400th!

Wow. I can’t even begin to fathom four-hundred posts. That’s huge! That’s an investment of time, truth, confession, brain matter, humility and embarrassment. But what an accomplishment. I’ve always known I should keep a journal for future generations — isn’t that what we are counselled? And this is probably the closest I will ever get to keeping that command. [Maybe not, though. Perhaps I'll actually buy a journal and start to write.]

Happy Achievement to me!

I have learned so much in the last year and a quarter.

• Things aren’t as hard as they seem before you start.
• Tough things can make you tougher.
• Friends are show up in unlikely situations.
• People have more in common than they have differences.
• Forgive yourself.
• Forgive others.
• I love my sisters!
• So what if you/I mess up.
• God didn’t ask us to see through each other, but to see each other through.
• If you start to improve something, God will give you more to work on.
• I make a difference.
• I am worth treating well.
• It doesn’t matter how many prayers you’ve prayed. It matters more how many you’ve answered.
• Family is everything.
• We underestimate how much we eat and overestimate how much we move.
• I can look in the mirror on some days and actually like who I see.
• The church’s 12 step program can help you through anything you are struggling with.
• Three handsful of fat around the middle is too much!
• Don’t eat a whole cup of almonds in one sitting.
• If you don’t have time to take care of your health, when will you find time to take care of sickness?
• I really can do

I’ve learned a bunch though this venture but realize it’s just the tip of what there is to learn. And I look forward to finding out every answer, every solution, every reason, every logic I’ve ever wondered.

How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment
before starting to improve.  ~Anne Frank

[It feels like I'm starting over but Yay! I've exercised two days in a row!]

lived to tell

This morning Mikelle and I went to RS for a girl day.

She had colored my hair last evening and given me a haircut this morning. She also cut Scott’s hair before he headed to Las Vegas today.

We were itching to do something fun together and our choices seemed to be to either head to Evanston for a movie, shopping and lunch or go to Rock Springs for the day. We thought there might be more choices of shopping, eating and movies, so we headed east.

I’ve been looking for a cool pair of sandals [at end-of-season prices] for several weeks so we hit Sport’s Authority and Herberger’s first. No luck at either place so we tried Famous Footwear. I wanted Teva, Chaco or Keen. No such thing. Zappo’s has some awesome choices and I suppose I’ll end up shopping online. I just keep hoping I’ll get them somewhere half-price instead of paying Zappo’s cost.

Love them all!

Somewhere between shoe shops Mikelle convinced me that we needed to eat at Applebee’s which was just across the parking lot. Sure enough she made a great lunch choice and we dined on the most scrumptious spinach-artichoke dip, Oriental Chicken salad and three-cheese penne. Yum. Me! [Good-bye 147!]

Movies were kind of so-so. After calling Tracy at her home and receiving a mini-review of all we might be interested in, we decided to opt for pedicures instead. I wanted to see Eat Love Pray and Mikelle wanted to see Inception or Charlie St. Cloud. But we found a reasonable pedicure/manicure/massage place and melted under their 40-minute care. Yum. Me.

Mikelle has pregnant feet and I have tan feet from wearing flop-flops for two weeks.
Flop-flops is how Annesley says flip flops.

A little shopping for the week at Wal-Mart and we were heading back to the valley. I drove while she downed an entire carton of Ben and Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream. Yum. Her.

There were days a few years ago we wouldn’t have been able to sit in the same car for more than fifteen minutes without yelling or correcting or hurting each other. But we’re both all grown up now and had so much fun together. At one point in the mall we saw three teen-age girls walking by and we turned to each other with a sour look and I said, “I’m so glad you’re not there anymore.”

I’m so glad I we survived those teen-age years and lived to tell about it. I’m having more fun with my children now that they are grown than I ever did before.

Life is [so dang] good!

yesterday’s oatmeal

I’ve hit rock bottom! [just in this one area . . .] I’m ready to exercise!

Although my arms are tan [perhaps making them not look quite so fat] from camping for almost two weeks, I cringe with disbelief at how they are hanging on the underside. I can’t even feel that muscle I used to love on the top outside of my arm — the deltoid. I think. I used to flex and steel a feel. Now I can’t find it. I’m embarrassed to wear short sleeve shirts, but, seriously, I can’t wear a long sleeve top in 90-degree weather.

And my tummy.

Oh dear. Oh my.

