Still truckin'

Last night I got to see my very good friend who just happens to be my cousin-in-law, Heather. So good for me, I worked out with my other good friend Leslie Sansone earlier since my usual workout time was going to be replaced with girl time. Same deal today, we're taking the Princess to see Despicable Me 2 (though we would totally be going even if we didn't have a kid to take.) So Leslie and I took a really dorky sweaty walkish type thing together.

I kid, but I really love her workouts. They are very doable and she's so encouraging. Plus she has at least 4 kids of her own, so I'm like, man....surely there's hope for me! When I lost weight the first time around (scarily like 10 years ago) I worked with Leslie until I was fit enough to graduate to Billy Blanks. I loved him too. I was so excited when I could get through the instructional Tae Bo video without having to quit (it wasn't even supposed to be a workout!). 

I sure hope I'm encouraging someone with my rambling. I'm happy I have this motivation right now. If only I could bottle it up and save it for the day when it goes away. Because we all know it will! My goal is just when that day comes to fake it til I make it. 

Side note: there is a fly that got stuck under my stove right when I started writing this, and has not quit buzzing trying to get out. That's endurance! I can't see him or lift the stove, otherwise I'd have mercy on the thing. Okay. Blogging about flies. Cue exit.

Two days! Yahoo!

Walk 2 minutes
Run 1 minute
Walk 2 minutes
Run 1 minute
Walk 2 minutes
Run 1 minute 35 seconds
Walk 2 minutes/stretch







This may not sound like a lot to you, but that's more than I've run since....ever.
I don't know why I want to run. (By the way when I used the word "run" up there, it was more like a turtle waddling through mud, but it was more movement than the walking!) But I always have wanted to, in spite of numerous failed attempts at trying to do so without my vision blurring from lack of oxygen.

Part of me was worried about if someone saw me running, and they might think, "Look at that fat girl trying to run, how precious." Instead of what they should be saying, "Good for her!" But I read someone else's blog last night and she made a good point that if people are going to be cruel, they're just going to be cruel whether you're eating a Twinkie or a rice cake. So whatev.

I tracked all my points today. Even the chicken salad croissant and sweet tea I decided was totally worth the points at Delightful Dishes for lunch today. (Thanks, Ginger!) I almost blew it when I was fixing Brynn baby corn dogs tonight for supper and I was STARVING.


I stopped at two though and had a turkey spinach wrap instead. A little less 4-year-oldish supper, if I say so.
So yay for me, I moved my hiney today more than I have and wrote this blog instead of eating the Pringles that were calling my name. 
 

Starting over...for like the millionth time.

On my kitchen table with me right now:

•  a sweet, not very bright cat who I probably shouldn't let sit on the table, but oh well
• Max's high chair tray that has veggie lasagna residue and banana puffs strewn about
• An empty Capri Sun
• 2 lb weights
• a glass of water I've been trying to finish since about 4:00 (it's 7:30)
• two cans of cream of mushroom soup I've been meaning to put in the pantry since...(I guess we ate supper with them on the table, but I didn't even notice.)

Here I am with gobs to do, but I really really wanted to blog tonight. Writing has always been very cathartic to me since I can remember. I used to write stories about Barbie and Ken.
 *intermission to put Brynn to bed*


"Today I did good eating." I can say that today. What does that mean? To me it means I tracked my food and points on my Weight Watcher app. I made good choices, I didn't get too hungry, and I didn't binge.
Yet.

This is the hardest part of the day. Night. Kiddos are in bed *sigh* and no one is looking at me or following me around. I reward myself by not putting my ice cream in a bowl and just diving in. Fewer things make me happier.
And at the same time, really, really sad.
Why is food, meant by God to fuel and sustain us, my favorite pastime and my worst enemy.
This is what food is to me:

I feel the best about myself when I eat right and exercise (as I did today, hence the weights on my table).
I feel the worst about myself when I eat a sleeve of Oreos followed by whatever else I find.
So why do I do it? Why don't I just stop?

The same reason people smoke. Do drugs. Look at porn. Cut themselves. It feels better right then than whatever the abstract negative outcome is.
Somewhere someone said being overweight is like having your deepest, darkest secret out for everyone to see. (If you said it, let me know, I can't find/remember the source.) You can look at me and know I have an eating problem and probably don't make exercise a priority.
This is my thorn. My biggest one anyway. And today I started over. Again. After a sabbatical of stressful IEP season that ran into stressful end of school year that ran into yay! vacation....I'm starting over again.
You know what? I'm going to decide that's ok. Because today was good. That's all I can do right now.

Perfection

Matthew 5:48 ESV 

You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

Ephesians 2:8-9 ESV 

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.

