tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80263524388381044262024-03-12T19:01:41.280-05:00UberlibrarianaBecause I talk about more than just fitness and booksAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.comBlogger319125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-41235818161537949552014-03-30T04:04:00.002-05:002014-03-30T04:04:32.732-05:00I moved!So, in my quest for a fresh start (or "<a href="http://uberlibrarian.com/2014/03/27/anustart/" target="_blank">A New Start</a>" if you will), I started a whole new blog. It's <a href="http://uberlibrarian.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a>. I hope you'll follow me!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-577333377787721902014-03-27T09:16:00.001-05:002014-03-27T09:16:14.086-05:00Once Upon A Time...Once upon a time, I had a blog. Then I got busy. Yesterday, I remembered my blog, but not long enough to actually do anything about it.<br />
<br />
I miss blogging, but I feel like my blog was never really what I wanted it to be. But then again, I'm not really sure what I want it to be.<br />
<br />
I don't think I'll ever make money blogging. I enjoy writing, and I enjoy talking about myself.<br />
<br />
So, I'm not sure what to do. I am, however, considering scrapping the whole thing and starting over.<br />
<br />
I'm all about fresh starts these days. I think it's the whole "turning 40" thing.<br />
<br />
But what part of my life should I make the focus of the "new" blog? Parenting? There are probably enough Mommy bloggers out there.... Librarianship? I can never compete with some of those top librarian blogs, and I don't really want to. Fitness? Well, I could document my journey and my current failures and challenges....<br />
<br />
All of it? Should I just blog about being a working mom who is a librarian and getting a doctorate in Education who loves to work out and if she can ever get herself together may have an organized house and compete in a physique competition?<br />
<br />
I don't know....But I'll let you know when I figure it out... if I do....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is me at 40, by the way...</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-64719397206390791792013-05-03T20:47:00.000-05:002013-05-03T20:47:58.110-05:00The Birth of Lil' A....I know I need to write down a super detailed birth story, so I can remember it (and tell my daughter REPEATEDLY)... but I'm not sure how much I can focus at this point. I did want to get some pictures posted, so there's that...<br />
<br />
Tuesday morning was a particularly hard day. Physically, emotionally... it was hard. I did not feel well. Wednesday morning I woke at 4:00 am having contractions. As usual. I woke my husband up, only because he had asked me to wake him early so he could finish grading papers for class.<br />
<br />
By 5:00 however, I knew I wasn't feeling right. I hadn't really felt the baby move, and my stomach was almost CONSTANTLY hard. I decided to take the kids to school and then possibly go to the hospital.<br />
<br />
I kind of half assed timed contractions while I was getting ready. I showered, fixed my hair, put on a little make up. They were about 10 minutes apart, but it was getting hard(er) to breathe, and I found myself gasping for air almost constantly.<br />
<br />
Got the kids to school. After I dropped them off, I noticed I felt like the contractions were much closer than every 10 minutes. I had no idea how close, but I was able to keep driving.<br />
<br />
Went to the hospital. They checked me in.<br />
<br />
One of the nurses asked, "Are you here by yourself?" I said, "Yes, I wanted to make sure I knew it was the real thing before I get my husband here." They checked me and I was 3.5 cm and 80% effaced.<br />
<br />
Around 8:30 I think was when I got the news that I would be staying and having a baby!!<br />
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<br />
I called my husband to tell him and since he was on his way to school to teach a 9 am class, he went ahead and went in just to tell everyone. Then he arrived at the hospital.<br />
<br />
The doctor started by breaking my water. Things progressed quickly from there.<br />
<br />
I knew going into this I wanted an epidural, so I ordered one right away. My poor husband watched while they started it, and it seemed to make him very nervous. It was more uncomfortable than I remember it being the last time. I felt a couple of odd shooting pains. And to tell the truth, the epidural never did give me the all out pain relief I was hoping for. More about that later.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love large green hospital gowns.</td></tr>
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The contractions were 2-4 minutes apart, but they needed them to be closer. So I was given a low dose of pitocin.<br />
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I sent my husband home to rest and started to watch <i>Castle</i>.<br />
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<br />
Or <i>Firefly</i>.<br />
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<br />
I think there was a little of both. All I know was there was Nathan Fillion.<br />
<br />
I've never had a medication-free birth, so I don't know how bad the worst contractions can feel. But, I do know that I was still feeling them quite a bit. My wonderful nurse called the Epidural Guy back at least 2 times to "top me off". Even then, it just never felt quite right. Although I was numb down there, so I guess that's something.<br />
<br />
I think it was around 1:00 when my doctor came by and checked. I was at about a 7. She suggested I tell my husband to start making his way back, especially since I had gone from 7 to 10 with my second baby in a matter of just a few minutes.<br />
<br />
I kept feeling like pressure down there. They checked and the baby was engaged. Every contraction was so strong and I felt like she was just going to walk out on her own.<br />
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They started to get everything ready:<br />
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I knew it was serious when they took the table away that had my computer on it. That meant I had to stop watching Firefly. I remember being kind of disappointed... but then realizing that was ridiculous.<br />
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I sent my husband a text. "How close are you? Shit's getting real..." Apparently that sent him into a speeding nervous frenzy.<br />
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After that everything happened super fast. I told my husband I wanted to time the pushing, so I asked him to keep track of the time. I started to push. I tried to count them but I lost count. I pushed hard and often- with breaks in between just long enough to catch my breath. I'm pretty sure it was less than 10 pushes. Lil' A was 8 pounds 2 oz and 20. 5 inches long. She was born at 2:05.<br />
<br />
I was pushing little heart out and my doctor said, "Sarah, open your eyes and look down." And there she was. My little alien baby. I said "Holy Crap!" and they took her off to get her checked and fixed up.<br />
<br />
My husband reported that I pushed for 7 minutes.<br />
<br />
Because I pushed so little, she initially had some breathing issues. Lots of fluid. Of course, she cried immediately, which was reassuring. But I watched as they put oxygen masks to her fact and flicked her feet. I have no idea what her Apgar was.<br />
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I was able to hold her for a bit before they took her to the nursery:<br />
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For the next few hours, she was in the nursery. They were worried about her breathing and her circulation. She had some discoloration around her mouth which made them think she wasn't getting enough oxygen. She also had some mild shoulder dystocia from coming out. It seemed like an eternity before I got her back, and I was a bit worried. But eventually they brought her to me and I was able to nurse her and love on her.<br />
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Big brother and big sister didn't make it by until pretty late. Daddy took them to a birthday party they were really looking forward to. So at around 9:30 they showed up.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very sweet. They approve.</td></tr>
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I chose to have a tubal ligation, and they scheduled it for Thursday morning. Because of this, they left the base of the epidural attached overnight. This meant no shower. It also meant lots of discomfort.<br />
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Thursday morning I had my tubal. They knocked me out. I finally got my relaxed, pain free nap. Honestly, I don't remember falling asleep, I just know that the next thing I remember was them waking me and telling me it was all done. And I felt sooooo relaxed.<br />
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Once the pain meds wore off it was very uncomfortable though...<br />
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We are home now and getting used to the new normal. Those last few days of pregnancy I had a terrible time breathing. I realize how bad it was now because of the difference- as soon as she got out, I was able to breathe easier. So, even though I'm recovering from childbirth and surgery, I feel a million times better. I can walk from room to room without getting light headed and breathless. These past few weeks were pretty hard on me.<br />
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But it was all so totally worth it:<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-80402132060036253332013-05-01T15:41:00.003-05:002013-05-01T15:41:48.521-05:00My May Day Baby Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-76495969230940283472013-04-24T20:53:00.000-05:002013-04-24T20:53:37.949-05:00The one where I curse. A lot.If bad language offends you, you should probably not read anymore. I'm having an emotional breakdown, so I figured I should record it on my blog and post it for the world to see.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_BiWOrMhnvERZv-35T0VRrES5zmLSyChsiCo7Vm1srfkEUe0V2sVruI4_VYu-XHtyShLFV5IWfiFPHWHOKaTGymPYddILCgiUDVn_RdKX1B6m6HdJRhAVh0hWA9PU4vOvMtqMsdZchg/s1600/tumblr_mdauxuKa1S1r1jf72o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_BiWOrMhnvERZv-35T0VRrES5zmLSyChsiCo7Vm1srfkEUe0V2sVruI4_VYu-XHtyShLFV5IWfiFPHWHOKaTGymPYddILCgiUDVn_RdKX1B6m6HdJRhAVh0hWA9PU4vOvMtqMsdZchg/s320/tumblr_mdauxuKa1S1r1jf72o1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/profanities?before=23" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />I've been pregnant twice before. I've made it to 39 weeks, 2 days with both kids. But I have never.... EVER... had this many contractions before they were born.<br />
<br />
I've had so many "this is it" moments I can't even count anymore.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYcWVjqsa1_Gk1UfH7EM17sgWRvT5hNDBZPmHjpSqiFQW8OkRkZNHYliRJ72a6CMpnhhH-MB59csLQveu1fa706KZDhsLzjlVZG4R8V7jnOl_d7rUm6Tfz_yiDBqmbzU60X56Ef_6I6A/s1600/The-Kings-Speech-Fuck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYcWVjqsa1_Gk1UfH7EM17sgWRvT5hNDBZPmHjpSqiFQW8OkRkZNHYliRJ72a6CMpnhhH-MB59csLQveu1fa706KZDhsLzjlVZG4R8V7jnOl_d7rUm6Tfz_yiDBqmbzU60X56Ef_6I6A/s1600/The-Kings-Speech-Fuck.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.heyuguys.co.uk/is-the-12a-certificate-still-valid/" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Yesterday I sat through an hour long meeting timing contractions (and probably frightening co-workers). That's when I decided I think I'm done with work.<br />
<br />
However, since I'm not independently wealthy, it's probably very irresponsible to take time off without pay. But at this point it's so hard I don't care.<br />
<br />
Of course, I stayed home today because I woke up all through the night with a headache and feeling like I was going to throw up IN ADDITION to the contractions. But then at about noon, they all stopped. But you see- if I had gone to work, I would have had contractions all day. And probably thrown up AND had diarrhea.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EBRiXTMA12w6gGnyjtBsnvnNHHXp56a4tynJprd5daviI_wZaja5SRWTSwJs7BxttdJAXzC1MdioRtYshI-Kja5wLf81kalii0KFrdryWFZgpwOGoejZTP8rClBve3Qkf8GgzV-9Gl8/s1600/fuck_this_shit-1618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EBRiXTMA12w6gGnyjtBsnvnNHHXp56a4tynJprd5daviI_wZaja5SRWTSwJs7BxttdJAXzC1MdioRtYshI-Kja5wLf81kalii0KFrdryWFZgpwOGoejZTP8rClBve3Qkf8GgzV-9Gl8/s1600/fuck_this_shit-1618.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.graphicshunt.com/images/fuck_this_shit-1618.htm" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I do remember a point in every pregnancy where I completely give up and have a crying fit that lasts for a day and decide I absolutely can't do it anymore. With my son, it happened just before my water broke. Seriously. I was watching fitness infomercials and crying, and then I started watching "The Devil Wears Prada", and crying because they threw the steak away, and I was SO HUNGRY. I stood up, and my water broke.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8uDeYo7ToEawikgPqdqRjM60uPTLiuLR5R06WXnrDunQJgvtTgDmLPG0U4-jattheBDdw2AsDEmpHIA34lMhKQWrv_hIPH4KhIEBvSoPp0xs7kPybQ9vVATEp4pD8tkmXicW9Z2yaeg/s1600/Hallelujah3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8uDeYo7ToEawikgPqdqRjM60uPTLiuLR5R06WXnrDunQJgvtTgDmLPG0U4-jattheBDdw2AsDEmpHIA34lMhKQWrv_hIPH4KhIEBvSoPp0xs7kPybQ9vVATEp4pD8tkmXicW9Z2yaeg/s320/Hallelujah3.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://home.roadrunner.com/~n8mgt/Church.html" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With my daughter, my dad was in the hospital in another state, and we all thought he was going to die. My family had told me the doctor said I could call him and ask him questions, but when I tried to call him, the receptionist said, "He said anything you need to know your family can ask him. He's not going to talk to you on the phone."<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgXtD3-LrQxi4IlH-ZQC8MvSO_yXBti2bHB6c2797Vu7LHl27-5Ws3aXraFnJ2vBUBMJ1XHG5qyLDK3h_t8b5vDeoAnF_3cXfLZO0b88SVrgj_BT1XEnaLNrt2649vzTKH-USpp57BSJc/s1600/fuck-you-asshole-t-shirt_design.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgXtD3-LrQxi4IlH-ZQC8MvSO_yXBti2bHB6c2797Vu7LHl27-5Ws3aXraFnJ2vBUBMJ1XHG5qyLDK3h_t8b5vDeoAnF_3cXfLZO0b88SVrgj_BT1XEnaLNrt2649vzTKH-USpp57BSJc/s1600/fuck-you-asshole-t-shirt_design.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://terminator.spreadshirt.com/fuck-you-asshole-t-shirt-A8206672" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Today was that moment with this pregnancy. This is the best way to describe me right now:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiyTcqWsJ2z-8uSebOkCiGeiPiw5I2mCz4UZTTD0Lj9IbJ-hDgBQR07suXd_7c_kXcy4Nj20-gxtAdWyUW3G02odDgMstTVWkROalNwwYoR8qSuay_sZa6nEqQ8Vnmy7_Lt2HOPdEv0Y/s1600/3xctjlb.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiyTcqWsJ2z-8uSebOkCiGeiPiw5I2mCz4UZTTD0Lj9IbJ-hDgBQR07suXd_7c_kXcy4Nj20-gxtAdWyUW3G02odDgMstTVWkROalNwwYoR8qSuay_sZa6nEqQ8Vnmy7_Lt2HOPdEv0Y/s320/3xctjlb.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://pregnanthusband.tumblr.com/post/48354358973/how-my-9-months-pregnant-wife-is-feeling-these-days" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, I apologize if I've alienated everyone. But I just needed to let it all out. I do have it in perspective, deep down, and I'm looking forward to meeting my daughter. It's just at this point, I'm a) convinced it will never happen and b) concerned that by the time she gets here I will have lost my job, been evicted, and be living in the car I can't pay for.<br />