I’ll just say I’ve got some serious work to do.

The thing is, my body is amazing! It’s always responded well to when I have a bout with exercise. I see results almost immediately. It ‘remembers’ what it was like when I took exercise seriously. It gets back in shape pretty easily. So why do I treat it with such disrespect?

My calves are  straight down from the knee now. No shape whatsoever. No defining muscle in the back tapering down to the ankle. Mikelle has ‘cankles’ with good reason. She’s 7 months pregnant! I’ve no excuse!

Every day when we swam at the river I’d look down and nearly gasp at what I saw: yesterday’s oatmeal spread all over my body. I wondered who would do such a thing to me! Who would sneak into my tent and spread cold, glutinous, lumpy oatmeal all over my body?

Starting this morning I’m going to lift or do push ups. I’m going to start taking my measurements again. Last year I measured every month and was motivated to make improvements. This year I’m . . . not so much.

My sister, Eileen was at GRL for a few days and I couldn’t believe how great she looks. She’s lost a lot of weight and she’s motivated me to do better! She swears it’s from walking every single day and eating cucumbers! And Camille! You should just take a look at Camille! She looks fabulous! All her hard work looks great on her!

I can do that! I can do better. I can refocus and get back to my goal weight. What’s a matter with me!?! I spent a whole year getting to where I want to be and then I just let it all slip away.

I’ve renegotiated my ‘goal weight’ and I’ve rationalized that I’m sixty years old and good enough. I’ve made excuses and lied to myself and eaten pure garbage lots of days. I’ve dropped the ball and let myself down. But now I’m ready to get going and get moving. I’m ready to make a change.

So here we go: 148 today. Measurements: Ugh.

38.25
33
37.25
38
22.25
15.5
12.25

Not good! Getting better promptly! Got some serious work ahead.

becky

I have a friend I’ll call Becky — because her name is Becky and I don’t have any reason to try to camouflage it with an alias.

She and I have worked together for about 15 years. She and I have had our ups and downs [years ago!] but for the last 12 or so she has been a dear friend. She’s a confidant, a counselor, a mentor, and example. She is amazing! She has so much work ethic, stamina, self-discipline, self-motivation. She goes the extra mile every single day.

And this week, while I was camping, she and her son Shawn, mowed my lawn a couple of times and watered so I didn’t have to come home to an over-grown, scraggly and burnt-brown lawn.

I daresay I love this woman like a sister.

We have so much in common: husbands who kind of make us crazy, husbands who kind of make us cross, kids who go astray every now and then, we sit in church alone, we do our callings and jobs, we do the bulk of all the housework at home, we get frustrated about the same guy at work who takes advantage and uses the system to get whatever he wants — you know who you are! We talk to each other and listen to each other, hug each other, and support each other. We’ve commiserated and celebrated and laughed and cried and supported and loved each other.

But.

Because it’s part of my makeup to push away when I get too involved, I’ve pretty much sabotaged our friendship over the years. When I feel us getting too personal or too sensitive or too enmeshed, I do something stupid to hurt or upset her. I say something careless or thoughtless. Or I prematurely walk away in the middle of a conversation. I  don’t understand why! It’s like I’m claustrophobic and can’t let myself get too close.

I’m really tired of this character flaw!

I know people who have great friendships. They travel together and call each other every day. They lunch together and go to movies. I have a friend, Holly, who goes on trips with her three best friends. These are friends from high school who support and love each other through all kinds of trouble and frustrations. I joined facebook so I could find some old high-school friends and keep in touch, but I tired of it within a couple of months. And my stake president counselled us all to not spend so much time on there. So I didn’t connect with anyone particular.

My daughter, Tracy, has a gazillion friends. Really close friends. And I seriously don’t understand how that is even possible!

Of all the people I associate with and know, I think Becky is really the only person I would call a close friend. One day Mikelle asked me if I had a friend. Seriously, she had to ask. Ouch! I said, Oh my goodness, yes. There is Terry and Cheryl and Mary and Marla and Andi and Kay and Trish and Pauline, and Holly and Susan and Mrs. Eyre and Keri and Lisa and Tami and Ruth and Blanche and Robin and Karen and blah, blah blah. She saw right through that and said, I mean a really good friend . . . .

Becky is who I texted when I got back in town.

Becky is who I called the minute I got her text back.

Becky is who I talked to on the phone for half an hour about a situation at work.

