tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-127524232024-03-14T12:24:25.524-04:00Hope From the EdgeWelcome to our life from my point of view. It's the edge of reason...happiness....insanity....and joy.Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.comBlogger645125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-47800901817825564812018-05-09T22:29:00.001-04:002018-05-09T22:29:59.469-04:00Think Again<p>Ya <b><i>girl here is TIRED. </i></b></p><p></p><p></p><p><b><i>Let me tell you what my dumb self did. Wait, me and Ange (my gym partner) did this. And it was dumb. </i></b></p><p><b><i>It was a gym day like pretty much every Wednesday. The menopause has me with a little bit of regain. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Not today, Satan. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Therefore, I have amped my workouts up a notch. I get to the gym around 30 minutes before Ange and try to get some extra cardio going on. They have this new elliptical that half kills a person. I just started it this week and even on the lowest resistance, I can barely manage a solid ten minutes. Those ten minutes equal around 2.5 miles. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Stay with me here. </i></b></p><p><b><i>After those ten minutes, I jump on the treadmill and start going. Today, I managed around 13-15 minutes before Ange got on the treadmill beside me. I decided to see what was on tv to keep me occupied and distracted. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Say Yes to the Dress? Closed captioned?!! Yes!</i></b></p><p><b><i>Ange put her tv on the same channel and we proceeded to critique dress choices and enjoy ourselves. The show ended and we still had around ten minutes left on the dreadmill. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Cue the next show. About people searching for their birth parents. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Lord bless, we got emotionally involved before we knew it. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Then light bright here said....Hey Ange? How about we skip weights today and just walk? We can get extra cardio in AND finish this show. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Remember how we started walking during the previous show?</i></b></p><p><b><i>This show we were invested in.....was an hour long. </i></b></p><p><b><i>We watched the ENTIRE thing while walking. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I ended up with 6.77 miles overall by the time I finished. Oh, and guess what? The treadmill automatically goes into cool down mode at an hour. Yup. I started it back up to finish watching this show. </i></b></p><p><b><i>We burned some serious calories because we didn’t just leisurely stroll. We WALKED. </i></b></p><p><b><i>We were so exhausted by the time we sat down at the diner. What were we thinking?? </i></b></p><p><b><i>Now I sit here on my front porch with an aching lower back that is solidly pissed at me. (Side note: got DDD (degenerative disc disease) I checked my apple watch progress and see that I have 19K steps on the books for today. I could go take a walk and aim for 20K. Yeah, that mess ain’t happening. The gym is on the schedule for tomorrow as I need to get in at least 3 workouts a week and I kinda like to spend Fridays with The Man and the gym quit offering childcare (for Ange’s son-who has a piece of my heart) on Fridays. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I am going to be hatin’ life tomorrow morning when I need help getting out of bed. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Next time we get on the treadmill? We’re gonna need to think again before we get all crazy like that.</i></b></p><p><b><i> </i></b><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-IcGgF58BNME/WvOt-OsClzI/AAAAAAAADmE/93TXPzxdszkMVPJFLRqQVP1LXx-G92ZXACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><b><i> </i></b></p><p><b><i>Sigh. My body is too broken for this mess. Why do I keep it up??</i></b></p><p><b><i><br></i></b></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-14335379057812047782018-05-04T23:58:00.001-04:002018-05-04T23:58:55.302-04:00Too Salty for my Own Good<p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bKL7xFgkLls/Wu0nWMXUCtI/AAAAAAAADl0/-3SeD0Os_d8mWZiJqshZsbjjcI9L-a4tQCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""></p><p></p><p></p><p><b><i>Yesterday, I had to take my Tahoe in to get the brakes fixed/repaired. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I did not want to do this. </i></b></p><p><b><i>In fact, that is one seriously massive understatement. I despise taking a vehicle for work. I am not a stupod person, but, I know most places see a woman come in and they rub their hands together with glee because they’re gonna find a gazillion things wrong that you NEED to get taken care of. Like I see little dollar signs floating around their heads. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I tried to bargain with my husband. I told him I would do the laundry, go to the grocery store and get the groceries, cook meals, be responsible for family member’s doctor/dentist appointments and a host of other things if he would just take it himself. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Let that sink in a minute. Because, you know, I already do that stuff on the daily. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Alas, they did not have an early appointment for today and he wanted to be prepared in case our now college SOPHOMORE needed us to come help her bring stuff home for summer. Gah. I hate when he makes sense. </i></b></p><p><b><i>So, I went. After I did an hour and a half workout at the gym. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Your girl was beyond exhausted.</i></b></p><p><b><i>That alone made me salty. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Add in my dang back hurting (stupid Degenerative Disc Disease) and I was way past salty. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Three and a half hours later and a much lighter wallet, I got to go home. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Things I took note of during my threehours of torture sitting in a hard cheap plastic chair:</i></b></p><p><b><i>1. Why didn’t this business have a bench outside? You keep the waiting room (and I use the term loosely) colder than a witch’s butt so you have to walk outside to warm up...and there’s no seating. Fix it, sir. </i></b></p><p><b><i>2. Make me go do this and I’m not cooking supper. </i></b></p><p><b><i>3. I called my husband out of a training to talk to them about what would get done. Wait. He called me because I sent a picture of what they wanted to do and the sticker shock hit him good. </i></b></p><p><b><i>4. I’m not mad about fixing the truck. That sweet baby is paid for. She’s a 2007 model and has done....I think three....round trips across this great country. This is the first time we’ve done this. Not bad. I’d rather pay this and be safe traveling and not have monthly car payments. </i></b></p><p><b><i>5. At the end of the month, HE is driving for our family vacation. I’m gonna ride shotgun and back seat drive. It’s who I am as a person to do that. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I suppose I should be ashamed for acting like a teenager who was told to clean my room. I showed my butt about having to do this adult chore. I didn’t stomp my foot, though. I managed to refrain. And supper at Applebee’s was pretty tasty, too. </i></b></p><p><b><i>Three weeks until vacation. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I think I can make it. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I think I can. </i></b></p><p><b><i>I think I can.</i></b></p><p><b><i>I think I can. </i></b></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-61530806676644180552018-04-17T10:18:00.001-04:002018-04-17T10:18:36.822-04:00Is it Monday? <p>I <i>really thought it was Tuesday when I woke up this morning. </i></p><p></p><p></p><p><i>This is usually my one day home during the week to get things done around the house. Laundry being the number one thing on my list. </i></p><p><i>My calendar alerted me that my boy has a dental cleaning at 3:30. Gah. That means I gotta shower, get dressed, and go people. So be it. Only happens once every six months. </i></p><p><i>I was on my third cup of coffee and did a quick pit stop in my half bath. </i></p><p><i>It started backing up. </i></p><p><i>The heck????</i></p><p><i>I start plunging and the stupid plunger broke. (Weight training at the gym paying off, eh?)</i></p><p><i>Ran to get the one from my bathroom. Hollered at Paige to go upstairs and grab one from there. </i></p><p><i>No luck. </i></p><p><i>Seriously getting mad now. </i></p><p><i>Paige took a shift plunging while I googled can you put drano in a toilet. </i></p><p><i>That would be a no. </i></p><p><i>Dangit. </i></p><p><i>Google did say put dish detergent and a pot of hot (not boiling) water in and that would break up a clog. </i></p><p><i>Well, the water level went down and more plunging made for lots of bubbles. Lots. Of. Bubbles. </i></p><p><i>After a good thirty minutes, I admitted defeat and called a plumber. </i></p><p><i>Who can come between 3 & 5. My son’s appointment is at 3:30. </i></p><p><i>Called The Man to see if he can come home early. He will, but not until 3. </i></p><p><i>What if they come early? I have to leave at 2:10. </i></p><p><i>Sigh. </i></p><p><i>Call dentist and tell the complete truth. I’m sure the gal really didn’t want to know my toilet struggles. She did waive the cancellation fee because....crap happens. </i></p><p><i>Call the school because my son’s phone is messed up (thanks Apple update) to tell him to come home. </i></p><p><i>Ya’ll. It’s 10 am here and I am already TIRED. This is ridiculous. Now I’m doing extra cleaning because some random dude is coming in my house. </i></p><p><i>Now we get to find out if a certain four year old flushed a toy or it’s a legit clog. </i></p><p><i>Everyone’s bet is on the toy. </i></p><p><i>Slightly thankful I can still wash clothes and there are other toilets in my home still working. </i></p><p><i>I can hear our money going down the drain......</i></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-48268521600525861152018-04-15T14:17:00.001-04:002018-04-15T14:17:42.627-04:00Happiness in my mouth<p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-RjeaFApn_a8/WtOWEtz5jxI/AAAAAAAADlk/WvJTEcHyfesKX9WaGI4zsbunsUCtIiKxACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""></p><p></p><p></p><p><i>Know what this is? This is a carnita (pork) burrito with cheese and extra grilled onions. This junk makes my mouth extremely happy. </i></p><p><i>Who says you can’t eat good after surgery. I enjoyed maybe a little less than half, and boxed it up for my husband to take to work tomorrow. Which means it’s a good snack for him. The tortilla is on the "eh, maybe not a good idea" list. I get that. But, because I had that little bit of tortilla goodness, I’ll have a protein shake for supper. Balance. </i></p><p><i>Time to take it up a notch. Menopause, hormones, life, and falling off the wagon has equaled some regain. Not a bunch, but enough to snap my head back and give me some whiplash. Watch out gym, here I come tomorrow!