Control

Quite awhile ago, I had a conversation with a friend who is going through a terrible time. As I sympathized with her about life's hard knocks and why we have them, I couldn't help but comment on her fabulous physique. I said it in jest...as a sort of, "at least you've got your looks" dumb thing to say, and she got a bit teary and replied, "It is the only part of my life I feel like I have any ability to control.  I can run as hard as I want and wherever I want and it keeps me sane."

I've been thinking quite a lot about her reasoning lately. I have been trying to get in shape and find some kind of weight-loss/healthy body mojo for months. Lots of months. Enough months wherein some motivation should have been found or pounds should have been lost. Instead, I find myself definitely stronger but horribly lacking in both calorie control and consistency. In other words, I am out of control!

But, I don't think that's how my psyche sees it. I've been thinking a lot about this and why I continue to make poor choices and I believe that, unlike my friend, who controls a portion of her life through rigorous exercise, I control it by choosing NOT to exercise on days when I can and choosing to eat whatever the heck I feel like.  I think this unfortunate perspective comes from the chaos and constant frustration I feel about the rest of my day to day activities. I  feel like what I am able to do in any given day is dependent on the whims and needs of everyone else...mostly from my children and their activities and moods but also from other outside forces. It's probably from having a toddler once again, a delightful but messy and unpredictable age, and I hover at about an eight or nine on a scale of I'm-going-to-lose-it-at-ten all day. And when I lose it, I eat. Whatever I choose. I gain some control back. Get that 10 back to a more functional 6 or 7 until the sugar euphoria morphs into body shape shame and I'm back at that 8 or 9. A ripped book, juice spill or heavy traffic will start the vicious cycle all over again.

Then, recently, a new development turned my head creating a different perspective.  While in the throes of the hardest job on earth, parenting, I produced a rare, suspended reaction in dealing with one of my children and a mistake he made. A mistake that definitely needed attention but I surprised us both when I didn't fly off the handle or cry or panic. I hugged him and said I needed to think about what to do. I apologize for the vagueness of the story but, out of respect for each of them and their privacy, I have realized I can only share my own woes now. To preface, I am acutely aware, given the ages of my boys, of how different it is to parent teenagers and toddlers. With a tween and a young boy in between them, I am frequently unsure what the most appropriate and effective method is. My stern and loud, "No!" still generally works, especially on the younger set, but I can already see its ridiculousness in more mature settings. Moreover, talks and instruction given by wise leaders about how our role as parents is not to control our children or their choices, but to teach them our values and morals so that they can succeed on the merits of their own decisions and subsequent consequences, ring true to me. It was how my parents raised me - a benefit and blessing to me but a feat and child rearing tactic that I fear is much, much more difficult to practice than I ever imagined. When this certain child made a mistake, owned up to it and patiently (and nervously) awaited my judgment, I prayed to handle this teaching opportunity wisely.

The easiest and most instinctive thing for me to do was to still shout, "No!" even after a few days. I knew I could use it with cause and regain some sense of control. I also knew this was the route my son expected me to go and maybe even was hoping for a bit. It's comfortable. Sadly, I fear I've used this technique too much over the years and it is what they are all used to. No sleepovers. No rated M games. No Sunday sports or birthday parties. If homework and piano practice aren't done, No TV or electronics. If messes aren't cleaned up, No...whatever (snack, friend, football game etc.). I am very good at No (and all those things will continue to get my "No"). But, almost immediately after asking for help to not make the situation worse, a talk given by an area authority from our last Stake Conference came to my mind and I remember him saying (paraphrased. I can't be sure as to his exact words because I am not a note taker), "You can parent military style and be an excellent general of your family, demanding perfect obedience to your rules, but when that child leaves your home and your rules are no longer the primary influence of their lives, will you have taught them to want to live the gospel or just to be obedient to you?"

This thought clamored around my head for days and I knew my go-to "No" wasn't the best option. I counseled with Jay who basically said he would support me in whatever I decided but also reminded me that, above all, we are in this parenting business to protect our children. I agree. So, it was really surprising, alarming even, when I felt strongly that the best thing to do was...nothing.

Not nothing as in not address it or act like nothing happened but to give him another chance to make a better choice next time. The acknowledgment of wrong and awareness of why was already there, provided by him, and I didn't want him to think that his courage to admit to a mistake went unnoticed by me. When I talked to him about my decision, he was surprised and I could tell that he was pleased, but what I really wanted him to know that, like Albus Dumbledore said, "It is our choices who make us who we are...far more than our abilities." I told him, ultimately, only he had control over his choices. Specifics would make this make so much more sense but I hope the generality is helpful to me in the future when I look back at this post.

