There are many reasons in life to cry. Some are happy. Some are sad. And some are directly connected to department store dressing rooms. You choose the outfit. Oh so cute. You take it to the dressing room with high hopes. And. Then. You put it on. That's when it hits. The tears and the statement, "I'm never going to eat again!" At the time you seriously mean that comment. You hate what you see and you want it gone. You beat yourself up for all the bad choices that you have made. You swear to lose 10, 20, or 100 pounds. You will live on salad and water and eat ice cubes for snacks. You will come one day and put on an outfit and it will look good on you. So with red puffy eyes you return the outfit to the "no takers" rack and leave the store. You go somberly along your way in the mall. And. Then. You pass the cinnamon roll shop, or the ice cream shop, or the fudge shop, and your brain says, "OK, kid, you can start tomorrow. Have that treat and make yourself feel better." And you do. The tears are gone for now. But you are determined that tomorrow you will succeed.

You lost a battle but later that night when you go to bed your mind spins with what you can do to lose weight. You plan a healthy breakfast and plan a packed lunch. It is going to work this time. And. Then. You wake up late. No time for breakfast. Oh, well, less calories. Packed lunch? Not going to happen. OK, so you will pick up a salad at lunchtime. So you head off for your day determined to succeed.  By ten o'clock you are so incredibly hungry that you have to have something. You head to a vending machine and buy a sensible pack of granola bars. Well, not totally what you wanted, but, hey, it's better than a Snickers bar. Lunchtime comes. You head out to buy that salad and along the way you smell the grilled hamburgers. Well, I could have a hamburger now and eat a salad for dinner. Yeah, that's the ticket. You pull up to order. Do you want fries with that? Well, it is cheaper with fries. I won't eat them or just eat a few. So you answer. "sure." Do you want to supersize that? Well, I am really thirsty and the big drink would great.So you answer, "yes." And. Then. You pull away from the window and reach in for a fry. And reach in for a fry. And reach in for a fry. And pretty soon, the fries are gone. So you think to yourself that the hamburger must be eaten before anyone sees you with a large drink and a sandwich because they will know you ate a large fries. So, you eat the hamburger as you drive, wiping grease from the steering wheel. When you walk into work you now have only a large iced tea. So you pretend that you didn't have time for lunch. But you did. 

Later it is time to go home. When you arrive home you start dinner. You look at the salad ingredients in your fridge and it looks unappetizing. What the heck? You've blown it all day today so you fix yourself a pot of spaghetti or even order a pizza. Tomorrow you will do better. But you fall asleep before you had time to plan a breakfast or pack a lunch. And. Then. Tomorrow comes. And. Then. You fail again. After so many fails, you quit trying until the next time you try on clothes and cry in the dressing room. Then you start this whole vicious cycle over again. 

Somewhere, sometime this cycle has to stop. It can stop with death or it can stop with a little planning and preparation. Make yourself a priority in your life. (Truthfully, I have always had difficulty with that.) Start with what you can do. Watch one less t.v. program and pack lunch for a week. Get up 15 minutes earlier and eat a good, healthy breakfast. Invest in containers to prepackage your meals. Count what you eat. Journaling is not a job it is as opportunity to know what you have done right (repeat it) and what you have done wrong (stop it). Make yourself a priority. You are not selfish, you are important. Your health directly affects the people that you love. Show them you care enough to want to be around to see their future. You may always cry in the dressing room because body image is difficult to change, but that is better than having others cry at your funeral. You may never be a fashion model, but you can be a model for a good healthy lifestyle. Go. Do it!

Jumbo the Elephant is a Fox

As a child I was overweight. I grew very fast and reached my full height by the age of twelve. Everyday of my life during the school year I was teased and sometimes ridiculed. I had very good friends in elementary school. They did not tease me because we were friends. However, kids on the bus, kids who were not my friends, and several boys teased me relentlessly. I never told my parents. Never. I used to feel so inadequate that I didn't want my parents to know. They were so good and gave us so much from the heart that I felt that they deserved a perfect daughter. I made up for my weight by working hard, studying, and getting good grades. Many times I cried at night because I knew what awaited me the next day. Yet, I loved school, loved my friends, and loved every teacher I ever had in elementary school. I loved school. I learned to hate my body.

