7 things I plan to do before I die:
1. Move to Utah
2. Have more children
3. Be sealed in the temple
4. Own a home
5. Publish a book
6. Be a Grandma
7. See Italy
7 Things I can do
1. Be a loving Mom/Wife
2. Write
3. Sing
4. Paint (not art, but I am rather crafty)
5. Latch Hook
6. Cross-stitch
7. Speak a little Russian
7 Things I cannot do
1. Stay organized
2. Keep the house perfectly clean
3. Understand the madness of children ^_^
4. Fathom my husband's way of thinking
5. Sleep without a blanket
6. Turn away from friends who have forgotten me
7. Please everyone
7 Things that attract me to the opposite sex
1. A geeky sense of humor (has to be as silly as I am!)
2. Eyes
3. Hair
4. Determination
5. Understanding
6. A good heart
7. Loves me for who/what I am
7 Things that I say most often
1. "Wicked bad"
2. "Kick it!"
3. "I'm such a nerd"
4. "Pumpkinhead" (Damen's nickname)
5. "Wee man" (what we call Damen to other people hehe)
6. "Wow"
7. "I am a Goddess!"
7 Celebrity crushes
1. Josh Groban
2. Johnny Rzeznik
3. Criss Angel
4. Hayden Christensen
5. Ewan McGregor
6. Elijah Wood
7. Toby Maguire
Sadly, I'm going to leave out the 7 people I want to do this, because the only person on Blogger I know is Katy. So Katy, there you go.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Friday, August 12, 2005
Will you remember?
Will you remember the dress I wore?
Will you remember my face?
Will you remember the lipstick I wore?
This world is a wonderful place
Will you remember the black limousine?
Will you remember Champagne?
Will you remember the things that we've seen?
I will return here again
Will you remember the flowers in my hand?
Will you remember my hair?
Will you remember the future we planned?
The world is not waiting out there
I won't remember the dress I wore
I won't remember Champagne
I won't remember the things that we swore
I will just love you in vain
~The Cranberries "Will You Remember"
Will you remember my face?
Will you remember the lipstick I wore?
This world is a wonderful place
Will you remember the black limousine?
Will you remember Champagne?
Will you remember the things that we've seen?
I will return here again
Will you remember the flowers in my hand?
Will you remember my hair?
Will you remember the future we planned?
The world is not waiting out there
I won't remember the dress I wore
I won't remember Champagne
I won't remember the things that we swore
I will just love you in vain
~The Cranberries "Will You Remember"
Today my son was getting into everything, as usual, and pulled out an old photo of my two younger sisters. It was taken a few years ago in Salt Lake City during a family trip. At the time, they were only 15 and 12. (Now 18 and 15) My parents have always been big on taking pictures, and this trip was no exception. If anything, this trip was more than a perfect occassion to take photos. It isn't often that the family can up and go to Salt Lake City together. It is a four hour drive and with four children, it can't be easy. But that day, we were there to greet my older brother upon his return home from being in Brazil for two years. He'd been serving a mission for the LDS church and we were waiting with baited breath to see him again.
Not only did my parents have their cameras, but I had a disposable one of my own. I took lots of pictures! Including the one in which I speak of now. I keep it in a plastic stand up frame. Some cheap one that I bought when I was young and living alone on the opposite side of the country from them. (I still live on the opposite side, just not alone, and not in the same state.) To dress it up, I placed cute stickers all over the front around them. A bit tacky, but I still do not have the heart to replace the frame or remove the stickers.
Looking at the photo now I see how much they've grown since, and wonder if they know just how much I love them. There was a time when for a short while, the older forgot my love and blamed me for her troubles. This is all behind us now, but my heart aches to know that my love could be so conviently tossed aside. I pray for them constantly. Pray to God I believe in that they will be spared from the mistakes of my youth and learn valuable lessons that I never did. Already they seem wiser than their years, and have saved themselves from my teenage trespasses. I'm so proud of them. I as hold this picture to me, I hope they remember. Remember who they are to me now, and who they were years ago when I snapped this photo. I may forget sometimes, but I will always love them.
