The Wild World of Weight Loss (and other pointless shenanigans)

The "raping" of Dunkin Donuts...

2011-05-31T12:18:00.000-07:00

Success is always in the preparation. I learned this hard way last Tuesday and I'm still paying for it. For 5 days I had gone 90% Paleo and was feeling phenomenal. As much as I dislike the scale, and think that it should be banned, I found myself pulling it out from under my bed, tapping it gently with my big toe to turn it on, and stepping on it with a slight hesitation. The universe was swinging in my favor and I discovered that I had lost 5 pounds in 5 days and wasn't hungry...did you get that? Wasn't hungry? Weird, awesome, amazing, fantastic, etc, etc, etc...

Monday morning was day 1 of no creamer and goodbye Dunkin donuts. The universe was, again, swinging in my favor and I survived. Tuesday morning arrives. I eat a healthy breakfast of egg whites, 1 whole egg, and a banana. I leave the house at 10:15 for an exam in Worcester. Part 1 of my exam begins at 12:30 but part 2 isn't until 2:30. Do you think I packed a lunch? Of course not. Do you know what I had to stare at in the holding room between Part 1 and Part 2? Twinkies, ring dings, pop tarts, cheetos, twizzlers, Lays potato chips, some sort of danish thing, and an assortment of other obesity-causing treats. Thank goodness I didn't have a dollar on me because that vending machine wouldn't have known what hit it. By the time I exit my exam it has been 7 hours since my last meal, and with my ramped up metabolism from being "paleo" for 5 days, I was ravenous. I was seriously trying to talk myself off a ledge as I walked to my truck to leave. "Don't do it Meg, don't stop for food. Get home and make yourself something to eat. Don't do it, you'll regret it." Suddenly, my encouraging self talk is rendered silent as I remember the single donut that should be sitting in a bag right behind me in the truck. I reached my arm around in haste to grasp the bag in my iron claw (or hand, whatever you want to call it) and I come up EMPTY. It is in those last few moments of clarity that I realize I had taken that bag and thrown it in the TRASH just before I had left for my exam. So now I'm a ravenous, un-prepared, paleo dieter, with donut on the brain. Before I know what's happening I'm racing up the highway with a single motivation...must get to a Dunkin Donuts. I hit Gardner in less then 25 minutes and I'm pulling into my favorite DD drive-thru. Still paralyzed with starvation I order 1 large ice coffee (cream, liquid sugar, shot of coconut), 2 glazed sticks, and a sausage, egg, and cheese on a croissant. The teller hands me my bag of donuts and coffee while the sandwich finishes. I'm tempted to devour the donuts as I wait but I didn't want to scare the poor girl working the window, and so I wait, sort of, patiently. I'm not even sure of the sequence of events which occurred there after. I know there was a brutal raping of my favorite Dunkin Donuts, and I'm pretty sure there's a warrant out for my arrest.

Fast forward 7 days and you will find yourself sitting next to me while I write this. Ashamed, tormented, defeated, regrettable, me. I definitely learned the importance of preparation and have suffered the consequences of my, "If you give a moose a muffin" shenanigans.

Tomorrow is June 1, and this girl will not be side tracked for one more day. My short term goal is to give up Dunkin Donuts for the entire month of June. I'm starting with that because I know that I need a short term goal, and I also know that if I can make it through June then I will probably try to make it thru July, and so on. But I just can't think about July right now (thanks Marianne! I'm taking a page out of your playbook), so we're going to start with June.

The Last Strong-hold...

2011-05-19T18:18:00.000-07:00

is my creamer and my DD ice coffees. There are few things in this world that I enjoy as much as an orgasm: synthetic french vanilla creamer in my morning coffee, and a dunkin donuts ice coffee are two of them, and I like them multiple times a day.

I have spent most of my spare time, recently, reading up on eating paleo. I've been purging the house of non-paleo foods (pretty much anything in a can or box that didn't grow in the ground or come from a mother). The last two dinners I prepared using lean grass fed beef left my family drooling for more. Tonight I made lean burgers and sauteed up some sweet onion and red pepper strips in extra virgin olive oil. Honestly, one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten. It's not really all that hard to eat like this, as long as the food is in the house to prepare. I'm eating 3 meals a day and not feeling hungry...hell must be freezing over.

