Loving Myself: Part I

My husband and I have a new favorite TV show: CBS’ Elementary. For those of you who haven’t watched it or heard of it, it’s a Sherlock Holmes series set in modern-day New York. If you aren’t very familiar with Sherlock Holmes, although he’s a genius with amazing observation skills, he’s also had issues with drugs in the past. In Elementary, he’s been sober for about a year, but he still struggles with triggers sometimes. In fact, in the finale last week, one of my favorite quotes was (paraphrasing): “I may presently be sober, but I’ll always be an addict.”

These words struck me and became memorable because I am an addict, too. Not a drug addict, thankfully, and I know it sounds silly when there are so many bigger/serious problems one can have, but it’s true: I’m addicted to food.

I have never been officially diagnosed with anything, but I suspect that I could have in the past been diagnosed with a binge/purge disorder (where I would eat anything I want then fast for one-three or more days). Of course, every time I did this I was convinced that the fasting would be a line in the sand that helped me to cross over to eating healthfully from then on, but it never did; I always broke the fast by bingeing again. Most likely I could have been diagnosed with a binge disorder (without the purging) because there are times when I’ll eat and eat and eat even after I’m full just to numb myself or make myself feel better.

Yes, I’m an emotional eater, too. *sigh*

But here’s the thing: unlike Shana and Maisey, who have both written about their past struggles and how they’ve overcome them and who are both SUCH an encouragement to me, I’m not there yet. I struggle every day. I think about food ALL the time; it obsesses me.

You may have seen on this blog or on Facebook if you follow me that I’ve been trying to adopt a plant-based vegan lifestyle for over a year. I saw the documentary Forks Over Knives in January 2012, and it changed a lot of my views on health. (I have since become more sensitive to animal cruelty, but the truth is that health was the main motivation was for me.)

I stopped eating meat in February 2012. I stopped drinking cow’s milk in April 2012. Over Memorial Day weekend in 2012, I binged and went on a free fall until August. For a little less than a month in August-September 2012, I convinced my husband to try to go all-out and be 100% plant-based. It didn’t last, as you can see from the time period above. I have to admit, I wanted the support and encouragement of having the entire family on this journey with me. Not having that happen was really a bummer, and I kind of gave up for a while. Along with other family issues and my mother-in-law’s illness turning for the worst, I took all the comfort from food that I could. I would eat some healthy things, but it wasn’t a commitment. Yes, I felt bad physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually as a result of my choices. But in the moment of using food to fill those empty spaces, it didn’t matter.

Finally, things started looking up earlier this year. I made the commitment FOR MYSELF, no matter if anyone joined me or not, to become a plant-based vegan beginning on March 6, 2013. I was convinced that THIS WAS IT. No more quitting, starting over, falling off the wagon, etc. If I indulged, at least it would be in plant-based foods that I made at home.

The most important thing to me was that, even though I still thought about food all the time, I was thinking about HEALTHY food, cooking HEALTHY food, influencing my family to eat HEALTHY food, eating food that was good for me 99% of the time (those indulgences I mentioned above? I didn’t really want them anymore). I didn’t count calories; I ate as much as I wanted until I was no longer hungry. I didn’t deprive myself, but neither did I overeat, either. My body was getting all the nutrients it needed, and I’d never been happier. Honestly. It was such a high for me, especially also because I started going to the gym and was becoming fitter and stronger in that way, too. I was so proud of myself for doing GOOD things for me, for starting to become the person I’ve always wanted to be. And, to be honest, 99% of the recipes I made were delicious!

Then, at my 24 week pregnancy appointment at the end of April (I hadn’t gone to a regular appointment in March, because I had an anatomy ultrasound instead), the nurse practitioner noticed I’d lost 20 pounds since my 16 week appointment. I FELT AWESOME going into the appointment…afterward, not so much. It wasn’t that she didn’t approve of a plant-based diet or that she wasn’t happy that I’d lost weight; it was that I’d lost so much weight in so short a time.

After a couple of days, I had a phone call with a dietician about eating more calories and how to implement that in my daily eating.

At first, I was resistant. I’d been keeping a food journal, and I knew that I was eating enough of a variety of food to get every nutrient I needed—even protein. As I mentioned above, I was in no way depriving myself. When I was hungry, I ate; when I was satisfied, I stopped. It’s funny that for the first time in my life, I was happy with myself when it came to food, eating the healthiest I’ve ever eaten, and I was basically being told to start overeating. The baby was doing fine; he was actually measuring ahead. This had been the easiest pregnancy for me yet; compared to the previous two, my aches and pains were minimal.

