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Home for the weekend. Spending as much time with this guy as possible.



Be back soon.

Beautiful

I spent a large part of my life somewhat to very overweight.  Now I weigh a hundred pounds less than I did in high school and I’m baking cookies and cupcakes like flour is being discontinued.  Sometimes I pass windows and mirrors and have to double take because I rarely recognize the blonde I see reflected wearing the same dress I am.  Every once in a while when I’m brushing my teeth or checking the hem of my skirt, I catch my own glance in the mirror and have to stop and take myself in.  It’s not a vanity thing, I don’t think, but more of an information-gathering exercise. “Oh, so my nose does that now…  My eyes look different this way.  My arm looks like that…  Oh, so my legs look like this when I do that...”

I don’t feel like the chubby girl I was in high school any more—I didn’t even feel that size when I was that size—I feel like the very curvy, well-padded girl I was at the halfway point:  fifty pounds less than when I walked across the stage to get my diploma, but still big enough to be “plus-sized” for several years.  I feel like that girl every time I leave the house, every time I go to a restaurant, every time I enter a crowded room.  Pretty but slightly ashamed. 

But I think I’m coming to terms with it, I think slowly and ever-increasingly I’m coming to understand who I am and what I look like in this new body.  Never in my wildest dreams would I have believed that I would EVER be the size I am right now.  I dreamed and longed to be this exact size, but only ever in the deepest, most secret recesses of my heart and imagination because I thought there was no way it could happen.  I honestly didn’t think it was possible unless I went on Survivor or something…

But now here I am, and things are not as I always imagined they’d be here in this daintier, bonier land.  Men don’t approach me as much as I thought they would.  In fact, I think I get less attention now than I did forty pounds ago.  I still can’t wear a bikini.  That sucks.  It’s a little more uncomfortable laying in bed with my laptop now that my hipbones are more prominent, and unpadded chairs can only be occupied for a few minutes at a time. I get cold easier.

I don’t really feel like I’ve won.

Don’t get me wrong, there are many advantages to being a woman on the cusp of being underweight in our society…  Right now I’m sitting in a painfully trendy café, and I know I fit in.  My hair is curled, and my emerald sundress is pulled down off of my tanned, lean shoulders.  I never have to think if I’m the biggest girl in the room any more, or wonder if a store’s largest size will fit me.  Dainty little flip flops with wispy straps always felt ridiculous on my pillowy feet, and now a delicate gold sandal hangs from my pedicured foot…  I can wear “skinny girl sandals”.

But sometimes I wonder what it all means.  I think of all the people who slave away at the gym and read about celebrity diets and are practically killing themselves to be thin, to be beautiful, to feel what I feel…  And it doesn’t seem worth it.  This?  This is what I agonized over for so many years?  This is why I cried myself to sleep so many nights?  This was the holy grail, and now I’ve got it and all I am is confused.

Nobody ever tells you this in Weight Watchers.

The victory that I’ve found, however, just comes back to all the truths I knew when I was bigger, but never allowed to sink in: that regardless my size, no matter what I look like in that dress or those jeans, I am beautiful because I am a daughter of the King.  And better than I look in the perfect outfit, I am more stunning, more outrageously beautiful holding a baby I love, or talking with the old lady at the supermarket who likes my sweater, or sitting on the cold bathroom floor with my sick friend in the middle of the night.  My heart makes me beautiful.  My smile can set the world on fire.  Not because of who I try to be, but because of who He is making me to be.  And that is worth finding.  That is worth seeking with all my heart.

I just wanted to be beautiful.  And I think I’m getting there.

You Can Call Me Cupcake Anytime

I made cupcakes for my friend Kate's going away bash last night.

Nothing I like better than a lap full of cupcakes. Well, I take that back...  Money or shoes or a hot man would probably be better.

Beauty shots.

Coconut beauty.  Sort of like the cupcake equivalent of a maribou scarf.

Cupcakes on parade.

Sprinkles!

Decorating remains...

Tonight

Tonight my show is on.  It premiered last week, but for the last seven days I've been hearing from all kinds of people about how I'm all over the ad for tonight's episode, and yesterday I finally saw it.  It's beautiful.  The shot I'm in is composed of the lead actress, and me poised over giant text that says "16 EMMY" (nominations).  I screamed when I saw it (and when I asked my friend to record it for me...  And the six times I've watched it since then).  I'm so excited.  So, so, so, so, so, so, SO excited.

When I first got this job everybody said, "Mad what?"  "Man huh?"  "Is that the one about the medical interns?"  But now everybody in this town knows exactly what I'm talking about and I feel like I could bust a gut.  My heart sings and screams like a 13 year old girl every time I see a billboard or a magazine cover, or hear someone talking about "The best show on television". I'm so proud to be a part of something so beautiful, so interesting, so good...