You'd think an "ah-ha" moment like that would have quickly been applied to my own mistakes and choices but it took me until today to realize that I need to take my own advice (or, more accurately, several general authorities and Albus Dumbledore's). I know that I'm able. But, my choices are controlling and influencing my life much more than my abilities. I do the grocery shopping. I make the meals. I buy myself lunch (too often) and choose what to order from the menu. How much more control do I need? I wish it were easier, all of it, from my son's choices to my own. I wish both of us could make a good choice once and be done with it for forever but that's not how it works.  If I expect him to recommit to good choices daily, and I do (I told him so), then I need to expect the same thing from myself.

It's so interesting how we continue to learn all the time, isn't it? Somebody who is much smarter and kinder than me is clearly in control.  Thank goodness. 

Remodeling

My parents just remodeled their kitchen.  For them, it wasn't an extravagant affair.  There was a crack in the twenty-five year old counter top, so new ones were in order, and my mom decided to update her wallpaper while the big change was taking place.

I hate wallpaper.  Even when it is tastefully done and interior decorators use it to give "texture" and "pattern" to a room, it always looks busy to me.  Needless to say, my mother and I, like most mothers and daughters, have different tastes.  Fine.  No big deal.  It's not my house.

After putting up two panels, however, my mom didn't like her new wallpaper.  She told me she was going to redo her walls with (gasp!) paint instead.

I love paint, even though you wouldn't know it from the still-white-a-year-later walls in my own home.  I was even more delighted when she announced the paint color she chose was gold, a color I have a certain fondness for.

Her remodel talk got me a little excited.  What else were they going to do?   Were they going to get some fancy new appliances to really update the look?  Stainless ones?

My mom responded, "Our appliances work just fine."

"But, your refrigerator is white and your dishwasher is black and isn't your stove really old?"

I hope I didn't insult her with my "but what about"s but she remained as grounded as she always has been and never got swept up in the whirlwind that remodeling can create .  She fixed what needed to be fixed and has beautiful new corian countertops and gold paint to brighten her walls.  She might get crazy and sew a new valence for her kitchen window but that's going to be the extent of it.

Her example came to mind this morning while working out with my trainer.  I was the only person to show up for both Boot Camp and the second hour, so I had two straight hours of personal training.  It's the first time that has happened and the one-on-one time allowed for a more intimate conversation.  I was shocked, truly, when my beautiful, kind and lovely trainer confessed that she feels like she will always struggle with her weight.

"What in the world!?" I scolded.  "You have THE perfect body."

"No, I don't.  I'm not thin, like these other girls.  I have to work really hard to keep weight off.  For as much as I workout, every day, I should be stick thin."

"But, why would you want to be stick thin?" I rebutted.  "You are strong and lean and fit and and perfectly healthy."

I left feeling a little bit of despair, not that I showed it, because if she of the five percent body fat isn't happy with her body how will I ever be, but then I thought of my parents and her their simple contentment, and had a little bit of hope for my own remodel.

You see, I don't want to spend the rest of my life chasing after a model image.   I think that's my predisposition.  It was a bit incomprehensible to me how my mom could be content with a kitchen only half remodeled.  What about new cupboards?  Pretty new tile?  The appliances have to match, don't they?  These are what our kitchens are supposed to look like.   These are what the models shown in magazines, TV shows and stores look like.  And they are beautiful.

And yet, kitchens are a room designed for a function.  They are the workhorses of our homes and while the granite, Sub-Zero appliances and copper tile backsplash are lovely (all things I want, by the way.  Just in case you were imagining me up on a high horse of some kind), they aren't necessary to the function of the room.  My mom taught me that.

So, while I remodel my body, I want to remember what is really important.  My body is a workhorse.  I want it to be better so that it functions better.  While I wouldn't be opposed to looking like a model, I think the chances of that happening are pretty slim.  It's just not in my DNA or personal habits, if you want to know the truth.  Before I get caught up in striving for the model image, I thought I'd record a reminder of what I really want from my body.  Please refer me back to myself should I ever become a skinny person who gets a bit too caught up in looking like the models.

My goals:

To sit on an airplane seat without needing to lift the armrest for additional hip room.

To not freak out the poor soul who has to ride tandem to me on my first sky dive.

To be able to kneel during family prayer and sit back on my heels without my legs falling asleep.

To use a hotel towel and actually have it cover my body (maybe not possible considering the size of those towels but I'm gonna try).