My only complaint about my new lifestyle is the unexpected, and also instantaneous, urge to poop that seems to come at the LEAST opportune times (such as minutes before taking the group fitness stage to teach a class). I am convinced that since I am, pretty much, the last fitcon instructor who has not peed their pants then my penance will be that I am the first fitcon instructor to poop my pants on stage. I can't imagine a more perfect person for it to happen to. Bring on the roughage!

I have committed to "quitting" cancer-causing creamer and dunkin donuts, for good, on Sunday. It's my last strong hold. I can do without cereal, rice, bread, milk, yogurt, cottage cheese...but my daily, multiple, as-good-as-an-orgasm, DD ice coffee is incredibly heart breaking to stop. So this is what it feels like to be in an abusive relationship? (no, I don't really think it's comparable, but I hope you understand the metaphor. You know something is terrible for you, could possibly kill you, but you just can't seem to walk away. Make sense?)

2011-05-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

"This week, try staying firmly rooted in the present, not regrets from the past or worries about the future. Your power exists in the now." -Jillian Michaels

I love it when the universe stops and talks to me! So why does this apply to me? Because I live my life about 5 years down the road and yet always dwelling on the past. I am NEVER in the present. This is especially true as it relates to my dieting history. My focus is so firmly rooted on what I will eventually look like IF i lose the weight that when I have a little bobble in the road I just give up all together. I never embrace the moment or the small triumphs I have.

I have a gut feeling that "this time" is going to be different. I can only explain it because this is the first time that I'm actually researching, planning, contemplating, etc before I start. I'm trying to avoid an inevitable failure because I lacked preparation. It requires quite a bit more discipline then what I've been used to, and that's probably exactly what I need. I'm prepping for my first 30 day challenge...I will let you know when I finally get to start it :)

The beginning to an end...hopefully

2011-05-14T15:58:00.000-07:00

For some, unknown, reason I assumed that at the age of 31 I'd be parading around as a hot, sexy, milf. Hopefully that's the case in an alternate universe, but here on Planet Gardner I'm just a hot, sweaty, mess...most of the time. I realized that my last post was over a year ago and, oddly enough, I was trying to lose weight. The good news is that I'm very, very consistent at starting new diets even if I'm a bit lackadaisical about finishing them. You can't be perfect with everything, right?

So let's see...I was 220 pounds the last time I committed to "finally losing the weight, blah blah blah". I just paused for a moment from blogging and weighed myself. I am happy to report that I am now 212.6 pounds. Phew! I lost 7.4 pounds over the past year! At that weight loss rate I should be at my goal weight in about 7 years. Honestly I think those 7.4 pounds were a hard fought for weight loss. Do you know how difficult it is for me to lose weight when McDonalds and Dunkin Donuts are surviving the economy crash solely on my daily support of them?

Thankfully, with all kudos directed towards Les Mills' group fitness, I am the sexiest 212.6 pounds of woman you will ever meet. My diet habits maybe crap, but on the flip-side my exercise habits rock my world. I'm stronger now then I have ever been, and probably in the best shape I have ever been in (status post motherhood), and underneath all this fleshly flab is a lean, mean, sexy machine. See, I've got a lot to look forward to if these 52.4 pounds cleared off, of and around from, my organs. I have definitely learned that weight loss is mostly diet, and exercise is just the puzzle piece that makes the picture whole and beautiful.

Okay, so now for the point, or meaning, of this blogpost. Well, it's a place for accountability. It's a place where I can share all the crazy little things which will, inevitably, happen to me as I embark (hopefully for the last time) on the path to my perfect health. I'm trying really hard not to focus solely on the destination, but rather embracing the journey and trying to stay on the ride (and not fall off...AGAIN).

If you find yourself following this journey I request that you tell me so...even if it's a, "Hey! I'm just checking in" post. I wish being accountable to myself was enough, but I clearly enjoy letting myself down. Okay, so I'm in, buckled up, safety bar checked (and trying not to eat every, last, naughty thing that I can before I start my new eating "plan")...Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

Who are we kidding? It's a diet, NOT a lifestyle change.