Becky is who said, come and see me today.

So yah, I have a friend! A dear friend. And I’m not going to be embarrassed about it anymore.

friend

[frend] Show IPA

—Synonyms
1. comrade, chum, crony, confidant. See acquaintance. 2. backer, advocate. 4. ally, associate, confrere, compatriot. 5. Becky Davidson!

my own bed

I’m home! Home from the mountains I love. Home from the lake I adore. Home from the smell of pine and rain clouds and fishy grand-kids, and campfire and burnt marshmallows. Home from camping for another year.

I miss it already.

I showered as soon as I walked in the door, but I still smell the campfire in my hair this morning.

And then I weighed. 149 last night, 148 this morning.

Every single day — all 12 of them — I

• breathed in the mountain air
• prayed morning and night
• consciously took in all the beauty around me
• read Women, Food and God
• read Clean Hands, Pure Heart
• read Eats, Shoots and Leaves
• did 5 sudoku puzzles, medium difficulty
• walked between 30-40 minutes
• drank water that was snow the day before
• swam in the river (most days)
• loved my family more than I ever have

Glorious!

But last night it was wonderful to sleep in my own bed. I climbed between the crisp sheets and hunkered down for a great sleep. While we were camping I slept in my Kelty tent on my Coleman air mattress, and in my Cabela’s sub-zero bag with two Levi quilts on top, wearing my polypropylene under-armour .

There had been a ‘bear-scare’ the week before in campsite #34, just two away from ours. I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed of grizzlies all night long. One night I actually prayed to clarify if God was telling me to go get my razor out of the car to enable me to quickly cut myself out of the back part of my tent in case a grizzly came in the front.

Then I thought, do grizzlies actually come in the front door of the tent?

Most nights I woke up to sounds that momentarily frightened me. I wondered if Scott would be able to hear my screams from his tent across our camp if I needed him to run through the dark with his .44 Magnum in tow.

I’ve turned into a sissy!

The last night, after Scott and Andie had left, I slept in my car. It was rough! I still had on my polies, still slept in the bag with the two quilts, but it was a tight squeeze and the reclining front seat wasn’t a good fit.

My own bed felt wonderful!

quotes

Practically heading out the door but I wanted to post these wonderful and thought provoking sayings about mothers that I used in Sunday’s RS lesson. I especially love the one by Picasso. Oh my goodness. Rip my heart.

Q u o t e s    A b o u t   M o t h e r s

If you have a mom, there is nowhere you are likely to go where a prayer has not already been.  ~Robert Brault

The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new.  ~Rajneesh

If the whole world were put into one scale, and my mother in the other, the whole world would kick the beam.  ~Lord Langdale (Henry Bickersteth)

My mom is a never-ending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and being.  I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune.  ~Graycie Harmon

Grown! Grown don’t mean nothing to a mother.  A child is a child.  They get bigger, older, but grown?  What’s that suppose to mean?  In my heart it don’t mean a thing.  ~Toni Morrison, Beloved, 1987

When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts.  A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.  ~Sophia Loren, Women and Beauty

Sweater, n.:  garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly.  ~Ambrose Bierce

One of the reasons I had respect for my mother when I was thirteen was because she would reach into the sink with her bare hands – bare hands – and pick up that lethal gunk and drop it into the garbage.  To top that, I saw her reach into the wet garbage bag and fish around in there looking for a lost teaspoon.  Bare hands – a kind of mad courage.  ~Robert Fulghum

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. ~Tenneva Jordan

Any mother could perform the jobs of several air traffic controllers with ease. ~Lisa Althe

When I was a child, my mother said to me, ‘If you become a soldier, you’ll be a general. If you become a monk you’ll end up as the pope.’ Instead I became a painter and wound up as Picasso. ~Pablo Picasso

Motherhood is not for the faint-hearted. Frogs, skinned knees, and the insults of teenage girls are not meant for the wimpy. ~Danielle Steel

Most of all the other beautiful things in life come by twos and threes, by dozens and hundreds. Plenty of roses, stars, sunsets, rainbows, brothers and sisters, aunts and cousins, comrades and friends – but only one mother in the whole world. ~Kate Douglas Wiggin

It was when I had my first child that I understood how much my mother loved me. ~From “For Mother – A Bouquet of Sentiments”

All that I am or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother. ~Abraham Lincoln

weighty

I’m going to be gone camping with family for a couple of weeks and so I’m taking a few minutes to write some things that have been swimming around in my head. My sister emailed and said she’d miss reading my blog while I was gone and I wanted to leave one more post about things that are weighty matters.