As the summer began between my last year of elementary school and my first year of junior high, I asked my mom for a hula hoop. They were very popular then and I wanted to learn how to hula hoop. That summer I hula hooped for hours at a time. I lost all my baby fat and blossomed into a young lady. A young lady who still hated her body and all the imperfections that were glaringly obvious. When I returned to school my friends were stunned. (I lived in the country and did not see my friends over the summer.) But the remarks from the kids who had tormented me made me feel uncomfortable. One boy who had never called me by name, but always referred to me as "Jumbo" was very impressed. I still remember his comment to me that first day of school, "I can't call you Jumbo anymore. You are a fox." And then he asked if I wanted to "go together." (It was the early 70s after all.) I told him no. I was still extremely uncomfortable in my own skin.

I obsessed over my weight. As an older teen I rarely ate. My grandma was there in the mornings and she made me eat. But she would fix me one poached egg, one piece of dry toast, and a cup of tea with saccarine (again, the 70s), But I never ate lunch and because of band practice and various clubs, could get out of the house without mom knowing I hadn't eaten dinner. I existed on that small breakfast and a spoonful of peanut butter. Weekends were different and I ate more then. But still I felt fat. I was not as good as my thin friends. They were prettier, looked better in their clothes, and they were more confident. I hated my body. I still hate my body.

So now here I am. I understand that I will probably never accept my body. However, I must accept that I am a good person. I may not look good in designer clothes, but my heart is in the right place. My attitude is adjusting. I am worth the effort to get healthier and thinner. I am worth it. I am worth it. I am worth it. If I say it often enough, maybe at some point I will believe it.

CEO

Today I read an article about why the CEO of Abercrombie and Fitch chooses not to market sizes XL and XXL. According to him it is because he only wants "cool" people to be seen in their clothing. It is for the "cool" kids in school. He says that there are always several groups of kids in school and his clothing is for the popular, "cool", thin kids. Have you seen the ads? Half-dressed couples in suggestive poses. Why bother with clothes at all? He also stated that they only hire "cool", thin, attractive people to work in their stores. Well, Mr. CEO, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I'd also like to ask why the over use of the word "cool." Could it possibly be that you, Mr. CEO, were not one of the "cool" kids in school? Does being thin automatically make you beautiful? No! No  more that being "fluffy" makes you ugly.

As I read this I wanted to be outraged! I wanted to write a scathing letter to this obviously shallow man. I wanted to, but I couldn't. All I could feel was pity. This man has no idea of beauty. He could not possibly understand love, because love is not gauged by beauty. He is living his life on the surface. There is no depth to his soul.  What happens as beauty fades? Do you love your aging parents less because they are aging and it is no longer "cool" to love them? Do you love your newborn baby less because they emerge with a misshapen head from hours of labor? Do you quit loving your wife if she gets a few wrinkles or gains a few pounds after having your child? I cannot understand what is going on inside your head. Perhaps it is what is NOT going on that perplexes me.

Now I have seen many beautiful thin people in my lifetime. Some of them were my friends. But to me what made them beautiful was the beauty that came from within. Sure they wanted to look good, but they did not dismiss those who were not so beautiful or thin. I have also seen many beautiful, not so thin people in my lifetime. The people that I choose for friends are the ones who are beautiful souls. Those who care and show that they care. I have had many wonderful friends over the years and I call you all beautiful whether you are short, tall, thin, fluffy, pretty, or plain. To me you are beautiful. You have allowed me to cry on your shoulder and you have cried on mine. You have lent me money when I was broke. You have watched my kids, brought food over to my house when my mother died, went to bat for me, and been there for me when I needed you. So, to all my BEAUTIFUL friends, THANK YOU! I don't care if you can shop for clothes in Abercrombie and Fitch or not. Heck, shop at Goodwill for all I care. You are more to me that clothes! You are substance and soul. And that, Mr. CEO, will elude you forever. I am sorry for you. I can only hope that someday you will be as rich as I am.

My Why

Today I spent two hours rocking my youngest grandson. The plan had been to rock and sing him to sleep, then put him down and finish my housekeeping chores. That plan never materialized. As I sat rocking him I could not stop looking at him and remembering rocking and holding my own babies. I held my kids a lot and my grandkids as often as they would sit still for me. They grow up way too fast. They are "my why" for wanting to get healthy. I hope to be around another 20, 30, 40 or more years to see these five beautiful children grow to adulthood. They are my life, me breath, my babies.

#1 Luke. My first grandchild. He is my never stopping, always on the go, play until you drop kid. I worried about him being in school, but he has had the best first grade teacher. She understands his needs and knows how to get his best. My kind of teacher! Luke is sometimes my challenge, but I love him dearly. He never misses an opportunity to hop on my lap, give me a hug, say "I love you, Mamaw," then go off on another ball of energy adventure.

