Lucky Seven

This is about a boy. A little boy who decided on his own to come barreling into the world and surprise us. A little boy who continues to thrash through this life at full throttle, deciding things on his own and surprising us all. A little boy that unknowingly saved my life as I struggled through some of my toughest days of my life.  This is about my baby boy and the only boy to ever call me “Momma” who somehow is turning 7 years old.

He is contagious in every way. His laughter and his love are genuine and pure. He’s outgoing and friendly. He’s rambunctious and crazy yet calm and snuggly. He’s smart and wise beyond his years yet he can melt my heart with that little voice. He’s respectful and defiant.  He listens and rebels. He’s sensitive and sometimes shy yet a leader and bossy. His personality is like no other. He’s unique and quirky. He can’t sit still and is extremely active. He is sassy and fresh yet hilarious and good.  He loves attention and craves affection. His heart is big and full of goodness, innocence, love and kindness. He is everything a 7 year old boy should be and he completes us. 

It’s hard to remember what our life was like before his arrival. He has shaped the three of us into totally different people than we were seven years ago. I’ve gained such strength, patience and a greater perspective on life. He’s kept my Husband lively, active and young. He made someone a Brother and a Famous Super Hero in his own right. He’s kept that same Superhero grounded, young, playful and happy. We sometimes wish for a quieter, less busy person in our face 24/7 because the little one we have never stops talking or moving yet when he’s not there the house just feels empty. We then find ourselves counting down the minutes for his return. He’s the missing puzzle piece we didn’t even know we were missing. He makes us “The Martin’s”, our caboose on this crazy train we ride. 

As he turns 7 I just want him to always know how much we ALL love him, all three of us; all in our own way and so so much. Our life is busy and fulfilled evenly with family activities however this next year will be filled with many many Big Brother moments as his brother starts his Senior Year of High school. I just want him to know and feel how much we need him, how much we want him and how very much we love and adore him.

 We may only celebrate this little boys birthday for one day but I hope he knows his Momma celebrates him every day for all that he has given and continues to give us. #LuckySeven

The Battle- My Story

I have put a lot of thought into myself lately. I have thought about my page, The Shrinking Sparkly Girl and my #Roadto40 mission. I have thought about my journey, the ups, the downs and the constant battle to live up to the picture in my head. The choices I make or don’t make are mine, I own them and so the battle continues. 

The battle of weight and what it means for me? Why is it a battle? Why is it something that I’ve struggled with my entire life? Why is it so hard? Why can’t I just fix it? Why do I need to think about it every single day of my life? It’s exhausting. It’s too much.

  The idea in my head was that I was always just too BIG. It was in my own head though. My weight or size was never an issue or negatively talked about at school or with my peers. The ideas in my head probably stem from home. It stems from growing up listening to my Dad always telling my Mom she was fat (she wasn't) and as I matured jokingly making fun of me or telling me my ass was too big as I walked by him. It stems from my Mom letting me do cabbage soup and beet diets with her when I was a young teenager. It stems from laughing growing up as your Grandfather sang “I don’t want her you can have her she’s too fat for me”. It stems from my Mom asking me to join Diet Workshop when I was only 18 years old. The ideas in my head, they weren’t mine they were put there when I was a young vulnerable girl.  

I’ve gone back and looked through pictures of myself. I look at myself as a child. I was a pretty little girl.

I was tall, thick and bigger than most girls my age but I did not have an ounce of fat on me. In high school I was still taller than most girls and even some boys, definitely not petite as most of the girls and maybe a little heavier than I should have been but definitely not fat. I was not fat but I thought I was.

High School

I lost weight on that plan when I was 18years old. I lost too much weight and over the next few years I lost a lot of other things too. I became obsessed with the thought of food and what food would do to my body. I wanted to eat but became so afraid of gaining weight. So I ate and then I purged almost all of my meals and abused laxatives for almost a year.  The breaking point was when I was 21years old and I passed out at my office Christmas Party in the bathroom as I was purging all the appetizers I had just consumed. I left that party by ambulance.  My secret was out. 

The next 2 years were recovery mode, mentally and physically. I ruined my digestive system. I had 4 colonoscopies, 2 endoscopies, proctitis, gastritis, hiatal hernia, esophagitis, colitis and reflux all before the age of 25. I had steroid suppositories, special drinks and at one point had to take 4 pills 4 times a day just to control my over active bowels. My body healed for the most part but did leave me with lifelong digestive issues that I still take medication for. My mind continued to struggle and then I got pregnant. I remember being so happy that I could just eat. It sounds so simple, right? I was happy that it didn’t matter to me if I gained weight for the first time in my life it just didn’t matter. It wasn’t until after he was born that I had my first real set back. I quickly made a doctor’s appointment.  I remember my doctor sitting next to me in the exam room as I cried and stared down at my infant son in his carrier telling my doctor how much I was struggling with food, that I was scared and I couldn’t do “this” all again. I remember telling him “this baby needs me.” He helped me so much. I went to see him every week for quite awhile and sadly I can’t even remember his name. It was because of those appointments, a year of Prozac and my baby boy that I can proudly say 1999 was the last time I ever abused laxatives or purged.

