How to stop obsessing over Pregnancy

     I have been obsessed with babies since the day we got married. Seriously. I wanted one. I mean... half of me wanted one. A crazy, obsessed, wishful half of me. The other half was totally content to enjoy our early married life... the youthfulness and freedom of young love... Waiting sounds like this gloriously mature, responsible plan that sucessful, happy people make. But then there was the crazy baby making side of me screaming to fulfill my biological obligation.
 
    I have read many articles. Many, many articles. Articles about women who don't have or want kids and are completely content in that. I try my best to think of myself like that. To imagine a life where I never have kids. It's not a terrible thought. Freedom. No strain on our finances. Not having to worry about moving or schools or medical decisions. Not having to face the trials of a child with some... differently-abled-ness. Always the two of us, my husband and I, snuggled with our fur-babies. I can see why that is appealing. I can imagine a version of myself that is happy in that life.
     But that is not me. I know it isn't. Even if I wish sometimes I were like that... I'm not. And I know it. Deep in my soul, in the core of my being... is a woman with a baby in her arms. 6 babies. And two toddlers. And a Middle-schooler... and 4 teens... And three adult children. There is a women positively SURROUNDED by her flesh and blood. I cannot deny her existence. I can only compromise with her... 3 or 4 children instead of the hundreds she wishes to raise... In a few years, instead of her screaming "RIGHT NOW!!!"
   Every month, every twinge, headache, sweep of nausea sets me on edge. "Is that slight pain a sign I'm pregnant? Is this itchy belly a sign of a little one growing inside me? Am I more snappy today because pregnancy has washed me in a sea of hormones?" Every. Single. Month. And every day before my period starts is one day closer to my dreams coming true. It's one more day when I might be up the spout. And... Every month... I'm disappointed.
  And relieved. I can admit that my calm, rational, content-in-my-life-as-it-is side smiles when I finally see that blotch of pink. I can relax. At least for a little while I can be content in the knowledge that I'm not pregnant. I'm not on edge waiting for the ax to drop. Don't get me wrong... it's a nice stuffed toy ax that I'll be happy to raise and play with... but the anticipation of the fall puts me on edge anyway.
   Anyway, if you are crazy like me... each twinge and itch and tension immediately connecting you with your uterus... then you will want to know all the helpful hints I have read on how to calm the burgeoning pregnancy beast... The many forums I have read and joined... the many women feeling similar to me and you...
  This is what I have learned in all my reading...
          YOU CAN'T. There is NO way to stop.
  Face it. You're obsessed. You aren't alone in your obsession. But you are obsessed. You know what you can't fix with hopeful thinking and careful tips and hints and dietary advice?? Obsession. There isn't a pill you can take. There isn't a mantra you can chant. There isn't a thing you can do.
  You are stuck to obsess until you get knocked up.
  I know. It's not very helpful is it? But after all my reading and searching, all I have found are tales of commiseration. So. I commiserate. I am RIGHT. THERE. WITH YOU, SISTER!!!
   I mean, yes. There are some hints out there... Like, spend time with a grumpy screaming baby... Or Think about what it's like to be stuck for 18 years, completely responsible for another human being. They don't stay babies... One day they turn into TEENS.
   Or one of my personal favorites: Stop looking at baby stuff. Stop it. Stop it NOW.
  And if you're anything like me, those things only help for so long. I was watching Bones (a show about solving crimes) and in an episode, the main couple is making out, headed upstairs, taking the opportunity for a little grown up alone time while the baby is sleeping. And when they're almost to the bedroom, guess who starts to yodel the song of it's people? That's right. Baby CockBlocker herself. But that scene didn't make me shudder in dread of the day when making love will be derailed by the sound of an infant... it made me long for the moment making love will result in an infant!
   And yes... it's a heavy thing to bear, caring for someone for 18 years and longer. But it's also incredible. You get to see a little person change into someone... JUST LIKE YOU. Or maybe not. Maybe they'll be completely different! Maybe you'll have a kid who becomes GREATER than you... doing things you've never even imagined doing. Or someone who shows you the world is bigger then your experiences. Someone who introduces you to a whole new meaning for the word "Life". I don't dread having someone to love for the rest of my life... to give my love to... That doesn't scare me.
  And teens? If I'm honest, I'm looking forward to teens. They are becoming real people. I mean, I know they've always been real people. But I mean... they learn to be THEMSELVES. Something that is so... AMAZING. They learn their voice and speak it in so many ways. I don't dread having teens.
   I mean, I know it's not easy and la-di-da, rose colored glasses, and C'est La Vie... But the challenges of raising a new human don't make these pregnancy hopes, these mommy desires... Go away. They just... Don't.
   I've been married for 15 months and I'm no closer to reaching a truce with my inner mommy desperation then I was a year and a quarter ago. Maybe I won't be until I'm carrying the 40+ extra pounds of baby around with me, complaining about my back and my feet.
   But if I can leave you with one tip that might help with longing for a baby... the only piece of advice that might actually work...
  Stop looking at baby stuff. Seriously. Stop it.

I Am- An Essay for Meghan

I Am

Who am I? It’s a hard question to ask and even harder to answer. 

I heard once that who you are is very much dependent on your experiences. Of course personality, perception, and God’s voice have a lot to do with it too, but experience shapes you. 

I remember the moment I realized I was me. I was walking down to the orchard where I liked to create “forts” by walking through the tall grass and flattening it down into different “rooms”. My dad “didn’t believe in mowing” because of a book he read by some japanese guy. Masanoba Fukuoka. (Side note, Masanoba Fukuoka was actually a very wise guy with expert gardening tips. My father was just lazy and used the advice that said “Don’t mow” but never actually followed THE OTHER advice that explained what you did instead of mowing.) Anyway. I was walking down towards the orchard below our house when the thought just… came to me. I am me. I am no one else, and no one else is me. I have my brain. My thoughts. My actions. I wasn’t controlled. I wasn’t controlling someone else. I was solely myself. And it made me think about other things. My grandparents I rarely saw. They existed even when I wasn’t seeing them. I had to think about things or else I would forget them. And in the days and weeks and months that followed, every day I would try to remember all the things I wanted to remember. I would think about my faraway grandparents. About my friends from school. About bugs and pets and toys. I would try to think about them so I would always remember. That day is a day I will always remember. I told my mom in the jilted, limited vocabulary that I had that I was me… but she didn’t understand. Years later, though, when I was about 12 or 13, my little brother was about… 3 or 4… I was sitting in his room late at night talking to him and he said to me, “SaySay, today I thought… I am me.” And I knew EXACTLY what he meant. 