2009-12-16T10:32:00.000-08:00

There are two things that I know, unequivocally, about myself. 1) My longest streak on a "lifestyle change" is 23 days. 2) I am as consistent as a New England weatherman. For the life of me I can't figure out what my commitment issue is. Why do I have such a hard time with this "Discover a Better Me" thing? Last year I lost 50 pounds and this year I gained 50 pounds. So I'm breaking even! WooHoo! If I was the economy then I wouldn't be doing too badly. I am so desperate to be the smallest version of me possible that I have bought, tried, and given away every diet book, idea, and pill there is. I love the whole, "It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change!" revolution. Seems like a great concept except for one thing: my lifestyle change is simply living the rest of my life on a diet! Ahhhhh!!!!!!

On January 5, 2010 I will begin my second "Biggest Loser" competition at my gym. The first time I made it through 3 weeks. I'm hoping that my Diet and Exercise ADD doesn't kick in until after the 12 week program. For once in my life I'd like to finish something that I started! Mind you, January 5 is a good 3 weeks away from this point. Do you know how much damage I could do from now until then? I also have this tendency to eat as if it's the last time I'll ever have solid food again before the start of my diet. So I'm making a little mini-goal of getting under 200# on my home scale by the start of the competition. Seriously though, who starts a diet at Christmas? This girl!

I've got a few things looming over me. My 30th birthday at the end of March. Potential nursing school starting in September. My oldest son entering middle school. All of these things give me the desire to feel my best, be my healthiest, and be my fittest. If I don't do it now when will there ever be a better time? Life just gets more complicated with each passing year. My time is right now.

Since my last post I have discovered a few valuable things:1) Lace can stretch a wicked lot. Thus, the one size fits all Lacie panty at Victoria Secret is legit. 2) Satin does not stretch AT ALL! Thus, the one size Santa Garter at Victoria Secret is a lie. 3) Falling off the step box during the speed step track is actually more scary for the people around you then it is for you. 4) Spending loads of your husbands $$$$ when he doesn't treat you nicely actually makes you feel a little bit better.

Back on the weight loss train...choo-choo!!!!

2009-12-02T10:25:00.000-08:00

So today was day three of dragging my frumpy old rear-end back into the gym. Mind you, when I stopped working out back in May (to focus on my ultra intense microbiology class) I was looking pretty good, so it was a humbling experience to tumble back in with an extra 50 pounds on my body. That's like throwing a first grader on your back and walking around like it's normal! Needless to say, I've got a lot of work ahead of me. Monday was an 8am group training class which I love because I can cheat a little and get away with it. When the trainer is focusing on another group member I might not go "as" low in the squat or lunge that I would if I knew he was looking. I still ended up crippled regardless of my feeble attempt to cheat the system. I also left a massive sweat stain outlining the shape of my butt on the stretch mat. I try to use these horribly embarrassing moments to change the world, so I shared the information with all the group members and we enjoyed a hearty belly laugh. My motto: "Life is short! Learn to laugh at yourself!" Well, that and, "Life is short! Drink coffee to do crap faster!" They both work really well for me :0

Tuesday, day two, was an early morning step class with one of my favorite instructors/people in the world. I was still hobbling around like an 80 year old hip replacement patient, so I chose to use my bench flush to the floor. I decided to avoid any bouncing at all (okay, lets be honest...220 pound girls don't bounce, hop, or jump...we jiggle!) and chose the "low impact" alternative. I'm pretty sure the instructor was calling me out on it all class...but I pretended to ignore her and decided that she must be yelling at someone else to pick up the intensity. Hey, I'm getting pretty good at beating the system.