#2 Alex. My son's oldest boy is my little gentleman. He is so much like his daddy as a little boy that I want to take him home with me and relive my youth. He loves soccer and plays with passion. (Unlike his dad who watched the birds and picked flowers while the ball went rolling by.)  Alex is caring, kind, protective, and ornery. He has dubbed me, "Mamaw Cake" because I always bake him something. He loves cake, especially ones that he helps me bake.

#3 Isabella. My only granddaughter and the princess of our family. Isabella is a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty who is as clumsy as her mamaw. She wears her heart on her sleeve, again like her mamaw. She loves her dogs, her dolls, and her tea set. She cannot wait to be 8 years old so that mamaw will buy her an Easy Bake Oven for Christmas. Isabella is a lot like me and will always be my princess. She plans to marry James from Big Time Rush when she grows up, but first she has to go to Kindergarten.

#4 Jonny. Jonathan Patrick. I love that name and I love that boy! He is called Jonny in honor of my dad, John. Jonny is my buddy. He likes my sense of humor and loves to play tickle monster. He know what he wants and is vocal about getting it. He keeps my son and daughter-in-law on their toes. He loves his big brother, who he calls "Ga-ga". (We don't know why.) He is fun-loving and adventurous. Give Jonny a ball of any kind and he will play the sport.

#5 Gabriel. My baby. I have spent the most "baby-years"  time with Gabriel. He is sweet, loving, and smart. He loves his binkie and his blankie. He talks a lot and has never met a stranger. One of his favorite things is to sit with his binkie and his blankie on mamaw's lap while she rocks him to sleep. In truth, that is one of mamaw's favorite things, too.

 They are growing so fast. I know they must, but I love them at this age where "Ho Ho Clause" is real, hugs and kisses are free and abundant, and mamaw is a cool person with cakes, stories, and songs. Yet I know they must grow up. I want to be a part of those growing years. I want to hold their babies and remember all of this again. Pretty good incentive to get healthy, wouldn't you say?

Martha Sue

I tried to write this installment yesterday, but found that I could not. It was in my mind. The words swirled around all day. The problem wasn't the words, it was trying to write through the tears. Martha Sue. My mom. Yesterday, April 29, 2013 was the 9th anniversary of her passing on into her journey in heaven. She died at home surrounded by her family. My dad was holding one of her hands, my sister was holding the other, and I was rubbing her feet. She struggled to breath and then she let out a loud whooshing sound and there was no more. I have never felt such anguish in my entire life. My mommy was gone. My mommy who loved me unconditionally my whole life. My mommy.

Martha Sue was a powerful women. She was not big, she was just average. Average height, average weight, brown hair, brown eyes, and the most powerful prayer warrior I have ever known. She believed in the power of prayer. She prayed about everything. Sometimes I would see her sitting in her chair with her hands on her forehead and her eyes closed. Most people would think that she was napping. But I knew that she way praying. She believed in all that God could do. She also believed that you should do all that you were capable of doing. No excuses!

As kids we would often complain as kids do, "I can't." Mom's reply? "Can't died in the poorhouse." We were not allowed to say "can't". We had to try. No excuses. But that made me want to succeed. I would try and try and try until I got it right. Whatever it was. Mom expected it. I wanted to give mom what she wanted. I wanted to please her.

As an adult I became a teacher. Mom instilled a love of learning in me at a very young age. She told me once that I could say all of my A,B,Cs when I was 18 months old. You could see the pride in her eyes. I pictured my mom as a young mother, sitting with me in her lap, and singing the ABC Song until I could sing it, too. She was insistent that homework be done as soon as we were home from school. No playing until homework was finished. She would explain it then go about fixing dinner while we worked at the kitchen table. When we were done she would check it. Anything that was incorrect she would mark with a very light checkmark. We had to try again. If we still missed, she would teach us what to do. We always had perfect homework.

My mom loved to sing but she was a terrible singer. We teased her about it all the time. She knew that she was not a good singer, but it didn't stop her. She especially loved to sing hymns and praise music at church. After she passed away I always pictured her singing in the choir in heaven.That would make her happy. Praise God that my mom was a Christian and that I will be able to see her again someday. I love my mom. She was my best friend, my mentor, my ally. My mom, Martha Sue.