Yet, because of those two conversations, I started doubting myself. I started overeating and indulging in plant-based desserts more often. I gained weight, but I became unhappy because I felt like I was falling into the same patterns I had all my life. I stopped going to the gym.

Then, right before Mother’s Day, I became sick. Not vomiting or anything, but seriously all-I-want-to-do-is-sleep-and-sit-on-the-couch sick. This lasted for almost two weeks, and I didn’t want to cook at all. It started out small, but soon I had completely stopped being plant-based and gone all the way to eating meat and cheese and really, really bad-for-you processed and fast foods. Why, you ask? Because I wanted to feel better. Because I didn’t care about my body because I had tried really hard and had been told what I was doing was wrong.

As a result, I’ve gained almost 10 pounds in the last two weeks.

Yeah.

Hello. My name is Elise, and I am a food addict.

Admittedly, some of that is baby weight, but you and I and my doctor all know that 99% of it is just crappy food weight.

So, where do I go from here? I definitely don’t want to continue like this. I HATE this. Even though it feels good in the moment and I can convince myself in the moment that I’ll start eating right again tomorrow, I’ve been down that road before, and it makes me miserable in all aspects of my life.

I’m writing this on Thursday, although you’re reading it on Friday, but tonight we’re traveling to Houston for my mother-in-law’s memorial service. In June we’ll be traveling to North Caroline for the first real vacation we’ve had in 10 years (also our 10^th anniversary!). I know it’s not going to be easy to try and find plant-based options on these trips. Everyone around me will be eating whatever the heck they want: typical vacation food.

Then, I’m due in August, although I have a feeling the baby will come a week or two early. There’s not that much time from when we get back from our vacation to the due date. Why try to be healthy again? Why not just start again after I have the baby?

Guys, I’m so SICK of this pattern. I’m so SICK of using non-healthy food as self-medication. I’m so SICK of giving up control of my body and my health for that short-lived rush of “treating” myself, when it actually makes me feel even worse.

So, here’s my promise to you. This morning (yesterday now), I had cereal w/nondairy milk for breakfast (of course WonderGirl wanted some, too . You are my accountability. When I go home for lunch, when I eat dinner at the airport tonight, when I’m gone to Texas this weekend, I’m going to be eating healthy, plant-based foods. I’m not going to take the easy way out. I’m not going to doubt myself. I will undoubtedly lose some weight when I weigh in at my next doctor’s appointment because I’ll be eating healthy again, but I’ll happily do as much as I can to make sure this baby inside me is growing as he’s supposed to and getting nutrients from living food instead of nothing from dead, processed food.

I will not doubt myself again. Aside from a number on the scale that freaked out my doctor’s office, my body was happy and healthier than ever before. Mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, I had never felt better.

So, as I end with this promise, here is my acknowledgement as to what this post is about (in case you were wondering). I know I’m not the only one out there with these issues. You may not decide to embrace a plant-based lifestyle, but you may be struggling with trying to eat healthier and taking control of your body and your life.

There may be ups and downs, but if you keep getting up, if you keep trying, those down periods will get shorter or shorter. We may be food addicts, but we have the power to choose whether to be “sober” or not. Others may not understand the constant struggle we face, and so we might try to trivialize it to ourselves, but you and I both know how important this is to all aspects of our lives. Forgive yourself when you fail, but don’t give up that hope and commitment, either.

Here on PBK, we try to focus on the truth that you should love yourself just the way you are. I’m not trying to undermine that truth with this post. For me, from past experience of making both bad choices and good choices, I know the only way I CAN love myself, the way I show love to myself, is by treating myself right.

So here it goes.

Next week, Part II of Loving Myself and how we influence our children with our choices, from my personal point-of view.

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I’m Elise Rome, AKA Midnight Mama because I’m usually burning the midnight oil. If SuperGirl (3, with a speech delay) and WonderGirl (2, my very own hip attachment) aren’t getting up in the middle of the night, then I’m busy working on writing and writing-related business until morning. Both my husband and I stay home with the girls (he’s a writer, too! www.lukasholmes.com), but usually I’m focused on them throughout the day and only get started working until after 8pm when they’re both in bed. I’m a former Texan now living in Colorado who desperately misses no-snow winters, and my parenting goal is to raise my daughters to be strong, intelligent, and independent women…much like the heroines I write, as a matter of fact. I’m a recovering perfectionist, recovering procrastinator, and perpetually aspire to keep the house clean (because it never actually is). When I’m not chasing around my daughters or adoring my cooking/cleaning/diaper-changing husband of 9 years, I write historical romances about women who fascinate me and men who somehow always remind me of Rhett Butler, the first literary hero who captured my heart. www.eliserome.com

To Moms (From Facebook)

I saw this on the wall of a mom I know. She shared it from Jenn Adams’ Facebook page. I thought we could all relate.