My weight has been up and down most of my life since then. It consumes me sometimes, the thought process, the worry of gaining more, the stress of every diet, every bite of something not on the so call “list”, the time and space in my head that it takes up, the disappointment of failed attempts and the joy of successes even if small. I don’t know why it’s so hard. I don’t know why I make it so hard. I just don’t know. I’ve tried to figure out why I struggle so much when other people make it seem so easy. Honestly, I just don’t know. What I do know is as I approach 40 years old enough is enough. I’ve contemplated everything over the last few weeks trying to decide “what to do”.  I’ve decided I just can’t do this anymore. What does “what to do” even mean? To me it means another year, another diet to try, going back to my health coach, getting another new app to log food, buying another book or researching bariatric surgery. I am done with all that. I have to be. 

I won’t forget the small successes of this year. I lost 25lbs. I got back to my smallest jeans in the closet. I drink a lot of water. I don’t put sugar in my coffee. I go to bed earlier. I drink a lot less wine. I buy and cook healthier and lighter foods most of the time. I keep a scale in the kitchen to just be aware and not get to far away. 

I have a long way to go. I want to get to where ever there is for me and I will. I don’t need to be who I was 20years ago. I need to be me the almost 40year old version. This version the one I love the most regardless of the number on the scale. 

I’ve come to terms with my weight, my journey, my goals, my love of wine and tacos. I am okay with the slow progress because progress is progress no matter what. I’m living, loving and continuing on with this lifestyle forever. If it takes me another year to lose another 25lbs I’m okay with that. I don’t have to live up to anyone else but myself. 

I'm done.

Elf Shenanigans 2015

The Day You Left Me

The day is here. The day that was once so ordinary. The day that we played football in the yard with the kids, they were so little then.The day that was exceptionally warm for November. The day that the sun shined bright through the windows and the smell of lasagna baking filled our home. The day that seemed like every other Sunday until it wasn’t.

It’s the day you left us. It’s the day you left ME. It’s the day that left me without a father. 

It’s the day so many of us lost you but this; this is about me. You left ME. You left me fatherless, motherless, left my kids and they were still so young. They miss you. I miss you. You left me just like that and that’s not how it was suppose to go. I’m still mad.

I have spent 1,461 days without you; each day different and each day bringing me to this day; today. It’s the day 4 years later that brings me down, brings me back to that awful day and floods me full of memories about what you meant to me. 

You were so simple. You were fun and goofy. You made fun of me yet would do anything to help or protect me.  You were sometimes such a controlling jerk yet you still tickled my knees if I was riding in the car with you even as an adult with two kids of my own. A man of few words yet a man who I always knew loved me so so much. I always thought you would be there for me until you weren’t.

A lot of things are different now but so much is still the same. You would be so proud of me, of the kids and how we go on. I can think of you and smile most days instead of drowning silently or alone in my tears. I see you in so many things like the lake, clouds, sunsets and stars. I feel you with us, looking over us even though I can’t physically see you. I believe in the signs and how you visit us in our dreams. 

I am a different person and although I wish everyday you were still here the person I turned into because you aren’t is my saving grace. 

Who's Pretending?

You always see those meme pictures “May your life be as awesome as you pretend it to be on facebook” and you laugh or give an eye roll as that someone pops instantly into your mind. I myself am an open book. I don’t pretend that my life is awesome because I believe my life is awesome.  I have come to believe in myself, my purpose and recognize my strengths. I decide how my life is going to be. I have a husband who I love and who loves me. I have what I believe are the best boys in the world who are my world. I take pride in their awesomeness and they are by far my greatest accomplishment. I was meant to be their Mother, it’s the biggest thing about my life and it’s what gives me the most confidence. I am their mother, I am a good mother and I am not pretending. 

My Husband loves me and I love him. We enjoy being with each other, going out with friends together or just grabbing a drink together on a random weeknight. We like being together. We like each others company and we are not pretending. 

We are a family of four. We all laugh, tease each other and hug a lot. We help each other and find simple ways to show appreciation and love. We all tell each other every day at some point no matter what that we love one another. We all love each other so much and we are not pretending.

We love all our extended family and friends. We celebrate, support and help them however or whenever we can. We enjoy seeing them, making plans and spending time with them. We don’t get to see many of them as much as we would like but when we are together we enjoy it and we are not pretending.

The question is; What is pretending? Who’s pretending? 

Is pretending not sharing the cute picture of myself but instead posting the one at the worst angle with my hair in my face and my right eye closed? 

Is pretending not posting the great picture of my husband and I at his company event but instead should of told you that my Husband is some kind a “loser” or that his job sucks because that same company hasn’t let him be home one night with us since school started to help me with rides to practice, afterschool pickups, dinner, homework or showers?  Of course not.

Is pretending telling you what a great big brother my 16yo is for taking time to carve a pumpkin with his 6yo brother when instead I should of told you how he just slammed his bedroom door in his little brothers face because he’s being so annoying while he’s trying to do homework?

Is pretending telling you how much I love my family and sharing our fun times when I should of instead told you about how I lost it the other day because no one cleans up after themselves?

Is pretending finally getting together with a friend and taking a fun pretty selfie together when I should of told you it took us breaking plans five times to finally get here?

Are we pretending or are we all just living real life? Aren’t we all in the same boat? Who wants to listen to constant complaining or negativity so we share the good, the love and the fun.

I don’t necessarily think anyone is pretending. I think people want other people to see the best of them.

The next time you are scrolling through remember we are all the same, just people trying to make it through life the best we can. As you scroll and see the perfect family who looks all together when you feel a mess remember it may have taken them ten frustrating tries with screaming and crying to get that great shot but they still look as great as their love is for one another. It’s life, it’s not pretending.