Self discovery. Self-realization. Understanding who you are through your own eyes and through the other’s around us. It’s hard to limit yourself. It’s hard to define yourself. In today’s day and age, more and more, teens are using social media to define themselves. Those buzzfeed quizzes. The multitudes of Kiss me, Marry me, Kill me, questions. Finding your personality type in this show or that movie. Defined by favorite songs and foods. 

Who am I past all that? If I’m not a list of movies and hobbies. If I’m not Peach from Finding Nemo or Rapunzel from Tangled… if I am defined solely by my own talents, desires, personality, interactions with other’s? 

Maybe it’s easier to say who I want to be. I want to be kind. Overwhelmingly, unendingly kind. Patient to a fault. Thinking of other’s first. I want to give and give and give until the world is more filled with love and I am happy that I have done my best. I want to be filled with self control, will power, strength. Superficially, I want to be thin. Attractive. I want to draw people to me so I can make their lives better. Through my actions. Through my looks. Through my smile. That sounds all very fruity and flamboyant and self-indulgent though. I want to do for others… but not just because I will make their lives better, but also for selfish reasons. I want to be perfect. I want to be placed on a pedestal and deserve it. I want to be right all the time, to have other people envy me. I want to be filled with pride at how much better I am. 

I am glad I am flawed. I am so so grateful. God knew what a skinny waist and big boobs would do to me. He knew what perfection would look like on a human and He was wise to deny it. I am thrilled to be a challenge to myself, because striving towards being worthy of Christ’s love is so much greater then any worldly accolades I would get. 

Who am I? I am filled with sins. Overflowing with them. Gluttony. Wrath. Envy. Pride. Greed. Lust. Sloth. If I’m honest… the ones I have been struggling with the most are Sloth and Gluttony. But if I look at my life as a whole, my biggest sin is wrath. I have a terrible temper. And it can often lead to violence. Not so much in my adult life. But since graduating from high school, I have turned the anger inwards when it feels uncontrollable. I will dig my nails into my arms, punch myself, slap my legs until they’re red. I once left a giant bruise on my arm from punching myself over and over. Why was I punching myself? Well… Because I was losing at Tetris. Yeah. I kid you not. I worry about my anger once I have kids. What if I lose it? What if I hurt them? Sometimes I want to hurt my dog, just because he hasn’t done what I want him to do… or because he’s done something naughty. And in my rational mind, my sane, gentle, happy self… I could never imagine laying a finger on him. But when Wrath takes over… it’s all I can do to keep from lashing out at him. I haven’t ever hurt him. And I pray all the time for God to turn my anger into patience and understanding. But it’s hard. It’s very very hard. 

I know I cannot just be sin though. Sin is here because we were born into it. Because we live in a difficult world. I sin, but I am not sin. I am sinful… But I can also be good.

Who am I when I’m good? I am happy. I am usually happy. I love to smile. I love to laugh. I know that doesn’t define me from a billion and 1 other people out there in the world… But it’s something I like about myself. 

My mother says when I was born, I smiled at her. I flashed her my dimple and she says she instantly fell in love with me… and spent the next 2 months trying to coax a smile out of me. But when I finally began to smile… I never stopped. They say that babies understand cause and effect in as much as they can understand if they smile and laugh, people usually smile and laugh back. Maybe it was my dimple. But I trusted the world from an early age. I knew that if I liked people, they would like me. Through a smile. If I compare who I am to who my older sister is, I think she learned young that older people liked her and were more impressed when she spoke. So she spoke often and a lot and learned and grew and by the time she was four she was spitting out 4 syllable words then most 40 years now adays don’t know. But that came with a backlash of other children not liking her… of adults getting irritated that she knew more… of a general feeling of her being a know-it-all… By the time she was about 6, she couldn’t understand why the thing that endeared her to people was now the reason no one (no one NEW, really) liked her. For me… a smile never did that. And Emily was always there to do the talking for me, so while I smiled and wooed my way into every single stranger’s lap… Emily was explaining what I wanted and when I wanted it and what I was babbling about… I didn’t talk until I was about 3, and I didn’t speak intelligently or without stumbling over my words or mispronouncing most of them… until I was about 10. 

Then came Mr. Mac’s class. Oh boy. Did I discover myself in that class? Yes. I suddenly had to speak for myself. I suddenly had peers… new social groups… interactions beyond my family. I realized that I could make friends, speak my own opinions… I grew into my brain. 

Who am I? I am smart. Not book smart or school smart or even street smart. I am socially smart. I know how to read a room of people. I know exactly who is unhappy, bored, feeling unheard. I can recognize people’s insecurities after two conversations with them. It makes it very easy for me to put people at ease… and so so easy for me to hurt them. I haven’t tried to hurt a lot of people. But the people I have… I have done well. That’s not self-congratulatory. That is my admission and admonishment. I think about people that I have hurt to punish myself for letting them down. For letting myself down. For letting God down. 

When I called my very best friend the “n” word… I had NO idea what it meant. But I knew the moment it left my mouth what it meant to everyone else that heard it. But I didn’t back down. I had too much pride for that. And I lost her forever. 

Who am I? Love has always been easy. I love people. I don’t always love them when they don’t love me. Which I try to work on daily. But generally, I love people. I haven’t always been able to understand how to love. Empathy took A LONG TIME to develop. It really started sinking in about my Junior year of high school. Other people matter. My actions have an effect. I was always good at playing the part. I’m sure I THOUGHT I knew what empathy was. But I didn’t truly understand until about my junior year of high school. And it had been growing in me ever since. They say empathy is the last part of a child’s brain to develop. Well, I can fully vouch for that. It’s not even something that can be taught, though I will do my best to try to teach it. It’s really something that clicks when it clicks. The biggest way I can compare the difference to being unempathetic and empathetic is this: Before, when I watched sad movies, thoughtful videos, provoking commercials… Something about dying dogs needing a home, or a little sister losing her brother… or the moment love is lost forever… I would mock it. Laugh it off. Even judge and condemn other’s who were moved by it. For me, it had no connection to my emotions. I couldn’t care less. Haha! Now!! Hoo-boy!!! If I watch a video about a horse and a sheep that are friends, I feel that clench in my throat. Orphans? I’m gone. Foster kids not having any shoes? I’m sobbing uncontrollably and trying to find a way to adopt every foster kid on the planet. It has that immediate impact on my emotional intelligence. 

But does any of that really define who I am?

I am not shy, but I’m not particularly outgoing. I am strong willed, but not stubborn. I am faithful until it suits me to not be. I pick my favorite and I stick with it forever. 