<br />
At least then I won't have to pay $1300 a month for childcare...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-8542758642323819962013-04-21T00:11:00.000-05:002013-04-21T00:11:09.889-05:00Eff this ish..Today I got fed up with the contractions. They got really bad, I called the doctor's office, they said if they continued to go to the ER.<br />
<br />
I went to the ER. They admitted me. They checked me.<br />
<br />
After having contractions every day since my last doctor's appointment- on Tuesday- I had progressed ABSOLUTELY EFFING ZERO. Nothing. 2 centimeters, 50% effaced.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirC9cOZ9CPBnO59Los1BH7OHGCpMXtYpL9AcwmxtLAYbPO7BwzN8REeXjMDAhnMsWt_7v1HZV_DlwcvICcPch23LzfvkZqhvl9FxDm8q2qTIYxAs31JkKh5MP2_P7DcRszgxDDiCuDUSE/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirC9cOZ9CPBnO59Los1BH7OHGCpMXtYpL9AcwmxtLAYbPO7BwzN8REeXjMDAhnMsWt_7v1HZV_DlwcvICcPch23LzfvkZqhvl9FxDm8q2qTIYxAs31JkKh5MP2_P7DcRszgxDDiCuDUSE/s1600/images.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hate everything.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
EFF THAT.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Even though they hooked me up to the monitors and we were able to physically SEE the contractions happening, the nurse explained to me that what really matters is the effect the contractions are having... not the contractions themselves.<br />
<br />
EFF YOU CONTRACTIONS.<br />
<br />
So, at 5:15 they told me they would have me walk to see if we could get things going. She said, "You can have a cup of ice and go walk. Don't come back until 7:00- unless your water breaks, you can't walk because the contractions are so bad, or you're bleeding." (Well, she said it nicer than that... but still.)<br />
<br />
So I walked.<br />
<br />
I really got to know not only the Labor and Delivery unit, but the Post-Partum unit.<br />
<br />
I made friends with nurses.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FhiA50u3xjl18IaAZnazs8cNA1bHShIuguqzk9lvCzeJOPDEPhpV9yEqrhrbqJwhDCYcuHP59pln2zlu1MTkgMJ7KCxDZv557GT1YDKkqvXGIeN8d5plMzW3HslSFtH0n-DzflKC6Hc/s1600/Grumpy-Cat-Rollin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FhiA50u3xjl18IaAZnazs8cNA1bHShIuguqzk9lvCzeJOPDEPhpV9yEqrhrbqJwhDCYcuHP59pln2zlu1MTkgMJ7KCxDZv557GT1YDKkqvXGIeN8d5plMzW3HslSFtH0n-DzflKC6Hc/s320/Grumpy-Cat-Rollin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I did walking lunges. (Wow. That's a whole new kind of pain- doing a walking lunge with a baby in your pelvis. Holy crap.)<br />
<br />
I walked by the nurses stations repeatedly. By the end of my walk, they all knew I had a 5 year old boy, a 2 year old girl, and was doing my best to get the baby girl out of my body.<br />
<br />
I squatted through some contractions, until a nurse saw me and came running and asked if I was okay. So, after that I tried to do it when no one was around. Didn't want to alarm anyone.<br />
<br />
I thought about Captain Mal, and applied his wisdom to my childbirth experiences:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbEukVSSRpYrfolMxsQFNVmOnyneqcwR_9Y0Nht3FHyK7EgKk32neAq7VbtVPuuZ7sTEySkSiq7S0e_Rh58_LAQJhMCLUpBw-Ve8SuvEDHytYzkp7NYPCo94jM4QKOMThiYIvb2oZRUQ/s1600/312493283_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbEukVSSRpYrfolMxsQFNVmOnyneqcwR_9Y0Nht3FHyK7EgKk32neAq7VbtVPuuZ7sTEySkSiq7S0e_Rh58_LAQJhMCLUpBw-Ve8SuvEDHytYzkp7NYPCo94jM4QKOMThiYIvb2oZRUQ/s320/312493283_640.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"It never goes smooth! How come it never goes smooth?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I returned to my room at 7, convinced that something had happened, because I was incredibly sore and tired.<br />
<br />
Guess what:<br />
<br />
NOTHING. 2 cm. 50%.<br />
<br />
MOTHERF****ER JONES<br />
<br />
So they sent me home.<br />
<br />
That felt like a special kind of failure. I cried. A lot.<br />
<br />
So I get to do this again until May 7. Because I'm pretty sure I can't handle another false alarm, so I'm not going in again unless my water breaks all over everything. I mean, those people on "I didn't know I was pregnant" have stomach aches, and then end up having a baby on the toilet or in the bathtub, right before the act break. But seriously, I'm not going to go through this again.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3liEszPe12HAVDxjKXa4-T6GIA3kVz4fG8fFx9TXTU2kp_vY5x92aWnjuzW3Q6CltL4k4J84Hj6rUI0SQIjkmdjuuulk6AF3p59yRRvpUXeOJeyHYbNkvJbUx6cxNiWVrRnGM5aE7tc4/s1600/tumblr_lj1ejaL0ic1qctynbo1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3liEszPe12HAVDxjKXa4-T6GIA3kVz4fG8fFx9TXTU2kp_vY5x92aWnjuzW3Q6CltL4k4J84Hj6rUI0SQIjkmdjuuulk6AF3p59yRRvpUXeOJeyHYbNkvJbUx6cxNiWVrRnGM5aE7tc4/s320/tumblr_lj1ejaL0ic1qctynbo1_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh Tobias. You blowhard.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The plan (as of right now) is as follows:<br />
- Pretend I'm not pregnant.<br />
- Ignore contractions<br />
- Try working out again<br />
- Do housework tomorrow<br />
- Go to the hospital on May 7 and coerce her out.<br />
<br />
So don't expect me to be nice. Or patient. Or friendly. And if you ask me "What's the hold up?" (like a co-worker did on Friday) I will probably punch you. And kick you. Hard.<br />
<br />
As my son said as we drove to the hospital today: "I know you really want the baby to come out. I mean, that's why you cry a lot and pee all the time, right?"<br />
<br />
And just to make me feel better, here's this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFQH0aqdb97KsrK6q_ld4480xYl0606VNlHRM_jwWpxPzffj2QswlMAwjfSUFNIMQqmxIhxB2s-OvOavjoNbnhTlPdBeVVbS3wbwibzKAO9q2WKE0M6IwXb5vFMv-nBrYJgwuDV6SGGs/s1600/firefly-malindesert.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDFQH0aqdb97KsrK6q_ld4480xYl0606VNlHRM_jwWpxPzffj2QswlMAwjfSUFNIMQqmxIhxB2s-OvOavjoNbnhTlPdBeVVbS3wbwibzKAO9q2WKE0M6IwXb5vFMv-nBrYJgwuDV6SGGs/s320/firefly-malindesert.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm a leaf on the wind..." Yes I know Captain Mal didn't say that. You want to argue with me?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-39750844804446607932012-12-03T19:30:00.000-06:002012-12-03T19:30:02.763-06:00Week 17: Dear Santa...Dear Santa:<br />
Since I can't control what my body does or looks like, and I can't control my skin and it's regression to age 13, I would like the opportunity to at least have good hair. Please set me up with a GOOD haircut and color. My roots are horrible and I can see little gray hairs that help to remind me of my "Advanced Maternal Age."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOS2jY-dIBeZR1nRX2VvJn7I8sYw4WhLtKSzZ1aPeL4x1Je6LQwttelAq4L9GirlUkzzTrLcuWqual38KRQGGw8b2j5_wu5BQkApEMJuzT5QML-H7HqOLMdmVVyfsYNb4A9fxETLAMCdj5/s1600/roots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOS2jY-dIBeZR1nRX2VvJn7I8sYw4WhLtKSzZ1aPeL4x1Je6LQwttelAq4L9GirlUkzzTrLcuWqual38KRQGGw8b2j5_wu5BQkApEMJuzT5QML-H7HqOLMdmVVyfsYNb4A9fxETLAMCdj5/s320/roots.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The roots are pushing 40 with the skin of a 13 year old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I did much better working out last week, but I had a terrible time with food. I downloaded an app to track points, which is awesome (like Weight Watchers for poor people), and here's how every day went:<br />
<br />
1. I start off the day determined to stay within my range.<br />
2. I eat something I shouldn't.<br />
3. I try to make room for it within my daily points.<br />
4. I use my bonus weekly points to try to feel better about it.<br />
5. Eventually I just give up, eat a bunch of crap, and reset my weekly points for the next day.<br />
<br />
FAIL!<br />
<br />
But, I'm happy to announce that today, Monday, I did MUCH better. Of course I weighed at the gym and gained 4 pounds in a week. I bet that was from the binging. This brings me back up to a total weight gain of 20 pounds at 17 weeks. GRRRRR.<br />
<br />
Here are the workouts I did today:<br />
<br />
In the morning, I dragged myself out of bed (with the promise of a non-fat, no-whip Salted Caramel Mocha) at 4:15 am, and did Body Beast: Build Chest and Triceps. I had to do every single pushup on my knees, and the tricep pushups were almost impossible. My butt was way in the air and I kept having to take breaks. So humbling.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrLwkliANJfsJRCXALXvEvk98jr1xD6X3X0nFNdhINeEEKfkrhy9bll6dXCEGndJP3av-0UHpXh5_2_5O8k53EJeP6RlsdfLwa3rePrSvj74UFdIkcBLx2OTU8psQB3YTICzFj48dJpJk/s1600/207024914092274315_klH08N0N_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrLwkliANJfsJRCXALXvEvk98jr1xD6X3X0nFNdhINeEEKfkrhy9bll6dXCEGndJP3av-0UHpXh5_2_5O8k53EJeP6RlsdfLwa3rePrSvj74UFdIkcBLx2OTU8psQB3YTICzFj48dJpJk/s320/207024914092274315_klH08N0N_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember when I had muscles? (<a href="http://barsandbelles.tumblr.com/page/5">source</a>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Then, at lunch I "ran". I am doing a "0 to 5K" with the 5K Runner app (I really should find links to these apps. Y'all look them up in the Itunes store.). Today I did Week 3, Day 1. I'm not sure if I will make it to the complete "Run 5K" workout... I may stay with one of the earlier weeks, since as I work up to running more, my belly will be growing. But anyway, I like it right now.<br />
<br />
In other news:<br />
<br />
1. I have caught up on "Once Upon a Time", "Revolution" and "American Horror Story: Asylum." All but "Asylum" (the hardest to watch for me) are on "hiatus". What am I going to do with myself? I may have to finally try watching "The Walking Dead." I know <a href="http://runningoffthereeses.com/">Cely </a>raves about it, and I trust her judgement, and today my Facebook feed is BLOWING UP because last night was the "mid-season finale" (btw, when did they start having those? SOOOOOO lame). So, should I invest the time and watch it? Is it really like "Lost", or are those just empty promises?<br />
<br />
2. In case you have been living under a rock, you may not yet know that Kate Middleton is PREGNANT! I'm so glad I could inspire her in that way. Although, I bet she looks fabulous EVERY DAY, never has roots, and gains about 5 pounds the whole time. In all honesty, I feel bad for her because the whole reason they had to announce before the magical 12 week mark was that she was admitted to the hospital with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyperemesis_gravidarum">Hyperemesis Gravidarium</a>, a very severe form of morning sickness. I have been really lucky in all 3 pregnancies that, even when I was nauseous, I never had to deal with that. So I hope she feels better soon. But darn it, I bet she can take a nap whenever she wants, and that makes me a little jelly.<br />
<br />
3. I've set a date for the start of my new leaning out/working out/contest prep-like program, and it's July 1. I figure it's about 6 weeks after the baby comes, and it's a Monday (I just like starting new programs on Mondays). I would love to compete in bikini or figure, but that ****'s expensive... and I'll have 3 kids to support and the student loans of a doctor without the ph.d., so I think I'll just pretend I'm prepping for a contest, and get someone to take my picture in a bikini.<br />
<br />
4. My baby is due in 161 days. #Tydb<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8aWXNMUMn_ddSr3fKqFAzMPylHJ9qC0imdiyw9WC7N5i9tXWE2nX0nq91GbinvpQrB-Xm7Wmu7rQFKW0VlP4BOIXhk_GbGKMzSeDAgHGdvJFRVexp5Oo5LYQ5ia2jV_2UZ0O1JQ-aD5-a/s1600/davidboreanaz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8aWXNMUMn_ddSr3fKqFAzMPylHJ9qC0imdiyw9WC7N5i9tXWE2nX0nq91GbinvpQrB-Xm7Wmu7rQFKW0VlP4BOIXhk_GbGKMzSeDAgHGdvJFRVexp5Oo5LYQ5ia2jV_2UZ0O1JQ-aD5-a/s1600/davidboreanaz.jpg" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-18115824391234326922012-11-29T10:21:00.001-06:002012-11-29T10:21:17.932-06:00Week 16: I had fun running once...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2-fcXXnsk_zuR9PiFI9oid0zICFj-_HP40CWTNnpa33nQWcOwchCthWTbFqawqLvmslcf-ky3vbG29BcNWZYW578aUEsSBwBZd-110SzKQkTwM_6DkKf5Tqc4RlEe0kC5QbFgDAT1pmH/s1600/grumpy-cat-01.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2-fcXXnsk_zuR9PiFI9oid0zICFj-_HP40CWTNnpa33nQWcOwchCthWTbFqawqLvmslcf-ky3vbG29BcNWZYW578aUEsSBwBZd-110SzKQkTwM_6DkKf5Tqc4RlEe0kC5QbFgDAT1pmH/s320/grumpy-cat-01.jpg" width="259" /></a></div>
<br />
Who
would have thought that, 16 weeks pregnant, I would rediscover a love
affair with my ex, Running. Well, to be honest, I think removing some of
the high expectations I put on myself when I was running regularly has
helped. I'm doing a 0-5K plan and allowing myself to repeat as many
weeks as I feel like... but I'm enjoying it, and really think I can keep
doing it until the end (although I'm sure it makes people uncomfortable
to see a pregnant woman running. Too bad.)<br />
<br />
Yesterday
when I dropped my son off at school, I picked him up. His teacher was
horrified and said, "You need to be careful in your condition." I tried
to explain that I am hardly a delicate flower, but I just gave up and
laughed about it later when I squatted 65 pounds (which is lower than I
used to. I mean, I'm cutting back. I'm a delicate flower, remember?)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4xa7bUlR8UMeyHMb2dGrXotwxlgqEbWI4-0JOP91OI5eiiEQpT8bH-hRFvQURGo0deSwX-txdCDlVzLnFsAhZWzFYt4ArJsn8NgV5tSEamFw04cjZ0wtQseWvnbbcdBFFSsuzJ_Vm6_b/s1600/486280_429628557092913_1033180496_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4xa7bUlR8UMeyHMb2dGrXotwxlgqEbWI4-0JOP91OI5eiiEQpT8bH-hRFvQURGo0deSwX-txdCDlVzLnFsAhZWzFYt4ArJsn8NgV5tSEamFw04cjZ0wtQseWvnbbcdBFFSsuzJ_Vm6_b/s320/486280_429628557092913_1033180496_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I
did pretty well with eating and I even lost a few pounds according to
the scale at the gym, putting my total weight gain so far at 16 pounds
(Yay! A pound a week!) But last night, I had a complete out of control
stress induced binge. It was awful. My kids were stressing me out. I
knew they were stressing me out. I just went with it and stuffed food in
my face. Then, I kept waking up during the night feeling guilty. Yuck.