To climb all the 14,000 ft peaks in Colorado.

To be able to get up on one ski while water-skiing, behind any boat, not just the ones with the super-turbo engine.

To be able to walk into any store and buy something off the rack.

To be an example to my children.

To go on any ride at an amusement park without worrying if I'll fit in the seat.

To be able to cross my legs comfortably.

To be under the weight restriction to do the bungee trampolines at the ski resort.

To never have to worry if someone is sitting on the other side of a picnic table so I don't flip it.

To wear a cute black wrap dress and black boots at my twenty-year high school reunion (it's a weird vision of mine).

To be able to get back up after I fall when skiing without having to take my boots out of the bindings. Right now, I make sure I ski so that I don't fall.

To become a certified Zumba instructor (did I just write that????) and have hips that don't lie.

To sit on my husband's lap without squishing him.

To stop stressing if there are a lot of people on an elevator that I'm using up more than my share of the weight limit.

To fearlessly take the Mesa Verde cliff dwelling tour that requires crawling through a "narrow" tunnel. I've always avoided that one because I've never known if I'd get stuck.

To NEVER, EVER, EVER have the indigenous people of a third-world country motion with their hands to let me know that they think I'm big or to get a special position in a boat after being referred to as "Grande." I'm big anywhere but I'm especially big in Myanmar and Guatemala.

To be strong enough to do anything I need to be able to do. Like climb up one of those rope ladders into a helicopter should I ever need to be airlifted out of somewhere. Or, more likely, just to be able to keep up with my physical boys.

I think if I could do all of these things, I'd be pretty happy. Shape Magazine, or even People might not ever put me on their covers. But that's not what I'm going for. I've seen that spirit of discontent in far too many people I know and love. There has to be a point where you are healthy and happy and not obsessed about ten pounds or the size of your pants. I guess I want to be like my parents. I want to be content with my improved, updated and more functional remodel without caring about whether or not I look like the models.

Be Ye Therefore Perfect

Perfectionism as a goal makes me wary.  Years ago, when I was younger and more impressionable, there was a woman I knew who seemed quite close to perfect.  Her home was such a pleasant place to be.  Each room was tastefully decorated, including, I remember, her young children's bedrooms, and filled with touches reflecting her love of family, faith and country.   She was the frequent host of parties and events, each announced with a unique and and cute handmade invitation.  When I inquired about the effort it took to have such a lovely home and to create the adorable cards and invitations, her reply was that when you make an effort, people know you care and they respond likewise.  Motivation to keep the house clean and orderly came because it looked so good when everything was in its place.  Likewise, when people received an invitation in the mail that someone took the time and care to adorn with ribbons, brads and stamps, they were more likely to come because the invitation will have made an impression.

There were other things too.  She was bubbly and friendly - a leader of the ward.  There were U-Pick orchards nearby and one summer, I remember picking an entire box of peaches and feeling quite domestic as my family enjoyed the yummy fruit as snacks and the ingredients to one scrumptious crisp.  I later heard she filled a dozen boxes and spent the day canning and freezing the fruit to make her kids favorite peach smoothie breakfasts for the rest of the year. Her children were always clean and well-groomed and they sat quietly on the front row of every sacrament meeting without toys, treats or books.  This, she explained to my impressed and questioning mind, was possible because they would occasionally come to the chapel during the week, or for family home evening, and practice.  It was mind blowing.

With her as a role model, I really tried to step up my game. It wasn't a Keeping Up With the Joneses kind of thing or a competition of any kind.  I really looked up to her.  I kept each invitation she sent and, if ever I was in charge of a party, used her creativity as a guideline for my own.  I began to care more about my home and bought drapes to treat the windows, a slip cover to freshen up an old couch and a rug to add a splash of color to the room.  What did it matter if I had to open a Pottery Barn credit card to afford it? This would create an atmosphere worth cleaning.  Once, I used my church keys to have my children practice sitting still in the chapel for ten minutes, thinking I'd add increments of time in the future (we never went back).

While in the midst of my fervent admiration of this woman's life, I learned she was in the hospital after suffering some acute anxiety attacks. She later admitted that she suffered from depression and believed that the only way she could feel better was to lose herself in a pursuit of service and excellence.  She was constantly doing, doing, doing and had become overdone.   I can still remember hearing about it for the first time and thinking, "What the hell!?!"  And that just exemplifies my own imperfection because I don't even think in the more Mormon acceptable term, "What the heck?!"

