I love sleep, I always have. Sleep and I, though, have a tempestuous love affair. You see, I love sleep at inappropriate times. I have always been a night owl. Always. Even in high school I would get involved in a book and stay awake, bleary-eyed, to see what end the heroine would meet.
The problem was always the next morning. It didn't matter what I did, I could not wake myself up. I set my alarm across the room, my mom would try to wake me up but 90% of the time, I was late in waking up and late to school.
In college, my mom encouraged me to schedule my classes first semester so that none started before 11 AM. I was the envy of everyone on my floor. As everyone scurried to be at class at the ungodly hour of 8, I rested peacefully until 10:50 (if my first class started at 11:00). A quick brush of the hair and teeth and some new clothes and I was ready for anything.
The problem became that I kept such irregular hours that I struggled to make it even to my later classes. It was pathetic really, that I couldn't get my butt to a class happening at 2:30 in the afternoon. I would stay up late, my eating habits were awful and so I would spend most of my time feeling sluggish and sleepy.
What killed me worse was the 7:30 AM Theory of Education class I had to take second semester freshman year. Even if I went to bed at 10 the night before (which I never did), I could not keep my eyes open. I loved Dr. Knowles and it pained me to have my head lolling and drool escaping from the corner of my mouth. I also had my friend Chante elbowing me at regular intervals.
Post-college didn't improve things, either. It turns out, living on my own meant I could sleep whenever I wanted and not have anyone to bug me. This was both a benefit and a detriment. I struggled to make it on time to work, I struggled to get in bed early enough and I generally just struggled.
What I find most interesting about my sleep habits is that when they have been at their worst, so has my weight. I have read articles that link lack of sleep to high levels of ghrelin (which causes you to want to sleep) and leptin (which causes you not to be able to stop eating). Put those two together and it's a recipe for disaster.
The one time sleep and I had a civil, appropriate relationship? When I was training for marathons. I had to have a very regimented schedule. I had to be able to go to work, run and have some social life. This meant that I needed to be asleep at a specific time or I would spend the whole day catching up.
Granted, I can't always be training for marathons (although I think that would be awesome). I envy two people when it comes to sleep--Brian and Bekah. Both fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Part of my struggle with sleep is that I tend to toss and turn. I am not one who's wracked with anxiety, I don't review what needs to be done for the day. I just lie there, waiting for my brain to turn off so that I can enjoy some sleep.
The other problem I've consistently had with sleep is bad dreams. I have always had very vivid, very realistic dreams. This means I will wake up a few times some nights, caught in between a dream and reality. I have hit Brian upon waking up, convinced that he's been unfaithful or in some other way a miscreant. It can be wonderful (I've kissed Benicio del Toro) and horrid (I've witnessed murders and other awful events). When I am pregnant, they are worse. Thankfully, right now I'm not.
The last factor that affects my sleep (and the impetus for this entry) is illness. Typically, when I feel under the weather, sleep and I are fast friends. The fly in the ointment this time has been this awfulness I've been fighting since January. One of the symptoms I've been regularly experiencing is a cough. It's exacerbated when I lie down. It's not shocking, then, that sleep has been elusive for me over the past couple of months. Even when I'm exhausted, when my eyes are unable to stay open on their own, I have fought to get more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time.
I only know a handful of people who can survive and thrive on few hours of sleep. I am not one of them. It has been excruciating and frustrating to not be able to sleep, every night, for a reasonable amount of time. I am not myself when I'm not able to sleep. I can't be cheerful. I can't think clearly, make rational decisions, be the most creative when I am working in a sleep deficit.
That being said, I've got to get some rest now.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
Friday
I am trying to stay in the habit of writing everyday. It's advice I was given back in my high school creative writing class. I am not good at everyday. I'm good at periodic short bursts. I'm good at starting and then leaving incomplete.
It's certainly something that bothers my loved ones, this lack of follow-through. I have a bad habit of leaving cabinet doors and other doors wide open. The other night, for example, Brian went up to put the kids to bed. I let the dogs out and sat back down on the couch. It got progressively colder and I couldn't understand why.
I posited that I must really be coming down with an awful bug; upon Brian's return he noticed I had left the slider open. Not wide open--our slider doesn't really open that far. It was open enough, though, to explain the drop in temperature in the room.
One of my most prized possessions is a t-shirt I received upon completing my first marathon. It had the logo for the marathon on the front. On the back is one glorious word: Finisher. I actually get emotional seeing other people run marathons because I remember that overwhelming feeling of putting my foot over the finish line.
It's indescribable, really. In one stride I went from someone who loved running to someone who completed her first marathon. It represented hours of sacrifice, of getting up early, going to bed early and spending a lot of time with my feet pounding the pavement.