</i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>Good thing I got some new kicks this weekend. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-6583019776418715402018-04-11T16:21:00.001-04:002018-04-11T16:21:33.762-04:00Beautiful Experience<p>I <i>just had a most incredible experience. I went earlier to a pharmacy to pick up my prescription. This is not my usual pharmacy. I have to have a compound made just for me. Apparently, in order for a pharmacy to label themselves as a compound pharmacy...the pharmacist has extra schooling and I guess it’s a special deal. </i></p><p></p><p></p><p><i>The pharmacy is a little ways away in not the greatest part of town. We’re talking around 30 minutes depending on traffic. Luckily, I found out they would make it and bring it to their branch that is literally five minutes away from my home. I could deal with that. </i></p><p><i>This morning my crazy self pushed it hard at the gym. I literally walked on the treadmill for an hour to the tune of over 4 miles. THEN, I did some weight training. My poor apple watch probably should have just exploded. </i></p><p><i>I was tired when I pulled at the pharmacy’s drive-through window. The sweet gal there looked and looked. Nothing. Cue deep sigh from me. I just did not want to come back out once I got home. </i></p><p><i>She said give me your address and I’ll have it delivered as soon as it gets here. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>I’m sorry...what did you say?</i></p><p><i>I wrote my address down and drove away in shock. </i></p><p><i>Pharmacies deliver? Is this a dream?</i></p><p><i>I came home and told my daughter. She had the same reaction I did. I said...what do I do? Do I tip? Is that proper? I don’t have cash to tip!</i></p><p><i>Son of a gun if dude didn’t drive up 15 minutes ago with my script. He was incredibly nice and I was raining "Lord, bless you"’s all over his head. </i></p><p><i>It was a beautiful experience I will treasure. </i></p><p><i>I feel bad I didn’t tip him. </i></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-88594545994886080292018-04-10T09:36:00.001-04:002018-04-10T09:36:38.834-04:00Stupid Wagon<p>I <i>hate falling off of the recovery wagon. Hate. Hate. Hate it. Every time I think I’m solidly buckled in ....here comes a bump in the road. Seat belt flies open and here I go , falling on the side of the road on my head. </i></p><p></p><p></p><p><i>I then get up, dust myself off, and debate getting on that blasted rolling cart again. Being honest here, sometimes I just want to just give up. Let that cart head on down the road without me. I get tired. Bone deep tired of always having to be hyper aware. Constantly counting protein. Wondering if I got enough good fluids for the day. Fighting the soul deep cravings for carbs is the ultimate fight for me. And there are times I lose that fight. I will lose a small battle and other times, I lose so brilliantly and epically that I amaze myself. </i></p><p><i>Yep. That’s my mental conversation I have with myself when I’m standing beside the road wondering if this is all worth it. </i></p><p><i>Then I sigh really big, square my shoulders, and take off after that damn wagon. </i></p><p><i>It’s worth it. </i></p><p><i>I am worth it. </i></p><p><i>The battle may be long and tiresome. Attacks from the rear (hi there menopause!) can throw you off course. In the end, when all is said and done, I want to be able to say I never gave up trying. </i></p><p><i>Have I mentioned how sore I am today from kicking it up a notch at the gym yesterday? Mary, Joseph, and the baby lambs!! I’m walking like I’m 100 years old, but guess what?</i></p><p><i>I’m sittin’ tall in the wagon. </i></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-74279786011632898262018-03-31T22:34:00.005-04:002018-03-31T22:50:27.738-04:00Being Four is the Bomb<p>I have a <i>grand daughter. Long story short- she is not my flesh and blood as from one of my natural born children- but the daughter of my husband’s younger cousin that I claim also. My gig is being the most amazing YaYa ever. Tough job some times, but oh so worth it. </i></p><p></p><p></p><p><i>The Man (who was named Pop’m by a stubborn baby) and I were blessed to spend the day with her yesterday on her birthday. What an adventure we had! Of course I took loads of pictures! </i></p><p><i>Before I share the pictures, let me show you what kind of conversations happen with this particular toddler...</i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>Sass? You want a banana?</i></p><p><i>No ma’am, I’m not hungry. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>Five minutes later.....</i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>YaYa? I need cake and ice cream..I’m so hot. Ice cream would help. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>You have to eat a healthy choice before a fun choice. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>I really need ice cream and cake. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>No healthy choice., No cake and ice cream. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>Silence. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>You want a banana?</i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>Yes ma’am.</i></p><p><i><br></i></p><p><i>It’s always a good time here at The Edge when reasoning with a future lawyer/ballerina/princess. </i></p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MbNmWb5oe5A/WsBHgFOuqhI/AAAAAAAADZ4/xSszdHcLGYoY9RQZ-mWzxZxUpKfhr-0ywCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""></p><p><i>Birthday micro-fashion. Rainbow Dash dress. Best part? It had pockets! </i></p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-McLWNG02mpg/WsBHg6nWzOI/AAAAAAAADZ8/alMzq0ME2xscWOZnMkbdWtGg1BaFyTeVgCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""></p><p><i>Lunch of choice was at the barrel of crackers where she found her baby and magic bottle. Little pit stop on the way to the tahoe to rock and feed the new baby. </i></p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ak-VoFsP-NQ/WsBHheI5gLI/AAAAAAAADaA/i-yeqQyeyiEGExeg_eUqukGh9Q6Ozl4lACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""></p><p><i>Adventuring is tough, people! She was passed clean out. If she were 17 years older? I’d say she stayed too long at the club. </i></p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-udbwqgw1Vl4/WsBHiATysYI/AAAAAAAADaE/TnZ3C9-8e1cb34cxb9iIL3JU30UMowFjACHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""></p><p><i>Recognize the lady on the right? That’s MY baby girl. The college freshman. Gonna catch you up on her soon. </i></p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pK_rkZwic8A/WsBHjETUczI/AAAAAAAADaI/iKA4KNgjFZIM6r7-NlYiNSKdRWPmTHVKQCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""></p><p><i>Candid photo for the win here. </i></p><p><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DSymJEcfNvk/WsBHkXLuJlI/AAAAAAAADaM/epMtEHr2E2gpI4C4PvFPcbG8Ik9Q8J-8QCHMYCw/%255BUNSET%255D" alt=""><br></p><p><i>Serious as I can be- that’s my heart right there. There is something about grand children that activate a section of your heart and soul you never knew existed until they arrive. </i></p><p><br></p><p><br></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-8003252275086684772018-03-30T09:10:00.002-04:002018-04-10T09:37:40.271-04:00Just Don’t Understand<p>We<i> all know this here gal is Southern. I adore good food. Shoot, most food addicts adore good food. I am no exception. </i></p><p></p><p></p><p><i>What I do not understand is Chinese food. We have a great one that delivers when I have decided cooking is not an option that day. It’s quick, good, and full of sodium. Last night we ordered some of that amazing goodness and sat down to eat upon delivery. </i></p><p><i>My husband had this little container of rice. White rice. That’s it. Nothing else. (It went with his General Tso’s Chicken)</i></p><p><i>Now, what kind of sense does that make, I ask? I had fried rice with flavor, little bits of ham, and some veggies. His was just....plain.</i></p><p><i>I’m sorry, but we Southerners just can’t do this white plain rice. There’s gotta be some flavor up on top or cooked in to it. </i></p><p><i>That sad little container of rice was thrown away and never even touched. </i></p><p><i>Rice is a canvas.....gravy is the paint. You gotta have both, people. </i></p><p><i><br></i></p>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-90332791793543580972014-08-26T20:58:00.000-04:002014-08-26T20:58:23.000-04:00Let's Talk Sauce<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I once read a little ditty that went something like "You can put ranch dressing on dirt and a kid will eat it"...or something like that. I almost have to agree with that to a point. My boy loves some ketchup and ranch dressing. When I go grocery shopping, I automatically buy another ketchup bottle that will go to the top shelf in the pantry. I discovered a package of two incredibly huge bottles of Ranch Dressing at Sam's months ago. I didn't hesitate, my friends. I picked that two pack up and felt so superior as I walked away knowing I wouldn't have to buy ranch for a month. I kid you not, that kid goes through some condiments. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Here comes the bad part. He's so wasteful. See, my boy makes his very own Special Sauce. I'm going to share the recipe with you. It's ketchup and ranch mixed together. Large amounts. He has to get the ratio perfect (God bless his OCD heart) because if it isn't, he will keep pouring them separately until the mixture is right in his mind. I can't tell you how many times I have sat across from him at the dinner table and bit my tongue because he honestly doesn't care if he's wasting. The ratio has to be just right. I got to hand it to the kid, he does his level best to eat as much as he can, but more often than not, the supply beats demand hands down. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Last week I was at Sam's doing my bi-weekly trip. My coffee K-cup supply was low. That can't happen in my world. Therefore, a trip was needed. As I was walking around planning meals in my head for the upcoming week and trying to remember if I had enough toaster strudels for The Boy for another week of breakfasts, I saw the most incredible sight.