Unconventional Mother's Day Message

I am very critical.

Mostly inwardly.

I spend so much time analyzing and dissecting motives, outcomes and reasons it is exhausting. I can never just have a simple thought without trying to 'brain-map' the thought from an imaginary inception to an extrapolated conclusion. My mind is always abuzz with something- usually weighty, self-deprecating and inevitably counter-productive in it's circular and sometimes derisive patterns.I am relentlessly critical of myself and supply an endless source of guilt for myself on a wide expanse of topics, daily. If I wrote all I thought, I could fill libraries.

One thing I turn over and over in my mind largely without resolve is motherhood, and my capabilities and failures. Specifically I judge myself for the decision we have made not to have more children. (We have two living, and one deceased..) After all, I am Mormon. We are supposed to replenish the earth with children, right? And while the church doesn't dictate or even suggest how many children a couple should have, it is pretty heavily implied (culturally) that you should have at least a few. 3 seems to be a common minimum as long as there are no issues of health or infertility among married couples- thus, with our 2 living children, we fall one short of that expected minimum.

Heavenly Father wants us to raise children-happy children. Happy children who follow the Lord. He wants us to do our best to teach them love, virtue, charity and righteousness. He does not want us to raise throngs of children regardless of the outcome, so we need to do what we can do. He wants us to do the best that we can do, whether that is for one child or ten.What matters if how we parent, not how many.

We needn't run faster than we have strength. Unfortunately for me and my family, depression and anxiety hinder how fast I can run, so to speak. I want to be a good mother, and it is a struggle for me- so we have decided that our family is complete. I want to do the best with the blessings I have been given, working with the trials I have been given.

This is my Mother's Day gift to me:

Acceptance, tolerance, and love without judgment- for myself and my decisions in motherhood. And as I learn to do these things for myself, it will carry over onto my children. Acceptance, tolerance, and love without judgment. It's a tall order, but I'm going to start practicing on myself.

Or to quote Stuart Smalley,

"I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!"

If I have succeeded in bringing you down, watch this. I remember watching this live several years ago, and it is still so funny. And it's a blast from the past when Lindsey Lohan was semi-functional.

Empty

{Yes, that is white wine in my fridge. Cooking wine. It should also be noted that all contents on the right hand side of the fridge belong to Timm, except for the Diet Coke with lime that I have repossessed.}

I probably should have guessed it when I arrived home and was immediately met with a cat crap stain in the living room and an unidentifiable smell pervading the house: It was not going to be an easy return.

To be fair, I should preface this with saying that Timm went above and beyond what is necessary or expected to ensure that I came home to a clean house. I always make sure that I leave the house clean, whether I leave for the day, or for an extended trip like this, so it is very gratifying to see him take the care to do the same. He mopped, he did all the laundry, he changed the sheets, he ironed, he vacuumed, he did the dishes- It was great. Unfortunately he was not home to intercept the aforementioned cat crap stain or the other debacles I was yet to face.

 We got in after 11pm, and the girls didn't get in bed until midnight. I stayed up for a bit going through mail and enjoying the first quiet I experienced in nearly three weeks. The next day was spent doing the usual post-trip chores: unpacking, laundry, vacuuming, pouring out the two week past-expiration solid milk Timm left in the fridge, etc. That evening we finally went out to the grocery store to procure some much-needed staples for the next few days. After about an hour of shopping, we went to check out. Being almost entirely out of food, the total was a bit more than I expected and I swiped the credit card to make the purchase. Timm and I had previously carefully planned out the final expenses of the month, dividing them between the scarce balances on our two credit cards. (Our goal of paying those off isn't going too well. It's a tough gig trying to survive on the less than $2500 a month paycheck a teacher's salary provides.10 months a year. For a family of 4.) Needless to say, the card was declined. In futility, I tried again. (I'm a glutton for punishment and public embarrassment.) Next I tried to write a check, reasoning that it wouldn't go through before he was paid on Friday, only to find that I had left my driver's license at home. They called over two different managers, both of whom refused to take my check without my driver's license. Even with another form of id and my social. Defeated, I left the store telling them I would be back with my driver's license even though I knew it was not true. I don't know why I told them I would return, but it was probably to save face. Upon leaving, Bella realized that they were out of free cookies and started to cry while Fiona loudly protested over her bandaids that we had to leave behind in the cart.  I couldn't help it: I cried on the way home, and I cried when we got home. I fed them toast for dinner and then started in on the next obstacle designed to defeat me.

