How Old is Old?

My children are currently preoccupied with the idea of age. They see how old they are (6, 9) compared to myself (32) and then with their grandparents (52, 60) and then with a great grandparent (93). They're trying to come to terms with what is actually "old".

At first, they decided the dividing line of age was having white or grey hair. After all, grandpa looks like he fell headfirst into a vat of bleach. But then that made them consider the implications that brought when considering their own father and his peppering of grey at his temples and in his goatee. One suggested that by counting the amount of grey hairs a person has directly correlates to how "old" (ancient) a person is.

But then there's mommy. She doesn't have grey hair and we all know that she is old. The conversation became a lot less entertaining at that point.

I don't feel old today. I feel extra crispy. I put on 50 SPF sunblock yesterday, only spent about 90 minutes outside, and got fried anyway. Apparently I need to live in a cave. Maybe I'm one of those humans who was meant to live without sunlight. Perhaps I am even phosphorescent in the dark. I know that right now my sunburn feels like it's giving off light, it's certainly putting out heat at any rate.

At least the sunburn has proved useful to the kids. I heard them say "See? Old people can TOO get sunburned. Look at mommy!"

Not In Kansas...

I can always tell that I am not on the Eastcoast anymore when random strangers will actually look you in the eye and have a conversation with you that is pleasant. It may not seem like a big deal, but when you live in a place where no one likes to say more than they have to, as if they're being charged by the syllable, to walk into a store and have a stranger say hello, how are you, and smile at you is such a culture shock.

For example, last night my mother and I went to Blockbuster. The guy behind the counter chatted with us for about 10 minutes while my mother filled out some sort of paperwork she had been needing to do. Completely pleasant and lovely. Would that have happened in Vermont? Heck no! The guy would have stood there stolidly silent, alternately staring at us or the wall, or the floor with a rather sour expression on his face. In some ways, this visit out here makes me feel like I've been sprung from prison. Just a little.

There are so many stores and outlets here it's quite bewildering. I used to like shopping when I was a teen, I wasn't overly crazy about it, but it was enjoyable. I've never really been a browser, I'm more of a "get in, get out" kind of shopper. But after living with so few stores around me, I feel a little like a kid in a candy store - totally overwhelmed by all the choices. A visit to the local Target ranks right up there with Disney for me at the moment. So, if you are out and about in the Phoenix area and see a strange woman wandering around saying things like "Look at all the aisles! There be clothing as far as the eye can see? Who knew there were such wonders to behold?" I apologise in advance for scaring you.

On the other hand, the sheer volume of people out here is amazing too. At any given time, there are more cars on the road than the worst traffic jam in Vermont's history - including the ones involving moose and cattle. My parents live near a fire department, and now and then you can hear the sirens start up as a truck goes racing away to save the day. Even though it's not particularly loud, I always jump when I hear the sirens. Where I live, if you hear sirens chances are that they're coming for you.

You'd never know I grew up in Colorado and even lived in Chicago for a while. Apparently, you can have the city residue just sucked right out of you. Stoplights make me nervous now. I won't even go into the terror that driving on an eight lane road causes. Passing here means zipping around other vehicles. Passing in Vermont means swerving to avoid the cow/horse/carriage/bicyclist/raccoon/skunk/porcupine/possum. I'm city-rusty.

I know that I'll have a lovely time here visiting all the stores, movie theatres, and other amenities. I also know I'll be looking forward to going home by the end of the three weeks out here. Maybe not for the brilliant conversation that I know awaits me back in Vermont, but for the space, the green, the frogs singing at night. But perhaps not the skunks.

Travel Suggestions

Some suggestions for other travelers:

Deodorant, it's catching on. Join the fad. It's gonna be big.

Shoving children out of your way while everyone is heading down the gang-plank to the plane is not a way to win points with other travelers. I promise you, the plane isn't leaving yet, and no one is going to take your seat. This also includes the initial jamming of the line to get on the plane in the first place. Can you explain to me why it's so important to be first? Will it get you there faster? Is this like cutting one car ahead in a traffic jam - it just makes you get there one inch before the other person?

While loading the plane and people are trying to get to their seats, reclining your seat and blocking the row behind you, or throwing out your feet into the aisle while "kicking back" is not helpful - especially when you laugh at the people who trip over you.

Staking out overhead bin space and guarding it while growling "It's MINE!" might be a sign that you should seek some professional help.

While I know it's a painful thing to have to do, if you do not fit in your seat and take up half of the next one, you need to buy a second seat. And if you choose not to, and force the person next to you (who is no small petite pixie herself) to be falling out into the walkway, you do NOT keep giving her the evil eye the whole damn trip. Especially since by the end of it she probably had more contact with your body in more places than she will be able to ever erase from her memory - no matter how hard she tries.

If the person next to you hasn't opened her piddly bag of pretzels yet, this does not mean "Sure! You can take my bag of pretzels! I really got them for you, you know." Even if half your body is sitting in her lap.

Do NOT encourage your preschool age children to have a "screaming contest to get it out of their system before we take off."

It is not ok while going down the aisle to the back of the plane to stop and look down women's shirts. And when I glare at you while you are looking into my cleavage, what I am really saying is "You are about to learn how to sing soprano, I'd move along if I were you." Wiggling your eyebrows at me, instead of moving along will only increase the damage I will inflict. And please refer to suggestion #1 - deodorant.

Airports themselves are not pick-up joints. I realize that there are many bars located within various terminals, but don't be taken in - it's not a strip of clubs set up to find the seventh Mrs. Right. And if the woman you try to pick up on is wearing a wedding ring and has children with her, take that as a clear indication she would not be receptive to your advances. Additionally, if you yourself are wearing a wedding ring you should be aware that scientists are currently working on identifying your subspecies, and that they have found you share genetics with bathtub mold. Go donate your body to science and help them out. It's all for the greater good.

No, I don't want to go get a hotel room with you. Under any circumstance. Ever.

While waiting for the next plane, telling your whole family to join you as you lay across five seats, thus taking up 3/4 of the waiting area while the 200 other people have to stand around and glare at you might be considered rude.

If you are separated from your friends on the flight by 20 rows, shouting your conversation back and forth during the flight is not a good idea. Just get up out of your darn seat and go talk to the person, or make notes on your napkin and wait for your chance to meet up with them.

If there were a million people on your flight, getting all of your 35 extended family members to block everyone's access to the baggage carousel just so you can get your bags first might just be considered rude.

Heading To The Hot-Zone

I'm headed out to Arizona tomorrow morning. I am not relishing the thought of waking up at 3 a.m. to try and corral the kids into the car, drive the hour to the airport, park, and make it on the plane. But, by tomorrow evening I will be lounging by the pool in my swimsuit... probably snoring.

I hate traveling. I love going places, but I hate the actual traveling part. I used to love it when I was a kid. The thrill of the plane pressing you back in your seat, looking out the window at all the clouds passing by, showing up so far from where you started in only a few hours. Unfortunately, the novelty wore off a long time ago.

Now, I just try to remind myself that it isn't as bad as the nine hour flight I took out to the UK where I was squashed between two large people who ate my armrests on both sides, their elbows in my ribs all the way across the ocean, with the air not working and my kneecaps going numb from being jammed against the seat in front of me. That was bad. It makes a trip to Arizona seem a day at the Fair by comparison.