To the mom who’s breastfeeding: Way to go! It really is an amazing gift to give your baby, for any amount of time that you can manage! You’re a good mom.

To the mom who’s formula feeding: Isn’t science amazing? To think there was a time when a baby with a mother who couldn’t produce enough would suffer, but now? Better living through chemistry! You’re a good mom.

To the cloth diapering mom: Fluffy bums are the cutest, and so friendly on the bank account. You’re a good mom.

To the disposable diapering mom: Damn those things hold a lot, and it’s excellent to not worry about leakage and laundry! You’re a good mom.

To the mom who stays home: I can imagine it isn’t easy doing what you do, but to spend those precious years with your babies must be amazing. You’re a good mom.

To the mom who works: It’s wonderful that you’re sticking to your career, you’re a positive role model for your children in so many ways, it’s fantastic. You’re a good mom.

To the mom who had to feed her kids from the drive thru all week because you’re too worn out to cook or go grocery shopping: You’re feeding your kids, and hey, I bet they aren’t complaining! Sometimes sanity can indeed be found in a red box with a big yellow M on it. You’re a good mom.

To the mom who gave her kids a homecooked breakfast lunch and dinner for the past week: Excellent! Good nutrition is important, and they’re learning to enjoy healthy foods at an early age, a boon for the rest of their lives. You’re a good mom.

To the mom with the kids who are sitting quietly and using their manners in the fancy restaurant: Kudos, it takes a lot to maintain order with children in a place where they can’t run around. You’re a good mom.

To the mom with the toddler having a meltdown in the cereal aisle: they always seem to pick the most embarrassing places to lose their minds don’t they? We’ve all been through it. You’re a good mom.

To the moms who judge other moms for ANY of the above? Glass houses, friend. Glass houses.

20 Things More Beautiful Than Super Model Perfection

Your Sexiest Summer EVER! Crazy-Easy WEIGHT LOSS, Frizz-Free Hairstyles, 60 Products You’ll LOVE, and Summer Beauty 911!!!  Those are the headlines I found when sitting down with magazines tonight. I’ll confess. It’s a magazine I like to flip through. But I also like to flip through Yoga Journal, which greeted me with this: HOW TO FIND THE COURAGE TO CHANGE YOUR LIFE.

I’ve been thinking a lot since last week’s blog on the Pursuit of Perfect, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got two or three more follow-ups in me, but this is something that’s been burning a hole in me: the truth about beauty. We, as a society, spend gobs of money and time and effort and frustration on the (never-ending) pursuit, but at the end of the day, that which is most beautiful,  sustaining, soul-nourishing, most capable of turning your life around,  will never come in a bottle….

Smiles

Laughter

Hugs

Holding hands

Love

Friendship

Grace

Faith

Hope

Imagination

Creativity

Passion

Inner-Peace

Confidence

Courage

Sense of self

Humility

Compassion

Acceptance

Forgiveness

If we spent as much (money and time and effort) on pursuing from this list…can you even imagine???

I can.

Guest Post: My Annual Sanity-Saving Scrapbooking Vacation

The PBKMoms are pleased to welcome Amy Moss and her sanity-saving vacation tips!

It started so innocently, like most life-changing, amazing ideas do.

I was sitting around a dining room table with my four close girlfriends.  Two years prior we had all taken up scrapbooking as a hobby.  This is not a story about scrapbooking; so if you are not into scrapbooking, don’t worry. In place of scrapbooking you can insert knitting, crocheting, needlepointing, cross-stitching, quilting or any other favorite craft.  We’d found a hour or two here and there on rare weekends to get together, drink wine and try to put pictures of our children into scrapbooks.  Scrapbooking is a great hobby because it is a shopper’s dream.  There is always something new to buy – sparkly jewels, Mickey Mouse die cuts, just the right shade of black paper (It does not exist.) and on and on.  I have more scrapbooking supplies than I will use in my lifetime, but still I buy that new Victorian Halloween paper that would be perfect for my imaginary fall layout.

Anyway, it was not for a lack of supplies that led to the great revelation, but rather an over-abundance of them.  We had so many neat scrapbooking toys that it made it hard to get together.  Even with Creative Memories rolling luggage bags, it was a hassle to pack it all up.  We’d complained about this problem at several crops.  Then enlightenment hit - What if we went away for the weekend and scrapped?