I’ve been reading Women, Food and God off and on. It’s been too much truth for me at times. It’s hard to read and very, um, direct and painful. But it’s right on point. It forces me to look at everything I don’t want to look at. All the things I’ve avoided for a lifetime. Ever since I stole money out of the tithing bowl in dad’s office to buy Christmas presents for Sandy and Gary. Ever since I kicked my dad in the shin over and over. Ever since my brother thought it was OK to play doctor. Ever since a stranger assaulted me at school. Ever since I began a lifetime of lying and stealing and cheating. Ever since I decided all on my own that it wasn’t safe or comfortable to be me. Ever since I got pregnant when I was 16. Ever since I tied my crying baby in a high chair and went to a class when I couldn’t afford a baby sitter. Ever since I threw up my first meal. Ever since I began hating myself on a regular basis. Ever since I can remember.

Last night I went to a recovery meeting. Several things connected.

Several!

First of all, I’ve been trying to do this myself. I’ve been thinking for y.e.a.r.s that I had to work out my own bizarre relationship with food because, 1] it’s embarrassing; 2] I am so ashamed that I’ve spent my life, my whole dang life! fighting with food; 3] I know people who have real problems and I hate that food, [f.o.o.d of all things!] can put me in a straight jacket; 4] I don’t want to ask God about something that might be trivial to him , even though it has been shattering to me. I mean, He has mountains to move and people to heal and heart surgeries to watch over and wars to content with. So this woman from Lyman,Wyoming is not going to bother Him about her food obsession/compulsions. Yes it’s been a mountain for me. It needs healing, my heart needs repaired as well, and I’ve been at war with myself for over forty years. But, for some reason I thought it was my job to get myself to, at least, the half-way point before I could reach for His hand. And I’ve never gotten half way.

Why am I eating? I keep asking myself that question. Why do I eat when I’m not the least bit hungry. I don’t have a clue what hungry is. I know what empty is! I keep getting hungry and empty confused.

I once read about how people’s relationships with food mirrors their belief systems. I realized that is what I have done, and so many other people have done, for years. I think, ‘I am so messed up that the pain is going to overwhelm me,’ but really the truth is I’ve already experienced that pain. [Over and over! For years! And somehow I've made it through.]

Geneen Roth explains, “Yes, you have, (experienced that pain) and what food does at that point is it doubles the pain, rather than make it go away. You’re still in pain about what you were in pain about before you ate, but now you’ve added a whole level of more discomfort which is: ‘Oh, I can’t believe I ate this. What’s wrong with me? Am I ever going to get my life together? Is it ever going to get better?’ Then you’re feeling like a failure on top of the discomfort you were feeling before.”

Oh my heck! Hello! My life in black and white.

Obsession gives me something to do besides have my heart shattered by heart-shattering events. Like when I found out my ex-husband went to get ice for my baby shower and ended up having s*x with my cousin on the way. Obsession gives me something to do besides have my heart shattered every time I remember that humiliation and the other eight affairs he had during that marriage.

Getting up and living day-to-day and going through the stuff of day-to-day, that’s difficult. But somehow we believe that food is cushioning it. Food is protecting us from feeling all those feelings that won’t go away on their own.

We somehow believe that if we hate ourselves enough, if we shame ourselves enough, we’ll end up thin, happy, peaceful people. Somehow if I torture myself enough, I’ll end up feeling great about myself and about my life, as if hatred leads to love and torture leads to contentment.

That’s what I learned last night.

I’ve always known deep within my soul that there is a connection between my compulsive eating/perpetual dieting and deeply personal and spiritual issues that go far beyond food, weight and body image. We eat the way we live and our relationships to food, money and love are exact reflections of our deeply held beliefs about ourselves and the amount of joy, abundance, pain and scarcity we believe we have (or are allowed) to have in our lives.

And that’s my last-minute post about why I am the way I am. I don’t know how to get from here to where I want to be. I don’t know how to get from here to not beating myself up with cheese cake and brownies. Sometimes I even beat myself up with a head of cauliflower. I eat the whole dang thing, thinking it is better than cheesecake and brownies. But even when it’s cauliflower, and I’m not hungry — just stuffing — it’s still crazy.