We're scurrying around, cleaning and packing today. I'm trying to decide how much food to pack. I'm so irritated that the airlines have continued on with refusing to serve a meal without you coughing up around $10 a piece for them. But the upside is that the food was never good anyway, and our own packed lunches are MUCH better.

I'm just hoping that my kids are old enough to not be afraid of the toilet on the plane. You would think that at nine and six years old respectively that they could use the plane toilet without having to have me standing inside the tiny room with them. But they still seem to be terrified of it. I think they wonder whether they'll be sucked out of the plane via the toilet.

So, I'll pop back in a couple of days. Probably with pictures and a sunburn.

A Life Choice

Before I begin, a fellow blogger lost his son in a horrible accident this week. It would be wonderful to offer words of support here, or if you are so inclined a memorial fund has been set up so you can purchase a graphic like the one above where all proceeds go to the family by clicking here.


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I got in an argument with some women recently over housework. Yes, housework. As in mopping, vacuuming, dusting, laundry, dishes, etc. It sort of boggles the mind, doesn't it? Aren't there better things to be arguing about?

Apparently not.

At issue was what a person's responsibility is towards their home verses other things. For example, during finals I got way behind on laundry. It was bad. We're talking the Swiss Alps of blue jeans and socks bad. I'm the only one who does laundry in our house because Mr. Savy has the amazing ability to shrink, dye, or otherwise destroy things that are normally indestructible. We share every other chore for the most part, except laundry (I don't mind when he changes the oil in the cars either. I always get sprayed when I do that, so I figure it's a fair trade.) We had so much laundry backed up, that I was truly amazed that we even HAD that many things that could possibly be cleaned in a washer in the first place.

I was told that in the Stepford Wives' world (I'm sure it's another dimension,) something like THAT would never happen. How disgraceful I am for allowing those types of things to get out of hand, when really I should be on top of everything in the house and it should sparkle from morning till night. How if I just managed to follow guidelines (i.e. similar to the Fly Lady that so many people go on and on about - don't get me wrong, there is a lot to be learned there, but it's not the end all and be all for everyone, including me) that I would then be able to keep everything as perfect as I should.

Should? Says who?

My argument was that while I can see that following all those guidelines would get everything spotless over time, I have things I'd rather be doing. It is important to stay on top of things when you can - but it's a team effort with the other residents of my household. I'm not the damn maid. In addition to that, do I really want to say in ten years "Wooohoo! I sure kept my house vacuumed and my sink purty!" Or "I played with my children, finished my degree on the Dean's List, and completed 100 paintings that I never thought I would!"

I vote for the kids, school, and paintings.

Apparently, that makes me defective. I'm so proud to have found another way that I flunk at being a Stepford Wife. I have a running list you know.

My priorities during the day involve my children, exercise, painting/school/work, and then cleaning and upkeep. It really is last on my list. But it IS on it. Why is having everything perfectly scrubbed, dusted, and sparkling so important? Everything is clean in my house, it's just not pristine. I guess I am just more focused on living my life than cleaning it. I just can't see alphabetizing my Tupperware drawer as all that helpful over many other things that need to get done.

However, this doesn't mean that I begrudge those who DO want their lives organized and cleaned to perfection. It gives them satisfaction, and that's great. For them. If I can be happy for them that they do what they want, why does it matter what I do? I've always wondered why it matters so much to other people what goes on in other homes. Cleaning is the benign flavor of this, but there are many other more sinister ones.

Still, who would have thought I'd anger people simply because I don't want to dust five times a week?

The Blindest Of Dates

I was talking with some friends recently, reminiscing about the "old days" of being single. I have several friends who are single right now, and quite frankly I cannot believe how much has changed in the dating world since I was out in it.

Speed dating and internet matching sites seem to be all the rage. Back when I was dating (a little over a decade ago) if you were dating someone from online, chances were good it was through the prison pen-pal system. Speed dating was about how fast you could end a date once he started going on about his mother, alphabetizing his socks, and his pet frog Snappy.

While it's true that hardly anyone ever asked me out, and I wished that they had, I don't think I'd date now even if I did suddenly find myself single. It's scary out there. I don't even watch reality television, but I get the gist of enough dating programs to feel the chill of foreboding. Successful beautiful women all competing for one man like a bunch of hens? Lie detectors with friends giving advice in your ear? Is this what is going on out there, seriously?

Back when I was dating, I really thought it couldn't get much worse than the blind date your friend/mother/cousin/boss set you up on. Those were always the gold standard of bad dates, weren't they? The worst date I ever had was a blind date, set up by a "friend" (who may be wearing cement shoes at this point if she kept up her career as a matchmaker.) Technically, it was a double blind date - he brought his friend and his blind date too. I should have realized it's not a good sign when they feel the need to tag-team before they have even met you.

My date decided to take the term "blind date" to a whole new level. I was the last person to be picked up, and once in the car they informed us "gals" that we were to be blindfolded. Now, I just know that somewhere in a handbook on dating that is supposed to be a warning flag. But, because I was young and stupid I went along with it... albeit with a great deal of hesitation. The guys, sitting in front, drove all over town for what seemed like an eternity. Because the other girl was deaf, I couldn't hold a conversation with her blindfolded (nice of them to blindfold her, and really mess up her perceptions wasn't it? She wasn't happy about it either.)

In the middle of the aimless driving, the guys picked up a pizza, and then drove around a while longer trying to confuse us as to which direction we were going. We finally arrived at our destination, and the guys tried to steer us without removing the blindfolds. This worked great up until we fell down a hill, and into a ditch that they hadn't seen. It was at the bottom, laying in a sprawled heap with possible twisted ankles and various bruises, that they figured they'd best ruin the "surprise" a bit and remove the blindfolds.

Their idea of a romantic date involved trespassing at a local elementary school. I know what you're thinking, "Awww, that's cute, they're going to have a dinner date on the playground, right?" No. They wanted us to scale the 13 foot stone pillars and get on the roof.

Now let me ask you something: could YOU climb a perfectly smooth 13 foot stone pillar on a good day? How about in a skirt and heels? IN WINTER. And just so you don't get to claim the whole "I'm a guy, I wouldn't be used to being in a skirt and heels" thing - I wasn't used to it either. I was, and am actually, a Tom-boy for the most part. I was trying to be a good date by dressing like everyone else. Still, even if I had been in jeans and sneakers, there is no way I could have made it onto the roof. The fact that everything was iced from the recent snowfall didn't help matters (though I'm not sure I would have made it in the summer.)

The guys were annoyed at our hesitation to scale the pillar to the roof and tried to prove it was no big deal by climbing up there themselves. One helped the other up, after realizing it wasn't as easy as they had thought. Once on top, he (not my date) stood up on the roof and looked down at us saying "See? No biggie! Come on!" And then, like something out of a stupid television show, toppled out of sight.

Apparently, there was a built in depression in the roof about six feet deep that he had fallen into. I had to boost my date up so he could go and help his friend who seemed to be going on about breaking his leg or something. My date made it up there, got to his friend... and then fell off the roof.

At this point I was sitting on the bike rack and thinking someone had a real sick sense of humor. I could be at home, in my pj's with hot chocolate and an erotic romance novel - and instead I'm freezing my bits off in a skirt and heels while my date is blindfolding me and falling off of buildings. I contemplated becoming a nun.