My favorite color has been orange since I could point and goo. 

My favorite movie has been the 5th Element since I saw it on TV with my dad at my nanny and poppa’s house when I was about 9. 

My favorite soda has been Dr. Pepper since I first tried it in high school. (Finally allowed to have caffine and drink brown sodas!)

My favorite person has always been my nanny, even though she’s been dead since I was 11. 

My nanny. Everything I love best about myself, I got from her. My dimple. My weird deformed ear. (There’s just a little extra piece of skin in it). My blond hair (haha! Except towards the end of her life and since my life in high school… we both dyed it.) My sense of humor. My love of color. My love of all things small and living. Most of my childhood memories are at her house. Her joking arguments with my poppa. Her voice calling me, “Duckie.” Her saving up moldy bread so I could feed the fish and ducks. Her catching a baby rattle snake in a jar just for me. And ANYTIME I came in wearing something new, she would gush over it and without fail she would ask, “Does it come in my size?” Thrilling me to pieces. 

She met my poppa when he was 18 and she was 16. She was standing in line to go into the theater with her date, and poppa kept staring at her. All his friends told him to stop because her date was going to beat him up. But he kept right on a-staring and a-smiling at her. He missed her coming back out of the theater… But he told me, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He went home and drew her face over and over. And like… 6 months later, he saw her again, getting onto the trolly. So he ran and jumped on it and sat right next to her and talked to her and asked her out… and pretty soon… They were married and moving to Africa. 

The day she died, I got my first period. I was crying down by the duck pond all by myself watching the water… I thought I saw a big old something swimming around and when I caught it with my eyes again… I realized it was a little river otter. It swam around and around and then disappeared. Then I felt this pain and I thought I had to poop. And being the little vagabond that I was, I just pulled down my pants right there by the pond. It was a ways back to the house and I was worried about this pain I was having. And it was secluded and I was alone, so I just went right on. But I didn’t actually go… I looked down and saw a couple of spots of blood and I realized that it had come. I was a woman. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t feel weird or different. It was just a fact. The day my nanny died, I became a woman. 

There has been a lot of loss in my life. My great grandmother who used to sing, “Shoo fly don’t bother me.” to us when we went to visit her. My baby sister who used to flood the bathroom and when my mom would give us lectures about how we needed to shut the door (so she couldn’t get in there to flood the bathroom), she began flooding the bathroom, and then shutting the door behind her when she left. She used to carry ants around in little lego boxes we would build for her, chanting, “Baby. Baby. Baby.” She drowned when she was almost 2. Fell in the hot tub when no one was looking. Lost my nanny. Then we lost my step grandfather who had been around my whole life and was the only reason I liked going over to my grandmother’s house. He used to make me fish tacos and always pretended to be surprised when I spent the night and was still there in the morning. We were always poor. Always faraway from the rest of the world. Always fighting with someone. My family loved God but always seemed at odds with the church. My dad smoked weed. My mom was a vegetarian. My siblings and I fought. 

Who am I?  I am this series of memories, these defining moments… these lost bits and pieces all falling in and out of my recollections. All seen through a filter and haze of who these moments have made me into. The memories of who I was and who I am, and who I one day hope to be, and who I one day will ACTUALLY be… And it’s hard. It’s hard to think past moments and see ME. As myself. Who I am. 

I am Sarah. But I am not limited by that. I can expand and change and grow. I can morph and learn and evolve into so many possibilities. I am limited. But I am also limitless. I am a wife. One day I hope to be a mother. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am a cousin, a niece, a granddaughter. I am a Pieces, which I used to think was complete bull, but now I think is kind of interesting. I am a liberal. I am a Christian. I am a consequentialist. I am an incompatiblist. I am more observant then intuitive… More feeling then thinking more prospecting then judging and more turbulent then assertive. Some people might say I’m an entertainer. I am sensitive. I am ready for conflict. I am pragmatic. I love children. I can be charming. Deceitful. Boring. Loud. 

I am utterly, completely, unapologetically myself. The journey is not over. And I am still becoming more and less and moving… but one thing will never change… I will always be… Me.  

My homework

A very good friend of mine has asked me to do this thing with her where we write an essay called "I am" and then send it to each other. I have nothing but time and I like to write, especially about myself, so of course I jumped at the opportunity. As I've been writing, I've been trying to be honest, and I worry that it might be a little too honest... a little too hard on myself, really. I mean, I'm not this magical being of unending goodness... but I have good things about myself. It's just hard to strike a balance where I can write about being a real person with both good and bad qualities about myself. Anyway. Once I've finished, I plan on posting it on here as well. It will be a long post. So I'm going to keep this one short.

It's hard to facebook nowadays.

Facebook is hard. It's hard to scroll through and see all the political nonsense... all the articles and the videos about racial, sexual, general inequality. Everyone's stepping on someone thinking it can take them higher. Take them to this better position. Give them more power.
I just read an article (http://thoughtcatalog.com/melanie-berliet/2015/08/15-men-react-to-the-idea-of-taking-their-wifes-last-name-after-marriage/) where a bunch of men were asked how they would feel if their wives wanted them to take their maiden names after they were married. It's shocking how instantaneous the responses were. No thought. Just instant outrage based on entitlement. Masculinity is so... it's basically just another word for entitled anger. I think being a man should have nothing to do with whether or not you are superior to a woman. I don't really care about names... nothing in me wanted to keep my maiden name. Nothing made it feel important. I like my husband's last name and since I didn't feel strongly one way or the other, we just went with tradition. And I'm ok with that. But when did this custom even come about? Why? Why is it such a huge balking point for most men? Why does it seem to threaten the very core of masculinity if tradition isn't followed? It's strange.
Shortly after I read that article, I watched a video posted by Upworthy (an awesome site with lots of interesting and thought-provoking articles and videos). It was about a young black man's story about police brutality. (https://www.facebook.com/Upworthy/videos/1069739096400281/?fref=nf) It was hard to watch. It was hard to watch because afterwards, I wanted so badly to DO something. To change the world. To make it better for all those people that haven't had ANY short-cuts given to them because of the color they were born with... or the sex they were born with... or the sexual preference they were born with. Why are people's worth, value, strengths, weaknesses... Rights... why are all these things balanced on something so... shallow. Something that cannot be changed. Something you shouldn't WANT to change??
The British Royals used to believe (I'm not sure, they still might) that they were God's choice to be in power. Because they were God's people, blue bloods, they had a right to all the things... All the money, all the food, all the servants and slaves. They were allowed to say who lived and who died. That they were somehow innately BETTER than everyone else. That they were the ones that understood God's plan. They had to conquer the world and show it the one "right" path carved out by them with God's ever present hand on their divine shoulders.
The thing I think is the most ridiculously funny is... God's own son didn't demand any of that. He had nothing, shared everything, loved everyone unconditionally. He came to earth with the sole purpose of telling the world to do a better job of loving. Do a better job of sharing. Of listening. Of praying.
How did that turn into this?
No one is better than anyone else. No one deserves God's love or protection or mercy more than anyone else.
I don't really have a point. I'm frustrated. It's hard to facebook. I'm tired of the political nonesence... All the racial and sexual and general inequality. I want a break. I want to go back to when everyone wrote stuff about what they were doing. When you had too much information about the food some third cousin you have no interest in talking to is eating...