* * * * * *
Last night I had a bizarre dream. I dreamt that I'd stayed in Utah, instead of traveling away to find myself. I'd married an old friend of mine named Ean, but things were not good. We weren't as in love as we thought we'd forever be, and I was yelling at him as he drove away with an unknown friend. "You promised!" I screamed with tears in my eyes. I only wanted to save him. Save him from the drug problem he was running off to indulge in. He left from sight, ingoring my words. Alone and worried I climbed to the roof of the house and waited. Waited hours for a husband that would not come home that night. I woke up never knowing the conclusion. The dream was odd, and one that I may never know the meaning of. It bothers me though, and will continue to do so until I let myself forget about it as my life gets caught up in the hassle of the real world. For now though, I wonder...
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Weight should never be an issue.
Sadly, it is...
As I sit here I wander back through my old pictures which depict a younger and skinnier me. An unmarried me with no realistic thought of children. I was so skinny. It's hard to imagine 5'9 me only weighing 120 pounds, but it did happen once. Even if that once was short lived. Now I'm heavier and ashamed to discuss weight, looking back at that time and realizing that I had been obsessive and too thin. I never once faced myself in the mirror and said "I look too skinny" as I should have. Being 120, I still wore a size 10 and wallowed in the fact that I was not wearing a single digit size yet. I viewed myself as the whale who tried to fit in with dolphins. It was not going to happen. Everyone else was so skinny, and I was still huge. So I thought. My everyday consisted of walking for 2-3 hours, working for 8-12 hours (depending on how badly I was needed or how lame my night was looking) and one small vegetarian dinner. I had no idea what weight I really was and felt determined to lose 40 more. Only shortly before I moved to NY did I find out just how far my obsession had brought me. For an instant, I felt good. I looked myself in the mirror and thought, "I look good!" That is, until I remembered that I am still a size 10 and still wearing medium shirts. I could almost feel the fat weighing me down. My reckless schedule continued.
Fate, it seemed, saved me from my demented ways with the arrival of Charlie into my life. With his help I understood that weight was not everything. He loved me for me and I didn't need to know anything else. A month before we were to marry, we found that I was expecting. A week later, the baby was gone, but the tiny pudge it had already brought was not. I lingered on the misery and the barely expanded waist line. I wanted to drop the weight, but I wanted a baby even more. After marriage things were blissful. Our bathroom scale was thrown out and I forgot my worries of if I wore junior girls pants or not. After almost six months, I was pregnant, and nothing in the world could have brought me down. Now that my son is nine months old, I fret over my weight. I tell myself things over and over. "I haven't lost enough. I should do more. I need weights. I must eat less." Along with far harsher things that I'll spare you. Even in the bedroom, if things do not follow through when I am in the mood, I find myself crying as I think "If I were Charlie, I wouldn't want a cow like me either." Such thoughts are ridiculous, and I know it! But they do not stop. At the moment, my stomach has felt rather gross for the past week and I find myself hardly touching food. I feel sick, and anytime food is ingested, my stomach begins to reel and I find myself in the bathroom. (I'll spare you the details, but it is not vomitting.) Each time I finally do eat that one small meal, again, my face feels round, my hin feels like it's dragging my head down, my thighs suddenly seem too large and my gut still too flabby from post-baby. I sicken myself. Now I can't help but wonder if this stomach bug is nothing more than my own mental disease.
I miss my family desperately, and yet I am terrified to see them again. Horrified at what they and my old friends will think when they see me again. My skinny minnie sisters are gorgeous, petite, and the older two even have 2-3 children. Even my sister in law who is again expecting looks more like an elongated stick. I can't face them, or anyone like this. How do I even go in public?
Thinking all this over, I can't help but return to my father. Vividly my mind plays memories of him stating that I am fat and stupid. I even remember one point in time, where he would not allow me to eat applesauce because sugar is an ingredient. I often wished he'd chosen another method. I never felt loved. I felt fat. And who would love a fat child? I hardened my heart against him and became all that he told me not to be. But what was the difference? I figured that he'd never care about the fat child. He had told me that I was a 10 pound baby. I was fat then and I was fat now. It was my fault, and had always been my fault, he'd told me. Carrying my own child I feared for him. I was beyond terrified that he would take after his mother and be 10 pounds and ridiculed as I had been. I could picture my father on the phone laughing that I was fat, and had successfully passed the trait to my unfortunate son. Upon Damen's first weighing, I nearly lept out of my hospital bed in hearing that he was 8lbs 5 oz. A reasonable weight, and nothing like me. I wonder if my father understands....
I apologze profusely to anyone who reads this if it sounds like I am complaining. I do not intend to drag anyone down. But seeing as how this is my journal, I feel it is my right to contemplate and speak the things on my mind. At the current time, I cannot sleep because this subject pounds in my brain so. In closing, if there are any parents out there, fathers especially, who are reading this, please be a better father than mine. Please don't put your children down. They hear you. You may think they brush it off, but they don't. They hear, and they remember. Forever.