That leads me to today. Personal Training one on one. Oh, please kill me now! I can't even lower myself to sit on the toilet. I made the mistake of bracing myself by placing my hands on the seat, but when my legs gave way I came crashing down on my fingers. Contrary to popular belief...there's not as much cushion back there as you would expect. Now I use one hand on the tub and one on the sink counter and try to slowly lower myself without instigating a shoulder injury. The stairs are impossible, and I find myself flopping down on the couch as if I'm playing a "trust" game from back in grade school. I can only imagine how ridiculous I look as I'm shuffling along to drop my daughter off at preschool. Can I please have a blinking neon light over my head with an arrow which reads, "Friends shouldn't let fat friends have personal training." I honestly have to plan my schedule with an extra 5 minutes because that's how long it takes me to get into the truck.

So I show up at the gym with 15 minutes to go before my session begins. I figured it would be wise to try to warm up the legs on the elliptical before the torture would commence. At this point I'm trying to come up with anything creative that will lessen the pain, even if by only a tiny fraction. Right? 10 minutes later I'm being lead away to "stretch" before hitting the weights. As the trainer walks in front of me, I notice the back of his shirt reads, "SATAN" (a pet name from a group of his clients) and I think, "can I go home now?" The next 60 minutes were a punishing plethora of strength training exercises that took me from saddling up in some green rubber bands that attempt to aide me in pull-ups- to using sex position #4 from page #27 to correctly execute dead lifts, reverse dumbbell flys, and dumbbell rows. Who knew?! All I remember is a lot of sweat, and a quick therapy session when I offered up information because I was so deliriously full of pain that I couldn't stop myself from saying it. Ah, life is short! Say crap that makes others feel better about themselves!

Here I sit 2 hours later, because I can't get up, blogging about the start of my second weight loss journey. I'd like to think that this will be the last time I have start this, but the odds are truly against me. If anything, this will be another journey into self discovery for me. I don't always find my destination, but I always learn something along the way that reshapes my belief system and, I think, makes me a better person.

He Language vs She Language

2008-09-23T10:31:00.000-07:00

It has occurred to me lately that there is a great possibility that my husband and I are speaking two different languages. I know this isn't shocking to most of you. Many famous psychologists have written books that made millions of dollars from people hoping that the book had the key to unlock the mystery of their spouse. Right? So it seems to me that with ALL of that information out there, that we should somehow have found a way to interpret and communicate through each others special languages. How come we haven't figured it out yet?

Here's the latest example, in a long line, of a huge miscue that has led to the unfortunate typing of this post :)

This past weekend, my husband and I had the opportunity to go to a remarkable wedding. A close friend of mine from high school was getting married, and it was simply breathtaking. She picked out every last detail to perfection. I count myself lucky to have been invited. Two days before the special event, I shopped in another close friends closet for that perfect outfit that shouts, "I'm sorta hot" and yet makes you feel comfortable and you don't need to suck in the whole time. Luckily, she had the perfect shirt! I paired it off with a sleek pair of black dress pants, and hot little pair of slingback pumps. I felt fabulous! Apparently, I was the only one who noticed. My husband either didn't get the memo, or went blind for the day and had NOTHING to say. I tried to encourage a compliment out of him by paying a compliment to him first. Isn't that pathetic? But in the desperate need of reaffirmation from the man who sleeps next to me at night, I tried with great effort for a bit of repayment from him. It might have well have been the microwave in the gourmet cooking store. No where to be found. So much for coercion..

Thankfully, I was slightly caught up in the moment of my friends special day, and the magic that weddings seem to create, that I managed to overlook my husband's obvious idiocy. The evening passed effortlessly and before I knew it, it was time to go home. At some point, the lack of a compliment must have latched on to my internal "self-esteem" organ like a tape worm, and has been growing ever since. When it reached the stage where my body could no longer contain the foreign entity, I was forced to "spill" it out here.

This is where I make the "She Language vs He Language" connection. Are you ready for it? What I am about to say is almost as easy to grasp as the now very popular phrase, "He's just not that into you". Okay here it is:

She Language: "Honey, you look great tonight"
He Language: nothing verbal. He will grab your breast in agreement

She Language: "I'm so in love with you"
He Language: nothing verbal. He will most likely grope you about an hour later while you are trying to do dishes with your yellow rubber gloves on.