The guys eventually made it back to where we were waiting, both of them limping at this point. Actually, all of us were limping because the other girl and I had slightly twisted our ankles on the fall into the ditch earlier. So, all four of us, limping, made our way around to the side of the building and tried to eat dinner out of the wind. Unfortunately, by this time the pizza had frozen solid, and we were all shivering so much that all I wanted to do was go home.

We gave up on the pizza (after all, who wants to crack a tooth on frozen mozzarella?) We decided to play on the playground for a few minutes (because the guys didn't have anything else planned after that amazing bit of romance.) This was when the police showed up.

Both the guys bolted, leaving the other girl and I sitting there on the playground looking into the searchlight. The only thing I could think to myself was "Do you think I could claim kidnapping and have the police take me home?" The police asked us what we were doing at the school. I explained we were on a double date. This confused the man, because it was just me and the girl. I had to go on and explain that our BLIND dates had bolted when they saw the police cars, but that I'm sure they'd be back eventually - they had left their car, after all.

The police officer started snickering at us. Then he leaned down and spoke to his partner in the car who started guffawing loudly. I signed to the girl with me that they were laughing, and she wasn't amused either.

We were told that in the future we should pick men who take us on dates to places that don't involve trespassing and getting the police called by neighbors. Ya think? I was torn between asking them for a ride home and just wanting them to leave, but I figured ending my date with a ride in a patrol car might not look too good to the neighbors. The police waved as they left with a shouted "good luck!" and several hoots of laughter as the pulled away.

The boys came tumbling out of the bushes on the far edge of the playground. "Are they gone?" No, the police went into hiding behind the slide, but I think if you hole up in the jungle gym you'll be safe. I simply asked to go home.

At the door, my date said to me "I don't suppose you're going to kiss me, are you?" HA! He was lucky I didn't slug him. I only raised an eyebrow at him, and then he said "Well, I did buy you dinner you know. You owe me at least a kiss."

I OWE??? OWE??? I owed him several cracked ribs by my reckoning.

Before I could say anything, he swooped in and laid the most disgusting kiss on me. I should mention he had to stand on his tiptoes to do it considering he was a lot shorter than I was. I think it was probably a lot like kissing Sponge Bob Square Pants. He backed away grinning and said "I knew you liked me. We'll go out again next week."

O. M. G.

I regained the power of speech (after choking back the urge to throw up from the kiss,) and said very firmly that I wasn't interested in dating anyone right now, most especially him. After that, I made it a point to never - EVER - see him again, and to swear revenge on my matchmaking friend.

It's a wonder I ever did date again, honestly. I can't imagine trying to go back to that now, if what I hear from friends and see on television is any indicator. My back-up plan involves becoming that batty old lady with 99 cats. I just need to make enough money to support the kitty litter fund.

Virtual Vacation

Do any of you fantasize about certain vacations so much that you actually go to all the websites and practically plan it out? Of course, you could never afford a 28 day cruise through the Mediterranean, but you can still shop on line as if you might.

It's summer (for the most part) and all I want to do is go on vacation. I want tropical, with hammocks, beaches, seashells, swimsuit wardrobes, and good looking waiters bringing me drinks with their own little parasols. I remember when I got to take vacations like that. Once. Long ago. Long, LONG ago...

I think I may actually be addicted to travel sites because of my yearning to go someplace marvelous. Does anyone else ever do this?

As Thick As...

How my morning started off: I went for my run, then grabbed all the cleaning supplies to hit the bathrooms before I shower (because why get clean to clean?) Only to find the main level bathroom sink clogged.... WITH PEANUT BUTTER.

And you know what? NOTHING dissolves peanut butter. I don't buy the Skippy-Jiffy-whatever brands, I buy the real peanut butter. Fresh ground. This stuff could have been used to waterproof the Ark. So, now you know what I'll be doing all day long: trying to figure out how to dissolve peanut butter in my sink.

Now that my day's activities are all settled, I had a minor moment of clarity yesterday. OK, it was a lot more like panic. What I am currently doing quietly, by myself, to get back on track with losing weight? Yeah, it's working. Today makes it a week so far, and honestly, it's going well. Well enough that for the first time in a long time I can see that I will break through this weird invisible floor with my weight and head back down to my more normal range that I've been bouncing around for far too long.

That should have made me deliriously happy, right? Instead, I felt the bottom of my stomach drop out and a moment of sheer panic. I could clearly see the weight would be gone, rather quickly. It's a moment of more than knowing, it is a moment of fact. But with that obstacle being fast removed, I was able to take a clear look at all my problems I have been struggling with under the guise of my weight and saw that not a single solitary one would be affected by my weightloss.

It's strange how we can think that our dress size has some sort of link to the life we lead. We all KNOW that isn't true. We do. But it's so much easier to focus on the number on the scale as the root of all evil, because we can fight that number. We have total power over it. True problems are those complicated by factors outside of ourselves. That makes them scary, and a lot more difficult to work with. And none of my problems have anything to do with my jean size. Not one, except my own personal attitude about my body image.

So, I suppose that puts me at the crossroads of trying to decide between feeling like I have problems that are unsolvable but looking smashing in jeans, or ignoring my unsolvable issues and being angry at myself because of my weight. I know it sounds like an easy choice, living in denial or out of it, but it's not. I am going to make the right choice and just be upset over my unsolvable problems yet have a sexy wardrobe - but I have to tell you that both options totally suck.

For those of you who are about to prattle on about how everything is in my power, and I can solve all my own problems - let me stop you right there. There are problems that are NOT within one's power. It's a FACT. What is in my power is how I deal with them, and that is what is at issue. Not everything can be solved by hard work and correct choices. Some things are impossible, and beyond your reach to fix - most especially when they involve other people. I am not going to tell you about those issues which I face because they are intensely personal and probably not all that interesting to anyone not involved. But I will say this - they can't be solved, or fixed, or even moved past because they are ongoing.

I have been slammed recently on my blog by multiple people for being a negative person about my issues, and lectured how that makes me a bad person and not worth being around. I thought a lot about that, and the truth is that I'm actually a pretty positive person - but I'm using my blog as an outlet for my frustrations so they don't impact my real life. That's the whole purpose of a blog for a lot of people, to provide an outlet and a place to say the things you normally can't say.

I almost deleted my blog, again. If I can't be allowed to be frustrated, angry, sad, upset, happy, stupid, annoying and whatever else I can think of on my own blog - why have one at all? But you know what? I'd much rather that the people who think they have the right to pass judgment on me when I am working through my difficulties leave. I'm not writing for them, I'm writing for me. I don't owe them anything. They accused me of being negative, but the truth is that allowing myself to be angry, upset or whatever on my blog is part of working through things which is actually a positive action. I am not always that way either. If those people choose to see only the negativity and to attack me for it, they are the ones with the problem. I would rather not have them in my life in any fashion. One of the commenters said they wouldn't be reading my blog anymore because of all of this, to them I say "You should have stopped reading before you commented then. I'm not sorry to see you leave."

