I Have an Aunt

I have many aunts actually; thirteen in all. And each one of them deserves a statue in their honor.

Here’s the least I can do:

1. I have an aunt who took me and my best friend to a Duran Duran concert when we were twelve.
2. I have an aunt who drove two hours to spend the day with me when I was at the height of my homesick blues in college.
3. I have an aunt who never forgets to call and wish me a happy birthday and anniversary. I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not the only one she remembers.
4. I have an aunt who has saved my life.
5. I have an aunt who makes the best desserts, appetizers, and dips and still is able to stay in what looks like a size 4.
6. I have an aunt who called me to ask when she could babysit for us after the birth of my first child.
7. I have an aunt who I have never once seen angry or say a negative word about anyone.
8. I have an aunt who lets me belly ache to her about someone who we both love dearly but can’t seem to help.
9. I have an aunt who will sit and talk to me at every family gathering about the stuff no one else wants to talk about.
10. I have an aunt whose biting wit and dark-but-funny commentary makes me happy she’s my aunt.
11. I have an aunt who is a breath of fresh air to be around as she always has a compliment for you, looks like she just stepped out of the pages of a Southern Living magazine, and laughs the whole day through.
12. I have an aunt who laughs at all my jokes and likes to make fun of my dad as much as I do.
13. I have an aunt who makes being a mother look easy, even when your kiddo may be a bit full of energy.

So there. If you’re one of my aunt’s and can’t find yourself in this list, then email me and I will tell you which number I wrote just for you. I love you all a whole wash-tub full and thank my lucky stars every day that you’re in my life.

I’m Counting Down

It’s nearly 9:00 p.m. on Saturday night which means I have 32-1/2 more hours before drill time.

One more full day of not know what it’s like to wake at 4:45 a.m. (4:50?) only to get my butt kicked into shape 45 minutes later at 5:30.  I wouldn’t say I’m dreading it, but looking forward to it isn’t entirely true either.

Anxious?

Nervous?

Scared?

And maybe even already a bit worn-out (the anticipation is always more grueling than the event…isn’t it?)

I am looking forward to that Monday of the third week, after I’m in to it and rolling along with the punches and laps. I look forward to feeling better because I’m exercising regularly once again. I’m looking forward to being surprised how quickly my body will begin to reshape itself. I’m looking forward to looking forward to the January session which I’m hoping to push right on through.

Of course, tonight I’m looking forward to tomorrow morning as it is my last day to sleep past 5:00 a.m.

My Daughter Hearts John McCain

Tonight, my daughter was bemoaning our president elect, again.

“Obama, Obama, Obama,” she said, “All everybody talks about is Obama.”

It was an ongoing thing between us during the election. My husband and I were (are) Obama supporters; our daughter wanted John McCain to be president. Her reason? She liked ‘his girl’ (his girl = Sarah Palin). “She’s really pretty mom.” That was her answer when I asked her why. Personally, I think it was my daughter’s first stab at defining her independence separate from me. Imagine, my four year old choosing to be a Republican to rebel against her liberal momma.

“What’s wrong with Obama?” I asked her tonight.

“I love John McCain.”

Dear God, I think. Is there anything a mother can do to save her daughter from falling in love with the wrong man?!

Givin’ Props

…as in saying Thanks for all I have to be thankful for which is a lot on this sacred day of the holy turkey.

so here we go:

I’m thankful for:

1. family
2. friends
3. coffee
4. yummy food
5. my home
6. my new tennis shoes
7. writing
8. books
9. soul-less TV (real wives kinda shows)
10. the fact that my daughter wants me to come lay with her while she watches the incredibles which will only make this day even more perfect than it already has been. gotta go, she’s waiting.

Thank You, Thanksgiving, for Your Three Day Work-Week

(My column from today’s Tribune)

By AMY GESENHUES Local Columnist

There are a thousand thank yous I could give in honor of tomorrow’s eat-the-day-away holiday. But this year I’m going to hang my gratitude hat on the three-day work week that Thanksgiving affords so many of us.

Sure I could give thanks for my family and friends, the delicious dinners I’ll be enjoying tomorrow, and the good company I’ll be keeping. But who wants to read another Thanksgiving-themed column where all the usuals get thanked? Besides, what’s better than a three-day work week? I’ll tell you what’s better: the four-day weekend.

Just think of all you could do with a four-day weekend. More time to clean your home. More time to spend with your children. More time to follow you heart. You could read more if you wanted. Fish more. Spend all the time needed to take care of your landscaping. Renovate your house. You could make it to the gym more often and grocery shopping wouldn’t be something you have to fit in on Sunday night. More road trips. More shopping trips.

But how do we convince the higher-ups who set the work week rules that a three-day work week will work? I think shopping is the solution.