At some point during the day I tried to move some food from our freezer to out chest freezer, only to find that at some point while I was away it had tripped the breaker, which happens frequently. The good news is, being poor as we are, there was hardly any food in it. The bad news is, there was some previously frozen Brussels sprouts, which had thawed and proceeded to decompose for approximately 2 weeks. Now, I love Brussels sprouts. Fresh, well-prepared Brussels spouts. However,  I cannot adequately describe to you the power or force of the stench that was unleashed when I broke the seal on that chest freezer. The cruciferous odor that had been captured in that small space was enough to take on a life of it's own. If it were a cartoon, it would be a thick green ribbon snaking through the house leaving death and destruction in it's wake. Since it was not a cartoon, I tied a dish towel over my nose and mouth and opened the freezer once more to face it's fury. After I threw away the offending and ruined food, I began to try and drain the 2 inches of standing water infused with essence of rotten Brussels sprouts. I attempted to drain it onto cookie sheets, but kept spilling fetid water onto the carpet so I opted to sop it up with towels which I quickly transferred to the washing machine. I wiped it out with Lysol and let it air out overnight, but I'm afraid some damage is irreversible. I am what they say a 'super-smeller' and keep thinking I smell those Brussels sprouts wherever I go.

Lastly, coming back East was a much harder adjustment, and Bella was obviously stuck on Vegas time since she didn't fall asleep until after midnight. I was desperately trying to watch last week's Survivor on my laptop, trying to reverse the damages of the day while pillaging their Easter candy, and she kept coming out, all. night. long. Eventually we both settled into my bed, and she fell asleep there around midnight. We took the day off again today, hoping to get her acclimated enough to return to school on Friday. I got a few groceries, and Timm gets his teacher's lump sum tomorrow. I'm trying not to think about the fact that it will almost be gone the same day after our online automatic bill pay has it's way with it.

For now I am going to settle in for another Survivor on my laptop, and make sure that girl is asleep this time.

Whew. Tomorrow I can start on my trip highlights, of which there were many.

Bad Habit

I have a bad habit. 

Well, many of them actually, but for the sake of time I am only going to outline one of them for you now. Consider this a blanket apology (albeit a sincere, mass apology) for the many who have suffered at my hand, and a pledge to reform.

When I receive correspondence- be it email, blog comments, a phone message, or a letter, I receive it with great anticipation and then immediately respond.

In my head.

This mostly applies to email. I will read it and then quickly respond with "ha ha ha that's so funny", or "yes I agree we should totally do that" or something similar. Then I'm done and done.

In my mind, I have responded and fulfilled my side of the verbal transaction and I am satisfied. 

Except later when it occurs to me that I did not actually respond, I just had a conversation with myself in my head that the correspondent was not privy to. So I keep the email in my inbox, fully expecting to come back to it. Then a few days pass. Sometimes weeks, occasionally months. Sometimes I will eventually get to it and fulfill a real response which I actually send. Often it just gets deleted after so much time has passed and it seems irrelevant. 

But remember, in my head, we actually had that conversation. 

You just don't know about it.

Tedium, in 3 Parts

Part I- A short play

Part II- A treatise on body image

Part III- A contradiction to the treatise

Part I

Last night.

Timm and I.

10:30 pm, a late night for us.

In a darkened hallway, heading for bed.

Me: So, I really think you ate my fortune cookie.

Timm: No, I didn't. I threw it to you, then I ate my fortune cookie.

Me: Yeah, but I put it down. I think you found it, forgot you ate your fortune cookie, thought it was yours, and ate it.

Timm: I didn't forget that I ate my own fortune cookie.

Me: Yeah it's easy to do. I do it all the time. I'll reach for something to eat and then I look and it's not there, and I'm like, 'Oh, man! I already ate that? Dammit!'

Timm: I do not participate in mindless caveman-like eating.

Me: Whatever, people do that all the time. It's not just me. They do!!

Which leads me to another point:

I'm fat.

:: Girls, my girls, if you are reading this-years from now- don't you ever say that. ::

Part II

Now allow me to sidetrack into another, ranting vein:

I am very aware of the self-loathing that comes from being self-conscious of one's body. I had these issues all growing up, and still do as I think most women do to a degree. It's an effect of growing up in our body-conscious culture that prizes thinness above all else. It begins to seep into us as children, listening to our mothers and other  role models as they pinch their fat in the mirror and begin to catalog all of the reasons that they are imperfect and inferior in some way, and thus unhappy. It can be self-directed, or merely the undue emphasis on one's appearance, for good or for ill, when assessing or describing a person. Celebrities, friends, that person in front of us at church, someone passing on the street. We are too emphatic about appearance and shunning or ridiculing those we meet with displeasure, or elevating and praising those we approve of. Ourselves included. Thus I have always been adament about trying to avoid this with my girls as much as possible. They have never heard me complain about my body or my appearance in any way. I may give myself a through redressing in my mind, but these words are never uttered in their presence. I try not to comment on others' appearance unnecessarily or to identify one by the way they look, to categorize them or label them. I tell my girls they're beautiful, but I always make sure to tell them they're smart, funny, caring, and compassionate as well. I had a friend when I was young, and her father was constantly exclaiming over how beautiful she was. As a 12-year old I was simultaneously a bit envious of this praise or her beauty that inspired it, but also sad that this was the only attribute her father had praise for. It was so one-dimensional and shallow, and even as a child I could recognize that. So can our children, so this is my small part to try and balance the constant bullying our children, our girls, will receive from the world- that they do whatever necessary to conform to the ideal, or deservedly hate themselves when they do not. That all hinges and depends on their beauty or lack of it. At least they won't hear it from me.*

Wow. That went on a lot longer than I intended. I can't even remember why I started writing this to begin with. Oh, right.

