School Lunch

Doug has been asking me for months to come to the school and eat lunch with him. I've been with Em before-- I brought her Arby's on her birthday once. I was the hero.



With good reason.

Anyone remember school lunch? Today was a choice of hamburger or turkey and mashed potatoes. I remember the mashed potatoes very well. (Remember the days of mashed potatoes and hamburger gravy? Don't think they serve that any more.)

I chose the hamburger.

It was still tasteless and cold. The peas were army green. Now, though, kids get to chose fruits, veggies and other sides. They get to put on their own pickles and ketchup. Lucky stinkers.

When we were young, everything got slapped on our green plastic lunch trays-- whether you wanted it or not. I don't remember "fresh" being an adjective for anything served on that tray either.

Now, my kids get 5 Buck pizza and a cookie every Monday. We had hamburger pizza with the weirdest tasting tomato sauce I've ever had. They get orange chicken-- we had fish sticks. Unfortunately for them, however, the schools no longer serve peanut butter bars. Those were actually good.

The funny thing today was that Doug had asked me to pack a lunch. He had a piece of left-over pizza from last night, some crackers, a cut-up apple and a mini-Twix. I tried to trade him his Capri-sun for my milk-in-a-carton. No dice. I tried to swap him my jello cup for his Twix. Yeah right. My kid's no dummy.

I don't remember anyone ever having their parents eat lunch with them at school unless they had started a food fight or something and they had to have parental supervision. It was a mark of shame. Now, I guess, it's cool to have Mom and/or Dad come for lunch. Either that, or Doug started a food fight and this was his tricky way of having parental supervision there. Hmmm. Have to ask his teacher about that one.

Would have been cooler if I would have been like the Mom and the next table and brought McDonald's.

I'm pretty sure that Mike will want us to come eat with him now. I'll know better next time.

I'm bringing Subway.

G.P.A. 2.21

Report cards came out today. My little brainiacs did very well. Nothing less than an A- and even then, only 2 of those among the three kids.

They get it from their dad.

Got me thinking though, what if someone gave me a report card? I'm the only one who can do that at this point, I guess, so here it goes.

Cooking: B Don't do it enough

Cleaning: A- I scrub it every week, but by the weekend, it looks like a zoo.

Laundry: C What the heck is an iron? Do I have one of those? I do wash and fold, though.

Compassion for my kids: B I've been trying, but it seems like I'm always telling them to "suck it up." Stubbed your toe? Suck it up. Papercut? Suck it up. Broke your foot and have to have a metal plate screwed into it? You got it. Suck it up.

Budgeting: C Is there money in my account? Yep. I can go shopping.

Chauffering: D Hit one car with the other one this year. Double whammy. I'd get an F, but I didn't get a speeding ticket this year, so we're making progress.

Yardwork: F The only bad thing about summer. I asked Layne if with my part of the tax refund (the first time we've had a refund in 8 years!) I could hire a yard service for the year. He laughed. Does that mean no or "of course, dear?"

Time Management: B Getting better at that one, but it's not my fault that things keep getting busier! I can manage the heck out of my day, but if all of the things I have to do add up to 25 hours in a day, I still have a problem...

Crap. If I'm figuring right, my g.p.a. is a dismal 2.21. And, I'm probably going to have to make up yardwork. No credit for flunking...

What happened to my high school 4.0?

Crap. Quite Literally.

We live in a nearly 40 year old house. We've lived there for almost 13 years and it seems like we've pretty well rebuilt the thing by now. We have installed a new furnace, air conditioner and water heater, fenced the yard and ran an entirely new sprinkling system, and remodeled the family room, kitchen, 2 bedrooms, the master bedroom and two bathrooms.

The one thing we have never had to deal with is the septic tank.

Until last night.

Layne thought one of the kids had flushed socks down the toilet. Again. (Don't ask.) I reminded him that our kids are old enough to know better. He reminded me that they are still morons sometimes.

It's unfortunately true.

However, when the 24 hour Rotor Rooter guy came out at 10:00 last night, he told us that our problem is not with empty brained kids-- it was with a full septic tank.

(Insert your favorite "full of crap" joke here.)

