...tHe bEsT oF Me...

My friend once said, "My music is the soundtrack of my life." I've often thought that it would be so cool to have music play in the background...as I go through my day...just like in the movies. Music is so powerful...it can enlighten...it can enrage...it can calm...it can motivate...it can bring out a whole range of emotions...and it can bring the most complicated situation into focus.

I like all kinds of music and I listen to music a lot. Everyday while I put on make up and do my hair...everyday when I do my cardio...everyday in the car...I listen to music. I'm going through some inner turmoil and confusion. I feel drained and I almost feel like I've forgotten who I am in my quest to become more. I was on the phone with my husband the other day and I said, "I just need a break...I just need to loosen the noose...". I immediately thought of a line in a song that I like to listen to when I workout..."The Best Of You" by The Foo Fighters. This song is truly the soundtrack of how I feel right now.

Once...a long time ago...when I was working out...my friend told me to jump up, grab the pull up bar, get my chin over, and hang with my legs straight for as long as I could. I did...and I struggled and winced and squirmed to keep my chin above the bar as soon as it got uncomfortable. Another trainer and his client were watching me. When I fell from the bar and got ready to try again, the other trainer said, "Don't screw up your face and wiggle your legs. When you do that, you take the energy that you need to hold yourself up and transfer it somewhere else." What a metaphor for life. I'm taking the energy that I NEED...to improve myself...and I'm using it to struggle in the attempt to "hang on"...when if I would let the pain and fear and frustration go...I would have what I need "to keep my chin up" and hang on a little longer. I've been giving away the best of me...

TODAY I'M TAKING IT BACK.

...mEnTaL pAraLySiS...

I remember the day...not so long ago...that my trainer tried to teach me an exercise...an Olympic lift...the Push Jerk. It's a complicated...advanced movement...one that is difficult to teach and even more difficult to learn. I stood there...feeling extreme pressure. I knew people were watching...and I had been given the instructions...over and over and over. I had failed...many times...and I was afraid. There are so many movements involved that my mind was racing...dip...drive up...open the hips...small jump...not too big...fall under the bar...full extension of the arms. I just stood there...mind racing...staring at myself in the mirror...no words...no movement. It seemed like forever and I knew I needed to go...to try again...to move. Suddenly, I almost felt as though I had stepped outside myself. I was thinking, "Why am I just standing here? Why can't I move?" I could see my trainer's face reflected in the mirror...puzzled look...dead silence. Eventually I did try...again...only to fail...again.

As I sat down to journal my training progress for the day...frustrated...I replayed those events in my mind. I tried to make sense of what had happened. I have never been frozen like that before. It literally felt like I was paralyzed...and in retrospect...I have come to realize that I WAS...paralyzed. I was thinking so hard and I was so scared...that I suffered from mental paralysis. I also realized that this was not the first time that this had happened...it was just the first time I had become aware of it.

I started reading the book, "A Return To Love" by Marianne Williamson. Yesterday, I came across a passage that reminded me of this experience and helped give me some better understanding of why this had happened to me. This is what it said...

"A lot of us know we have what it takes-the looks, the education, the talent, the credentials. But in certain areas, we're paralyzed. We're not stopped by something on the outside, but by something on the inside. Our oppression is internal. The government isn't holding us back, or hunger or poverty. We're not afraid we'll get sent to Siberia. We're just afraid, period. Our fear is free floating. We're afraid this isn't the right relationship or we're afraid it is. We're afraid they won't like us, or we're afraid they will. We're afraid of failure or we're afraid of success. We're afraid of dying young or we're afraid of growing old. We're more afraid of life than we are of death."

I was recently given an opportunity...a chance to do something. I have stressed out...cried...and been excited by the possibilities that it could bring. I have known that it won't be easy...but I have also known that it is the right thing to do. It's just that...I was paralyzed...with fear.

It's hard to step into the dark...not knowing what I'll encounter...but to reach the light at the end of the tunnel...I know that I have to walk through that dark tunnel. I'm really scared, but I'm not paralyzed anymore. After the encouragement of a dear friend...I took the first step. It's dark and I'm nervous and I don't know what to expect...but I am trying my best to focus on the light and move towards it. I am fighting the inner voices that tell me that I can't...that say "What will others think?". I know that as long as I can take the smallest steps...as long as I can "wiggle my toes"...I'm not paralyzed...and that gives me hope.

...iT tAkEs PraCtiCe NOT tO qUiT...

"IN EVERY ENDEAVOR, PEOPLE WHO CONCENTRATE AND REFUSE TO QUIT BECOME THE ELITE." -MARK TWIGHT

Quitting is natural. When I have faced a trial that doesn't seem to resolve itself quickly enough...my first instinct...is to quit. When I feel pain or suffer defeat...my natural response is to quit. I've been a quitter for most of my life. If I was scared...I quit. If I was hurt...I quit. If things got too tough..I quit.

My daughter's swim team coach once said, "After each race, your child should go to their coach before they go to you. The coach will tell your child something positive...something that needs to be corrected...and end with another positive comment." He continued to say, "We are not criticizing your child to make them feel bad, but to help correct their mistakes. We do this because I believe that a mistake that is not corrected, becomes a habit and a habit is harder to correct than a mistake." I think quitting was a habit for me. I know I never intended to become a quitter...but I was...for a long time.

I'm not a quitter anymore. I'm not a quitter because I practice not quitting everyday. They say that "Practice makes perfect." Just as a pianist does not play perfectly the first time they sit at a piano...I did not learn to endure the very moment that I made the decision to stop being a quitter. I don't remember one specific decision. I just know that little by little...I've learned that I can endure...I don't NEED to quit.

Everyday I practice. I practice NOT quitting. When I am sad and I want to climb in bed...when I want to quit my life...I get up and put one foot in front of the other. When I am scared...when I want to quit stepping outside of my comfort zone...I do what I can to face my fears. When someone disappoints me or hurts me...when I want to quit feeling used and close myself off to protect my feelings and my heart...I try to reach out and open up...one more time. When I workout and I feel pain...when I want to quit pushing and stop...I take one more step and go for one more minute.

I'm NOT perfect. Sometimes, I still quit...but I'm getting better. Each time I persevere, I am stronger. Each time I practice not quitting...I become less of a quitter.

...aT hOmE iN mY hEaRt...

My friend and I saw each other the other day for the first time in many months. I had looked forward to seeing him with nervous anticipation. I was nervous about what it would be like after so much time had passed. I was afraid that we would be different...that conversation would be a struggle. I couldn't have been more wrong!

From the moment I saw him across the room...sitting at a table in our favorite Mexican restaurant...I felt comfortable. We talked. We laughed. It was as if no time had passed. We were able to pick up where we left off. That really did something for my heart and soul. As I've said before...I don't have many friends. I may be nice or polite or even friendly towards people...but I only let a few "special" people into my life...my heart. I have missed my friend like crazy. Something reminds me of him almost everyday...a song...a trail...an exercise...many things trigger memories. He's gone and won't be back...I settled that with myself a long time ago. He's happy where he's at...so I will put MY feelings aside and be happy for him too.

I don't know if I'm really dumb...or if I'm getting really old...or if I'm just very perceptive...but I seem to be learning more and more about life these days. After worrying about and anticipating our meeting for no reason...after having a lunch that was heaven to me (good food and one of my favorite people to share it with)...after driving away...still smiling 5 minutes down the highway...I realized that people may leave us physically, but if they are truly our friends...they never really go away because we keep them in our hearts.

When my friend called me a couple of months ago and said he was on his way "home" from Taiwan...I immediately thought that he was coming back...here...because I thought of THIS as home. When I realized that he was referring to a place very far away...a place he now calls home...I have to admit, it made me a little sad. I understood him staying there, but couldn't handle him calling it "home". The word home means a lot to me. Home is a familiar place...a place filled with people that know our stories...our history. Home is a place we can come to at the end of a long, hard day...for rest...a safe haven...a place to recover and renew. Home is a place where we can be our true selves. Our home is a place where we can rejoice when something good happens...we can sing in the shower...and jump for joy on the bed. The walls of our home keep our secrets. It is our sanctuary.

What I realized the other day, was that...when I am with my friend, my soul is relaxed and my heart is at home. His mailing address is not what matters. What matters...is that regardless of where he lives...or where he calls home...I'm secure knowing that a part of him is always here with me. If he wants to call Montana home...it's really okay...because he is always at home in my heart.

...like the night before Christmas...

There are certain times in everyone's life that are memorable...times that are universally memorable. Christmas...getting married...having a baby...the first day of school...these are a few that come to my mind when I think of memorable times. They are times of excitement... nervousness... happiness... and anticipation.

