One Slice of Pie Please

...humble pie, that is.

Last week, I was feeling pretty good and decided to weigh myself. Why, oh, why did I do it? I knew it was not good, but I just couldn't resist. As I posted, the scale was kind and I felt great...for the moment. But, no matter what, I was doomed.

So, the scale was kind. That made me happy. That also made me feel like I could eat anything I wanted -- for a week. Ugh. Still, if the scale would have been more than I expected, I probably would have given up and eaten everything anyway. I lose control when I'm happy, I lose control when I'm sad. I really need to work out this whole self-control thing.

Either way, weighing myself was not good. So, why did I do it? Why should I do it for that matter? Really, what is the big deal about weight anyway? Why can't we judge ourselves by how we feel and not by a number that fluctuates like a roller coaster? Should I face the scale every day? Once a week? Never?

While I'd really like it to be never, I still have my goal of 130 for this year (I just can't let myself off the hook that easy). And, yes, I am still going to document my progress with pictures. If the sight of my pasty white skin blinds you, you may have to avoid the blog every Monday starting next week. While the thought of posting a half-naked picture of myself has not been motivation enough to keep me away from treats this holiday season, I am hoping that your laughter at my fat will be.

This kind of accountability is just what I need to keep me on track. Anyone interested in losing weight with me, post here on Monday! Better yet, post your weight goals and pictures here, too. We can do this together! Oh, it will be great...a bunch of half-naked "losers" blogging together...what more could you need!

I know it will be difficult, but, then again, my most treasured accomplishments have been my most difficult challenges. And, in the end, we'll be a bunch of half-naked HOTTIES!

Forget the slice, I may need the whole pie.

Happy Birthday to Ben

...twice.

For my brother Ben's 23rd birthday yesterday we ordered an 8 X 12 (25 serving) Cold Stone Creamery Limited Edition Dark Peppermint Pleasure Signature Ice Cream Cake. According to the website description, there are "layers of red velvet cake and dark chocolate peppermint ice cream with chocolate shavings, covered in ganache (my favorite), and garnished with candy cane."

The serving suggestion must be very generous because the 12 people living in my parent's house who are old enough to eat solid food have celebrated Ben's birthday twice now and we still have 1/3 of the cake left. This is certainly not because the cake is NOT good...rather quite the opposite. Let's just say that many usually unappealing vegetables have been happily consumed in the past day!

As it turns out, Shelley and Genevieve like the cake and not the ice cream, while I like the ice cream and not the cake. Perfect combination for my taste buds, not my thighs. I've had at least 2 full servings for myself and several more leftovers from Shelley and Genevieve (as well as a constant picking at the chocolate shavings!).

I recommend this cake to anyone who loves minty or chocolate ice cream, red velvet cake, and/or extra thick chocolate ganache. I do not recommend this cake to people who like their thighs the way they are.

The Scale That Rules The World

I peeked.

I couldn't help it -- I weighed myself this morning. I hadn't in such a long time. When your clothes are tight and nothing looks good, you just know. But, I've been feeling better lately. (It may have something to do with the fact that I am on vacation and surrounded by my family who loves and supports me no matter what). Also, I've been running and have only had a few minor food incidences.

To my great surprise, the scale was kind. Now, I'm far from happy with my weight. I still don't fit into my clothes. I am simply accepting the number as a place to start and recognize that things could have been worse...much worse.

This fear of the scale -- where does it come from? I can be perfectly happy with myself, step on the scale, and become a swinging pendulum of emotions depending on WHAT THE SCALE SAYS. When did I lose so much control over my emotions to an inanimate object?

Well, whenever I lost control, I want it back. So, do I reject the power of the scale by avoiding it entirely? Or, do I battle the scale every day and try to swing my own emotions? I have never weighed myself every day, at most once a week. I have lost weight without regularly weighing myself, but (obviously) I have also gained weight using this haphazard method. Herein lies my first dilemma.