I’m taking lots of healing books to read and I’m going to breath mountain air and swim in an ice cold lake and river. I’m going to lay in a hammock and cook popcorn over the fire. I’m going to play cards and love my grandchildren and celebrate Blythe and Andie’s 14th birthdays. I’m going to think of my mother. I’m going to take a walk every single day. I’m going to relax and renew. I’m going to celebrate finally working on my recovery. I’m going to smell rain and watch the stars. I’m determined to find Orion. I’m going to watch out for bears.

sick puppy

We have two bathrooms. We do. Sort of.

The problem is, one is not all that habitable. Even with the new toilet it’s pretty dang gross. Hubby has been calling it his for the past twenty-some-years. And it pretty much resembles a guy’s bathroom. Picture two college guys living in an apartment. Yah, pretty disgusting. The tub is beyond repair, stained beyond hope, and the grout has a life of it’s own. Literally! There are approximately eleven empty shampoo, conditioner and body wash bottles in the bottom, an old net scrubbie, and a razor blade lying there.

A good wife would clean it for her hubby.

Not me.

This week we have eight people living at my house — seven of them girls. Tracy had to use the bathroom the other day and couldn’t wait for the line at my bathroom. She was gagging just thinking of going into hubby’s area. But then she said, “Is this a new toilet?” and was able to relieve herself of a bursting bladder.

I’m fine to use that bathroom, occasionally. I just don’t put my glasses on and try to hum a nice tune while I’m there.

Here’s the way I look at things. [Side bar, I know I'm wrong. I know I will be judged at heaven's gate for not cleaning my husband's bathroom. I know!] I clean the kitchen, the living room, the dining room. I do all the laundry, 98% of the dishes. I do the front yard. I put out the garbage when hubby forgets his one weekly job on Friday mornings. I’ve been feeding and watering the horses for five weeks. I get my oil changed myself and rotate tires. And I clean my own bathroom, occasionally.

So I feel entitled to leave his bathroom for him. I know it’s mean. I know!

Mikelle would never do that. Tracy wouldn’t. I’m sure my mother is disappointed in me and is nudging me right this moment to feel a little guilt. Perhaps me writing this is her doing, her inspiration from up there where her spirit lives now. She’s saying, “Now, Dorothy, you know it’s a wife’s sacred duty to keep the bathrooms clean. Both of them.”

I clean 21 toilets a day at work. I clean the C-wing, the Performing Arts and the Commons area toilets all the time. But for some reason I can’t bring myself to clean hubby’s bathroom. Maybe there is something deep-seated going on here. Maybe it is total rebellion. Maybe it’s a power struggle. Maybe I’m one sick puppy.

I always thought that we’d  split the housework right down the middle. We both work long and hard. We both come home tired. But I have to clean and cook and do laundry and hubby goes to bed. So, my mean, passive-aggressive self refuses to do that one little thing.

I’m totally ashamed.

Who needs therapy? I’ve talked this through, feel really crappy and will tackle  his bathroom as soon as I get home.

m.a.y.b.e.

On the other hand, maybe I can pay the grand-kids $20 to clean it really well.

log

I have a relatively new son-in-law. His name is Logan and he lives in Logan, so that’s a bit of a conundrum sometimes as I type. I feel as though I’m always repeating myself mid-sentence, which I tend to do, anyway, so there you go. Maybe I have a good reason now.

This guy is six-foot-something tall, and two feet wide at the shoulders. He doesn’t look like he wears 38X34 jeans, but he sure does. He actually fits into the 36×34, but I made him take those back.] He’s NOT fat! So I can write that in Weighing Matters. He’s just big, strong, healthy, a total sports jock, and fast. Faster than a speeding bullet, which by-the-way, puts him square in the middle of Superman territory. [He's also stronger than a locomotive!]

I first met Logan [from Logan] the summer-fall that daughter, Mikelle, moved to Utah in 2008. Oh, he was cute enough and fun enough. He was polite and home from a mission in Atlanta. [making points with the mama.] He was just a little too-umm, goofy at times, though, and a little weird, to say the least. I figured he would move on, eventually. But a couple of things so warmed my heart. He took pictures [really goofy pictures] with Mikelle — some of them on the Logan Temple grounds. They dated, she called and rehearsed to me. Tons and tons more pictures. Some of them on the computer with their faces all wavy and distorted. Some with their eyes crossed, some with their tongues out. Umm. Goofy. It kind of bothered me. But take a look at these gorgeous eyes!