The trick of the marathon is not actually to consider the entire 26.2 miles all at once. The race really is just about putting one foot in front of the other. Granted, you're doing that over a span of (in my case) almost 5 hours, but honestly, I didn't think about the whole thing at once. I just did the mile that was in front of me. I knew I could do one mile; I could do that in my sleep.
I psyche myself out about a lot of things. For example, I'm in the middle of a few longer-term projects--organizing the house and writing a book. Both tasks, when viewed as a whole, seem crazy overwhelming. My house is a hodge-podge of clutter, garbage and unmanageability. I have been working with the organizer for about 5 weeks. We have organized the laundry room, the big kids' closet and Doug's room.
I, however, can only see the negative spaces, the ones we haven't done yet. It's an infuriating trait because we literally sorted through and pared down boxes upon boxes of clothes to give Doug a chance to sleep in a room that didn't resemble a storage space in Hoarders. My laundry room is now streamlined and easier to navigate. Clothes don't sit around for days on end because there's no room for them in anyone's closet or dresser.
I have more clothes that I want to sell at an upcoming resale. Thanks to the organizer, I've already got them up on hangers and sorted neatly in Doug's closet. I am not scrambling to find something in the kids' drawers that fit them.
I'm not able to focus on all of the progress, though. What's killing me is the garage, my dining room and the growing pile of stuff that needs to find its way to the curb (broken TV, broken couch, broken lamp, broken vacuum, broken high chair). I can't seem to run the dishwasher enough and yet my drying rack is permanently full because I can't find space in my cabinets for everything. There are several piles of various papers teetering like the leaning Tower of Pisa all over my counters.
I made a great start on my book this week--it's at almost 9,000 words so far. The thought that's running around my mind like a runaway train, though, is why haven't I done more? Why haven't I written 25,000 words? How many words long will this book be?
It's a peculiar twist in my mind that haunts me at every turn. When I trained for the marathon, I had a day-by-day schedule. I knew how much I needed to run every day so that I would be prepared to run 26.2 miles on race morning. I didn't run for two days and then run a marathon! It took months of building endurance, of learning techniques, of perfecting the art of staying hydrated.
It always comes back to grace. I forget to extend to myself that which I am so quick to extend to others and that which my Creator so lovingly extended to me. I am nothing more than a work in progress. We will be living in this house for many years; there is no rush to make it perfect because the way the house is being used will surely change as time wears on. I believe that God is prompting me to write this book; He would not give me more than He thinks I can handle and He always completes the work He begins.
My favorite definition of humility is not thinking less of myself but thinking of myself less. I have to realize that the help I need to complete any of these tasks is available; I just have to kneel to receive it.
It's certainly something that bothers my loved ones, this lack of follow-through. I have a bad habit of leaving cabinet doors and other doors wide open. The other night, for example, Brian went up to put the kids to bed. I let the dogs out and sat back down on the couch. It got progressively colder and I couldn't understand why.
I posited that I must really be coming down with an awful bug; upon Brian's return he noticed I had left the slider open. Not wide open--our slider doesn't really open that far. It was open enough, though, to explain the drop in temperature in the room.
One of my most prized possessions is a t-shirt I received upon completing my first marathon. It had the logo for the marathon on the front. On the back is one glorious word: Finisher. I actually get emotional seeing other people run marathons because I remember that overwhelming feeling of putting my foot over the finish line.
It's indescribable, really. In one stride I went from someone who loved running to someone who completed her first marathon. It represented hours of sacrifice, of getting up early, going to bed early and spending a lot of time with my feet pounding the pavement.
The trick of the marathon is not actually to consider the entire 26.2 miles all at once. The race really is just about putting one foot in front of the other. Granted, you're doing that over a span of (in my case) almost 5 hours, but honestly, I didn't think about the whole thing at once. I just did the mile that was in front of me. I knew I could do one mile; I could do that in my sleep.
I psyche myself out about a lot of things. For example, I'm in the middle of a few longer-term projects--organizing the house and writing a book. Both tasks, when viewed as a whole, seem crazy overwhelming. My house is a hodge-podge of clutter, garbage and unmanageability. I have been working with the organizer for about 5 weeks. We have organized the laundry room, the big kids' closet and Doug's room.
I, however, can only see the negative spaces, the ones we haven't done yet. It's an infuriating trait because we literally sorted through and pared down boxes upon boxes of clothes to give Doug a chance to sleep in a room that didn't resemble a storage space in Hoarders. My laundry room is now streamlined and easier to navigate. Clothes don't sit around for days on end because there's no room for them in anyone's closet or dresser.
I have more clothes that I want to sell at an upcoming resale. Thanks to the organizer, I've already got them up on hangers and sorted neatly in Doug's closet. I am not scrambling to find something in the kids' drawers that fit them.
