I will never forget the night that God laughed at me.
It was early in the second semester of my senior year of college and I was trapped in my tormented thoughts that life was not turning out as I had planned. I had shamelessly set out to earn my MRS. degree during my four years of college and I realized on this historic night that this was not going to happen unless an unprecedented miracle occurred in the next 3 months. It had been over a year and a half since my last relationship had ended. I had thought that he was "the one" and I thought that I would never recover from him. Even if I really wanted to recover and move on, I hadn't had a date since and I was constantly aware that I had become the perpetual "friend." I spent a good majority of my time with guys, some whom I was secretly madly in love with, who were oblivious to the reality that my heart was pining after them because I hid it so well and convincingly acted like I agreed when they would say things like, "We could never date. We are too good of friends."
On the night that I witnessed God's laughter, I may have heard a phrase such as this one too many times. I entered my apartment late at night, long after my roommates had gone to bed. As I laid my head on my pillow, the tears began to flow and I buried my face to cover my sobs. For the first time in my life I was exceedingly grateful for the loud, signature deep sleep moans of my cousin across the room and the steady, gentle breathing of my other two roommates assured me that my tears could remain a secret.
As my heart pounded and I tried to control the trembling that was taking over my body while my eyes burned with tears, I heard God laugh. I knew it was God and I knew that God was laughing. I was not amused. Why was God laughing? I was crying and God was laughing. I realized after a moment that God was not really laughing at me. In these moments, God's laughter represented God's love.
As a parent, I think that I can better understand God's laughter in the midst of my tears. Sometimes Judah is absolutely wailing about something unbelievably petty that will pass in an instant and all I can do is laugh because he is so precious and because I love him so much. I think this is what God's laughter was about on that night.
God's laughter got my attention and then I sensed God's voice. "I have the most amazing Gift for you."
The most amazing gift? God, what is it? What is the Gift?
God's voice and laughter in the midst of my pain has been a promise that I have treasured ever since that night.
Laughter fills my government subsidized apartment as my new friends choke down the chicken chili that I have accidentally loaded with paprika instead of chili powder. My graduate school education will earn me more than a degree; these are memories and friendships that will sustain me for a lifetime. God, is this the Gift?
I sit in the City Hall of a tiny town in West Virginia with some sweet old men sharing a cup of stale coffee and chatting about life in the midst of a summer that changed my life. God, is this the Gift?
The doors open and I begin to sing as I walk down the aisle. I see the man that I love standing at the other end waiting for me, tears streaming down his face. On this day we pledge our love and commitment to one another and embark on the adventure of life together. This is it, isn't it God? This is the Gift.
Over 50 teenagers and adults crowd a meeting space in the basement of a hotel in the mountains of Tennessee, filling the room with worship and reflections of their lives being changed. I treasure these moments and feel so privileged to walk alongside these students at this time in their lives. I steal a glance at my husband across the room and I can see that he feels the same, our eyes both cloudy with tears. This must be the Gift, right God?
The doctor places a tiny baby in my arms. She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Matt presses his cheek against mine as we take in the miracle of this precious life. I have a daughter. Is this the Gift, God?
"I would like to offer you a position as a Resident Director." I will be returning to my alma mater to live among college students. My husband and our new baby and I will be embarking on an adventure that will shape and change us. Once I get there I fall completely in love with the women that I have the opportunity to lead. God, is this the Gift?
My husband looks shocked as he tells me that it's a boy and that boy's tiny body is plopped upon my stomach. How is it possible that I have been entrusted with yet another beautiful life? I have a son. Is this the Gift, God?
I stand before a crowd of nearly one thousand people proclaiming the Word of God with God-blessed power and authority in the sanctuary of a place that shaped me during my formative years in college when I first received the promise of the Gift. God, is this the gift I've been waiting for?
The sales associate announces that my measurements show that I wear a C-cup. (If you don't understand the significance of this, read my post from July 4, "Make Time for Shake Time.") Dear Lord, is this the gift?!
I return once again to the place that has long been home to me, this time as an Assistant Dean in the residence life program. My heart beats for this ministry and I can't wait for all that this journey entails. Is this this Gift?
I sit, peacefully aware of the gentle movements of my unborn child while watching my husband and children run across the beach, chasing a football, splashing in the water, and laughing. Their laughter is the most beautiful sound, I am convinced of it. This is it, isn't it God? This is the Gift?
I am coming to understand that it is all the Gift. The Gift is all of the moments and blessings of my life woven together to form a perfect tapestry. It is the Gift that gives me hope when life does not seem to be turning out as I have planned or I don't think I can survive if one more thing goes wrong. It is the Gift that assures me that God always has everything under control even when I am too stubborn or self-absorbed to see it. The Gift is life.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Monday, July 16, 2012
Dates and Divas
"She looks like Scarlett O'Hara."
Scarlett O'Hara, the heroine from the classic movie, Gone with the Wind, portrayed by Vivien Leigh, and one of my favorites. She is strong and independent and also selfish and incapapable of seeing the good that she has been given. Her ungrateful heart causes her to lose the love of which she is so undeserving. She is mesmerizing and frustrating, desirable and incorrigible. She is beautiful.
Luckily, as my sister spoke these words she was referring to my daughter's beauty and not all of Scarlett's other characteristics, although there are a few that could be fitting. These words were spoken during the moments that we watched my five year old daughter's first date unfold.
When we pulled up to the hotel that my dad had gotten us for the night to break up our trip on the way to Florida, mom, Michele and I were riding in the convertible with Dad while the husbands chauffeured my children in the truck. As soon as we saw our home for the night, the inner diva in all of us came to life.
"The doors are on the outside of the building!"
"What is this place?"
"Don't you think we should drive around and check it out before we actually check in?".
Dad ignored our pleas and jumped out of the car and away from our whines to get our keys. The rooms were not quite as bad as we anticipated and after dinner we discovered that the pool was everything that had been promised, the pool being the reason this place had been selected.