So today, I'm working on doing better.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HFdbsGEeq8k-bpNQOsiHT8Euye6vMDLize7HulzEFQK3RtZUTQwABHou2SfZxVYG_yd7h-TQdAkpRcuGuTmeNzCTd2bd2caEQ8vGUNIrywlJ87O4dmJucthBcmd6krikWq6hfvLSV8n6/s1600/tumblr_mczzv9R6wU1ri87b4o1_500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HFdbsGEeq8k-bpNQOsiHT8Euye6vMDLize7HulzEFQK3RtZUTQwABHou2SfZxVYG_yd7h-TQdAkpRcuGuTmeNzCTd2bd2caEQ8vGUNIrywlJ87O4dmJucthBcmd6krikWq6hfvLSV8n6/s320/tumblr_mczzv9R6wU1ri87b4o1_500.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>
Tard the Grumpy Cat is my soul mate these days. I am the grumpiest pregnant woman ever, so I just can't get enough.<br />
<br />
Anyway,
I'm running, I'm tracking WW (like) points ("Poor Girl's Weight
Watchers"). I'm lifting weights. I'm parenting. I have headaches. Surely
the time between now and the birth of 3.0 will just fly by, right? And
hopefully by then I will have figured out how to fit 3 carseats in my
P.T. Cruiser.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhN7BI7ymgEW2xUEYv1mpUymj__2XOPGvBvom4VH3Gc43-LGy-nXXhIWrtVXRa_NIgR46wzVm43ZDzbz3A2uCDyzU87-1ApBY0oc2X2TogJXj-gS5mYwbbvaBHr-u29E4GjkWXbG9EVt4/s1600/196350_10101246363265060_2136544302_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhN7BI7ymgEW2xUEYv1mpUymj__2XOPGvBvom4VH3Gc43-LGy-nXXhIWrtVXRa_NIgR46wzVm43ZDzbz3A2uCDyzU87-1ApBY0oc2X2TogJXj-gS5mYwbbvaBHr-u29E4GjkWXbG9EVt4/s320/196350_10101246363265060_2136544302_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-64726721742799685162012-11-23T08:33:00.001-06:002012-11-23T08:33:49.340-06:00Thanksgiving 2012: The Day I Do Something (Kind Of) CraftyWhen I was pregnant with my son and had fantasies about what parenting would be like, I imagined doing cute crafts and projects with my kids and being the best mother ever. I had no idea how challenging it would be, and I kind of forgot how bad I was at anything artistic or creative.<br />
(I also tried to learn how to knit during this time, which was hilarious).<br />
<br />
Anyway, a few days ago my son saw a picture of some Christmas truffles on the cover of All You magazine (which I subscribe to but rarely read... all part of my fantasy about how crafty I'll be one day). He has been begging for days to make "Christmas Cookies". So I got the stuff at the store Wednesday to make "My version" of Christmas cookies (because I forgot to bring the recipe).<br />
<br />
Magically, they turned out pretty cute:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjjhGIIh5KvR6SC-Z46pGJlFo-OP8AxpbBoOKhnZSMQen2lizdm2DP09b5TTDj6yk7iLysKirgTD48aD5PKSoP3qzjoKgMVqFQhmROGhMfueBB35iW_if3cbaRDdMYQyCzRrOfIeYGxzT/s1600/16230_10101234058558790_851630625_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijjjhGIIh5KvR6SC-Z46pGJlFo-OP8AxpbBoOKhnZSMQen2lizdm2DP09b5TTDj6yk7iLysKirgTD48aD5PKSoP3qzjoKgMVqFQhmROGhMfueBB35iW_if3cbaRDdMYQyCzRrOfIeYGxzT/s320/16230_10101234058558790_851630625_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See? Kind of crafty..</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIIwU31pQhJRBBKcQrea3GlNWLL9hwPodzVmPa8nJ8C2rsOXc_QTVt8XjIUjm2kEi4E4yOrRDXZSW5R8Uoc2japOk6pDL6UBIJBLjLT9fF-PCHUz-Tn1hRxG9t7qGUDmwPR6SicCMP4zc/s1600/378891_10101234060105690_1201489145_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYIIwU31pQhJRBBKcQrea3GlNWLL9hwPodzVmPa8nJ8C2rsOXc_QTVt8XjIUjm2kEi4E4yOrRDXZSW5R8Uoc2japOk6pDL6UBIJBLjLT9fF-PCHUz-Tn1hRxG9t7qGUDmwPR6SicCMP4zc/s320/378891_10101234060105690_1201489145_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how happy he is!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
However, there was extra batter, so I made some mini-muffins and one miniature cake. Then on Thursday, I ate them for breakfast. Then I had several of these cupcakes. So, by the time we got to Thanksgiving dinner, I had exceeded my calories for the week, I think.<br />
<br />
I also have had ZERO success working out at home since Wednesday. No workout Wednesday (but my husband and I went to see "Skyfall". Which made me want to work out and be prettier.) No workout Thursday.<br />
<br />
So, let's try for Friday. It's going to involve help from my husband in herding the children away from me for about an hour. We'll see how that goes. Also, I figured since we moved into this house on August 13 and today is November 23, maybe it's time to finally finish unpacking. Maybe. I have lofty goals for today.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-87232781297156385532012-11-19T19:06:00.000-06:002012-11-19T19:06:00.640-06:00Week 15: Oh look. Only 175 days to go.So we've hit week 15. It's finally getting a little less embarrassing when people notice my belly. It's not just fat, bloating, or gas. It's my humongous uterus. My uterus that has pretty much given up, like a balloon that has already been blown up twice.<br />
<br />
I have been in a rut. I've talked about it. I've shared. There are things going on. But, I'm determined to get control over my life. And, I must admit, Fat Betty Francis helped a little.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVqUblO7CuDVqBD1OuYV9EfXckdwnnuPl-egvkzL-J-X-k3PuWPw5lho0MoJpYpsYD5ByMu0390cm3-oObAlSRiCHsZB21CrPXIkZS8NIcKg9qLPh-bAMGjtc5z8CodcS5bIm6dsgxJVms/s1600/betty7_640.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVqUblO7CuDVqBD1OuYV9EfXckdwnnuPl-egvkzL-J-X-k3PuWPw5lho0MoJpYpsYD5ByMu0390cm3-oObAlSRiCHsZB21CrPXIkZS8NIcKg9qLPh-bAMGjtc5z8CodcS5bIm6dsgxJVms/s320/betty7_640.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
In the episode "Dark Shadows", we see that Betty has joined Weight Watchers. However, she's still kind of a terrible person. But she seems to be getting a hold of herself. She has a run in with her ex husband's current, young, skinny wife, and then goes home and shoots whipped cream in her mouth. BUT, here's the thing- she spits it out AND rinses out her mouth. I was so proud of her at that moment. I've been there (I don't usually spit it out though. I get caught up in the moment and then feel nauseous regret later. So, good for her!)<br />
<br />
Of course, she's still using her children to manipulate and do all kinds of mean things, but the point is: She is struggling with using food as a crutch, and she's winning. Maybe I can too..<br />
<br />
<br />
I made a decision that I'm going to follow a variation of Weight Watchers. This is not a weight loss plan. This is a "everything in moderation no crazy pregnant candy or cookie binges" plan. When I last did weight watchers, my points were at 22. So, I've set them at 32 (I did some research on this). Now, imagine my shock when I discovered that my current favorite, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are a whopping 6 points, and a tall salted caramel mocha is 5 points... It was a wake up call. So, I feel good about this decision, logging my food but not being too restrictive.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Y6S6_0S9i1gruOO-t4ACHDQWCUfeumtyg7ZkPtqGTg4Fd_F9b9F98klp1OMn01gkaGWMfckG-MZVV7nZ3E194qRMJ-dQiXNdi4192urwpu-J6jeSts9hhE4f114vSdD_V2Ly_BVU_6z7/s1600/308771_10101208727592250_1774163874_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Y6S6_0S9i1gruOO-t4ACHDQWCUfeumtyg7ZkPtqGTg4Fd_F9b9F98klp1OMn01gkaGWMfckG-MZVV7nZ3E194qRMJ-dQiXNdi4192urwpu-J6jeSts9hhE4f114vSdD_V2Ly_BVU_6z7/s320/308771_10101208727592250_1774163874_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I will always love you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Plus, I'm changing my workout goals. I didn't workout again all weekend. It's really hard with my kids around, and I have to admit, I didn't have the motivation to go through the struggle. But I managed to get up this morning and do a 30 minute Turbofire workout. I realize at this point, I'm not going to have abs, or my beautiful toned arms of which I was so proud... but you know what? I'm in a much better mood when I workout. So EVERYONE WINS.<br />
<br />
I'm also going to lift Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Hopefully it will be a bit easier since it's a holiday weekend. Even if a normally 45 minute workout takes me 2 hours because SOMEONE wants milk and SOMEONE pooped on the floor... it's better than nothing, right?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KjgsAqlD7hGV6wtnxlAE3-0zjyiBQ7ElyvQJH5HoHYMnFlRuxzSrUICnnrjcz9AKr1iTbtxgG-t_FntYym_YKFYgadj41aM9Pd2JyWSdwzxC5VUbv_XKShG5ShCgohO41eg5AL84XXV0/s1600/6228_10101216174254080_24387145_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_KjgsAqlD7hGV6wtnxlAE3-0zjyiBQ7ElyvQJH5HoHYMnFlRuxzSrUICnnrjcz9AKr1iTbtxgG-t_FntYym_YKFYgadj41aM9Pd2JyWSdwzxC5VUbv_XKShG5ShCgohO41eg5AL84XXV0/s320/6228_10101216174254080_24387145_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no idea what you're talking about.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Anyway, here's me at the gym today.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvRTWHMcK6DcPs7Qp4Wf7XntwAtGO0mKLzoZHsJMol9M27koGXlejeYeGEXiuhRiiF5DUt1GS2C0tY5jEd_13KxbTj4VFGf485LOVYk2VtVpPvPM3rqfxMWkner-YPs_qd4yLzclpS3dG/s1600/406932_10101230055535880_814657205_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvRTWHMcK6DcPs7Qp4Wf7XntwAtGO0mKLzoZHsJMol9M27koGXlejeYeGEXiuhRiiF5DUt1GS2C0tY5jEd_13KxbTj4VFGf485LOVYk2VtVpPvPM3rqfxMWkner-YPs_qd4yLzclpS3dG/s320/406932_10101230055535880_814657205_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Week 15. Pssh. I got this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-73379440163199189772012-11-12T16:25:00.000-06:002012-11-12T16:25:25.473-06:00The Test Results....<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxLhomLNh3cKzLbksewdvmnZWpmMjI3UXV9yAIyRR_B4n4Y5qZOMaTw49rEm0E3hMaoWsQm-C_e69dymkI3dHUAp3K4E6bEST9EhdsV6xNcrcoO01fq9jORggNokwVA4DiXn47z_Wo1pd/s1600/doctor_test_results_surprises_10322251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDxLhomLNh3cKzLbksewdvmnZWpmMjI3UXV9yAIyRR_B4n4Y5qZOMaTw49rEm0E3hMaoWsQm-C_e69dymkI3dHUAp3K4E6bEST9EhdsV6xNcrcoO01fq9jORggNokwVA4DiXn47z_Wo1pd/s320/doctor_test_results_surprises_10322251.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://flyingelephantbook.wordpress.com/2012/04/18/test-results-as-promised/">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
So I finally got the call about the test results. Actually, I called them and asked for them to call me back. I was really REALLY tired of waiting. Did I mention I was tired of waiting?<br />
<br />
Anyway, the nurse called me back and told me they had not gotten the results yet so she called and they sent them. So I guess it pays to be annoying.<br />
<br />
She said the baby tested NEGATIVE for all Trisomies, which is EXCELLENT. That was the part that worried me the most.<br />
<br />
I said, "Can you tell me the gender?"<br />
<br />
She said, "Okay, you want to know? It's here..."<br />
<br />
"Yes, I want to know!"<br />
<br />
"Okay... y chromosome.... It's a boy!"<br />
<br />
Yay! So I text my husband, and all the family, then post on Facebook....<br />
<br />
About 10 minutes later, she calls back:<br />
<br />
"Sarah, I read it wrong. It's actually a GIRL!"<br />
<br />
After I laughed a lot and asked her to double and triple check, I was satisfied that yes, it's a girl.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp32nkGlXpp2Jjx1Q7U41_xXkgIrmPdvmqcdy0g80ngVIJ8N7UctUJGgd7n9Cwd0025rYd2TVp10V0SFXZZpIO5UUlL_MfbNUhnTLrTm0g8yjjU8rasHeRedeFQbyvwOvKIzVnjSsxyq93/s1600/11_itsagirl55.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp32nkGlXpp2Jjx1Q7U41_xXkgIrmPdvmqcdy0g80ngVIJ8N7UctUJGgd7n9Cwd0025rYd2TVp10V0SFXZZpIO5UUlL_MfbNUhnTLrTm0g8yjjU8rasHeRedeFQbyvwOvKIzVnjSsxyq93/s320/11_itsagirl55.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.zwani.com/graphics/baby/its-a-girl/">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-77731298297273885042012-11-11T14:33:00.000-06:002012-11-11T14:33:13.023-06:00Week 14 and I have an "I don't care"/Fat Betty Francis problem...<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WnxhCaqli2_ChHBYFAdV76XTJnLdeP6oROGmYj6sND3kzlogpVs1fWxdvmcc9i-tGlClfrTccTQ32oN2SPov5DIb7dnsRXhsFW3wWFhKwvUhAd9gbCsIjDGx8xYAJzpOAQ5eP7aessx7/s1600/matthew-weiner-made-betty-francis-quite-literally-the-elephant-in-the-room.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WnxhCaqli2_ChHBYFAdV76XTJnLdeP6oROGmYj6sND3kzlogpVs1fWxdvmcc9i-tGlClfrTccTQ32oN2SPov5DIb7dnsRXhsFW3wWFhKwvUhAd9gbCsIjDGx8xYAJzpOAQ5eP7aessx7/s320/matthew-weiner-made-betty-francis-quite-literally-the-elephant-in-the-room.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.tauntr.com/blog/best-fat-betty-francis">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Okay, so there are some things I *do* care about. What happens on Once Upon a Time. The current Phillipa Gregory book I'm reading. Money. Budgeting. Paying bills.<br />