I'm not able to focus on all of the progress, though. What's killing me is the garage, my dining room and the growing pile of stuff that needs to find its way to the curb (broken TV, broken couch, broken lamp, broken vacuum, broken high chair). I can't seem to run the dishwasher enough and yet my drying rack is permanently full because I can't find space in my cabinets for everything. There are several piles of various papers teetering like the leaning Tower of Pisa all over my counters.
I made a great start on my book this week--it's at almost 9,000 words so far. The thought that's running around my mind like a runaway train, though, is why haven't I done more? Why haven't I written 25,000 words? How many words long will this book be?
It's a peculiar twist in my mind that haunts me at every turn. When I trained for the marathon, I had a day-by-day schedule. I knew how much I needed to run every day so that I would be prepared to run 26.2 miles on race morning. I didn't run for two days and then run a marathon! It took months of building endurance, of learning techniques, of perfecting the art of staying hydrated.
It always comes back to grace. I forget to extend to myself that which I am so quick to extend to others and that which my Creator so lovingly extended to me. I am nothing more than a work in progress. We will be living in this house for many years; there is no rush to make it perfect because the way the house is being used will surely change as time wears on. I believe that God is prompting me to write this book; He would not give me more than He thinks I can handle and He always completes the work He begins.
My favorite definition of humility is not thinking less of myself but thinking of myself less. I have to realize that the help I need to complete any of these tasks is available; I just have to kneel to receive it.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
A Trip to the Dentist
Jeremy doesn't like doctors. For someone who has been hospitalized several times, I don't blame him. I typically don't even tell him we're going to the doctor until we're on our way. He just turns into a whiny, anxious ball. There is a part of me that has immense compassion for his situation but then there's the other part of me, the part that deals with whiny Jeremy on a regular basis. These two parts do a lot of internal struggle every time we have to visit the doctor.
Rebekah, on the other hand, did a happy dance and jumped up and down when she heard (last week) that we were going to visit the dentist. She has her moments, to be sure, but mostly she is chirpy when it involves anything medical.
I knew today was going to be emotionally exhausting and my assessment was very accurate. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately (I normally don't, I'll be honest). I went into the day ill prepared. Then add onto that the fact that breakfast has been challenging. I havne't found a great thing to eat that isn't high in calories and fills me up for longer than a couple of hours. I'm working on a solution but I'm still about a week out.
So we went to the appointment with me being tired and hungry. Not a good combination in normal circumstances, let alone when going into the lion's den. It started on the way to the office from preschool--Jeremy was whining, telling me he didn't want to go. The compassionate me was able to calmly explain that I understood. I told him that if I didn't have to take him I wouldn't. I told him I knew he didn't like going, but that as his mom I had to take him. This was of course met with more whining and anxiety.
When we got to the dentist he refused to leave the van. He wanted to stay there. I gave him a countdown to remove himself from it and off we started to the office. Once inside, they started admiring the fish and playing with toys. Two hygienists came to greet us, one for Bekah and one for Jeremy. Bekah was all smiles and even jumped up and down a bit; Jeremy crawled under one of the benches.
Meanwhile, because he is a heart patient, they need to have documentation stating whether or not he should be medicated (with antibiotics) before having his teeth cleaned. I had previously procured a letter from his pediatrician saying he should be. Last August, though, when visiting with the cardiologist, he informed me that Jeremy didn't need to be pre-medicated. Well, this threw a wrench into today's activities. I didn't receive the message from the dentist's office saying they needed a new letter, so I didn't have the cardiologist fax it over.
The other irony in all of this is that Bekah loves candy, cakes, cookies and sweets. The sweeter, the better. She will throw tantrums if I don't allow her to have a piece of candy or other such treat. Jeremy, on the other hand, eats almost a vegetarian diet. He will force himself to eat some meat if I give him the stink eye but otherwise he'd prefer fruits and veggies over anything else. Who gets cavities at the drop of a hat? Yep, Jeremy. He's already had two filled and we found out today that he has another one.
Because they didn't have the letter, they couldn't even clean his teeth today. Regardless, he had enough time to throw a fit when they took away the GameBoy the dentist lets her patients play with. This fit started edging out compassionate mom. The ordeal of getting to the office had worn out the last of my reserve and I was quickly turning into flames-shooting-out-of-her-mouth mommy, not the kind, kiss-the-booboo-make-it-better momma.
The last straw was the balloons. They both got a balloon and wore them, around their wrists, to the van. Once inside the van I secured them to the third safety buckle so that they wouldn't sneak out when we got to the grocery store. I'm not sure why, but this deeply offended Jeremy and put him into full freak-out mode.
