I certainly can’t pretend to know what other women want.  But I finally, finally, since hitting my thirties, have figured out what I want.  I know who I want to be, who I am, and for the most part, how to bridge that gap.  And I am finally starting to make the hard decisions and take the leaps of faith and find peace and happiness where I am.  That doesn’t mean I will stop striving to improve…to be the best me I can be…to give more of myself.  But that drive for more doesn’t have to mean that I can’t find contentedness where I am right now.  Still, goals are important, and standards or boundaries for yourself and for others are necessary.

What I want with regard to my children:

• I want to provide a physically and emotionally safe and healthy environment for them.  I want to give them everything they need, and some of what they want.  I want them to grow in an environment that allows them room to make choices, and make mistakes when necessary, but safely within the boundaries I set for them.
• I want to set a positive example for them. I want to be the kind of woman I hope my girls will one day be, and the kind of woman I hope my son will someday choose. I don’t mean I want them to be just like me; I just want them to have the kind of values I live by.
• I want them to be as independent as possible.  I won’t always be here to guide their decisions.  I don’t want to control them…I want to give them the tools they need to control themselves.
• I want them to know, above all, that they are loved and cherished.  I will make mistakes….daily.  But I know if my love shines through, it will transcend them all and give them the self-worth they need to forgive me.
• I want to be clear about my expectations for them, and be consistent in the consequences for falling short of them. Uncertainty makes it next to impossible to learn, and learning is the whole point of discipline.
• I want to provide them with a routine that gives them the security of knowing what to expect.  But I also need to teach them the need for flexibility by bending the routine when necessary.

What I want with regard to my relationship:

• I want to laugh.  I want to be silly and goofy and let the stress of life melt away in the face of the bond I share with my partner.
• I want to know that my partner respects my strength, but will be there for me when I need to completely fall apart.  No one can be strong all of the time.  I want to be a team, taking on all the BS the world has to throw at us, knowing we can rely on one another.
• I want my partner to like my children. Loving them is important, but liking to be around them is just as critical, because I am with them most of the time.
• I want to be intellectually challenged by my partner.
• I want to know that my partner is honest with me, all of the time.  The kind of trust and security that honesty inspires in me keeps jealousy, clinginess, and suspicion out of our relationship.
• I want affection.  The connection stays vibrant with the seemingly insignificant brushes and touches and squeezes throughout the day.
• I want that surge….that jolt from my brain down to the bottom of my belly when I think about my partner intimately.
• I want my partner to “get” me.  He doesn’t have to like the same things….but I want him to understand the things that are important to me and allow me to enjoy them without being threatened by them because they don’t necessarily include him.  We both had lives before, and we should be able to meld our lives together without losing what was important to us then.
• I want to be listened to. Really listened to. I have issues with feeling insignificant, and not being heard feeds those insecurities.
• I want to be appreciated.  The more I feel like what I offer of myself is appreciated, the more I want to give. It’s a win/win.  I don’t ask for anything I am not willing to give.

What I want with regard to myself:

• I want to get to a size that I feel comfortable in. I don’t know exactly what weight that is, or even what size, but I just want to feel like I can be myself without feeling awkward because of my size.
• I want to re-enroll in school in 2010. There is no excuse for someone with my academic capability to not have even earned an associate’s degree at 32 years old. And I LOVE to learn.
• I want to get my local business site launched within the next four months.  I have a gut feeling that it could be really successful.
• I want to cook for my family five nights a week.  Because they are worth it, and I do love to cook when the fog leaves my head.  And I am usually a damned good cook, too.
• I want to start my non-profit next year.  I need to create a curriculum and pitch it to churches locally.  I’ll teach the groups for whatever the church and participants can donate, because people need these kind of skills to be functional.
• I want to procrastinate less.  I can only imagine what changing this one habit of mine will do for my stress level.
• I want to live in the moment more. I’m a planner..and I enjoy planning..but sometimes I get so wrapped up in planning that DOING never happens.

Some of these things are already happening…but far too few.  Life is short, and I’ve spent a lot of mine unsure of who I was and what I want, and having no idea what direction to move in to even begin creeping closer to whatever it was I wanted.  These days, I just want a simple, happy life with my kids, and I want to share it with someone that puts our relationship high on his list of priorities.  And above all, I want to be at peace with the woman I see in the mirror every day.

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It’s not something I plan on, by any means.  Making a grand entrance calls too much attention to me and makes me uncomfortable.  but inevitably two or three little things hold me up. (Usually Emily and Faith and sometimes one or both of the boys.)