I am absolutely disgusted by this concept. As far as this topic is concerned, I want to flush the toilet, run the washing machine or turn on the food disposal and NEVER know what happens to the matter that is disappearing. I would love to stay ignorant to this topic.

Alas, that is not my fate today.

There are people in the world whose job it is to take care of other peoples' crap. They gave me a bill for $3000 today. I gasped, but I still don't think that it is enough.

Got me thinking though, about the metaphor in this story. What other kinds of crap back up in our lives? How many emotions and "issues" do we flush down our internal toilet-- never wanting to know where they are going, until one day, our proverbial septic tanks back up on us and we blow.

There is something to be said for a "sewer system" which constantly takes our "crap" far away from us-- 'relieving' us from the danger of it building up under the tree in the front yard. However, when the sewer backs up, you don't just have your own crap to deal with-- you've got everyone elses too.

I've been hiding out at the office all day. Not because I have things to do here (obviously, I'm blogging from my desk), but because if I go home, I will have to face the sad truth that there are not magic fairies who just come and take away all of the bad stuff in my house.

That stinks.

Literally.

Yes, It's Me.

I've had many people call, come up and talk to me, email me and facebook me asking if the article in the Ensign this month is mine.

Yes.

It is entitled "His Grace Is Sufficient". You can read it here.

I wrote it almost two years ago. I had an experience one morning and I felt like it was something that other people might benefit from. The problem was that it was a very personal experience and I didn't really want to share it with the whole (LDS) world.

However, there are times as a writer when I feel like the words coming out of me are being Divinely directed-- there is no writer's block, no lack of inspiration. It is at those times that I know that the Lord is asking me to share something, and this was one of those times.

I sent it to the Ensign-- to the same editor that I worked with before for my other article. They immediately accepted it for publication-- which never happens. And then I waited for a year and a half for it to be printed.

I have worried about it coming out because it exposes some very personal challenges-- things I don't really like to talk about. Quite honestly, it's been about as embarrassing as I expected. I even had one well-intentioned (?) sister ask me, "What made you do that?" So, here I am, answering her question.

I did it because the Spirit told me to.

It was hard and uncomfortable, but sometimes using the talents we are given means that we squirm a little. It's okay. It makes us strong. It makes us humble. And it makes us valuable to God. Isn't that worth a little embarrassment?

I'll keep telling myself that...

Errands of Angels

I've been in the Relief Society Presidency for over 3 years now. When I got called in, I had never served in the Relief Society before-- many things were new to me. I was not a big attender of Homemaking / Enrichment / RS Meetings or whatever you want to call them. I was a marginal visiting teacher-- mostly going because I had a great partner. I went to Relief Society, but I don't know that I considered myself part of the Relief Society, if that makes any sense.

Needless to say, the last three years have been an eye-opening experience. I have had opportunities to serve that I never could have anticipated. I have taken countless meals, loaves of bread, made hundreds of visits for birthdays, Christmas, sickness-- you name it. I have spent entire days preparing for, serving, and cleaning up funeral dinners. My life has been blessed by these opportunities, and I have tried to involve my family in this service as well by taking them with me when possible. I have hoped that my daughter especially has learned a love for Relief Society Service.

However, over the last couple of weeks, we've had an experience in our family that has taught Emalee-- and me-- about the receiving end of Relief Society.

A little background. Emalee has been going through the 11 year old angst of popping out every once in a while with "everyone hates me." Nothing out of the ordinary for her age, but still disturbing to a parent, as nothing I say seems to help. Then, two weeks ago, she broke her foot. Now, instead of just everyone hating her, she's sure the whole universe hated her. The broken foot kept her from going to her brother's birthday party. It kept her from a babysitting job that she wanted. Most recently, she found out that it's keeping her from the 5th grade over-night Space Center trip.

However, in her darkest moments over the past 10 days, Heavenly Father has sent messages to her that He still loves her. These messages have come in the form of Relief Society sisters who have shown up just at the right moments-- angels who have brought her notes, crossword puzzles, cookies, and other little gifts to let her know that she is loved. In fact, the other day, I actually heard her say the opposite of her old phrase, "Mom, I have felt so loved through this whole broken foot thing."

Just last night, she was actually crying on the couch feeling sorry for herself, when a beautiful sister who had been Em's primary teacher, came through the storm just to bring her a note and a candybar. I cannot thank her enough for listening to the Spirit and providing a service for my daughter that I was unable to provide.