I snapped. I had gone past my limit and was in the red zone. Through gritted teeth I explained why I did what I did. I explained that I was trying to make sure the balloon didn't float away into the sky. But no amount of reasoning staunched the flow of whining and thrashing. It didn't stop when we got to the store and it continued even after we left the store. Finally, I gave him an ultimatum. Stop whining or risk losing the opportunity to play on the iPad. He acquiesed begrudgingly but I feel like if you ask him two weeks from now how today went, he will dwell on my poor decision to strap the balloons into the car.
The best part is that we're headed back to the dentist on April 4th to do it all over again. Maybe I should start eating Wheaties for breakfast--I think I'm going to need them.
Rebekah, on the other hand, did a happy dance and jumped up and down when she heard (last week) that we were going to visit the dentist. She has her moments, to be sure, but mostly she is chirpy when it involves anything medical.
I knew today was going to be emotionally exhausting and my assessment was very accurate. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately (I normally don't, I'll be honest). I went into the day ill prepared. Then add onto that the fact that breakfast has been challenging. I havne't found a great thing to eat that isn't high in calories and fills me up for longer than a couple of hours. I'm working on a solution but I'm still about a week out.
So we went to the appointment with me being tired and hungry. Not a good combination in normal circumstances, let alone when going into the lion's den. It started on the way to the office from preschool--Jeremy was whining, telling me he didn't want to go. The compassionate me was able to calmly explain that I understood. I told him that if I didn't have to take him I wouldn't. I told him I knew he didn't like going, but that as his mom I had to take him. This was of course met with more whining and anxiety.
When we got to the dentist he refused to leave the van. He wanted to stay there. I gave him a countdown to remove himself from it and off we started to the office. Once inside, they started admiring the fish and playing with toys. Two hygienists came to greet us, one for Bekah and one for Jeremy. Bekah was all smiles and even jumped up and down a bit; Jeremy crawled under one of the benches.
Meanwhile, because he is a heart patient, they need to have documentation stating whether or not he should be medicated (with antibiotics) before having his teeth cleaned. I had previously procured a letter from his pediatrician saying he should be. Last August, though, when visiting with the cardiologist, he informed me that Jeremy didn't need to be pre-medicated. Well, this threw a wrench into today's activities. I didn't receive the message from the dentist's office saying they needed a new letter, so I didn't have the cardiologist fax it over.
The other irony in all of this is that Bekah loves candy, cakes, cookies and sweets. The sweeter, the better. She will throw tantrums if I don't allow her to have a piece of candy or other such treat. Jeremy, on the other hand, eats almost a vegetarian diet. He will force himself to eat some meat if I give him the stink eye but otherwise he'd prefer fruits and veggies over anything else. Who gets cavities at the drop of a hat? Yep, Jeremy. He's already had two filled and we found out today that he has another one.
Because they didn't have the letter, they couldn't even clean his teeth today. Regardless, he had enough time to throw a fit when they took away the GameBoy the dentist lets her patients play with. This fit started edging out compassionate mom. The ordeal of getting to the office had worn out the last of my reserve and I was quickly turning into flames-shooting-out-of-her-mouth mommy, not the kind, kiss-the-booboo-make-it-better momma.
The last straw was the balloons. They both got a balloon and wore them, around their wrists, to the van. Once inside the van I secured them to the third safety buckle so that they wouldn't sneak out when we got to the grocery store. I'm not sure why, but this deeply offended Jeremy and put him into full freak-out mode.
I snapped. I had gone past my limit and was in the red zone. Through gritted teeth I explained why I did what I did. I explained that I was trying to make sure the balloon didn't float away into the sky. But no amount of reasoning staunched the flow of whining and thrashing. It didn't stop when we got to the store and it continued even after we left the store. Finally, I gave him an ultimatum. Stop whining or risk losing the opportunity to play on the iPad. He acquiesed begrudgingly but I feel like if you ask him two weeks from now how today went, he will dwell on my poor decision to strap the balloons into the car.
The best part is that we're headed back to the dentist on April 4th to do it all over again. Maybe I should start eating Wheaties for breakfast--I think I'm going to need them.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
My New Project
Another brief post before bed. I am still feeling incredibly crappy but fought through that feeling to do some cardio and strength training today. Now I'm feeling crappy and sore, but it's a good sore, right?!?!
In other news, I have started in earnest on my book. It's been percolating for a while. I had hoped to get it done before Christmas but stumbled on my two worst enemies, procrastination and perfectionsism. This book is going to be about my family's journey over the past 5 1/2 years. I am not sure how long it's going to be or when it will be completed. I will soon be starting a FB page for it (when I've hammered out the title) and sharing excerpts on a regular basis.