I'm not a patient person. I don't like to wait...and I'm not one for surprises. I like to know how and when things are going to go down...so that I can prepare...so that I can get rid of some of that dreaded anticipation. I hate the way my mind races...trying to figure out what will happen. I worry about the outcome. Will it be as great as my mind has built it up to be? Will Santa bring what I wanted? Will my baby be healthy? Will the other kids at school like me? Will I be happy? What will I do if I'm not?

I realized tonight...that ridiculously enough...not only do I try to plan every detail so that things go the way I think they should...I try to plan my reaction...in advance. The anticipation sucks...but as much as I dread it...the anticipation is part of what makes these times memorable...exciting...great.

Tonight feels kind of like the night before Christmas for me. I'm so excited. The day that I have been waiting for...for a month...is here. I'm so happy. I will get something that I have wanted...something that I had given up on. I'm so scared. If this is not as good as I hope it will be...I'm not sure how I will react. I'd like to say that I can't control it...que sera sera...that life will go on...that it doesn't matter...but I'm not so sure about that.

My friend...the one I have missed terribly since he left months ago...is here...in town. We are going to meet for lunch tomorrow at our favorite restaurant. I have been looking forward to tomorrow ALL WEEK! I can't wait to see him with my eyes. Sometimes, I almost feel like I am forgetting what he looks like. I can't wait to talk...to laugh...he ALWAYS makes me laugh.

Today I started to feel nervous...which I didn't expect. When we talk...when we are together...I am always comfortable. Unfortunately, the anticipation is starting to mess with my mind. I'm afraid we won't have anything to talk about. I'm afraid he is seeing me out of obligation..not desire...that he will be in a rush to get done and leave. I'm afraid that maybe he will have changed...maybe he won't think I'm so great anymore...that things will be awkward or not go well. I'm afraid that if things don't go well...that I will be sad...REALLY sad.

My mind plays tricks on me, but my heart is different. My heart reminds me that he is my friend...a true friend...one that is there NO MATTER WHAT. My heart remembers how happy I am when we spend time together...when we talk...when we laugh. My heart tells me not to worry...to enjoy the moment that I have waited for. It would be "easy" in a way to give up or brace myself for the worst, but I won't. I will be confident in my friendship. I will trust my friend. Tomorrow will be everything I am hoping for.

...lUcKy...

I've never considered myself lucky. I don't win contests. Opportunities don't just fall in my lap. I have to work for anything I get...I always have. I trip on cracks. I often say the wrong thing. I laugh at completely inappropriate times...times when I'm scared or nervous or when I am trying to avoid crying. It never fails...it rains and my umbrella turns inside out...getting me wet in spite of my effort to stay dry. I've always wanted to be lucky. When I was a little girl, I would sit in patches of clover...searching for a lucky four leaf clover...sometimes for hours. I never found one.

I don't get a chance to read much in my everyday life. If I'm sick or recovering...or if I'm on vacation...I'll read several books, but normally I don't take the time. Almost two months ago when I was laid up after surgery, I went through a week where I read 4 books. One book was a memoir written by the author of another novel I read years ago, Alice Sebold. She writes about her brutal rape and beating when she was a freshman in college and how it changed her life and her relationships as she struggled to deal with what happened to her. The title of her memoir is, "Lucky". It is titled as such because upon giving a description of the events and where they took place, the police told her that another girl had been killed and dismembered in the same place that she was attacked. They told her that in comparison...she was "lucky". It's an ironic title...a title that makes one stop and ask what it really means to be "lucky".

I started my marriage dirt poor. I cried every month when I had to pay the bills. We had one car...with no air conditioning. I got up at 4:30 AM to get ready to be at my job by 6AM at a convalescent home where I changed elderly people's diapers and fed them and sat with the ones that never got a visitor. We wore coats in our house in the winter because we couldn't afford to heat our tiny, old house. I watched other students...my same age...that were married and lived in nice apartments and that drove new cars that their parents paid for. I felt jealous...unlucky. It's been a long time since then. We are no longer dirt poor. We are very comfortable. Now I know that we were not unlucky. We appreciate what we have and where we came from, because we had to work hard to achieve success. Now I realize that we were lucky to have had the opportunity to become stronger and more grateful during the years we struggled to "make ends meet".

I've had to watch my weight my whole life. I'm not naturally thin. I always looked at "skinny" people and wondered why I couldn't be lucky like them. At one point, I weighed 200 lbs. I was miserable. I lost the weight. It was hard and it took me a long time. I had to fight for every pound I lost. I still fight...everyday...to maintain my weight loss. Now, I know that I am the lucky one, because I am in better shape. I am stronger, because I have to work to be thin. It's a conscious choice and only I can take credit for what I have become.

I have never been a "popular" kind of girl. I always had friends growing up, but I never had many...and most were guys. I've always felt insecure and socially inept. I am easily misunderstood. People that don't know me think I am a snob. I'm not. I am better now than ever, but I still have few friends and spend most of my time alone. I look at the groups of women together in restaurants during lunch...talking...laughing. I watch them from my table...alone. I think how lucky they are. I wish I wasn't alone. I feel unlucky. Then I get a phone call from a dear friend and my perspective changes. I may not have many friends, but I care so deeply for the few I have. They are not disposable...or one in a pool of many. Each one holds a place in my heart. Each one has made a difference in my life. That is worth more than a lunch date full of giggles and fake small talk. I am lucky to have a few true friends that I cherish.

This ironic title has helped me reevaluate what it means to be lucky. Life doesn't have to be easy. Friends don't have to be many. Money does not have to come free. I don't need to win contests. Raindrops eventually dry up. It's okay to struggle...to go without...to be left wanting. Sometimes, lucky is a state of mind...a choice. I am lucky, because I work to be so.

...pOweRfuL bEyONd mEAsUrE?...

"Our greatest fear is not that we are inadequate,
 but that we are powerful beyond measure.
 It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us.
 We ask ourselves, '
Who am I to be brilliant,
gorgeous, handsome, talented and fabulous?' 
Actually, who are you not to be? 
You are a child of God.
 Your playing small does not serve the world.
 There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
 so that other people won't feel insecure around you.
 We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us. 
It is not just in some; it is in everyone.
 And, as we let our own light shine, we consciously give other people
 permission to do the same. 
As we are liberated from our fear,
our presence automatically liberates others."

-Marianne Wiliamson

I sat on my bed with a sandwich Saturday afternoon. I turned on the TV and surfed for something to watch while I ate. I couldn't find anything so I settled in and left the channel on a movie that I really had no interest in..."Akeelah And The Bee". As I watched...surprised that it was better than I expected...I heard a part of this quote. I put down my sandwich and immediately searched online for the quote in it's entirety. It was like a switch flipped in my head. I pride myself on the fact that I tend to see the world a bit differently than most other people...but this was something truly different...life changing...thought provoking.

"Am I really inadequate or do I pretend to be? Do I pretend because I am afraid? Am I afraid of my own greatness? "

I'm not sure that I know the answers to these questions. I do know that I have lived my life worrying about what others think...worrying that I won't measure up. What I didn't realize until I heard those words, was that I have not only lived in fear of not measuring up...but I have lived in fear of achieving too much. I'm afraid I won't be good enough and people won't like me...and I'm afraid I'll be too good and people will hate me for it. I'm not sure how to change the way I feel...how to harness the power that I have within...but I guess recognizing that it is there...is the first step towards truly becoming "powerful beyond measure".

...wOrDs tO liVe bY...

I love collecting poems and quotes, and I LOVE to shop! I have an addiction to buying workout clothes...and jeans...and shoes... As I was shopping for lululemon workout pants...(still haven't worked up the nerve to spend that much on a pair of workout pants...no matter how great they make a butt look)...I saw this and I LOVED it! It's from both worlds I love...shopping...and quotes. It's a bit hard to read, but if you click on it...it will enlarge. It contains some great "mantras", some good advice, and many words to live by. It made me happy, so I thought I would share...


Here are the top three things on here that I need to work on:

1. "DO ONE THING A DAY THAT SCARES YOU"

2. "SUCCESSFUL PEOPLE REPLACE THE WORDS 'WISH', 'SHOULD', AND 'TRY' WITH 'I WILL'. INEFFECTIVE PEOPLE DON'T.

3. "CHOOSE A POSITIVE THOUGHT. THE CONSCIOUS BRAIN CAN ONLY HOLD ONE THOUGHT AT A TIME."

What do YOU need to work on???

...mIss AlmOsT...mIss mAyBe...MiSS haLfwAy...

I love Grey's Anatomy. Those darn writers and their stupid strike really screwed it up for me this season. I have characters that I like and ones that I don't...ones that are in between...