Thongs, Boy Shorts, and Granny Panties

Life comes in stages. We know this. We accept this. Yet we long for things that are just beyond our grasp. This is often called human nature, but I feel that it is more "woman nature". As little girls we are bombarded by images that we strive to attain. For most of us that image is always out of our reach. We are told by society that we are to be tall, thin, and usually with long, flowing (blonde) hair. We should not have stretch marks or skin tags. Our breasts should always be perky and our legs should always be shaved. (One advantage to being single and always wearing jeans is that you never have to shave your legs. No one sees them.) Men do not live by these rules. If they don't shave they are "ruggedly handsome." Weight? Look how many tv shows feature chunky men with stunningly beautiful, thin wives. This is never portrayed the other way around. Still here we are, decades after the Woman's Liberation Movement, trying to reach these unattainable goals. In my mind women live through three distinct stages in life. I like to think of these stages as The Thong Stage, The Boy Shorts Stage, and The Granny Pantie Stage. 

During The Thong Stage we are young and firm. We wear thongs and bikini underwear and criticize our bodies for what we see. "My butt is too big. My hips are too wide. My chest is too small." We wear bikinis on the beach, then wrap our arms around our waists because we are worried about the crinkle in our stomachs when we sit. We may play and have fun, but we secretly worry over not being picture perfect. We fail to realize that our image of perfection comes from unattainable ideals of above average height, underweight, airbrushed models who are heavily made up and posed for perfection. We are young and we are insecure.

As we grow up we progress to The Boy Shorts Stage. In this stage we are fighting the fight to stay young. We may not feel comfortable in thongs and bikinis anymore but we will not wear "old lady" underwear yet. We choose boy shorts. They provide us comfort but yet are still a little sexy. We fight to keep our husbands interested in us when they are barraged with images of Victoria's Secret models. We hold together families and hold down jobs. We rush and we work and we try to keep it all together. We still do not like our bodies, but we have learned to live with the imperfections. Those of us who haven't mastered that skill have plastic surgery and botox injections. We are adults and we are insecure but resigned to that insecurity.

Then one day it hits us! The what-in-the-heck-am-I-trying-to-please-everybody-else realization. This is The Granny Pantie Stage. We are growing wiser. We are aging like fine wines. We are ready. Ready to embrace the "I want" time of our lives and if that time of our life includes big, white, cotton granny panties, then so be it! If you don't like it, don't look at my underwear! We are still insecure, but we cover up those insecurities by being outspoken. If no one has listened to us for 50 plus years, we have earned the right to say what we choose and wear big, white, cotton, granny panties. 

So today I am hear to say, "I'm fluffy and I know it. I'm trying to get healthy. I'm going to get fit. And, by golly, I choose to wear granny panties." Figuratively or literally, put on your big girl panties (whatever type they are) and realize that your beauty is more than the skin you are in and the panties you wear, it is the soul that sparkles in your eyes and the bubbles that flow from your laughter. Embrace your beauty. (And wear whatever type panties YOU choose.) 

Stop Signs

During my high school years I took Driver's Ed. Back then it was a course that most of us took for free in order to get our driver's license. Now kids, or should I say parents, have to pay for this privilege. One day I was cruising down the street when the driver's ed car stopped. I looked questioningly at my instructor. He pointed out the window and said, "Stop sign." Then we spent the next several minutes of our drive discussing problems with running a stop sign: wrecks, tickets, etc. I became highly aware of stop signs after that. To this day I come to a full stop and look when I am at a stop sign. (Yellow lights, however, are a challenge. Can I make it through? vroom.....)

Anyway, being fluffy has made me put stop signs in my life. Hmmm, do I want to wear a bathing suit on the beach? Stop sign. Will I order a dessert? Stop sign. Will I take my grandkids to an amusement park? Stop sign. Will I wear shorts because it is 98 degrees outside? Stop sign. Will I talk to the guy standing next to me in the grocery line? Stop sign. Can I get on an airplane to go visit my son? Stop sign. I need a picture of myself for my business. Stop sign. Can I sit on that lawn chair? Stop sign. And the list goes on and on and on and on. I have placed stop signs in so many areas of my life that I rarely leave the house and I never do anything fun. I want to join a group to make friends in my new town. Stop sign. 

The problem with stop signs is not the stopping. The stopping is absolutely necessary in order to stay safe. The problem lies in the fear to go on. If we stop at the stop sign but do not go through it, we will never reach our destination. I have a destination in mind. My destination is to be healthy and as happy as I possibly can. In order to reach that destination, I have to swallow my fear, say a prayer, and pull out into the intersection of life by doing things that have stopped me before. Now my foot is going to go gently on the gas pedal. I will start with the small things and move on up from there. I didn't drive the freeway my first time out. So, how about a new outfit? I'm thinking shorts and a cute top. vroommm, vroommmm! Look out, world, here I come.