Shortly after we all took the plunge into the refreshing waters, Keira became fearless and began jumping off the high wall at the deep end and unknowingly caught the attention of another young boy vacationing with his family. She was wearing her purple floaties and her red and white bathing suit had ruffles on her booty that shook just slightly as she walked with her head held high and the appropriate amount of swing in her hips.
"What's your name?"
"Matt," my husband replied.
"No, her name!"
Keira looked at her Daddy with uncertainty before quietly replying, "Keira."
The conversation continued as they exchanged ages and other pertinent information. Gunner was four and he eventually asked her if she would like to go play on the playground just outside the walls of the pool. She came and asked me if this would be allowed. After shooting a look at my husband, I said that it was fine, while muttering something to my dad about her going to play with a stranger. When she overheard me saying this, she declared, "Mommy, he's not a stranger. He's a new friend!"
Keira has deep brown eyes that just won't stop and usually when they stare you down, it is fierce, already declaring independence and attitude. On this evening, as she gazed over my shoulder at this friend who was no longer a stranger, there was a spark and a dream and they were somewhat cloudy with wonder.
She jumped out of the pool and began ripping off her floaties, her eyes plastered on Gunner. For a moment it looked as though Gunner had decided not to go to the playground but was ready for another dive in the pool. When Keira saw this, she nonchalantly proclaimed, "I changed my mind, I'm staying here.". Only moments later her mind was changed again when Gunner and his dad began heading toward the pool gate and Keira followed in stride.
"GO WITH HER!" I commanded my husband through clenched teeth.
My dad, sister, brother-in-law and I watched from a distance as my sweet daughter played on the swings, teeter totter and slide with her new friend. We mostly laughed at Matt, who seemed to be enjoying his man date with Gunner's father immensely and did surprisingly well as a co-chaperone.
"You really need to be worried if she starts calling Gunner her buddy," Dad told me after saying, "She will keep getting attention like this if she keeps this up!"
Keira had 3 friends at preschool this past year who she talked about constantly and called her buddies. These "buddies" all happened to be boys and it was rare that she ever talked about playing with girls. In fact, she told me one day with certainty that boys are more fun than girls. When asked the difference between a buddy and friend, she told us knowingly that you love buddies more than you love friends.
Yes, let's make sure that Gunner remains purely a friend and doesn't reach buddy status.
Before we knew it, Keira cut the date short, running back over to the pool and putting her floaties back on, leaving Gunner watching at the top of the slide and Matt stranded on his man date sitting opposite Gunner's dad on the see saw. Before we left the pool, she had a couple more brief conversations with her new friend and she told him goodbye numerous times.
"You are in trouble," Dad told me on the way back up to our room.
"I know... And it's so innocent," I defended. "she doesn't even know what she's doing."
"Yes, but she will figure it out."
Yes, she will figure it out. Even throughout all the happenings of the evening, she carefully took her cues from Gunner, while never allowing herself to appear too anxious. She continually made herself look appealing until she was granted the sufficient amount of attention again. She would then proceed to give him only enough attention to keep him wondering and coming back for more in order to keep the chase alive.
I guess I don't have to teach her the game. It is already in her blood. Yes, I am very afraid.
Watch out, Scarlett. There is a new heroine on the horizon.
Scarlett O'Hara, the heroine from the classic movie, Gone with the Wind, portrayed by Vivien Leigh, and one of my favorites. She is strong and independent and also selfish and incapapable of seeing the good that she has been given. Her ungrateful heart causes her to lose the love of which she is so undeserving. She is mesmerizing and frustrating, desirable and incorrigible. She is beautiful.
Luckily, as my sister spoke these words she was referring to my daughter's beauty and not all of Scarlett's other characteristics, although there are a few that could be fitting. These words were spoken during the moments that we watched my five year old daughter's first date unfold.
When we pulled up to the hotel that my dad had gotten us for the night to break up our trip on the way to Florida, mom, Michele and I were riding in the convertible with Dad while the husbands chauffeured my children in the truck. As soon as we saw our home for the night, the inner diva in all of us came to life.
"The doors are on the outside of the building!"
"What is this place?"
"Don't you think we should drive around and check it out before we actually check in?".
Dad ignored our pleas and jumped out of the car and away from our whines to get our keys. The rooms were not quite as bad as we anticipated and after dinner we discovered that the pool was everything that had been promised, the pool being the reason this place had been selected.
Shortly after we all took the plunge into the refreshing waters, Keira became fearless and began jumping off the high wall at the deep end and unknowingly caught the attention of another young boy vacationing with his family. She was wearing her purple floaties and her red and white bathing suit had ruffles on her booty that shook just slightly as she walked with her head held high and the appropriate amount of swing in her hips.
"What's your name?"
"Matt," my husband replied.
"No, her name!"
Keira looked at her Daddy with uncertainty before quietly replying, "Keira."
The conversation continued as they exchanged ages and other pertinent information. Gunner was four and he eventually asked her if she would like to go play on the playground just outside the walls of the pool. She came and asked me if this would be allowed. After shooting a look at my husband, I said that it was fine, while muttering something to my dad about her going to play with a stranger. When she overheard me saying this, she declared, "Mommy, he's not a stranger. He's a new friend!"
Keira has deep brown eyes that just won't stop and usually when they stare you down, it is fierce, already declaring independence and attitude. On this evening, as she gazed over my shoulder at this friend who was no longer a stranger, there was a spark and a dream and they were somewhat cloudy with wonder.
She jumped out of the pool and began ripping off her floaties, her eyes plastered on Gunner. For a moment it looked as though Gunner had decided not to go to the playground but was ready for another dive in the pool. When Keira saw this, she nonchalantly proclaimed, "I changed my mind, I'm staying here.". Only moments later her mind was changed again when Gunner and his dad began heading toward the pool gate and Keira followed in stride.
"GO WITH HER!" I commanded my husband through clenched teeth.
My dad, sister, brother-in-law and I watched from a distance as my sweet daughter played on the swings, teeter totter and slide with her new friend. We mostly laughed at Matt, who seemed to be enjoying his man date with Gunner's father immensely and did surprisingly well as a co-chaperone.