I love George...he's the guy friend that is always there when you need him...when everyone one else has left or given up. My only complaint...he's such a tortured wuss sometimes...and Callie...UGH!...can't stand her. I call her "McNasty Man Face". Dr. Bailey...she's the bossy "Mama" that you can't help but love. Even when she's mad...she makes me smile. Christina is annoying, but I can relate to her torturous pursuit of perfection and her inability sometimes to be close to people...her fear of being vulnerable. "McSteamy" is a pompous ass...a hot, sexy pompous ass. He's the bad boy that we all love to hate...the one we know we can't trust...but still can't resist...still want. Sometimes, I think I'm one of the few women in the world that HATES "McDreamy". I don't find him to be desirable...in ANY WAY. He's selfish and indecisive. Alex...he's the guy that tells it like it is. He doesn't sugar coat anything. He's unapologetic...but when Denny died and he carried Izzy off the bed...I loved him. Speaking of Izzy...Izzy is my favorite. I love her moments of greatness that come out of nowhere...her "blonde brilliance". It is so unexpected...such a breath of fresh air. I love that she is so much more than the beauty visible on the outside. It cracks me up when she jumps to crazy conclusions...and they're usually wrong...like when she thought "Mc Nasty Man Face" wanted to "fight" her in the cafeteria. I can relate to her crazy moments when she loses it and freaks out...inappropriately...in front of everyone. I LOVE that she laughs at inappropriate times...I can SO relate to that one...just ask Dr. Collini!

And then there is Meredith...I have a love/hate relationship with Meredith. Her constant self reflection...her self absorbed rants...her never ending internal issues can drive me nuts...that's the hate part. But I can't totally hate her, because I can relate to her in some ways...not in the screw random people way...or the "me me me" way...but in the broken...damaged..."I have issues" way. It's hard to be strong and talented and capable and likeable...and indecisive and fragile and scared and difficult at the same time. I know because I live it...every day...so as much as she drives me nuts...I can't hate her because it would be like hating a piece of myself.

So often, I've referred to myself as "MISS ALMOST"...almost smart enough...almost nice enough...almost strong enough...almost pretty enough...almost skinny enough...I feel like I'm...almost...but never enough. When I got the Grey's Anatomy Soundtrack and heard the song, "Miss Halfway"...I said, "That's me! I actually hear those voices in MY mirror everyday!" That's me..."Miss Almost...Miss Maybe...Miss Halfway". Take it or leave it! Love it or hate it! That's me.

...tOO oLd???...

I have always hated the thought of getting old. Even when I was 13, I specifically remember saying that I was going to have plastic surgery when I "got old" and that I wanted to die at 35 because I would be "too old to do anything". Some things change, while others remain the same. Being older than 35, and in the best physical shape of my life, has changed my adolescent thoughts of what is "too old"...at the same time, being older than 35 also validates the fact that I don't want to get old. I hate wrinkles. I hate fighting gravity to keep my butt up where it should be. I spend a lot of time and money trying to look my best and not look like a frumpy old "mom". I feel like everyday, I'm fighting a losing battle against time. I do what I can, but believe me...no one is mistaking me for a twenty something!

I took my daughter to her first concert almost a week ago. I didn't really feel up to it physically being only 2 weeks after surgery. My sister was more than willing to take her for me and they would've had fun, but I wanted to be the one to have that first experience with her. As I stood there waiting to buy her a concert t shirt..I thought about how long it had been since I had been to a concert. It all felt so unfamiliar. I mean what happened to holding up a lighter during the concert? Now they sell flashing glow sticks! I looked around and saw all the girls...excited...squealing...wearing homemade shirts expressing their "love" for their favorite Jonas brother. When I looked over at my daughter smiling...her braces reminding me that my baby is growing up...I suddenly felt so old.

Where did the time go? When did I become middle aged? When did my every move become so "embarrassing" (according to my 12 yr old)??? You hear "old people" say that their life has passed in the blink of an eye...that they still feel young on the inside...which seems unbelievable when looking at the outside. We are told to take time to stop and "smell the roses"...to enjoy every moment...because time is fleeting. I always thought it was a crock...a bunch of crap...but I had a moment where time stopped for me standing there...surrounded by shiny braces and high pitched screams.

I realized that time is more precious than any of us think...that it will slip away from you if you are not careful. We should hold onto the "moments" in life as if we are trying to carry water in our hands. It will always pass...go away...eventually slip through our fingers...but we should carefully hold onto it for as long as possible...long enough to make memories. I realized that I can't stop time...I can't stay young forever...and wrinkles are inevitable. I'll probably always be embarrassing to my children...and I will never be 25 again...but I will always have the memories that I make.

The music started and all the girls' painful screams pierced through my ears. Everyone stood...even us "old" parents. My daughter started jumping...hands in the air...dancing with a sense of hesitation and the awkwardness that comes with being 12. I stayed still for a moment...knowing that any movement or enjoyment on my part would be humiliating to my daughter. I couldn't take it anymore! I threw my hands up and started to dance right next to her...waiting for her reproach. Just a short while earlier, she was correcting me for pretty much anything I was doing...and she wasn't being nice about it. I braced myself for some harsh words...but to my surprise...she turned and smiled and jumped a little higher and danced with a little more confidence. For a brief moment...I was young again...and together...we made a memory.

...soMetiMes gOOd guYs dOn't fiNisH LaSt...

Some say that good guys finish last. I hate to admit it, but being the ultimate pessimist...I have always agreed with this. I am not implying that it is bad or wrong to be a "good guy"...and I am in no way suggesting that guys should all be mean and reckless. I've just seen it happen with people I like way too many times...and I'm embarrassed to say that I had my share of crushes on a number of "bad boys" in the past as well. I can think of a handful of guys that I was so attracted to in college. It almost seemed...chemical...uncontrollable. I knew it would never last and I knew my heart would suffer in the end, but still...those were the ones I wanted.

Now that many years have passed and I am "an old married lady"...one that chose a "good guy" in the end...I see how dumb it really is...this stupid law that we girls perpetuate. It is funny that what I once did, angers me now when I see it happen to guys that I love... family... friends. I remember just about 6 months ago...I was feeling frustrated...wondering how a sweet, but immature girl that I know couldn't see how great what she had was...and worse...wondering why such a great guy would accept that and STILL want her after being hurt like that...more than once. I was so mad that she was breaking the heart of someone that I love, but my only solace was that I hoped that one day...she would look back and regret the decisions she made out of youthful ignorance...that she would see that she wasn't going to find a better guy than the one she was throwing away.

That "good guy" has struggled and been through a seriously life changing experience since then. He's been through some pretty challenging times...externally adapting to a new life...and internally finding balance in that new life. I've often wondered how someone so great could be alone...why he seemed to finish last in love.

Now...he is happy. Finally...he has won the prize...a prize far greater than the one he sought after for SO LONG. He has found his "exception"...the girl that is smart enough to see what the others did not...one worthy of him. Nothing is ever certain. People can change over time...but I pray that for his sake...this is it. Lucky for him, there are exceptions to every rule. Lucky for us girls that fall for the "bad boys"... there are still "good guys" that keep trying and don't give up...even when they finish last a few times.

...QUALITY vs. QUANTITY...

Most women don't want a big butt. Most women live in fear that their butt will look big in their jeans. Most women that work with a personal trainer want help becoming smaller...especially when it comes to their butt. Well, it's pretty obvious by now that I am NOT like "most" women...in this way or in many other ways. I like my butt big and round.

My old trainer, my friend...he understood and he delivered...I had a big butt...a really good, high, big butt. But most people...most people think I'm crazy...they wonder why ANY woman would WANT a big butt. My new trainer is surprised by this. He asks, "Do you REALLY want a "badonka donk butt"? My brother asks me if I know I'm a white girl...and YES...I know I'm a white girl. Lots of people think it's a joke...it's understandable. So, one day, I'm talking to a big, body builder type trainer at the gym. We are talking about my workouts...my diet habits...just random "workout stuff". And then...somehow...we got on the subject of my butt and my desire for it to be bigger. He laughed and said, "Now remember...there's a difference between quantity and quality!" We laughed and the conversation ended...but it got me thinking...not just about my butt...but about everything in my life.

The last few days...laying in bed recovering after surgery...I've had some extra time to think. It is so interesting to see who in my life is really here...when it's hard...when it's not fun...when I need help...when I have nothing to offer. I've always felt a bit sad that I don't have many friends...worried that I'm not good enough. I feel unlucky...like I'm missing out on something. I was home alone on Saturday...it was quiet...I had just woken up from a good, hard, drug induced nap. I was laying in bed, trying to wake up, and I decided to open my computer. A friend sent me an e-mail checking on me. After reading it, I thought about my friends and I thought about those words I heard not so long ago... "Now remember...there's a difference between quantity and quality!".

AHA! Everything became clear. No, I don't have a large QUANTITY of friends, but the few I have are QUALITY friends. I have a sister that is the best friend I will ever have. She's been there my whole life...she doesn't just know my history...she's part of it. She knows my darkest secrets and she has been a part of my greatest joys. We can speak to each other without saying a word. She can tell me things that no one else can. She is my greatest cheerleader. She thinks she needs me...that I am the strong one...but I know that it's the other way around. She is the reason that I tell my daughters, "You will never have a better friend than your sister." S, I love you with all my heart!