Read rest of article.

Time to Lighten the Mood

After yesterday’s post, I thought a little light heartedness wouldn’t hurt (light being the key word).

Instead of sitting around whining that my pre-pregnancy pants don’t fit, I decided to shake things up a bit. Last week, I signed up for a fitness boot camp. Good for you, you say. Yes, good for me. But, here’s the part that’s most terrifying: it’s Monday through Friday at 5:30 freaking a.m.

5:30.

No matter how many times I say it to myself or type it, it still comes out sounding gruesome.

Five thirty A. M. Nope, not even typing it out in words helps soften the blow.

I’m not a 5:30 a.m. kind of person. I’m not a 9:00 a.m. kind of person. There’s a chance I may go into total shock. Of course, there’s also a chance that I could love the whole boot camp experience enough that it turns me into an early morning riser.

I’ve always like the idea of being a morning person. Having that first cup of coffee as the sun comes up. Getting to see who is on the first half of Morning Joe instead of the last 30 minutes. Being up early enough to have time to shower, do hair and make up and fix a wholesome breakfast. It sounds so enlightening and like something I would do if only I could perfect (perfect as a verb here) my life.

But now, I’ve put it out here. I’ve let all you guys know that I’ve committed myself to waking early, early, early to work my ass off, off, off. So what am I left to do but show up? Right?

It’s already helped me to start writing my posts earlier. Waiting until the end of the day was my usual routine; now, with the looming early morning alarm setting, I can’t stay up until midnight getting a few words out. That’s key. The fact that I would wait to do something I enjoy the most doesn’t make any sense anyway. It’s all part of the “putting yourself last” lifestyle that I need to change. Not that I’m some martyr who goes nonstop for my kids and husband, but I tend to find non-productive ways of wasting my time from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., and then there’s dinner, laundry to be folded, Cinderella coloring books that need to be colored, and babies that need to be burped.

Here I am at 2:20 p.m. actually writing for me. And when I’m done with this post, I’m going to put some time in on my novel. So how’s that for productivity?! I haven’t even started yet and the boot camp is already giving me a nice kick in the booty.

This Is a Heavy One…

My weight affects everything about me. It affects what I read (I just finished Thin is the New Happy and am now reading Such a Pretty Fat). It affects how I feel in the morning, at night, and in bed. It’s all I think about when I see myself in the mirror while putting on my make-up, blow drying my hair, or when I walk by a window and am caught off-guard seeing my reflection. It affects where I choose to eat lunch, what I’m going to fix for dinner, how many cups of coffee I’ll have.

When I am unhappy with my weight, it becomes all-consuming.

I once talked to a recovering alcoholic about how alcoholics think about alcohol. How they make deals with themselves in regards to how much or how often they will drink. “People who aren’t alcoholics don’t do that; they don’t think about alcohol in those terms.” It was how I knew I had a problem with alcohol.

It’s also how I know I have a problem with food and my self image. I think about food in the same way I used to think about alcohol. I make deals with myself, ‘If I eat grape jelly on muffin for breakfast, then I’ll have a protein-full lunch, or if I put extra sugar in my coffee, then I’ll only drink one cup.’ The difference between food and alcohol is that I can’t quit eating. I have to find a balance.

It’s maddening and sad all at once. The seeds of self-loathing about my body started early. Growing up, I never thought I was thin enough, even when I was way, way thin. I remember being invited to a swim party in 7th grade and feeling sick to my stomach about having to wear a bathing suit in front of my junior high classmates. I was not an overweight 7th grader. I simply did not like my body. A feeling I now know is not natural, no matter how common it may be.

Many women have written about this subject before me and have done it in a much wittier, much more enlightening way. But I’m six weeks out from having a baby and it’s where I am right now. I don’t want to go into the psychology of it: being overweight = self-loathing, self-loathing = depression, depression = unhealthy eating and lack of exercise, which makes me overweight and thus goes the circle.

My thinnest phase during adulthood, so far, was when my husband and I separated for awhile. The divorce diet, maybe? I was an emotional mess then at the time. And as happy as I thought I would be at a steady 135 lbs, all the other stuff going on in my life caused me to be basketcase. Right now, I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been without having a baby in my uterus. In pregnancy, I weighed in well over 200 lbs. I’m below the 200 mark now, but not by much.

Telling how much I weigh is, BY FAR, the scariest thing I’ve put out there (here) for everyone to read. I’m not even giving an exact number, and I’m cringing and crying at the same time. Cringing because of the embarrassment of the number and crying because of the shame the number represents to me. Lack of control. Loss of beauty. Inability to manage things (food) in the way normal people are able to manage them.