Gratitude-Day 13

I am grateful for empty afternoons, filled with naps, crafts, and doggie potty training.

Ron Galella

I watched this documentary called "Smash His Camera" about a paparazzi named Ron Galella. It was very interesting. He is famous for all these controversies with Jackie O. And the rights of individual privacy and the right of free press and all that. Which I won't get into, since I don't really have any strong opinions on the matter.
But I have to admit the documentary moved me.
This man made it his life's work to show the icons of the time to be real. He spent hours staring at them, looking for them, chasing them, fighting for the right to continue to show them as they are... Humans.
But by taking these idols and dedicating his life to proving they were as human as everyone else, he became obsessed... essentially idolizing the very people he wanted to prove to be human. It's incredible. And so heart-breakingly sad. Because these people stayed famous for a blink of an eye. He sought to immortalize the mortal.
He took so many beautiful, real photos of people in the height of their fame... people who have now sunk into obscurity. It's sad to me, that a man who dedicated his life to a moment... is now lost in the future. How long will his photographs be famous? How long will people be able to appreciate his genius, his determination, his love, and the truest parts of the fame he exposed? They are truly beautiful moments.
I don't know if he was right... if he was a little bit crazy... or if he was just out to make money (which he did. He made So. Much. Money.) But I do know that no matter how controversial... he was an artist who loved his medium.
And that is pretty awesome.

Gratitude- Day 12

I am grateful for long afternoon naps, lunch breaks, and Funko Pops. I am grateful for my husband's interests and his  ability to surprise me!

My husband is a little obsessed... ^_^

Gratitude- Day 11

I am grateful for late night hugs, wrapping around my tear-stained face, holding me as I cry without reason. I am also grateful for the faith that the darkness will pass and I will feel normal again... Blue like a cold passing through my body. Caught because we live in a world that is contaminated with loneliness. 

Gratitude- Day 9 (and 10)

Yesterday I was grateful for pools and sunshine and good company. Today, I am grateful for aloe vera, soft pajamas, and the Sunday recovery day. ^_^

Gratitude- Day 8

I'm grateful for good advice given just in time, for ears that are willing to listen, and mouths that are willing to talk.

Gratitude- Day 7

I am grateful for communication, for the clarity to express my darkest fears and deepest desires, and I am also grateful for the ears that my thoughts enter, because I know I am heard and understood.

Perfect Period Movies (for PMSing women everywhere)

9 to 5:
Dolly Parton, Jane Fonda, and Lily Tomlin getting revenge in the work place against their sexist boss. They tie him up. They fix the office. It gives you a valid feeling of satisfaction. It's exactly what you want to see when you're cradling a hot water bottle and cup of tea, wishing you never have to go through this again.












The First Wives Club:
Revenge against the cheating men of the world. I love it! Plus, it has Goldie Hawn (my all time fav!!!), Diane Keaton, and Bette Midler. "You don't own meeee…" And a musical number. I love musical numbers.

No Strings Attached:
It's got Natalie Portman in it (t-rex arms), but it makes up for it with Ashton Kutcher making fun of her tininess. And it's got the PERIOD MIX… and the consolation that even tiny perfect Natalie has to suffer like you do.












Now and Then:
It's got the youngness and the oldness and it's just a good woman movie. Young girls get together as old girls and reminisce. In a fun interesting way. I enjoy it.








Pride and Prejudice:
I was asking my friends for suggestions for this list and they misunderstood period movies (movies to watch on your period) and Period movies (movies about the classical time period). But we felt like this one works for both! Any version, any time. Do the miniseries to last the duration of your pain. Do the remade new version with Keira Knightly and enjoy the change of Matthew McFaden from ugly old butt (WHY DID THEY PICK HIM??) to gorgeous hunk of delicious manliness (HOW COULD THEY NOT PICK HIM???!!!!!) Or watch the Hank Green (John Green's brother) version on youtube, done modern style like a Vlog. It's called the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. It's worth the 100 6 minute episodes. The up side of this version is that it will last your ENTIRE PERIOD. Do it. DO IT!!

Carolina:
It's a more contemporary movie, definitely one of the more chick-flicky movies. It's got a handsome young author who writes naughty romance novels, a busy but ever-loving heroin, and a grandma that reminds me of my own.  Julia Styles and Shirley MacLaine. It's very sad! But, it's so worth watching.

Someone Like You:
Ashley Judd and Hugh Jackman. They're room mates and they kind of hate each other. Until hate turns to love. That's the best kind of romance. Also… Greg Kinnear as a total ASSHAT. Which he does rather well. "NEW COW". The best theory of dating in New York (or just dating outside of the christian community, I guess. I never dated a guy who craved New Cow.)





Where the Heart Is:

Oh. My. Gosh. Talk about laughing, crying, sighing, and wanting to vomit. This movie is wonderful. It's got Natalie Portman giving birth in a WalMart. It's got rednecks and idiots. It's got a tornado. And it's got the deepest, hardest, worst thing a woman would ever have to deal with. But it's a wonderful movie. Beauty from pain. Growth from mistakes. And love. Love love love. Always constant, and always there when you need it.











Waitress:
Abusive husband? Check. Baking skills? Check. Nathan Fillion as the hottest baby doctor ever? Hells check. Keri Russel. She's so pretty. It's about a love strong enough to break the bonds of abuse. A love you didn't know you were capable of until your face to face with your new child. I love it!

Austenland:
Keri Russel again. I admit… I'm a bit of a fan. She's an Austen-Obsessed girl looking for a fantasy, not realizing it's right in front of her, and the real thing is so good and so fantasic, she mistakes IT for the fantasy. Funny, a little mocking of those types of movies, and really good! Plus, JJ Fields. He's what would happen if Tom Hendleson and Jude Law had a baby.

Juno:
BABY!!! OH the indie glory of Ellen Page's teenage pregnancy. I really love this movie.