My hope is that by doing some good marketing I can have a good launch. I am going to self-publish; I don't fool myself that I can find someone to publish it for me. If that's what God wants, I know he can make it happen. However, the impression I have now is that I'm supposed to self-publish.
Really, though, the book is about God. He has been walking next to my family, clutching our hands and protecting us closely this entire time. I want the book to be a testament to his faithfulness, his goodness and his steadfastness.
I am my own worst enemy, though. I am already afraid that I will be so caught up in the minutae that I will never finish it. I think I'm also doing the FB page so that I'm held accountable to be producing more material.
I just ask that you pray me through this, faithful readers. Ask God to guide me through this process. Ask him to put the right people in my path to proofread it, to cheer me on and hold me up when I get tired. I feel very strongly that all of what my family has been through only points to one thing; that there is a loving, all-powerful God and that I am not Him.
I wrote 7400 words today. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but hopefully my competitive streak will be activated and I'll push myself to write at least that many everyday until it's done. I am trying to just write right now. I'm not editing, I'm only correcting spelling. I am just trying to put words on screen. Hopefully, little by little, I can tell this awesome story. I hope people want to read it. I hope people read it and can catch a glimmer of the hope I've received from my loving Abba.
I know God will not give up on me; I know he will help carry me through to the completion of this project.
In other news, I have started in earnest on my book. It's been percolating for a while. I had hoped to get it done before Christmas but stumbled on my two worst enemies, procrastination and perfectionsism. This book is going to be about my family's journey over the past 5 1/2 years. I am not sure how long it's going to be or when it will be completed. I will soon be starting a FB page for it (when I've hammered out the title) and sharing excerpts on a regular basis.
My hope is that by doing some good marketing I can have a good launch. I am going to self-publish; I don't fool myself that I can find someone to publish it for me. If that's what God wants, I know he can make it happen. However, the impression I have now is that I'm supposed to self-publish.
Really, though, the book is about God. He has been walking next to my family, clutching our hands and protecting us closely this entire time. I want the book to be a testament to his faithfulness, his goodness and his steadfastness.
I am my own worst enemy, though. I am already afraid that I will be so caught up in the minutae that I will never finish it. I think I'm also doing the FB page so that I'm held accountable to be producing more material.
I just ask that you pray me through this, faithful readers. Ask God to guide me through this process. Ask him to put the right people in my path to proofread it, to cheer me on and hold me up when I get tired. I feel very strongly that all of what my family has been through only points to one thing; that there is a loving, all-powerful God and that I am not Him.
I wrote 7400 words today. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but hopefully my competitive streak will be activated and I'll push myself to write at least that many everyday until it's done. I am trying to just write right now. I'm not editing, I'm only correcting spelling. I am just trying to put words on screen. Hopefully, little by little, I can tell this awesome story. I hope people want to read it. I hope people read it and can catch a glimmer of the hope I've received from my loving Abba.
I know God will not give up on me; I know he will help carry me through to the completion of this project.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
A Long Road...
I want to apologize to my readers. I realize I've not written in over a month. If you can believe it, I've not been well more than a week in the past month. In the back of my mind I was saying, "hey, when I feel better I'll start writing again." Alas, it seems that if I wait that long, I won't write for another few months.
I don't understand why I'm being hit with all of these bugs. I'm sure it has to do with a lack of sleep, but about a month ago I gave up Diet Coke for good. (Well, really for today--wink, wink.) I haven't had any Diet Coke in almost 6 weeks.
I didn't want to not drink Diet Coke. I've been drinking it for many, many years. It started in college because I didn't drink coffee but needed the caffeine. This was in the days before the energy drink fad (which worries me a bit, but that's a topic for another day).
Over the past few years, I read more and more about how Diet Coke was just like any other soda-not good for you. I bought into the lies about "diet" meaning better, but ultimately, it's a collection of chemicals and sweeteners that are man-made. Not all things man-made are evil. I am grateful for some, but Diet Coke was starting to affect my health in a very negative way.
First, there's the sodium content. It's not bad if you're just sipping a can a day, but I was going to Thornton's and throwing back 44 ounces at a time. At that volume, the sodium is ridiculous. I've got high blood pressure; that much sodium is not good for a normal person, let alone someone like me.
Second, there's the cravings. In my own personal (read-unscientific) study, I have found that the less Diet Coke I drink, the less I crave sweets. I have also read this in more formal studies, but for me the anecdotal evidence was overwhelming.
Third, when I went to Thornton's to purchase said beverage I would purchase copious amounts of junk food. There is really nothing at Thornton's that I should be eating. Everything there is prepackaged, heavily processed and full of salt and sugar. (Although I will say they do carry fresh fruit.) Plus, it's a drain on the wallet. If you figure I was getting a .69 cent beverage everyday and then tacking on 2-3 dollars of junk food, that's about 4 bucks a day on completely unhealthy food choices.
