Fixing 10 Years

I've been thinking about this post all week long and trying to decide whether or not to put something this personal on the web. When it comes right down to it, though, the only people who even read this are people that I care about and I think that some of you may experience the same issues that I have had.

I've had some concern lately about my daughter. She is like me in that she is tall and strong. She's hitting that age in school where kids start pointing out differences in others and someone has pointed out to her that she's bigger than most of the kids in her class.

She came home devastated and worried that she is "fat."

She broke my heart and opened up my greatest nightmare.

I grew up thinking that I was fat. Someone close to me who should have known better continually reinforced that to me from the time I was about 6. My wonderful mom and dad tried to contain the damage, but that kind of stuff affects you for a long, long time. (I'll let you know when it's done raking me over.)

I would give anything to keep my daughter from fighting the same battle for her whole life. However, with this conversation last week, I realized that I have already done 10 years worth of damage to her with the bad example that I have set. She has grown up hearing the words "fat, lose weight, calories, etc."

How do you scrub out 10 years of bad example?

In thinking about all of this, I received a crucial and very uncomfortable insight. My weight is not the real problem. My obsession with my weight is. What I have realized is this: even if I weighed exactly what I want to, I would still be obsessed with it. Hitting 145 would not bring me ultimate happiness.

What that also leads me to believe is that I have used my weight as an excuse for every failure I've ever had.

Scary thought: What if it's not? Am I arrogant enough to believe that, if my weight was perfect, that I would be a perfect person? That every problem I have would be gone?

I know that seems stupid, but I think that's where I've ended up.

So, even though I've never liked myself enough to do it, I do LOVE my daughter enough to give it up. I'm done. You will no longer hear me comment about losing weight, diets, or anything like it. (And if I forget, please call me on it. It's REALLY important.)

My new self-constitution is as follows:

• I will take care of my body and teach my children to do the same SOLELY for the purpose of being healthy and being good stewards of the bodies with which we are blessed.
• I will exercise because it makes me feel good and because it is good for my body, not because it burns calories.
• I will make good food choices and teach my children to love and be grateful for healthy food. I will not freak out when we feel like eating a candy bar, but conversely I will try not to use food as incentives or rewards.
• I will not say negative things about my body or allow my children to make negative comments about their bodies.
• I will build up my children and myself with positive comments about all of the good qualities that I notice.
• I will talk freely with my daughter (and sons if necessary) about the fact that different is not bad and that there are advantages in being tall and strong.

I'm not expecting things to change overnight, but I am more committed to this change than I have ever been in my life.

I have to be.

She's that important.

Before I Was a Mom

A friend of mine sent this to me. I don't know who wrote it, but I loved it and thought that I'd share:

"Before I was a Mom"

Before I was a Mom ,
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom ,
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind
and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom ,
I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night
watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom ,
I never held a sleeping baby just because
I didn't want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom .

Before I was a Mom ,
I didn't know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body..
I didn't know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond
between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom ,
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment
or the satisfaction of being a Mom ...
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much,
before I was a Mom .

Namaste

I learned the coolest thing the other day.

In India, when they greet each other, they bow and say "Namaste". This means, "I bow to the divinity inherent within you."

How cool is that? What a great way to think of every person that you meet. Wouldn't that be the ultimate super-power-- to see the spark of divinity within each person and to be able to treat them accordingly?

Kind of gets you thinking, what traits have I and the people around me inherited from Heavenly Parents?

I know people who are compassionate, who bring out the best in others, who have faith to move mountains. I see sparks of divinity in my own children who are smart, kind and intuitive to the needs of others.

I see divinity inherent in my wonderful husband who I married 12 years ago today (Happy Anniversary, Honey!) He is strong, faithful, loyal, smart and very perceptive-- to name a few.

In short, I am surrounded by divinity-- thank you to all of you-- husband, children, parents, sisters, and friends-- and to each one of you, I bow and say

Namaste!

My Fool Proof Workout Program

I got back on my bike last night-- one last ditch effort at fitness before I slithered away into the realms of the Couch Potato universe again.

I must be feeling better because it didn't suck.

It could also be my new training program

Because I am a Sharefish, I'll let you in on my newly developed exercise regimen. You won't even have to pay $19.99. Unless you'd like to donate to my Kim-needs-new-bike-shorts-and-is-spoiled-and-wants-the-really-expensive-ones fund.

It's called the Kindle-Olympic Gut Buster.

I did it on my bike, but I imagine it would work equally as well on a treadmill or an elliptical. It is NOT recommended while you're swimming.

The point of this whole thing is distraction and mental imagery. Never leave yourself with a minute to realize that your muscles are burning and your breathing is labored.

You must perform this workout when there is something competitive going on during the Olympics. Skiing, speed skating, that cool snowboard-cross event works well. Figure skating, not so much.