Another issue is scale discrepancies. Right now, I'm using my mom's scale and the earliest I'll be able to weigh-in with my scale is January 7th. What if there are major scale discrepancies and I instantly "gain" weight I had already mentally lost? That could be very sad for me. Should I wait to officially weigh myself until I can use my own scale? Or, is my scale innocence already gone, so what's the point of these questions anyway?

I think the latter. Good night.

Merry Christmas to All

...and to all a good night -- well, not yet.

I thought I'd go to bed, but I just couldn't resist writing about one of the best Christmas Days ever. Why you ask? For several reasons, actually.

First, I'm with my family. The time here was certainly overdue. Only the people who have lived several thousand miles away from their families for more than seven years can understand this one. We were able to visit Brady's long-lost sisters, Julie and Alisa, and their families. We exchanged some cool toys, had some great food, and Kelsey and Genevieve even spent the night with their cousins! We were also able to celebrate my Grandpa Smith's 81st birthday with various cousins, aunts, and uncles.

Second, it's a white Christmas. As a Floridian, I have grown to love the convenience of year-round outdoor play. However, the fresh coat delivered last night was especially fun to watch as cars struggled up the hill in front of my parent's house. This has provided many hours of entertainment over the years -- and even a 911 call by me a few years ago. This year, Brady, my dad, and brother helped at least 5 cars, but we couldn't find the missing Blackberry somebody dropped while pushing their car out (yet).

The girls have also enjoyed making snow angels, snow people, and even shoveling. Genevieve asks at least three times a day to play in it, and would stay there all day if I'd let her. Kelsey just wants to find -- and eat -- icicles (yuck). Shelley mostly likes to watch her "sissies" and find dangerous places, like stairs. I usually let them, and even encourage it, because our time here is limited.

Third, Santa was generous this year. Thanks to my mom (and Dad, too) and other donors, this year was a dream come true for my kids. Not only do they get to be with their grandparents, great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and second cousins, but they got just about everything they've wanted this year. It's no secret that this year has been difficult. Whenever my kids tell me something they want, I always say, "put it on your Christmas list," which is an acceptable substitute for "no" (it really works!). But, this year it actually happened.

I can't let this moment pass without expressing my love and admiration for my mom. My mom is the most generous and loving person I know. She would rather give my girls their dreams, than anything for herself. A few months ago my mom's 25 year old washing machine broke, so she replaced it with a super big one -- but not the dryer (well, it wasn't broke!). For my parents and brother this uneven situation is fine. However, between my sister and I and our kids, and Sienna's naps (she sleeps in the laundry room), the dryer has slowed things down a bit the last week or so. I made a comment about it the other day to my mom, who just shrugged. Today, I found out why. A super dryer means so little to my mom when compared to the look on Kelsey's face when she opened up her very first American Doll. Or when Genevieve opened the Fairytopia Barbie she's wanted for almost a year. Or when Brady opened up the Ipod he's drooled over for years. Or when I am able to run outside while she takes my kids to work every day, which is a sweet luxury for me.

And the list goes on...last year, she found out we couldn't afford to pay for one of my last classes to complete my bachelor's degree and the money was in the mail the next day. When I started a weight loss group earlier this year, she not only paid my fee, but sponsored the weekly prizes as well. My crock pot broke and she bought me a new one. She bought me clothes when I hadn't had anything new for months -- and you all know how much I love clothes!

But don't just think it's money. When I left for California the day after I was married, she got an 800 number at the store where she works so I could call her whenever I wanted. And I do. Now, she even got me a cell phone so I REALLY can call her whenever I want.

My parents don't have a luxurious house, or even very many valuable things in it. Instead, they give their luxuries away. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

And finally, Brady and I scored more than $550 in airline credit by changing our flight plans. With two family reunions in the works for this summer, we have plenty to plan for.

This Christmas has certainly raised the bar. How could it possibly get any better than this?