I'm fat.

Part III 
I kind of tired even myself out writing all that, so it must be equally or more so tiring for a reader. Let it just be known that tomorrow marks exactly 4 months until my 30th birthday, and I would really like to be a little closer to my goal by then. And by closer I mean, not fatter. Less fat. Maybe even verging on thin. Despite everything I said up there, I still do want to lose weight, and not just for vanity's sake. I just don't feel good, and I don't feel like myself. That's the worst part. This is the hardest time I have ever had losing weight. By that I mean, the hardest time I have had keeping motivation to lose weight. I am fortunate that my metabolism and my body respond well when I eat right and exercise. They let me lose weight appropriately, but I have just not been able to do those things. I have wondered why it has been so hard for me this time, and I think it is because this is the longest I have ever been overweight. In the past, it was usually post -pregnancy, and I just lost the weight. This time, I gained the weight when I moved to Charlotte. 3 1/2 years ago. Ahem. I think because it has been so long, those habits are more ingrained and harder to break. I have gotten accustomed to being fat and eating poorly. Even if I hate it, it is the easy way. I need to find a way to keep my motivation in my sites and remember that I can do it, I have done it many times before, and it is worth it.

Oh, I am so tedious sometimes.

*It should be noted that I am exceptional at diagramming a problem, forming vehement opinions about it, advising others, and then living diametrically opposed to that opinion because of the difficulty I have in bridging the gap between what I believe and what is hard to do. Call Me Badger reserves the right to these opinions at the risk of sounding hypocritical or dumb.

When I Say Too Much.

Miranda started an interesting discussion on her blog yesterday, and although I commented to leave my opinion, I still had more to say, so here it is.

As even the most casual observer should have noticed, I talk a lot. I almost always say too much and ask too personal of questions. I put it all out there, and what you see is what you get. I almost think of it as some kind of defense mechanism- as in, here it all is. Here I am naked before you (luckily not literally), so if you like me, awesome. If not, at least we got that out of the way and I won't waste time investing in a relationship that will hurt me later. Like me or not, but let's start from a clear place of understanding. 

Plus I'm not a shallow person; I am introspective and I am constantly examining my motives and trying to better myself. I need a lot of work.

So in a gesture of full disclosure, here are just a few more things 

Every day I still struggle to fend off depression.

Every day I try to make the decision to be happy.

Getting out of bed is usually the hardest thing I do all day.

If I didn't have kids I probably wouldn't get out of bed most days.

Even though I know sugar effects me adversely, I can't stop eating it.

Yet.

I never feel like I am enough.

I am easily threatened by women I think are better than me.

I hate this quality most about myself.

I think I have a lot of potential, but I am usually too fat/lazy/unworthy to achieve it.

Sometimes I believe I don't deserve to grieve for Lola since the girls I do have drive me crazy.

Motherhood is trying.

But I love my girls, all 3 of them beyond measure.

I usually treat myself like someone I don't like very much- or at least I don't think enough of to take care of.

I really care about people.

I have a lot of empathy, but sometimes I am too tired to reach out.

I feel like I am at my limit just getting through.

Sometimes I am too tired/lazy to wash my face at night.

I always regret it.

Sometimes I resist taking a shower because of the effort involved in getting ready.

When I do, it is like a healing tonic every time and I tell myself what an idiot I am for not remembering this.

I have a penchant for Lifetime movies. They are the perfect background for sewing and crafting.

I feel cheap because of this.

I don't want my husband or my kids to be embarrassed of my appearance.

But I'm not doing much about that at the moment.

Sometimes I think it's because I don't deserve it.
I can't watch commercials about animal abuse.
Sometimes I consider vegetarianism again.
But then I don't.
Sometimes I wish I could be a vet tech again.
But I can't.

I am paranoid that my house smells.

I have a huge mountain of laundry that I've neglected for days because I'd rather sew.

My purse is full of wrappers and crumbs and half-eaten snacks from my girls.

It's really gross.

I've had it on my to-do list all week.

I'm blogging instead.

I have the grossest feet you've ever seen.

They're pretty, ( I think) but cracked and dry like no one's ever seen.

I think I might need transplants. 

Or skin grafts.
No one ever ask me questions on FormSpring and I feel bad about it sometimes.
But then I remember that I probably don't give anyone a chance to wonder anything.
And although I'm pretty weird, I'm not particularly interesting.
I read a lot of self-improvement books.
I have a very small retention rate.
I don't think I do enough for the people I love.

Sometimes, when I am really depressed, I think it would be good to be institutionalized so all I would have to do is sleep and no one would expect anything from me. 

Everyone would already know I was crazy.

Going to church is hard for me.

But I know it is the right thing to do.

And I'm always glad that I did.

I'm usually pretty good about menu planning, but then I'm too tired/lazy to actually cook the meals.

I'd rather stay inside at any given time.

I am usually glad when I go out of my comfort zone and go outside.

Most of the things I enjoy are sedentary.