She Language: "Lets talk"
He Language: smacks your ass = maybe later

So there you have it ladies. While we (females) have lived gloriously in our Homosapien bodies for thousands of years, our male counterparts have bought into the whole "evolution" theory and have been living as primates. I suppose the next time you (female) have something important to communicate with your spouse (male), then I suggest yanking on his penis, squeezing his testicles ,and thrusting your tongue in his ear :) He might understand you that way, or in the very least, be incapacitated enough to listen to you.

Oh no she didn't!

2008-01-23T10:40:00.000-08:00

Last night was just like any other typical Tuesday night at the OB. Lots of yummy food teasing me into almost cheating on my hard earned weight loss. Do you even know the type of will power it takes to avoid Aussie Cheese Fries? Do you? It's like Superman, Incredible Hulk, Ultimate Spiderman will power! It's sooo hard not to just have a little nibble. But I digress. This is not so much about the cheese fries that I have been dutifully ignoring, but rather about the decedent dessert that came before me. The sundae was this: a premium ball of delicious vanilla ice cream, rolled with love in a roasty toasty coconut crust, lay gently on a warm pecan fudge brownie, drizzled with mesmerizing homemade hot fudge, and topped with a small tantalizing scoop of fluffy whip cream. It looked like one huge orgasm in a bowl. Ohhhh....It was absurd to me to find out that this beautiful display of pure naughtiness was a MISTAKE! Can you believe it? The customer had ordered this dessert without the chocolate sauce. Guess what happens when such mistakes are made? The pastry chef puts it on the waitstaff station for ALL to enjoy. I was in the unfortunate position of noticing it first. It's the prized position to be when when such crazy things happen because you get the first bite, free of any other waitstaff germs that eventually come when, like vultures, the starving waitstaff descend upon it. That first bite could be mine! With great bravado I refrained from dipping a spoon into it's warm softness. Oh, I desperately wanted to and I made it known to all how much I wanted to but wasn't going to do it. All night I had been battling the urge to enjoy an aussie chip, cheese fries, fried mushrooms, and the yummiest honey wheat bread ever. This could surely send me over the edge, or give me the strength to go on. I was so proud of myself as I watched the "birds" dive and dig apart their carcass, and I had none. Just then, one of the vultures pulled her silver spoon slowly out of her mouth, making sure to get every last coconut piece with hot fudge. I couldn't help but watch with pure jealousy. She looked me square in my face and giggled out, "I'm so glad I don't have to watch what I eat and worry about getting fat." It was all I could do from lunging at her and scratching her eyeballs out! Oh No! She did not just say that! I relax my muscles, still feeling proud that I didn't give in, and laugh at her naiveness. "Come talk to me after you have kids and your boobs sometimes fall in the toilet!" It's not pretty, but it's me...

Is Weight just a number? Or...does it hold more "weight" then that?

2008-01-16T13:51:00.000-08:00

So here I am, 27 years old and on the cusp of being 28, feeling like I just can't waste any more of my "young" years disliking myself. Having a poor sense of body image and a bit of self-conscienceness seems to be the norm for every 13-18 year old girl (and some boys), and sadly these are the years when most of us look our best! Reality and living life hasn't aged us, and the McDonald food seems to just go through us, and being active and having fun are school subjects. I always had a complaint about myself as a teen, and I suppose it didn't help that all my friends were about 7 inches shorter then me. I had an expectation of what I should "weigh" and unless I was that exact number then true self confidence couldn't be exuded. Oh, to have those years back!

As I watch my mom age and continue to battle that cycle of pounds put on vs. pounds taken off, I wonder if I'm doomed to be on the same hamster wheel? The fact remains that I don't get younger by the day, but the opposite occurs. Do I really want to be fighting this battle until I die? Should it even be a battle? When I think back to how I got here it's no surprise that I'm chubby. What is a surprise is that I'm not dead yet. Large Coffee with extra cream and extra sugar, aussie cheese fries by the fistfulls, boston creme rolls by the boxfulls, ice cream and peanut butter, fried food, and to top it all off...0 minutes exercising! I mean...really? What was I thinking? It's like shopping with a credit card when you don't have the cash. You think, "I don't have the $75 at this moment, but I will at the end of the month and then I can pay it off," and then the next week the same thing happens, and before you know it you've got bills up to your eyeballs and you've forgotten how to swim. Gaining 80 pounds in one year was done with the same mindset. The first few french fries and coffees weren't a big deal, until they made me so sick that I didn't want to work out. One would think that I would have stopped right there...but I didn't. I ate and I ate and I ate. It got to the point where I was just too embarrassed to go back to the gym and see people I knew. Boy was that stupid!