I have a dear friend...one of my favorite people in the world. I like him so much that I let him tell me what to do...and I don't let ANYONE tell me what to do. He has pushed me to my limits and he has comforted me in times of sorrow. He has helped me see the world differently and helped mold me into the best version of myself. No one makes me laugh like he does. He is far away now...and I miss him all the time...but even after all this time...when we speak...it's as if no time has passed. When we speak...I am happier than I was before. We can talk about anything...from frozen dinners to religion. He has an amazing...almost scary ability to call or text me at the very moment that I need him the most. He IS truly my real life super hero. W, I feel privileged to call you my friend!

I have a new friend...my new trainer. We are just beginning to know each other, but still he has shown genuine concern in times of trial. He has been my workout partner and has helped me accomplish one of the things I thought I would never do...because he refused to believe me when I said, "I can't." and he didn't give up on me. He has reminded me that there is always room for improvement. His texts and emails over the past week, have let me know that I may be gone but I am not forgotten. J, I haven't known you long, but I'm glad that our paths have crossed!

Last but not least is my husband...not only is he my partner and my love...but he is my friend. We may be two very different people with very different ideas at times, but we always find a way to meet in the middle. He has put up with me for many years...and he has sacrificed HIS wants for mine...many times. After almost 2 decades, we haven't run out of things to talk about. He has loved me for better or worse...fat or thin...happy or sad. He appreciates my strengths and forgives my weaknesses. He loves me when I am most unloveable...he allows me the space I need to grow...and he's given me the most precious possessions I have...our kids. I love you, P!

I've realized that while I've been looking for more...I should've of been appreciating the abundance of what I have. What I have, may not be great in numbers...but what I have...is precious...priceless. What I have...is QUALITY!

"i'M nOt a BoY!"

It seems like girls hate me. I have had some really good girlfriends in my life, but they have been few and far between. I wasn't a sorority girl. I've never had the big group of girlfriends that hangs together on a regular basis. All the "girls" at the gym take classes together, while I prefer to lift weights and flip tires...you know..."boy stuff". They all congregate and talk to each other...but they just stare and whisper when I'm walk by. I'm not sure why it is this way...but it is. It hurts my feelings but I can't change the way people react to me. I had to accept the fact that I'm different than most girls a LONG time ago.

Most of my friends have been guys. Guys don't create drama...they don't call to ask what you're wearing...they don't need an entourage to go to the bathroom...they respect strength and calluses...and they don't hate you for trying to look your best. I'm a pretty straight forward kind of person, so it's easy for me to offend girls...most of my guy friends have always found me to be funny...a refreshing change of pace. They don't take everything so personally. We girls...we tend to personalize everything. It just feels easier...more natural for me to be friends with guys...even now. It used to be alot easier than it is now. Now it's hard because I'm a grown, married woman with children. If I am not careful, people could get the wrong idea about my friendship with a man. It stinks because we can't really go to lunch or movies. Consequently, I spend alot of my "free" time alone.

When I was younger and single, there was always the fear of someone developing a crush...but that was never much of a problem for me. Even now, when I've had good friends that were men...I've had people warn me to be careful. I always laugh it off, because I never even imagine any of these guys being attracted to me in the least. In the movie, "When Harry Met Sally", Harry says, "It's impossible for a man to be friends with a woman he finds attractive.". I think that's true...so I always feel "safe" with my guy friends. At the same time, I question the way they see me and it affects my self esteem. It bothers me.

The thing that bothers me is that I feel like my guy friends think of me as a boy...like I'm one of their poker buddies. I don't want them to be attracted to me, but it's hard on my ego. I want to be able to be friends, but I still want them to treat me like I'm a girl...I want to feel like they see me as...feminine. It's not that they are mean to me or treat me badly in any way. It's quite the opposite...it's just small things. For example, I don't want them to spit and burp in front of me...because boys don't do that in front of girls that they respect. If they care what a woman thinks, they control themselves and are on their best behavior. I feel like the men at the gym...the ones that I can "hold my own with"...and my personal trainers that I come to consider friends...don't see me as a girl...as a lady. I know alot of this is my fault...I always try to be such a bad a**...I'm always so tough. The thing is...I'm not really tough...seeming tough is my protection. It hides how vulnerable I really am...but no one else knows that so it adds to the whole "boy" thing. I wonder if I come off as masculine. I don't mean to. I feel like I'm very feminine. I wear cute, tight jeans...I get my nails done...I have flowers painted on my toes...I'm obsessed with shoes...and I almost always wear high heels and makeup. It's so frustrating, because I wonder what exactly it is that I do that makes me come off as one of the guys.

I actually have to clarify one thing...the thing is...that I want my guy friends to see me as a girl...and if they treated me as such, it would be great. HOWEVER...I would ONLY want them to do this if they could remain comfortable around me...familiar. I would never want them to behave in a super professional, proper way when it comes to me. I LOVE that they are so comfortable around me...I just wish they could see me from both sides of the spectrum. I wish they could see that even though I'm strong and I work out hard...I'm also fragile and sensitive some times. I wish they could see that even though I sweat like a boy when I'm working out...that when I come home, I take off those sweaty clothes and I shower and put on makeup and high heels. I wish that they could see that even though I try not to be a baby about things and I never demand to be waited on...I still want to have the door held for me...I still want to be protected and treated like a lady. Some days I want to scream "I'M NOT A BOY!". I don't say anything because I don't want them to do these things because I tell them to...or out of pity or duty...I want them to see past the tough exterior and I want them to see me for who I am and treat me accordingly. I guess it's impossible to have things both ways. I just wish they could see me for what I really am, because what I am...is a girl.

...RiSiNg fROm tHe AsHeS...

I'm a passionate person. I don't always express my thoughts or show them outwardly in an obvious way...but I always feel them intensely. When I like something...whether it's food, a person, or an idea...whatever...I really like it...love it...think it is the best. When I don't like something...I really don't like it...I have no tolerance for it...and there is not much anyone can do to change my mind. Consequently, my emotions can swing pretty far in either direction depending on the day and circumstance. When I am sad or hurt...when I fail...when I am disappointed...it is so difficult for me to overcome. I always succeed in overcoming eventually. It's just that I feel like it's almost impossible to right my wrongs...to forgive...to start over. So, I struggle and get "stuck".

I think sometimes I get stuck waiting...waiting for someone to help me...to save me. I'm not the kinda girl that gets "saved". I've never been good at being a damsel in distress. I don't wait in the tower for my prince. I usually try to find a way to get myself out. Sometimes it makes me feel sad, like I'm not worthy of saving...so I've never really given anyone the chance to save me. I always assume that he doesn't, but if the prince ever shows up...I'm already gone. I wonder if it's because I'm not pretty enough...or maybe it's because I'm not likeable...or as good as all the other "princesses". Sometimes, I wish things were different. Sometimes I am glad.

I read a quote once that said, "You save yourself or you remain unsaved." and that's how I've always tried to live...like a phoenix. The phoenix was a mythical bird that lived for 500 years. There was only one phoenix at a time...all the phoenix had was itself. It was thought to be able to restore itself when it was hurt or wounded. I find it interesting that it was considered invincible...NOT because it couldn't get hurt...but because it could repair itself when it was hurt...even the phoenix could get wounded. After 500 years, it was said to build a nest that it would ignite in flames. The nest and the bird would burn so intensely that they would both be reduced to ashes. Out of the ashes, a new phoenix would be born. The phoenix is a symbol of rebirth and renewal, but not only was the phoenix thought to be reborn...it was thought to come back stronger than it was before.

I've had some things going on in my life in the last week that have felt a bit out of my control. Some days, I feel stuck and I get mad...mad because I wonder why I always have to deal with this kind of stuff...mad because my perception is that somehow I am different or less fortunate...mad because it's not fair. The fact is that even if I am unlucky...even if it isn't fair, I can't change it. That's how life is. We take the cards we are dealt and try to make the best hand possible. You win some and you lose some. Life is a journey...a test...a time of growth...a trial. We should all want to become better than we are, but it doesn't happen overnight...it's a process. Our trials can make us stronger, but it's not easy...or quick...or painless. It takes effort. We learn from our mistakes. I am no where near being able to compare myself to a phoenix, but I'm trying. I'm trying to take things one day at a time...and when I'm consumed by the "flames" of life...I will try to rise from the ashes...a little stronger each time...like a phoenix starting a new life.

...holding my breath...

I do it all the time. I do it when I'm scared..when I'm surprised...when I'm in pain...when I'm worried...unsure. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it until I hear someone say, "Breathe!". I don't realize how uncomfortable I am until I draw in the first breath and the feeling of relief washes over me. A few days ago I experienced that relief.