Pitch Perfect 1&2:
The perfect blend of lady power, women coming together for a common cause, and musical numbers. I always get chills during the epic music numbers. Always. And while I have only seen the second one once, I feel like it will soon be in my PMS pile.

Gratitude- Day 6

I am grateful for technology that connects me to loved ones, without which I would be very sad and lonely.

Gratitude- Day 5

I am so very grateful for A/C, electricity, and hot running water- without it, I have melted into my socks. I will never take it for granted again!

Gratitude- Day 4

I am grateful for friends who support us and make us stronger, better, more mature people. 

Gratitude- Day 3

I'm grateful for this house that keeps us safe in the storm, warm and cozy, dry and cool.

Gratitude- Day 2

I am grateful for time and distance to get to know married life better.

Gratitude- Day 1

I am grateful for my husband's patience and understanding.

"Funny, old people, and the internet"

You know what's funny? People getting surprised. I love it. I love that kind of funny. I also love puns, clever turns of phrase, and surprise endings. Sometimes a well-timed fart can also be kind of funny.
You know what I DON'T think is funny? People belittling things they don't understand to an exclusive group who don't have the intelligence or to speak for or against in an educated manner. It's even less funny when an individual tries to pull that crap when they're with a group of intelligent people… And gets shot down all ways to hell… and then gets all offended that no one understood that they were trying to be "funny".
Funny is subjective. And if I am the subject, and I'm not laughing… then your crap isn't funny.
I don't understand old people. I mean, maybe I will someday. But right now… I don't get it.
I think older people are supposed to have wisdom, to be supportive and advocate for youth. To really lead by example and mentor those who are going through the grind of life. Why isn't that a thing? When did that end? When do old people turn into dull, repetitive versions of themselves where the only advice they seem to offer is, "Put on a coat."
Maybe it's just my old people. Maybe they are the exception, and other people have supportive old relatives and friends who give good advice.
I mean, there are some nuggets of gold in there. And there is no end of love. But sometimes I just want to shout, "WOULD THIS ADVICE HAVE HELPED YOU???"
Old people who use Facebook. I mean, post whatever, like photos, say sweet things like grandparents and great aunts and uncles are supposed to… but don't try to crack racist and bigoted things on my profile pics. Don't try to crack jokes about sexuality on shared videos. It's just not… attractive! It doesn't look intelligent! And it's so rarely the relatives we know and love dearly… it's like the old people who live hours away that we see once every few years.
I have had to delete posts and photos just because the comments got out of hand.
The internet is a weird place, because you can post whatever you want and you can do it with almost complete anonymity. I never comment on Youtube, because, let's face it, that's basically saying, "Please! Cyber Bully me!!" Plus, I don't really ever feel the need to throw my two cents into a mess with 30,000 other people on a video about a cat and a baby singing "Let It Go" while playing video games, you know? (No… that's not a real video.) But this one time, I made an exception. The video had made enough of an impression on me that I broke my rule and commented.
It was a silly video of a young frenchman named Jerome who goes around doing silly and surprising things in public places (and as I've said, surprise is my favorite). You could call them "pranks" but they are to make people smile and not mean, you know? And I feel like the word "prank" has a negative connotation. Anyway, Jerome has this amazing smile: it's huge, it's constant, and it is contagious. I never stopped smiling once when I was watching his video. WHICH IS WHY HE MAKES VIDEOS.  Anyway, I commented, "His smile is so contagious! My face hurts from smiling so much!" And that's it. I mean… I don't know if that is some secret urban way of saying, "I want his penis." but the response I got was so surprising… Some weirdo troll commented directly to my post, "asshole slut spotted".
I just… didn't even know what to think. If smiling is slutty… the world is FULL OF SLUTS!!! My pastor must be a slut. My best friend's baby girl must be a slut. HELL!! Sometimes my DOG looks like he's smiling… Stupid slut.
I don't know when men began feeling powerful by slut-shaming women into silence… but I learned my lesson. No more commenting on youtube for me, thank you very much. Normally, I would feel the need to call up arms and exert my intelligence. Explain myself. Engage. But why would I want to make some jerk in his basement feel powerful by letting him know he'd gotten a rise out of me? Isn't that exactly what he'd want?
My retaliation was a simple click click click. "Erase. Report. Block." No skin off my nose, and now his thoughtless, ignorant comment is forever lost in cyber space. My comment remains.

Sooooo…

It's hard to stay active. It's really really hard to stay motivated. I mean, you feel like you're doing all this work, but with very little to show for it.
And it's hard.
But I have still be running. not as much as I wish I was. I ran every day except Monday this week (That was because it was my BIRTHDAY!!!).
Anyway.
I don't really feel that motivated to write, so here's a pretentious poem about drinking yourself to death as a way to escape. (Something I actually know nothing about!)

"Let's run" the cave cries hollowly.

"Let's go where it can't find us."

Valleys and folds and meadows stretch out, 

Beckoning us to run.

The night is bright, the moon is high

And the moonshine trickles

Yeah

The moonshine trickles like blood

Down her mountainous sides.

She's breathing, her heartbeat loud

Pounding through the trees.

We won't run.

Where would we go?

The moonshine finds us everywhere, 

Yeah

The moonshine knows how to find us,

No matter where we go.

"Too late to run." the river whispers.

"No time left, you'll end up here."

She's fought so long to put this behind us, 

beneath our mountain lair. 

But somehow we lay in the moonshine

Yeah.

The moonshine lays with us here.

She'll lay there still by morning.

Her breath escaped for good.

She'll dream of running through the moonlight,

With moonshine in her throat

Yeah

With moonshine mixed in her blood

Blood that sits there cold.

We cry for freedom from the obsession, 

Feeling lost with no where to go

The horizon seems close enough to touch,

But covered in moonshine, 

Yeah.

Always covered in moonshine

And we're drenched in our fear. 

Beef Curtains

Sex isn't an easy thing, as I have said before. I mean, it's gotten easier… (I have been married for almost 6 months… I'm an old slut now! Just kidding… ;P…)
But this isn't really about sex. This is specifically about VAGINAS. Or… I should say… VULVAS.
I mean, the vagina is all well an good in the male's view. It's the bit he gets involved with. All the really weird and interesting things are in the vulva. What is the vulva, you ask? Everything you thought the vagina was.

I know.

The wall of Vulvas (Interestingly enough, this was the influence of a penis wall, but the penises are ALL erect. Hmm. Men. Am I right?)

Take a moment to let your mind be blown.
You good? Ok.

The vagina is just the channel leading to your cervix. The vulva is the fur and the wings and the clitoris and the urethra and all the weird stuff that makes the woman so very mysterious.