<br />
But right now at the top of the list of "Things I don't care about": Fitness.<br />
<br />
I was sick this week. Not just "pregnant" sick, but I'm sure that contributed. I took Thursday off sick. I had Friday off anyway and spent most of the day in bed. The last time I worked out was Wednesday, November 7.<br />
<br />
I did well working out on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. But here's the thing: I finish my workout and I think, "What's the point? I'm not going to see any progress. I'm not going to get stronger. I'm not going to lose weight. Who cares?"<br />
<br />
I couldn't even motivate myself to do an "endorphin raising" workout like Turbofire. It's sad.<br />
<br />
And the eating. I'm not gorging myself on Cheez Its anymore, but I have had a couple of bad nights with some leftover Halloween candy. And also one of the only things I want to eat are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Z3ZAGBL6UBA" width="420"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
It's always peanut butter jelly time in my world.<br />
<br />
To be honest, I think there may be some depression involved. I'm waiting for test results STILL and it's driving me a little crazy. I'm concerned about how I'm going to parent 3 kids. I don't even think I can fit 3 car seats in my PT Cruiser. And I'm in that weird stage where I keep forgetting I'm pregnant. I'm not sick anymore, but I can't feel the baby. Can't forget that I'm fat, however. That reminder is always there. However, it's just not enough to make me care too much. I just stare at myself in the mirror and cry a little.<br />
<br />
When I came here in August and started a new job, I didn't think I would be sick for 5 weeks. I'm thankful I'm not nauseous anymore, but I still feel like I'm not doing enough.<br />
<br />
So, I'm eating badly and completely aware that it's probably due to stress and emotion. I'm drinking my allowed TWO Via a day. And I don't know what I'm going to do about the workouts. I'm thinking I may just do whatever's fun for a week. Whatever feels like fun at the time, just to get my mood up.<br />
<br />
Last night I watched the episode of Mad Men (Spoiler if you haven't seen Season 5) where <a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/celebritology/post/mad-men-when-betty-francis-got-fat/2012/04/02/gIQAyg19pS_blog.html">Betty Draper Francis realizes she is fat.</a> And at the end of the episode, she eats a Sundae, and then finishes her daughter's Sundae as well. I totally get this. I'm in that stage of "Well, I want to change, but what's the point?"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJxe1kqAqgDPvf6N0JXV0hA-HQxxPpVy5hkwIG0PLS5iNaXlk9qeehn_fORxGLzZHY8UhaUyXyH3c-px6cUUKLDbe6TjkfyclWSceHIy6oZ5Y-SGs8D4yz9YkWjF1UQo9zzrIAlti4IW0/s1600/Bugles-Fingers.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSJxe1kqAqgDPvf6N0JXV0hA-HQxxPpVy5hkwIG0PLS5iNaXlk9qeehn_fORxGLzZHY8UhaUyXyH3c-px6cUUKLDbe6TjkfyclWSceHIy6oZ5Y-SGs8D4yz9YkWjF1UQo9zzrIAlti4IW0/s320/Bugles-Fingers.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.tauntr.com/blog/best-fat-betty-francis">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Not sure what I'm going to do about all this, but I'm just putting it out there. I feel silly having a page called "Sarah Fitness" when I can't even keep myself motivated.<br />
<br />
I'm comforted by the fact that I was able to lose the weight and get into the "best shape of my life" twice after giving birth, so hopefully I'll be able to do it again. But for now, I don't know......Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-56330133590462288552012-11-06T19:05:00.000-06:002012-11-06T19:05:59.093-06:00Week 13: Waiting is The SuckSo, I'm still feeling a lot less nauseous, and for that I am extremely grateful. In fact, I've made multiple promises to people who probably don't care that I will NEVER AGAIN take feeling NOT nauseous for granted. (If I had to diagram that sentence, it would be horrible).<br />
<br />
I went to my 12 week appointment last Wednesday (on Halloween), and was given my choice of prenatal tests:<br />
<br />
The standard Nuchal Translucency scan, which involves a sonogram and a blood test. It's a screening, so it would just tell me my chances that something might be up with the baby (Downs or other Trisomies). If that were the case, I would have to have more invasive testing, like an amnio or something equally horrible I imagine. <br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
MaterniT21 test: This test involves them taking blood (lots of blood, as it turns out) and doing the analysis from that. From what my doctor said, though, it is NOT just a screen, it is actually a diagnostic test. Also, it can tell you gender, and I'm the kind of person who can't wait at ALL so I want to find that out as soon as possible.<br />
<br />
I chose the MaterniT21. And now, I have to wait "about a week". Wow. Waiting is the suck. Yes, I'm curious about the gender, but of course, I'm *really* wondering about the other issues. Even when I get the results, I suppose there could be things going on with the baby that we won't know about until the anatomy scan, some time around 20 weeks.<br />
<br />
So I wait. While waiting, I'm trying to keep my mind off of the fact that I'm waiting. That's working out about as well as you might think.<br />
<br />
In other news, I'm doing Body Beast workouts for weights, and running. Yes, running. Something strange happened: I started to like running again. Pregnant. I mean, really? Anyway, no pressure. I'm running with walk breaks, usually only about 2 miles. It's just enough to calm my nerves and hopefully slow down the colossal weight gain (I've gained almost 20 pounds in 2 months).<br />
<br />
And here's a Week 13 picture:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8VL7K_223rphTE1Kc7hjiBRTaVkwlYnwulI0zKRY9Bh6-T18frp-Rlupc3ls3c-OH367N7GQh33hl4Dwl4TnJgcILc7mtFKsJUI3nmGHzhIaLfxuni8ROfYLRsznyRxFdqDK3miK1bOnF/s1600/390165_10101206944405770_1096128157_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8VL7K_223rphTE1Kc7hjiBRTaVkwlYnwulI0zKRY9Bh6-T18frp-Rlupc3ls3c-OH367N7GQh33hl4Dwl4TnJgcILc7mtFKsJUI3nmGHzhIaLfxuni8ROfYLRsznyRxFdqDK3miK1bOnF/s320/390165_10101206944405770_1096128157_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My uterus has already given up.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-3429370996027694852012-10-29T08:26:00.001-05:002012-10-29T08:26:42.569-05:00Oh hai, Week 12.Oh, Week 12. For the love of David Boreanaz, it's about time you showed up.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGUPko56Grt8BzHgDCG6bL3mrd86-MUi6ynGQvfWICafisPcN94enUrin9N7X0THFIv5tnkXar7rdsZjFBzS15IkaV7qu-thqYOlsV-iXGEHGfoN-a_ZdyBp2T6Uu90QRYgSitetpzD7B5/s1600/Fittest-TV-Stars-DavidBoreanaz7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGUPko56Grt8BzHgDCG6bL3mrd86-MUi6ynGQvfWICafisPcN94enUrin9N7X0THFIv5tnkXar7rdsZjFBzS15IkaV7qu-thqYOlsV-iXGEHGfoN-a_ZdyBp2T6Uu90QRYgSitetpzD7B5/s320/Fittest-TV-Stars-DavidBoreanaz7.JPG" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.tvguide.com/PhotoGallery/TVs-Fit-Stars-1699/2868">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Here's how things are looking as we start Week 12:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKu8rWOllJjFH_Cdxw7Lvf-DjlyKHzLqz_9mE_CAJvsAiMAN9lKKgRpDqGyTIBVTilNYotCglJpMV42z9pieecG5ZanVmLj0bRupZX4UFB8iITTgyJzWe_wkSwA6rUQ-XTns0LKHgZTN6/s1600/photo(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKu8rWOllJjFH_Cdxw7Lvf-DjlyKHzLqz_9mE_CAJvsAiMAN9lKKgRpDqGyTIBVTilNYotCglJpMV42z9pieecG5ZanVmLj0bRupZX4UFB8iITTgyJzWe_wkSwA6rUQ-XTns0LKHgZTN6/s320/photo(4).JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZH_8eMeZ6EwJcsquCGS1N65kEPibiPrV1iyTZYlRo8y9L8qYhvdTsdfy03nuKKYdbPA7EsSLOcv7PJ87Bj8ZqAKukcYIQHVMfWa0v_FaeizwBQnMp-2CFAOdoJ708IgGJXCW82OMm_lE/s1600/photo(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZH_8eMeZ6EwJcsquCGS1N65kEPibiPrV1iyTZYlRo8y9L8qYhvdTsdfy03nuKKYdbPA7EsSLOcv7PJ87Bj8ZqAKukcYIQHVMfWa0v_FaeizwBQnMp-2CFAOdoJ708IgGJXCW82OMm_lE/s320/photo(3).JPG" width="240" /> </a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Last week, the nausea was pretty bad. It was also exhausting. I went home early on Wednesday, and struggled through Thursday and Friday. But, over the weekend, it wasn't so bad. The only time I started to feel sick was when I went too long without eating. We visited a new church on Sunday, and when church was over, everyone in the whole world wanted to talk to us, and all I was thinking was, "I need to get to the snacks. For the love of DB, let me go eat something." </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have my next doctor's appointment tomorrow, and we'll be doing some testing. Apparently, there is a new test that just involves a sonogram and drawing blood, but it's as effective as the more invasive tests. Yes, sign me up for that. I'm also kind of hoping they can tell me the gender, but since this is a new test, I haven't been able to find out for sure (even using my mad research skills).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Workout wise, I've been kind of enjoying running again. Well, run/walk-ing. I need to get some kind of support because I'm already having stretchy round ligament pain after I bounce around.... this has resulted in my holding my belly on the treadmill at the gym, which may look stupid. (It's good that I don't care about those things, then.)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I've also been doing Les Mills Pump and Turbofire. Mainly, I just need something that's fun. Pump may not get me the humongous muscles I love, but it's SOMETHING, and will keep me going for a while.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Okay, now I'm just starting to ramble. Here are the basics:</div>
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<br /></div>
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- Not nauseous so much</div>
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- Working out daily</div>
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- Not at all nervous or afraid of genetic testing.</div>
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- David Boreanaz. Duh. </div>
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Have a great Monday folks...</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-69996181905686233042012-10-22T19:30:00.000-05:002012-10-22T19:30:01.310-05:00Week 11: Still pregnant. Still a bit punchySomething funny happened to me over the weekend. I started to feel better.<br />
<br />
Well, let me correct myself.... Saturday I did NOT feel great, but there were a number of factors involved:<br />
<br />
- I was unable to pry myself out of bed to workout (or do much of anything) before the kids woke up, so I woke up frazzled with their demands starting before I even went to the bathroom...<br />
<br />
- My husband was playing at an outdoor Jazz fest and wanted me to bring the kids... so I got them ready (which is always a special experience) and carried them there, parked in an odd place, walked a really long way, then tried to get them to sit still for an hour. In the Texas heat.<br />