I have met some truly wonderful people through my blog, made some real friends through it that have grown beyond the blog-world. That positive alone is worth the negative people who seem to follow in their wake. For the most part, I do not respond to the nasty comments I receive on my blog. I simply delete and move on. Boy, it would sure be nice to do that in real life, wouldn't it? Anyway, to all those people who are spending time on trying to tell me what a horrible person I am, and anyone thinking about it - don't bother. This is me. This is who I am. I am human. I am a real person, sitting out here in Stepfordville surrounded by robotoic-tupperware-barbie-stepford-wives, with a family, obligations, problems, joys, failures, triumphs, thoughts and feelings.

This is me. This is my blog. And so it will remain. Peanut buttered sinks and all.

Monday Mumbles

It's one of those types of days where you wonder if you really have anything to say. To anyone. Anywhere. At any time. I could sit quietly all day and not say a word and be fine with it.

But I have children, so that means a lot of verbal negotiations are required at any moment, and are not subject to how I may be feeling about just sitting contentedly to myself. After all, we all know that an argument over Floam is an emergency. I must answer the call of duty.

By the way, this Floam stuff is just bizarre. Isn't this the stuff that used to be inside beanbags when we were kids? I remember accidentally puncturing one in my house, and those little white balls were statically attached to anything and everything. I distinctly remember the cat looking like he was being attacked by little white balls - the more we tried to brush them out of his hair, the more they stuck. And now? Someone mixed these white things with colored snot and the kids are wild about it.

Why didn't I think of that?

The weekend passed nicely, and now I'm trying to find the motivation (and time) to finish several paintings by Friday, get the house in order, and pack for my trip to AZ next week. You wouldn't think that would be something I needed to plan for more than a week in advance, but it seems that this is requiring advance planning because the kids keep trying to bring things along, like a whole toy box. I'm trying to pack as little as possible, like a tooth brush and swimsuit. So we're looking for some middle ground here. My daughter has entered into the negotiations with a "I won't bring all my stuffed animals if you let me read the new Harry Potter book first when it gets here."

Yeah, like THAT'S gonna happen.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to all those who are one! I wonder what the rates of "hideous neck ties" being sold are this year?

My kids initially went for the neck tie until I was able to successfully point out that Mr. Savy rarely EVER wears a tie. Instead, they went into the women's pampering section of the store we were in and saw back scratchers, back scrubbers, and other back products. They felt that Mr. Savy was obviously in need of some back-pampering. The kids spent almost 30 minutes deliberating over what to get him, and eventually settled on a nice back scrubber. This may sound silly, but Mr. Savy is so inflexible he can't reach most of his back.

And why is that? It seems most men have this problem. I see men all the time in doorways scratching their backs like bears. What is it in their brain that says "Oooooooooooooooooo! Look at that doorway! I simply must lean against it, and rub my back across it!" I just don't get it. Of course, I can reach every single spot on my own back without a problem - the reverse prayer hand position behind my back is a piece of cake. But still, I don't think I'll ever rate a door way on it's rubbing potential.

Well, anyway - Happy Father's day to all! May you all find good scratching-post-doorways all day long!

Tagged

I don't get tagged with memes very often, but Cathy made such a nice request instead of a tag - how can I not?

Rules: Each person posts the rules before their list, then they list 8 things about themselves. At the end of the post, that person tags and links to 8 other people; then visits those people’s sites and comments, letting them know that they have been tagged, and to come read the post, so they know what they have to do.

I will say that I don't like tagging people, so if you want to consider yourself tagged, please do!

OK, so eight things about me. Hmmm. This is kind of hard because I share a lot on my blog as it is. I apologize for any repeats.

1) I must always be reading a book. If I don't have a book to read, I feel as though a large portion of my life is missing and it even makes me anxious. I seem to live vicariously through the books I read, just as I live my own life as well - a double life? I read about a book a day, and remember everything I have read (so no re-reading,) so this can be difficult to actually achieve. However, while I am engaging in writing the novel I am working on - I cannot be reading anything at all or it colors what I am writing.

2) In elementary school I was on a jump-rope team for two years that went around the state and competed and performed in malls. It involved wearing hideous black and red stripped sports socks to my knees. I may never recover from that image.

3) My first job ever was working in a carnival as a face painter. We traveled all over the state putting on carnivals for companies and events. I have been asked to paint some very strange things in some very strange places.

4) When I was in Scotland, I got lost in a dungeon at Sterling Castle. They were renovating the lower tunnels and we were allowed to go down and wander briefly. Unfortunately, there were no lights and I took a wrong turn. I don't believe in ghosts (Idon'tblieveinghostsIdon'tblieveinghostsIdon'tblieveinghosts), but I kept feeling like I wasn't by myself which made the whole being underground in an unlit passage thing worse than it probably was. Even so, my experience in Scotland has been that it's the only place I've ever been to that feels like home... just not underground.

5) I wasn't paying attention in school and getting really frustrated by the time I was 11. I had literally read 95% of our local library and was on M in the encyclopedias - bored out of my mind. So, my parents had me tested through a university (IQ and a whole slew of other tests that took three weeks to complete.) After the test, my parents were told to make me skip the rest of 6th grade, Jr. High, and High School, and instead send me to college, now. They even offered financial help (i.e. possible scholarship) but my parents refused saying I needed the social interaction with my real-age peers more than I needed academics. When Doogie Houser came out on television a couple years later, I always wondered if I could have been a kid-doctor, and resented I couldn't go right off to college. As an adult, I wish I had gone to college back then - except that I know I would have majored in something that would have been a poor fit, like being a doctor.

6) I used to live on roller skates as a child. In the summers, I would literally wake up - strap them on, and refuse to take them off until bedtime. This made things like meals and using the bathroom a real challenge. However, as much time as I spent on roller skates, I never figured out how to stop correctly. For the first two years I wore them, I skated in a squat all over the neighborhood, never standing up so that if I need to stop I could use my hands. It amused the community to no end. I only stood up at roller rinks where I could stop by smashing into the carpet covered walls. Once I figured out that by skating a certain path around the neighborhood I naturally slowed down, I skated upright like a human being instead of a frog - but I still never learned how to stop correctly.

7) I have only ever broken one bone in my body - I had a blowout fracture behind my right eye. I have severe chronic migraines, and have since I was a child. My migraines involve becoming violently ill as well as feeling like my head is going to explode. I was on my bike when one day one became so severe I fell from my bike (I don't remember it.) Apparently, I walked home on my own - I only recall waking up on my bed crying, and stopping because I had no idea why I was crying. It was good this happened because I ended up in Children's Hospital where a doctor was revolutionary in his thinking that children could have migraines and I was put on medication that helped stop them for the first time in my life. Considering I got 3-6 of them a week and still do, this was a WONDERFUL thing, broken eye and all! Other than that blowout fracture, I have been remarkably resilient to breaking anything else - and really, I probably should have. I do wonder whether my pinky-toe has been broken a zillion times, though.

8) I was never in a relationship for very long. My longest stretch (by more than double and of the others) before my marriage was six months, and that was because I had a lease I couldn't break with the jerk. However, I was engaged to Mr. Savy within about six weeks of meeting him, married 14 months to the day that we met, and we're celebrating our 12th anniversary in a couple months. The really odd thing about all of this was that the night after we became... intimate, we went out for Chinese food, and I got a fortune cookie that said "You will marry your present lover and be happy" which is nothing like I have ever gotten in a cookie before or since. I still have the cookie-fortune.