Enough exposition.

I have had a long battle with the knowledge that one day I will have to reveal this weird gooey (Not actually gooey, just my insecurity) oyster to a human male, and try my best to figure out how to still make him attracted to me. There is an enormous stigma in this culture that a woman is… well… Gross.
It's weird. It's mysterious. It's squishy. It's not altogether pleasant in the aroma department (sometimes). For a long long time, this really ate at me.
But slowly (with some help), I managed to get past this insecurity. I finally realized that guys were attracted to this weird thing. That I would one day meet this wonderful, perfect guy who would love me and it wouldn't matter to him. Because love and sex and discovery and true happiness… meant that there wouldn't be one part of me that wouldn't be wholly and completely loved. Intimacy meant lights on, any time of the day, here and now all of me, all of him, all the time.
It took a long time for me to feel good about it.
And in one, horrible, heartbreaking evening… all the insecurity, all the discouragement… all the rage and disgust at my own body, came flooding back in.

My husband is a good man. An amazing man. A wonderful, God-fearing christian man. Who waited till marriage. Who listened to his mother. Who separated the Jezebel from the Madonna.
It happens so often in our culture. There is the woman you are allowed to (I am so sorry for the language but it's really what it is) f**k, and the woman you marry. There is the sexy stripper, the big-busted porn star, the media's portrayal of Little Miss Lay-Me-and-Leave-Me. And then there is perfection incarnate. The girl you date. The girl you marry. The girl you can take home to Mama and mama would be proud.
There is no small amount of shame for a good christian man to accept his sexuality as well as stay abstinent.
And all his life there are his natural instincts, his drives and desires, competing with righteousness, holiness, and Christlike patience. Here's the world holding sex out with a tantalizing tune of naked seduction, and his parents, bearing down with bible in hand and goals and values hard to sustain in a world drenched in YOLO attitudes.
"Wait until marriage."
"Sex is a sin."
Masturbation is perversion."
"Don't think, don't act, don't look, don't touch… No. No. No."

And then… one day… you get married and suddenly… it's OK?? Just like that. You're supposed to magically accept the sexual side of yourself… and the sexual side of her… Like it's natural and easy.
How are you supposed to sexualize the Madonna? She wasn't allowed to be naked. She's not the girl you are supposed to look at, or touch, or want. She's the other.

So on the evening that I fell from my fantasy of perfect happiness, my husband was innocently expressing his own insecurity. I asked if he would like to leave the lights on. He said, "How offended would you be if I said I wasn't ready yet?" I, in turn, was confused and thought he was referring to his own shyness at being seen naked, and assured him that I had seen him already, thought him wonderful and worth looking at. The look of confusion on his face clued me in, and immediately the splinters of my heart began to fall and jab into my stomach.
"Oh. Oh you mean… me. You aren't ready to see me…"
The turmoil of the rest of that night is too dramatic to recount, and I look back now to cringe on my theatrics, though… they were wholly justified.

The extremes women go to for attention from men is so unfathomable when it's all laid out in a list. So here's a list, and try to fathom it.

• Labiaplasty: a plastic surgery procedure for altering the labia minora (inner labia) and the labia majora (outer labia), the folds of skin surrounding the human vulva (As defined by wikipedia). 
• Boob jobs: You all know what that is.
• Thongs.
• Corsets: Archaic, yes. Still in play? Hell yes.
• Push-up bras: We've all got one for those tops that need the extra kick. AND, most bras just COME with the extra padding. I think it's more difficult to find a bra that doesn't already have a fake boob living inside it nowadays!!
• Negligee: Skippy, uncomfortable, lacy nighties that cost WAY too much and you only really wear for 3 minutes!
• Waxing: The removal of hair through the application of hot wax and cloths. Dribble hot wax on, put on the cloth, then RIP THE SUCKER OFF. No more hair.
• Heels: The argument could be made that we wear heels for women and ourselves just as much as we wear them for guys… but for this list, I feel like they make the cut.
• Make-up: Again… could be for yourself or your girls… but there is an argument to be made for using eyelash lengthening mascara to snare the men-folk and fool them into marrying us. 

(I stole some of the ideas of what to put on my list from Cosmo, like the waxing and heels… I barely shave, let alone wax, so it didn't occur to me by myself).

I have started to feel like the ridiculousness… is all his fault. My husband. Because he has been brainwashed by the system to believe that if it's not sexy to him, he shouldn't have to look at it. 

(My resentment and my logic are at odds because I am a woman and I feel more than I reason). 

The conversation is open for us, and we are working at this hitch in our ability to be divinely happy, but I feel like so many women feel the need to change themselves because they want more of what men have to offer. And regardless of what the femi-Nazis might say… men do have a lot to offer. 

I just wish the world (and how many religious folks choose to teach sexuality) would stop screwing up our husbands. 

Back in the saddle

I wish there was a saddle. It would be nice if just riding in a saddle could be counted as exercise. But what I really mean is I am back to trying to run every day.
After a four day vacation, I have finally allowed myself to go out on my loop again. My leg felt better and I really was sick of having to go without. So! I went on a light walk.
When I got back, I looked up a stretching routine on youtube (I love Fitness Blender! A guy has this soothing easy to follow voice telling the instructions, and a girl is doing the workout. It's really comprehensive) and did a 13 minute exorcise. It was really really nice. I can feel the tension in my shin easing up.
There is something to be said for work. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love to be a stay-at-home mom without any kids. But… There is something to be said for a job. I don't know what I would want to do. I certainly wouldn't want to try to take on driving in Guam by myself (yes! I have driven… and nearly wrecked the car…). Nor would I want to wake up early to go do something I didn't love. But… Sometimes I wish I had SOMETHING to do. Like… Babysitting. Or MOPS. I used to work at MOPS. I was really really happy there. And I used to babysit all the time. But now… I don't think I've gotten to hang out with little kids since I said goodbye to my boys. I miss those guys.

Ellie, Jude, Jack, and Lena
In my wedding

I'm not complaining or anything, because I honestly am quite content. But sometimes, I feel a little at odds with myself. I don't now that I'm doing enough with my time to be considered… "Grown Up". I don't know. I wish I was just… spelled out for me. 

SARAH!!! DO THIS THIS AND THIS AND THEN YOU WILL BE DIVINELY HAPPY….

That was what I think God sounds like… With a deep voice. In all capitals.

I don't know. It's hard when living here is so up in the air. If Chris puts in the command sponsorship papers, we will be here till January 2017… And after that, who knows what we'll be doing. If he doesn't, we'll only be here till January of 2016. Which isn't THAT far away. And if he doesn't do the papers… we'll also have to move, and then what will I do?