<br />
- I felt like I was going to throw up pretty much the entire time, and I also needed to pee, but couldn't figure out a way to get all three of us into a port-o-potty, so I just did my best to ignore it.<br />
<br />
After my husband's set was over, we agreed to go to a restaurant. My hunger/fatigue/nausea/bladder issues led me to dive into the bread and butter offered to us (once I had gone to the bathroom, of course). I also had bacon cheese burger. And it was really good.<br />
<br />
After this, everyone had to have a shower. I couldn't believe some of the sticky stuff on my two year old. It's probably better that I didn't know what it was. But then we laid down for a nap. I was pretty miserable at this point (so hot, so tired...)<br />
<br />
Then for dinner, I made frozen banana ice cream :-) I figured that made up for the burger. At least a little.<br />
<br />
Sunday, however, I woke up feeling great. I was motivated to clean. I got to the things on my to-do list. I cleaned the garbage out of my car. I cleaned the heck out of the hall bathroom. I threw away 2 garbage bags full of paper. I read some of my book. It was a miracle.<br />
<br />
I also noticed that my belly didn't feel as huge as it had been. It wasn't hard like it was the past few weeks. The only thing I can think of is maybe some of the awful pregnant bloaty-ness has gone away.<br />
<br />
But today (Monday) it continued (for the most part). I did have some episodes of nausea, but for the most part I had energy and was able to function without feeling like my mind was in a cloud.<br />
<br />
So, I'm hoping it will be like this for a while. I'm hoping to get back on track with nutrition and slow down some of the weight gain. In fact, today I weighed at the gym, and I have lost 2 pounds! Now I weigh in at 148. Much more reasonable, right?<br />
<br />
Anyway, here are some Week 11 pics:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOc4RZkQ0gm6sAMHet2I98f8TsCtD24nwgZGx9XxoXE9NvVd7yzZ5srGz5y_JeNV6Uj1rD9PiIPxRdfxVeOte-HyQ53ydDP70zEupPyMYav5thhteGntmkBPZQMPUeEfFRRAnBHNz5mjd/s1600/photo(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOc4RZkQ0gm6sAMHet2I98f8TsCtD24nwgZGx9XxoXE9NvVd7yzZ5srGz5y_JeNV6Uj1rD9PiIPxRdfxVeOte-HyQ53ydDP70zEupPyMYav5thhteGntmkBPZQMPUeEfFRRAnBHNz5mjd/s320/photo(1).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The belly hasn't grown too much, and I still have delts so WIN.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8F1y0rcS6QHaPC95AXWy7DL0w18G7QLh5hnXffZIZK-9AYX6Exvr-ZjMfd2mkHbo4vIGoE0ABxHD1IQ1dRHBgj04TipAAz8xxzbCID-0_bdkd-l-RfGWTASD0dqg2ePUUus_OrrxV79g4/s1600/photo(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8F1y0rcS6QHaPC95AXWy7DL0w18G7QLh5hnXffZIZK-9AYX6Exvr-ZjMfd2mkHbo4vIGoE0ABxHD1IQ1dRHBgj04TipAAz8xxzbCID-0_bdkd-l-RfGWTASD0dqg2ePUUus_OrrxV79g4/s320/photo(2).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, ignore the look on my face, because I swear I saw a vein.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-45903347194147970302012-10-15T18:30:00.000-05:002012-10-15T18:30:02.484-05:00Here Comes Week 10...So I figured, Week 10 is starting, and I'll go ahead and do a weekly documentation of all the exciting details of trying to stay in shape and grow a person at the same time.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8i8nuJG5F-k46Ex4sZ57bLcRwVi_OEvSzoCcfEOZ4sPM1iAnWjEivSyi1WAab-i-R64rtmSj-6StDBOpYgXkJwwXni4VTk66OA2oIYUMXzhIvgSMD_k-fa0lgdl1uStw1azJQnMK7bERm/s1600/photo(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8i8nuJG5F-k46Ex4sZ57bLcRwVi_OEvSzoCcfEOZ4sPM1iAnWjEivSyi1WAab-i-R64rtmSj-6StDBOpYgXkJwwXni4VTk66OA2oIYUMXzhIvgSMD_k-fa0lgdl1uStw1azJQnMK7bERm/s320/photo(1).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10 weeks. The baby is the size of a grape. Why is my stomach so big?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTcQQcSjLTFZrHncgpotswJw85oLUurbKR6Bri5d-3ohb1YU-ZBFZIg063gUZL_fzI9JY6CWUGe1yFxhyMg8aE70PQlwu5U2cj5ZCTfJm2Fb-e80BmCbC6VMqv-LrrF7KUPUPZZT3iW8S/s1600/photo(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTcQQcSjLTFZrHncgpotswJw85oLUurbKR6Bri5d-3ohb1YU-ZBFZIg063gUZL_fzI9JY6CWUGe1yFxhyMg8aE70PQlwu5U2cj5ZCTfJm2Fb-e80BmCbC6VMqv-LrrF7KUPUPZZT3iW8S/s320/photo(2).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And from the front you can really see how my hips are expanding in preparation for childbirth</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm in this fun stage where I just look fat, not pregnant. Of course, the fact that I have eaten terribly for a month surely has something to do with it.<br />
<br />
However, as I predicted, I started to feel a bit better the past few days. I had a terrible sick headache that started Friday night and lasted into Saturday, but by Sunday, I woke up feeling lots better. I didn't crave crap (as much), and felt like I had a little more control over what I ate (as opposed to the overwhelming urge to consume EVERYTHING lest I vomit for the past few weeks).<br />
<br />
Workout wise, though, I have no motivation to do CrossFit. Part of it is that it's easier to workout at home rather than leave the house by 4:45 am. Part of it is the dread factor. I just want to do the stuff I like. Or as my 5 year old says, "I just want what I want!"<br />
<br />
I just don't feel like pushing myself until I feel like I'm going to pass out. So I'm not sure what I'm going to do about that. To be honest, as I look at the budget for the next 7 months and I think, "What can I cut back on?" and add that to "I just don't feel like doing CrossFit pregnant"... well, there's some money I could save. However, I've paid through November 5, so there's the need to get my money's worth until then. That and, oh yeah, I don't like to be a "quitter". Oh the drama.<br />
<br />
What I *do* enjoy right now: Turbofire, Lifting, Yoga. And eating. Wait, that's not a workout.<br />
<br />
So. 10 weeks down (pretty much). 30 to go. It's going to be a while.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-34757815838614653412012-10-11T08:25:00.000-05:002012-10-11T08:25:04.761-05:00And God laughed....I have been a little quiet lately. Hopefully someone noticed. It would be a little sad if I came in and said, "I'm sorry I've been so quiet" and everyone went, "Wait? You were gone? I had no idea..."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Anyway, life has thrown me a little bit of a curve ball.<br />
<br />
Remember how this summer I was in absolutely great shape. I actually would venture to say I was in the "Best Shape of My Life" (and I think I did, which was one way to tempt fate a little).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_DPjFP_hxJzhwCO21pbtNQaOq80waOYtg_sG0oLUKXyqrTTpCoIyy_AtmJ6kTHbgYWjASoYKALQK_T3IvDWj5IXgQMByVkj-ly-p_L5U8rR4hiSG8YHG5f73BLMWSN8IvVQeiJBo0aXG/s1600/471154_448447098522684_1727851384_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_DPjFP_hxJzhwCO21pbtNQaOq80waOYtg_sG0oLUKXyqrTTpCoIyy_AtmJ6kTHbgYWjASoYKALQK_T3IvDWj5IXgQMByVkj-ly-p_L5U8rR4hiSG8YHG5f73BLMWSN8IvVQeiJBo0aXG/s320/471154_448447098522684_1727851384_o.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I am in the best shape of my life! Look at the delt veins!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVTLUSeF501Vtb1_myL1arpUc-PkTAG0IJZkjCmOA198bd7WlrWuZM2CiJOAY7aUwAqtnmLrMtKG8C596vdj8N2jkqFABW38-1bzb7du9Bh3AttDZd2VYcXujmKdaW_a5FGFZm6zQ3wkX/s1600/Flexing+my+muscles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVTLUSeF501Vtb1_myL1arpUc-PkTAG0IJZkjCmOA198bd7WlrWuZM2CiJOAY7aUwAqtnmLrMtKG8C596vdj8N2jkqFABW38-1bzb7du9Bh3AttDZd2VYcXujmKdaW_a5FGFZm6zQ3wkX/s320/Flexing+my+muscles.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Woohoo! I'm looking good!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Then I started the Whole30 and CrossFit. I was on top of the world. New job, new town, new way of eating, new workouts....<br />
<br />
Well, I got a little surprise....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GZWu4makpxIRxUSQvwtR3eIfgsK_DMluC6621pGYIj2u5u-AEivQCc9axHhZZCco9ftfxHuUlBQ2aLGrXH0hAzvbggAvasikjummywD_r72Kv90KXTAqgdSKr_idTKu0xKu46mDKeNaO/s1600/photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8GZWu4makpxIRxUSQvwtR3eIfgsK_DMluC6621pGYIj2u5u-AEivQCc9axHhZZCco9ftfxHuUlBQ2aLGrXH0hAzvbggAvasikjummywD_r72Kv90KXTAqgdSKr_idTKu0xKu46mDKeNaO/s320/photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Apparently, God thought it was hilarious how I had everything planned out. It was especially hilarious how we gave away EVERYTHING that had anything to do with babies when we moved from Tennessee to Texas this summer.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2hGlLQEdk7-9DNRp7_AoqYRD_6tYm9ZA4vVfCqv3kcdXZUEsg4NFuwktVwGR5OicD8xvMFZiHjQA6ONBcjTk9hrahREzbrpnUxuznfFFUOaoS4nv4OtNaPnbe_iO1ohzY212m9izlWym/s1600/48413764714800864_hyB8gF7e_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS2hGlLQEdk7-9DNRp7_AoqYRD_6tYm9ZA4vVfCqv3kcdXZUEsg4NFuwktVwGR5OicD8xvMFZiHjQA6ONBcjTk9hrahREzbrpnUxuznfFFUOaoS4nv4OtNaPnbe_iO1ohzY212m9izlWym/s320/48413764714800864_hyB8gF7e_c.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://weknowmemes.com/2011/09/like-a-boss/">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I don't want to make a huge big announcement. It took me a little while to get used to the fact that my body was going to basically belong to someone else for nine months again, and that I will be a mother to THREE children. But, I do feel like it explains some of my lack of posting.<br />
<br />
Here are some of the things that have been going on:<br />
- <b>Nausea</b>. I'm not one of those ladies who loses 10 pounds in the first trimester. I get the kind of nausea that only eating crap can fix. So I've been eating crap for a month, and have gained 10 pounds.<br />
- <b>Tired</b>. I can't believe I'm about to say it, but I have absolutely no interest in working out. None. I gave it a good effort for a while, but for the past 2 weeks or so, I'm really having to push it. If it comes to a choice between sleeping and working out, I'm sleeping.<br />
<br />
So my new goals are:<br />
- Survive until May 13-ish, and then probably never sleep again.<br />
- Gain less than 40 pounds.<br />
- Get back to a more regular workout schedule sometime in the next few weeks.<br />
- Keep going to CrossFit twice a week <br />
- Get that diet under control once the nausea stops demanding I eat CheezIts all the time.<br />
<br />
Every pregnancy I try to do a little better. So, maybe this will be the one where I finally get it perfect, right?<br />
<br />
(*I should add that once I got over the initial shock, in all seriousness, I am quite happy. Every baby is a blessing, even the ones who were the surprise of your life...)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-36823756519554091742012-10-01T16:01:00.001-05:002012-10-01T16:01:48.933-05:00My Very First CrossFit CompetitionSaturday, September 29 was the<a href="http://www.seacitycrossfit.com/"> SeaCity CrossFit</a> September Smackdown. Considering September 3 was the first time I ever actually went to CrossFit, it seemed like a great idea to go ahead and enter a contest.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTlmNUAYY6HbSqok-3g0OgHgiENjsycWgqlhGcrVrJ2GBhhxLxx9taPOQUNrIcCxWxbY2_bo5oXWRCy2CFKGjNZuWSM09MSQLaZa9zKwZaV4vWVt7ySFW03SN9aQtSepqAbOHHuNGbwL1/s1600/cat-does-not-planjpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhTlmNUAYY6HbSqok-3g0OgHgiENjsycWgqlhGcrVrJ2GBhhxLxx9taPOQUNrIcCxWxbY2_bo5oXWRCy2CFKGjNZuWSM09MSQLaZa9zKwZaV4vWVt7ySFW03SN9aQtSepqAbOHHuNGbwL1/s320/cat-does-not-planjpg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://snigdhakrishna.com/common-sense1">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Honestly, I was assured there was a place for beginners, and sure enough there was.<br />
<br />