In Focus

For me, visually, weight has always been interesting due to the effect it has on someone's appearance. Not how it makes them big, and fluffy, but how it sort of distorts their image. It's as if you are viewing the person through a camera lens. The more weight the person puts on, the more out of focus the person looks. Their permanent features are fuzzed out by the fat on top, as if you had pulled too far away with your lens. The reverse is also true, where you see people who are excessively thin looking as if they have been digitally manipulated into too sharp an image, which is also a distortion.

Maybe that's why people don't see those who are overweight as having the same feelings, the same needs, the same value as someone who isn't. Maybe they just can't see them properly anymore, and the old saying "out of sight, out of mind" plays in a more literal fashion than we would like to admit.

Even being able to see that, it doesn't give me much sympathy for people who choose not to see another person as having value simply because of their weight. In all honesty, this is probably the one thing that infuriates me the most about my own struggle with weight. Weight has meant many things to me over the years; my own failure and lack of control; safety from notice and abuse; a personal project to keep myself occupied; a scapegoat to focus on instead of my real problems; symptoms of my own life spiraling out of my control; a connection to my mother. The list is endless. But I suppose the one that disturbs me the most is that weight has also meant a filter of humanity through which most people fail to pass.

When you are fat, people treat you as though you don't have the same feelings as everyone else. You can't possibly have the same thought processes, needs, wants, desires. You are somehow less than human. For a long time, I have tried to find something to allow myself to let that uneasy fact go. But I can't. I think the biggest wish I had, and maybe still do (beyond a happy healthy life for my children) was to simply be seen for who I am.

Being fat was not who I was. Being fat didn't make me think less, breath less, feel less. Yet, everyone treated me as if it did. I was either ignored, attacked, or dismissed. Whenever I presented a thought on something, it was given less weight (pun intended) than someone else's idea who wasn't - even if they were repeating what I had said.

At first, I thought maybe it was just me. Maybe there was something about me personally that caused people to treat me so. But then I started paying attention, watching others, and found that almost without exception all people who were carrying excess weight were given this treatment to some degree.

Most people scream about how this is a fat-prejudice. In some cases, I am sure it is. But after watching people for so long, I have begun to wonder if that is really the case for the majority. The more I watch, the more subconscious the behavior seems to be - it's more like a reaction simply to the visual cue of not being able to properly focus on the person before them. They can't SEE them, not really.

I know, everyone jokes and says "How can you not see a fat person? They're huge! They're everywhere!" But the truth is that people only see the fat, and not the people. Like a great blubbery blinder, with such limited vision they don't see the human being before them any longer.

I am not an easy person. What I mean by that is that I am very intense. I love with the same intensity that I hate. I feel joy and soar the heights, I feel despair and scrape the bottom of the oceans. I do not forgive easily, and I never - EVER - forget. This thing, this inability to see me as a person is something I struggle with accepting in others. However, when it happens with someone who already KNOWS me, I find forgiveness out of my reach.

Case in point, Mr. Savy himself. When we met, I wasn't over weight. After we married, I ballooned up to my highest weight, I was obese. He stopped seeing me as a person, and I was suddenly treated like a thing instead. It is something I cannot get past, even though it was so long ago. It is like an open wound that will not stop bleeding.

There are those who said they were my friends who did the same thing. I found that making new friends was next to impossible while being obese. But, I will also say that those I did make - those who saw beyond the fat to who I really was - I am still friends with to this day. The others who treated me as they did even after over a decade of friendship are no longer a part of my life, and I am pleased with that.

I think people don't want to see others as human beings anyway. It's a terrifying thought to think that every single other person who even remotely crosses your path has the same depth of existence that you do. There are so many. So, I think people use what they can to narrow the field, and perhaps fat has become one of their tools. It's only a theory.

I firmly believe that regardless of weight, most people desire simply to be seen for who they are - not what they appear to be. It's part of human nature, due to our solitary existence that we lead. But what happens when we then turn around and deliberately make a choice to not see others? Fat isn't the only filter like this - age is another. How many teenagers have been told that they didn't matter simply because they are too young? Or the elder community rendered invisible because they have passed the bloom of youth long ago?

It makes me very angry.

I have always tried to see people as whole people since I was a young child and dismissed constantly because I was "too young to offer a valid opinion." I never leave my house without thinking about it. I remind myself constantly that every person I see is, in fact, a whole person unto themselves in the constant vigilance of never becoming one of those people who forgets how to see another person. What I have not been able to do is to forgive those who knew me well and then chose not to see me simply because of my dress size.

I suppose that begs the question of whether the person who is overweight is the one out of focus, or the viewer him/herself. I don't think that it's something that can be fixed without a lot of energy and deliberate intent by the viewer. Which is a nice way of saying that I think it's near to hopeless that people will ever be able to see each other properly. Maybe if they spent a day with a camera, looking through the lens at everyone else they might regain some true focus. The problem is, I don't think that they want to.

The Last Day

I remember the last day of school being so much fun. Mostly. I did have one teacher who made us do math right up until the final bell. She was evil. I'm sure she bled acid, and ate kittens for breakfast.

However, all my other teachers pretty much knew that the last week (maybe the last two) were a lost cause. It was all fun and games, and barely being able to sit still, and looking out the windows, and, and, and... And it's not so much fun from a parent's perspective.

I'm depressed today. Today is the last day of school for my children. That means that today is the last day that my YOUNGEST child will be a Kindergartener. That means that my oldest will now be headed to FOURTH grade. No one ever tells you this, but as a parent the last day of the year is just as hard as the first. Not to mention I am now facing weeks of "I'm bored Mom... what should I do?" because apparently one of the jobs I occupy besides Mother is also Cruise Director.

So, I have four more hours from this point to myself. I should probably be doing everything I'm not going to be able to. I'm trying to decide how to spend it. It may involve running around the house naked, listening to music with cussing in it extraordinarily loud and singing along at the top of my lungs, while inappropriate movies play on the television. Ok, maybe not. Maybe I'll just paint. Or perhaps I should take a nap - it'll be the last one I get until the Fall, and I'm back in school then as well.

After noon today, any studio time I have will be stolen. My time will be spent chasing children out of the house with bugs of various frightening degrees (dependent upon how many arms, legs, eyes, or fangs they have,) trying to keep the peace, and wondering why that billionaire hasn't come by to take me on a world tour and shower me with luxury.

The last day of school went from a lot of fun as a child, to totally depressing as an adult. It sucks being a grown up.

** On a side note, I've closed Color Me Kyra. I'm just moving back to this being my one and only blog again.

Blog ADD

I don't actually have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder.) But I think I have it's second cousin, twice removed, and once married into the farthest branch of the family. I'm pretty sure I have Blog ADD. Every so often I redesign it, or start a new blog, or end them all together. I figure it's like my decorating ADD in my house - I'm always changing things around there too. Even when I was a kid, I used to LOVE to reorganize my room by moving around furniture. It made the whole place feel new, and it was the only way to really get my room clean anyway, since I tended to shove everything I could beneath my bed and in my closet until it was piled higher than I stood (very dangerous when you place your roller skates on top, by the way.)