Here's where it gets tricky. When there are commercials on, you pedal lightly and read whatever's on your Kindle. (Or other book or magazine if your husband is not as cool as mine.)

When the Olympics come back on, ramp up your efforts a little, and then when a race actually starts, pretend it's you and pedal your guts out for your gold medal. (You might want to wear a heart monitor for this workout-- a couple of times I found myself just past the red zone into the zone I like to call Almost-Dead.)

Now granted, to be effective, this workout does require a little imagination, but it was pretty gratifying to enjoy my podium moment last night. (It was a little bit of a downer when they played O Canada instead of the Star Spangled Banner, but I have been known to say "eh" a little, so I can see how they made the mistake.)

They always play commercials after those intense racing moments, so cool down a little and read another chapter or two of James Rollins or a vampire book or something.

Then repeat a few times and Voila! You're done.

By the time my workout was over, I had done 4 or 5 kick-butt intervals, but most of all, I wasn't quite ready to get off.

Anything that can make you want to stay on the trainer has got to be good, right?

My only problem is what to do when the Olympics end in two weeks???

Not Fun.

I've been sick since I got back from St. George.

That little gift from the Universe settled itself into my lungs and refuses to leave. Either that or those disgusting green things from the Mucinex commercial have taken up residence.

Either way, not good.

Consequently, I haven't exercised for 11 days.

That's the longest I've gone without exercising since I had my gallbladder out over two years ago.

The psycho thing is that I have REALLY missed it and had to FORCE myself to stay off my bike. My mind knew that my body needed rest, but I felt that same weird compulsion that makes me eat a bag of peanut M&M's when I know they're not good for me too.

I stayed off until today, but this morning I could stand it no longer.

Guess what? It WASN'T fun.

Apparently, you can lose a lot of fitness in 2 weeks. Not to mention that all those green Mucinex guys in my lungs make it hard to breathe. 10 miles has never seemed so long.

What's worse is that afterward, I didn't have that cool endorphin high that I craved. My lungs were on fire and I felt like I'd been running.

RUNNING! I HATE RUNNING!

I hope that it doesn't take as long to get my fitness level back up as it did to get it there in the first place.

Any more workouts like this and I might have to just revert to my old couch potato ways...

A Mushy Post About Love And Stuff

I've always put Valentine's Day in the same category as Halloween-- the category I call "Ridiculous, Meaningless Holidays Meant to Put Five Pounds On My Hips."

I'm feeling differently about Valentine's Day this year, though.

During the last week, I've seen some tremendous, heart-wrenching displays of real love-- the kind of love that should be celebrated and have it's very own holiday.

Last week, we had a patient come into our office who is normally a very upbeat, happy guy. He was very downcast and sullen, and when we asked him what was wrong, he told us that his beautiful wife had died of a massive heart attack two weeks ago. He talked so lovingly about her and obviously missed her so much-- he was devastated to be at the end of a lifetime of love and joy shared with his wife.

Yesterday we had another patient come in who has become the caretaker for his now-invalid wife. I've wondered about this guy-- he often comes in in wrinkled clothing, looking a little disheveled. He brought his wife in because she was the reason he was wanting hearing aids-- her voice is so soft since she became ill that he can't hear her. He brought her in so that we could specifically program the aids to her voice.

I watched him care for her so tenderly-- he fixed her hair that had fallen out of place and he talked so lovingly to her. I bet that she was the one who had taken care of him for many years-- and now he barely knows how to care for his clothing and other details that she always managed for him. Still, he obviously knew how to care for this one, most important thing in his life.

Sometimes men are portrayed as womanizing idiots who have to be tricked into commitment. I don't think that's true at all. After watching these two men, as well as my own father painting my mother's toe nails, or my father-in-law fixing the back of my mother-in-law's hair, or my own husband as he works so hard to make sure that I'm happy, I am convinced that men can be at least as good at love as women-- if not better.

Thank you to all of the wonderful examples of TRUE love I see around me every day. May you all live happily ever after!

More Deep Thoughts by Doug

Conversation with Doug:

Me: "What do you think would make you be a good missionary when you get older?"

Doug: "If I stay on Jesus' side."

Me: "Good answer, Bud! Why do you think that?"

Doug: "Because Satan is really crappy. Who'd want to be on his side?"

How much would I pay to get inside this kid's head and see how he thinks?

Too Much Time On My Hands

Can you define "time?"

Can you do it without using the word "time" as part of the definition?

I've been reading a lot lately about space and time and their relationship to us. When it comes right down to it, "time" is the interval measured by clocks. Which got me thinking-- if I have NO way to measure time (not even a sunrise/ sunset, no moon or other 28 day cycles), would time exist?

I know that measured time is at "times" a disadvantage. How much of your life have you spent looking at a clock?