I am always glad when I do something active.
Even though this list is already very long (and boring), I have to force myself to stop listing my bad qualities.

I am a very slow learner and don't improve myself or my behavior very quickly.

One thing I can say for myself is I don't give up.

I may lay down a lot, but I always get back up and try again.

And now I've given you a lot more reasons not to like me.

But I hope you still do.

And I wrote this list for me. 

For now.

And later.

Note to self- Don't Forget:

You never notice how many baby's graves are in the cemetery until you have buried one of your own.
Books are filled with stories of babies who die at or shortly after birth that make you shudder and put the book down, perhaps even throwing it.

I share a kinship with so many women through the ages-past, present and future- that I desperately wish I didn't.
Yet this kinship gives me my first born and my treasure laid up in Heaven. This kinship gives me compassion, empathy and strength I would have gained into no other way.

Thank you.

I miss you.

VALUE

Last year I didn't pick a word.
It's not because I couldn't think of a word, but because I could not think of how to narrow it down. When I thought, what do I want to change? How do I want to improve? Ha! The thoughts flood my mind so quickly and rampantly that soon I can't distinguish one from another. I seriously could not identify one quality or aspect that I could single out over another that I wanted to change. If I tried to settle on one I was immediately thinking, but what about ****, or ****- I have to stop/change/start doing that. The fact that I can't narrow down the myriad of ways I feel I need to improve seems problematic to me. 
So this time I decided to think, why is that? What is the root- why do I feel so...much less?
And there it is. I feel much less than most people. Not always, not everyone, but enough that it feels like a stumbling block for a lot of progress, or at the very least, peace.
So it seemed evident-value. I need to find and appreciate and believe in my value- intrinsically. Value that doesn't change based on my weight, my productivity, my creativity, etc etc etc. I could fill a book with my insecurities. The funny thing is, I like myself. I think I'm nice, compassionate, empathetic, genuine, generous, sometimes pretty,smart and funny as hell. Sounds pretty good, no? Except I seem to believe that I am fundamentally less than others. At my core I believe I am either less able, capable, or worth as much as the rest. Or if I am worth as much, I demean that value by squandering the potential I have been given and living less than I could. I cannot exist without measuring myself against all that I meet. People I love, people I admire, people I don't even know, people I see and judge as superior. I get insecure, threatened and eventually down on myself. And why? "Could it be...Satan?" I know his ways. I know the way he works, insidiously destroying our worth and sense of self. But I still allow it to work. Jerk!
So it comes to this. I need to identify and believe in my inherent worth that is equal to all others.
How? I read a lot of self-improvement books but I seem to negate most of that wisdom with my immediate self-deprecation. The only thing I know that works, but don't utilize enough, is prayer. That's how I will find it and beleive it in. So that is my mission this year, and for always.
Besides finding my own value I am also exploring what it is I value.Do I live my life in accordance to what I value, or do I waste a lot of time and my life on things of no import that merely take up space and time? 
So my mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find my own value while identifying what it is that I value.
Easy, right?

Public Service Announcement

For the sake of your health, your sanity, and your peace with the world as a whole, do not- I repeat, do not-ever look into your garbage disposal without it's protective covering. (You know, the black thing that keeps all your utensils from falling in.) The sight will horrify you. A layer of calcified, petrified food coating the interior and entrance into said disposal. A smell. Even though you run your disposal with diligence after every single use, after any food makes it way into it. Even though you occasionally put soap or citrus rinds in there to freshen things up, albeit apparently not as often as necessary. It is quite possibly an entrance to another dimension, or more probable, the very gates of hell. It's one of life's conveniences that is best left unstudied. Appreciate it in an abstract way, much like indoor plumbing and Sodium Benzoate. (To preserve freshness.)

All is Well.

Enough.
All is well, enough.
I've been working hard at feeling better and there is a remarkable correlation to food and my mood. Yes, a correlation I made months ago but somehow failed to keep in the forefront of my mind. Even now I really want some cake. And ice cream. Anything with chocolate, caramel. Maybe even Pez if I'm desperate. Which I am. But not Necco wafers. Never those. Un/fortunatley we purposely have nothing good in the house. No sugary goodness anyway.
I'm close to fiending.
Add Michelle's painful jealousy-inducing London posts and it doesn't help. Missing her doesn't help either. Nor does the fact that I can't call her.
So in short, there is no need for outreach phone calls though I appreciate the concern. Also, don't take it personally if I haven't called you back (yet). It's part and parcel of the depression gig. Avoidance. Isolation.
I'm feeling much better through a concerted effort. A very concerted effort. It wearies me to think of always having to work this hard, that I live in this cyclical world where one day things are peachy and the next I've been sucker-punched. Nevertheless, depression is a trial I've been allotted here on earth and even though sometimes things look dire, over the years I really have improved. I used to feel this way most of the time. It used to take me weeks and weeks to pull out of it. Now I can't remember the last time I felt this poorly. So it's a step.
I don't like that I have to work so hard, but its usually better than the alternative. I just hope the people around me can continue to ride the waves as long as I continue to try and sail them.