That discovery unsettled me.  I had trusted this woman as someone to pattern my life after and the surprise stole my perfectionism steam.  Since then, I've always been suspicious of apparent perfection because I know it doesn't exist.  This still extremely talented woman put herself in danger with her attempt to reach it.  We all have chinks in our armor, trials and shortcomings and if I can't see yours, or know what they are, then I don't believe you.  I don't have confidence in your image.  This attitude is a major contributor to my compulsion to always expose my own flaws.  The trouble with that is when you get to be as comfortable as I am with a flaw, it gets harder and harder to part with.

I believe I suffer from what I call a "Good Enough" complex.  Not being a particularly ambitious person to begin with, it is easy for me to keep to the things I know and, perhaps, be too easily satisfied with my own mediocrity.



I made this cake for my mother and father in-law's anniversary.  They admitted that they had celebrated their forty-eight anniversary by eating sandwiches in the car after spending the day in the temple and I just wanted them to have something...more fun.  So, I made a cake to take over but it didn't turn out.  At all.  It fell in the middle and crumbled as I tried to frost it.  I thought, "I can't take this cake to them.  It's an insult!  Happy Anniversary!  Here's the ugliest cake I could possibly make for you!"  No.  But then, my Good Enough reasoning broke through and I thought, "It tastes fine and it's better than nothing.  It's good enough."  And I brought it to them.

When I'm reminded, particularly around dates and events that emphasize change and improvement like New Year's, that my good enough might actually not be good enough,  I start making mental pro/con lists about what I like about my life as it currently is and what the downsides are from being so far from perfect.

My biggest, most immediate flaw is my weight. I am always wishing it away but not always working it away. Some of the time, it's an advantage having such a noticeable flaw because it keeps most from trying too hard from discovering my other flaws. I've also noticed over the years, that people aren't as threatened by overweight people so I am allowed to be less apologetic about my other blessings.  Conversely, when you're thin AND nice or thin AND creative or thin AND wealthy, that person better also be pretty humble or they're perceived as snobby and insufferable.  It's true.  I've had friends with these exact coveted combinations who are often misunderstood or unfairly judged with jealous minds.  Thin and dumb or thin and homely are much more acceptable.  Still, neither reason is a very convincing pro to take a legitimate spot in a column.

Sometimes, when I watch a news program or read something about obesity in America, I look for my own waddling bottom that was secretly taped while I unknowingly walked alongside a sidewalk.  With their heavy-handed opinions about how lazy and irresponsible obesity it, watching those programs make me feel as if I am single handedly bringing down the greatness of the ol' US of A with my wide hips and belly fat.  It's horrible.  I imagine people thinking, "She doesn't deserve to fly in an airplane!" or "No health care for you!"

So, obviously, being overweight is mostly a large and in charge disadvantage.  There are so many parts of my daily life, and even more of my imaginary better life, that would benefit from a trimmed down version of me.   I know this, have known it for years as you can tell from this old post, but as I pointed out in my post yesterday, that knowledge hasn't yet translated into a consistent "do."  It's hard.  It's a lot more than a calories in / calories out formula.  There are bad habits and emotional hang-ups to undo.  There are genetics and hormones and slow metabolisms that make the rate of loss hard to predict and discouraging at times.

Nonetheless, in an effort to change my know into a do and my far-from-perfect complacency into a be-ye-therefore kind of outlook, I have signed up for a Biggest Loser program being offered locally during the month of January which begins tomorrow morning. As part of the program, I am committed to showing up at a gym twenty minutes away at six am every Monday through Friday.  Each morning will involve about an hour of intense cardio led by a personal trainer (the trainer has hinted that it will often involve a Spin class) followed by forty-five minutes of specialized strength training.   That's a 6 - 7:45 am schedule every day.  In addition, we are encouraged to use our all-encompassing monthly pass to participate in other offered classes.  With this early morning schedule, Jay will take over the responsibility to get the kids to school each morning, something that is not easy for him to do and will be a stress with his demanding work schedule.   I hope this program is worth the sacrifice I am imposing upon my family.

I'm nervous about the early mornings and the intense physical requirements.  There is a daily nutrition check-in, a weekly Friday weigh-in, a before and after picture taken and I'm sure a strictly regimented plan to follow.  The cost alone was reason enough not to do it but I'm drawn to its intensity and level of commitment.  I'm hoping that this will help me form the long-term habits and permanent changes I need to be a better me.  To be closer to perfect.  Because that's what we've been asked to strive for, right?

I will try. I will do.  Perhaps, with that effort, I will be.