As I sit here I wander back through my old pictures which depict a younger and skinnier me. An unmarried me with no realistic thought of children. I was so skinny. It's hard to imagine 5'9 me only weighing 120 pounds, but it did happen once. Even if that once was short lived. Now I'm heavier and ashamed to discuss weight, looking back at that time and realizing that I had been obsessive and too thin. I never once faced myself in the mirror and said "I look too skinny" as I should have. Being 120, I still wore a size 10 and wallowed in the fact that I was not wearing a single digit size yet. I viewed myself as the whale who tried to fit in with dolphins. It was not going to happen. Everyone else was so skinny, and I was still huge. So I thought. My everyday consisted of walking for 2-3 hours, working for 8-12 hours (depending on how badly I was needed or how lame my night was looking) and one small vegetarian dinner. I had no idea what weight I really was and felt determined to lose 40 more. Only shortly before I moved to NY did I find out just how far my obsession had brought me. For an instant, I felt good. I looked myself in the mirror and thought, "I look good!" That is, until I remembered that I am still a size 10 and still wearing medium shirts. I could almost feel the fat weighing me down. My reckless schedule continued.
Fate, it seemed, saved me from my demented ways with the arrival of Charlie into my life. With his help I understood that weight was not everything. He loved me for me and I didn't need to know anything else. A month before we were to marry, we found that I was expecting. A week later, the baby was gone, but the tiny pudge it had already brought was not. I lingered on the misery and the barely expanded waist line. I wanted to drop the weight, but I wanted a baby even more. After marriage things were blissful. Our bathroom scale was thrown out and I forgot my worries of if I wore junior girls pants or not. After almost six months, I was pregnant, and nothing in the world could have brought me down. Now that my son is nine months old, I fret over my weight. I tell myself things over and over. "I haven't lost enough. I should do more. I need weights. I must eat less." Along with far harsher things that I'll spare you. Even in the bedroom, if things do not follow through when I am in the mood, I find myself crying as I think "If I were Charlie, I wouldn't want a cow like me either." Such thoughts are ridiculous, and I know it! But they do not stop. At the moment, my stomach has felt rather gross for the past week and I find myself hardly touching food. I feel sick, and anytime food is ingested, my stomach begins to reel and I find myself in the bathroom. (I'll spare you the details, but it is not vomitting.) Each time I finally do eat that one small meal, again, my face feels round, my hin feels like it's dragging my head down, my thighs suddenly seem too large and my gut still too flabby from post-baby. I sicken myself. Now I can't help but wonder if this stomach bug is nothing more than my own mental disease.
I miss my family desperately, and yet I am terrified to see them again. Horrified at what they and my old friends will think when they see me again. My skinny minnie sisters are gorgeous, petite, and the older two even have 2-3 children. Even my sister in law who is again expecting looks more like an elongated stick. I can't face them, or anyone like this. How do I even go in public?
Thinking all this over, I can't help but return to my father. Vividly my mind plays memories of him stating that I am fat and stupid. I even remember one point in time, where he would not allow me to eat applesauce because sugar is an ingredient. I often wished he'd chosen another method. I never felt loved. I felt fat. And who would love a fat child? I hardened my heart against him and became all that he told me not to be. But what was the difference? I figured that he'd never care about the fat child. He had told me that I was a 10 pound baby. I was fat then and I was fat now. It was my fault, and had always been my fault, he'd told me. Carrying my own child I feared for him. I was beyond terrified that he would take after his mother and be 10 pounds and ridiculed as I had been. I could picture my father on the phone laughing that I was fat, and had successfully passed the trait to my unfortunate son. Upon Damen's first weighing, I nearly lept out of my hospital bed in hearing that he was 8lbs 5 oz. A reasonable weight, and nothing like me. I wonder if my father understands....
I apologze profusely to anyone who reads this if it sounds like I am complaining. I do not intend to drag anyone down. But seeing as how this is my journal, I feel it is my right to contemplate and speak the things on my mind. At the current time, I cannot sleep because this subject pounds in my brain so. In closing, if there are any parents out there, fathers especially, who are reading this, please be a better father than mine. Please don't put your children down. They hear you. You may think they brush it off, but they don't. They hear, and they remember. Forever.
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