We were divided into beginner, intermediate and advanced. Coach Tim sent us specific guidelines so that we would know where we belonged. The guidelines for beginners was this:<br />
<br />
Beginner – I scale most if not all the wods.<br /><br />I can push press 65/50#<br />I can step-up or jump on an 18” box<br />I can swing a 35/26# kettlebell<br />
<br />
Well, I got this. Sign me up for beginner level! <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />They divided us into multiple heats. I went in the first heat of the day. Each athlete (I love how they kept referring to us as "athletes". Take that, middle school gym teacher!) was paired with a judge. The judge would count your reps with you and tell you if it was a "no-rep" (it didn't count). My judge was a super nice guy named Xavier who is a CrossFit coach at another box.<br />
<br />
We had 2 WODs.<br />
<br />
Beginner WOD 1:<br />
<br />
Stationary lunges 8 each leg (alternate) <br />
Push Press 50 pounds 8 times<br />
Jump or step up on 18" box 8 times<br />
<br />
AMRAP in 10 minutes.<br />
<br />
We did a few practice moves with our judge before the timer started to make sure we had it down. Sadly, I could *not* do an 18 inch box jump. I tried. It was sad. But, luckily, I could step up instead. That I can do.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQxaG-STl8oxRiOzU7BsSQSX_SiANYsHw9BJ1Xd1OsxJ_3mot_kFBI6aGUDjGH6ncl9rWRl4l0IvlgrPVqfasUP7-G_UCb-YBtgUuXR4StDE1_1R40DKbizc0MEFQ5qd5tBvbPO3-GaBry/s1600/603246_655816741158_668678965_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQxaG-STl8oxRiOzU7BsSQSX_SiANYsHw9BJ1Xd1OsxJ_3mot_kFBI6aGUDjGH6ncl9rWRl4l0IvlgrPVqfasUP7-G_UCb-YBtgUuXR4StDE1_1R40DKbizc0MEFQ5qd5tBvbPO3-GaBry/s320/603246_655816741158_668678965_n.jpg" width="226" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lungin'</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12910hTQrN4NKABJhinl7IoW6IBkycdp7XpzRZRaM4ys4qjyzbi55zmUyQFo77cDqXM_TMroFXV2jKZd3poe_pYZucxrntdbrDPkEcLYRMg4Y3Nrnl3Q7cg4yCh767s79nZXseMniuNk1/s1600/579597_655816865908_1922256674_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg12910hTQrN4NKABJhinl7IoW6IBkycdp7XpzRZRaM4ys4qjyzbi55zmUyQFo77cDqXM_TMroFXV2jKZd3poe_pYZucxrntdbrDPkEcLYRMg4Y3Nrnl3Q7cg4yCh767s79nZXseMniuNk1/s320/579597_655816865908_1922256674_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One Push Press at 50# is cake. 40+? Um...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
(I think that's the face my kids see when they're in trouble)<br />
<br />
<br />
I felt really good about WOD #1. However, once the timer went off, we had 5 minutes to rest before WOD #2. WOD #2 was MAX BURPEES IN 2.5 MINUTES!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfwCxIg_iJr8oxK-PSIwceICjGqfncKpB9K_kvZa5slR2OBxyBLG5IGry7zsLgGjKGhVPt1l7HgFSTaZOADsUNFzZzqsVzyvS8tgLJ4GcyZTdeH8YhGLD1ByAs6IeoG319pX6mSqypiTj/s1600/548711_10101138124276860_1227476869_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikfwCxIg_iJr8oxK-PSIwceICjGqfncKpB9K_kvZa5slR2OBxyBLG5IGry7zsLgGjKGhVPt1l7HgFSTaZOADsUNFzZzqsVzyvS8tgLJ4GcyZTdeH8YhGLD1ByAs6IeoG319pX6mSqypiTj/s320/548711_10101138124276860_1227476869_n.jpg" width="153" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mid-Burpee</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I hate burpees. A lot. And I was already tired. But, dang it, I was going to BRING IT. I decided I would do 10 at a time as a psychological game for myself. I ended up with 30 BURPEES! Holy cow! I didn't know I could do 30 burpees in a row EVER.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmeGPgY-csp86d3ucd5W-6k7mr49R_LrG2TyoPs5EmN5g5C_gTNT9DqsQtq99HWRVDHOBsCKn3B2UUYSGseTG_bxZ9ION3mqi6bNYuEjIiJQCCG6kmKZ5WTiEqcAu4Li-D6G5t-6uCvBD/s1600/247994_10101137306156380_504631167_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwmeGPgY-csp86d3ucd5W-6k7mr49R_LrG2TyoPs5EmN5g5C_gTNT9DqsQtq99HWRVDHOBsCKn3B2UUYSGseTG_bxZ9ION3mqi6bNYuEjIiJQCCG6kmKZ5WTiEqcAu4Li-D6G5t-6uCvBD/s320/247994_10101137306156380_504631167_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What my legs looked like when I was done.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After that, I was done. I had brought a babysitter and my children and envisioned a lovely day with my children getting inspired to pursue a lifetime of fitness..... well, it may not have gone as planned, but they seemed to enjoy themselves...<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYSKnuiuyZT7avQ-WEHDnqShLH0qh96cA5u7Mtw8fHq_4eTojroIunDU9bU8T3mn-qwSkYyJDxpD3hXG_pds27iUijsFPSRKFdANveSvo6aYvsQGkb7tvWx_DyvwgAAePazWDmR6B58rA/s1600/598692_10101137299774170_1250052634_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsYSKnuiuyZT7avQ-WEHDnqShLH0qh96cA5u7Mtw8fHq_4eTojroIunDU9bU8T3mn-qwSkYyJDxpD3hXG_pds27iUijsFPSRKFdANveSvo6aYvsQGkb7tvWx_DyvwgAAePazWDmR6B58rA/s320/598692_10101137299774170_1250052634_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My daughter doing her own burpees</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhRuQgsJc2Od94p-YQ_WsoqzketOLr97NmcySF0d7IIYwx4FsW7Zk2bf1Et00FSHf67yxcR7pFCazow6jqlyaCHe8oEj7THjo8p0RHilYl8cDllzbtnAWMVpbktzA34c-kRxW3sIHfQ48/s1600/246496_10101137319614410_412087922_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbhRuQgsJc2Od94p-YQ_WsoqzketOLr97NmcySF0d7IIYwx4FsW7Zk2bf1Et00FSHf67yxcR7pFCazow6jqlyaCHe8oEj7THjo8p0RHilYl8cDllzbtnAWMVpbktzA34c-kRxW3sIHfQ48/s320/246496_10101137319614410_412087922_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then she somehow became a ninja</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoIWNAnKbSD5HvqjdHWzkiziCknS0SfRg9bPs54jus0icE-305wBV8rCFQmA2_lLigrWWUliIeeC5KK620457Azkp6UB1zdHjIXyOfxH1FTrkYRF96vDUGdEdGzxUowqjlVQSWzrRC9Np/s1600/69183_10101137321211210_1971214806_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmoIWNAnKbSD5HvqjdHWzkiziCknS0SfRg9bPs54jus0icE-305wBV8rCFQmA2_lLigrWWUliIeeC5KK620457Azkp6UB1zdHjIXyOfxH1FTrkYRF96vDUGdEdGzxUowqjlVQSWzrRC9Np/s320/69183_10101137321211210_1971214806_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My son shows off his muscles.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvAVCwUnf65NIKYd4h9YR3I7gSDir4p0hFcdd3SKn2EDbSIIUfAnQjGHD5y_h43MS9T1LBaXtXuFa9A8Ldsktt_ZmYK_T1ctGOVKx6yW3SISdyY4kPb_xXcuqTmRXh17yR-pWnM1zznff/s1600/404165_655821855908_266130435_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvAVCwUnf65NIKYd4h9YR3I7gSDir4p0hFcdd3SKn2EDbSIIUfAnQjGHD5y_h43MS9T1LBaXtXuFa9A8Ldsktt_ZmYK_T1ctGOVKx6yW3SISdyY4kPb_xXcuqTmRXh17yR-pWnM1zznff/s320/404165_655821855908_266130435_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing with wall balls.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Watching the other groups do their WODs was inspiring. The intermediate women were CRAZY. Their first WOD included burpee box jumps (!!!!) and crazy kipping pull ups. Their second WOD was 10 minutes to work up to their Clean and Press ONE REP MAX. It was inspiring to watch these ladies lift such heavy weights overhead. I definitely have some new goals.<br />
<br />
The advanced men was a small, elite group of CrossFit coaches who had to run 800 m (about a half a mile), do 12-9-6 of some crazy stuff including muscle ups and double unders, then run 800 m AGAIN. Holy cow. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
I waited the whole day, mostly because I wanted to see the other groups compete, but also because I was a little curious to see if I placed. It was silly to expect to place in my first competition, and when they announced the top 3 and I *wasn't* there, I wasn't surprised.<br />
<br />
However, later they posted the complete results and I was shocked to see that I was FOURTH in my group!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
When I arrived at the 5AM WOD Monday morning, Coach Tim came up to me and congratulated me on a great job. He said I was first in my heat, and that he was really impressed with how well I did. He also gave me some surprise swag: A bracelet, WODShop Coupon, and a jumprope (so I can practice double unders... she said with irony). I was really moved.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi08ayEhIoJ6GpGNhdWR0C1Lj49pGTVSGe0DC_vzYEMA40TgYVpEy4HR8IGooYvmgGR6kglogYFLTH22OgkKy_QAN17ioemWIwvcrVCs1G0mz5rh5sTPukBt2YrPQHkyLT8m9yHYDuJKLjA/s1600/saveagain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi08ayEhIoJ6GpGNhdWR0C1Lj49pGTVSGe0DC_vzYEMA40TgYVpEy4HR8IGooYvmgGR6kglogYFLTH22OgkKy_QAN17ioemWIwvcrVCs1G0mz5rh5sTPukBt2YrPQHkyLT8m9yHYDuJKLjA/s320/saveagain.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My surprise swag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Overall, I'm very proud and excited that I chose to participate. I had a great time, and I was inspired by what people can do. The support I received was amazing and is going a long way towards healing my PTSD from middle school P.E. class.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-32222943853323599762012-08-26T15:27:00.002-05:002012-08-26T15:27:53.904-05:00Once Upon A Time...I had a blog. I loved to write in my blog.<br />
<br />
Then, I got a new job, and moved 2 kids, 1 cat, and a husband over 1000 miles.<br />
<br />
Then we got to our new house, which is a beautiful house on the beach, but found that we still had to actually put all our stuff away.<br />
<br />
So, yeah, sitting and writing in my blog seemed like such a luxury.<br />
<br />
But, I've completed my first week at work. I've got an *almost* functional house (although, I don't think I'll be posting any pics of it on Pinterest any time soon), and I'm ready to get back on track.<br />
<br />
If I told you how I've eaten this past month, you would shake your head in shame. I'm not proud. But, like I said before, my goals shifted from "diet and be healthy" to "survive".<br />
<br />
One of the exciting things I have planned is to do a Whole 30, starting tomorrow.<br />
<br />
What's a <a href="http://whole9life.com/category/whole-30/">Whole 30</a>? Well, take a look over here at the Whole 9 website:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://whole9life.com/"><img alt="Whole9" border="0" src="http://whole9life.com/img/w9link.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Basically, for 30 days I'll eat very very clean, healthy, whole food. No processed food, no dairy (yes, coffee withOUT cream. It is going to be tragic).<br />
<br />
But the reason I'm doing it is not to lose weight. The main reason is to get healthier. Maybe see my skin improve. Some of the digestive issues I have may go away. But basically, I just want to try it.<br />
<br />
So, I'll do my best to document it here. I know, I know, I've promised this before. But it's my goal. One day at a time.<br />
<br />
One of the things the creators of the program suggest you do is take pictures to document. For example, a lot of people notice improvements in their skin, so it's suggested that you take a Day 1 pic. So, here's me at the gym today (but actually I guess that would be Day 0).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1biAPCn-4vBatQu2_NbjDdsXoILSVx5NgEI3BaIWW0pSs_oEGoIJmK0C1n1KV8CjMkx4kw7OETTyYMY3XhflkUVqSw6rdOQMEL3prGVreiQboQVo8Gv94bZrqVvv8W3thC128Rz7EAXeo/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1biAPCn-4vBatQu2_NbjDdsXoILSVx5NgEI3BaIWW0pSs_oEGoIJmK0C1n1KV8CjMkx4kw7OETTyYMY3XhflkUVqSw6rdOQMEL3prGVreiQboQVo8Gv94bZrqVvv8W3thC128Rz7EAXeo/s320/photo-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And I could not look more excited...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I'm ready, and I've got a friend who's an old pro who'll be doing it with me (you should check out her <a href="http://christietracy.blogspot.com/">blog</a>, by the way. She rocks.) <br />
<br />