I am so humbled to be on the other end of the Relief Society spectrum-- it makes me realize how important it is to follow those promptings when they come and not to put them off. I thank all of those sisters from the bottom of my heart for what they have done for Emalee-- I can truly see how this trial of hers is working for her own good.

Amazing how gospel principles work out just like they are supposed to...

Mission Impossible

January is over-- (hooray!) and I've managed to keep my resolution so far to help my family to eat better. This means planned out meals (so as to keep the emergency Little Caesar's nights to a minimum), more of those green things on our plates, and less of the crap in my cupboards.

However, past attempts at this goal have taught me something very important-- man (and the Garrett family) cannot live on grilled chicken and brown rice alone.

So, I have embarked on a journey to find new and exciting ways to make healthy food. Food that isn't gross.

I know, Mission Impossible.

Some of my efforts have been more successful than others. For example:

*You can substitute fat free sour cream for regular in just about every recipe with no negative consequences. It is NOT as good on baked potatoes...
*You can choose to go low fat, low calorie or low sodium. All three at once and you are pretty much eating oatmeal. For every meal.
*Special K with red berries is the best of the Special K line. You can eat a whole cup for a serving instead of 3/4. It tastes good and doesn't need the teaspoon of sugar that a bowl of Cheerios demands.
*Fiber One and Kashi stuff gives the whole family gas. Best avoided.
*Harper's Homemade Bran Bread is the best bang for the calories-- more fiber, less sugar and a sandwich made with it actually keeps a nine year old boy satisfied for more than 5 minutes. You can get it at Walmart, but it's cheaper at Macey's.
*Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches-- 140 calories and they will trick your tastebuds into thinking that you actually ate something delicious.
*One "free day" a week keeps husbands on board with the plan.

The trick is to do all of this without making my kids anorexic. You walk a fine line to teach them to make good choices without making them scared of the consequences of bad ones. Anyone got any other good tips for me?

You Never Know

My baby turned 7 yesterday. I can't believe that it's been 7 years since I popped out my last kid. I wonder if I would have appreciated the experience more if I would have known it was the last time I would go through the wonderfully horrendous experience we call labor? I wonder if I would have appreciated the late night feedings, diaper changes and other baby events more if I would have known that every one of them brought me closer to the end of that era in my life?

Who's to say? I do know, though, that about 3 years ago, I discovered that Doug was the end of the line and since then, I've been in much less of a hurry for him to grow up. Now every event with him seems somehow more significant to me. It's a good thing that he's such a great kid-- I could really spoil him rotten if he wasn't.

Brings me to the next subject, in a round about way-- how you never know what's coming at you from minute to minute. You might think that you've got it all figured out, and then life throws you a curve ball.

Let's say that you woke up one Thursday morning, went to your Spin class, went to work (with a shower in between there, of course), helped in your kids' classes, went to the grocery store, then walked in your house with the intent of running to see the lady that you visit teach really fast before your kids get home. Right as you open the door, however, let's say that your cell phone rings and you see that it's your daughter. When you answer, she might say something like this, through her sobs, that is: "Mom, I think I broke my foot."

You would probably jump in your car, nearly hit your neighbor's dog for the 4th time that day, and drive quickly to the school. You might find your poor daughter being pushed out to your car in a wheel chair by a teacher-- not her own teacher, mind you, because her own teacher told her to be tough, put her boot back on and head home. Nevermind that your daughter can't put any weight on the foot-- and even your untrained eye can see a noticeable deformity in the foot.

If all this happened to you, you would probably find yourself spending the rest of the afternoon at the instacare, where they would tell you that your daughter has a spiral fracture in her 4th metatarsal. Suddenly, all of the plans and routines you have established are out the window for the next little while, as your poor little princess will be on crutches and excused from school for 4 days until they can cast her foot. You realize that you will now be driving Princess to and from school every day for 4-6 weeks. It might occur to you that your plans for your son's birthday party on Saturday are going to need some re-vamping.

I'm just saying.... you never know what can happen in a minute or two!

Kim Can Run

I'm back.

Sort of.

I haven't made up my mind for sure yet, but quite honestly, I miss writing.