"You really need to be worried if she starts calling Gunner her buddy," Dad told me after saying, "She will keep getting attention like this if she keeps this up!"
Keira had 3 friends at preschool this past year who she talked about constantly and called her buddies. These "buddies" all happened to be boys and it was rare that she ever talked about playing with girls. In fact, she told me one day with certainty that boys are more fun than girls. When asked the difference between a buddy and friend, she told us knowingly that you love buddies more than you love friends.
Yes, let's make sure that Gunner remains purely a friend and doesn't reach buddy status.
Before we knew it, Keira cut the date short, running back over to the pool and putting her floaties back on, leaving Gunner watching at the top of the slide and Matt stranded on his man date sitting opposite Gunner's dad on the see saw. Before we left the pool, she had a couple more brief conversations with her new friend and she told him goodbye numerous times.
"You are in trouble," Dad told me on the way back up to our room.
"I know... And it's so innocent," I defended. "she doesn't even know what she's doing."
"Yes, but she will figure it out."
Yes, she will figure it out. Even throughout all the happenings of the evening, she carefully took her cues from Gunner, while never allowing herself to appear too anxious. She continually made herself look appealing until she was granted the sufficient amount of attention again. She would then proceed to give him only enough attention to keep him wondering and coming back for more in order to keep the chase alive.
I guess I don't have to teach her the game. It is already in her blood. Yes, I am very afraid.
Watch out, Scarlett. There is a new heroine on the horizon.
Friday, July 6, 2012
People Make It Work
Sometimes I wonder how I make it through this crazy life that I love without completely losing my mind. The truth is, I am on the verge of losing my mind quite often, but somehow I manage to hold it together. Not only do I manage, but there are some days that I actually feel like I thrive in this endeavor. As one who pushes myself far harder than is necessary, it is always my goal and my hope not just to survive, but to really thrive in all of the areas of my life that God has so beautifully woven together for me. On those days when my emotions are particularly stable, my reactions are full of grace, and the daily tasks of life don't seem quite so trying, I am quickly reminded that thriving is nothing that I am ever able to do on my own. God's sure and steady presence makes my life work. People make it work.
I was reminded of this truth today. It was my first official day at the new job and I really needed for the pieces of my life to fall into place in order to get off to a good start. All of the people that I encountered all throughout the day made it work.
After getting through the rush of the morning of trying to take care of myself and then getting the kids ready for the day, we were out the door. As I walked my precious children through the door of the babysitter's home, I was immediately grateful. They walked into Christy's home and I felt assured that they feel the same sense of security in her presence as they do with family. I know that I can trust Christy to love and care for my children, to do the work of teaching them right from wrong, and to ensure that they not only get through the day, but that they have fun and learn and grow and laugh while they are away from me. Christy makes it work.
As I walked into my new office suite, I was immediately welcomed by the friendly excitement of my co-workers, people who are already becoming friends. The conversations throughout the day were uplifting and helpful. As I visited various offices on campus to fill out paperwork and troubleshoot issues getting all my technology needs met, I was greeted with a smile and I was given patient help and treated with familiarity. My new boss called me while on his vacation simply to exuberantly express his excitement that I am finally in the office and getting started and to see if there were any questions I needed answered. There was laughter and small talk and good information shared. Colleagues make it work.
My dad called and asked if I wanted to have to lunch. This has become a weekly occurrence for us that I treasure. We usually go to the Mexican restaurant with the best salsa in town. Sometimes we just relax and enjoy conversation that rests on the surface of life and other times there are hard questions, deep reflections, and tears. We enjoyed being together as I rambled on about my day and he told me that I was happy. He is right. He came to my office and helped me hang up pictures. The final touches on my beautifully decorated new space. This was a day that Matt gets home late from work and Mom, the kids, and I go to Zumba. Thursday has quickly become waffle night. We roll in from our workout sweaty and tired and Dad is ready and waiting for us with waffles and sausage. Dad makes it work.
I am one who is thankful for some of the benefits that social media provides. I received encouraging texts throughout the day through the group messaging app I have set up with my grad school friends. I was assured of their prayers and support. I felt joy as I read the responses from my Facebook status and tweet about embarking on my first day. Some of these came from friends I haven't heard from in years and others from people that I do life with right now. My sisters texted and called. I am blessed beyond measure. Friends and family make it work.
When I got to Zumba after picking up my kids I was thankful that my mom waited for me to arrive before going in so she could help me drag Keira and Judah in along with all of my other Zumba gear. She took them to the child care room while I changed my clothes, got things set up, and chatted it up with the ladies. She picked them up afterwards and took them home while I was wrapping things up so that they could enjoy some Nana time. Mom makes it work.
When Keira and Judah woke up this morning, they both ran to me with big smiles and hugs. Although breakfast was full of orders such as, "Keep eating!", "Throw your trash away!", and "We have to leave in 5 minutes!", they also laughed and talked and brought me much joy. Judah requested to listen to "We are Young" on the way to Miss Christy's house and they sang at the top of their lungs while wearing their super cool sunglasses. When I arrived to pick them up, Judah ran and jumped in my arms and Keira thrust the picture that she had made for me into my hand. They fought over who could sit closest to me as we read the Bible story before bed, sang songs about Jesus, and they both prayed simple and beautiful prayers. My sweet children make it work.
When Matt arrived home, we greeted each other with a quick kiss and then we immediately bombarded each other with the happenings of our day. We shared and processed and reflected. We took turns making Judah get back in bed and responding to Keira's cries for yet another drink of water. He watered the plants while I folded the laundry. He started another load of laundry while I took a shower. We talked some more while I made cookie dough. My fantastic husband makes it work.
My life is not perfect. I do absolutely, completely lose it sometimes, but people make it work. Relationships make it work.
Did I mention that I am blessed?
I was reminded of this truth today. It was my first official day at the new job and I really needed for the pieces of my life to fall into place in order to get off to a good start. All of the people that I encountered all throughout the day made it work.