Wait a minute! Could we go somewhere away from the kids, away from the husbands, away from the jobs, away from the cleaning, cooking, laundry, playdates, swim teams, etc.??  This idea was pretty unheard of outside of bachelorette parties to Vegas or New Orleans.  Our voices dropped to whispers, lest anyone hear of our novel scheme.  The more we talked, the more we loved the idea, and so we made a list of requirements:

1. Location must be within driving distance – shorter the better.
2. We each need our own room – Ladies, after college you are too old to share a room.
3. We need a place with a large space to all sit together.
4. We need a TV, DVD player and sturdy blender.

The plan was born: Friday through Sunday in a rented house on the beach in Galveston, Texas.  Just us girls - all together with no responsibilities (and, as it turns out, a lot of tequila) for three whole days!  After our first weekend together we knew that we had something unique and precious.  Something we were determined to do again… regularly…  and our annual scrapbooking weekend was born!

Unlike other girls-only vacations there is no running around to see antiques or museums or going out to restaurants or bars.   And no shopping.  No need to worry about what to wear or wanting to go home because you are tired when everyone else wants to party.  With this vacation there is no schedule!  You get up when you want to.  You go to bed when you want to.  Hell, you even get to take a nap if you feel like it!  You also don’t need to worry about what to bring.  Pajamas, t-shirts and yoga pants are pretty much all you need.  No one to see you.  Your girlfriends don’t care that your hair is in a scrunchie and you are wearing old Eeyore pjs.

Remember there is no schedule here and you have nowhere to be.  So cocktails start whenever you want them.  It is a safe drinking environment because there is no driving.  Your girlfriends are watching out for you with Advil and water.  So have that mimosa with breakfast and smile!

This is the time to watch all those chick flick movies that your husband and kids don’t want to see.  So pull out the Notebook and the tissues!  Haven’t seen the first season of Downtown Abbey – you can watch the whole thing this weekend!  Want to watch Gone with the Wind again – all four hours of it – with enough vodka you can do it.  I also recommend a PBS mini-series, any Jane Austen movie and missed seasons of Glee.   

 Now is the time to indulge in the food you love.  Never have you seen a grocery cart so full of delicious and unhealthy junk.  Oreos, five different kids of cheese, salami, BBQ potato chips, peanut M&Ms, etc.  You name the junk food and we eat it guilt-free.  This is vacation and the calories don’t count.  We take turns cooking dinner or we decide to just eat olives and cookies.

However, the best part about these scrapbooking weekends is being with friends that are family.  We talk.  A lot.  About everything.  Life’s scary challenges have been tackled with laughter, tears and loving support (plus a little drunken dancing).  If I have a problem, I know these girls will be there with at least three possible answers and a shoulder to lay my weary head on.  Their experience with home and business matters is invaluable and this weekend gives us the opportunity to swap stories and best practices.  It is a safe place to bare our souls…. and we get a little scrapbooking done too.

In short, this is a wonderful stay-cation away from home with your best girlfriends doing a hobby you love.  This relaxing time is the best weekend any over-stressed mom could have.  I hope you can plan your trip soon!

Amy Moss is Corporate Securities and M&A partner at Haynes and Boone, LLP in Houston, Texas.  She is the proud mom of two amazing kids, Z-Girl who is finishing up third grade and Z-Boy who starts kindergarten in the fall.  She is lucky to be married to Z-Husband, whose idea it was to pick names for the children that start with Z.

C, D, P, M and K – can’t wait till scrapbooking weekend in September!

All Alone for My Anniversary

I forgot I was supposed to blog today. My excuse? I’ve been single-parenting the kids all week, and I have a week more to go. My husband is in England, playing bass with a band. He’s sending me amazing pictures and he’s having a blast!

Meanwhile, I’m trying to finish a book that’s due in 4 weeks and keep my sanity together.

And did I mention it’s our anniversary tomorrow? It is. Happy Anniversary to us. We’ll be celebrating it in different countries. We’ve had some interesting anniversaries. Our first one with a 3 week old baby. The 2nd in a hotel room with a one year old who wouldn’t stop screaming…Well, a lot of them have centered around kids. But this is our first one apart.

I was thinking today though, as I got a little sniffly over not being with my husband, why our eight years together has gone so well.

Obviously summing it up too neatly is impossible, not to mention too neat, and would overlook the challenges we’ve faced/mistakes we’ve made (and we’ve certainly made them!). But one thing I think we’ve both done well for each other is that we’ve both been willing to make sacrifices, however big or small, to allow the other to have something for themselves.

When we had an 8 month old, a 2 1/2 year old and a 4 year old, my husband sent me off to Florida for RWA, and he did it happily, because he knew it would make ME happy. And he’s willingly taken the helm whenever a conference has come up I felt like I needed to go to. When he got this chance, even though I knew it would be hard, I told him to go for it.