It’s not like anyone who is reading this and who has seen me would be shocked by the number—they’ve seen me for Christsakes. You can’t hide weight like you can drinking. But it’s embarrassing and taps into a that well of shame that resides deep, deep within my psyche. My conscious mind knows that NO ONE who matters to me is judging me by the number on the scale or the size of my jeans.

I’ve gone back and forth about publishing a post on this subject. The last thing I want to do is sound like I’m whining. I’m not. I am simply trying to work something out in my head that I’ve gotten stuck on. I’ve overcome a few things in my life and I have no doubt that I will overcome this weight/self-image thing as well. Writing about things is always a step in the right (write?) direction for me.

Who Made the Short List?

For some reason, the short list idea keeps making me giggle.

Anyway, in honor of this being a short week (even though I’m on maternity leave and it doesn’t actually apply to me) here’s a short list of things best served up short…

The Top Five Things Best Served Up Short List (five because it’s shorter than ten):

1. Greasy foods…things a short order chef would fry up: cheeseburgers, pattymelts, eggs and bacon, think stuff that clogs the arteries and makes for same day satisfaction, but next day nasty feelings…nasty feelings as in, “i can’t believe i ate that,” not the “i can’t believe i did/said that,” nasty feelings.
2. To-Do list. Nothing better than listing out your stuff to get done for the day and it’s all stuff that can be done within the hour. So refreshing…all that time left to watch Real Housewives marathons (quick alert notice…new season of the OC Real Housewives AND the Atlanta Housewives reunion smackdown. Get ready for a whole post on the Real Housewives. Atlanta did it for me. I loved it like a short order greasy hamburger.)
3. Work email and/or meetings. Do you also cringe when you receive an email from a work colleague that looks like they transcribed the New Testament? The worst part is that I’m the queen of long work emails. You’d think I’d be a better editor with my own stuff, but nope. And meetings that go on forever make me want to puke on the conference table.
4. Grocery Trip. I know this one may not apply to all, but grocery shopping is usually something I endure instead of enjoy. There’s nothing better when it comes to buying food than walking in Kroger with a list of things that I can grab on the go, check out myself and be back in the car within minutes.
5. Lines. Anywhere lines. At the bank, the drive-thru, the carwash, the checkout. It’s not very zen of me to want to rush through things, but waiting in line can be gruesome. I’ve left stores before because the line seemed to long for me to make it through with a smile…and I’m sure I’m not the only one to do this.

So there’s some things best served short. I’ll let you think up your own list of things best served long (and thus the reason for my inappropriate giggles).

Enough Already–write something

Alright, I’ve got to make this one fast.

I promised my writing partner that I would write at least one page on my novel today.

“Just one page, how hard can that be?” Apparently, a lot harder than I thought it would be. It’s a bit like that AA adage: one beer is too many and 1,000 is never enough. Writing just one page is just as difficult as writing 1,000. It’s the whole starting thing.

Not sure why my analogy went to AA, but so be it.

It’s a short week with lots of food coming up. Thanksgiving may just be my favorite holiday. Maybe. It’s hard for me to call a favorite. There’s so many. You’ve got Thanksgiving and Christmas. Then there’s Arbor Day and Columbus Day. Of course, Valentines Day–but who really likes Valentines Day? it seems only relevant for people in new relationships or those on the brink of engagement who can use the day to propose. After you’ve been married twelve years, everyday is Valentines Day (can you smell my sarcasm?).

Enough already, I’m procrastinating. Just one page I said. I’m going to do it now…right now. For real, I’m going to stop rambling about national holidays and write something…after I check out perezhilton.com.

I’m Flawed

I wonder if I would have made this yearlong writing commitment knowing that I was going to be pregnant (and then with a new baby) throughout the duration of the year. I made the commitment January 15, I found out I was pregnant February 15.

Probably.

I have this habit of thinking I can do more than I can and then stressing out because I’m not giving it my all or getting it all done. I do it in many areas of my life. Work. Exercise. Writing. Dieting. Ugh, dieting—that’s getting it’s own post in the near future, but I’m too heavy hearted (don’t pardon the pun) to go into it now.

I believe that maybe it’s the feeling of being overwhelmed that I’m attracted to and not the need to do everything. That it’s not actually the action (or lack of action) causing the emotion; but the emotion putting the actions into place. For example, if you’re an unhappy person at heart, you’ll continue to make choices to keep you unhappy. You unconsciously choose events that provide the outcomes to perpetuate your unhappiness.

So, in this fashion, I choose to overwhelm myself to perpetuate my need to feel overwhelmed. (Did that make any sense? I feel kind of like I used a word to define the word itself.)

I’m sure this sounds a bit like you’re the fly on my therapist’s wall, but I’m not going to play dumb. If you’ve read my stuff for any length of time, you’ve read a shitload of my psyche shortcomings. Just add this one to the batch.