After getting through the rush of the morning of trying to take care of myself and then getting the kids ready for the day, we were out the door. As I walked my precious children through the door of the babysitter's home, I was immediately grateful. They walked into Christy's home and I felt assured that they feel the same sense of security in her presence as they do with family. I know that I can trust Christy to love and care for my children, to do the work of teaching them right from wrong, and to ensure that they not only get through the day, but that they have fun and learn and grow and laugh while they are away from me. Christy makes it work.
As I walked into my new office suite, I was immediately welcomed by the friendly excitement of my co-workers, people who are already becoming friends. The conversations throughout the day were uplifting and helpful. As I visited various offices on campus to fill out paperwork and troubleshoot issues getting all my technology needs met, I was greeted with a smile and I was given patient help and treated with familiarity. My new boss called me while on his vacation simply to exuberantly express his excitement that I am finally in the office and getting started and to see if there were any questions I needed answered. There was laughter and small talk and good information shared. Colleagues make it work.
My dad called and asked if I wanted to have to lunch. This has become a weekly occurrence for us that I treasure. We usually go to the Mexican restaurant with the best salsa in town. Sometimes we just relax and enjoy conversation that rests on the surface of life and other times there are hard questions, deep reflections, and tears. We enjoyed being together as I rambled on about my day and he told me that I was happy. He is right. He came to my office and helped me hang up pictures. The final touches on my beautifully decorated new space. This was a day that Matt gets home late from work and Mom, the kids, and I go to Zumba. Thursday has quickly become waffle night. We roll in from our workout sweaty and tired and Dad is ready and waiting for us with waffles and sausage. Dad makes it work.
I am one who is thankful for some of the benefits that social media provides. I received encouraging texts throughout the day through the group messaging app I have set up with my grad school friends. I was assured of their prayers and support. I felt joy as I read the responses from my Facebook status and tweet about embarking on my first day. Some of these came from friends I haven't heard from in years and others from people that I do life with right now. My sisters texted and called. I am blessed beyond measure. Friends and family make it work.
When I got to Zumba after picking up my kids I was thankful that my mom waited for me to arrive before going in so she could help me drag Keira and Judah in along with all of my other Zumba gear. She took them to the child care room while I changed my clothes, got things set up, and chatted it up with the ladies. She picked them up afterwards and took them home while I was wrapping things up so that they could enjoy some Nana time. Mom makes it work.
When Keira and Judah woke up this morning, they both ran to me with big smiles and hugs. Although breakfast was full of orders such as, "Keep eating!", "Throw your trash away!", and "We have to leave in 5 minutes!", they also laughed and talked and brought me much joy. Judah requested to listen to "We are Young" on the way to Miss Christy's house and they sang at the top of their lungs while wearing their super cool sunglasses. When I arrived to pick them up, Judah ran and jumped in my arms and Keira thrust the picture that she had made for me into my hand. They fought over who could sit closest to me as we read the Bible story before bed, sang songs about Jesus, and they both prayed simple and beautiful prayers. My sweet children make it work.
When Matt arrived home, we greeted each other with a quick kiss and then we immediately bombarded each other with the happenings of our day. We shared and processed and reflected. We took turns making Judah get back in bed and responding to Keira's cries for yet another drink of water. He watered the plants while I folded the laundry. He started another load of laundry while I took a shower. We talked some more while I made cookie dough. My fantastic husband makes it work.
My life is not perfect. I do absolutely, completely lose it sometimes, but people make it work. Relationships make it work.
Did I mention that I am blessed?
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Make Time for Shake Time
Tiffany. Michael Jackson (and his sister Janet, too). John Cougar Mellencamp. NKOTB. MC Hammer. Hanson. NKOTB.
Tonight we kicked off 80's and 90's Flashback at Zumba and it was legendary. What could possibly be more fun that shaking it to the rhythms and sounds of these radical decades while wearing bright lipstick and sporting big hair? Nothing, I tell you, absolutely nothing.
As I left class, I found myself reflecting upon this state and place that I find myself in. It is a place where I am comfortable in my own skin and I eat fruits and vegetables, make sure I make time for breakfast, and co-teach a Zumba class 3 times a week. The journey of sweat and sacrifice that got me here is one of my favorite parts of my story.
 Fitness Instructor WannaBe
I definitely did my share of pretending while I was growing up. I'll never tell, but I may, or may not, actually do my share of it, still to this day. One of the many roles that I jumped into was that of a fitness instructor. While dancing around to Richard Simmons' "Sweatin' to the Oldies," I wore a convincing smile, shouted out instructions to my mother and sisters exuberantly, and gave it my all. After taking a step aerobics class in college, I bought my own step and made up new routines in my basement bedroom, smiling at my wall, still shouting out instructions to... myself, I guess, and perhaps the imaginary hidden cameras. I made my sisters join me in synchronized swimming routines when the waves were calm in the ocean on our vacations. Since they have now learned to refuse participation, I have begun subjecting my niece to this great fun and Keira is certainly next.
I pretended, but never in my wildest dreams thought that such a thing would ever happen. It seemed almost as far fetched to me as moving to Hollywood and becoming a star. (Oh, please Lord, make me an actress in my next life. Please.) It was so far out my reach because a chest my size could not be contained by even 3 sports bras, let alone fit into a leotard. I would only ever be a wannabe because I wasn't comfortable in my own skin.
Leading Up to the Shake
I have lived much of my life as the typical girl entrenched in the expectations of the culture that sets the standard for the perfect body and I always felt that I could never live up to these impossibilities. Although I probably would have always considered myself just a bit above average on the scale, those blasted fat tests always landed me in the obese category. I suffered from poor body image, to say the very least. Beginning in junior high, thoughts of dissatisfaction with myself began to seemingly take over my life. But, alas, I will not dwell on junior high. Please tell me if there is a person in this world who feels comfortable in their own skin during these treacherous years.
Let's just get past that depressing business to the more recent events that have led to my shaking ability. Shortly after my 30th birthday I decided that I wasn't going to be fat anymore. Okay, okay, I know that "fat" is a 4-letter word. Seriously, don't ever use that word to describe yourself or anyone else. Don't let your children say it. Avoid the use of it at all costs. I just had to use it here because that it what I decided. I made a conscious decision to stop being a fatty. (There, I did it again. Please forgive, yes?)