My friend has been gone. He still is. I knew I would miss him when he left, but I underestimated how much. He was so many things to me...a coach...a friend...a running buddy...a sounding board...a student...a teacher...a confidante...and more. I laughed with him. I cried in front of him. I learned from him. I succeeded because of him. He made me happy many times and even made me sad a few times. He helped me realize my potential and changed me for the better.

I was sad when he left, but more than anything I was worried. I was worried that he wouldn't find what he was looking for...worried that he would never come back to train me...worried that he would forget me. In a sense, I've been holding my breath since September 14th. When my friend called me a couple of days ago, I felt relief...I took a breath. I don't think he'll ever be back, but I am learning to accept that. He's my friend and if he's happy, then who am I to tell him to do something different. I just have to keep breathing and be thankful for what I have...my memories...the things I've learned...no one can take those things away from me. I should be grateful and aware of every breath I take. Buddha once said, " "Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn alot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us be thankful."

It's time for me to stop holding my breath. It's time to breathe so I can live.

...bAd mOmmY...

I wasn't a little girl that carried dolls around. In fact, I never remember having a specific doll that I especially liked or played with. I never get "baby hungry" when I hold someone else's newborn. I love to hold them and see their tiny features. I love to cuddle them...and smell their necks...and kiss their cheeks...and then give them back when they start to cry. I've sat in circles of women that talked about how after they gave birth, all they could think was..I want to be pregnant again...I want more babies. After I had my babies...I always thought...I'm glad that's over and I'm not doing that again any time soon. I just smile and quietly wonder. I've always wondered if I am...somehow...less of a woman...a worse mother because I don't feel like most other women .

Being a mom can be one continual guilt trip for me, if I'm not careful. I always worry...am I doing enough?...am I really cut out for this? I remember when my kids were so little...5, 2, and newborn...I was so overwhelmed some days. I couldn't wait for the day when they would get older...the day that I didn't have to change diapers...the day that I could go to the mall without a stroller...the day that I could carry a purse again...a real purse, rather than a diaper bag that doubled as my purse. The list goes on. I foolishly thought it would get easier, and before I knew it, the day came...my kids aren't babies anymore.

As my children get older, the day to day challenges haven't gotten easier...they have just changed. We don't have tantrums in the grocery checkout because they want candy anymore, but when I make them turn off video games to do homework or tell them to go to bed or to set the table...we have tantrums. I use to hate the glares from strangers when my kids would cry in stores, but I would gladly welcome those glares to never have to hear "I hate you. You're the meanest Mom in the world.". My kids don't cry when they are hungry anymore, but I have had to endure tears and complaining when I make them eat one bite of their vegetables. I wanted "a break" when they were little. I was always so tired. Sometimes, these days I wonder if they even need me and I miss the way it felt to hold them in my arms and rock them to sleep.

I wonder if I am a bad mommy because I didn't dream of babies when I was a girl. I wonder if I am a failure because I'm always late. I wonder if I am worthy of this job when I lose my temper. I am ashamed to admit that some days, I want to give up. I'm ashamed because good moms don't give up...they keep trying...no matter what...and I want more than anything to be a good mom. I want to teach my children well. I want to make lasting memories with them. I want them to be proud to introduce me to their friends. I want my children to know that I mean what I say. I want them to know that even if I'm late, I will ALWAYS be there. I want them to know that even though it's hard to hear hurtful words said in anger, that I will always forgive them...again and again...as many times as I need to. Mostly, I want my children to grow up never questioning the depth of my love for them...so even when I am tired and frustrated...defeated and floundering...I will never give up. I will never walk away. I will never stop trying to be a better mom...and I pray that when my children are grown they won't think I was a bad mommy.

...It's time to drop the anchor...

I'm not a person with alot of collections in my house. I don't collect figurines or snow globes or anything like that...it's never been "my thing". The only thing I really collect is quotes. Whether they are poems...or movie lines...or quotes from famous people...whenever I come across a quote that is inspirational to me...I write it down and add it to my "list". I've even been known to pull out my cell phone in a movie to type in a quote or a line that I like...one that is worthy of my collection. Yeah, it's weird, but it's what I do.

In the movie "The Guardian", there was a line that I thought of as I sat down to write today. Kevin Costner's character, Ben Randall, is teaching the young men that are in the Coast Guard about how to be good "rescue swimmers" and this is one of the things he tells them: "There will come a time when you might have to decide who lives and dies out there. It's a terrible responsibility but it's one you will have to make as a rescue swimmer. The bigger reality is, its also something you are going to have to live with as a human being. There will come a time when you will have to say no. The most important person to keep alive is yourself."

I've been thinking about letting go...letting go of the things in my life that are drowning me...the things that will kill me in a sense if I continue to hold on to them. "The most important person to keep alive is yourself." I heard that line in my mind as I thought about some of the people and things that are like an anchor around me. Sometimes it's easy to let go...and sometimes it takes the feeling of struggling to tread water before I realize that I have a decision to make.

I don't let go or give up easily...especially when it comes to the people that I care about...but there's only so long that a person...even a strong person...can tread water before they drown. I can't control other people. I've learned that the hard way. The only thing I can control is myself. I have to make my own decisions. I have to know when to walk away...when it's time to save myself...because the fact is that these so called anchors in my life that are dragging me down are not chained to me...I am holding onto them...I have to let go...I have to drop the anchor or I will drown. It's hard to walk away before you're ready. It hurts to mourn someone that is still alive. Sometimes, we have to choose ourselves over others in order to live.

..."FERGALICIOUS!"...

I write a lot of serious...sometimes sad stuff, but I'm not a sad person. I want to write about something that brightens my day and makes me giggle when it comes to mind. There's a proverb that says, "Laughter is the best medicine." Years ago, I wouldn't have believed that, but today I know that is true. It makes me sad when I realize that I have gone through an entire day without laughing. I used to laugh all the time. I don't know why or what was so funny, but my friend used to make me laugh almost everyday that I trained with him...sometimes it was a giggle...sometimes it was long, loud laughter. Consequently, when something funny happened to me, I loved to tell him about it, because he appreciated the humor and usually had an equally funny retort. There's one particular "funny" that is my favorite.

I remember one day, my oldest daughter and I were stopping by Target. I don't know what for, but she wasn't exactly thrilled. You see, she's almost 12, she hates to shop, and I am the most embarrassing Mom ever! She was complaining as we walked in and I was trying to bite my tongue and ignore it. We got what we needed and waited in the "10 items or less" line. You couldn't help but notice the cashier right away. He was kind of a goofy lookin guy with an outgoing personality and a quick wit. I started to watch him closely because I noticed that even if they resisted at first, every customer..old or young...cranky or cheerful...left his line smiling at the very least..most left laughing. As we approached our turn, I noticed a man behind me. He was hard not to notice. He was a big, muscular guy, mid 20s, Corona tshirt, camo shorts, and backwards baseball cap. He looked like a manly man. He was holding something under his arm. I noticed that it was almost as if he were hiding something, but turned around to pay for my purchase and take my turn at a laugh. I don't remember what the cashier joked with me about, but he did and I laughed...not a roll on the floor laugh, but a small giggle. As I turned to walk away with my daughter, I heard the cashier say in a really loud volume..."FERGALICIOUS! DUDE, AWESOME FERGIE!" Surprised...me and my daughter turned to see that what this guy was hiding was a Fergie CD!!! The guy was not finding this funny...in fact he looked VERY embarrassed...and that just egged this funny cashier on. My daughter and I continued towards the door and our car. As soon as we got outside, we simultaneously looked right at each other and broke into hysterical laughter. My daughter's response through laughter was, "COME ON! A guy buying Fergie?!?" I immediately texted my friend whose reply was something like, "OMG did you ask him if he wanted to borrow some panties?" Again more laughter. My reply, "Nah, I think he already has his own!" My friend and I texted back and forth and my daughter and I would burst into laughter any time we thought about what had just happened.

Now, if we want to laugh or we're feeling silly, all my daughter and I have to do is look over and yell "FERGALICIOUS!!!" and it brings immediate laughter. Laughter can fix so many things. Laughter can bring people together and create memories. That day, laughter helped me go from "the most embarrassing Mom in the world" to someone that wasn't so bad to be around. I dare to say it brought us closer. It changed the entire mood of our trip. So, Corona man...thanks!...Your embarrassing moment created laughter and fun and memories for me and my daughter!

I'm the BIGGEST LOSER!

I sat on my bed and cried off and on for two hours. I had a good day today. I wasn't sad when I sat down on my bed to relax and watch TV, but I get so emotional every time. I can't disconnect myself from people that I don't even know. When other people see me, they automatically assume that I have nothing in common with the people that I cry for...that I couldn't possibly understand their pain. They have no idea that some days when I look in the mirror...I don't see me...strong...thin...healthy me... I see those people looking back at me.

