook. A two-year-old baby, Layla Grace, with neuroblastoma. Her family has prayed for a miracle and asked others to do so as well, but they will not get the miracle they have hoped for. I believe they have already received their miracle, but of course they won't be able to recognize that for some time to come. At this time, Layla's body is shutting down, and her family is waiting, knowing that the end is very near and their baby girl will soon be whole and healthy and pain-free again--but not with them.
Why is this death, the death of someone I will never know, the hardest to take? Because she is a child. Because, as a parent, I can imagine the pain her own parents must be experiencing. I can imagine it, but I do not know it, and I hope I never will. Just the thought of the pain of losing a child is crushing, almost beyond bearing. Actually experiencing it must be nearly intolerable. My own father died over 20 years ago, at the age of 43. This was, of course, difficult for the whole family. But time heals and life marches forward. However, my grandmother, his mother, has never fully recovered from this loss, even though he was a grown man when cancer took him. Parents aren't meant to bury their children, no matter how old those children are when they are buried.
And yet life goes on. Even now, I look out my window at cold rain. Dreary, yes, but it is preparing the ground for spring that is around the corner, giving nourishment to the plants that are dormant and soaking it up for a few weeks from now when they will burst forth with life anew. Some of my plants will probably not make it back from this rather harsh winter, but most of them will. The cycle of life.
And human life goes on. My youngest sister recently announced that she is expecting her first child. My first niece or nephew in over 13 years. I am so excited that I think of it every single day, several times a day, even though my sister lives halfway across the country in Los Angeles. I am easily as excited about this new niece or nephew as I was about my own pregnancies (perhaps more so--there's no puking involved this time, at least not for me!). And my brother is about to get married to a girl our whole family adores. Showers, parties, wedding festivities and plans, and loads of out-of-town relatives we haven't seen in too many years! Not to mention my hot husband, the best man, in a tuxedo! I can't wait!
Even in sad times, there is much to look forward to. That is the way of life, and I am thankful for it. Today I am thankful to be alive. And I must paraphrase from a friend's earlier Facebook status because it is fitting for me today in ways she could never have known when she posted it:
"This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it." Even though it is cold and raining and has been for days and days. Because the sun will shine again...soon.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Forever Thankful
Creating a blog is something I've wanted to do for some time. Fear has held me back. Fear that I wouldn't be able to think of anything to write. Fear that once I did write, either no one would read it, or those who did read it would be bored. I suppose every writer faces this fear: what if no one wants to read what I write? There's a line from the Anna Nalick song "Breathe (2 AM)" that strikes me every time I hear it as so true for any kind of artist:
"And I feel like I'm naked in front of a crowd
'Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them however you want to."
There is a risk to baring your soul for others, and I'm not a big risk-taker. This is probably what led me to my career as a technical writer. It allowed me to earn a living as a writer without risking rejection of my writing. Once you have a job as a tech writer, they're going to publish what you write, and at least a few people will actually read it—whether they want to or not—so they can figure out how to use their new stuff! And I love my job. I have nearly 20 years of experience, just shy of 15 with my current employer. It's flexible and interesting and the pay's OK. Best of all, I get to work from home and be there for my three kids whenever they need me. AND I'm really good at it. The best of all worlds, really. Not leaving it anytime soon, that's for sure! But writing about computer servers, while interesting, does not satifsy any of my personal passions (despite my job, I am most certainly not a computer geek, nor do I aspire to be one) or allow me to voice my own opinions.
Now, I could certainly keep a diary or a journal and avoid the risk of rejection while still writing to my little heart's content about whatever I feel passionate or opionated about. But that just doesn't do it for me, either. Fear of rejection or not, at the heart of every writer is the need to be read by someone besides herself. And it's a new year, a time to start things fresh. So I'm going to try. Try to be more of a risk-taker (though you won't catch me jumping out of planes like my little brother anytime soon!), and try to be a blogger.
I got the idea for this blog from Facebook, of all places. Someone started a post sometime in October or so suggesting that I (we...everyone on FB) try to post something they are thankful for every day until Thanksgiving. The original post suggested that it would become more and more difficult as Thanksgiving got closer and we ran out of ideas. I theorized that, in fact, it would become easier as I became more mindful of all in my life that I have to be thankful for. For me, my theory absolutely turned out to be correct.
Every day of my life, I am given dozens of opportunities to be thankful. I, like so many others, often overlook those opportunities. Thanks to my lovely and brilliant 11-year-old daughter, I've spent the last year of my life trying to strengthen my relationship with God (the relationship has always been there; I just let it slide all too often when "life" gets in the way).
At the start of 2009, Ashley stated that her New Year's resolution was to start attending church every Sunday and requested help from my husband and me with fulfilling that resolution. This forced us out of a crossroads we'd been lazily parked at for several years. We certainly had every desire and intent to belong to a church and attend regularly. However, I was raised Catholic and had a lot of guilt about letting Catholicism go. But there just isn't a Catholic church that we're happy with close by. And the nearness of a lovely Methodist church that many of our children's friends attended was simply too hard to ignore. If friends go and are active, then our children would want to go and be active. That was one of the main characteristics we were looking for in a church, so, with Ashley's push, we made the jump and joined.