During the year leading up to my 30th birthday, Keira was born. Did you know that while you are nursing you can eat pretty much whatever the heck you want and not gain any weight? Did you also know that when you stop nursing you cannot continue eating whatever the heck you want or you WILL gain weight? Apparently I didn't get that memo. I am pretty sure I gained 20 pounds the instant that child was off the boob. (This post may contain the "too-much-information" I was talking about from here on out. Consider this your warning.) I am what you might call a "bottomless pit" and I took full advantage of that gift during my pregnancy and the breast feeding bit. Whenever someone says, "Wow, I'm full," I instantly think to myself, "What in the world does that feel like?" That is what I mean by bottomless pit. And what I mean by taking advantage of it is that during the year before I turned 30 we moved within a mile of Dairy Queen and Taco Bell. Blizzards and Nachos Bell Grande became serious food groups.
I loved my life. I had a job I loved, the cutest baby ever, friends and family all around me, and yet I was miserable in my body. My clothes were tight. I had to change my clothes 4 times each morning until I found something I could bear to look at myself wearing and I just could not believe the unhealthy hole I had dug for myself and had no idea how to get out of it.
Starting to Shake It Off
We visited my BFF during Memorial Day weekend shortly following my 30th birthday and they were on a Weight Watchers kick. I got inspired and decided to kick it myself. I came home and emptied my pantry and refrigerator of all things fatty and unhealthy and labeled all the food that remained with a permanent marker signifying their Points value. I bought a food scale and measured my lean meat when it came home from the grocery store, divided it into 4 oz. portions, and placed it in ziploc bags. I started eating breakfast, something I had never made time for before. My breakfast consistently contained egg whites, yogurt, and fruit. I ate lunch and healthy snacks. Most vegetables have always given me a gagging reflex, but I found the ones that I can stomach without serious reactions and began having huge, leafy, green salads twice a day. There was no sugar. Sugar was out for 3 months straight. This was nothing short of a small miracle.
I got up in the morning before it got too hot and ran. The morning also consisted of Bob and Jillian yelling at me to keep going if I wanted results. Those Biggest Loser workouts are no joke. In the evening there were long walks and bike rides. Exercise was not optional. I made time for it every day and made no apologies.
I knew that I could do it and there was no turning back when I returned from our July 4th family reunion, always packed with more delicious food than you can imagine, to discover that I had lost 7 pounds that week. By the end of the summer I had lost 25 pounds and I felt better than ever.
Later that fall I became pregnant again, but I kept up my healthy eating habits and continued exercising. This became more difficult after the summer months, but exercise was not optional and I still made no apologies. The third trimester brought on the occasional blizzard and pizza and I make no apologies for this either.
During my second go at nursing, I made better decisions. Six weeks after Judah came into the world, I started Weight Watchers again. I could eat a lot more because I was breast feeding, but keeping track of what I ate kept me from gorging myself and it helped to ensure that I was eating the right things.
Judah was born in March and I discovered Zumba in June. The rest is history.
Discovering the Shake
I had heard about this Zumba phenomenon for a while, but wasn't really sure what it was all about. The first time I made it to a class I was late. Of course I was late; I had a 3 year old and a newborn at home. I walked into a large room in the middle of the warm-up and found myself surrounded by 100 other women and was immediately enveloped by the loud music and contagious energy. As I began to latch onto the jumps and the turns and the shakes, a smile spread impulsively across my face and tears burned my eyes. Yes, I cried right there in the middle of Zumba. Maybe I should be embarrassed by that, but I'm just going to say that I'm not. There is something amazing about being surrounded by a group of women who are just doing the best that they can to take care of themselves in the midst of the chaos and pressures of life. Every single body type was represented and there was "no right or wrong to shake it." Everybody shakes it differently and that is a magnificent thing. It felt like home. It felt like one of those things that I was absolutely designed to do.
Discovering Zumba also helped me discover the fun ways that my hips can move. I never knew this. Dancing was not really something that was allowed while I was growing up, except behind closed doors, I suppose, and so I had to practice swinging my hips and pulsating at home for weeks before I finally really got the feel of it. I downloaded the songs from the routines and got my living room shaking on the nights there was no class. I'll never forget the first time Matt sat down on the couch while I was practicing at home. His eyes nearly popped out of his head and he quickly found songs that were his favorites. Apparently he didn't know I could move like that either.
Right before Thanksgiving I ran 5 miles straight for the first time and by Christmas I had lost another 25 pounds. I had also lost 50 inches and my jean size dropped 8 sizes.
After my second go around at nursing was complete, I rewarded myself with a trip to Victoria's Secret. Before my weight loss, bras from Vicky's were not an option for me. At my size, I needed some serious support that only specialty online sites could provide. I went into VS and unashamedly found a sales associate and told her I needed to be measured. The accurate measurement revealed a C-cup. Excuse me, what? My last accurate measurement was a G. G. Did you even know such a thing existed? I had gone straight from no bra to a D-cup. I don't think a training bra ever graced my bosom. Seriously, a C-cup? Did this mean that I may be able to wear button up shirts now? This may have been one of the best days of. my. life.
That spring I did two things that I never thought could be done. First, I became a certified Zumba instructor. I was no longer a wannabe. Thank You, Jesus. I also ran the Indy Mini Marathon. My goal was to run the whole thing without walking. I didn't care about the time; I just wanted to reach the finish line, and I did.
Keeping the Shake Alive
East Side Zumba kicked off during May of 2011 and I quickly found friendship with two other girls who had also been recently certified as we worked together to choreograph and plan for our new class that we hoped would impact the lives of women. They have both been dancers since shortly out of the womb and I am so thankful that they are so patient with me as I have only recently converted to shaking. I have to say, I freakin' love these girls.