Mikelle told me she was reading the Book of Mormon. Logan bought her a picture of the Savior to put in her apartment. Logan prayed with her. He was pretty dang stable. He encouraged her and gently [superman-like] prodded her towards truth and light.

He drove Mikelle to Ogden Regional Hospital and stayed all night in the lounge area while we cried and mourned our dying mother and grandmother. He heard us sobbing and watched us break in two while we dealt with the reality of losing our rock and foundation. He supported us during those crushing moments. He didn’t look away and act embarrassed. He looked us straight in the eye, and hurt for our hurt.

Logan loves, adores, and respects his own mother. And everyone with a trickle of common sense realizes that is an important marker for how he will treat his wife.

Yah, we all fell in love with him. Camille, Tracy, and I. [We all told her to look for qualities that Richard and Eric already possessed. We could see potential in this guy when she really didn't even know what potential was!]

Then Fisher and Annesley fell in love with him. That was IT for me. He played with and tortured them until they laughed hysterically. Annesley may be two-years-old, but she knows what she wants in a guy! He wanted to learn to play Rook, our favorite card game. He survived the teaching process. He didn’t let all the jabs from Scott and Steev soak in. [the kind of 'let's-see-what-he's-made-of tests that go on when somebody's new in the family.] He survived Mikelle’s near-disastrous side relationship with another guy, and when that didn’t work out, was willing to forgive her for that calamitous event. He went camping with us and cooked dutch over for all twenty-five of us. He is learning to fish with Steev and hubby. He’s learning to dress to fish with Steev and hubby. He’s willing to wear a button-up shirt and a cowboy hat to fit in.

But what I love most about this guy is that he protects my daughter. He protects her. She was pretty much on a train wreck collision course when he came along. He is grounded in the gospel. He wears white shirts and a tie. He knows the Book of Mormon. He prays. He PRAYS! He pays his tithing. He has a testimony of that. And I can see her little testimony growing.

And he rubs her belly. Oh my gosh. Melt my hard old heart!

Yesterday at our local [Bridger Valley Days Celebration] softball tournament he was a little frustrated — ok, a lot frustrated — with the calibre of teammates he had. Some of them were women and kids, who really were just having fun. He was not having fun because he was there to win. [Oh, did I mention he plays semi-pro football, soccer, basketball, etc, etc, etc.  Always there to WIN!] He actually swore, [the H word] he was so frustrated. Anyway. One ball came flying out toward center field, but it was going fast. He was running away from the ball, deep center, with his back towards it, looking backwards into the sun and caught it.

Oh my goodness you should have heard the chatter over in the stands where we were sitting. Great catch! Did you see that catch! Wow, where did that guy come from? Who is that guy, anyway? Um, yah. He’s ours! Hello!

OK, maybe I’m getting my sports and my all-important-life-skills mixed up, but I’m seeing that if he can do that, if he can catch an impossible-way-over-everybody’s-head fly ball, he can do other things. Because here’s what it proves. He has ambition. He is strong. He is fast. He is determined. He is focused. He is a fighter. He is going to win. Translation? He’s going to be ambitious, strong, fast, determined and focused on his new little family. He’s going to fight for them, against evil. He’s going to win.

Yup, a keeper!

He endures my cooking, even though he cooks better than I do. He ignores my lack of housekeeping, even though he cleans better than I do.

He opens the door for Mikelle.

He carries things for her. [She called and told me "Oh my heck, Logan just carried a hundred really heavy things down the three flights of stairs out to the truck in just a few minutes! -- during their recent move last weekend]

He is surviving well a hormonal, teary, hot, pregnant wife. [That is a huge test! I’ve got to have a man who understands this is a temporary, expected, and amazing season of their lives. Not just time to be endured, but a really wonderful event they share, t.o.g.e.t.h.e.r! She’s not pregnant. They’re pregnant!  And that her amazing body is carrying a child from God and growing him to perfection. And that takes a lot of work and a lot of time and a lot of pain. And it will all be worth it when they are birthing and nursing and snuggling and adoring.