Tonight as I was turning the key to my apartment door, the thought flashed through my head, "I should call Mom and make sure she's watching it."  *sigh*  That seems to never go away.  This inherent loneliness that somehow somebody's missing it.  But then I hear her laugh tinkle through my heart, and she says, "Sweet girl, I've got it on REPEAT!  You think I'd miss this?!"  I love it when she cackles like that.  And suddenly I feel whole again.

Tonight my face will be all over the hottest, most important show on television.  No one will hear me speak, and almost nobody's going to know my name, but there I'll be.  And whenever anyone looks back on this season, this episode of this beautiful, incredible show, they'll see me.

It's better than anything else I could've ever dreamed.

Golden Idaho

We went.  We celebrated.  We ate huckleberry pancakes...  

Here's some eye candy I took to document our trip.

Driving up to the lakehouse.

You know you're at the cabin when...

Happy 50 years, G&G!

Love,

This Spud's For You

On the heels of my Facebook fast, you'd think I'd be holing myself up in my apartment, poring over a month's worth of pictures, messages, and comments, only breaking to go get meals suitable for eating in front of the computer...  But I'm in the Gem State for some sweet (mostly internet-free, ironically enough) time with the fam for my g-rents' 50th anniversary.  I'll take plenty of pictures, and eat plenty of potatoes, have no fear.  

In the meantime, I had a really good hair day today and needed to share.  

Bra straps + unmade bed= keepin' it real.

Miss you already!

30/30

Today is the last day, the thirtieth day of thirty.

Almost five weeks ago I had a dream that made me feel a wee bit guilty about all the time and devotion I had been giving to Facebook and MySpace. I started thinking about how much time I spend looking at other people's lives, and how I so often use Facebook as an excuse for spending time with people, or as a way to dull my own loneliness.  

So I decided to take a break.  A 30 day break to be exact.

You see, I'm a computer nerd at heart, and have been known to squander hours and hours gazing into my giant mac screen, wandering through the epic maze that is the internet. I've always been especially fond of sites like MySpace, and now more recently Facebook, because in the quiet of my apartment, when it's just me in these four walls, I can talk and laugh and socialize with people I know and love.  I can see pictures of what's going on in their lives, and have a place to showcase what's going on in mine-- I can even spy and read up on people I've just met and get the inside scoop in a perfectly private, non-confrontational, completely convenient way that requires absolutely no commitment or investment on my part...  Voyeurism is always just a click away.

I haven't been on Facebook or MySpace for thirty days as of today, and I'm not going to lie...  It's been hard.  I've felt disconnected, bored, and lonely without my multi-daily fix of checking in with my group of friends.  I've felt out of the loop when people talk about posted pictures, or mention an event whose invitation was circulated only on Facebook.  Especially with my busted foot, I've been logging some serious hours flat on my back on the sofa, with only the computer and TV to keep me company.  (I definitely almost cracked after a few nights of watching Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives for three hours straight... There's only so much Guy Fieri a girl can take.) 

But it's been good, and much-needed I think...  I've been much better about keeping my apartment (mostly) clean, got on a regular work-out schedule (which I've since tossed out the window to recoup and let my foot heal, but discipline is never a lost cause!), I've been blogging more regularly, and just generally feeling like I waste less time.

It would be untrue to say I'm not counting down the hours until I get to log back on tomorrow.  I'm so excited to read my messages and catch up on pictures from all the fun events I've been to in the last month.  I can't wait to see the baby pictures my best friend posted last week, and I've got my fingers crossed that some hot boy didn't try to contact me while I was gone.

Less than 7 hours to go...  I freaking did it.

Built for Speed

Found on a changing table in Alberta, CA (courtesy FoundMagazine.com)


(Please excuse the nasty word)

I'm totally with her on the anti "short" bus, and a "sense of ha ha" is pretty important... But I just can't even fathom what "built for speed" means.

Sprained!

Last week I sprained my foot. It wasn't glamorous or heroic. I just fell down the stairs. Here are the (not so) gory details for your afternoon reading pleasure!

It all started with a headache. For almost the entire month of June I had been feeling really weak all the time-- always run-down, exhausted and tired, with no real strength to speak of. It started to get worse toward the end of the month, and I couldn't figure out what the deal was-- I tried to pin down when it began, and I noticed it was about 3 weeks into a new workout regime.