So, I went to the Hard Rock Cafe in Orlando on Saturday night to see Sheila, who I was very lucky to meet at BlogHer09 and fall in love with when she peed her pants.  (She didn’t *really* pee her pants.  But when she spilled her drink on her lap, it sure looked like she did, and that’s all that matters to us cackling hens, yanno!)  Her husband and son are tres adorable-I spent much of dinner chatting it up with Travis about Universal Studios.  He’s a chatterbox, which I was totally prepped for, having a daughter the same age.  (Sometimes I have to literally BEG Emily to stop talking because my ears are going to bleed if I listen to one.more.errant.thought. that she lets slip past the filter  But that’s another post, my dears!)

I got to see Adam and Britt again, which was super cool.  Adam is being prude about sharing the theme for his world-famous Halloween party, “Avitaween,” just yet, but I completely forgive him because he knows every word to Britney Spears’ ‘Womanizer’ and isn’t afraid to prove it.  And, Britt, you know, I just love her.  I have a completely heterosexual girl-crush on her because she is fun and so real-I actually get kind of tongue tied around her because I want her to like me so much.  I know, total. dork.  And on the not-so-completely-heterosexual side, I am totally crushing on Hilly now, too-I’m fairly certain we briefly met at another gathering a while ago while she was in town visiting Britt, but we didn’t actually talk and I met fifteen other O-town peeps there, so I’m not 100% sure.  This time we got to chit chat a bit, and she freaking rocks.  And she’s freaking gorgeous, too, which someone ought to tell her every single day because, hello! GORGEOUS!

After dinner, complete with a Thriller re-enactment in the middle of the adjacent dining room, Sheila’s boytoy (*giggle*) and her little man went their own way and the rest of us moved on to Rising Star in CityWalk.  I had never been to karaoke before, and I had all kinds of preconceived notions about what it would be like.  Let me tell you, if you haven’t been, GO.  It’s WAY more entertaining than you think-even if you won’t torture the crowd by getting on stage yourself.  Some people sing so well you think they sound better than half the shit you hear on the radio.  Some *might* sing well if they weren’t totally wasted.  Some can’t stop giggling enough to even choke out the lyrics scrolling in front of their faces.  And some wear way too tight, too white, too short, and too low cut dresses for their, granted, in great shape, but pasty and grandma-year old bodies up on stage to belt out “Proud Mary” while doing a shimmy that gave some of our party the heaves.  Just sayin’!  Sheila was still fighting the bug she thankfully didn’t pass on to Bri or I, lol, so she ended up leaving early.  It sucks we didn’t get more time to profess our undying love for one another, but I love her enough to want what’s best for her-even if it means she leaves me. *sniff* The rest of us left on a high note, so to speak, after a patron and the emcee gave a crowd-pleasing performance of ‘Baby Got Back’ that had half the women dancing in front of the stage-including a bachelorette who could really shake the little tush she was working with-and the other half dancing in their seats.

It was a good time-well worth the four hours total driving time.  And speaking of driving….let me take a moment to please remind you to just pay attention when driving.  We came upon an accident scene on the way home that appeared involved a bicyclist who was hit by a car.  He looked to be in very bad shape, and we said a prayer for him.  Since my oldest lost his father in an accident, I feel a stab of empathy whenever I see a bad accident.  Not that I didn’t before, of course, but now I KNOW how it feels to have to tell a child he’ll never see his Daddy again on Earth.  Also?  I ran over a small alligator outside of Clermont.  Brian told me to go back.  I told him I could drop him off and he could walk back, because I wanted to get home, thank you very much!

Oh, and a word of advice?  If you weigh over 200 lbs, maybe wearing heels to the Hard Rock isn’t such a good idea.  The walk from the freaking parking lot to the restaurant had to be almost two miles, and by the time I made it there, I already had blisters forming.  I toughed it out until we left Rising Star, but by that time the blister on my left baby toe was so bad I couldn’t put my foot in my shoes at all without wanting to find a cigar cutter and remove it.  So I carried my shoes and walked barefoot back to the car.  I had some hand sanitizer in the car which became foot sanitizer, and when I got home, I washed and Lysol’d my feet.  Because-Circle K feet is not a good look. Especially when paired with blisters on four toes.  Guess I’ll be giving myself ghetto-fabulous home pedis until they heal, because OMG, the worst one still feels like an icepick in the toe!

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I am in love with the Seminole Hard Rock in Tampa.  Mainly because the club in it is open until 6am, but my dance-o-philia is irrelevant.  The first time I went was with my friend Dee to an event that a few sponsors had put together for their associates and affiliates, and I felt like an imposter, driving there in my beat up t-bird that required more oil than the Middle East can produce in a day. But we were lookin’ sexy and we skipped valet parking for the regular lot, so no one was the wiser to our true trailer trash circumstances, heh.