I haven't written anything since, well, probably my last post. No new Ensign articles or even Chicken Soup stuff. Not even a single cheesy Christmas poem this year.

It kind of feels like something is missing.

So here I am. Can't guarantee anything, but at least for today...

So my post today is about running. And how I've always HATED it. I remember the first time I had to run a mile in 7th grade. I'd never run that far before. I ran one lap hard, then had to walk. I felt like my lungs would explode. My heart pounded so hard, I'm sure that other people could hear it. I could taste that coppery (read blood) taste in my mouth. From that day on, running was my nemesis.

I have avoided running since that experience. When absolutely forced, I would run a little (until no one was looking) then walk. I will admit (and repent) that I've even been known to skip a lap. I know. Shocking.

Point being, I have never run a whole mile straight in my life.

Until this week.

In August, I decided to branch out from my nearly exclusive cycling routine and join the gym. I've been cross training. I do the elliptical machine. I lift weights. I've done spin and pump classes. And, I even started using a treadmill.

Yep, I run.

And, for the first time in my life, on Monday I ran a mile. My heart rate stayed around 155. I wasn't sucking wind. I COULD HAVE RUN longer, but I didn't have time.

It wasn't super fast. I'm sure it wasn't pretty. (Think more up and down than gazelle-like grace.) But, I did it. And it felt dang good.

I'd like to say that all of this work has made me a svelt size 6, but truth be told, it hasn't made too much of a difference weight/size wise. However, for the first time in a while, I feel STRONG.

And that's worth it.

Ramblings of the Sleep Deprived

It's the first day of summer. I know it's not the summer solstice yet, but I swear that this is the longest day of the year.

At least at my house.

We are remodeling our master bedroom / bath, as well as tiling the kids' bathroom, so as to prevent FURTHER water damage to the floor. (Yep, all that splashing has caused a problem.)

I have wanted to do this for 10 years or so. Besides the obvious expense, it has taken me that long to get up the courage to attack the floor to ceiling wallpaper.

Not to mention the idea of having no room or bathroom for 2 weeks.

I've slept in the same bed essentially since I was 14. My parents gave me a waterbed for Christmas that year, and, for lack of another bed, it came with me when we got married. (Along with a student loan-- it made for quite a dowry.) Layne ended up loving the waterbed, so (even though we've replaced the mattress with one of those really fancy waveless ones), on my trusty bed we still sleep.

The biggest problem with the waterbed is that it makes it really hard to sleep on any other bed. Let alone on a crummy air mattress in the basement.

For 2 weeks.

I got a total of about 4 hours of sleep last night. When I woke up, summer had sprung (all but the weather, that is) and I was left to face three kids home all day, the start of every-day swim team, not to mention rain which is keeping said kids (and their friends) inside of my torn-apart house.

I can't even hide in my room-- it's a war zone.

To top it all off, the contractor didn't even start today as promised. I "slept" on the air mattress for nothing last night.

I know, it will all be worth it.

Unless I kill someone before that it ever gets finished and I end up in jail.

Are sleep deprivation and really-long-cooped-up-summer-day-insanity valid pleas in a court of law?

My Own Book Club

Not even going to try to catch up. Not going to explain my absence either. Does that make me mysterious?

Just going to post about some stuff I've been reading lately.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Free book on Kindle, so why not? It is a little Gothic-- reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe. A little too descriptive in some areas, but very interesting premise-- a young man has his picture painted and makes a wish that he could stay the same forever and the picture would be the one to grow old and show the effects of life. I'll give it a B.

Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. A little disturbing, but very well written. Only problem for me is that the second book in the series, Catching Fire, is not on Kindle and the waiting list at the library is huge. Giving this one an A-.

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson. Hilarious narrative about growing up in the 50s. I've read a couple of books by Bryson-- he's great at weaving facts in with his own quirky take on life. Loved the part about the Atomic Toilets. Giving this one an A- too.

The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Bought this one on my Kindle on accident, but it was pretty good. Not as good as Shadow of the Wind by Zafon, but entertaining nonetheless. It's a scary story-- reminded me of my Stephen King and Dean Koontz days. I think that he seriously over-estimated the abilities of a 14 year old boy, though. Giving this one a B-.