Am I crazed? Heck yes. (see forgotten blog post, diminished word count, etc) But I’m glad that he went. I’m glad I could do this for him. I’m glad that MY achievements matter to him, and his to me. I’m glad that we value each other’s happiness as individuals, and I think it makes for a happier time as a couple.

I think he’s better at making these sacrifices. I think it’s his willingness to do it over the years that made me so happy to do it for him now. He certainly led on this one. I’m more selfish by nature, I think.

These kinds of gifts are a two-way street, I mean, you have to give them and have someone giving them to you as well, otherwise I think that just breeds contempt. But someone also has to give first.

I’m just sort of blah blah blah today, forgive me, it’s the sleep depravation talking. And drinking alone to 8 years, and to many, many more!

Build Her Confidence: Guest Post by Samantha Grace

Today the PBKMoms are thrilled to welcome fellow author and mom Samantha Grace.

It’s an honor and a privilege to be blessed with a child to raise. You want to keep your children safe and have them grow into healthy, happy, successful, loving, and productive individuals that will make the world a better place to live. You want the world to be a better place for them.

It’s no small task to be a parent. The hours are long, the work is hard, and the pay stinks, but the benefits package is priceless—snaggle-tooth grins, sweet belly-laughs, admiration shining in their eyes. Yeah, it’s totally worth it.

Having a daughter feels like even more responsibility, at least for me as a mom. I’m THE example in my daughter’s life of what a woman should be. Or if I’m horrible at this mother gig, maybe I’ll become a precautionary tale. (grin)

I feel it’s every generation’s job is to be better than the one that came before it. Our pasts should not be projected onto our children, and mistakes shouldn’t be repeated in an endless cycle. My mom was a great example for me in that respect. She didn’t have an affectionate, loving home growing up, but that didn’t stop her from trying her best to give it to me. I never doubted my family loved me.

My mom wasn’t able to give me was the confidence that comes from being comfortable in my own skin. I want to give this to my daughter so badly. I don’t want her to look in the mirror and zero in on what she sees as flaws. I believe how you actually look has little bearing on how happy you are. Beautiful women can feel lacking and large women can be living the best life imaginable. While I always want to focus on health, I don’t want my ten-year-old daughter to ever feel anything less than a goddess and unwilling to settle for anyone who isn’t going to love her fully.

Here are steps I’ve taken to help build her confidence, and so far, they seem to be working.

Being a good example: Actions always speak louder than words. No matter how many times I might tell her she’s beautiful, smart, funny, and sweet, my efforts could be for nothing if I’m critical of myself. My daughter is a part of me and therefore anytime I put myself down, I’m putting down a part of her. That may sound far fetched, but as I’ve grown into a woman, I see more of my mother in my features. If I complain about how ugly my nose is and my daughter has my nose, I’m telling her she is ugly too. (Personally, I have nothing against my nose. It does its job.)
Sometimes it means faking confidence when I may be wrestling with insecurities, but it’s amazing how something that starts out as pretending can become real.

Letting her fail and be successful: It’s normal to want to protect our girls (boys too, really), but always coming to the rescue can send the message that our daughters aren’t capable of handling things on her own. That’s a slippery slope because then her focus as she grows becomes how to find someone who can take care of her rather than her seeking a partner to stand by her side.

One simple way I’ve worked with my daughter in gaining social confidence is having her make her own phone calls to RSVP for parties. I model for her what to say, have her practice, and then stay by her side while she makes the call. Sometimes it takes a vote of confidence. “You can do this. You’ll be fine.” And I always follow it up with praise for how brave she is. I’ve done the same thing with helping her approach service counters and ordering at a restaurant. We also practice different ways she can respond to classmates who aren’t being nice to her.

Reinforce that she was born exactly the way she was meant to be:
As a teen, I remember hearing how pretty I was. And how I could be a ‘knockout’ if only I would lose five pounds. Oh, the ever present five pounds, the only thing standing between bliss and me. I know my mom meant well and probably thought she was being helpful. But in my head, I only heard “You’re not quite good enough.” It also seemed incredibly important for me to be a ‘knockout’ and to be attractive to the opposite sex. But you know what valuable lesson I learned eventually? I didn’t need to change anything to be loved. I only needed to love myself and once I’d started down that path, my husband came into my life. And you know what’s even more amazing? The things I considered my weak points – i.e. curves—he loves. So there ya go! I’ve told my daughter since she was a tiny girl that she is exactly as she’s supposed to be, because I believe that with all my heart.

Focus on her strengths:
I don’t give my daughter false compliments, and I don’t praise everything she does. I think that only makes kids more reliant on outside reinforcement that they are okay. But I do notice her strengths. She’s a decent singer, budding artist, and good writer. She is a great friend. She’s sensitive to others and she’s kind. Her teacher chose her for a special leadership program at her school because she is always helping other kids. In fact, in kindergarten she became the self-appointed buddy to a classmate with special needs, helping her get to the bathroom and into line for different activities. She has a great work ethic in school and she isn’t shy in the least.