Four years ago, I weighed 200 pounds. I decided that I was ready for a change. I don't know why the number 200 "woke me up". I don't know why 180 or 197 didn't. I just know that I opened my eyes and made a decision. I decided that I didn't want to be out of breath at the top of my stairs anymore. I decided that I didn't want to hate my reflection in the mirror. I decided that I couldn't remain a prisoner in a body that felt uncomfortable and foreign to me. It took me several months to figure out what worked for me and in the end it took me over a year to lose 70 pounds. I didn't go to a doctor. I didn't take pills or starve. I ate better and I ate less and I started working my body. I NEVER thought I could go from a size 18 to a size 2/4. I've never been strong. I've yo-yoed between being fairly thin and being slightly chubby off and on throughout my life, but even when I lost weight, I was never fit...never this small.

My body has changed, but sometimes I think that my mind has not. I struggle to see what others see. That is why I cried tonight while I watched "The Biggest Loser". I cry just thinking about it now. When I see those men and women on the television, I feel their pain and struggle. I KNOW how hard it is...everyday...even now. I know what it feels like to be ignored in stores. I know how it feels to see people's faces when they haven't seen you...in a while...since you gained weight...the disappointment and the shock that can't be masked with kind lies and fake smiles. I know how it feels to wake up hopeless.

My life is totally different today. Today when I walk in a store, sales people look me in the eyes. They speak to me. They help me. Today when I walk in the gym, I feel like I belong there. Today I run to the top of the stairs and back down again and hardly notice it. Today I enjoy shopping and trying on clothing. Today I notice men noticing me..and they no longer have a look of pity or disgust on their faces. Today I am no longer ashamed, but I am proud...proud of how far I've come...proud of the sacrifices that I have made and the lessons that I have learned.

I am not a fat girl anymore, but the fat girl that I once was still lives inside me. Sometimes she's barely noticeable...sometimes she overpowers me. She overpowers me with fear...she tells me that what I see in the mirror is just an illusion...that I am ugly and fat...that it will not last. I'm trying to learn to quiet her, but she is an important part of who I was...who I am. When I see a fat person, I do not judge. I do not make fun. I do not make assumptions. I hope. I hope that one day that person will "wake up" like I did and be reborn. The fat girl that I used to be has made me...kinder...stronger...more grateful. She motivates me to get up every day and work hard...rain or shine...cold or hot...sick or well. So while I will never totally abandon her, I need to ignore her when she lies to me and puts me down. I need to teach the "old me" to accept and love "the new me"...to not be embarrassed by the stares...to believe the compliments...and to accept my beauty.

...wHy cAn'T i bEliEvE?...

Why can't I believe that I am worthy of being loved? Why can't I believe that I am beautiful?...worthwhile? Why can't I believe that dreams really do come true? Why can't I believe what I am told?...that I am loved...that I am capable and strong? Why can't I believe the ones I love?...friends...family...It seems that no matter how many times I am told, I NEVER believe. I doubt. I question. I rationalize and eventually...I reject...sometimes out loud, but mostly in silence with a nod and a fake smile. When I receive a compliment, I wonder if it is a cruel joke or simply given to me out of pity or even duty.

One day a couple of months back, I walked in my bathroom and looked at myself in the mirrors that surround the room. All I could see were flaws...wrinkles on my face...imperfections in my body...the list goes on. I decided to get ready for the day, go out dressed well, and try to carry myself with confidence. I was hoping that I could convince myself that I'm okay through my interaction with other people. So, I put on my cute, tight size 2 jeans, my pink, expensive 3/4 length sleeve jacket, my perfectly matching pink high heels, and I headed out for the day. All day...everyone stared...all day...I was worried...worried about what they were thinking. I created what I fear. I wanted people to see me...to think I looked better than everyone else...and they saw me...but I didn't feel better...I felt...different...strange...bad. I walked through Target at the end of the day before going home. I acted confident, but I felt scared. I caught a man staring. It embarrassed me. I pushed my basket faster in the opposite direction and I looked away. I had to go back to get something I forgot and there he was again...the same man. He had a kind face and he smiled at me. Before I could escape like I had before, he walked towards me...he wouldn't take his eyes off me. He said, "Has anyone told you that you look pretty today?" Shocked and at a loss for words, I spit out one word..."No." He said, "Well, you do. You look pretty." Dumbfounded again, I said one more word..."Thanks." and I walked away. I didn't feel better. I didn't feel good, because I didn't believe. My first thought was, "Do I look so pathetic...so desperate that a stranger felt that he HAD to pay me a compliment?" I know that was not the case, but I told myself that it was. I would not allow myself to believe what he said.

I don't ever remember a time in my life that I felt differently. I'm never...enough. I've always felt second rate. I've always felt "almost" good enough...but not quite. I've always felt like a consolation prize. I'm not sure why..I have a few ideas, but I guess I'll never really know. It has made me seem...hard...tough...and uncaring, but I'm really not. I am soft and fragile...scared and worried...all the time. I want to believe...I just don't know how.

...grandma's swing...

Almost all of my relatives and immediate family were born in San Antonio, Texas. I am no exception. There is one difference though. While all of my relatives lived in San Antonio, my family moved to Arlington, and that's where I grew up. Every year, or even twice a year, my family would drive to San Antonio as our vacation. My mom would stay at her parent's house, and me and my sisters would stay with my Dad at my Grandpa and Grandma's house. We would visit my mom's family, but because we stayed with my dad's parents, most of my memories are there.

My Grandma's house was very old. My great grandfather built it himself. It was a unique house because of it's age. There was a bathtub that stood on feet, tall ceilings, and even a bathroom that had an old toilet with a chain up high that you had to pull to flush it. My grandparents were German. Sometimes my Grandma would speak to my Grandpa in German, especially if she didn't want us listening. She also gave prayers in German. Grandma raised Dachsunds. Her favorite one's name was Schatze, which is German for sweet heart.

My Grandma had lots of costume jewelry in lots of old, fancy jewelry boxes. My sisters and I would sneak them open and look at her jewelry. If she caught us, she'd say, "Uhhh, Uhhh!" in a deep growly voice, and we would close it up quickly. Oh we wanted to try it all on so bad, but we knew we better not. It was special to Grandma.

We had to be creative or it could get boring at Grandma's house. My grandparents had a detached garage and a big open, square drive way behind their house. Grandpa would go out to his shop and get down an old, red wagon and we would take turns pulling each other around the driveway. Our favorite thing about Grandma's was the swing that hung from the ceiling of her front porch. My sisters and I would sit on that swing and just go back and forth, back and forth for hours. If I close my eyes, I can still feel the warm, humid air and hear the way that the chain creaked every time we swung back and forth. My grand parents had that swing there the whole time they lived there. After Grandpa died, Grandma moved to a townhouse to be closer to my aunt and to be in a safer neighborhood. The swing stayed behind.

A few years later, my grandma moved here, closer to my parents, because her health had started to decline and she needed help on a daily basis. She was not ready to give up her independence so my parents got her an apartment within five minutes of their house. They helped her pay bills, took her to doctor's appointments, and took her dinner every night. They basically did anything she needed because she could no longer drive. One of the highlights of Grandma's week was Sunday dinner at my parents' house. She loved to see my three children. They also loved her dearly. Over the years, Grandma's health got worse, and a few years ago she passed away in a hospice home...right before Christmas. I made some precious memories in the last years of my grandmother's life. As I helped care for her and enjoyed her, I grew to love her in a different way. When Grandma died, my sisters and I got to split up her costume jewelry and jewelry boxes to keep as a special memory of her. It was the first time we got to really see all of her precious things that she had protected all those years. I keep it on my bedside table and it reminds me of her.

As I think about all the things I remember, her dogs, the old wagon, my grandma's jewelry, my mind always returns to that creaky, old swing. I cried on that swing, and I laughed on that swing. I talked to my sisters on that swing, and I sat alone and rocked back and forth...back and forth. Over the years, I grew up. I outgrew the old red wagon, but no matter how I changed during the years we visited my grandparents, young or old, I never outgrew grandma's swing.

...LiaR, LiaR paNts oN FiRe!...

It's always kinda funny to me that when you ask a woman what qualities she is looking for in a man, she'll usually always have honesty in the top three. Honesty is important and I do believe that it is a worthy attribute to look for in a relationship for obvious reasons. It's interesting though...I always wonder how many "honest" guys never get a chance because they are not attractive...or rich...or funny...or successful...in addition to their honesty. People are ashamed to say, "I want a good looking guy." or "I want a great kisser." We think it seems shallow, but is it not true? There HAS to be some sort of attraction to get things started. We want honesty, but we are afraid to be completely honest. In a sense, we are all liars.