I had multiple running blogs stemming from my original blog before this one. Now I have another incarnation over at Color Me Kyra, because I figured I needed to separate the two thoughts of fitness and art. There were many of those who told me to not split the blogs, and that the art with the fitness is who I am, so my blog should be that way too. I was a little overwhelmed with the excess fitness traffic from P90X I was getting along with the emails asking why I was posting about fitness, and the others saying why wasn't I posting more about fitness? So, it seemed like a good idea at the time to divide the two. Except I made double the work for myself, thinking it would be no problem at the time.

So that brings me to now.... where I am considering discontinuing Color Me Kyra, and leaving everything back over here as it was. Or staying with the status quo right now with both blogs. Which do you think I should do? I'm leaning towards recombining and just ignoring the people who harp on me for not posting what they want on any given day - some days it's art, some days it's flexing my biceps. That just seems to be who I am.

Opinions? I know, I should seek therapy, but work with me here.

Painted Procrastination

Thank you to everyone who responded to yesterday's post. I just really had to vent. I'm feeling a bit better today. Not a whole lot, but enough to move forward.

So, today I have been bouncing around my house, not really doing too much of this or that. It's a weird day. Mr. Savy is on travel. I have a messed up schedule with the kids due to field trips and the like. I am on call for a couple of other things, I did work out, as always... and then I contemplated whether or not to go into my studio.

I decided I would, because it always makes me feel better, but then I realized I was really annoyed with one of my paintings. Then I realized I haven't posted any photos of where I am at with my paintings since my camera broke, so I went off and did that instead:

I finished the night segment of the church trilogy. I have the sunset and day to finish but they're not far from done. Stupid things have plagued me for over a year now. I guess my problem is that I don't have much interest in buildings - as far as painting them. I do love visiting amazing buildings though.

I haven't gone back to this one since I put real little gems on her gown, but I'm digging into it today (Sorry, the camera went off while I was still in the shot, and the other didn't come out. I'll post another photo this evening with what I end up accomplishing.)

And I took the head off of snow white (OFF WITH HER HEAD!), because she was too... mature, and proportionally off. So I'm having to rework the whole figure, but she is the reason I'm annoyed with my painting. I had to readjust proportions after I changed my vision of the apple tree. Plus, I can't seem to paint her as that "innocent young girl." Sleeping beauty, the first in the series was easy. You see, I know a LOT about fairy tales and mythology. I studied them for a while in college, I absolutely love them. Sleeping Beauty, technically her story happened AFTER she woke up. The whole castle with the vines thing that Disney based everything off of was actually the prologue to the story (of a mother in law who happens to be an ogre and likes to eat children - and keeps trying to eat her, and did you know the son is part ogre too? Some prince, eh? Lots of snakes in that one as well.) Anyway, her being asleep and innocent? Yep, no problem - at that point.

Painting Snow White as innocent? Now there I have a bit more of a problem. This is a girl who had her own mother (not stepmother) try to kill her, escaped into the wilderness, grew up with multiple other men. Then she had her mother show up again and try and kill her multiple times in person and then actually DIED... well sorta. Then has the chunk of apple knocked loose by a pothole, miraculously comes back to life, and has to go back and take on her mother and stage a royal coup, and THEN watches as her mother dances herself to death in red hot iron shoes. I'm thinking this chick grew up somewhere along the way and wasn't such an innocent little girl with blue birds singing to her as she blindly married a man who, according to Disney's version, enjoys kissing DEAD WOMEN. Actually, that's all mixed up for fun, but you could write a 30 page paper on Snow white and all the different versions of the story. But for all intensive purposes, my point is - she was not just some innocent girl whistling while she mopped.

Yeah, I know... I have issues. Or too much free time on my hands.

Now I'm going back into my studio and I'm going to ignore my headless Snow White for a little while, and finish the other. I'll be back for her, but I'm going to have to come to terms with how she is going to appear. It's almost like I don't have control of this one, which probably sounds a little bit insane, but I promise it's not.

And then, because that was way too serious a discussion about fairy tales... Look! I snuck into my daughter's bubblegum stash! This stuff is awesome for blowing bubbles... but it sticks to EVERYTHING. I think I still have some on my nose. I have got to think up an excuse to throw all this gum away before it destroys something in the house. Except that might involve my confessing my breaking and entering into the bubblegum stash in the first place. Do you think a "The dog must have eaten it!" will work this time?

OK, I know, I know... I'm off to go get a life, and paint.

Sinking

Sometimes life feels like one big session on the treadmill. You wake up one day, and you are just so tired of the monotony, or the stress, or whatever - and you feel as if you won't be able to stand it if you don't make changes. Sometimes this is a good thing, like when I looked up one day at almost 230 lbs and figured out that I was slowly dying, not living.

Back then I knew it was about more than food and exercise. As a matter of fact, I was smart enough (which amazes me still) to realize that it had nothing to do with my eating and exercise habits. Those were symptoms. Like a disease, I was dying from my own life. I hated where I lived. I hated where my life was headed. I hated every moment, and I had joy in nothing. It was having joy in nothing that lead me to eat like I did then - because even though it was a momentary thrill, a bite of something tasty was a sparkle of light in so much misery. When you look at it that way, it's not only easy to understand why I reached 230 lbs - it's practically expected.

That was back in 1997. I changed everything that year. I had been feeling horrible for a long time, and I had been trying things to fix it. I changed jobs four times. I finished college (which had been put off because we had moved states.) I had been in college and I graduated with my degree, while my weight advanced upwards and my misery continued to pile up. I even moved apartments. But it wasn't enough. No matter what I did, I was sinking. I could step on the scale every day and watch it rocket upwards and know I should do something, and by the end of that day the only thing I had done was make it worse. Because it wasn't about the scale and the food and the exercise. It was about me.

I had lost me.

I have been lost before that, and I have been lost since. It seems to be something that happens every so often to me. I am not certain why that is. Sometimes I think that it is a side effect of all the labels and expectations that are heaped upon me by myself and others. It's my own fault for paying any attention to those things, and my own choice to try to somehow change who I am to suit them - I have no idea why I do it. Peer pressure seems so weak an answer. Stupidity, also not quite fitting the bill. Being uncomfortable with who I am, and looking for ways to miraculously turn into someone better? Yeah, that probably fits nicely. But it isn't easy to say, because it's so pitiful and embarrassing.

The problem is that it's also true. If you are someone who has always been confident in who you are, well then, you are one of the many I admire. I am not one of those people. I am a mess of contradictions. For example: I don't mind being on my own, but I don't like being lonely. There really is a distinct difference in those. I guess the best way to put it is that I would rather be alone/lonely in a sea of people who don't know me simply because there are too many people there to possibly know me - than to be lonely with a small bunch of people who DO know me, and don't want me there. Unfortunately, I face the latter situation where I currently live. I am not pleased with life in a small town in the Northeast, to say the least.

I also find myself constantly trying to find something solid and respectable to be. Both my mother and my father are grounded, down to earth individuals. My mother was a strict nurse, eventually in management. My father is a technical/programmer/upper-management sort. I never actually understood what he did, but it was apparently important and very "solid". The rest of my family was non-existent to me, because both sides really had nothing to do with us at all for the most part. So there I was with my coloring pencils and clay, surrounded by all these scientific, logical, reasonable role models.