So how do I know the efforts I’m making are working? If you follow me on Facebook, you’ve probably seen postings about things she says and does that illustrate how confident she is. Her latest show of confidence came when I said something about her talking distracting me from what I was doing, and she responded with absolute seriousness, “I’m sorry. I know I’m interesting.” Gotta love that girl!

Samantha Grace is the author of several Regency romance novels. Lady Vivian Defies a Duke (released May 7th) is the final installment of her Beau Monde Bachelor series. Publisher’s Weekly describes her stories as “fresh and romantic” with subtle humor and charm. She writes what she enjoys reading: romantic comedies about family, friendship, and flawed characters who learn how to love deeply.

Samantha is a part-time hospice social worker, moonlighting author, and full time wife and mom. She enjoys life in the Midwest with her husband, two witty kids, and a multitude of characters that spring from her imagination.

To Connect with Samantha, you can find her at:

Samantha Grace Author | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Lady Scribes

The Lure of Looking Younger Than We Are

I’ve never Botoxed. I’ve never had a tuck or a nip. But my own mother is thinking about having her eyes done. She’s 77, and it’s true that her eyelids are weighing down on her eyes now. (I can see it start happening to me. I have very deep-set eyes, too). I asked Mom why she’d ever consider going under the knife. Is there some shame in looking seventy-seven? She said that she’d do it just because…she hates how her lids look. 

Geez. When I’m 77, I want to be proud of being that old. I don’t want to be ashamed of wrinkles or find them so distasteful that I have to risk anesthesia to fix the “problem.” When I think of my gorgeous but definitely aging mother undergoing unnecessary plastic surgery, I think there’s something very wrong. Here in America, we spend too much time trying to look way younger than we actually are.

But the truth is, I’m a hypocrite. I have the nerve to question why people my mom’s age try to look younger, yet I have some gray hair that I’m attempting to cover up myself. I’ve considered going naturally gray, but I always balk. As Nora Ephron said,

“There’s a reason why forty, fifty, and sixty don’t look the way they used to, and it’s not because of feminism, or better living through exercise. It’s because of hair dye. In the 1950′s only 7 percent of American women dyed their hair; today there are parts of Manhattan and Los Angeles where there are no gray-haired women at all.”

I look at pictures of my grandmother at about my age, and I think, “Wow. She looks really, really old.” And I’m glad I don’t look like that. I honestly think I’d feel less energetic if I walked around with tightly rolled, graying curls. I think I’m going to be like Cher when I get older. I’m going to get a little crazy and colorful…glammed up granny, that’ll be me! I’ll pinch all the butts of the cute waiters I meet, too.

Maybe. <G>

So I’d better let up on my mom and let her do her own thing, you think? I guess we all have to deal with the inexorable march of time in our own way.

What about you? What kind of old person will you be?

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Hi, I’m Kieran. My family loves music and anything that makes us laugh out loud. Along with Chuck, my husband of 23 years, I try to teach our kids that we have to actively choose happiness–and if I accomplish nothing else as a mom but pass that one lesson along to them, then I think I’ve done my job.

My oldest guy, Nighthawk, was diagnosed in kindergarten with Asperger’s syndrome, and now he’s a junior in college; his sister Indie Girl, who’s younger by 16 months, is a college sophomore; and my youngest, Dragon, is in ninth grade. For our family, it’s about managing your weaknesses and wringing everything you can get out of your strengths. And along the way, finding joy.

www.kierankramerbooks.com

A letter to a mother

Dear mom I saw at the grocery store:

I saw you there in the cold section, I was picking up yogurt for my family and you were there with your three kids – 2 in the cart and one walking beside you. Your little ones were what people affectionately call chubby, but I want you to know that cute chubbiness is going to change and what happens from there will shape your children’s lives. Your little girl, walking beside the cart, I’m guessing she was 7 or 8 and I’m sure everyone still teases her about her “baby fat” but those eating habits she has right now, they’re only going to get worse.

You see, I was that little girl the one with the baby fat. But once you hit Jr. High, no one calls it baby fat anymore. But then it’s just fat and people will still comment on it. There will be that boy who somehow gets a hold of her yearbook and writes in it cruelly, “save the whales, harpoon the fat chicks.” And there will be that girl who points and tells her that fat girls shouldn’t wear mini skirts. There will be the boy she has a crush on, the one who never looks her way and she’ll go home sad and only get sadder. And bigger.