When I was in college, my best friend Kiem used to say "96% of all jokes are true". Me and Kiem had a...funny relationship...almost like the boy and girl that like each other...only the boy pulls the girl's hair and the girl pretends to be disgusted. We were never anything other than friends...inseparable friends. We had a funny quick witted relationship filled with lots of playful banter, so of course I had to argue and disagree with this philosophy the first time I heard it. A joke is a joke. Jokes aren't true...or are they?

How many times do you say something that gets a reaction that is unexpected, only to say "Oh, I was JUST kidding!"? As I think about this, I realize that this happens ALL the time. Sometimes we are afraid to be honest, so we jokingly say what we mean. Then, if there is any sign of upset or confrontation, we can always say we were "just kidding". I went through a whole day....conciously paying attention to what I said...when I was "just joking". Many times...I wasn't joking.

No one wants to be considered a liar. I know I don't. Maybe my friend WAS right...maybe we should "joke" less and just say what we mean.

...sHaTTereD gLAss aNd sUpeRglUe…

The memory is so vivid…so clear…I remember what the classroom looked like…the other kids’ faces…especially his. Mostly, I remember the way I felt…the painful lump in my throat…the flush of my cheeks…the surprise…the way I held back the tears and masked the pain with a confident shrug. I remember hearing those 2 words, over and over and over again that entire day. I’ve heard those words in my mind at various times in my life for the last 25 years. I was 13 years old and in 7th grade. I was insecure and I never felt pretty, so when those words confronted me…in front of the entire class…they shattered what little self-esteem I had. 2 words…that’s all it took…”YOU’RE UGLY!”

His name was Scott Coppinger. He wasn’t good looking. He lived in a small run down house on a street near mine. He was skinny. He wasn’t popular or looked up to, but it didn’t matter. In fact, those facts made the situation worse, because if a skinny, ugly, nerdy guy thought that, I could only wonder what other people…people that “mattered” thought. I remember walking in the classroom and hearing someone teasing him. I laughed as I walked in, and then everything went in to slow motion as he turned and shouted those two words at me…loudly…in front of everyone. I remember the way I felt. I remember taking my chair, but I can’t remember the rest of that day. I do remember that I did not go home and tell my parents. I was too ashamed.

Childhood and adolescence is brutal. It’s almost like wild animals or a primitive culture…eat or be eaten…kill or be killed. Most everyone has had an embarrassing moment in school or been put down. It’s what people do with those words that help define them. Some people use the torments or unkind words to excel…to succeed or to become better than they were. Some people choose not to believe…to forget...to ignore. Some people cling to the hurt and feed it and nurture it until it has become a part of who they are. I haven’t been called “ugly” in a long time, but I still feel that way sometimes. Some people would be surprised to hear that…think I’m lying even.

It’s like going to a thrift store and seeing a beautiful crystal vase from a distance. You are drawn to it…can’t believe it’s not taken…that it’s in a thrift store. You turn it over to find that it’s Waterford crystal and it’s being sold for pocket change. How can that be? Don’t they know what this is worth? And then…you see it. You see that this vase has been broken and glued back together. It is no longer perfect. What was once an expensive, fine piece of crystal, has no real worth any more. Sometimes I feel like a shattered vase that has been carefully super glued back together. If you don’t pay attention or look closely enough, you won’t notice the cracks…the hurt…the disappointment…the pieces of my heart that have been shattered over time.

It seems like a depressing thing to say, but it’s true. Until I sat to write this, I always felt worthless, because I am broken…damaged…from all the times I was dropped…shattered. As I remembered that terrible day…the one that had a real impact on my life and the way I see myself…I realized that if I treated myself, the way I treat others, my life would be so much better. I would never in a million years think of my children as worthless just because they make mistakes and they are not “perfect”. I would never turn my back on a friend, because of bad choices they made in the past. If someone told my daughter, what I was told, I would tell her not to listen to hurtful lies. I would tell her about all the wonderful qualities she possesses. I wonder why I can’t…won’t do that for myself.

Today, I am saying goodbye to Scott Coppinger, once and for all. I have chosen to carry his mean words and the hurtful memories of that day around with me for 25 years. I don’t want to lug them around anymore. Yeah, I’m a mess…broken…no where near perfect, but I’m not alone. I haven’t cornered the market on pain. There’s no such thing as a perfect person…one that has never been hurt…or damaged in some way. We are ALL full of cracks hidden by superglue and we are all probably stronger because of it.

...hUrTs So gOOd...

From the time my kids were old enough to crawl, I've taught them to be careful. It's for their safety; their protection. I gave them plastic utensils with rounded edges. I "kid-proofed" my house. I was there to catch them when they fell taking their first steps. I taught them not to touch a hot stove, and to be careful not to shut their fingers in the door. I taught them just like my mom taught me and her mom taught her. No matter how careful a parent is, accidents happen. Bones get broken. Eyes get poked. Knees get scraped. Hands get burned, and fingers get smashed. It's a part of life that all parents try to protect their kids from for as long as they possibly can, but in the end, all kids get hurt and feel pain.

By the time we're adults, it's an accepted fact of life. We know that we will get hurt and feel physical pain somehow...somewhere...sometime, but we are programmed from an early age to avoid pain...at all costs...just like I programmed my children when they were babies. We are taught that pain is bad. Pain is scary. When we feel pain, we do everything we can to numb it...bandaids...ice packs...medicine. We want the pain to go away...fast, and we are careful never to repeat the action that caused the pain in the first place.

My body is sore and tired today and my heart hurts. Today, I feel pain, but I guess that's not so unusual for me. I workout...hard..and everyday I feel pain because of this. Sometimes, it's my back. Sometimes, my legs...my butt...my arms. Sometimes, it's my heart; my soul. Sometimes it's hard to tell where it hurts. I just know I feel pain. It hasn't been until recently that I learned to appreciate pain...to like pain. No, I'm not some kinky masochistic freak. I'm someone that has learned to respect pain...to understand it...to work through it...to live in it...to use it for my own benefit rather than fighting against it.

Pain teaches me. It refines me. Sometimes when my muscles ache, and I scramble for the Advil and ice packs, I stop and take a step back. My body is sore...hurting...because today I used it. I worked hard to make myself the best I can be. When it hurt, I didn't stop...I pressed on and grew stronger. When it was hard...I rose to the challenge and built endurance; confidence. The pain, the hurt is an affirmation that I did the best I could. When my heart breaks and my soul is battered, it is because I have been hurt..somehow...by someone...maybe an unkind word or a disagreement...maybe loneliness or disappointment...maybe unrequited love or even betrayal. This pain is much harder for me to embrace. It is very tempting to do whatever I can to ignore this pain...to find a way...any way that I can...to keep from feeling this pain...to stuff it down...to build a wall and shut myself off from the possibility. I've learned that it is important not to push this pain down but to feel it...to acknowledge it...to learn from it, because this pain also teaches me...even makes me better...stronger too. I am learning that it is better to risk this pain than it is to be alone and sacrifice happiness...love...friendship. It may be harder for me to accept the pain of heartache than it is to accept physical pain, but surviving heartache helps me appreciate those that truly love me...that handle my heart and soul with care. It reminds me that the way I treat others really does matter.

Pain is a part of life. It comes whether we invite it or not...embrace it or reject it...work with it or against it. Everyone has experienced the strange phenomenon where pain actually feels good physically. An example being the fact that massaging a sore muscle can hurt so bad and feel so good at the same time. It only takes a moment, but if we jump up at the first touch, afraid to feel the pain, we cheat ourselves out of the pleasure that follows. I will continue to see pain as a positive force in my life; a catalyst for change. I will use it as a gage for progress. I will be patient and brave and wait until the misery subsides and allow the pain to "hurt so good"...again...and again...and again.

...like a hamster on a wheel...

Making beds...washing dishes...doing laundry...taking kids to school...to swim...to soccer...these are just a few of the repetitive tasks that I do almost everyday. They never end. Even if I make beds and do laundry everyday...I'm never really finished, because more clothes get dirtied everyday and those beds get unmade again every night. Many days it is mind numbing. I feel like a hamster on a wheel...feverishly running as fast as I can...around and around and around...not sure where I'm going...never getting any further than I was before...just keeping up.

Sometimes I fantasize about how my life would have been different had I chosen to stay in college...if I had chosen an exciting career path...stayed single...possibly even traveled the world. I try to imagine how different things would be had I chosen this cosmopolitan lifestyle. I imagine a very clean, modern, expensive apartment...with a view...I don't know what the view would include or where it would be...but there would be a view. I envision shiny stainless steel appliances...a fridge with no calendars or hand drawn pictures. I imagine peace and quiet...time to read books uninterrupted...and restful nights of sleep...no nightmares or monsters in closets. I imagine myself in expensive high heels and designer "power suits". I imagine gourmet dinners and lots of parties...glamorous parties full of important people.