{Permission hereby granted to anyone who wants to discreetly and understandably bow out of my life.}

TMI-This is in lieu of therapy.

Just a friendly reminder that my blog is for me. I write it for me, with an occasional shout out to readers or requests for information or input.
In other words, I write what I want. I write it for me. Even if it is whiny, repetitive or self-indulgent.
This is when I wonder if my blog should be private, but alas, it is not. Perhaps I've always been a little more open than I should be. Could be.
It's no secret that I have struggled with depression for years. I feel like it's something that I always have to keep tabs on, stay abreast of, try to stay ahead of. For a long time I felt like I was treading water, like I wasn't getting anywhere and like I was fighting the same battles again and again. Then at some point recently I felt like I was making some headway. I felt like I had made progress, like I wasn't revisiting the same issues and I was growing up, maturing, improving, and getting ahead of this insidious depression. If I had a bad day I was able to turn it around, not without considerable effort, but not let it spiral into days and weeks which is historically a habit.
Then about 3 weeks ago I seemed to hit a slump. I don't know exactly where it came from, but it seemed to descend from out of nowhere. I'm sure it had its origins, but to me it seemed to just appear. I gave into it for a day, hoping that I just needed a day to let it wash over me- But day followed day, turning into weeks. Now it is so reminiscent of days past, days so easy to forget how bad and debilitating depression can be, when it turns from more than merely a lack of motivation to a crippling inability to function. And this is just the beginning. This is the precipice before I hurl into an abyss of lethargy, apathy and a downward spiral of guilt, self-pity and loathing accompanied by a mystifying inability to enact any change! I hate it! I know it sounds so self-indulgent, so dramatic, so...stupid. But I swear I hate it. I swear I do not act any of it. I swear I do not want any one's pity, scorn, disbelief, sympathy, attention. I do want empathy. I want someone who understands when it sounds so unbelievable. Someone who knows I'm not looking for attention. I'm grateful i have that person: my sister. I know she understands, but even she does it better than I. Even though she understands and empathizes and does not judge, times like this it makes me feel a little bit bad because she copes and functions and does not jeopardize the happiness and well-being of her family.
This blip, this eruption makes me question my future course. I felt like I was doing well, improving, and then I fell off a cliff. What do I have to do? In order to be functioning human being, mother, wife, friend, member of society- enjoy a modicum of happiness will I always have to meticulously monitor every bite of food, religiously exercise daily, keep a strict sleep schedule, scrutinize every thought, hang motivational thoughts from every surface, berate myself constantly?
Only someone who has experienced debilitating depression will understand why it is so hard to affect change. Why despite my complaints, my misery, I cannot merely pull myself up by the bootstraps and get over it.
Sometimes this mortality thing sucks.

Self-Indulgent Rant, or 'Creative Frustration'

I tend to be very passionate about whatever it is that I am interested in at the time. Sometimes these things are more fleeting than others, but I approach everything head-on with an all-consuming devotion. Even if it turns out that I lost interest quickly or change my mind, at the time I really was genuinely passionate about it. One cannot tell from the outset whether the notion will be transient or lasting because I always have this genuine interest.
Usually I research the ins and outs of the subject before deciding whether or not to pursue it. Such was the case with keeping chickens. I was really interested in it, but approached it with the caution it deserved, not wanting to ultimately be stuck with a flock of chickens and their adjoining waste if later the idea lost some of it luster. I read 2 or 3 books, talked to a couple of experienced chicken keepers and mulled it over for a while. Fortunately I decided that at least for the time being, chicken-keeping was more than I wanted to handle. Whew- we dodged that one. Luckily for everyone, my sometimes-fleeting interests do not always carry the threat of avian bird flu, mounds of feces or accompanying flies. My current love does not come with any real threats to my safety or the happiness of others around me.
Sewing.
I've been into sewing for a long time. I started my first quilt 12 years ago, and it is still unfinished, not for lack of interest but perhaps because of the magnitude of the project. That's another problem. After reading and researching, sketching and brainstorming I attack it with a zeal that would indicate that I actually know what I'm doing or have experience in the field. I figure, 'I can figure it out. I can do that.' Oftentimes I cannot. Then frustration and cursing ensues.
Now that Fiona is officially one year old (!!) I feel like I have the freedom and presence of mind to explore my passions. Finishing a lap quilt while at Michelle's house gave me the confidence to sew again, so I came home and started filling notebook with designs and ideas. I have visions of grandeur of filling my etsy shop again, updating daily, hand-made gifts for everyone, shunning the opulence and emptiness of consumer-driven store bought gifts. I start collecting materials everywhere I can- Goodwill has been a great place for vintage sheets and fabric. I start drawing patterns and get to work creating, trying to translate my ideas to tangible items. This is where the frustration comes in. I don't actually know what I'm doing. My talents and abilities do not match my visions! It is SO frustrating to have this break in communication. It makes me feel demoralized and like I have no business doing this and why do I even try?! So I curse and pout and put it down. The next day I wake up, look at it and tackle it again.
I need help.
Maybe more ways than one.

