at my most beautiful

I’m scanning pictures tonight.  My mom pays me to do this, to sort, organize, and scan boxes of photographs from our family’s history.  I’ve seen myself in all sorts of stages and looks.  I’ve always thought of myself as a chubby girl, but looking back, I really wasn’t that bad.  And then-I came across this photo.

me, at 21

I was struck-am still struck, by something lovely in this girl who used to be me.  I don’t know if I can explain it because if I look at this picture objectively, it’s a picture of a girl in pajamas with glasses and bedhead whose left eye is doing something strange and whose arms could benefit from an introduction to handweights.  But there’s something inexplicable about this girl that makes me want to cry for no reason.  Not because looking at this picture from seven years ago makes me nostalgic for freedom and college and possibility.  Just because.
In this picture, it’s Christmas morning, 2001.  I’m in Florida, because that’s where we spend Christmas every now and then.  I think at this point we all knew my grandfather was fading, but I don’t think any of us were acknowledging it yet.  My cousin’s girlfriend kept dropping hints about how she really should become his fiancee soon, and I spent my days readingreadingreading.  My aunt-who was one of my best friends at the time-put red highlights in my hair.  On this Christmas morning, I was 21.  I think I weighed around 115.  My jeans were a size 4 on a normal day, a size 2 on a good day.
And I remember a good day, a good evening, really, when I walked into the bar at TGI Fridays wearing those size 2 jeans and a blue?  grey?  turtleneck, and my friend’s friend told me that I looked great.  I remember smiling, and thanking her, and knowing that what she said was true.  I did look great.  I don’t think it was the size 2 that made that girl, that version of me look great.  I think it was the knowing that made me look great, the knowing that I was fine just the way I was, the not stressing over my weight or even thinking about it really.  I think it was the confidence to smile and accept a compliment without somehow excusing it.  And I think that’s what I miss, that’s what I long for, even more than I long for the size 2 jeans.

Yeah, yeah

Everyone fell off the wagon.

But now that school has started, I don’t want to hear any excuses about how you don’t have time. Believe me, I understand being stretched for time. I get it. SO, other than my blatant accusations about your laziness, how is everyone doing?

Also, while in the middle of moving, I got a couple requests from people that wanted to join and now? I can’t find them. I know that Tobymine was one, and then maybe someone else? Hmmm. Point is, email me again and I’ll work some magic for you.  (sweetmommybingham@gmail.com)

Now, to update you all on my fluffiness.

I’m working on it. Actually, I’m working without hardly doing anything because I just moved into a split level house and the laundry is down and the kitchen is up. Also, my house is on a hill. Therefore, after any errand, I have to haul my purchase and 4 kids up an entire flight of stairs x however many trips it takes. And, if we want clean clothes it’s up and down and up and down and up and down again.

But I’ve also made an effort to eat better. I sat down with my family, layed out all the weight watcher’s cookbooks I have, and asked “What do you want to eat?”

I made a menu plan, and went grocery shopping and have been cooking up a storm. It’s a lot easier to make dinner when I know what to expect. And since I involve my kids in the preparation process, they’re super excited to eat dinner because “I maded ‘dis!”

So, that’s where I’m at, my fluffy chicka’s. How ’bout you?

P.S. I have only had ONE Dr. Pepper this WEEK.  That in itself is an enormous accomplishment. Now I’m really done.

So Sore

posted by Toni

I am the poster child for couch potatoes.  My favorite activities are reading, movies, napping and snacking.  Is it any wonder that A. I’m overweight  B. I have no life.

Actually, my life is very entrenched in the schedules of my children, which I have tried to get involved in lots of active activities so that they don’t become couch potatoes.  But my responsibilities are driving and sitting on camp chairs while I cheer.  Still somewhat of a veg state.  Which is why I paid for someone to torture me and call it personal training.

I haven’t done sit ups since I started having children 21 years ago.  Yesterday I did 400 crunches.  That is 400 people!  Oh yes, I know.  I have been working up to it.  Yes, I also know that 400 probably isn’t really all that many.  But for me it is tremendous, and I did 400 after doing nothing for 21 years.

Today I have a stiff torso and my neck muscles hurt!!!  What’s up with that?  I thought I was working my abs, not my neck.  Is this how newborns feel after trying to lift their heads on their floppy little necks? 

Every week either my legs hurt, or my arms, or my torso.  I ask my Nazi PT if my muscles will ever stop being sore.  He just kind of laughs an evil laugh under his breath, feigns empathy and says “No, I’m afraid not.”

Sigh — I need a book and a bag of chocolates.