Mom, know now that you are the one capable of changing her eating habits, of teaching her about healthy choices, fruits and vegetable and no, that doesn’t include french fries. Know that every time you offer her a candy bar or an ice cream cone when she’s sad, that only teaches her to continue to reach for those when she needs some comfort. Know that if you don’t fix it, she will have to, someday when she’s ready, if she’s ready, but that the burden of those extra pounds will cause her health problems and emotional damage that she’ll live with forever.

Mom, I know you love those kids, I could see it on your face, but I glanced in your grocery cart and honestly I don’t mean to judge, but please be careful with those choices for your babies. I know they’re kids, I know they should be able to eat fun “kid food” chips and cookies and every sugary thing in between. But they’re kids and they’ll love fruit if you give it to them, it’s sweet and natural and yes, it can be more expensive, but there is always some fruit in season or there’s frozen fruit. There are ways to do it. And you can do it!

Your window of opportunity is small, eventually this blame will leave you and fall to her. It will be her choices, those things she puts in her mouth. But right now, while she’s still little, you can  help shape her view of food and her body and her health. Right now, you still have time…

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That’s what I want to tell them, every time I see moms with “chubby” kids. It hurts me. I ache for those children because I know, first hand, how horribly cruel kids can be and it only gets worse as you grow up. I hope that letter doesn’t make it sound like I blame my own mom because I most certainly do not. Things were different when I was growing up, no one knew much about nutrition in the way that we all know now. Convenience was king and still is to some degree, but we’re having a bit of a renaissance where people are getting back to growing their own food and infusing their daily food intake with more whole foods, grains, veggies and the like. We know more now. And for right now while we prepare our kids food, it is our responsibility to teach them about healthy eating. Of course that doesn’t take into consideration the picky eaters…but that is for another blog.

In Pursuit of Perfect

You’re sitting there. Maybe you’re flipping through a magazine or scrolling through Facebook, or maybe you’re at the playground or a group lunch/dinner. You’re sitting there looking or listening, and everything is so…perfect. The women in the magazine are beautiful. Your friends on Facebook are having wonderful experiences, posting pictures of their beautiful families and fabulous vacations, sharing how blessed they are by a new job or home, by a golden friendship or the most amazing, romantic marriage, for some incredible success they’re having professionally, a fabulous review or promotion, a fat raise (or new contract). To the casual observer, you look normal, but inside you’re dying…dying. Because everywhere you look, Perfect is Blasting back at you. Except for when you look in the mirror. Then you see yourself, and the far from perfect reality of your life. And those negative thought start creeping in…you know the ones.

Social Media amplifies this, because so much of social media is a shout-out of greatest hits. We gush about what’s awesome. Fantastic. Amazing! Rarely do we admit to what’s not. Oh, I don’t mean the posts about having a headache or allergies or food poisoning, but the posts where we admit our fears and vulnerabilities. Where we talk about our nightmares, not our dreams.

But there you are, working through the reality of your life, while the barrage of Perfect! around you feels like one gut punch after another.  You want to be happy for your friends—you are—but at the same time, it becomes increasingly hard to feel comfortable in your own skin, when everyone else’s skin seems so-o-o much better. If I’m being honest, being real, here’s my truth:  I smile at the world—I keep that smile pasted so firmly in place—but behind it, way down deep, are all the dirty little secrets, the lifelong messages that play like a broken record through my mind: My legs are flabby. My stomach is too poochy. My butt is too big. The lines around my eyes make me look old. My mouth is too small. My eyelashes are too thin. My chest is too freckled. My house is disgracefully unclean.  My writing isn’t good enough, isn’t amazing. That I don’t have what it takes.  I’m not organized enough. I’m too selfish. I don’t volunteer enough. I’m not a good enough friend.  I’m invisible. I procrastinate too much. I’m not a good enough wife, mother…

On, and on, and on…

Those are my demons, and I fight them. I fight them hard, and finally, I think, after a lot of years and heartache, and a whole lotta love from some very special people, I’m making headway. I’m coming to realize—to accept—that PERFECT is an illusion. Sure there are perfect moments. Perfect days. Perfect chocolate chip cookies. But what I’m talking about is Perfect Everything. It doesn’t exist. It’s the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and like the rainbow, it’s always shifting. It dangles out there, tempting us, teasing…taunting, but no one ever really gets there—and anyone who puts on that they have is simply blowing smoke. They want you to think that, they want to think that, because they need it as desperately as everyone else. But it’s all smoke and mirrors…and that’s okay.