Stalled

I'm struggling.
I don't know why my weight loss success is not fluid. At my last meeting, nearly a week ago I lost an amazing 3.8 pounds and achieved 2 great goals- a cumulative 19.8 pounds which I neatly rounded up to 20, as well as my 10% weight loss goal. I was riding high, proud of these significant achievements and like I was really gelling. The longer I kept at it (9 weeks at the time-) the easier it got. I felt like I was hitting my stride, had overcome the hardest part which was just beginning, and was even starting to recieve compliments on my weight loss.
Then what happened? A few things...I was really excited about my progress, but then I allowed those familiar doubts to creep back in, such as 'Well I suppose I look marginally better, but I'm still so f**.' (bad 3-letter world-) 'I lost 20, but I still have 50 to go. No one can even tell. I'm still wearing the same clothes.' Which is so dumb, because even if I'm not at my goal already, in such a brief period of time, I'm a lot better off than I was, a lot further along in the journey, so why give up, give in? It makes no sense! It's so much easier if I continue to exercise self-restraint, making each subsequent choice more automatic. Conversely, every time I indulge or give it makes it easier to do the next time, harder to resist. With every choice I am strengthening either my ability to resist, or the temptation to give in. Every decision moves me closer to or farther from my goal. Well, the past few days I've taken a hit, moved farther from my goal. That doesn't mean I can't rectify it or resume my stride, but it's harder. Definitely would have been easier if I stayed the course.
Another downer was Easter. A small, trifling thing, but I got dressed feeling pretty cute and curvy and clearly thinner than I was before. As Wynnona Judd says on Alli commercial, 'I may not be where I want to be, but I'm sure as heck not where I was.' True dat. However, keeping court with 100-pound girls and the detrimental effect of instant-digital-figure-feedback left me feeling bruised and bereft. Suddenly I felt foolish for traipsing around with the ridiculous notion that I looked good, even thin(ner). I ate very sensibly, but after I got home that degenerated for a few days. It's like once I taste sugar it drives me in a constant craving for more. Like I said, one bad choice led to another, to another et cetera.
So now I need to resume progress, effort, and face the challenge of beginning again. Better late than...later. Or never, even.
Sigh.
Why is sustainable change so hard to...sustain?

What's Wrong With Me?

Rhetorical question- I don't have time to hear all of your answers.
On Sunday I was driving home from church, going through the light when Timm started yelling "You're lane! You're lane!!" I looked up, the light was green, there was nothing in front of me in my lane, I couldn't figure out what he was freaking out about. I switched lanes and a van passed me, honking. Apparently I drifted across the intersection into the other lane, cutting off the driver of the van. That's bad enough. The really bad part, was i could not understand it for the life of me. I was like, no- I was in the left lane. I saw it. I was here, and then there was a lane next to me, the right lane. Even though Timm corrected me, I could not for the life of me envision my mistake. I couldn't see what I did wrong. It disturbed me, like an indicator of dementia.
Then today I stopped by Molly's house. She selfishly left me to visit her family in Dallas for 3 weeks, leaving me with no friends. Friend. That combined with the rest of the women in my family convening in Denver without me left me as the Cheese, standing alone. Anyway, I went by her house to check on it. I pulled in the driveway, walked up to the porch. Hmm. Molly has a porch? There were 2 ceramic statues that had toppled over and had their heads knocked off. That doesn't seem like something Molly would have... I looked at her door. Hmm. That's kind of a tacky wreath. Not like Molly. At least it's springy. Oh look, a glass storm door. I didn't remember her having that. And red gravel instead of mulch or pine straw. Never noticed. I went to the side of her house where her trash can is kept and it wasn't there. My first thought was some hoodlum kids took off with their trash can! Why would they do that? Kids... Maybe a neighbor put it in her garage. Where'd their key pad go?? This is weird...Oh. Wait. Molly's house is next door. Okay, it wasn't until the 7th, the seventh difference that it occurred to me that it wasn't Molly's house. What the hell? And I go their house all the time-all the time.
The only thing that would top this is if I were to get Blue's Clues wrong again, for the third time in history. Good thing we're not watching that anymore.