 I already posted a disclaimer last month that I may be way off sometimes in my scripture interpretations according to scholars, but I believe God uses His Word in whatever way we need it. Also noted that anything I suggest be done is something on myself. I'm no hypocrite, I'll never claim to be getting it all right.
I've always been confused by this scripture and the idea that God expects us to be perfect. Really, God? You know we aren't perfect. So then in Ephesians, we see one of many verses explaining that God saves us. Because of Jesus's sacrifice, we are made perfect.
 Well, sort of.  Except that we mess up every stinkin day. We have the gift of forgiveness, then we're pure again, for at least a few hours moments.
A while back though, I started thinking about this and may have gotten a glimpse of clarity.
I love my husband dearly. Way more than I love myself. I really want him to be perfect. Everything I do for him is in some way related to keeping him perfect. If he's sad, I try to cheer him up. I try to keep him healthy (except in the case that this interferes with the first statement, which sometimes requires Reese's Cups). If he messes up (GASP! I know you didn't expect that.) what do I do? I forgive him. Period. Then it's over. We learn from the ways we hurt each other so we can figure out how not to do them again and work again toward that "perfect" marriage. Whatever that looks like.
I love my children. They're not perfect because they're learning. Because they're human. Because they're really weird. (They get it honest.) But I love them as if they're perfect. As if they are CAPABLE of perfection. I hold them to that standard, never saying, "Oh well, they'll never get any better." What kind of parent would I be?
I'm not comparing myself to God, but I am seeing a connection of the love God gives us and the love I give to Erick and my babies. God is love. God is perfect. God makes my love perfect when I am doing it right.
So if I apply this to me...God expects me to be perfect. When I'm not, it disappoints him maybe, but it gives him something to teach me. Regardless what I do that, he's going to love me AS IF I'm perfect. That's always the standard he holds me to, since he equipped us with that gift of forgiveness so long ago.
Love people with God's perfect love. Love as if everyone has the capacity to be perfect. No matter how much they mess up, act out, or how weird they may be. They're good enough for the creator of the universe to die for. The least we can do is love them on earth.

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DISCLAIMER:

 
     This started as a preface to a blog I started to write, but then it turned into enough of an entry itself. The entry that inspired this will come later.
      Here's a big fat unsurprising disclaimer: I'm not a theologian.  I took one required religion class in college that only briefly mentioned Christianity. My validity as a spiritual leader of any sort is only backed by 20 (almost 30, *gasp*) some-odd years of listening to a handful of preachers and many Sunday School teachers, debating scripture with friends, sporadic (at best) personal study, and things I've heard from the I AM Himself (and trust me, I don't take that lightly).   
      That being said, the posts I write are simply what I draw from scripture and how it applies to my life. As was in many cases in my AP English classes, I may perceive them in some way that is off from how they were perhaps originally intended. But perhaps that's how God intended his Word to be. A Davy Jones of sorts.
     I have heard many people say they have read a verse a thousand times, but that 1,001st time they read it, it meant something different. Or that they realized something they never had before. Just like with the story of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32). Remember the first time you realized the father was God and YOU were the prodigal? Or the first time you thought about it from the brothers' perspective? Or the first time you considered YOU were the brothers? I believe you hear and see what you need to at that point in your life.
     All this to say that maybe you think how I've interpreted something is wrong. Maybe you're right. Or maybe I'm just a vessel to show a different light on an old idea.

 

Forgetting to Remember

I forget a lot.
I forget why I go into rooms. I forget why I open the refrigerator. I forget "refrigerator" doesn't have a d even though "fridge" does. I forget who I have told stories to already. I forget to give Brynn her allergy medicine. I forget where I know people from. I forget to charge my cellphone, turn on my alarm clock, hang my keys by the door, put gas in my car, and to pack a toothbrush and/or pajamas on almost every vacation I've ever been on (Once, a long time ago before it mattered as much, thankfully, I forgot to pack a bra. Long story.).
Sticky notes are my friends, even though I don't use them as much as I should. (I forget where I put them.) I really am terrible at these little things. I write stuff on my calendar and then forget to look at the calendar. I even have notifications sent to my phone as text messages to do things and if I don't do it RIGHT then, well...you know.
Something that's been bothering me lately though is that I'm forgetting to pray. I mean, I pray quick little prayers throughout the day. If you need me to pray for you, send me an email. I promise I'll pray for you at least once. I am in the habit of praying right then, before I move to the next email. I pray a little on the way to school, until something comes on the radio or down the road that catches my attention. I pray before supper. (Not even great at remembering to bless my food at breakfast and lunch.)
I give myself a little slack. I do have two small children, a husband, and a full-time job that take 99.9% of my active gray matter 24/7. Max is still not exactly on a "schedule" and Brynn's temperament varies as much as southern weather in the winter. Some nights they let me get a good full 5 hours of sleep and other nights I get 2 hour spurts. Hence, some mornings I'm bright eyed and bushy tailed at 5:30, others I'm telling myself I will be fired if I don't roll my hiney out of bed and be in my car in 10 minutes.
I tell myself that if the creator of the universe has time for me, surely I can carve out some time for Him. But even Jesus was never a mommy! Just sayin'! I'm joking. Sort of. But all guilt and excuses aside, I have to find some way to pray ON PURPOSE. Not just when it crosses my mind. Because obviously, I can't count on my mind to remember, "Oh yeah, I need to shut out all other distractions and talk and listen to God." I don't know exactly how to do that yet. Early morning is my best bet, but there's the aforementioned sleep issue. There's night when the kiddos are in bed (assuming they'll stay like that), but I'm always so tired I honestly think I'd fall asleep. As some of you saw in my facebook picture, I don't regularly get alone time, even in the bathroom. I know one day the babies will be older and (maybe) then it will be easier, but it will always have to be on purpose.
So here's my prayer today:
Dear God, help me figure out the best way to make more time for you. Make me see past my excuses and be open to whatever I need to do. Forgive me for when my priorities are out of order. Thank you for loving me all the time, not just every so often when you think about it. Thank you for making me who I am, even when it's frustrating to me and you. Help me always remember to show your love to others by the way I treat them. I love you all the time, even if I forget to say it or show you. Amen.