A while ago, a very wise man challenged me (and every other member of the church) to take off our watches when we attend the temple. This was initially difficult for me-- I felt like I lost control somehow. The irony wasn't entirely lost on me-- how can you "lose control" of the one thing that you have absolutely no control over? The fact that I couldn't tell what time it was didn't make it pass any slower or quicker than it would have, had I been wearing a watch. What it did do is make me quit worrying about how much time I had before whatever was next on my agenda. I gave up measuring time and gained a serious increase in the quality of the time I was spending.

I'm not oblivious to the fact that living without a watch wouldn't make me live any longer or shorter (how would I know anyway?) What I am starting to realize, though, is that time is less of a measured interval than it is an unknown currency. We are all busy spending this currency like unmarried men-- never knowing how much is in our account until we come up short. Crazy thing about it is that we can't save it and you can't earn interest on it-- about all you can do is enjoy what you spend it on because who knows when you hit the red?

I think that I've gotten way too deep here.

I've got to stop reading physics books.

Anyone got a nice vampire story I could borrow?

Payback.

I am still reading The Elegant Universe. It is getting harder and harder to understand. Guess that's what happens when you finish the introduction.

I'm having my own experiences with the Universe. I have decided that, not only is it Elegant, it also has a dang good love of irony.

The definition of "irony" is "a technique of indicating an intention or attitude opposite to that which is actually or ostensibly stated. "

I think that irony, when applied to the Universe as a whole, is beyond that and has more to do with balance in opposites-- yin and yang and all that.

Take for instance the fact that I had a great weekend. I had too much fun, and while I was having fun, my husband and kids scrubbed my entire house. Not only that, but they washed AND folded AND put away ALL of the laundry! Not to mention the fact that, while I was shopping, I found not just one, but TWO pair of awesome jeans-- for less than $20 a piece!

That left me one up on the Universe.

The Universe can't leave a horrific imbalance like that floating around. Too much good Karma might actually cause the earth to spin the wrong way or something. No worries-- there's nothing the Universe does better than even out too much of a good thing.

Wham!

And yesterday morning, I wake up with a heinous cold sore on my top lip. I've never had one before-- it felt like my lip was in that uncomfortable stage of waking up from Novocaine all day long. Not to mention that my lip looked like a Botox treatment done by a 6 year old.

Got to love an affliction that is not only painful, but repulsively humiliating.

However, my weekend was SOO good, that a horrendous blight on my face was not quite enough to even things out.

I didn't want to leave the house. Ever again. However, we had business associates coming in for dinner all the way from Washington. I had no choice.

I tried to cover it up. I wore a HUGE silver necklace to try and draw attention away from my disfigurement. I kept my head down a little bit.

Just when I think I'm doing all right and going to make it through the night, I realize that one of the waiters looks a lot like a guy I used to know.

A guy from Brazil who I only half teased my mom I was going back to Brazil to marry. A guy that I haven't seen in 15 years since I was a hot, tan, 23 year old missionary.

Fan-dam-tastic.

He hugged me and said, "you look great!" I know what he was really thinking-- "What the heck is that monstrosity growing on your face? Man I'm glad I didn't marry you and became a waiter in a foreign country instead!"

Layne got a kick out of the whole thing.

Seriously. What are the chances of running into someone from the other side of the world and the other side of your life on any given night-- let alone on a night when I have the first cold sore of my life?

I hope that the Universe is happy now. I'm pretty sure that balance has been achieved.

On second thought, maybe I'd better just stay in the house for a while.

I think that the Universe might charge interest. . .

"But I'm Still Little"

Today Doug was looking at our old scripture readers and asking me why we don't use them anymore to read scriptures. Without thinking, I answered, "Because you guys got bigger and now we read the real Book of Mormon together."

To which he answered,

"But Mom, I'm still little."

Talk about rip your heart out.

I've been thinking about it all day. My baby son, of course you're still little. You probably always will be to me-- even when you're six foot three. You've always acted like you were just one of the big kids-- and I've treated you all the same. You seemed to want it that way and it assuaged my own guilt for lumping you all in together and maybe missing the "little-ness" of my baby.

And I thought this:

Snapshots

You only hold my hand
When the Big Kids are at school.
We walk, you reach up;
Your small hand is exquisite
In miniature perfection.

I see you growing
With nearly every step.
Each day changing,
Evolving, becoming
What will you be?

My dreams for you
Involve perfection—
I know it is not fair.
And yet, each day
You provide me
With countless perfect moments.

The smile you flash
When you think that
What you just did, I did not see;
Your arms wrapped around my neck
In a thoughtless, priceless embrace;
The way your eyelashes
Nestle on your still
Slightly-chubby cheek;
And the quiet sigh you breathe
As you lay curled and sleeping.

The pleasure of my motherhood
Is found in these small moments,
Their poignant beauty captured
On the film of my heart.
To be kept and pondered upon
When someday you grow too big
To ever hold my hand.