I remember having a conversation with a friend who was trying to lose a stubborn 10 pounds that kept her from her ultimate "goal" weight. I, too, was about 5 pounds away and feeling very confident I said to her, "I refuse to let the number on that scale dictate my self worth!" It sounded so beautiful coming out of mouth. It was inspiring and empowering. Of course, like I said, I was only 5 pounds over my ultimate "goal" weight. I looked amazing! Trying to utter those words now is simply a joke, and so is the size of my rear end.

The thought of having to stick it out long enough to lose 80 pounds is a frightful task. The thought of losing it and then gaining it back is even scarier! I mean, if I finally lose all of this weight could I really be dumb enough to put it all back on? Statistics are not on my side for this one.

So if I'm so unhappy being fat, then why do I stay this way? That's actually easy to answer: because the attention I get when I'm thin is too much for me to deal with. My fat has protected me from having to confront that type of attention. Unfortunately, I've also managed to lose the attention of my own husband. Oops! That really wasn't what I was going for. It seems that when I get on a good strong roll of losing this weight, my psychological side takes over and sabotages my efforts. I do it without even knowing it's happening. Isn't that insane?

In August a very good friend and I decided that this was IT! We were going to lose the weight and be looking fabulous for the new year. It was fun for about the first 3 weeks and then we see-sawed over the next 3 between having oodles of will power and crying over spilled milk. I lost 25 pounds and she lost roughly 10 (I believe). We're officially in 2008 and guess what! I gained back 20 of those pounds and she gained back 5. Not looking so fabulous. The worst part is looking back over that time and KNOWING that if we had sucked it up and showed some will power we wouldn't still be feeling crappy about ourselves. So back on that stupid hamster wheel I go again, and this time with the gusto of a teenage boy seeing boobs for the first time. I'm just so ready...well, for today at least. The thought of spending another summer feeling uncomfortable in my skin is too much for me to bear. The thought of spending one more year being unhappy with my self is even worse. I know I'm never gonna look the way I did at 18, but I'd settle for 23. I don't want to be turning 40 and suddenly realize that I wasted my youth away and some of the damage could be irreversible. I can be okay with the stretch marks and breasts that don't face north when I lie on my back, but to have extra fat that I can do something about is something I don't want.

So is weight just a number? Only if you're skinny. Does it hold more weight then that? Only if you're fat.

Savor the moment

2007-11-30T17:28:00.000-08:00

I shifted to my side trying to find a more comfortable spot in my lumpy bed. The sheets where my husband had slept were still a bit warm and I slowly drifted off again into a nice, deep sleep. It seemed like a few hours before I heard the first rustlings of my daughter in the next room. The sound of her awakening has become a joyous sound, and not one of sorrow having to leave the comforts of my lovely sheets. I rub my eyes and glance at the clock. 8:30am. It's unusual for something so small to sleep so long, but she enjoys her slumber as much as I do. I can hear her push the buttons of her musical toy as she starts to play. This is the beginning to her very innocent day. I lie awake and waiting. Waiting for the call, the sound that makes me want to get out of bed. "Mum ma, Mum ma," she calls. It's sweetly beautiful to hear your child say such a thing. To know that you are the person they want first thing when they wake up, that is to know you are loved.

I shouldn't let my children talk out loud...

2007-10-13T08:08:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I was doing a deep-cleaning on my house. As I was mopping the floor, my 6 year old son said to me with much enthusiasm, "Who's coming over?"

Yesterday I was walking down the stairs to my laundry room with arms full of sheets and blankets from my bed. My 8 year old son asked me with a bit of a giggle, "Mom! Did you pee the bed?" To which I replied, "No, your father did," and I kept on going.

My boys are also convinced that babies come out of the butt, because they accidently caught a little bit too much information from one of those Discovery network shows...or maybe they didn't catch quite enough information...