This past year I've just lived comfortably in my skin for the first time... ever. Exercise is not optional. Breakfast is not optional. I try to make healthy food choices and when I don't, it's a conscious decision that I'm in control of, and I know that it's not the end. I know that I'll just make a better decision next time and I don't beat myself up for it.
Shaking it Pregnant Style
This third pregnancy has changed my body once again, but I know that's what it's supposed to do and I know that it is beyond worth it. That being said, I miss my C-cups like crazy. I cannot even begin to describe the extent of how much I miss them. The DD's have returned and will remain with me for at least another year. I'm still shaking it the best I can and plan to continue to shake that baby right out when the time comes. I'm still trying to eat the best I can, but I know I'll be back to no excuses when I welcome baby #3, so I am admittedly indulging frequently in multiple, giant spoonfuls of cookie dough, caramel sauce, and icing (some of my favorites). And don't even get me started on Kettle Cooked salt and pepper chips.
Last week I told my mom that the doctor's scale revealed that I have already gained 20 pounds with this pregnancy. Although a good response would have been, "You know those scales at the doctor's office are never right!" or "That sounds about right since you are this far along, " or even, "You don't need to worry about it. I am pretty sure all twenty of those pounds are in your belly and boobs," she instead said, "Well, you know, it's because of all that stuff you've been eating!" Really, mom? This may be true, but really, mom? I really am going to kick my healthy habits into high gear when November comes, but really, mom?
Make Time for Shake Time
Diet and exercise doesn't run my life; it has just become a natural part of it. I have discovered the joy of caring for my body and soul in a way that shows I truly believe that God thinks I'm worth it and God thinks I'm beautiful, truths I have always struggled to believe.
Make Time for Shake Time. You won't regret it.
What's A Story Like This Without Some Before and After Action? |
| This is me before I started shaking it. I am in the black and purple. |
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| I'd been shakin' it a while when this photo was shot. |
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| Before the Shake... |
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| ... After some serious shake time. (Far Right) |
I've Done It. Granola Perfected.
I have absolutely no intention of this becoming some kind of recipe blog. That just doesn't feel like my style, but my daughter has been begging me to make granola again for weeks and my mom also gently suggested that I make some to take with us on vacation next week. (By gently suggested, I mean that she shoved a large container of oats at me as well as 2 large containers for the finished product.) This seemed like the perfect opportunity to try something somewhat original and so I consulted 4-5 different granola recipes, picked and chose what I thought would be tasty, and added my own flair. The finished product is pleasing to the palate, to say the least.
This is a big batch, by the way. This stuff doesn't last long around our house.
These numbers are approximate. I did a lot of rounding up or down for the purpose of eliminating certain ingredients if desired. This is why the numbers don't add up at all when compared with the general nutritional information provided above. Definitely go with those numbers; they are much more accurate.
This is a big batch, by the way. This stuff doesn't last long around our house.
The Recipe
6 cups oats
2-3 cups coconut (I love coconut, so I definitely do 3)
1 1/2 cups sliced almonds
1 cup wheat germ
1 cup flax seed
3/4 cup brown sugar (I use the splenda 1/2 and 1/2 blend)
2 cups craisins
1/2 cup canola oil
4 egg whites, beaten
1 cup honey
2 tsp. vanilla
1 tsp. almond
2 1/2 tsp. cinnamon
Preheat oven to 325.
Heat the brown sugar, honey, and oil in the microwave for approximately 45 seconds.
Allow to cool slightly and transfer to a large mixing bowl.
Add egg whites, vanilla, almond, and cinnamon and then stir in everything else, except for the craisins.
Spray 2 cookie sheets and spread in an even layer.
Bake for 25 minutes.
Remove from oven and stir. Bake for 10 minutes.
Remove from oven and stir again. Add craisins. Stir. Bake for 5 more minutes.
Allow to cool completely in order to achieve maximum crunch and then transfer to an airtight container.
The Nutrition
Serving Size: 1/2 cup
Number of Servings: 34.5
Calories: 240
Fat: 11
Carbohydrates: 32
Protein: 5
Fiber: 4
Weight Watchers Points Plus: 6
The Nutrition Breakdown
There is a good chance you may want to eliminate certain ingredients, so I have broken down the nutritional information for each ingredient so that you can come up with a new nutritional information per serving on your own. Math is not my strong suit, but I am going to do my best.
Nutritional Information for the Entire Batch
I find these numbers somewhat disturbing...
Calories Fat Carb Protein Fiber
Oats 1800 36 324 60 48
Coconut 1680 120 168 24 24
Almonds 1026 90 42 36 24
Wheat Germ 400 8 48 27 16
Flax Seed 400 27.5 27.5 15 22.5
Brown Sugar Blend 120 0 24 0 0
Craisins 780 0 198 0 18
Canola Oil 960 112 0 0 0
Egg Whites 100 0 4 20 0
Honey 1031 0 279 1 0
Nutritional Information Per Serving
These numbers are approximate. I did a lot of rounding up or down for the purpose of eliminating certain ingredients if desired. This is why the numbers don't add up at all when compared with the general nutritional information provided above. Definitely go with those numbers; they are much more accurate.
Calories Fat Carb Protein Fiber
Oats 52 1 9 2 1.5
Coconut 49 3.5 5 1 1
Almonds 30 2.5 1 1 1
Wheat Germ 30 0 1.5 1 1
Flax Seed 30 0 0 0 1
Brown Sugar Blend 3.5 0 1 0 0
Craisins 22.5 0 0 0 0
Canola Oil 28 3 0 0 0
Egg Whites 3 0 0 1 0
Honey 30 0 8 0 0
The Reflections
Do not eat the entire batch in one sitting. Your stomach will explode.
I may try to eliminate the oil and possibly add a few more egg whites. There is a whole lot of fat in that stuff. There seems to be a whole lot of fat in the coconut too, but I really don't care. Did I mention that I love coconut? I also may consider adding more almond extract... something else I love.