Return

Our computer is mostly restored, for now at least. I know Timm still has some tweaking to do, and I have what has become increasingly rare access to the laptop tonight so I am taking advantage. I like to combine sedentary activities whenever possible to really get the most mileage out of my butt-sitting time, so Timm and I are cuing up some Arrested Development to watch as well. This post will be one one those junk-drawer catch-all posts that I love so much and which frequently occur when my blogging goes sporadically.
Timm only had to work one night this week which is a first. Lately he works about 3 nights a week, down from 4, but this week, 1. It's great for him, for the family time, for every reason except the budget. Oh well, at least we can say we tried. I am enjoying it while I can. I'm also happy to say that after 5 1/2 years of marriage I still enjoy his company as much or more than anyone, and don't tire of it. Our low-key evenings are the highlight of my day. It seems like all I do all day is in preparation to retire and relax in peace.
I am on week 6 in Weight Watchers. I am excited. About 6 weeks ago I finally felt ready to give it a go, try and exact change. I was surprised to find how excited I was to jump back in. To take control. To work towards a goal. To make myself proud. It is going well:over 13 pounds total. Last week alone, 3.6 pounds. I feel like I'm making real changes, returning to self. It has so many positive effects for everyone within my influence. The success and inspiration translates to every area of my life. After my weigh-in this morning I was elated with my weight loss but still tired and unmotivated to do the day's task of cleaning the bathrooms. Using the momentum I gained from my Weight Watchers meeting I put myself to it and was very productive for the day. Another bonus is the healthy, tasty meals that are now regularly prepared for my family, the abundance of fresh and healthy options. I have more energy and I've recently started receiving those coveted gems, the weight-loss compliments. Things are good.
I've also been really productive this week, detail cleaning my kitchen, living room, and bathrooms. All that remains is our bedrooms. I taught Joy School this week, did my laundry, meal-planning, grocery shopping, even 2 or 3 social ventures, mostly with Molly. I feel largely on top of things, but tired. I can't say my limited access to the internet has hurt my productivity. I have a few other posts in mind that I will hopefully commit to the blog in the next few days, including my beginner's coupon tips and a video of Fiona in her crawling attempts and progress. Here, here!

Back in Action

Well, I'm trying at least. I'll probably have a purge-style post soon that will showcase all miscellaneous photos on my card that I want to show as well as a stream of consciousness rambling to explain the day-to-day banalities that you have missed out on for the last 2 weeks. I know you are all on pins and needles waiting for that one.
We took these on Sunday at Nana's request because she said, and I quote, that the family picture she had of us was "terrible", "awful", and "unattractive." Hmm. Although I do not necessarily disagree, short of liposuction, Lap-band surgery or drastic photo-shopping, there's not much that can be done at least immediately, since I am the detracting subject matter. Since I haven't employed any of the aforementioned drastic measures, we just gussied ourselves up for church in coordinating clothes and took these afterwards. They turned out reasonably well. Unfortunately I also decided to try my hair a new (and apparently scary) way for said pictures. I hope these ones meet Nana's critical standards, or she may have to wait a year for a family picture featuring a new-and-improved Jessie.
(In her defense, I think Nana was merely displeased with her poorly-printed photo that was on regular computer paper that they printed and then cut to size. I think. It wasn't really clear.)
There might be better ones of Bella, but they feature many more chins for me, so they will remain archived on my computer for now. Of course I need to pick the most flattering one of myself. Self-preservation and all.
Viewing these photos was one of those acute moments of painful realization and reckoning. (Some of you are familiar with this, I'm sure-) You think you know how bad it's gotten (say, a weight problem or some such thing...) and although you are not pleased with your current state, you have come to terms with it, at least for the time being. You feel like you have an accurate picture of the person you are presenting to the world. You know what you are, where you stand, for good or for ill. Then you see a picture that clarifies that image all too harshly and you think, "Wait-what? Is this for real?" Then your mind tries to rearrange the reality that you thought you were living- you view yourself as everyone else has apparently been seeing you and wonder how you could be so ignorant, and how no one could tell you, set you straight. You feel shame and embarrassment that this is the picture, the person you have been unwittingly placing on display for the general public, whether they want to see it or not. (Most likely not-) Your mind reels, dissecting every social encounter and viewing yourself in a more accurate, and unflattering light. Suddenly you wonder why said public and social individuals have tolerated your company other than for a new-found appreciation for themselves when compared to your sad state.
Sigh.
So this is what it has come to. How did I let this happen? Why is it so hard to change?
The funny thing is, I don't feel like a fat person. In my mind, I look like I have at my best- that is the person I see myself as. The problem is, other people don't see that. My friends in North Carolina don't have a better frame of reference to compare me to- one that I feel is so critical for me to remember so that I know is attainable. And my clothes definitely don't see me that way- they hang in crowded silence, each garment relying on each other for the hope that they will be worn again some day. Soon.
I realize if you don't know me very well, it could be hard to detect my dry and self-deprecating tone, but I promise it's there. I can find humor even in the ugliest of situations and it helps me to clear my mind by writing it all out. Accounting for it. So there we have it.
Please notice the label- No need to comment.
Also- it's worse than these pictures would lead one to believe. I'm not masochistic enough to publish the truly hideous, though more accurate ones. So there.
Quiet.

No Need To Comment. (or even read...)