Before I know it, my fantasies are interrupted by the cries or demands or giggles of my three children...and I reenter MY world...the one where traveling includes kids that whine and can't carry their own carry on baggage, a beach right here in the US, and days spent doing nothing but lying in the sun reading novels, building sand castles, and breaking up arguments...not hiking the Inca trail or sailing the Mediterranean on a yacht...the one with a comfortable home rather than a modern apartment...the one with a view of the elementary school from my back porch rather than a cityscape...the one that includes jeans and the occasional high heel bought on sale at Macy's rather than Manolo Blahniks and Armani suits...the one that includes McDonald's Happy Meals and Subway sandwiches, not gourmet meals...the one that includes parties, but not glamorous parties...these parties include jump houses, balloons, birthday cakes and squealing children that have had way too much sugar...no fancy hors d'oeuvres or important people. I wonder what I've missed all these years that I've been living as a suburban housewife...and then I realize that I'm looking at my life all wrong.

I have missed out on the glamour and excitement. I have missed out on exotic travel and gourmet meals because of the choices I made...the choice to leave college...to get a minimum wage job and help support my husband while he finished his degrees and accomplished his goals...the choice to have children...to quit my job and stay at home...the choice to spend my days in parks on picnics...in museums...at water parks...and on field trips, not in a board room...or an expensive restaurant for a lunch date...or the first class cabin of an airplane on my way to a business trip. I try to turn my thinking in another direction...I wonder what would I have missed had I chosen the other life I sometimes dream about???

I would have missed out on the miracle of hearing the heartbeat of the life growing inside me for the first time...the surprise of the first kick inside my belly...and the overwhelming feeling of love that washed over me the first time I held my newborn baby in my arms and counted their ten perfect fingers and toes. I would have missed the sweet smell of a baby's neck after a bath...the ability to stop a cry with one kiss...and the feeling of two small hands wrapping around my neck to hug me tight. I would've missed out on the excitement of the Easter Bunny...the thrill of the Tooth Fairy...and the magic of Santa and his elves. I would have missed out the on pictures drawn with crayons that say "I love you, Mom! XOXO" that hang on my white fridge...the one I keep hoping will grow up to be stainless steel someday. I would have missed out on the comfort of my leather couch...the one that I chose, because it was distressed and I knew it wouldn't show the scratches and spills that come with having kids. I would have missed some of the most precious moments of my life...ones worth far more than a pair of Manolos or an apartment with a view.

So, while I still daydream about what could have been...and while I still hate the mundane, repetitive tasks I perform everyday...I am grateful for the choices I have made. What I have is priceless...more valuable than gold. So, I'll continue to get up everyday and wash and clean and do the same tasks that I did the day before, but now maybe I'll stop and be grateful rather than resentful. I'll continue to make the same beds and I'll calm familiar cries. I'll cook out of obligation...not desire...and I'll drive a minivan (the one thing I adamantly said I would NEVER do) to swim and soccer practice...even when I don't want to. I'll be a hamster on a wheel, because the laughter and the hugs and the kisses that come with the job, make it all worthwhile.

tOp tEn fUnNy tHiNgs aBoUt mE...

I've written alot about my fears...my disappointments...and my regrets. It seems that my mind is always working overtime...I probably over analyze everything in my life. Sometimes I think I'm the weirdest person alive. I do strange funny things all the time. I use to be so overly sensitive that I could never laugh at myself or my mistakes. I would get all embarrassed and mad. In the past year, I've learned to laugh at myself, because as strange as these things may be, they really ARE funny. So, I thought it might be a nice change of pace to write something that isn't sad or thought provoking or cynical. I thought it would be fun to make like David Letterman and make my own "top ten" list. Here are the top ten funniest...quirky...possibly annoying things about me:

1. I do "tests" in every dressing room, EVERY time I try an article of clothing on. I turn around to look at my butt in the mirror. I bend over. I sit down in a chair. I sit and THEN cross my legs. To me, this an essential part of the decision to buy or not to buy the clothing. I mean come on, who wants to walk around looking so good in the front only to learn later that those jeans really do make your butt look big!

2. I qualify every statement I say or suggestion I give...with a LOT of words. An example would be that if I were talking to a friend about a relationship issue, I would say something like this," Now I know, I don't know everything about your relationship, and I'm not trying to speak badly of your girlfriend because you know I really like her. I mean I really do. You know that don"t you?...and I know I'm older and I've been married a long time and I'm a girl and you"re a boy and I'm seriously not trying to get in your business or say I'm an expert, because we both know that's not the case. Oh, and even if you ignore my advice, I'll still respect you, but.....I don't think she's right for you." It takes 5 minutes and hundreds of words to preface a sentence with seven words. Hey! I'm just tryin to be nice!

3. I am awkward. I trip and fall off my wedge shoes all the time. My knees bow in. I've been caught doing jumping jacks wrong...YES there is a wrong way to do them...in case you were wondering. I've been told I jump rope "like I'm in third grade". When asked by a store clerk, "Are you sure you have hold of all those bags, before I let go?" (worried look on his kind face) I reply, "Oh yeah! I got it!", turn to walk away and all the bags fall in the floor. The worst part is my awkwardness rubs off on people. The poor man bent over to help me immediately and got stuck and had to struggle to get up...red in the face. I just giggled and thanked him as I turned to walk away...and tripped.

4. I am not stupid, but I'm such an airhead sometimes. Once when I was at a Cowboy's football game with my husband, sisters, and friends, a man approached me at the bar where I was standing with my sister. Mind you...a few minutes before he walked up, he winked and smiled from afar. He said, "What are you drinking?" I replied,"Oh, I don't drink. My sister is just waiting to pay." He then said, " Well (wink-wink), you must be ready to go then. I can get you outta here real quick!" I was excited because the thought never occurred to me that he was picking me up. I thought he had connections and could, in my own words, "expedite our order". Because of my inability to notice that I was being picked up on, the man walked away scratching his head. My sister smiled and said, "You really need to get out more." Another time...Me and my personal trainer were talking and joking about his superhuman, "beast" like strength and abilities. I giggled and got all wide eyed and said all excited, "Yeah. I saw a guy wearing a shirt that said 'HALF MAN. HALF HORSE. and I immediately thought of YOU!" He gave me a kind smile and a shocked look, and replied, "Uhhhh...I don't think that's what it meant!" I was like "What????" and suddenly, moments...days later, I got it. I was so embarrassed and we couldn't quit laughing. Listen...my mind was not in the gutter, it was an honest mistake!

5. I ask a ridiculous amount of questions and say weird stuff like my dad does. I say things like, "I intellectually know Brad Pitt is good looking but I still don't like him." or "I understand the words you're saying, but I don't know what they mean to me." or "I intellectually understand this workout, but I'm not sure how to really do it." What can I say...I like to be sure, and the saying, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." applies very well here.

6. I am such a fidgety person. Whether I'm going to sleep at night, doing an exercise, or sitting in my car, I fidget until I feel just right. I never just lay down and sleep. I never get on a mat and start working out. I have to adjust my legs, and my butt has to be in the right place, and I have to be in a certain position. It doesn't matter if someone's waiting or trying to sleep...I gotta make sure it feels just right. I rest and work better when I'm comfy...even if it does take hours out of every day to do so.

7. I NEVER go out to my car and leave my house on the first try. It seems that EVERY time I go to get in the car, I've forgotten something. Sometimes it takes 3 or 4 attempts to make it out. Even then, I've been known to make a u turn on my street to go back for my bottle of water or an item I need to return or my cellphone. I am simply trying to multitask with a one task brain!

8. I always think people are staring at me. And, I always think it's because they think I'm weird or gross. You might think I'm paranoid, but they ARE I tell you!

9. I never order a sandwich or burger and then pick it up and eat it. I have to open it up and straighten the ingredients out or "fix" it in some way...ALWAYS. Look, a perfectly good sandwich can be ruined if the ingredients are not centered and in the right order!

10. I never just order off the menu. I am so picky and I don't like to be disappointed so I try to get things made the way I want them (only to rearrange them later). I mean what's wrong with asking for double rice, no beans? Or bacon extra crispy, eggs and bacon on a separate plate from pancakes? Or queso on top of my cheese enchilada instead of the regular sauce? Or ordering everything on my baked potato but ON THE SIDE so I can get it on there like I like it? Or a BLT without the L or mayo? Or gravy on the side of my chicken fried steak instead of on top...so I can dip it in there anyway? The list goes on. I'm a girl that KNOWS what she likes and is not afraid to ask for it!

I could feel bad, but what good would it do? I could change, but then I would not really be myself. Soooo.....I may be picky, and neurotic, and weird, but I can say this...whether people love me or hate me, one thing is true...I am definitely UNFORGETTABLE!