Most people I have talked to who gave up Diet Coke lost some weight after doing so. I will say, since I'm on a road to losing weight this appealed to me. Unfortunately, it's not happened as magically as I hoped it would. Initially I lost about 6-8 pounds, but over the past few weeks it's been creeping back. Overall, my sugary snack intake has taken a nosedive. I was in line at Target today purchasing Pull-Ups and the candy was calling to me. I was headed to Giordano's for a board meeting and knew I was going to have pizza. In the past, I would have snarfed some candy and then gone to dinner. Today, I didn't.
I was watching The Biggest Loser last night and something Jillian Michaels said really stuck. She said that small, measurable changes in our lifestyle can add up to something huge. I have been beating myself up a lot lately because the weight has not been dropping (nor have the inches or anything else). I think it's easy for me to look at the scale, look at myself and declare myself a failure.
However, when I realize that I've probably helped lower my blood pressure (by exercising more and doing away with Diet Coke), I've probably started building more lean muscle mass (by doing cardio and some simple strength training), I'm setting a good example for my kids (by not going to Thornton's everyday and not eating as much junk food) and I'm seeing success elsewhere (I'm less winded going up the stairs), I can keep going.
Yesterday and today, I didn't make great food choices. I am not feeling well and wanted comfort food. I chose poorly for lunch on both days. But that doesn't mean I ate poorly all day for both days. In the past, it would have been the signal to just go all out in the wrong direction. Today, I realize that I made progress because I bypassed the candy (and other desired sweets) and only had two pieces of pizza (instead of three). Oh, and while the thought crossed my mind to have a Diet Coke at dinner I stuck with water.
Certainly I'm not hitting home runs everyday, but I'm definitely getting a hit every time I step up to the plate. Sometimes, you've just got to grind out the win.
I don't understand why I'm being hit with all of these bugs. I'm sure it has to do with a lack of sleep, but about a month ago I gave up Diet Coke for good. (Well, really for today--wink, wink.) I haven't had any Diet Coke in almost 6 weeks.
I didn't want to not drink Diet Coke. I've been drinking it for many, many years. It started in college because I didn't drink coffee but needed the caffeine. This was in the days before the energy drink fad (which worries me a bit, but that's a topic for another day).
Over the past few years, I read more and more about how Diet Coke was just like any other soda-not good for you. I bought into the lies about "diet" meaning better, but ultimately, it's a collection of chemicals and sweeteners that are man-made. Not all things man-made are evil. I am grateful for some, but Diet Coke was starting to affect my health in a very negative way.
First, there's the sodium content. It's not bad if you're just sipping a can a day, but I was going to Thornton's and throwing back 44 ounces at a time. At that volume, the sodium is ridiculous. I've got high blood pressure; that much sodium is not good for a normal person, let alone someone like me.
Second, there's the cravings. In my own personal (read-unscientific) study, I have found that the less Diet Coke I drink, the less I crave sweets. I have also read this in more formal studies, but for me the anecdotal evidence was overwhelming.
Third, when I went to Thornton's to purchase said beverage I would purchase copious amounts of junk food. There is really nothing at Thornton's that I should be eating. Everything there is prepackaged, heavily processed and full of salt and sugar. (Although I will say they do carry fresh fruit.) Plus, it's a drain on the wallet. If you figure I was getting a .69 cent beverage everyday and then tacking on 2-3 dollars of junk food, that's about 4 bucks a day on completely unhealthy food choices.
Most people I have talked to who gave up Diet Coke lost some weight after doing so. I will say, since I'm on a road to losing weight this appealed to me. Unfortunately, it's not happened as magically as I hoped it would. Initially I lost about 6-8 pounds, but over the past few weeks it's been creeping back. Overall, my sugary snack intake has taken a nosedive. I was in line at Target today purchasing Pull-Ups and the candy was calling to me. I was headed to Giordano's for a board meeting and knew I was going to have pizza. In the past, I would have snarfed some candy and then gone to dinner. Today, I didn't.
I was watching The Biggest Loser last night and something Jillian Michaels said really stuck. She said that small, measurable changes in our lifestyle can add up to something huge. I have been beating myself up a lot lately because the weight has not been dropping (nor have the inches or anything else). I think it's easy for me to look at the scale, look at myself and declare myself a failure.
However, when I realize that I've probably helped lower my blood pressure (by exercising more and doing away with Diet Coke), I've probably started building more lean muscle mass (by doing cardio and some simple strength training), I'm setting a good example for my kids (by not going to Thornton's everyday and not eating as much junk food) and I'm seeing success elsewhere (I'm less winded going up the stairs), I can keep going.