Keira is going to be super excited in the morning. She has been talking about mixing granola in her yogurt all day.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Trying to Do It All While Sleep Deprivation Takes Over My Life
I have daydreams about having a decent night of completely uninterrupted sleep. What would it be like to sleep through the night without a small foot kicking me unexpectedly in the ribs or waking up at 3 in the morning with my mind already spinning with the next day's agenda?
I can only sleep on my side. At 22 weeks pregnant, sleeping on my back or stomach is no longer an option. On a semi- related side note, I am pretty sure I can claim 22 weeks, although I keep forgetting and have to ask my friend who has the same due date. I don't know why I can't keep track from week to week. It bears some similarity to my inability to remember my age ever since I turned 30. I always have to really stop and think about it, consult my husband, or subtract my birth year, which requires pen and paper for me, so I go ahead and just claim that I'm 32... Again. What's the difference between 32 and 33, really? Yes, I'm 33. Or is it 34? No, definitely 33. Maybe I'll come back to this when my husband gets home tonight... Back to my pregnancy sleep situation. It's not that I hate sleeping on my side, but to have my only options be my right or my left side just irritates me through the night. I like having options and control. Limiting sleep options must be one of God's lovely reminders that there is limited control with parenthood at times. You just have to go with it. In addition to the irritating lack of options, my legs sweat and it is understandably uncomfortable. I don't think I need to go into this. My belly is growing and my bladder is shrinking simultaneously and as soon as the second trimester hit, the task of falling asleep has become treacherous.
And so it goes, my unborn child keeps me from sleep and it seems that my other two treasures don't want to miss out on the action. Judah, age two, doesn't seem to understand that he is supposed to stay in his bed the entire night. At times he makes his way to our bed before we are able to get there ourselves. There have been multiple times we have come upstairs, thinking that our little ones have been sleeping soundly for several hours only to find that Judah has thrown our decorative pillows on the floor and neatly pulled back the covers and crawled in, on my side of the bed, of course.
The last time we came upon Judah in our bed, we beheld an unexpected sight when the covers were pulled back in order to return him to his proper sleeping place. Before the removal of the sheet, he was my sweet and beautiful, exasperating child. However, the act of pulling back the covers revealed the makings of a regular uninhibited man. He had on a t-shirt which was loosely positioned around his waste, his hands were sprawled above his head and his legs were spread revealing all his glory, for he had removed his diaper before making his way to our bed. There was nothing to do except run into the hallway stifling our laughter.
Not only can Judah magically dig the poo out of his diaper with his bare hands while leaving his clothes completely unscathed, he can climb into our bed while we are sleeping and we never hear anything. He must shimmie his way up the bed between us and slyly make his way beneath the covers. I only come to discover him when I wake to switch to my other side only to find that I cannot because of his small body pressed up against mine. I relent and continue seeking to sleep uncomfortably on my left side... Until I feel a gentle tap on the top of my head. My eyes flutter open to find deep brown eyes inches from my own. "Mommy, I had a bad dream.". What can a mother say to that? I gently scoot Judah over and I lift Keira to lay beside me. I am thankful we sprung for the King bed.
I can't blame my children entirely for my sleep deprivation. My college roommate often referred to me as the "girl who never sleeps". In those days, I was living it up late at night in the dorm lobby or drinking coffee at the Waffle House or Perkins. These days it is Words with Friends and historical, somewhat trashy, fiction novels that keep me from the bliss of sleep. Why waste those precious moments of complete quiet, save for the light, rhythmic breathing of my husband lying next to me, sleeping? This is my time.
I wake far too early even on the mornings when I could sleep a bit longer and my thoughts immediately race to the items I need to remember to add to my grocery list, the choreography of my new Zumba routine, what is needed to spice up the white walls of my new office, emails I need to send and phone calls I need to make. Just when I begin to feel the frustration of my pervasive thoughts overwhelm me, I feel a soft hand upon my shoulder, rubbing in a gentle circular motion. I roll over. "Goo mornin' Mama!"
Sleep or not, all is right in the world.
I can only sleep on my side. At 22 weeks pregnant, sleeping on my back or stomach is no longer an option. On a semi- related side note, I am pretty sure I can claim 22 weeks, although I keep forgetting and have to ask my friend who has the same due date. I don't know why I can't keep track from week to week. It bears some similarity to my inability to remember my age ever since I turned 30. I always have to really stop and think about it, consult my husband, or subtract my birth year, which requires pen and paper for me, so I go ahead and just claim that I'm 32... Again. What's the difference between 32 and 33, really? Yes, I'm 33. Or is it 34? No, definitely 33. Maybe I'll come back to this when my husband gets home tonight... Back to my pregnancy sleep situation. It's not that I hate sleeping on my side, but to have my only options be my right or my left side just irritates me through the night. I like having options and control. Limiting sleep options must be one of God's lovely reminders that there is limited control with parenthood at times. You just have to go with it. In addition to the irritating lack of options, my legs sweat and it is understandably uncomfortable. I don't think I need to go into this. My belly is growing and my bladder is shrinking simultaneously and as soon as the second trimester hit, the task of falling asleep has become treacherous.
And so it goes, my unborn child keeps me from sleep and it seems that my other two treasures don't want to miss out on the action. Judah, age two, doesn't seem to understand that he is supposed to stay in his bed the entire night. At times he makes his way to our bed before we are able to get there ourselves. There have been multiple times we have come upstairs, thinking that our little ones have been sleeping soundly for several hours only to find that Judah has thrown our decorative pillows on the floor and neatly pulled back the covers and crawled in, on my side of the bed, of course.
The last time we came upon Judah in our bed, we beheld an unexpected sight when the covers were pulled back in order to return him to his proper sleeping place. Before the removal of the sheet, he was my sweet and beautiful, exasperating child. However, the act of pulling back the covers revealed the makings of a regular uninhibited man. He had on a t-shirt which was loosely positioned around his waste, his hands were sprawled above his head and his legs were spread revealing all his glory, for he had removed his diaper before making his way to our bed. There was nothing to do except run into the hallway stifling our laughter.