I don't know. I just… I just don't know enough. I feel like I see myself as 100% helpmate and nothing more. But that can't be my entire purpose can it? Especially since he probably DOESN'T see himself that way. My life cannot be only about my husband.

But isn't that what God calls me to be?

I don't know. I JUST… Don't… KNOW.

Exercising makes no sense.

I don't get it. I don't understand. They always say, "Just exercise every day. Do something to break a sweat everyday. " But when you are actually doing that… your muscles start to break down and then "they" say, "What? Don't exercise EVERYDAY… you have to let your body regenerate."
…
WHAT?!!
I don't get it. I'm finally at a place in my life where I want to run all the time, and I CAN'T because my legs… my body… my muscles won't let me!!! It doesn't seem fair.
I guess there is the rule of 6's. You can do the same thing for 6 days, then you have to change it up. Allow the muscles you've been using to adapt, and use different muscles.
Which is all fine and good…
But running is something I enjoy and working out abs or doing pilates… I DO NOT. It's easy to coninue moving when you HAVE to get home. Like… You can't give up and just be done mid-run. You would be stuck out in the heat. But when you're at home, you actually have to make a concerted effort to stay focused on working out.
I hate that.
It's hard enough to WANT to work out. But to work out when you have no definite motivation? That's really hard…
It's also a double positive, because when I run, I get to work on my tan. ^_^
I don't know. It's just disappointing.
Today, I was too discouraged and ended up eating two donuts. I've been burping grease all day. It's a terrible decision.
Anyway.

Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful.

I love beautiful words.
Words that clash and clang and make noise about making noise.
I love beautiful words.
Words that lull and calm and create a sense of rest.
I love beautiful words.
Words of expression, passion… tension and trust.
I want my words to always be beautiful.
To paint, protect, inspire and soothe.
There are many deaf people in the world,
People who are speaking without thought,
Listening without hearing,
Living without being alive.
I love to be enwrapped in my joy…
To be wrapped up in the giant fluffy feeling of happiness.
I like to be there with someone else.
Someone special.
Some who appreciates clandestine encounters.
Secrets whispered.
Shared moments
Wishes and worries and warrior thoughts.
I love beautiful people with beautiful words.
People who create pictures and feelings without over-explaining.
Mitten shaped memories of snow crusted days.
Breezy words spinning sea-salted air
Over hot bodies, sticky with sand.
Calming prayers about forgotten dolls,
Mislaid memories of beaten blankets,
Spaciously recounted into dark nights under warm covers.
These are the things I love.
These are the moments of twisting vernacular that calm my heart,
Excite my brain,
And swallow my imagination.
These are the words.
Words that make you feel.
Feelings are better than words.
But words that make you feel…
Those are words worth saying.

Day 9 (I think…)

So day 7, when I went for a run and did two loops instead of just the one, I don't know if that was an entirely wise decision. I usually get these sharp burning pains in my shins about mid-run… but that day I just kept right on going. It was fine, they kind of went away for a little while, but as I was walking back on my block, something seemed to snap and I got this burn right in the middle of my shin in one spot. It was really red right there, and even my husband agreed that it was hot to the touch. It wasn't unbearable. It was just kind of a weird hot tight feeling. And if I was sitting, I didn't even notice it. Whenever I stood up, though… I could DEFINITELY feel it. So I looked up all these articles about shin splints. I thought it was just the sharp pains that happen in your shins when you exercise, but apparently they are SERIOUS. They can lead to your shin bone splintering, and eventually breaking. Can you imagine? You're just running along and then all of a sudden your leg snaps? Uh, no thank you. So the recommendation is to take it easy and ice and heat your leg. I soaked in a tub for a while and that definitely helped. Then yesterday I walked the whole way, and only one loop. It was hard, but it was nice too… Then when I came home I did a WHOLE bunch of stretching. My leg still felt iffy this morning, but I went out anyway. It loosened up and I ran a good length back.
So I think I'm in the clear, but still!
It's hard to keep up your momentum when your body is telling you to quit. I'm glad I listened enough to help my leg, but didn't give up entirely.
Now I'm faced with a whole other problem!
Cramps. Of the lady variety.
There is NOTHING that wipes me out, quite like the crippling pain of fertility. I beat them today, but as I was walking back, I could feel them coming on. I took a bunch of aspirin. But there is no guarantee that will help.
Yesterday was a hard day emotionally too. I don't know why, but sometimes everything just… sucks. I can't stay happy. I just wallow. I'm a wallower, I think. It's not even that anything happened. It's just that sadness hits me like a sickness. "I've come down with a blue." Like coming down with a cold.
My husband is so good with me when it hits me. He holds my hand. Offers to get me anything I want. He'll let me pick a movie. He's just… there. If I need him.
And I always do. For exactly what he does.

Day 7- Motivation.

I was actually going to write this yesterday, but I totally spaced.
I woke up really early this morning. Whenever I wake up super early, I have a hard time getting my bones to move. And if I don't get out and run first thing… I have a really hard time mustering up the motivation to actually go do what I need to do. I think this is the first time I've written before I've run. But I was thinking yesterday how my goal cannot be self-hatred.
I can't motivate myself that way. I want to. I feel like I would get so much more done. Haha! But I can't. I need something positive behind me, pushing me on.
So I changed my goal from losing weight… to Running the entire way. I want to be strong enough to run from the moment I step out the door, till the moment I come back in. I feel like that is what momentum is all about. Because once you lose weight, what is there left to do? But if your goal is something that is challenging you do be better, stronger, more persistent…. you are learning a greater lesson, acting towards a positive. Moving in a direction of health, rather than personal satisfaction. Sure. It would be nice to slim down. But if my goal is greater than just slimming down, then I am more likely to stay healthier longer.
You know… I can really feel it this morning. Not soreness… that's worn off. But strength. I felt stronger when I woke up. I felt like my feet touching the ground was not the act of gravity pulling me down, but the muscles holding me up.
Maybe that's silly. Maybe you can't feel something like that 6 days into doing it. But even if it is all in my head… it's a nice feeling!
Ok. No more procrastinating… I'm going. I'm going to run two loops today. Just to see if I can. ^_^
I just realized I should post pics of where I run! So you can see where I go and what I see. And my hill. Haha! Alright. That's another plan.
WISH ME LUCK!!

Day Four of Run/Walking

Today was definitely the hardest so far. I woke up early to make Chris breakfast and to do the devotional. But we couldn't actually FIND the devotional. So we just sat and prayed for a while together. I'm going to try to find the devotional today, but I have no idea where we could have stuck it, so I don't know where to begin. 