So, here we go. Is this thing on?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-14858233978045508422012-05-30T12:57:00.002-05:002012-05-30T12:57:38.682-05:00Happy Birthday, Awesomeday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprwfO7ElOfBbFwZtU1TxhectapnyPqcIJvUO0dfF5uWOfpqseDzyAWN4YIZ0H8kdm1u7f9bMarcxgvMb3cCO2J8kl-B7b-GbQIWhwSrDLxuuzQpBWFDvigZKpuQZi5N0nUeBb5qemt-Qm/s1600/awesome+button.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprwfO7ElOfBbFwZtU1TxhectapnyPqcIJvUO0dfF5uWOfpqseDzyAWN4YIZ0H8kdm1u7f9bMarcxgvMb3cCO2J8kl-B7b-GbQIWhwSrDLxuuzQpBWFDvigZKpuQZi5N0nUeBb5qemt-Qm/s1600/awesome+button.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A little over a year ago, a friend of mine posted a Facebook status that read: "Today is so awesome it should be called Awesomeday!" Sometime after that, I stole the word "Awesomeday" from her and decided to make an entire day where every status I wrote had to be a "Thing that is awesome". I did this to have a day of positive things, of looking on the bright side, and a day where I was just not allowed to whine.<br />
<br />
I know I created the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/Wednesdayisawesomeday">Facebook page</a> a few Awesomedays into it, but I'm not sure how many. But I looked at our page today and saw that the page was created on May 4, 2011. Awesomeday had a birthday and I missed it!<br />
<br />
Since it started, I've seen it spread. There are almost 300 folks on the page (hoping to surpass that soon), but what's really neat is seeing people post their "Things that are awesome" status updates every Wednesday.<br />
<br />
There have been Wednesdays that come along where I'm really NOT in the mood. I am grumpy. I want to complain. But I remember my rule, and I'm forced to count my blessings. Awesomeday has saved my mood more than once.<br />
<br />
So, happy birthday, Awesomeday! Here's to many more!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzfRUkTzi45pawPxLdob0yD24VdWMebB0nhayr_fOrdo94YipD7Q2zva2bgTizxN_lSEois8hIiIkfUBiG8YM38b7CuE_4wzZol3wMWBvOeabdoRwaPRrCsbDWG-tVSz7Rw791w63XY2S/s1600/awesomebirthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirzfRUkTzi45pawPxLdob0yD24VdWMebB0nhayr_fOrdo94YipD7Q2zva2bgTizxN_lSEois8hIiIkfUBiG8YM38b7CuE_4wzZol3wMWBvOeabdoRwaPRrCsbDWG-tVSz7Rw791w63XY2S/s1600/awesomebirthday.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-15232046671136436862012-05-15T09:41:00.000-05:002012-05-15T09:41:23.014-05:00Running and Me: On a Break.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-22BMOCtHsrBsahFWGaSx7460BibFr0Lt3slxMNb96tsrZopNBXdpYm8zvb3IZJd1ABoarB5XMhvkTxa6eWTUzRzAtK4r2dL9oKUHu4DhWqzCkeEdT-x0IyApjRHC9WInqYoMFBs3Niz/s1600/funny-pictures-kitten-is-happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm-22BMOCtHsrBsahFWGaSx7460BibFr0Lt3slxMNb96tsrZopNBXdpYm8zvb3IZJd1ABoarB5XMhvkTxa6eWTUzRzAtK4r2dL9oKUHu4DhWqzCkeEdT-x0IyApjRHC9WInqYoMFBs3Niz/s320/funny-pictures-kitten-is-happy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://icanhascheezburger.files.wordpress.com/2008/08/funny-pictures-kitten-is-happy.jpg">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I made a decision. I've decided to just stop running.<br />
<br />
I have fought with running for years. It's never been easy. I have glorious running moments that keep me coming back. I have days when I think running is the best thing that ever happened to me.<br />
<br />
But I have given myself permission to run less... well, actually NONE.<br />
<br />
Here's the deal:<br />
<br />
Running did not get me the body I wanted. Weightlifting is getting me the body I want.<br />
In my current plan, I get 2 steady state cardio sessions per week. I want to do something fun.<br />
<br />
I have discovered that I love love LOVE dancing. So I'm taking a Zumba class Thursday nights (The gal who teaches the class I'm taking is AWESOME!) I'm also spending time doing Turbokick and Hip Hop Hustle. I'm getting something from this type of cardio that I don't get from running. I'm not training for anything. I'm not "putting in miles". I'm just having fun.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESEVQs5Hji6d4b2KBpCJ5DGN4Ntm39cHEfSG3MEEhD9avPHqMNUpsICSTvq-ae8A8yz-3DrS0rgyKc_7-9m5B-RhV84S6Jg0A3ERWRq_H462WTqvmZqmY5kebzKSSDB70RvK_Ujg1S9Kg/s1600/Happy_Kitten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESEVQs5Hji6d4b2KBpCJ5DGN4Ntm39cHEfSG3MEEhD9avPHqMNUpsICSTvq-ae8A8yz-3DrS0rgyKc_7-9m5B-RhV84S6Jg0A3ERWRq_H462WTqvmZqmY5kebzKSSDB70RvK_Ujg1S9Kg/s320/Happy_Kitten.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lolcatpictures.net/pictures/Happy_Kitten.jpg">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Now, I'm not going to be dramatic and say, "I'll never run again!" I may decide to run again. Running will be there when and if I'm ready. I'm cool with that.<br />
<br />
Life is too short to do things that aren't fun.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQzuDhs6Wid55yl7u5wxcDjnPofbPY9wgAcN3nYfO-AUbd3PBeLlqbl63OH_iT8D1uEWrMf83D6Xu5u00RY1vnHda40FeM426MtCGFCSWnBeWPydxah_KP5AC-rN3tePFqHzS9wDrcwEd/s1600/FNFTopAqua.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQzuDhs6Wid55yl7u5wxcDjnPofbPY9wgAcN3nYfO-AUbd3PBeLlqbl63OH_iT8D1uEWrMf83D6Xu5u00RY1vnHda40FeM426MtCGFCSWnBeWPydxah_KP5AC-rN3tePFqHzS9wDrcwEd/s320/FNFTopAqua.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I haz a happee!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-42417019074320608062012-05-07T15:29:00.001-05:002012-05-07T15:29:13.407-05:00Fix You<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8-04-OsCjLlDGp-vkwaEGrwb0AZvlPPqumPpuVC-rxjUlf_oDWiGdpc1XsXHpqlgWOyX_CloFIqNM0YQDurWgPz4ctVUpeTU3gjGKVLOAy6fLlvXBh_4dwt4xbF_DJr13bFnY_-CI6XF/s1600/fix-you-coldplay-random-15785907-500-334.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8-04-OsCjLlDGp-vkwaEGrwb0AZvlPPqumPpuVC-rxjUlf_oDWiGdpc1XsXHpqlgWOyX_CloFIqNM0YQDurWgPz4ctVUpeTU3gjGKVLOAy6fLlvXBh_4dwt4xbF_DJr13bFnY_-CI6XF/s320/fix-you-coldplay-random-15785907-500-334.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/15700000/fix-you-coldplay-random-15785907-500-334.jpg">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
When my mom died 7 years ago, my heart was broken. It was not a very long illness, but it was exhausting. She was in hospice for a while, and at one point shortly before she died, it looked like she was well enough to leave hospice but would require the care of a nursing home. Friday I was told I would have to look for a place for her, but by Monday she was gone.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was traumatized and felt a bit like I was free-falling for a while. I found comfort in the Coldplay song, "Fix You".</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"And the tears come streaming down your face</div>
<div>
When you lose something you can't replace</div>
<div>
When you love someone but it goes to waste</div>
<div>
Could it be worse?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I got through it. I got my life back, and I went on to finish my library degree and have two beautiful children. I made it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But lately I've felt a little lost again. I've been trying, but have been disappointed. Some rejection. Some failures. Some things just aren't working out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"When you try your best but you don't succeed. </div>
<div>
When you get what you want but not what you need.</div>
<div>
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep</div>
<div>
Stuck in reverse?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've dealt with depression my whole life. My mother had it. I seem to be dealing with another bout these days that's made worse by some of the current circumstances. Working out is one of the things that keeps me sane. It is a release. It is a relief.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You may have seen this video going around the past few days. It features a cover version of the song "Fix You". It's an amazing story, and I encourage you to watch the entire thing:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qX9FSZJu448" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
It has reminded me of the song again.<br />
<br />
I'm facing some big choices. They involve big risks. What if I fail? What if it doesn't work?<br />
<br />
If you watched the video, you'll see Arthur fell down. Several times, in fact. But he got back up. And he made it.<br />
<br />
"And high up above or down below<br />
When you're too in love to let it go<br />
But if you never try you'll never know<br />
Just what you're worth."<br />
<br />
I am lost right now. I have big decisions to make. But this song just appeared to me. Both the song and the video came along when I really needed them.<br />
<br />
So, it may be hard, but I think I will make it.<br />
<br />
"Lights will guide you home<br />
And ignite your bones<br />
And I will try to fix you."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-12584534746029874472012-05-01T16:06:00.000-05:002012-05-01T16:06:30.053-05:00This is your life..."This is your life. Are you who you want to be?"<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfw5DkfrEN4boM4jzAB6krppGbSpNbGvDrhC3lutsuXnPCcePzRg9T2m9L28ffds4Q2kIjTSuFgcMuCYkbPxFzjGaCX_5PQqh92pwIuGFbhiaHHZPhPC6VKplhnZdLHk_0aji1cIIbm_wF/s1600/when-i-grow-up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfw5DkfrEN4boM4jzAB6krppGbSpNbGvDrhC3lutsuXnPCcePzRg9T2m9L28ffds4Q2kIjTSuFgcMuCYkbPxFzjGaCX_5PQqh92pwIuGFbhiaHHZPhPC6VKplhnZdLHk_0aji1cIIbm_wF/s320/when-i-grow-up.jpg" width="291" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://beinglatino.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/when-i-grow-up.jpg">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I've been going through some stuff. Stuck in a dead end job. Looking for a new one. Feeling frustrated. Needing change.<br />
<br />
In my life, I've had the following jobs:<br />
Piano teacher<br />
Preschool music teacher<br />
Church pianist<br />
Accompanist<br />
Graduate assistant<br />
Graduate student<br />
Teaching assistant<br />
Yoga Instructor<br />
Adjunct professor<br />
Group Exercise Coordinator<br />
Gym manager<br />
Group Exercise Instructor<br />
Personal Trainer<br />
Librarian<br />
<br />
(I have also waited tables, but I was just awful at that, so I don't count it... much...)<br />
<br />
So, it took me a while to decide what I wanted to be when I grow up.<br />
<br />
I love being a librarian, but I'm not very valued at my current job. I don't make as much money as the national standard for librarians with two master's degrees.<br />
I loved being a group exercise coordinator, but it wasn't enough money to do just that.<br />
I love teaching group exercise, but can't do it 40 hours a week.<br />
<br />
So, I'm thinking, with all these different skills I have, I should be able to do what I love AND feed my family (and maybe even consider paying off the student loan I accrued getting all these skills...)<br />
<br />
I would call the place I am now *uncomfortable*. I'm "in between". I don't like it. I'm a control freak. I like to know exactly what I'm going to be doing, when I'm going to be doing it.<br />
<br />
But I finished my workout today and was walking back to my office. The song "This is your life" came on.<br />
Here's the song if you don't know it:<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/LA2CpQWg2pA" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
And you know, I got a little emotional. The words got to me:<br />
<br />
"This is your life. Are you who you want to be?"<br />
<br />
It is. It *is* my life. I don't get another chance. Is this who I want to be?<br />
<br />
Part of me feels really lost, but part of me kind of knows who I want to be.<br />
<br />
I want to be someone who is remembered for helping other people.<br />
I want to be remembered for making them laugh, making them feel happier, making them feel they can do anything.<br />
I want to be kind. I want to see good in people.<br />
I want to show people they are capable of things they never thought they could do.<br />