Yesterday and today, I didn't make great food choices. I am not feeling well and wanted comfort food. I chose poorly for lunch on both days. But that doesn't mean I ate poorly all day for both days. In the past, it would have been the signal to just go all out in the wrong direction. Today, I realize that I made progress because I bypassed the candy (and other desired sweets) and only had two pieces of pizza (instead of three). Oh, and while the thought crossed my mind to have a Diet Coke at dinner I stuck with water.
Certainly I'm not hitting home runs everyday, but I'm definitely getting a hit every time I step up to the plate. Sometimes, you've just got to grind out the win.
Monday, February 4, 2013
In the End
I started the day off with defeat. It has been a culmination of lack of sleep, illness, isolation from friends and fellowship, etc., etc. I realized, after writing an e-mail to a friend, that I've not been to church in a month (because of illness and other things). I've not been to Bible study, MOPS only met once last month, I've not been able to enjoy my basement peeps and in general I've been a homebody.
That's enough to make anyone buckle.
I am happy to report that although I wanted to gorge myself on the remaining birthday cake or buy a Diet Coke (thanks to the stomach flu, I've been free from Diet Coke for 3 days). I wanted to sit on the couch, play my farm game (why is it always a farm game), veg out, zone out and give up.
Thankfully, the encouraging words, texts, emails and Facebook posts served as a cushion for me to fall on. I didn't fall on my butt, I didn't fail. The words lifted my spirits just enough to make it possible for me to do opposite of what I wanted.
I spent half an hour doing Dance Party on the Wii this morning. I am much less of a graceful dancer than I thought I was. I will admit that I look pretty ridiculous, but I didn't let lack of coordination stop me. I did my best and hacked and wheezed through half an hour.
Bekah had dance class today. Mondays are tricky because of this. I usually get her home from dance class, get Doug down for a nap, put a movie in and doze on the couch. Today, the driveway needed shovelling. So I gathered all of my reserves, bundled up my two older children and shoveled the entire thing. (Now, truth be told, I did doze a bit after that was done--my eyes simply wouldn't stay open.)
I am looking expectantly at tomorrow; the organizer I hired is coming over for the first time. We are going to start the arduous process of making the house not sterile and antiseptic but managable and welcoming. I am optimistic that, over the next few months, I will be able to work with her to come to enjoy being in the house.
So there you go. Just another day on the rollercoaster of life. Now I intend to spend some time in the Lazy River. Peace and tidings!
That's enough to make anyone buckle.
I am happy to report that although I wanted to gorge myself on the remaining birthday cake or buy a Diet Coke (thanks to the stomach flu, I've been free from Diet Coke for 3 days). I wanted to sit on the couch, play my farm game (why is it always a farm game), veg out, zone out and give up.
Thankfully, the encouraging words, texts, emails and Facebook posts served as a cushion for me to fall on. I didn't fall on my butt, I didn't fail. The words lifted my spirits just enough to make it possible for me to do opposite of what I wanted.
I spent half an hour doing Dance Party on the Wii this morning. I am much less of a graceful dancer than I thought I was. I will admit that I look pretty ridiculous, but I didn't let lack of coordination stop me. I did my best and hacked and wheezed through half an hour.
Bekah had dance class today. Mondays are tricky because of this. I usually get her home from dance class, get Doug down for a nap, put a movie in and doze on the couch. Today, the driveway needed shovelling. So I gathered all of my reserves, bundled up my two older children and shoveled the entire thing. (Now, truth be told, I did doze a bit after that was done--my eyes simply wouldn't stay open.)
I am looking expectantly at tomorrow; the organizer I hired is coming over for the first time. We are going to start the arduous process of making the house not sterile and antiseptic but managable and welcoming. I am optimistic that, over the next few months, I will be able to work with her to come to enjoy being in the house.
So there you go. Just another day on the rollercoaster of life. Now I intend to spend some time in the Lazy River. Peace and tidings!
Monday Frustration
It was a crazy week last week at Chez Patronik-Carbajal. Lots of stomach flu, lots of bronchitis (for me only), lots of forced resting. Today was the first day we were back to our "normal" routine; Jeremy at preschool and then dance later for Bekah. It's a crazy way to start the week, really.
I am feeling my normal weigh-in frustration blues. I was hopeful that the stomach flu would help me lose some weight. I did lose 0.8 lbs, but I am beginning to grow weary of the pace of my weight loss.
I started going back to Weight Watchers in late November; over the past 2 1/2 months, I've lost 2.5 pounds. That's it. Really, 2.4, but I'm rounding up. I feel really defeated, beaten down and discouraged.