We are all created equal, but we know that we have different strengths and weaknesses, talents and challenges. So how does it all really add up equally? Does that mean that in theory I am equal to say, Martin Luther King Jr. or the current prophet of our church President Monson, or just that I have the capabilities, the hope, the choice of becoming as good?
We also know that where much is given, much is required. Some are given more. At least more of specific things. So is the same required of us? How much in life is subjective to who we are? How does what we are born with, inherent with, given, factor into what we are responsible to for? Do our challenges handicap us so that we are not as accountable for it, or accountable in the same way as others without that struggle?
I guess what I want to know is what is within us. What does 'equal' really mean? How does it balance, equate? Are each and every one of us really capable of the same greatness in this life and our earthly destinies are only determined by our choices? God knows what we will do, where we will go, and he allows us those choices, but even in the pre-mortal life we cannot have been truly equal. Some are simply better than others, right? I mean, if I have a friend that is truly kind-hearted, without guile, empathetic and compassionate, but a total moron working with her hands, whereas I have a talent for crafts, we're equal? Just a different balance of strengths and weaknesses? Doesn't sound right, does it?
I just wonder about all this sometimes, and then I'm afraid that it doesn't really matter. That I'm complicating things too much and I need to simply focus on doing my best. Why then, does my best seem so far short of other's? Or even short of other's mediocre attempts?
Depression for instance. It seems obvious to me that I have to try a lot harder than most people to be happy. I wish I was one of those people who just woke up with a smile on her face, had a lust for life, undying optimism and a can-do attitude. Unfortunately, I have to focus and work on being happy. It is achieved through conscious work, a cumulative effect of mental exercises and attempts at self-help. Because of my struggles with depression I occasionally do (or don't do) things that I would do differently if it were not for that struggle. Take depression out of the equation, and things would work a lot differently, and a lot better for that matter. So what allowances are made for me specifically because of my unique challenges and efforts?
I am not using my depression as a scapegoat. I promise I'm not, even if it sounds profoundly like I am. I am just a thinker, a wonderer, (a dreamer... sounds like Shel Silverstein-). I can't help but explore all these things and try to figure out the hows and whys of my brain, myself. However, I still know that we all make choices based upon the challenges and blessings we currently have or do not have.
This leads me to another question. How much can we change? I know that through the Atonement all change is possible, so even as soon as I asked the question it sounded stupid. But still, we have to be born with limitations as a mortal on earth, and these limitations will vary between us all, right? I guess we have no idea what those limitations are, or if they only exist in our minds so we have to continually strive for better and better regardless.
Sometimes I try and remember that I only have to do my best and try a little harder each day, but I can quickly become derailed and discouraged when I realize that my best seems a sorry excuse for an attempt. How do we know if it is our best? Why is our best sometimes so much less than others? How do ourselves really balance? I seem to struggle in so many areas it seems impossible that my successes, virtues, and talents can balance me with others and fill the void that is left by my deficiencies and failings.. What if my best is simply not as good as another's? Do I accept that and continue to try and do all that I can, hoping that my best, and I, will improve? It seems like certain things are just harder for some than others. Obviously there is another huge population that have things much worse than I, since I do know that I have it pretty good. I do recognize my vast blessings, which are mainly the gospel and the people in my life. I know that I am rich beyond measure and have more than I could ever want.
I just can't help but wonder.
Am I way too introspective? Should I just shut up and do?
Or tell myself, as Homer would say, "Shut up brain, or I'll stab you with a Q-Tip!" ?

TMI: Self-Indulgent Musings...

This is after all, my blog, my journal, and if you can't be self-indulgent in that forum, where can you? I suppose that is the very definition of a journal come to think of it...
What's with me? I'm feeling stuck.
This all seems so familiar somehow- Perhaps something I felt approximately 1,277 days ago, or when Bella was about the same age as Fiona is right now. When Bella was born, I was so afraid of post-partum depression. Considering the rigorous battle depression gives me on a regular basis, the addition of post-baby hormones and the stresses of new motherhood seemed an ominous combination. I was pleasantly surprised when I seemed to handle it better than I expected or thought capable. For a couple of months anyway. No that it was easy, not that I felt like I adjusted particularly well or adeptly, but still better than I thought I would. Then after a few months my progress seemed to slow, things started to pile up around the house, my to-do list remained stagnant, my patience grew thin, perhaps I gained a few pounds, and I left the house less and less. A familiar routine for me since all of these are common symptoms of depression. Why? What happened? I was doing so well, and then suddenly... I wasn't. Well the same seems to have happened this go 'round. Fi is 4 months old and my house is a disaster, laundry is in several piles around the house and hasn't actually been folded and put away in a couple of weeks. I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting last Friday but have yet to actually commit myself to it since I didn't plan accordingly. I have yet to assume making regular dinners for my family, resume a regular cleaning routine, maintain any sort of regular routine for that matter. Dishes are piled around the kitchen, my grocery shopping still on the kitchen table, my laundry spread around the living room with the ironing board hopefully set up. My bed is unmade, my coupons not completely clipped or organized. I am participating in a yard sale with some friends this weekend and have yet to even begin assembling or readying my goods. And yet with all this piled up around me, here I sit watching American Idol, blogging, waiting for Timm to come home from work with a milkshake for me.
Why now? Why do I feel like I'm giving up now after 4 months of comparable success? It starts to accumulate in my consciousness making me think along the lines of: 'What am I good at? What am I good for? Why am I the way I am? Why is everyone in my life better than me, deserve better than me? Why does anyone like me? Why can't I do anything? Why can't I sustain anything or any achievement? Why am I so much less than everyone else? Why am I so much less capable than others? What redeeming qualities do I even have? How does anyone put up with me? Why can't I get it together? When will I? Will I?
What is the point of me?
Hmm.