Sweet Caroline

"Where it began, I can't begin to knowin', But then I know it's growing strong."

Neil Diamond, Sweet Caroline.

Last night, in the middle of a good movie, Caroline helped me clean up vomit -- without being asked. Ladies, we all know there ain't much better than that.

"Sweet Caroline, Good times never seemed so good."

The Value of Ups and Downs

I realized today that it's not as much the altitude that makes me huff and puff, but the hills. In Utah, my run is a constant stream of ups and downs. My dad used to tell us that he walked to school uphill both ways. Now, like most things, I am realizing that my dad was right (As a parent I now fully support the idea that parents are always right!).

Even with all the huffing and puffing, I LOVE HILLS! At first, there's a bit of fear when I see one looming so tall in the distance. But, if I just relax and keep going something strange happens -- the hill disappears (very slowly in my case). Getting to the top of the hill doesn't happen with one giant leap. Instead, it's a collection of baby steps, each requiring only slightly more effort. In just a short week of hill workouts, I feel stronger, still huffing, but stronger.

For me, this lesson has more than running applications. When I am faced with a challenge that seems insurmountable, if I just keep going, with baby steps, I usually get there. Some challenges I can anticipate, others come unexpectedly (like potholes hiding beneath the snow). However, the process and results are the same -- I feel stronger.

For a long time I thought this strength only came from the struggle to the top. The downhill has always been a difficult part of the hill for me to accept (like taking days off from exercise, taking naps, watching an occasional episode of Oprah, and just giving myself a break in general). I know I need to rest, and I usually do, but not without a ping of guilt. No matter how often I tell myself it's OK to enjoy the decline, I just can't let it go.

This guilt also beats me up over small imperfections and minor setbacks. Today, I ate everything in sight and I'm struggling to put it behind me. It is what it is, so I just need to sum it up as a bad day and get on with the rest of the climb. Baby steps to the top, right?

I can do it.

Am I A Bad Mother?

Do you sometimes wonder if you are a bad mother? Just read on and wonder no more.

Last week, I was running on the treadmill when Shelley woke up. Brady happened to be home for an afternoon break, so he brought her into our bedroom while I finished the last few minutes of my workout. First, she was sitting happily on our couch watching me sweat like a pig, running nowhere. Bored with this, she decided to play with our computer (or should I say on?). Fine, fine -- I just wanted to finish my workout.

Well, next thing I know she's got an OPEN PERMANENT MARKER heading toward our couch. Immediately, I slam the STOP button on the treadmill and hurdle over our bed to reach her. Unfortunately, my shoe gets twisted in our unmade bedspread and I fall directly onto my hurt knee. I wince and cry out in pain. I could hardly move. I try to move my leg manually, but I cringe and cry some more.

In the midst of my agony, I look up and see my sweet Shelley standing near me with tears in her eyes. She's really sad for me -- and probably a little scared, too. So I say, "Shelley, come here." When she hesitates, I say again, "Shelley come here, sweetie." She walks gently toward me and I...

...reach out and take away the open permanent marker! (Of course I gave her a hug next, but does that erase my callous first thought?).

If that weren't enough, I have yet another confession.

My kids have been waking up promptly at 5 am here in Utah (7am Florida time). When I choose to wake up at 5 am, I am almost bearable after an hour. But, when others beat me to the punch -- watch out -- they usually get the punch instead!

So, a few days ago Shelley and her cousin, Fox, were running around the family room while Caroline and I tried to catch a few more winks of sleep (this is perfectly acceptable behavior for exhausted mothers). I look up to see Shelley coming down the last few stairs from the kitchen. The next thing I hear is a small thud -- meaning she probably only fell down the last one or two stairs onto the incredibly plush carpet. And what do I do? I say, "Oh Shelley, you fell down. Come here and let me hold you in bed." And, like the well-trained daughter of a lazy mom, she did.

My gift to you today: the wonderful at least-I-didn't-do-that feeling. Enjoy!