I am overweight by 140 pounds. That's like an entire other person. I would have thought that losing weight at being that overweight would be easier, not harder. I have watched shows like Extreme Makeover: Body Edition and I hear what those people eat and think; my Lord, I don't eat that at all!! There was a girl who ate like 10 pounds of crawfish at one sitting. 10 pounds!! In my wildest dreams I couldn't consume that much at one meal. I don't eat fast food every day, I'm not hanging out underneath the donut dispenser at the local pastry shop.
I started doing the Made to Crave Action Plan last month. It is a very sensible addition to what I'm doing with Weight Watchers. Lysa asks us to drink 14 ounces of water first thing in the morning, add in Omega 3, add in fiber, add in exercise and subtract some calories. It's not rocket science and any good trainer will say that weight loss is simply an equation; calories in minus calories out.
I just feel like God has stopped listening to my requests for help with this. I have struggled with my weight for my entire life. I'm about to turn 35 and so that's 35 years of just struggling and fighting and not finding peace with myself. 35 years of trying and failing, of getting bigger and bigger.
I want to be better. I don't want to be worried about weight limits on water slides. We went to a water park a couple of towns away over this last summer; as I was getting ready to go down the slide, I saw that I was over the weight limit. It's so humiliating and it feels like I'm such a failure, like I'm not worth God's time.
I don't understand what I have to do. My sister-in-law has lost a significant amount of weight over the past 5 years, but I've had 2 more kids than her in that span of time. She gets up at 4:30 AM to work out; I can't do that. She belongs to a gym; we can't afford that. She spent most weekends last year running ultra type races (26+ mile races). I can't do that, either.
I want to throw in the towel (maybe that would help me lose more weight). I am so done with this body. I feel betrayed because in my heart, I want to be running again. I want to be more active with my kids. But my body just doesn't cooperate. I get winded climbing the stairs and I'm worn out by afternoon time. It feels like I'm just destined to be the mom that can't go down waterslides with her kids.
I don't know where God is in this struggle. I feel like he's busy, or like he's unconcerned with what my heart's desire is (to be healthy). I am angry that I have to struggle so much (and have a violent stomach flu) just to lose 0.8 pounds. Really? At that rate, it would take me 3 years to lose the weight I want to lose. I'll never make it.
I am feeling my normal weigh-in frustration blues. I was hopeful that the stomach flu would help me lose some weight. I did lose 0.8 lbs, but I am beginning to grow weary of the pace of my weight loss.
I started going back to Weight Watchers in late November; over the past 2 1/2 months, I've lost 2.5 pounds. That's it. Really, 2.4, but I'm rounding up. I feel really defeated, beaten down and discouraged.
I am overweight by 140 pounds. That's like an entire other person. I would have thought that losing weight at being that overweight would be easier, not harder. I have watched shows like Extreme Makeover: Body Edition and I hear what those people eat and think; my Lord, I don't eat that at all!! There was a girl who ate like 10 pounds of crawfish at one sitting. 10 pounds!! In my wildest dreams I couldn't consume that much at one meal. I don't eat fast food every day, I'm not hanging out underneath the donut dispenser at the local pastry shop.
I started doing the Made to Crave Action Plan last month. It is a very sensible addition to what I'm doing with Weight Watchers. Lysa asks us to drink 14 ounces of water first thing in the morning, add in Omega 3, add in fiber, add in exercise and subtract some calories. It's not rocket science and any good trainer will say that weight loss is simply an equation; calories in minus calories out.
I just feel like God has stopped listening to my requests for help with this. I have struggled with my weight for my entire life. I'm about to turn 35 and so that's 35 years of just struggling and fighting and not finding peace with myself. 35 years of trying and failing, of getting bigger and bigger.
I want to be better. I don't want to be worried about weight limits on water slides. We went to a water park a couple of towns away over this last summer; as I was getting ready to go down the slide, I saw that I was over the weight limit. It's so humiliating and it feels like I'm such a failure, like I'm not worth God's time.
I don't understand what I have to do. My sister-in-law has lost a significant amount of weight over the past 5 years, but I've had 2 more kids than her in that span of time. She gets up at 4:30 AM to work out; I can't do that. She belongs to a gym; we can't afford that. She spent most weekends last year running ultra type races (26+ mile races). I can't do that, either.
I want to throw in the towel (maybe that would help me lose more weight). I am so done with this body. I feel betrayed because in my heart, I want to be running again. I want to be more active with my kids. But my body just doesn't cooperate. I get winded climbing the stairs and I'm worn out by afternoon time. It feels like I'm just destined to be the mom that can't go down waterslides with her kids.
I don't know where God is in this struggle. I feel like he's busy, or like he's unconcerned with what my heart's desire is (to be healthy). I am angry that I have to struggle so much (and have a violent stomach flu) just to lose 0.8 pounds. Really? At that rate, it would take me 3 years to lose the weight I want to lose. I'll never make it.
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