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>A six pack of squeeze bottles. Lovely, plastic, restaurant quality squeeze bottles. My mind jumped to the possibilities those bottles could provide my kitchen, my sanity, and my grocery bill. When I saw these six bottles were under $5.00, why, I just couldn't put them in the cart fast enough. </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKuVW5yEomM3FJW11_7-lG_fIfpNmJx2Xdf_2RpDEaAKMC52oSPictqr2hbV1oZcwwv2uyj6wEgVtd_LH4d_fBxECal0BneP-Vzx3iFzIZU0G0c9ci3qqg-TGfzLduNxlmU6Ocg/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKuVW5yEomM3FJW11_7-lG_fIfpNmJx2Xdf_2RpDEaAKMC52oSPictqr2hbV1oZcwwv2uyj6wEgVtd_LH4d_fBxECal0BneP-Vzx3iFzIZU0G0c9ci3qqg-TGfzLduNxlmU6Ocg/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Such a simple plastic container. Oh, the possibilities.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>When I got home, I had to do some thinking. What exactly was I going to put in these six lovely containers. When I started looking in the fridge, I realized there were way too many bottles of condiments to be legal. Makenna loves the barbecue sauce like The Boy loves the ketchup and ranch. There were, no lie, 4 bottles of BBQ sauce in the door. It was time to get busy.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I explained to my son what I was planning. You have to fully explain and give him all details. I wish I had gotten pictures, but he mixed up his own Special Sauce. I was not allowed to touch the process except to pour it in the bottle. He made two bowls and mixed and tasted and added more of this and a little of that until it was perfection upon his taste buds. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The Man also has a special sauce he likes on fries. I'm pretty sure the fast food golden arches has a similar sauce they use on some burgers. I mixed it up, poured it in the bottle and made more room in my fridge. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>I put the standard plain ranch in one, and ketchup in another. I still have one bottle left to fill. Contemplating some Duke's mayo to simplify the sandwich making process in the future.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Voila! My life is made simpler, there's more room in the fridge, and hopefully the waste will not be as bad. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Some of you are probably thinking why on earth would I blog about plastic bottles. Because it was so simple a solution and not expensive. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Now if I could just get some of that white sauce from the Japanese restaurant........</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>Oh! Can I just put this out there? Are my children the only people on this planet that when it's time to clean the kitchen after supper, the condiments blend into the table cloth and disappear and never make it back to the refrigerator? Literally every time I walk back in the kitchen after they've "cleaned" it, there sits the condiments on the table, looking forlorn and forgotten. Drives me insane. Yeah, venting that didn't make me feel any better. Just reminds me that until they all move out, I will have to go behind them and put the stuff back in the fridge. Sigh.</i></span></div>
Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-74750535700938005752014-08-19T10:59:00.000-04:002014-08-19T10:59:59.766-04:00It's Been a While<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Hi. Yeah, it's me. I know it's been a while. I can point the finger of blame to a few things that have prevented me from blogging. The Man bought me an iPad and my daughter kind of took over my laptop. Typing on an iPad can be on the hard side. Life got busy. I had nothing to say.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I would be lying. It's all on me. I think I had too much to say. So much, in fact, that my brain was a whirling hot mess of thoughts that I just couldn't form a coherent sentence to put here. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My therapist has told me many times that it was time to start blogging again. My friends kept asking when was I going to post again? My family is mad that I've missed important milestones and birthdays that I would have never missed before. I would always reply, "I know! I know! I really need to!" And I never would come to the computer and follow through.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>In the past week, posts started forming in my head again. To the point that I knew it was time to start again and put it down in black and white. The urge to write was there again. Thoughts were coherent. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Here I am. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Hi! I've missed you. Lots.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Yesterday was my third anniversary of having gastric bypass surgery. Three years. Has it been that long? I think my jump back into blogging needs to address that aspect of my life so I can move on to the "Sometimes My Life is a Reality Show" posts to share with you. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Where do I start? </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>No one wants to be obese. No one wants to be morbidly obese in this world. Yet, it happens. I swear to you, you literally wake up one day, look in the mirror and think, "How in the world did this happen to me???" I did that. I looked, really looked, in the mirror one day and was just blown away by what I saw. Who was that woman? The puffy face. Eyes lost in a face due to full cheeks. I was just devastated. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>My mother had suffered many health problems by that point. I had to look at that woman in the mirror and make her realize she was heading down a fast dangerous highway to bad health. It was a numbing moment. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Fast forward and let's skip the whole process of getting my family doc (who was just amazing and I love her to this day) getting the ball rolling. Finding the perfect doctor to perform this operation to maybe a year out from surgery.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The weight came off pretty quickly. The plus side of the surgery. You're so focused on healing and figuring out what you can eat without getting sick the first six months that it's a full time job. You're in a honeymoon phase of losing clothing sizes and getting compliments left and right. Pretty heady stuff there.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Then reality kicks in. If you're smart? You'll want to find out the root cause of that weight gain. What made you get to that size. Hello, Miss Therapist! </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>You find out that maybe you really don't want to know. Maybe it's too painful or just to complicated to give that mental energy required to get to that root cause. You might even find that you avoid therapy a few months because DANG, you just can't take the emotional turmoil it causes after a session has ended. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>What many people don't realize is that you can regain after having gastric bypass/RNY. Some of you may know someone who has, indeed, had massive regain after the procedure. The body is a complex and phenomenal machine. You can go inside and rearrange the inside, but it will eventually figure out what's going on and fix itself to a certain degree. It is up to you to learn new eating habits and implement a lifestyle change before that happens so when it does? You can handle it and go into what we post-op people call "maintenance mode". </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Sister here has had some major therapy during this time so I can hopefully handle this maintenance phase for the rest of my life. I'm not going into all the complex issues that have come up during my sessions. HIPPA and all that good stuff. I'm sure you understand. An addict is an addict is an addict. Once an addict, always an addict. Doesn't mean you are doomed forever. Heavens no. But, the "drug" is always there calling your name. Some days it's louder than others. Ahhhh, the siren's lure. My take on all of this? We self medicate. Addicts take it to a higher level. I self medicated with food. Food was my BFF. Food was always available in massive quantities and I took it that dangerous level. And let me tell you, when that BFF was taken away after surgery? I mourned. Lawd, did I mourn. In fact, I would be lying if I said I don't still miss it with a burning passions at times to this day. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>People comment all the time that I have amazing willpower. Uh...no, I don't. I really don't have any at all. I am terrified. I am paralyzed with the fear of regain. Of being that woman I saw in the mirror that morning all over again. I still see glimpses of her from time to time. When I was going through some old pictures for my Before and Now collage, Makenna asked me if I felt like her. I said I know that woman well and I know how she felt. I can't forget. I don't think I ever could. Back to willpower. What exactly is that? I mean, I do have a strong will. Where I come from we call it being stubborn as a mule. I am extremely mule headed at times (my husband can testify to this). I am also weak. So very weak. I have those days where I eat like someone is going to take it away from me forever in the next minute. Now, I can't eat massive quantities anymore. My pouch/stomach can hold around a cup of food. But I graze all day like nobody's bidness. If I eat too many carbs, I dump. (My husband got a Mac and I'm still learning how to use it so linking to sites is still something I'm learning. Look up dumping syndrome with gastric bypass if you want to know the details.) I can dump like a Queen. My sugar will bottom out. I'll get shakes like you wouldn't believe. I'll get all light headed and clammy. I'll have cold sweats that soak a shirt in a minute. Some of you might wonder why on earth would I do that to myself? I have no answer other than the drug was stronger than me in that moment and I HAD to have that extra taste of a sweet or fresh baked bread. Every once in a while I'll dump from something totally unexpected and it will catch me out of left field. I carry a protein bar in my purse at all times just in case that happens. I've walked around shopping while eating a protein bar to keep from passing out. I may or may not have nibbled on one in church during the service when this happens. That's the plus side of RNY. If you're lucky, you'll will dump the rest of your life. Yes, lucky. It helps keep you accountable. It keeps you mindful of what you're doing. Break the rule, ,pay the price. Trust me, that price is not fun and can be scary. Maybe I have some willpower. Maybe the willpower mixed in with good therapy, support from those around me, and lots and lots of prayers have me where I am today. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Yesterday was a day of reflection for me. I thought of where I was three years ago and where I am today. And I felt pretty okay with it all. I still go to the gym on a regular basis. I will always stand by the fact that I will never love it, but I know it's necessary. I am into weight training more and toning what I have left. My brain still has serious issues with all the loose skin I still have. I know it's time to address it and get it taken care of once and for all. I think I put it off because it all has felt like a dream and that I was going to wake up and regain all that weight and I would need that skin to fill back up. Whoa. My therapist totally needs to read that. I bet that would be an epic session in just that realization. I still worry and obsess over stupid things like "Will I be this size when my children get married? Will I be able to take a picture with them on their day and be a decent size and not embarrass them?" See? The brain is a fickle thing. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I am open and honest about my whole experience. I put my three year surgiversary (an affectionate term we post-op peeps give our surgery dates) picture on the book of faces yesterday. I admit I was nervous. Why? It's like trusting your baby with strangers. Will you be judged for how you looked before? (sure, that's human nature) Will someone make a remark that will hurt you to the core. It's very nerve wracking. All I got was support. So many comments and all were positive. Thank you all. So much.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Am I proud of myself? Proud is a strong word for me. I am content at the moment. I know there is still work to be done, but I'm doing it. I know I will never reach that magical goal weight I have in my head. It's kind of unrealistic, to be honest. I am healthy. That's what is most important. I am healthy. I have a good grip on my recovery from obesity at the moment. I understand that there are things I have to do every single day to keep my health and grip. I will have to do them every day for the rest of my life. Some days I find that fact very daunting and I don't know if I can do it. One day at a time. One hour at a time. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I received many messages on my picture from yesterday. How much weight did you lose? I deliberately didn't put that on the picture because it can't be about a number. When it becomes about a number, then the picture gets skewed and the true reason behind the whole process gets whacked up. I will tell you, though. I've lost 168 lbs. I've regained 4 and I believe that is due to the weight training and building muscle. Those four pounds have really done a number on my brain and I keep slipping into panic mode wondering if that's the beginning of the end. Aaaaaaannnnnndddd this is why therapy is key to me. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>There ya have it, folks. The main reason Miss Hope hasn't been able to blog much the past year and a half. I had to go inside myself and work on me. Truthfully, that is also a constant work in progress that I don't foresee ending and that's okay. I'm in a much better place now and things are starting to find a sense of normalcy and contentment that I've been searching for for a long time. I can't promise I won't blog about this from time to time. It is part of who I am now. It is my normal. I can promise to blog about my life because The Boy? Ya'll have no idea. Makenna? Wait til you hear what that kid has been up to lately. Paige? That sweet baby of mine will be 21 in April of next year. Whaat??? </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Here's the picture I posted on the book of faces yesterday and a bonus one! I contemplated putting it on my page there, but changed my mind. I thought I would save it for here. Kind of a welcome back present for you. </i></span><br />
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The picture on the left is a month before surgery. This woman here is the one I saw with the puffy cheeks that convinced me it was time. </div>
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Please take note that it just hurts my heart so badly that in the left picture, I was almost as wide at the door. This was before we left for the hospital that morning and I can tell you....Miss Hope was smoooooth. Nerve pills are awesome, I tell ya. Also note that in the right picture, I am sporting some seriously awesome heels. </div>
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*** If you want to know more about Recovery from Obesity, my therapist is on the book of faces under "A Post-Op & a Doc". Look it up. Dr. Connie Stapleton is her name and she knows all about addiction and the recovery process. She has published books and I highly encourage anyone fighting addiction to check it out. </div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><br /></i></span>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-53579276459645940632013-03-22T10:12:00.000-04:002013-03-22T10:12:10.951-04:00Miss Hope's Lessons in Marriage<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">There are a few things I've learned about being married and being in a marriage over the years. I have to admit, some lessons were hard and others not so much. Keep in mind, these are my own personal revelations and don't have to be yours. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #1:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Don't go to bed mad/angry/upset.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lesson:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Really? Why not? If I go to bed mad/angry/upset, that is giving my temper a chance to cool down before I say something I can't take back. The Man and I always end up talking it through after the cool down period and pretty much end up apologizing and expressing our separate viewpoints better to the other. Do we always end up agreeing? Heck no. We just come to a compromise or agree to disagree. I have an awful short term explosive temper. I will run off at the mouth for a few minutes, then I'm fine. I get past stuff pretty fast. Cooling down is a good thing for me. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #2:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Sleep separately until the anger is gone. Couches are optional or guest bedrooms.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lesson:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I think not. My bed is awesome. I have 1200 thread count sheets, memory foam, and an electric blanket. You're crazy if I'm going to go sleep somewhere else. I told my husband at the beginning of our marriage that I would never chase him out of his bed. That's his side and I have my side. We can coexist to sleep and not say a word. And we have done this successfully. Don't let anyone chase you out of your bed. Especially if you have an awesome bed. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #3:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Money is the cause of many marriages failing. (Okay, this may be true in many situations.)</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lesson:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">You're going to disagree about money. It will make you crazy when there's not enough or you don't know exactly how you want to budget to make it work the best. Guess what? You have what you have. Work with it. The Man and I make priority lists all the time. We have to go back and re-do the list because something comes along you weren't expecting. That's life. You're not always going to get what you want or do what you want to do. Work with it. Work with what you have. Forget about what you don't. Pay your tithes (we're pretty big on this), take care of your family, and pay your bills. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #4:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">High end appliances are worth it.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lesson:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">They are. We just had to replace our washer and dryer (unexpected and a cause to revamp our priority list). I did the shopping around online because we agreed that I would pick out what I use the most. I found what I wanted but those bad boys were the top of the line. I would get giddy over those machines and what I knew they were capable of doing for my clothes and to make my life easier. We went to the store and saw them in person. I fell deeper in love. We decided to get those particular machines and you know the guilt set in and I immediately started talking myself out of those luxurious pieces of machinery. The Man stood firm in that it was an investment that I would utilize to the fullest. I finally gave in. Let me tell you, high end appliances are worth it if you can swing it. The Priority List hates me, but my clothes love me. Oh, and really try to let your husband learn how to use those machines. I'm very protective of my BMW washer and dryer. The Boy can operate them as he and I do the laundry (yes, my son does better than his sisters when it comes to cleaning clothes). I was gone one day running errands and told my son to wash a load. When I called home, my husband informed me HE put the load in the washer. Mild panic set in until he told me The Boy showed him what to do. Whew. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #5:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Children come first and foremost.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lesson:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Children are important. My three are my heartbeat and I can't imagine a life without them. Children are going to grow up and hopefully leave one day. The spouse won't. Keep your spouse in your eyesight. That means treat them well. Flirt with them. Flirt in front of the children (clean flirting, people). Show them a strong united front and that you love each other and respect each other. How you and your spouse act is what your children will look for one day. I want my girls to find a good strong man who has a good work ethic and will treat them with love, kindness, and respect. I want my son to find a good strong woman who will hug him, and treat him with love, kindness, and respect.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The Man and I may not always agree on discipline, but we don't demean, belittle, or overstep their authority when one is correcting a child. One of us has corrected a child and later the other will, in private, talk about how maybe that wasn't the right way. Date nights are important. So very important. The Man and I have a date night once a week. We go out with friends for supper and some socializing. It helps us reconnect as a couple so we're not one of those couples you see in a restaurant after the kids are grown just sitting there with nothing to say. We talk about so many different subjects. We turn the radio up when going out to eat and sing and car dance together. Have fun with your children. Have fun as a family. Don't forget to have fun with your spouse. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #6:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Tolerate your in-laws.