Never did completely finish The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene. Stayed with him until he started talking about String Theory, then had the feeling that String Theory is bunk, so I stopped reading. I had a much better grasp of Einstein from what I read, though. Can't give this one a grade, as I didn't rightly finish it. Don't you get an "i" on your transcript for an incomplete?

Sprung!

I'm bored.

None of the things that usually entertain me are appealing. At all.

I don't want to read or surf the 'net. I am obviously ignoring my blog. I have no desire to cook or bake. I don't remember the last time that I got my camera out of its bag.

I actually spent two hours on the couch watching Jackass with my husband and boys (and yes, the fact that I let my boys watch Jackass is probably the most telling symptom of all). I did put my foot down when they showed someone squeezing the most disgusting blackhead I've ever seen. I literally started gagging, which Mike found hilarious.

What the heck is the matter with me?

Is this what they call spring fever? If so, consider me

SPRUNG...

(Can you take Advil for this fever???)

They say that gratitude is the best antidote to whining. I'm willing to try anything. Here goes my random list of things for which I'm grateful for on this blustery day in March.

• My cute little hyacinths and tulips peaking their way up through the cold ground. They can't wait for spring either.
• My nice, warm, comfy bed. I've spent 6 rough nights in hotel beds in the last month or so and I have to say, there's no place like your own bed.
• Old Navy. They had an awesome sale last week and Em and I got lots of bright colored clothes. They look kind of funny hanging next to my black, navy and brown blah winter wardrobe. Kohl's should be mentioned here for the great white jacket that I picked up for only $18.00!
• Eve. I ended up teaching last Sunday (always the peril of being the 1st counselor in the Relief Society) and had a chance to study in depth about the Mother of All Living. I learned SO much and got a hugely different perspective on her, the Garden of Eden, and the Fall. More than that, I remembered just how much I love to study and teach the gospel.
• My bike trainer. Yes, it's true. My time spent on this torturous beast during the winter allowed me to, well, kick my husband's trash on our first ride together this season. (Sorry, Honey.) It will only be this way for the next couple of weeks until he gets his form back, but I'll take it while I can get it.

There.

I do feel better. You can try my prescription too, if you'd like.

I'll just bill Obama-Care.

You're welcome. :-)

Holes In The Knees

It's been a while. I know.

I'd like to say I have a good excuse, but I really don't. The best thing I can come up with is that my brain has holes in the knees of its pants.

Yep. Holes.

I will explain my weirdness.

In folding my laundry the other day, I realized that every pair of my boys' jeans-- the same jeans that were perfect and new in August-- now has at least one hole in the knees.

Herein lies my dilemma. I like my kids to look nice. I buy them relatively nice clothes. I don't let them wear stained t-shirts or even t-shirts with cartoon characters on the front to school. (Well, except for Doug's Mario shirt that I let him wear as a bribe on the days he balks at going.)

And now, they are the kids with holes in their knees. (Consolation: they aren't the only ones.)

My options are to buy new pants (which they will wear for about a month before their uniform changes from jeans and hoodies to basketball shorts and t-shirts), or to just pretend I can't see the holes until it shorts-time.

I'm leaning toward the latter.

This whole attitude is what I mean by holes in my brain-pants.

I'm just done. With. Everything.

I have reached that point where something has to give soon because I'm half-passed thread-bare. There has been too much work, church stuff, sickness, messes, school crap and cold. I have reached the limit.

My friends think I've become a hermit. My kids are tip-toeing around me. My husband sent me flowers in an attempt to cheer me up.

I'm ready for a good spring clean and fixer-up. I'm not talking about patching the holes.

I'm talking about throwing out the brain-pants for a brand new pair of Capris. Or maybe some Nike cycling shorts.

Bring on the flippin' sun already!!!

Cheerleaders vs. Maleficent

Four days is a lot of days to spend at Disneyland.

I love Disneyland. I love taking my kids there and just living in an unreal world for however long our funds hold out.

But we've never done four days before.

Two was not enough. Three seemed just right. But, four let us experience D-land in a way that we never had before.

On day 4, we spent most of the day doing things that we never thought we had time for before. We saw the Muppet 3-D show. (Better than I expected.) We toured the sour-dough and tortilla factories. We tried to see Aladdin, but the National Cheerleader Association had ALL of the tickets reserved for the whole day.