Then, after Chris left, I caved to my craving and had a second breakfast. I couldn't resist! The breakfast casserole I made was too good!!!

It's not just that I had a second breakfast… my second breakfast included bread. A bagel to be precise. It's hard to avoid bread. I love it so. But I am trying. 

I thought I would make it up with an extra long run, but not only was it really hard to get motivated to run, it was really hot outside. And I'm sore from running the past three days. So I didn't push myself as far as I would have liked. Though… I think I'm beginning to actually feel a difference. I used to run in spurts, short spurts. But today I managed to run from the top of the hill all the way to the dinky little bridge-type thing. So I feel like that's progress. I also walked the last block holding my arms out and pulsing upward so I was getting more of an upper body work out. I can feel it in my sides under my ribs. Progress. 

And, though I didn't run a mile without breaking a sweat, (More like walked most of a quarter mile, breaking more sweat than women should) I did actually GO. And that is a pretty positive thing. ^_^ GO ME!!!

Only 360 more days of this. >.<

Running, Swimming, and Purpose

Day 3 of running! Well… walk-jogging… And one of those days was actually a hike down the side of a mountain and a long swim in the ocean. But still!!! I have woken up sore every day and that is a pretty good feeling.
Guam is perfection. I swear. There is nothing like the beaches here. I love them! I love them with a fiery passion!!! You can't help but love them. You can forgive the distance from family, the boredom, the loneliness… When you are standing in the ocean and the rain is hitting the water and making it spring back up… and the ocean is so warm, but the rain is even warmer, and your love kisses you with salt-stained lips and the world is absolutely perfect.

There is nothing like it.

You know, it's funny where you can find purpose… I feel like I have been purposeless for a while now… And maybe, for a little while, health can be my purpose. Running. Feeling like I'm doing SOMETHING to change my life and make it better. 

I don't know. Maybe that's silly. But it's making me happy so far. And I want to be the type of person who is driven to do something! You know… It's been pretty easy so far, too… I think that's why I feel like maybe this is a good purpose for me to have. Because I WANT to do it. 

Anyway. I don't know what I'm rambling about. 

I think exorcising is just making me happy, and when I'm happy… I ramble!

Self image

Skinny, fat, in-between.
Why is it, I never look like what I think I look like? When I was little, I didn't care. But as soon as I turned... I don't know... 10? I think I began to dress like a tent. Baggy shirts. Sweaters. I was so self-conscious, I would endure outrageous heat to cover as much of my body as I could in sweaters and long pants. If I ever tried to wear smaller shirts, sleeveless shirts, shorts, I felt like everyone was staring at me... Judging me. Making me feel chubby.
But looking back at my photos of what I looked like back in the fifth grade, I look amazing! Maybe not amazing... But a lot better than I thought I did. Why do I look better than I think I did when I think I look bad... and look worse when I think I look amazing?
I want to teach my child to be proud of what they look like. No matter what they look like. How do you teach that? I don't know. I have NO idea. Because I was told I was pretty, I was compared and contrasted, and I've known that my family saw me a particular way. So why didn't I feel like that person? Why was I so obsessed with the idea that I needed to cover up?
I was googling "What do men like women to wear" And EVERY SINGLE ARTICLE says, well, this look is nice, that look is cool (all of them a balance of form-fitting, cleavage bearing, high heels, and casual, a little bit undone, chillness...) but ultimately, as long as the girl looks happy, confident, and secure in herself, it doesn't matter if she's wearing a carpet dress and paper bags on her feet!
Why isn't that TAUGHT better? I don't understand. Why do people get caught up in trends and fashion when it doesn't matter... it's not going to look good on everyone... And it doesn't really make anyone all that happy?
There's that show called Ugly Betty, where the fat unfortunate braces girl is obsessed with fashion. It makes her so "happy". She's read every magazine about it. She knows it through and through. But she never changes herself. She love what SHE wears. Crazy clashing colors... HUGE bows, high collars, awful patterns. And the more you watch her, the more you forget she's supposed to be ugly, because she gains a confidence without actually changing anything about her appearance! I don't know anyone who has worn braces quite so long. But still... She's a successful business woman, dealing with cruel co-workers, people who just generally look down on the world because they were born with whatever super secret entity the media cashes in on (I think it might be anorexia), and she still manages to make YOU, the watcher, see her as beautiful. Worthy. Wonderful. Attractive. But they never actually talk about that. That's not the point of the show.
That's just what I took away from it.
Anyway…
I don't feel like wait is a good indicator of health either. Most people judge fat people for being fat like they are self-harming on purpose and "don't they know that's really unhealthy?" Can't they just… Change?
And I really hate that. I would rather be overweight than underweight, I swear to you!!!

Anyway, I have been thinking about weight a lot because moving to a warmer climate… apparently means drastically changing your diet. Because your metabolism slows down in the heat. So I have been eating the same way I have always eaten, and my belly keeps growing! So, since it's New Years and all… I am resolving to go running everyday. Or walking at least. With intermittent running. And hopefully I will be able to run the whole way in a couple of months. But I'm going to do it!!! EVERYDAY!! So to motivate myself, I think I'm going to write about it on here.
I'm also going to try to eat less, with more veggies. AND NO MORE SNACKING. Or eating out. And I'm ONLY going to drink water. It's good for your skin, your inside bits… everything. So that's my plan.
Oh please oh please!!! I hope I can stick it out!! I really want to! I want to be one of those people with the reveals, you know? Like… "I left a little hefty, but I'm coming back sexy!"

When I see my family in a year I would like to:
-Be at least 20 pounds lighter. (Though I won't stop just because I hit that weight…)
-Be a great deal tanner. (Come on sunshine!)
-Have longer hair. (Though, that's not something I have a lot of power over, it's just going to happen.)
-Feel more grown up. (Again, I'm not sure what I can do about that, but I am trying.)

And as for my mind….
I want to do a daily devotional and cut down watching TV by about… 95%. I think those two are going to be the most difficult. Honestly, if I didn't watch TV so much… I don't know what I would do with my day! But I guess I'm going to find out.

I have already put this plan into motion, since I went on a walk/jog this morning for about an hour. But I'm going to post of pictures to help motivate myself. Don't judge. I'm not that handy with a camera.

So. This is what I have become.
But hopefully… with in a few months I may see some changes. And before I know it, this chubby, lazy, uncomfortable version of myself will become a distant memory. And I will happy go out in a bikini.

Or not. But I am dreaming big!!!