I’m not sure about the able-to-leap-tall-buildings-in-a-single-bound part of the equation. I did see him leap over the entire picnic blanket yesterday, though, while playing ‘tag’ with Fisher and Annes.

bent

I’ve always been a multi-tasker . . . always had several projects going on at the same time. I’ve, on occasion, considered myself ambidextrous, although, of course, I’m not — even though I can stir a pot of simmering spaghetti sauce, balance my checkbook with the other hand while talking on a cradled phone arranging visiting teaching appointments. Perhaps the term for that is multi-dexterous. I’m sure I could add to that list, scooting a small child along the floor to a safer spot with a free foot, or shutting the kitchen door with my knee. These are common and even expected skills of any mother.

I look at my niece [or is she a cousin? . . . let's see she's the daughter of my first cousin] Tami Lyman. She’s the mother of eight. We recently had our big Leon Rollins Family Reunion and I watched in awe as Tam  balanced three of her youngest on her lap while playing Rook and winning! Mikelle and I discussed again and again how comfortable she is as a m.o.m, how she nurtures, adores, and gently guides each one of  her little brood. We watched in amazement how each child checked in with her throughout the day and, although each one played their little hearts out and explored and went off on their gigantic adventures, she is like an all-knowing mother bear who is definitely the one in charge! She’s hard and soft and funny and smart and definitely multi-dexterous!

But,

I am not able to do some things at the same time! I can either focus on eating healthy OR exercising.

I can either focus of taking care of my physical health or my spiritual well-being.

I can either work on my mental/emotional self or my physiological self.

Because when I try to work on everything, nothing is improving.

For a couple of months I’ve been attending the Church’s addiction and compulsive/obsessive disorders class. No, that’s not really the name of it. I just made that up to make me feel totally included. They always use the word ‘addiction’ but I always add ‘compulsive and obsessive’ to make it a better fit for me. And I love this program. I love the manual and the supplemental book, Clean Hands, Pure Heart.

Every single week I say, “Wow, it’s as if I were totally transparent, someone has been taking notes on my whole [hole] life and written it all in a course manual for all the world to see.” Every single week I’m amazed at what I learn about me, what layer of myself I’m temporarily able to peel away for an hour, and what I allow myself to actually feel for 60 minutes. And then, of course, I patch myself back together, dry the tears, plant a smile on my face and head back to reality as I know it, and  somehow get through until the next class.

I’m not addicted to alcohol, nicotine, prescription drugs, pornography, anger, or spending. But something is amiss. [I do have an unhealthy relationship with food, to be sure!] But somewhere along the way, something has grown a deep space where my heart should be. Something has disconnected my soul from my heart. Something lingers in the depth and keeps me from being who I want to be, who I really, really am, who I was meant to be and who I can become. And I’m working on being more successful as I learn and grow from the lessons of life.

So, that’s one of the reason I haven’t written much about my current daily weight and food struggles. That’s why I’ve not gotten on here day after day posting my most recent five-pound gain — and then my four pound loss. I’ve not written about veggie stir-fry in a spinach wrap, blended protein smoothies, and vanilla-almond granola or 8 glasses of spring filtered water with a lemon wedge. I’ve neglected typing about flab and muffin-tops and thighs like tree trunks and swollen ankles and my ever-increasing immovable ring on my ring finger. [I'm seriously considering having it surgically removed.]

Because all I think about now, is finding that empty feeling and figuring how to fill it with light and lightness and joy and peace.

I’ve always, always said:
“If I can just get my weight under control, I could work on everything else.”
“If I could just weigh 140 I would be happy about everything else in life”
“If I could just get my eating under control, the rest of my life would fall into place.”
“If I could just blah, blah, blah, I could blah, blah blah!”

Once, when I was explaining this continuous tug-o-war-with-myself to Tracy, she aptly explained why I keep struggling. She said, “All things were created spiritually before they were created physically.” That rang a rather large bell in my overworked cerebellum! “Concentrate on the spiritual and then the physical!”

For now I’m trying to be spiritual-dexterous.

[PS: I am also 145, which is OK for the moment.]

[And of course I still have tons of satisfying, energizing, memorable, exciting, gratifying, productive, wonderful times filled with children, grandchildren, friends, significant and life-changing experiences. I love each of those! I love so much about life! I'm not focusing on 'negative,' I'm focusing on 'positively' finding peace and joy! I'm not broken! Just a little bent once in a while and I'm trying to work on that for the moment.]