Side note about that: I hate cheerleaders. Especially cutsie pre-teen ones with crazy hair dos and glittery make-up on their faces. I 'SPECIALLY loathe the ones who were staying in our hotel and who were playing tag up and down the halls until two in the morning. My hugest bad feelings, however are reserved for their mothers who were walking around in jackets with their names on them and "cheer mom" written beneath them-- packing cans of hair spray and tubes of lip gloss and trying to live vicariously through their shallow little daughters.

Did I mention that they took up all of the Aladdin tickets? (I know-- tell you how I really feel?) My 10 and 12 year old nephews did NOT share my sentiments. If they thought that Disneyland was the happiest place on earth before, then Disneyland flooded with teenie-bopper cheerleaders had transformed into absolute heaven.

But I digress.

One of the attractions in California Adventure is an area where you can learn to draw cartoons, talk to an animated figure from Finding Nemo, and take a test to see what Disney character is most like you.

Both of my boys were Tarzan and Emalee was Jane. Pretty apt, I'd say. Layne was Jiminy Cricket from Pinnochio. I thought that was pretty funny until I got mine.

Any guesses?

Anyone?

I was thinking something along the lines of Mulan-- strong but beautiful, or maybe Elasti-girl from the Incredibles.

It told me that I am most like:

Maleficent.

Are. You. Freakin'. Kidding. Me???

It said that I can put people to sleep. (Spinning wheel, anyone?) It said that I eat people for lunch. It said that I like things my own way.

On second thought. Does Maleficent eat cheerleaders???

Middle Child Mania

My last post was number 300.

300.

Can you believe I've had that much to say?

Don't answer. I know. You probably can't believe it's only been 300.

But I digress. There are more important things to write today.

For instance, I could write about our FANTASTIC trip to Disneyland, but that might just make you jealous. I could write about the hilarious experience of traveling with 8 children. (I may still do that.) I could write about all of the nice email messages and comments I received from my last post-- I'll have you know that I've done very well with those resolutions, by the way.

Instead I'm going to write a belated birthday message about my wonderful son Michael.

Michael is the perfect middle child. He rarely makes waves. He's always content. He doesn't ask for much-- and because of that, sometimes he doesn't get the attention he deserves.

We decided to make him a rock star for his birthday-- so along with my sister's family of 7, we all flew off to Disneyland to celebrate.

Before we get to his cute pictures, let me tell you just a little bit about how incredible this kid is.

At least 3 or 4 times a week, he runs up after breakfast to make my bed because he knows how much I like having a nicely made bed. He has a fan-club of little girls who love him not just because he's killer-cute, but because he has the ability to make even little people feel important. He had a goal to read the Book of Mormon before he got baptized and he finished a week before his birthday.

This story explains Michael more than any, though.

Mike and Doug were trying to earn as much money as possible to take to Disneyland. They cleaned and worked. Mike even wiggled and wiggled an only slightly-loose tooth the night before we left and pulled it out just in time to get a buck from the tooth fairy.

He kept that dollar in his pocket at the airport. He kept thinking about buying something from the vending machines, but decided to save it for the big D-land.

That is, until the walk over.

On the corner across from the entrance to the park was a homeless lady with two dogs that every one of us ignored or didn't even notice.

Except for Mike.

Mike walked over to her, pulled out the dollar he earned literally with his own blood, and gave it to the poor soul. He petted her dogs and smiled and told her he hoped that she had a good night.

She joined the Michael fan club too.

It's getting bigger all of the time.

Happy Birthday, Buddy! You are my shining example and I can't believe that something so good could come from me. I love you!!!

Mike and crew outside of their favorite roller coaster.

My kids at Mike's birthday party.

Mike and his $15 birthday cupcake. The smile on his face was priceless.

Disneyland is a great place to have a birthday-- every where we went, the Disney employees told him Happy Birthday. One of them even got Mickey Mouse on the phone to sing Happy Birthday to him!

The Universe knew that everyone needs one perfect birthday. Mike got picked to dance in the Main Street parade and also to be a Padawan at Jedi Training. The look on his face says it all...

Man, I love that kid!

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!