After the birth of my daughter, my older son watched intently as I changed his new baby sister's diaper. After which he said to me with great enlightenment, "Mom, I just wanted you to know that I now know the difference between girls and boys." And then he confidently walked away and never said another word about it.

During one winter afternoon, my husband and I had the brilliant idea of putting cartoons on for our sons, and racing upstairs for a little uhm...one on one time. There was no time to lose, so we didn't remove the laundry baskets from the bed, which ended up being a saving grace. Being so involved in the moment, we didn't hear the light squabble between the boys downstairs, or the sound of one very upset boy coming up the stairs. Without any warning, our bedroom door flew open and there stood our older son. My husband screamed for him to get out, but not before our son had a nice shot of my husbands bare bottom. I thought this would terrify our son! However, our pride and joy decided that a better idea would be to shout down to his younger brother, "Quick! Come up here! Daddy's kissing mommy naked!"

Welcome to my world...

Coffee

2007-07-25T13:41:00.000-07:00

I just want them to get it right! Lg Coconut ice coffee, cream and sugar. I pull up to the window, get my coffee and take a sip. No coconut...super bummer. I kindly hand the coffee back and say, "I ordered this with coconut, could you put a few splashes in for me?" He takes my coffee and then hands it back after 15 seconds. I pull away and take a sip. Surely it would be right this time. Uhm...No! How can you get this wrong? It's not like I went at 8am and their were 800 other coffee freaks waiting for their coffee's. Am I wrong to expect somewhat exceptional service from a multibillion dollar company? Why should I expect less? Just because someone makes 8 bucks an hour does not give them the right to be incapable of taking an order and getting it right. And if they get it wrong, and are asked to fix it...how come I can't expect that they'll get it right?

The Beginning

2007-07-22T11:32:00.000-07:00

So here it is...my first blog. Maybe now I can give my poor husband some piece and quiet, as this will be the place for my ramblings. So I've been inspired to blog from my cousin Erin. She is so raw and unihibited in her blog, as she needs to be. Erin just lost her beautiful baby. I think I will remember the phonecall from my mom telling about it, for the rest of my life. My first emotion-shock. My second emotion-guilt. I am very very different from Erin. I am very concrete and conservative, and she is very open and liberal. I have three wonderful children and I believe, for the most part, that I've done a pretty good job raising them. Erin and I were preggo with our babies roughly the same time. I had Hannah in August, and Erin had Birdie in March. My Hannah is alive and well with me today. Her Birdie is not. I read her blog almost everyday and I continue to struggle with what happened. I can't tell her this...I think it would make her angry. It didn't happen to me and I therefore don't have the right to hurt over it. It's hard to feel this way....

Birdies death has changed me. I'm so much more patient with my children, giving to them much more of my time. I quit my job as a teacher in a preschool to be able to stay home with my kids. I am going to homeschool them because we can not afford to send them to a private school without me working, and Noah is terrified of going to a public school. We are actively involved in extracurricular activities and my children are well socialized...so please don't try to argue that I'm going to be raising social misfits if I homeschool. That will just show me that you are completely uneducated about the benefits of homeschooling, and I don't have time for your ignorance. I can boldly say that, because I didn't think a whole lot differently about a year ago. I am also still nursing my baby (she's almost a year) and my reason may seem so weird. Erin was so excited to nurse her little baby, and then she couldn't. I can't imagine what it must have felt like for her when her milk came in and she had no baby to feed. I nurse Hannah because I am able to, and the bond that it has created between her and I is amazing. I don't think I would have made it through the difficult moments of nursing (biting, blistered nipples, etc), but I did it for Birdie. Birdie's death changed me, and I can't wait to thank her someday. I know that I'll get a chance to meet her and I find peace in knowing that she's up with our Saviour.

Okay, so I've finally been able to express all of my pent up feelings about a baby and mom that I was barely close to, but yet changed me so much. This blog is my selfish place to release any uncomfortable thought that I may have. I don't intend for it to help anyone, or to cause anyone argument. This is my space where I won't worry about how I might sound or feel.

-Meg