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lessons:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Do your best to love your in-laws. This is your husband's first family. This is your children's family. This is your family. I'm very very blessed in that I truly love my in-laws. You don't always have to agree with their views. Guess what? They don't have to agree with yours either. Call your mother in law on occasion. Keep her up on what's going on with her son. Over the years, I've called my mother in law and complained about her son. Yes! I went there! Best part? She is so sympathetic because she lives with his father....who acts the same way or does the same things. Yes! Someone who gets it! Your spouse is the best and worse of two individuals...just like your own kids. Seek out the best and know that comes from two people who are your MOTHER and FATHER in law. I'm so sorry for those of you who can't get along with your in-laws. It's a sad situation (I've been there) and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #7</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">No need to use manners after you say "I do."</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lesson:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Bull. There's even more need to use manners. I am not of the generation that my mother come from where you wait hand and foot on your husband. Growing up, I would just get so mad over how my mother would wait on my father. Fix his plate, fix his drink, fetch this, and fetch that. Boy, have I eaten some humble pie in the past couple years. Since my mother has developed health problems, my Daddy has waited on her hand and foot. He has become the most amazing caregiver and I see the love he has for my mother.This has proven to me that what I saw growing up wasn't servitude. It was my mother's way of showing love for my father as he is doing now for her. I fix my husband's plate most of the time. I'm fixing the kid's and I just keep going. I don't mind. I want to do things for my husband. He fixes me coffee when I ask him to in the evenings. We serve each other and every single time, we say "Thank you." or "I appreciate that." Use simple sweet manners. I promise it will be a good example for your children and your spouse will feel appreciated.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">MYTH #8:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">One person must always be in control of the t.v. remote.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Hope's Lesson:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Well that's a big fat false. My husband loves sports. With a complete passion. He has given up watching many games because Miss Hope hates football with an all burning passion. I can tolerate some baseball and adore the Olympics. My husband loves him some NASCAR. Bless him. On race day, he has the remote for sure. I don't watch the races as they bore me to tears. I love ghost shows. He tolerates the ghost shows and I tolerate the races. There are many we like in common and if there's a really good game going on? I understand him watching it on the laptop with headphones over one ear, while watching updates on said game on his phone, and watching a show with me. All at the same time. Share the remote. Watch family shows with your kids. Our children do not have televisions in their bedrooms. We feel that spending time together watching television is more important than them all going separate ways after supper. That's our personal belief. One gaming system located in the living room keeps play time on that bad boy to a decent level. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Marriage isn't always easy. But, it's so worth it. I like my husband. He is my friend. My very best goodest friend. I trust him with my life, my children, my heart, and my washing machine and dryer. I look so forward to growing old with this man. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-55415495938564819232013-03-14T11:24:00.000-04:002013-03-14T11:24:05.254-04:00Miss Hope Update<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">I've had a few ask what's been going on with me personally. I suppose I can give you an update on how life after gastric bypass is treating me. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">As of today, I've lost 157 pounds. Yes, you read that right. That number conflicts me on the inside greatly. While I'm so thrilled to have lost that number, I'm saddened and embarrassed that I HAD to lose that number. Thing is? I still need to lose around 20 more pounds to fit in with the medical community's definition of "normal". If I don't lose that last 20, then I'm going to be satisfied. (reason #3 I'm in therapy)</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I go through spurts where I'm loyal to the gym. I'll go my required three times a week and do my level best. Then something will happen, like surgery, and I get a little lax and it takes a bit to get back into the groove. I have low blood pressure now. I can't win with that pressure. Before surgery, I was an inch away from being put on blood pressure meds. Now, I almost black out every time I stand up or bend over and straighten up. It's really irritating to be honest. When I was taken back for surgery and they were doing my vitals, the nurse make this low sound of appreciation and said, "You have the blood pressure of a runner!" To which I snorted and replied, "Please. The only running I do is a brisk walk for a good sale." I admit I walk like a fiend on the dreadmill at the gym in my pathetic attempt to condition myself for the Zombie Apocalypse, but it's not an every day all day occurrence. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">About the surgery. I was allowed to keep my gall bladder when the bypass was performed. It was in good shape and my surgeon wasn't one to take out something that was working. Alas, a side effect of rapid weight loss is the destruction of the gall bladder. I started having pains under my sternum radiating under my right rib cage after eating certain foods like beef stew, meatballs, or steak. (beef- it was my enemy). After the second attack and a trip to the surgeon's office, he deemed it necessary to remove it. Gah. I put it off yet again and he smirked and told me if it was my gall bladder, and he was pretty positive it was, then the "attacks" would become more frequent and I would end up begging to have it out. Also, he wanted to remove it before it was seriously diseased. If it got in too bad of shape, then laproscopic surgery wouldn't be an option and I would have to be cut open. Well crap. I kept his advice in the back of my mind and went about my business.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">In November I went for my well woman checkup. I have given birth three times and STILL hate that visit with a passion of great proportions. Another side effect of GB (gastric bypass) is screwy messed up monthly cycles. I was no exception to that rule. I dealt with horrible cycles that just about incapacitated me for a week at a time. I asked my OB/GYN what could we do. After a moment, she decided to do a biopsy on my uterus (mother trucker, that mess hurt! After she was done, I said...did you get a good sample? She replied yes. I then said...good, because that is the ONLY shot you will ever get to do that!). If the biopsy was fine, then we could do a uterine ablation procedure called <a href="http://www.novasure.com/" target="_blank">Novasure</a>. She gave me the option of a hysterectomy, but I declined as I didn't want the recovery period of that serious procedure. I waited for a week to see what was going down in the uterus. I went in for a follow up and all was fine. That meant we could go ahead with the ablation. Out of curiosity, I asked if she would be willing to go in with my surgeon and do a two-for-one. Ablation and gall bladder removal. She shrugged and said sure. Have his office call her office. Sweet! </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I saw the bariatric surgeon and asked if he would willing to do this gall bladder deal and let my OB/GYN do her thing. He shrugged and said sure. His office said they would work out the details. I left thinking it would March or April before their schedules could work it out. Wrong. I got a call within two days saying that February 1 worked for them. Uh...ok. That was less than two weeks away. I agreed and when I got off of the phone, I realized that was the night of my daughter's birthday party. Crap. Mama went into combat mode then and I had that party all settled and ready to go no matter if I was home that evening or if it was decided to keep me over night. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I can't lie. I hate surgery. Hate the thought of it. And here I was going willingly into the operating room to have TWO procedures done. The morning of surgery, I had two NSV's (non-scale victories). First, the hospital gown was a regular one and it was huge! No big girl gown for me! Second, my husband was sitting there with me waiting for go time and I made the comment that I had room on either side of me in the bed. No overspill! The nurse laughed and said that I used the big girl bed last time for bariatric surgery and this was a standard bed. Say what? </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">My arrogant ass doctor (yes, I said that word and I meant it) was 40 minutes late. My OB doc was fit to be tied and ill as she could be. I can't blame her. He finally strolled in like he had all the time in the world. Next thing I know, these two nurses came in and started whipping up rails, started to roll, and talking 90 miles an hour. Hold up!!! I stopped them and told one...you better put the happy juice going in the I.V. because if you don't? I'm going to panic and make a run for it. She shot back that she needed me alert to get on the gurney in the O.R. I shot right back...I was out of it when I had bariatric surgery and you managed just fine. Knock. Me. Out. She did. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I woke up with my husband sitting there and hurting like nobody's bizness. Once I managed to potty, they let me go home. Laugh if you must, but I had that man stop at Mickey D's enroute home to get me a coffee. I dozed most of the short trip, but that coffee was mine when I was alert enough to drink it. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">It was a tough week. I hurt. Badly. Liquid pain killer (liquid works better for GB patients post-op), pajamas, and coffee were my best friends for a solid week. By week 3, I was feeling pretty decent. Except for a sharp pain in my right side. I found out at my post-op visit that the surgeon had to put an extra stitch internally in that incision as I was bleeding and it would dissolve on it's own in about three months. Good to know. The gall bladder was ok looking, but it was going to need to come out. Here's the kicker. When you lose a massive amount of weight, your internal organs have a much bigger area to move around. I had a space in my bowels (he took a look around while inside to make sure all was well) that was heading towards being a kink with an internal hernia. He fixed it and feels like that, in conjunction with the gall bladder, were the roots of my evil. I got to say I think he's right because I'm now able to eat beef with no problem and haven't had any pain like before when I would eat. I have to add here how I love how God works. I was second guessing my decision to have surgery the first of the week. I ended up having the worst cycle in history the week before the ablation AND two gall bladder attacks with hours of pain. I was so ready for that Friday morning to get here. God has to slap me around some times to get a point across. I respect that. I'm stubborn. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">FYI for the womenfolk. I have not had a cycle since the procedure. Granted, I would have only had one but it wasn't there! I pray that the procedure works for me and I don't have to worry about that mess again. I'm also hoping that not having heavy cycles will improve my iron levels because I sure could use a boost in that area. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I feel good. I still get irritated that food is still my main focus. Making sure I get protein in and fluids every single day. It still feels like a full time job that will never end. Therapy is showing me that I'm still in the learning phase of this area of my life. Eventually it will be a way of life and I won't have to spend so much time obsessing over food.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I'm still a food addict. I still want stuff that isn't good for me and I want to graze all day sometimes or just forget this altered digestive system for one freaking day and be "normal". Guess what? THIS is my normal now. Yeah, therapy is definitely one of the good decisions I've made in life. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I find it hard to believe when people tell me how good I look. I mean, I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart but Big Girl Brain butts in and tells me it's not true. I am a victim of my own poor choices. I have loose skin (which I knew would happen) that is just crazy. Hopefully, next year at some point, I will have a tummy tuck (insurance will pay to remove the loose skin- I will have to kick in the rest for a contour and shape up of the abdomen area. Oh. Dear. Lord. I just realized I am yet AGAIN planning to go into an operating room willingly. I need to have my head checked again. And again. And again.) when I'm finished losing what my body will allow me to lose. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Don't get me wrong. I see how far I've come and I know it wasn't "free". I am human. I see my flaws before I see the positive. I really need to get past that. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Can I offer up a small piece of advice? You don't have to take it, but I sure wish you would consider it. When you come across someone who has had a weight loss surgery, PLEASE don't feel compelled to tell them that your best friend's second cousin's Aunt's daughter had this surgery and she gained ALL her weight back. We really don't need to hear that. We know we can gain the weight back. You telling us this is like a hammer on a glass window. All we hear is "You look good now, but you're going to fail and be obese again." Just don't, okay? Each person is different and telling these stories is an insult to those who have had this surgery and maintained their loss. We, the ones who have braved the knife, want to be successful. We want to know we made the right decision for our health. Don't knock us down. We're like pregnant women. Don't tell us horror stories about births gone wrong. It's just not necessary. Thanks.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I don't have a picture because, again, Big Girl Brain never thinks she looks good enough to take one for the update picture. I will take one within the week and have the oldest work her magic for a collage. Remember now, when you see me, you'll see a person who's lost weight. I see a person who has loose skin under her neck, more wrinkles around the eyes, and skin baggage around the middle area. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Positives from the past six months are:</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">-Crossing my legs. I never get tired of crossing my legs.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">-Wearing tall boots with skinny jeans or leggings. I am a complete diva in my mind when I wear those boots. </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">-Discovering that the new hair growing on my head is curly. Really curly. To the point my stylist finally told me it was time to stop fighting it and work with it. Wait til you see it.</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">-Finally agreeing to fly to see my in-laws this summer. I haven't flown in ten years because I didn't want to buy another seat. True story. That, and I hate flying. </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">-Having amazing friends that are surely so exhausted from hearing the ups and down from this surgery, yet still talk me through the hard parts and lift me up when I need them to do so. Thank you, Neighbor Debbie and Sherry Lou! </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">-My family has adjusted to my new way of eating. My almost 9 year old son knows what Mama can't have and he doesn't mind reminding me. I need that. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I suppose I need to quit saying life after gastric bypass eventually. It's simply life. My life. I'm loving it and working on loving it more and more each day. My marriage is strong and we celebrate ten years this September! The Man has something up his sleeve and I'm content to sit back and wait for it to happen. My children are beautiful and healthy. Each child is walking their own path and I'm lucky enough to be along for the ride to shake the pom poms when they succeed and hug them when it doesn't go just right. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Yeah, it's simply just life.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-50226587144061728642013-03-04T10:39:00.000-05:002013-03-04T10:39:11.955-05:00Fourteen is the new Twenty<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Yeah...hello. I must be getting old for sure because time has flown by and I really didn't realize how long it had been since my last post. Have I been busy? I honestly have. In the past couple of weeks my middle child voiced to me how upset she was with me. I was confused. What had I done?</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">It was what I hadn't done.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Her birthday blog post.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">* Apologies to you, Internets. I am halfway through writing this thing and it is long. I guess that's what happens when you don't blog for a while? Go ahead and grab a beverage...you're going to need it.*</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I suppose I need to find that missing birthday post now, don't you?</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">On February 6, I finally had to face the fact that my baby girl had both feet in the teenage world. She turned 14 and I also had to admit she was going to start high school next year. I'm sorry, what? Surely, the math must be wrong. She is my baby girl. The one who loves to sit and read and fly below the radar. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Ahhh..time waits for not one single soul.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Allow me to fill you in on her busy life since we last spoke.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">In September, she came home from school and informed me that her chorus teacher suggested she try out for the local theater group and audition for the Christmas Carol musical. I went to the website and was immediately overwhelmed. I sarcastically shot back, "And is she going to go with us to this so called audition?" The reply after school the next day was an absolute yes. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Fast forward a week or two and we are two parents and a school chorus teacher at a church....in a room...with over a hundred kids. We had to fill out an application with all her experience. A theater resume, if you will. One of the lead volunteers running the show is hollering something about "Please note on your application if any rehearsals interfere with cotillion." Are you kidding me? I discovered that a majority of these kids auditioning went to fine art schools, took lessons hours a day, and lived for this way of life. Well, crap. I knew right then and there we were in over our heads.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I asked Makenna if she was sure she wanted to do this. She was firm in her decision and when they took her back with a small group to learn a song, sing it, and speak with a British accent, she took off without looking back. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Then we waited for a couple of weeks. We checked the website every single day (okay, maybe a few dozen times a day) to see if maybe, just maybe, she made the ensemble and could sing in the background. We pretty much psyched ourselves and Makenna not to make it. (Seriously, the crowd of children auditioning was just crazy.) Imagine my surprise when I opened the website one morning before school and there was her name! In the ensemble. Woot!</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I took her to the first practice and when she got in the truck afterwards, she literally glowed. She had found her people. People who loved the sing and who were really good at doing that. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">It was a commitment that we supported and she never missed a rehearsal/practice. In fact, she was in district honors chorus for school and after her performance, we literally ran from the building to get across town so she could make the last of practice. She didn't want to miss a minute. As The Man was in a funky shift work kind of deal, there were many nights with me and my son sitting in the Tahoe for hours while she sang inside. He was smooth and never gave me issue. When I would take him inside to potty, I would tiptoe to the door and listen to the group singing. I was just blown away. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">One night she jumped up in the truck with this huge pile of papers. I said...what is this? She said a copy of the script. Know what I got it? I GOT A SPEAKING PART! Yes, she did. She had four words to say in her very first play. I didn't know this at the time, but it's kind of a good thing to pull that off. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The week of performance, we moved from practice place to the theater itself. Wow. <a href="http://www.imperialtheatre.com/" target="_blank">The Imperial Theater</a> was a sight to behold. The history in this place was just amazing. I sat with other parents in the dark seats and watched the magic of pulling a play together. I heard the director holler insults and have tantrums of the Hollywood variety (or what I assume to be the diva attitude of Hollywood). I didn't know if they were going to be able to have a play by week's end, but they sure enough pulled it off. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">She missed two days of school doing day performances for local schools. (I found out later this was the dress rehearsals for the weekend play and the days were excused from school as they qualified for public volunteers hours.) Every single show was better than the last. I pulled Stage Mom duty a couple of times. The kids are put up in a room over the lobby. It is dank, old, smelly, and a way to keep them corralled. They would come down the stairs, go down the alley to the back of the theater when it was their turn to perform. I graciously declined staying up in the room with thirty plus kids running around on adrenaline. My kid was potty trained and knew how to act. I had no patience for the others. So, I did alley duty. No kid was allowed to go down the alley without an adult watching and protecting. During day performances, I became great friends with the coffee shop next door. The Sunday afternoon performance of alley duty? I took a thermos of coffee. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Our family dressed up in Sunday finery and attended the Saturday evening performance. Paige said it was more fun watching me watch the play. By this time, I knew it pretty much word for word and I was leaned forward in my seat watching each scene intently, mouthing along with the talented actors on stage. I sang every song that was performed (we still go around the house singing a favorite or two to this day). I almost couldn't see my child on stage because of the tears of pride...or was it exhaustion? (Performance weeks makes for long hours. I'm talking midnight here.) </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">She had been bitten. By the Stage Bug. She has found a new love called the stage. It was an amazing experience and she was off to audition for more more more!!! Since then, she has auditioned for two other plays, but sadly didn't make either one. There are more to be had and acting camp is in her future this summer. I have a feeling we'll be doing the Christmas Carol again this year. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Miss Thing has also discovered a desire to sew. To make things she can wear and show her fashion flair. She can't follow a pattern, but she loves a good you of tube tutorial. She has claimed the playroom/guest room as her sewing room and she will lock herself away for hours whipping up some creation. She saves her money for trips to Joann's or Hobby Lobby so she can spend it all on fabric and craft supplies. The mall is an afterthought and she has no desire to hang out there with groups of kids her age. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">She loves a wig, too. I believe her hair to be amazing and I refuse to let her cut it off or color it some ungodly color. The compromise is a wig. Santa brought her a bunch of Styrofoam mannequin heads so she could carefully place those wigs and whatever hat is popular at the moment (did I mention the love of hats, too?). </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">How many of you are Whovians out there? You know who you are. This child is a great fan of Doctor Who. Her favorite is the tenth doctor, but she tolerates the eleventh one well. I've watched a few episodes and it's a pretty interesting series. I decided to see if I could pull off a Doctor Who themed birthday party. She was giddy with excitement. We did loads of research and I was bummed that most everything Doctor Who related would have to be ordered from the UK. I put out a plea on the face of books and was shocked at how many Whovians came out of the woodwork to help me give this child an amazing party. The 11th Doctor wears a fez. She insisted everyone coming needed a fez. Gah. I didn't want to spend the money. What did she do? Bought the material and made them herself. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">During the planning, it was discovered I was to have some surgery (more details in a later post). I was frantic to have this party fully ready to go as it was the night of my day surgery. I wasn't going to punish her because I had to get a few cuts. I had every detail taken care of before I left for the hospital that morning. The pizza was ordered, paid for, and to be delivered that evening. The cake was there and ready to go. All that had to happen was kids show up, Dad and Sissy chaperon, and let the fun happen!</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I still can't believe it all went down without a hitch. I was still loopy from surgery, but managed to hang until around 9:00 p.m. The kids were fantastic and had an amazing time. The limit to invite was ten and nine made it. They were so sweet to me and I don't remember too awful much. (Yay for liquid painkillers!) </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Now here comes the mushy part. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Makenna, you have no idea on this earth how proud I am of you. You make my heart swell with love and amazement at all you do. You have dreams and you're not afraid to chase them. If there is a task you want to do, you jump in with dogged determination and come out the other side successful. Your heart is generous and you love your family and friends fully. I am secretly sad that you will be grown and ready to chase those dreams into the world before I'm ready to let you go. I love you dearly and will always be the one in the audience clapping like crazy and telling everyone around me, "THAT'S MY BABY!!" Thank you. Thank you for letting me be a part of your dreams, your thoughts, your journey. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">*sniff*</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Now, are you all ready for a few pictures? </span></em><br />
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This was her microphone she wore. This was at a last late rehearsal. No pictures allowed of the play itself due to copyright issues. Bummer.</div>
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Here is Martha Cratchit. She is the eldest daughter of Bob. Big sister to Tiny Tim. This is the alley behind her to the back of the theater. Not a dark scary place at all.</div>
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Opening night! The weather was beautiful so The Man, Boy, and myself sat outside on park benches and waited to go inside. </div>
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Sunday performance. A little on the tired side. She sat downstairs outside with me to get a breath of fresh air. </div>
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Boy, does she look tired here! That would be snow from the last scene in her hair. She went through every performance and avoided that plastic snow until the last show. They seemed to try to use the last of it and everyone was covered. </div>
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Night before the party. We invited the tenth Doctor to attend in cut out form. This thrilled her beyond belief to have him there.</div>
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And here is the tardis. The time traveling machine. It and the Doctor now reside in her room.</div>
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So thankful for an amazing bakery that saw my vision and rose to the challenge of making a tardis cake. A picture is displayed on their face of book pages. The background is a galaxy gray with fairy dust mixed in to make it sparkle like stars. We all agree that we will never have a cake without fairy dust mixed in to make it sparkle.</div>
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Yes, this is The Shirt she has worn since she was 8 years old. I'm wondering if she'll be able to wear it for at least ten more years? That's my girl. The Birthday Princess.</div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Happy Birthday, Makenna! </span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">We'll have to do a post on her wigs so you can see the different looks she has now. Thanks for sticking with me. There are quite a few things to catch up on so I'll be back very soon.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></em><br />Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-82720799136293654092012-09-19T11:32:00.000-04:002012-09-19T11:32:16.556-04:00Simply a Good Marriage...<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I've encountered a few questions here and there in the past year related to my surgery. Most are easy to answer...others make me stop and think a moment or two. </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The one question I've been asked time and again is "How's your marriage? Is it better or worse?" Even my therapist has asked me that same question at least twice (is she trying to trip me up and get a different answer?)</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'll be glad to answer that question.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My marriage is amazing. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">It is better than amazing. It's simply over the moon. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Nope. I'm not lying. Hand on the Bible. (and we all know how I love me some Jesus) I am telling the honest full complete truth. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I would have never had this surgery if I didn't have the support of my husband behind me 110%. Sure, it was ultimately my decision to make, but I needed him to be standing beside me every step of the way. And he has. He went to the seminars with me, doctor's appointments, pre-op appointments, and he was there when they wheeled me back to surgery and was waiting when I got back to the room. He knows as much as I do about the post-op life and keeps a loving eye on me when I eat to make sure I'm okay. He doesn't hover over me, but I know he's watching and when the food addiction wants to take control again, he's there to help me get a handle on that raging monster. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Many marriages don't survive a spouse having a drastic weight loss. Insecurities rise to the surface and the marriage can drown. Many WLS* patients who are in unhappy marriages pre-op find confidence that was deeply hidden after the weight loss and will spread their wings. My wings were never clipped so I never worried about my marriage drowning in the aftermath.