Not only can Judah magically dig the poo out of his diaper with his bare hands while leaving his clothes completely unscathed, he can climb into our bed while we are sleeping and we never hear anything. He must shimmie his way up the bed between us and slyly make his way beneath the covers. I only come to discover him when I wake to switch to my other side only to find that I cannot because of his small body pressed up against mine. I relent and continue seeking to sleep uncomfortably on my left side... Until I feel a gentle tap on the top of my head. My eyes flutter open to find deep brown eyes inches from my own. "Mommy, I had a bad dream.". What can a mother say to that? I gently scoot Judah over and I lift Keira to lay beside me. I am thankful we sprung for the King bed.
I can't blame my children entirely for my sleep deprivation. My college roommate often referred to me as the "girl who never sleeps". In those days, I was living it up late at night in the dorm lobby or drinking coffee at the Waffle House or Perkins. These days it is Words with Friends and historical, somewhat trashy, fiction novels that keep me from the bliss of sleep. Why waste those precious moments of complete quiet, save for the light, rhythmic breathing of my husband lying next to me, sleeping? This is my time.
I wake far too early even on the mornings when I could sleep a bit longer and my thoughts immediately race to the items I need to remember to add to my grocery list, the choreography of my new Zumba routine, what is needed to spice up the white walls of my new office, emails I need to send and phone calls I need to make. Just when I begin to feel the frustration of my pervasive thoughts overwhelm me, I feel a soft hand upon my shoulder, rubbing in a gentle circular motion. I roll over. "Goo mornin' Mama!"
Sleep or not, all is right in the world.
Monday, July 2, 2012
A Little Late on the Bandwagon
It is a bit strange that I have waited this long to jump on the blogging bandwagon. In fact, I am so late that I expect that by the time I get really into it, it will have become archaic. It is strange that I have avoided it for so long, for starters, because I am an unashamed Bandwagoner. When Twilight became the craze, I read the trilogy in 3 days, fell in love with Edward, and continue to attend the midnight showings. (The same can be said about me and The Hunger Games). I am a Mac user, because Mac's are clearly cooler than PC's. When skinny jeans became popular, I jumped in them. Scarves became the fad, and I bought 3 dozen of them. Zumba took over the fitness world, so I became an instructor.
The second reason my late coming is smewhat surprising is that I love to write. There is something wonderful about the accomplishment of stringing words together in a way that brings the soul to life. Words on a page have the power to change your mind, create an unforgettable experience, capture a precious memory, heal pains and provoke joy. I am not an accomplished writer, but it is certainly one of my many undeveloped ambitions. Blogging... What a great outlet for the writer who only has time for a paragraph here and there.
Another reason I can't believe I haven't taken up blogging is that I am always ready to give too much information at any given moment to anyone who gives me the space to do so. Perhaps nothing more needs to be said about this. I hope that this sentiment will become clear.
I embark on this journey knowing that I will probably fail miserably. This is a creative outlet that I know has the potential to relieve some stress and give me some satisfaction, while the reality is that my track record with such things is not great. At least five times a year I decide that I am going to start journaling again, so I go and buy a pretty journal or find a diary app and journal for about a week. Although I am a faithful, and I mean super faithful, Facebook stalker, my status updates are sporadic. I may go a month without a post and then I'll post 17 updates in 24 hours. The same can be said about my tweets. Time will tell... We will see how this goes.
As I considered the content of this blog, and incidently, considered for a long time before landing where I've landed, I realized that I must not put myself in any kind of box because the thoughts that enter my mind often have no rhyme or reason. I need to be able to ramble about motherhood and work and theology and housework and sex and fear in one breath. I need to have space for humorous anecdotes, despair, and gratitude. I need to honor people, remember places and spaces, sort out my crazy emotions, and embrace the beauty of the unpredictable and adventurous life that I treasure and long for.
All of my ramblings naturally somehow center around one of my primary roles, mom, which is second only to wife and God-follower. My plate is full and my days are fuller and I find myself pulled in a million different directions and yet, I am grounded in the reality that in the midst of it all, I am always mom, and for this season, Keira, Judah, and this wonderful baby that will join us in October, are the joy of my heart.
And so, MOMblings is born, the ramblings of a mama trying to do it all.
The second reason my late coming is smewhat surprising is that I love to write. There is something wonderful about the accomplishment of stringing words together in a way that brings the soul to life. Words on a page have the power to change your mind, create an unforgettable experience, capture a precious memory, heal pains and provoke joy. I am not an accomplished writer, but it is certainly one of my many undeveloped ambitions. Blogging... What a great outlet for the writer who only has time for a paragraph here and there.
Another reason I can't believe I haven't taken up blogging is that I am always ready to give too much information at any given moment to anyone who gives me the space to do so. Perhaps nothing more needs to be said about this. I hope that this sentiment will become clear.
I embark on this journey knowing that I will probably fail miserably. This is a creative outlet that I know has the potential to relieve some stress and give me some satisfaction, while the reality is that my track record with such things is not great. At least five times a year I decide that I am going to start journaling again, so I go and buy a pretty journal or find a diary app and journal for about a week. Although I am a faithful, and I mean super faithful, Facebook stalker, my status updates are sporadic. I may go a month without a post and then I'll post 17 updates in 24 hours. The same can be said about my tweets. Time will tell... We will see how this goes.
As I considered the content of this blog, and incidently, considered for a long time before landing where I've landed, I realized that I must not put myself in any kind of box because the thoughts that enter my mind often have no rhyme or reason. I need to be able to ramble about motherhood and work and theology and housework and sex and fear in one breath. I need to have space for humorous anecdotes, despair, and gratitude. I need to honor people, remember places and spaces, sort out my crazy emotions, and embrace the beauty of the unpredictable and adventurous life that I treasure and long for.
All of my ramblings naturally somehow center around one of my primary roles, mom, which is second only to wife and God-follower. My plate is full and my days are fuller and I find myself pulled in a million different directions and yet, I am grounded in the reality that in the midst of it all, I am always mom, and for this season, Keira, Judah, and this wonderful baby that will join us in October, are the joy of my heart.
And so, MOMblings is born, the ramblings of a mama trying to do it all.
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