Before dinner, there was a mixer in the bar by the entrance.  I saw a few people I had previously met at other events, so I made the rounds, introducing my friend to those I already knew and both of us to new faces.  Everyone was friendly, but, being the only chubby girls and being nervous, after circling the bar the two of us ended up sitting by ourselves, chit chatting about who did what for which company.  As we sipped our drinks I started to get h-u-n-g-r-y.  Like, that belly rumbling, weak in the knees kind of hungry.  I spotted a bowl of little green speres in a bowl on the other side of the cocktail table in front of us, and I asked Dee what it was.

“What is in that bowl? Mints?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“I’m starving.”

“Me too.”

“What if it’s ashtray sand or something? I don’t want to be the fat girl who ate the ashtray sand.”

*laughing* “Me either.”

“I’m just going to try it.”

So I grabbed a few of the little pea-like balls and tossed them in my mouth as inconspicuously as I could manage. 

“I don’t think I was supposed to eat that,” I managed to choke out from behind watering eyes and a sour face.

“What? What does it taste like?”

“Like cardboard. And then….HOT cardboard..”

*cracking up*

And such was my one, and hopefully ONLY, encounter with wesabe.

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I guess it’s like a milestone or something, heh.  But you know, while I start with a laugh, I feel really strongly about this one.

The breastfeeding issue is often a hot topic.  Whether it be the breast vs bottle mommies, who sometimes seem almost driven to justify their choice at the expense of the dignity of women who chose differently, or the breastfeeding in public debate, breastfeeding has lots of dissenting opinions swirling around it.

I think everyone has to agree that breastmilk is better for the baby than synthetic milk in most cases.  There are situations where breastfeeding is just not possible, due to health reasons or a low production that does not support the baby’s nutritional needs, or trouble latching on.  My mom is a mom/baby nurse and was a lactation specialist for many years, so I know all about the obstacles many, many moms who *want* to nurse face. And then there are moms who don’t want to nurse their babies.  I don’t think it’s my business which method a mother chooses.  I work with moms on a daily basis who choose to bottle feed and I don’t think any less of them as a mother or anything silly like that.  But I do wonder how much the public “ick” reaction to breastfeeding that has become mainstream has influenced their decision.

Personally, I nursed all three of my biological children.  I never considered otherwise, and I was very lucky that all of my kids latched on easily and I was a milk-production phenom.  I didn’t give a shit if people felt uncomfortable with me breastfeeding my kids.  I was considerate enough of others to drape a lightweight, breath-through blanket over my shoulder when in public, but in retrospect, it made the bonding experience much less for me because I couldn’t see their faces or caress their sweet little heads, and they couldn’t look into my eyes and reach up to put their little baby hands in my mouth or my hair the way they did when I was home.  Visitors to my house had to deal with my boobs nourishing my baby, and if they didn’t like it, they could call instead.  No one seemed to care.  None of my female friends were disturbed by their husbands catching a flash of boobs as I pulled the baby off, and the husbands were mature and respectful enough to just avert their gaze.  No big friggin deal.

I was only 16 when I had my first child, and I was by far in the minority by choosing to breastfeed.  I went to a teen parenting program and I got the “gross!” statements from other girls and whatnot, but I am a pretty strong-minded person, and I told them to suck it, which made everyone laugh and lay off.  When my next child was born, seven years later, we were on a trip to Rhode Island for a cousin’s wedding and we stopped to eat at Cracker Barrel.  As if on cue, Emily started to fuss as soon as my food was served, and I set about doing my shoulder drape and latch on.  My 7yo son said, “You’re going to do that HERE?” and I said, “Where else should I do it, Christian?” He suggested the bathroom, and I asked him how he would feel if I made him eat in the bathroom because using his mouth to eat may offend other people.  He said, “Wow, you are right, Mom.”  If a 7yo boy can understand that there is nothing abnormal or deviant about breastfeeding, why can’t adult women?

Getting to the issue at hand here, Catherine was at an event, away from her baby, sans breast pump, and hand expressing was not easing her pain.  She had befriended a woman earlier during the event, and the two solved two problems with one simple solution-Catherine nursed the other woman’s hungry baby.  Boobs relieved, baby fed-everyone is happy, right?

Wrong.

Someone saw it, and was disturbed enough by it that she posted to her blog about it.  And you know, I think it’s fine to say, “I wouldn’t have done that, because I would have had these concerns.”  But she misrepresented the exchange as a somewhat clinical swap among total strangers and compared the exchange to “sex without a condom”, and the method of her delivery was apparent to me that her intention was to stir up trouble.  I don’t care how much someone claims otherwise-when you title a post with “Controversy,” make an uninformed description of what happened, and you say you are leaving comments unmod’ed so people can “yell at you all they want,” you mean to stir the pot.