At one point I asked around and found out I had been doing way too much, so I took a week-long break and I really started to feel better... But when I started exercising again, albeit much less frequently and intensely, the exhaustion came back immediately! I was frustrated and figured it was something else so I kept working out, and kept getting progressively more tired and started feeling really sick all the time (I remember laying in bed one morning and feeling like I had been poisoned!).

Then last Sunday I was supposed to go to a prayer meeting after church before helping some friends move. I skipped the prayer meeting in favor of a little rest (don't judge me), but as I was leaving my apartment to meet my friends, my head was still light and foggy. I was slowly making my way down the stairs when all of a sudden my left ankle buckled, twisted and I fell, crushing my foot beneath me and sliding down several stairs on my right shin. Quickly, I grabbed the railing right before it turned into a full-on, head over heels tumble down the entire flight of stairs.

I sat there for several minutes feeling the pain starting to pulse through my foot, completely unsure of what to do. I lifted the right leg of my jeans to reveal some deep scrapes that were pooling with blood on my shin, and that's when I started to cry. I've never broken or sprained anything before, so I just sat there alone on my apartment stairs, holding my foot and thinking, "I don't know any of my neighbors... I live alone. Where ARE my neighbors? What is the protocol on this? Is that scrape going to scar? I don't want MORE scars on my legs!! ...Waaaah!!"

After whimpering and quietly howling for a few minutes I got up and limped back to my apartment where I peeled off my jeans and went to make an ice pack for my foot and leg. (As I poured the ice cubes into the plastic bag I kept saying, "Oh Lord PLEASE don't let my foot be broken! PLEASE don't let my foot be broken!!") I started to feel overwhelmingly like I was about to throw up, so I grabbed the bag of ice and a pack of frozen sausages, and hobbled quickly to the bathroom. I laid down on the floor next to the toilet and unsuccessfully tried to get ahold of my dad and a med-student friend of mine (holla, emoss!). I finally got ahold of another friend who was out of town, who quickly told me that she would find someone to come take care of me.

As I was laying there on the phone, tailbone pressing uncomfortably into the cold, stony tile of my bathroom floor, all of a sudden every inch of my body started to tingle and I felt all the strength drain out of my body. About twenty minutes later, the adrenaline fog momentarily cleared and I realized that someone was about to find me laying next to the toilet in my underwear with a Ziploc bag full of ice cubes and a package of chicken andouille sausages on my leg.

Gingerly I got up and reached into my hamper for a pair of cropped sweatpants right as my friend Stephanie showed up with a real ice pack and took amazing care of me for the rest of the evening... She looked up foot sprain care information on the internet, brought me water and painkillers, and even went out and bought me some chocolate pudding! What more could a sick girl want?


Chicken andouille sausage is way better as lunch than as a cold compress. Just for the record.

The next day I went to the doctor and she confirmed that it was just a sprain, and ran some blood work to see about the weakness that caused this whole debacle. Apparently everything is totally fine (except I have a slightly elevated bilirubin-- weird!). I think it may have to do with my body still needing to recover from the overtraining I did, so I've been keeping a very strict eating schedule all this week, making sure I'm getting enough protein at every meal, and I'm feeling WORLDS better.

So now I'm just sitting here, finally with the mental fortitude to explain the whole shebang, and all I have to figure out now is how long it'll be until I can strap on my four inch heels again.

Missing

When I was little, Mom homeschooled my brother and I, and for several years into our early childhood, we weren't allowed to go get breakfast or watch TV in the morning unless we had cuddled with her first. Every morning we'd clatter into her bedroom and dangle our muffed-up heads over her face as we asked, "Mom, can I go get some cereal?" "Mom, can I get up now?" "Mom, I think Kitty needs me..."

"Just one quick snuggle..." she'd always say.

She'd pull us under the covers and bury her nose in our warm, fluffy hair and squeeze us tight. There's no real activity to cuddling, just resting and loving, so we'd tuck ourselves in tightly next to her, each on our own side, and lay there and let her warmth wash over us.

When I was five the local newspaper came to our house and interviewed me because I had written them a letter about how I thought they should do less stories about violence and more about cuddling. It was on the first page.

One of the last times I saw my mom truly alive (before the coma and respirator), she was in laying in her hospital bed as Dad and I sat and talked with her. I was really tired, so she pulled the covers down and invited me to come up and take a nap with her. There was not a moment's hestiation as I pushed the tubes and wires aside and crawled into her big, squeaky hospital bed. I laid myself down in the nook that had always been mine on those mornings at home so long ago, and tucked my now bigger head under her chin, resting my cheek against the soft skin on her chest. My legs dangled off the foot of the bed as she wrapped her arms around me and kissed my hair. We drifted off to sleep together that way, soft and warm and overgrown.

I don't think I'll ever stop missing that.