<br />
So, I know what the right choice is. Is it the choice that's going to make me rich? Probably not. Is it going to mean I might have to have a "job" as well as a "vocation"? Maybe.<br />
<br />
But I only have one chance. I'm 38 years old and it's time to decide.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-69540054464486362122012-04-30T07:00:00.000-05:002012-04-30T07:00:05.688-05:00Counting Blessings<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMa-GciquKh9uT2l0lpGtSZcQMiJvx91YqylmSCzGUslKbGjalHUyPEoMnU8tTXojg-UxIjcd_K5pxHLrccHSZVbLrWGsYivJS6KNyk-kJjJO8t2zn1bGHnzCzLtlszWfci1vfWacOoGK/s1600/blessings36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMa-GciquKh9uT2l0lpGtSZcQMiJvx91YqylmSCzGUslKbGjalHUyPEoMnU8tTXojg-UxIjcd_K5pxHLrccHSZVbLrWGsYivJS6KNyk-kJjJO8t2zn1bGHnzCzLtlszWfci1vfWacOoGK/s320/blessings36.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.commentsyard.com/comments/blessings/">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
I have to confess: I'm troubled. The news depresses me. There are some terrible things happening in the world. In general, I try to avoid it, but sometimes I come across a story that just horrifies me.<br />
<br />
It's very easy to get overwhelmed with sadness. I mean, anyone with a soul of any kind would have trouble. So I'm going to use this space right here to count my blessings.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Healthy happy child, number 1: </b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKNJCe53uN17BNwky3YypZJycEmj0x6FHdZvLmyZDok2xMlgI8h_mKRFdoks-vE0c_8I8EBg56XBMXoOlCwy6rb927tpvntxE-c0jxTi2Fq7v8B00AZLWdwydncYljbkjJE9W-XYbD_jM/s1600/552947_10100833219678120_23919172_51555126_1939044102_n-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcKNJCe53uN17BNwky3YypZJycEmj0x6FHdZvLmyZDok2xMlgI8h_mKRFdoks-vE0c_8I8EBg56XBMXoOlCwy6rb927tpvntxE-c0jxTi2Fq7v8B00AZLWdwydncYljbkjJE9W-XYbD_jM/s320/552947_10100833219678120_23919172_51555126_1939044102_n-1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at that happiness!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I know I'm very lucky. I was 32 and had pretty much stopped thinking about having kids after it didn't happen... and then SURPRISE! Here comes this boy. I can't believe it's been almost 5 years.<br />
<br />
This little boy is my buddy. He comes up to me for no reason and says, "Mommy, I love you A LOT!" He says hilarious things several times a day (and I quote him on Facebook to share his hilarity). He is a sweet, smart boy and I must never forget what a huge blessing he is to me.<br />
<br />
<b>2. Healthy Happy Child, #2:</b><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgor3BXOH9wZLhiIaojVz4k5ZBY8M6_JZ4k_ltXoZ5LBMsKmplo1MYsIiqvGm9ED_gAdxEV6qKXZUmfoGQtb2C6mqZEnqBLx6MRdTpcoWpXS76bDmSxpA1aEtdd1CrMN-Ol8YVgU5pP5YBs/s1600/564176_10100843336144640_23919172_51598657_40165518_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgor3BXOH9wZLhiIaojVz4k5ZBY8M6_JZ4k_ltXoZ5LBMsKmplo1MYsIiqvGm9ED_gAdxEV6qKXZUmfoGQtb2C6mqZEnqBLx6MRdTpcoWpXS76bDmSxpA1aEtdd1CrMN-Ol8YVgU5pP5YBs/s320/564176_10100843336144640_23919172_51598657_40165518_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"I'm in a box!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's a similar story. I was incredibly thankful for my son, but kind of wanted a little girl. But I realized I was getting older, and it wasn't very likely. Then, another SURPRISE! I got the little girl I always dreamed about (now I have a complete set!)<br />
<br />
She is heading into the "Terrible Twos" (I shouldn't even call them that), and is already quite challenging. But she's as sweet as she can be. And she's also showing signs of her brother's clever wit. Another reason to be thankful every day.<br />
<br />
<b>#3. My health</b><br />
<br />
I work on a college campus, and it never fails. If I'm feeling grumpy about something, or starting to have a pity party, I notice a student walking by who is blind and using a stick or a guide dog to get along. Or a student using a wheelchair.<br />
<br />
My own brother has a form of muscular dystrophy that caused degeneration. As a child, he was able to run and play, but the disease got worse, and by the time he was a teenager, he was confined to a wheelchair.<br />
<br />
I try daily to be thankful that I have the ability to move freely, to run, to exercise, and am basically very healthy.<br />
<br />
There are so many more, but I'm going to go ahead and stop at three. It's funny- just listing these three blessings right here has improved my mood greatly.<br />
<br />
So, I want to challenge you. Can you list three blessings right now? They can be small or big. You can either post them in a comment, or just keep them to yourself. But please, do it. I guarantee it will improve your day.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8026352438838104426.post-36984496187432301422012-02-22T09:07:00.000-06:002012-02-22T09:07:54.829-06:00The Power of Awesomeday!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZInt079uCZhOSEPNyj0M0xp8EpecT8YsjXi0hklR9bAgIWsVg30rkhw7ebMSk48jP0ZJVFL98nnIIHtFFcJzDEaJ7bsiMIm3Mdn2vGF-Gutw__uWjSZLRHg-DL-LqQaNxMmklJW3XFwY/s1600/Awesometruestory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZInt079uCZhOSEPNyj0M0xp8EpecT8YsjXi0hklR9bAgIWsVg30rkhw7ebMSk48jP0ZJVFL98nnIIHtFFcJzDEaJ7bsiMIm3Mdn2vGF-Gutw__uWjSZLRHg-DL-LqQaNxMmklJW3XFwY/s1600/Awesometruestory.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">Every Wednesday, I participate in something called "Awesomeday". It came about when I heard someone say, "Today is so awesome I should just call it 'Awesomeday'!" I thought about it, and I started making every Facebook status post a "Thing that is awesome". On that day, I made a rule for myself: I was not allowed to whine. I was not allowed to be negative. Everything had to be awesome.</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">The next week came around, and I did it again. I had a few friends join me. Some people surely wondered what we were doing, but we didn't care. Our attitudes were starting to change.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9BiMvnphtvjqvvBjz9HVI9GrcK8wd2RwpkTwbge1LP511q0PT6eUmVsX4w2UjaASUXnAfEHqB7nowQKcJPkxViWrLWFIbeU9IxhYVieW0jcw96b7z-U7jLTHIWPurEWJdhCYJJZ2sbwBc/s1600/Awesomenessplane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9BiMvnphtvjqvvBjz9HVI9GrcK8wd2RwpkTwbge1LP511q0PT6eUmVsX4w2UjaASUXnAfEHqB7nowQKcJPkxViWrLWFIbeU9IxhYVieW0jcw96b7z-U7jLTHIWPurEWJdhCYJJZ2sbwBc/s320/Awesomenessplane.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">Soon I started a Facebook page for <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Wednesdayisawesomeday">Awesomeday</a>, and found that people I didn't even know were starting to post "Things that are awesome" on Wednesdays.</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEFhd0iOZ7RVedFatHpOHBwucEP6k33pSHn9niX6eLzoDaHZkmVLiwsAm1nwhWSA6b_LgQMrz623gEjFBpAgdnWD3BuYm0MP4gxfKPz31LmIcJEVJ0urDmUBidtkAoVq0-yLFh4qxCUPi/s1600/Awesomeifyourehere.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOEFhd0iOZ7RVedFatHpOHBwucEP6k33pSHn9niX6eLzoDaHZkmVLiwsAm1nwhWSA6b_LgQMrz623gEjFBpAgdnWD3BuYm0MP4gxfKPz31LmIcJEVJ0urDmUBidtkAoVq0-yLFh4qxCUPi/s1600/Awesomeifyourehere.jpg" /></a></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeo6j_wTaVSZsleavbdpSKpSUa29S_HC0LdZj5SbxM9ZWECV2H92GGO-M82RkbEXUm5gu0WpN_EQ_e0VcMSE5ttdSBiPEWRYqQns3GiAqg2LKtz9j6k9oY-vz5sDiBFF5PmNp6J12U0XG/s1600/Awesome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">I honestly don't know the official dates that it started, but I know there are 183 fans (at the moment) of the page, and hopefully they are brightening up their little corner of the world</div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeo6j_wTaVSZsleavbdpSKpSUa29S_HC0LdZj5SbxM9ZWECV2H92GGO-M82RkbEXUm5gu0WpN_EQ_e0VcMSE5ttdSBiPEWRYqQns3GiAqg2LKtz9j6k9oY-vz5sDiBFF5PmNp6J12U0XG/s1600/Awesome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeo6j_wTaVSZsleavbdpSKpSUa29S_HC0LdZj5SbxM9ZWECV2H92GGO-M82RkbEXUm5gu0WpN_EQ_e0VcMSE5ttdSBiPEWRYqQns3GiAqg2LKtz9j6k9oY-vz5sDiBFF5PmNp6J12U0XG/s320/Awesome.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
Now, let me tell you, there are Wednesdays when I don't feel awesome. Today was one. I had a rough morning. You know those mornings where *nothing* goes right. I found myself dreading the day ahead and thinking for a moment, "Well, that's it. Today's not going to go well." But then I remembered that it's Awesomeday.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SYISdTqHOyI89OPY68QvN-hQ4bhcDSswASO5R_lwl9IJvQ3Poq-EvyKOUsbxVa3NRHoicOXi63zKmI8r2oEkmvzWMmqgpgqTfHN4YmvGYSJQ6Q40skImgBhx_IlYuT2PGoIA4ZcZhEQU/s1600/AwesomeCaptainKirk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SYISdTqHOyI89OPY68QvN-hQ4bhcDSswASO5R_lwl9IJvQ3Poq-EvyKOUsbxVa3NRHoicOXi63zKmI8r2oEkmvzWMmqgpgqTfHN4YmvGYSJQ6Q40skImgBhx_IlYuT2PGoIA4ZcZhEQU/s320/AwesomeCaptainKirk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, I can't post anything negative on Awesomeday (well, I try not to post negative stuff anyway...). However, I feel like I'm expected to participate in Awesomeday, since I helped create it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJohm96v2JIo_XeQdXQT-GflYRGeX-WoRzXiMhF_Fu5R9I_DIBKethaVUHtFA9rlU9l-mM0IjQjrZKyybjWh_GZep0iRJW7qpiuqJFoGL5zfXp4wIFVzbehGfQZV76OLdAhcJiLwiDtGh/s1600/Awesomelifesentence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxJohm96v2JIo_XeQdXQT-GflYRGeX-WoRzXiMhF_Fu5R9I_DIBKethaVUHtFA9rlU9l-mM0IjQjrZKyybjWh_GZep0iRJW7qpiuqJFoGL5zfXp4wIFVzbehGfQZV76OLdAhcJiLwiDtGh/s320/Awesomelifesentence.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> I had to turn around my bad attitude and participate in Awesomeday. So here's what I did:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaOusP9V-pfdhXcNazlOz0xBQKLdvvOWs4mIApLz7J__42ohG6EFwf5Puy0Luh-FvurcdGM3QGpfxpVkYg4b31imn8-sPKIX79ZxYFjBtODzhgOsDj41rai-cVspaLj2EHMpZxSCpzhoN/s1600/status.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="111" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaOusP9V-pfdhXcNazlOz0xBQKLdvvOWs4mIApLz7J__42ohG6EFwf5Puy0Luh-FvurcdGM3QGpfxpVkYg4b31imn8-sPKIX79ZxYFjBtODzhgOsDj41rai-cVspaLj2EHMpZxSCpzhoN/s320/status.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And with that, my attitude started to change. People "liked" this status. And I realized, things are not so bad.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPXioYqRlmRCwBdAKCRKhJfRSg24JislGP7ZplTrhgNHDVEamm2zbTzQ6VqrIsrgqwiqWVJTUaX0AIu47TLgIZG8ZRtcv_bUqn5sHykdO6nY8Ab3Ary9nJiUzunedcodTHfx_Ju8LDKZP/s1600/Awesomepants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlPXioYqRlmRCwBdAKCRKhJfRSg24JislGP7ZplTrhgNHDVEamm2zbTzQ6VqrIsrgqwiqWVJTUaX0AIu47TLgIZG8ZRtcv_bUqn5sHykdO6nY8Ab3Ary9nJiUzunedcodTHfx_Ju8LDKZP/s1600/Awesomepants.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The whole point of Awesomeday is to count your blessings. When you count your blessings, they seem to multiply, and it takes your attention away from things you *don't* like.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, if you want to participate in Awesomeday, I would love to see you there. You don't even have to "like" the page, or post "Things that are awesome...". Just count your blessings, and watch them grow.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsadRgo5VLCrcNuKmvSm4BWkIxkVFJZXCw5P_hfiyySy8m2L5i7acqqYmjy1SIDmCOEl80P2oSkSQJruyl5EPXXwesjFfMeoSkQWRuapXf91nzhBZt3q61wKneYXDu_Q24BI1V5qwLHQSl/s1600/gratitude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsadRgo5VLCrcNuKmvSm4BWkIxkVFJZXCw5P_hfiyySy8m2L5i7acqqYmjy1SIDmCOEl80P2oSkSQJruyl5EPXXwesjFfMeoSkQWRuapXf91nzhBZt3q61wKneYXDu_Q24BI1V5qwLHQSl/s320/gratitude.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://homegrownhospitality.typepad.com/photos/rak_doodles/gratitude.html">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05249515345839945350noreply@blogger.com3