She claimed that not naming the women in question was the classy way to handle the situation, and she denied being judgemental, (though “Call me judgemental if you will” is almost a direct quote from the post, so clearly she knew that it would appear that way).  When her readers started making comments about how “disgusting” and “irresponsible” the women involved were, and how her boobs were “unsanitory” and “dirty” she did not seem to want to guide the conversation back to the discussion she claims to have been trying to create.  It became a high school, “oh my gosh, that’s SO gross!” coversation like the one I had all those years ago, and the poster joined right in.  She never said, “Hey now, this isn’t a bashing session-I just wanted to know if you would do the same thing.”

When people who believe there is nothing gross about breastmilk, and those who may not be personally comfortable with it, but respect the decision the two women made, came flocking to say their piece, her tone became petulant and whiney, and victimized.  I still do not understand how allowing your commentors to insinuate another blogger (and no, the popularity of ANYONE involved matters not at all) is filthy or disease-ridden without redirecting them is perfectly fine but when the tide turns and the criticism is pointed your way it is so terrible.  I still don’t understand how someone not involved and without the whole story is welcome to post her opinion, but the involved party can’t respond without being accused of trying to drum up publicity.  (And on a personal level, having my own comment misquoted and misrepresented chapped my ass, too.)

Her own people told her to remove the post, and she did.  Like I said elsewhere, I think that is the most chickenshit thing a blogger can do.  If you make a polarized statement, stand behind it.  Don’t whine about how victimized you are by all the people who disagreed when all your people who agreed victimized the other party and that was just fine.  “Poor me, I wrote a post to stir up trouble and when I got it, I couldn’t handle it, so I pulled it down and whined on Twitter about it ever since.”  (Seriously, I would rather spend the day with ten thousand whining children than this woman.  It Is RIDICULOUS how she is playing the poor, poor blogger who can’t express her own opinion without backlash.  She was fine with backlash when it went the other direction.  But when the whole story is given and the rebuttal is made, it is “unfair and untrue.”)

Here is how you do this,  anonymous Boobie-Gate poster (I won’t say your name so you can’t say it isn’t “classy” k? ):

I think what Catherine and Laura did is fine.  Because it was fine with them, and it did not negatively impact anyone.  It’s not my place to judge, and if I was in that situation, I am honestly not sure what I would do.  I just know that I wouldn’t set up a platform for my readers to throw tomatoes at the people who were in that situation and made a mutual decision that helped everybody involved.

I think you were wrong to post without asking the women involved the whole story.  I think you should have been more tolerant in your post, but since you weren’t, you should “man-up” and quit being a baby about the reaction you got.  I think you should have warned your commentors to refrain from bashing if you sincerely didn’t want to cause a controversy.  I think you didn’t anticipate it getting back to the blogger you were talking shit about and you were cowardly to remove your post.  I think your incessant whining on Twitter about personal attacks is so fucking blind and hypocritical that it makes me want to vomit.  I think you have a real problem with empathy, and that makes me temper my anger with sadness, for you.

That’s my statement and I’m leaving it up.  You don’t have to agree with it to comment on it.  You don’t have to be my friend to support it.  You don’t have to be my enemy to disagree with it.

However, if you don’t want to look like a douchebag, respect the decisions other people make when they do not hurt ANYONE.  If you don’t care if you look like a douchebag, judge away.  Sling mud.  Whatever.  I can take it.  I may make fun of you on Twitter, but I won’t whine about it, because I asked for it.

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I said I was going to add pics from the butterfly garden, but I didn’t. (Muvee kept freaking out about my Quicktime video, and I have no patience.)

Then I said I wasn’t at liberty to discuss something, which I then went on to discuss in great detail.

Oh well.  You know what i think right about now?  Shit happens.  Anyway, in 15 minutes the next hour will have disappeared down the rabbit hole so I may as well be completely nutso, too, right?

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First of all, I want to tell all you lovely bitches that have tiny bits of flesh around your middle to lose to suck it.  Seriously.  I love ya’ll, but you don’t know the friggin meaning of the word “fat” until you’ve been 200 or 250 pounds, and while I do totally support your efforts to be healthier, I do find it mildly insulting that you say you are fat when I have *so* much more work to do.  This is fat, girls:

Even my ARMPITS are fat, yo.

By cheekysweetie, shot with KODAK EASYSHARE M1063 DIGITAL CAMERA at 2009-03-04

I am about to win the booty-do award.  My belly almost sticks out further than my booty do.  And, LOOK AT THAT BOOTY.  That is a serious ass to be challenging.