It was a brilliant move, and we've never looked back. I now sometimes wonder what took me so long to get over the whole Catholic thing, but I know in my heart that it just wasn't the right time before. NOW is the time, though, and many areas of my life have fallen into place since joining, including a sudden understanding of how to go about strengthening that relationship with God. (It's amazing how something that was so confusing before suddenly becomes clear when the time—God's time—is right.) And one of the goals in strengthening that relationship is remembering to thank Him for all that He has already done for me, rather than just regularly asking for more.
So, with a year of stengthening under my belt (and much work left to do), and a new year beckoning me to take on a new challenge, I start this blog. I won't promise to always stay on topic and write about thankfulness. I have many ideas for topics, and many of them don't revolve specifically around thankfulness. This is my blog, and I'm going to write about whatever I'm in the mood to write about when the mood strikes (which may or may not be regularly—I want this to remain a pleasure, not a chore). But there will be plenty of thankfulness involved, too, I promise.
Today I am thankful for those of you who read this, my first blog post. I hope you enjoyed it enough to come back for more, and maybe even to follow me. But if you didn't enjoy and don't come back, that's your choice, and it's a risk I'll have to take.
"And I feel like I'm naked in front of a crowd
'Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud
And I know that you'll use them however you want to."
There is a risk to baring your soul for others, and I'm not a big risk-taker. This is probably what led me to my career as a technical writer. It allowed me to earn a living as a writer without risking rejection of my writing. Once you have a job as a tech writer, they're going to publish what you write, and at least a few people will actually read it—whether they want to or not—so they can figure out how to use their new stuff! And I love my job. I have nearly 20 years of experience, just shy of 15 with my current employer. It's flexible and interesting and the pay's OK. Best of all, I get to work from home and be there for my three kids whenever they need me. AND I'm really good at it. The best of all worlds, really. Not leaving it anytime soon, that's for sure! But writing about computer servers, while interesting, does not satifsy any of my personal passions (despite my job, I am most certainly not a computer geek, nor do I aspire to be one) or allow me to voice my own opinions.
Now, I could certainly keep a diary or a journal and avoid the risk of rejection while still writing to my little heart's content about whatever I feel passionate or opionated about. But that just doesn't do it for me, either. Fear of rejection or not, at the heart of every writer is the need to be read by someone besides herself. And it's a new year, a time to start things fresh. So I'm going to try. Try to be more of a risk-taker (though you won't catch me jumping out of planes like my little brother anytime soon!), and try to be a blogger.
I got the idea for this blog from Facebook, of all places. Someone started a post sometime in October or so suggesting that I (we...everyone on FB) try to post something they are thankful for every day until Thanksgiving. The original post suggested that it would become more and more difficult as Thanksgiving got closer and we ran out of ideas. I theorized that, in fact, it would become easier as I became more mindful of all in my life that I have to be thankful for. For me, my theory absolutely turned out to be correct.
Every day of my life, I am given dozens of opportunities to be thankful. I, like so many others, often overlook those opportunities. Thanks to my lovely and brilliant 11-year-old daughter, I've spent the last year of my life trying to strengthen my relationship with God (the relationship has always been there; I just let it slide all too often when "life" gets in the way).
At the start of 2009, Ashley stated that her New Year's resolution was to start attending church every Sunday and requested help from my husband and me with fulfilling that resolution. This forced us out of a crossroads we'd been lazily parked at for several years. We certainly had every desire and intent to belong to a church and attend regularly. However, I was raised Catholic and had a lot of guilt about letting Catholicism go. But there just isn't a Catholic church that we're happy with close by. And the nearness of a lovely Methodist church that many of our children's friends attended was simply too hard to ignore. If friends go and are active, then our children would want to go and be active. That was one of the main characteristics we were looking for in a church, so, with Ashley's push, we made the jump and joined.
It was a brilliant move, and we've never looked back. I now sometimes wonder what took me so long to get over the whole Catholic thing, but I know in my heart that it just wasn't the right time before. NOW is the time, though, and many areas of my life have fallen into place since joining, including a sudden understanding of how to go about strengthening that relationship with God. (It's amazing how something that was so confusing before suddenly becomes clear when the time—God's time—is right.) And one of the goals in strengthening that relationship is remembering to thank Him for all that He has already done for me, rather than just regularly asking for more.
So, with a year of stengthening under my belt (and much work left to do), and a new year beckoning me to take on a new challenge, I start this blog. I won't promise to always stay on topic and write about thankfulness. I have many ideas for topics, and many of them don't revolve specifically around thankfulness. This is my blog, and I'm going to write about whatever I'm in the mood to write about when the mood strikes (which may or may not be regularly—I want this to remain a pleasure, not a chore). But there will be plenty of thankfulness involved, too, I promise.
Today I am thankful for those of you who read this, my first blog post. I hope you enjoyed it enough to come back for more, and maybe even to follow me. But if you didn't enjoy and don't come back, that's your choice, and it's a risk I'll have to take.
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