I look at my kids, my daughter especially, and I think about the truths I want to teach them, that real happiness comes from inside, that they are beautiful just the way they are, because beauty comes through smiles and grace and kindness, through love and compassion and forgiveness, from giving not getting. That the most amazing gifts are the simplest: laughter and hugs and wet, sloppy doggy kisses, the feel of the wind and the warmth of the sun, a walk through the woods, grass or sand between their toes, holding hands…  That there is no perfect weight, no magic number on the scale that suddenly is going to make life okay. That no one cares if your legs aren’t toned and tight, or if your mouth is small or freckles dot the bridge of your nose. No one is going to turn their back on your because you have thin eyelashes or are a size bigger than you’d like to be. That you’re not going to lose friends because your house is dirty (case in point: my daughter’s room is a disaster area…but seriously, I’m pretty sure that’s never cost her a friend!)  That life isn’t always sunshine and roses, that it can’t be, but that’s okay.  That as long as you have love in your heart, for yourself and those around you, as long you have compassion and empathy and forgiveness, as long as you do your best, everything’s going to be okay.

I have my demons, but if I have anything to say about it, they’ll never sneak up on my kids.

Not Like the Other Girls – and I’m cool with that now

First off, I just have to comment on how great and brave Shana’s post was earlier this week. It was really touching and incredibly impacting.

On the theme of weight…

I spent most of my childhood getting called fat by the other kids at school. For a long time, that wasn’t really true. But I had chipmunk cheeks. And that gives you a certain look.

I hit puberty early, and when it hit, it sucker punched me. I gained a lot of weight. Probably 60 + pounds in only a few months. I was twelve when that happened and let me tell you, other kids were not kind about the change in me. I’d always been picked on for my weight, but it got worse.

But I was a pretty strong kid and I had a sassy mouth, and whatever got dished out to me, I had no problem giving back. The taunting was never the worst part. It was the subtle things.

When I was a teenager, there weren’t plus sized junior’s clothes, at least not where I lived. That meant not only having a different body type than ALL of my friends, but not being able to wear what they did either. Gloria Vanderbilt jeans from Montgomery Ward’s with a stretch waistband? What thirteen year old girl doesn’t want those!? (Me. I didn’t. But I had them. Because…hey, I had to wear pants!)

I remember feeling like I couldn’t go to a party and eat like everyone else. Because while my friend who weighed 100 pounds could eat whatever she liked and no one would care, I, at 200 pounds couldn’t. Because I was afraid people would watch me eat that fourth slice of pizza and think: That’s why she’s fat.

Then there was the time I was at drama class and we were all in costume. A friend, for some reason, put on a pair of my pants and came out of the dressing room. They were huge on her. They looked like clown pants. And she was laughing, so was everyone else. Not at me, I don’t think anyone translated it to me. She had huge pants on, it was funny. But not to me. They fit ME.

I had friends. People were nice to me. But there were all sorts of ways that I was reminded, on accident or not, that I wasn’t like all the other girls.

This is the kind of crap that follows you, I know it’s followed me. Through my 60 + pound weight loss and into adulthood, it’s followed me. You absorb that stuff. It becomes a part of you. This idea that you’re wrong. That everyone looks better than you. That you’re deficient in some way.

I’ll admit that I’m often still self-conscious about what I eat in front of other people. That I’m very critical of myself.

I think I’m finally getting better. In part because I have a husband who is so free with compliments, and in part because I’m getting older and realizing how I look at other people. How little their weight matters to me. I don’t care what someone else eats, what their scale says, what the number on the tag in their dress is, so why do I think people are obsessed with me and mine? They aren’t. That’s just my old thinking coming back to bite me.

Oh, teenage angst, will you ever really leave?

I was reading the comments for Shana’s post and I saw that she mentioned the fallacy that we’ll hit a magic weight and somehow all will be right. I know I’ve done that. Not just with weight, with a lot of things. But there is no magic happy weight. Sure, I have a weight I’m more comfortable at for a variety of reasons, but it’s not the thing that will make me happy. Or make people accept me. Or make ME accept me.

At the risk of being super cheesy, you have to love yourself FIRST. As you are. Heavy, light, big nose (that’s me!), frizzy hair, socially awkward…doesn’t matter. Love that person, because you have to believe in you. You have the most invested in your future, so you have to advocate for YOU. You have to love you.

There is no magic weight. There is no magic time in your life, no secret THING that’s going to make you go: Oh, okay, so now I’m all right. I say this having been a variety of weights and feeling basically as awkward as ever at all of them. But I was always me, no matter what the scale said. And I was always just as valuable.

And so are you.

Yes, I have the lingering neuroses, but at least now I know they’re not allowed to control me. That’s the perk of being 27 instead of 17. Perspective, I haz it.

I’m going to leave you all with this helpful graphic about how to have a bikini body, which just about sums it up (pardon the language) :