By cheekysweetie, shot with KODAK EASYSHARE M1063 DIGITAL CAMERA at 2009-03-04

Don’t look now, but my ass is eating my pants.

By cheekysweetie, shot with KODAK EASYSHARE M1063 DIGITAL CAMERA at 2009-03-04

This is for Catherine. <3

By cheekysweetie, shot with KODAK EASYSHARE M1063 DIGITAL CAMERA at 2009-03-04

Be thankful you don’t have *that* far to go, and if you do, let’s work it together girl.  All I’m saying is, be realistic.  You may have some flab to loose but don’t overreact and call yourself a fat ass unless you are-especially if you have daughters.  You don’t want them thinking of themselves as a pig at 15-20 lbs overweight the way you think of yourself , do you? There is no better gift we can give ourselves or our loved ones than taking care of our health, and being a good example of a health-minded person.

I know I am a fat girl, but I am not consumed with hatred for my body.  Like I said before, it works, it gets me around, and other than the PCOS, it hasn’t caused me any major problems.  However, I know that my bleeding in particular, and the other symptoms to a lesser degree, can be somewhat controlled by putting more thought into what I put into my body and keeping it active.  That is my main motivation.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not comfortable in this body, exactly.  I’d say tolerant is more appropriate of a description.  I like the fact that while my belly isn’t a sweet little bump, it’s a lot smaller than women usually have at my size.  But even after three c-sections, my belly was nearly flat until I weaned my youngest, so having a belly at all is still somewhat of a shock to me.  I like the fact that I still have a feminine shape, but it’s a little too fertility goddess lately.  I’ve always have thick legs and a curvy backside, but never this exaggerated.

I was never a thin girl; in today’s terms I’d be called thick.  But as a young woman in the 90′s, when Kate Moss was the pinnacle of female beauty, I felt like a complete cow.  I was about 160 lbs when I got pregnant with my son, and 186 when I had him.  I lost the baby weight quickly while I nursed him, but when I weaned him I put on 15 pounds, which I kept for the next seven years, weighing in around 200 when I got pregnant with my oldest daughter.  I only gained seven pounds during that pregnancy, and she was my biggest baby at a little over seven pounds, so as soon as she was born I was below my prepregnancy weight.  I nursed her too, losing about 15 pounds in the process, which I put back on plus 5 more when I weaned her.  A year after Emmy was born I got pregnant with Faith.  I actually lost four pounds during that pregnancy, and she was almost a seven pounder, so I was under my prepregnancy weight right away, again.  And again, I lost 15 pounds while nursing.

This time, though, I was in a horrible place in my life, when I weaned her.  My marriage was crumbling, we had long-term visitors and I felt like I had no control over my home, we were a financial disaster, and I think I probably had some post-partum depression going on.  After weaning her, I put on the 15 pounds again, plus about 20 more.  Interestingly enough, that is the exact time my bleeding got out of control.  I had always had irregular periods, but *nothing* like the months of heavy bleeding at a time that began when i put that extra weight on.  In retrospect, and after learning all I have about PCOS and the glycemic index, I think my stress had my cortisol through the roof, which also raised my insulin levels, aggrevating my condition and causing me to store fat like crazy.

I actually looked pretty good at 200 lbs-I have a large frame with pretty solid musclue underneath my fat layer.  I was just looking at a photo of me holding Emmy days after her birth and my face and hands looked so slim.  I would be pretty happy back at 200 lbs.  I know the charts say I should be 130 or something, but seriously, wait til I hit 200-I think everyone will agree that another 70 pounds off of me would look kind of gross.  So, Jillian Michaels – 30 Day Shred, it is, in combination with a The G.I. Diet, which I started yesteday and am doing fabulous on.  I’m late on the shred though-I watched it the night before last and I started it last night, but I need to plan it when I haven’t just eaten because holy shit, it is going to kick my pants-eating ass.

Thanks to Kristen for putting the Shred together!  You can learn more about and join the Shredheads here, and here.  Kristen asked for stats, so…

a) Before Pictures: see above; not that you could miss it, hah!
b) Tag Line: Because I didn’t mean to be THIS cheeky.
c) Weight: 248 lbs
d) Goal: Short term, 8 pounds down, and at least one size.  Long term, 48 pounds down, and at least 4 sizes.
e) Diet Plan: Low GI/GL plan.
f) Personal Rules (not eating carbs, only drinking water): Water or iced tea only, three meals and two or three snacks
g) Shred Plan (how often, what level, etc.): Level 1, daily

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