My mother said that she knew I would be in the arts the day I came to her as a preschooler and asked her to draw a person. She drew a stick figure, and apparently I got frustrated and said "No! Like this..." and drew something she couldn't even at that point. I have no memory of it, but my mother loves to tell the story. You see, as far as I can tell my parents don't care that I am an artist. But I do. I keep feeling like I should be something more grounded. Not to mention that there is a reason that the term "starving artist" exists - it's no joke.

And then, there is the respectability issue. In certain circles, being an artist is like announcing you enjoy wrestling wild lions with only your wits to aid you. In the engineering circles Mr. Savy moves in, this is most certainly the case. I find business dinners and gatherings a little uncomfortable because it seems that I tend to end up being a little bit of the before dinner entertainment. However, I don't mind this as much as I do those who look at me as a waste of space upon the earth. I cannot tell you how many times I have been asked how I can be so selfish as to not contribute to the world in a meaningful manner. It took a while to work through this statement because really, what is so meaningful about 85% of the occupations out there? Unless you are in the environmental, scientific, or service industries in some sort of major, direct fashion - I don't see how all those other people are contributing either.

Yet, I think that is just what society programs. I think that's what people expect of children; they want them to grow up to be Doctors, or Scientists, or Lawyers - all working to make the world a better place, all earning their own place within it. What purpose does throwing pigment on canvas serve? None. It is contributing to the luxury industry - and most make no profit at it at all, so they can't even claim a reasonable status of earning their own keep.

I cannot tell you how much I wish I could just wake up one day and feel my calling in something respectable, solid, and dependable. Instead, I wake up with dreams of paints, pigments, shapes and forms running through my head and the feeling of once again being... this. I digress on the art point, but it's the easiest one to put into words. There are others. There are the shades of being a mother and how even in those circles there is judgment and expectation that every mother feels. I rather doubt that there is a single mother out there who hasn't felt that judgment and felt that they fell short somehow. How about being a wife and the clash of the 1950's attitudes with the 2000's work ethic, and the expectations of doing it all? And what about being who you really are underneath all the expectations set forth... it gets lost sometimes in all the noise and clutter. At least, for me it does.

I lost myself in a big way over the past month. Perhaps it's even been a bit longer than that, maybe as much as over a year now. It's funny that I went back to college again. I did that 10 years ago for the same reason and it wasn't enough then either. I have learned some things in 10 years, however. The first is that as much as I hate the fact - I am an artist. I must paint and express myself or I start to disintegrate and become a hollow, horrible person. (I gave up my art for a six year period trying to be something else, with frightening results.) I am fine with being alone, but being lonely is painful and that there is a distinct difference. The weight-gain and subsequent feelings are only symptoms of something else gone awry. As a matter of fact, they are the best indicators that I have wandered off and gotten lost. If ever there was a sign post saying "wake up, stupid!" my scale would be it.

I've been staring at that sign post for a while now. I think weight is so easy to focus on as the problem because it's so easily changeable. Plus, it being a symptom of the issue - when your weight is where it's supposed to be it's likely your issues are resolved too. So when you are longing for that goal weight it isn't so much about the number, but the resolution it represents.

It's harder this time around. This is why I am embarking on something new this week. I finally figured out, or rather - I admitted that I have hit a wall. I know that I have lost myself, once again. And actually, that I've been lost for quite a while and just struggling against the idea that it had happened - again. Damn it. Seriously, it's getting annoying after all these years. It's also really painful to look at your life and try to figure out why it isn't good enough right now. Where did I go wrong, why did I let it happen, how do I fix it? These aren't things that just happen, they're a slow erosion over time that you only notice when suddenly your house is falling over the side of a cliff and you are left wondering why it all happened so fast and you couldn't stop it.

I debated blogging about this for a while now. It's been more difficult with the extra traffic, and the fact that I am a personal trainer. People expect you to have all the answers and none of the struggles. While I am glad I became certified as a trainer, it's precisely because of those expectations that I wish I never had. But, as I have said before - I am still only human. The truth is, I feel a lot like I am drowning and I could use some support.

It's hard to be the one who is always asked for advice and help to be the one who needs it now. So I haven't asked, and I have kept sinking. I'm trying to stop, but it's so hard by myself this time. I don't know why.

Something New

I'm going to be embarking on something entirely new. I'm actually excited, but I'm going to keep it all hush-hush for a little while. Never fear, I won't be swallowing swords, or volunteering to have my tongue surgically stapled to my knee-caps. I just needed something new. Something to break the routine. Something to shake things up a bit.

Speaking of swords, the lovely weather has lead me to pull them back out again. I have simply no place to work with them inside my house - breaking the light fixture and slicing open my wrist last year was sufficient proof of that. I am nervous to work with them in my garage simply because there are power tools nearby. I just know that I'll be the first person in history to have a Black & Decker/Craftsman/Samurai sword fatality. But now that the sun is shining and it's neither 30 degrees nor 120, I can safely work in my yard again - scaring my neighbors, children, and local wildlife. I feel that it's important to let others know you might be insane on an annual basis. It lays the groundwork for possible future "neighborly disputes" and gives you the upper hand.

Running Backwards

No, I didn't actually go running backwards. I know that's a popular training technique, but I trip over enough stuff going forwards - including invisible things.

My running stamina has bottomed out for some reason. I usually do my HIIT running intervals at 6, 7 and 8 MPH respectively. For me, that's really hauling butt out there. I'm a slow runner. I'm running challenged as it were. But today I finally gave up trying to force myself through the intervals at those levels and scaled it all the way back to the 6's for all three - I just couldn't breath.

It doesn't add up logically. It's not as if I haven't been working out daily as usual. The only thing I could figure is that perhaps my asthma is being aggravated by pollens or something else in the air. Still, it's a major hit to the ego to have to scale my intervals back to a level not seen for more than three years. Part of me really feels like a failure because of it. I know there is no failure in meeting your body's limits appropriately, and it's not like I quit, but it just really smarts right in the area of my pride. Ahh well.

Pump

Today I switched back to regular weights. I just couldn't face a full on P90X routine (much less the 90 minutes of yoga scheduled) when I'm this exhausted. But an hour of standard lifting was something I could... which sounds backwards. Regardless, that's what I did.

What was interesting is that I did upper body today, and by the end my arms/upper body were so pumped up I felt like I was tight all over and I couldn't get my muscles to release. It wasn't painful, I don't mean it like that - but my arms looked really defined, and I could see all sorts of lovely definition... even if it did feel like I hadn't set my weights down yet. It really is a rather bizarre feeling. It makes you feel like you should wear cut off t-shirts, green paint, and skulk around like she-hulk.

*rawr*

Of course, now I am back to being exhausted. My son had no school yesterday and was very frustrated with me and my low energy level (I dozed off during a cartoon.) Today he's at school and I am contemplating heading back to bed for a nap instead of my studio. I'd probably be best served that way, even though the kids only have six days of school left which is my only kid free time to paint minus the middle of the night.

Paint or pillow... paint... pillow.... paint.... pillow......

Pillow.

Goals and Bowls

My in-laws have departed, but they didn't disappoint. Feel free to head over to my other blog to read up on it.

My diet went to hell. I drank - a lot. I ate - a lot. I found that I was a better, more patient person on alcohol with my in-laws, and keeping my mouth full generally kept my mouth shut and out of trouble (well, up until last night anyway.) Those two things combined made for bad diet news, but honestly - I don't regret it at all. It may sound odd, but it was the right decision to make considering the circumstances. Luckily, getting back on track is no problem.

I hate that I am an emotional eater. It just makes me even angrier, which doesn't seem to help anything. I am envious of those people who are not emotional eaters. I don't know how they handle things, but I wish I did (I have tried other strategies.) I know I am in good company. I know many people are emotional eaters, and it just seems to be a sort of personal programming. But it still sucks, for lack of a better word.

I did go running during all of this - and didn't bother to hide the fact from my in-laws. And they didn't bother to disguise their snide comments about my doing so.

I now have three weeks until I head out to Arizona. I'm pushing straight through until I leave. I know I did a ton of damage this week, and it's likely I'll pay for it for a long time, but I think I can undo a lot of it before then. So, that's the plan. Pushing forward, working out, eating tracked amounts, and hopefully feeling not as bad about myself by the time I'm boarding the plane.

My long term goal is to really get down to where I need to be by the time I head out to Minnesota. That's the one that's bothering me the most. That's my main deadline. Arizona is my mini-goal.

I'm also dropping the concept of "free-days" or "cheat-meals". One of my biggest issues with the Body for Life style of eating is that it unfortunately lends itself to binges on those special days. I do not believe that was it's intention, but a lot of people have found this to be the case. I am no exception. I am one of those people who took it to that unhealthy place, and knew I was doing so - I just didn't want to give it up and face it. So, I'm switching to a 90/10 kind of gambit. Many others follow it - you eat full on normal healthy fare for 90% of your daily intake, and 10% can be what you want. It doesn't have to be anything bad, but say you are PMSing and feel the need to stage a coup at the Hershey's plant - you can find a little chocolate to tide you through that dangerous time. I like the idea of the flexibility - we'll see how I do on it.

The Positive Negative

Yesterday, Mr. Savy and I were discussing a coworker of his who recently ran a marathon. He apparently got to mile 20 and hit the wall. For those who haven't run long distances, this is the point at which you contemplate jumping in front of a freight train to end your misery. When I ran my marathon, it was just past mile 22. You have no energy, it's really unlike anything you have ever felt. Your body is just trying to give up on you, and you are so horribly drained, stressed, tired, and likely in pain... it's something that even chocolate won't make better.

"Hitting the Wall" is tough, but if you aren't looking to win the race, it is possible to push through it and continue on. Mr. Savy's coworker apparently switched from positive mental-speak like "I am visualizing crossing the finish line. I can do this! I am a great runner! I am not tired! I rock!" to "I will NOT walk. I will NOT stop. I will NOT fail." It's a negative reinforcement of a positive goal.

I was thinking a lot about how I approach my mental conversations with myself when I have a goal in mind. It turns out, I am not into the flowers and flattery positive mental speak when I am pursuing a goal. They seem like fruity platitudes to me, and arean't very useful. Honestly, spending my time picturing the finish makes it seem like a lot farther to go to get there. It doesn't matter if I am running and imagining the finish line, or trying to lose weight and picturing myself in my skinny jeans - it just doesn't work for me. It makes me feel bad about where I am currently at. However, it seems that this kind of strategy works for most people. Visualizing doing well and succeeding is very successful for many.

Not me. I am successful when I am in the moment telling myself what I am NOT going to do. It's funny, because I never really thought about this before. I do use the positive flowery kind of stuff too, more often than anything else actually - but I always seem to fall short of my goals when I do that. But when I switch over to my "I am NOT going to allow this" mode, I excel.

Maybe that makes me a negative person? Or confrontational perhaps, even though it's only with myself? I like a good fight, and if I am fighting with myself flowery ideals aren't going to cut it. I need to tell myself that I will not be failing. I will NOT skip my run. I will NOT eat that cheesecake. I will NOT be waylaid by my own poor choices. I will NOT feel like this again. That's my internal speak that holds power over my actions and convictions. It makes me feel strong.

Not all negative things yield negative results. Mr. Savy says that he would never be motivated with that kind of internal speech. He really believes that the positives are the only way to go. I guess I'm more of an "in the moment" type of person. I'll get to the damn finish line when I get to it - but right now, at this moment, this is what I need to focus on. This is what matters. The finish line happens after lining up all the right-now moments. The finish line is inevitable if I get it right, RIGHT NOW.

And then I'll gloat once I've crossed it and say all the positive things I should. But not until then.

Stealth Blogging

Shhh! I am blogging in secret.

The in-laws arrived, bearing SIX economy massively sized bottles of various wines, and their OWN wine glasses. Apparently, they were looking forward to being around us too.

So far, just the usual treatment (though they did show up with chocolates for me as well - I thought that was very nice of them,) nothing major or earth shattering to report, except that I am pleased that I have no hangover this morning. I have such an excessively low tolerance for alcohol since I rarely drink it (I'll only have the occasional glass of wine or something,) that consuming... oh six glasses of wine might just put me into hell the next day. True, it was over a five hour period, but when you consider that one small glass of wine is enough to make me fall off my chair, well, there you have it.

What I do have is a food hangover. Ugh. We went to Friendly's for lunch, and then had Chinese for dinner. I have blown up from the salt like a parade float. I went for a run to try and clear some of this out of my system (lots of fun getting the once over when you walk in drenched in sweat and a "my, you have been... busy this morning, haven't you." (never mind that I made an awesome pancake, croissant & scrambled egg breakfast for everyone before I went off to run three miles.)

And I still need a nap.

Oh, and I figured out more cool things that my camera can do! I need to find time to actually read the manual... but since there isn't, my scientific approach to pressing this button and finding out what it does is working nicely. I can take close up photos! These are some of the lilacs and honey locust tree blossoms in my front yard!

The Cake

I'm not particularly thrilled with how it came out, but fortunately it was busy and colorful enough (to bring on a migraine) to distract the girls into thinking it was cool. My daughter was really worried when she left this morning that there wouldn't be enough color on her cake.


I think I cleared that hurdle.

I learned that I have a lot to learn about fondant if I use it again, that no one should watch Superman or Constantine while frosting a cake, and that working in a 90+ degree kitchen with the oven on behind you is just stupid. I will say that the cake looked better immediately after completion. Sitting in hot weather was not the most beneficial for holding it's shape, which is when I was finally able to take a photo.

It does, however, taste excellent.

Oh, and of course the fact that I have a photo to post means I have my new camera! I obviously have a ways to go on learning how to use the editing software, but hey - getting it on my computer and online with only minutes here and there tonight, well, be impressed!

I still haven't gotten any sleep. I think I'll go die now.

Let Them Eat Cake!

I've only had a couple of hours of sleep at the moment. Why? Because I lost my darn mind, that's why!

In the past, I have done really elaborate birthday cakes for my kids. Then this past year I totally slacked off. I started feeling guilty about that because my kids always ask for an elaborate cake because they think they're really neat - so I started one at 7 p.m. last night. I have NO idea how it's going to turn out because I am working with new things I have not played with before (like fondant - I made up a batch. It came out great though, and I feel like I could sculpt anything out of it. Who knew marshmallows and powdered sugar together were so dead useful?)

While the cake itself isn't all that impressive (just presents, that's what it's supposed to look like) it's still a lot of work. I went to bed around 3 a.m. and for up at 6 a.m. and now I'm going to be working on it without a rest, then cleaning the house - because THAT didn't get done too.