</span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">We have taken this walk together. I'm about 35 lbs smaller than when we met and started dating. Oh yeah....this man is loving the new and improved Miss Hope. I've rediscovered confidence I forgot existed. Then again, I'm paranoid and very reluctant to wear more fitted clothing. So many times I put an outfit on and critique it in the mirror (usually on Sunday mornings before church) and when I'm an inch away from changing into something else....he reassures me that it's fine and I believe him. He has ALWAYS called me "Beautiful", even when I didn't believe him because I knew what I looked like in the mirror. I don't know if I've mentioned this, but one day we were going on base/post and I looked at my military I.D. and then I put it beside my face and said, "Wow! Look at this!" He glanced over and did a double take. He then said the most memorable thing. He said..."Ya know, I never saw you like that. I just saw my beautiful wife." </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Please, don't think we're not a normal couple. We disagree on occasion. I backseat drive better than anyone I know and it gets me lots of sideways eye rolls and huffs of exasperation. I also PMS like nobody's business once a month, and still he stays. I tend to nag when I ask for something to be done and weeks later I'm still waiting. Yet, here he stays. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Tomorrow is our 9 year wedding anniversary. We joke all the time that we've known each other 11 years total and STILL LIKE EACH OTHER! I can't imagine my life without him. I want to grow old with this man. I want to finish raising our kids, spoil grankids, and travel in our golden years with this man. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am grateful my husband had an amazing upbringing with wonderful parents. I love his parents with all my heart and wish we lived closer to each other all the time. Anyone who knows my in-law's can testify I'm telling the truth. Neighbor Debbie and I share custody of them at times and she claims them for her own, too. I know I'm blessed to have such a loving relationship with my mother and father in-law. I cherish it and hold it close. They did an amazing job raising my husband (although my FIL would be glad to tell you a few stories about raising The Man that would make you think a little different!) and they love their grandchildren fully and completely. My children know the love of grandparents even though distance separates them. Thank you, Mrs. M and Mr. C!!! I owe you a debt of gratitude! </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Raising kids isn't easy, either. This Man has been the most amazing father to my three babies. He may butt heads with the oldest at least once a week, but that gal knows her Daddy loves her. In fact, she'll text him quicker than she will me! The middle child is comfortable and confident in his love. They give each other a hard time and pick like crazy on each other, but she's quick to sit on his lap like she's still 2 years old when she needs a Daddy moment. Oh, that boy of ours. He is quite the handful, but that boy loves his Dad and his favorite time is when they go every three weeks to get a haircut and stop at the Waffle House for breakfast. It's their time and it's special. I thank God all the time for letting this man be the Father he is to these incredible people we've been blessed to raise. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I appreciate every single time he opens a door for me. I appreciate how he never fails to tell me I look nice/good/beautiful when we go somewhere. I appreciate how when we're sitting in the evenings watching t.v. and I look over at him and say..."Hey, I'll give you a dollar if you fix me something to drink (usually coffee)." and he will get up and do it. (I probably owe him a few hundred bucks by now.) I appreciate how he loves me and accepts me as I am....even when I can't. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Happy Anniversary, Honey. I look forward to many many more with you. There's nothing better than being able to tell you I love you every single day and mean it from the bottom of my heart. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-small;">*WLS-Weight Loss Surgery</span></em>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-42523735706795486162012-09-10T09:11:00.000-04:002012-09-10T09:11:08.642-04:00New All the Way Around School YearI am aware my younger two have been back in school a month. My College Kid has been walking the campus for a few weeks now. I didn't do the annual back to school picture of the youngest two as I wanted to include the oldest in on the post, too. Add in the fact that when the younger two started, I was wide open getting the oldest prepared to leave the nest. Holy cow! Preparing a kid to have their own place is expensive! I kept thinking of things I felt she would need and we had the Tahoe packed to the limit and her car when we took her that big Friday. <br />
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Of course, I took pictures to share with you all. I thought I'd share some and explain as we go. Kind of like an Edge Show and Tell post. Won't you come along for our first day pictures?<br />
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First day of 8th grade. For the first time since she was three years old, she has bangs. Granted, she was still learning how to make them work, but she loves them. I can't believe this tiny kid will be in high school next year!!</div>
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Yeah, she has personality. </div>
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When we went school shopping, this boy took off in the store after asking his size and did a little shopping of his own. I was kind of impressed. This is the shirt he picked out for his first day and I think he did pretty good. Man, that's a good looking guy!!</div>
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He picked out his backpack. I have to laugh at him wearing camouflage shorts. He is the exact opposite of a boy who wears camo. He loves those shorts, but I find it hard to match a shirt! I know. I know. Everything is supposed to go with camouflage. Not in my mind, people.</div>
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We had the third row of seats down and this vehicle was packed to the limits that Friday morning. I told my husband that if we got hit on the road, we would literally explode. </div>
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See this small amount of stuff? When we were checking Paige in to get her keys, I stayed in the truck with The Boy. This young kid pulled up in a small beater pickup truck beside us. He had an old bicycle thrown in the back and in his truck was a garbage bag, a blanket, a pillow, and cardboard box. That's it. All his worldly goods he thought important. I started laughing because I know that's how boys roll. That kid had less stuff than this pile right here.</div>
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We stopped for breakfast on the way. We laughed. We drank coffee. I enjoyed every single second I had with my girl. Yes, her siblings went with us. The Boy's psychiatrist felt it might be a good thing to take him to see where Sissy was going to live. It gives him a picture in his mind and it truly helped with the initial separation. It was definitely a family affair.</div>
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I may have texted my child more than a few times to beg for a first day of school picture. I threw the whole "I have one since you were in 3k so pleeeeeaaaaasssseeeee". She's a good girl and Mama got her picture. Look at my girl all growed up!! </div>
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It's been an adjustment all the way around. Third grade now has real grades! (Don't get me started over the past two years where he simply got S's). I admit I was nervous about the real grades and we worked in a 3rd grade workbook all summer and talked about grades and how important they are. I am THRILLED to say he got his interim report last week and has 100 averages thus far. Also, his teacher called to tell me he's been moved to a higher math level class. Chances are he'll be tested for gifted in the Spring. Who's bustin' buttons right now? This Mama!! Homework is a different story. It looks like the ADHD meds are wearing off earlier due to him taking them earlier in the day. He may have to take a "piggyback" medication in the afternoons so he can focus on homework and have calmer evenings. We're still contemplating this.</div>
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Eighth grade is what my Makenna loves. She has every single class with her best friend. Projects are the norm every single week and she never complains. Chorus is her passion and she's trying out for all-state this year. She's already researching fine art degrees. What?? I just tell her she can succeed greatly at whatever she decides. I love how this kid has a great group of friends and she's finally getting a little social on the weekends. She's always been content to sit at home, but now she's wanting to do sleep overs and go places! YaY....I think.</div>
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College has been an eye opener for Paige. First thing she realized is that there is much walking to be done. She's finding her way and we text quite a bit. I send her pictures of Prissy and her siblings on a regular basis. She even got a picture of her brother's first interim report. I have vowed to keep her involved in their lives and vice versa. She's had her car towed with a call full of panic to her Daddy. God bless the man because he can figure it all out over the phone and she had it back within the hour. She's making friends and exploring her new area. This past weekend, the air conditioner went out in her room/dorm/apartment. My child is not one to sweat so she got busy finding out how to fix her air. Suffice it to say, they will be getting a new motor in their A/C today. She was put out that her room mates were just going to sit there and swelter and suffer. I told her that's why I've made her do the things I did while she was growing up. You have to prepare these kids to take care of themselves! Another example to show you is the first week, she was taking the garbage out and chatted with the maintenance man. He was disgusted that the first night, there were a half dozen calls to come plunge toilets. The kids had no idea how to plunge a toilet. Paige blinked and informed him she's been plunging toilets since she was tall enough to do so. In fact, her Mama bought one and it was sitting beside her toilet at that moment. He was thrilled to hear this. I miss that girl with every fiber of my being, but I am so proud that she's out there and taking care of herself and having fun. </div>
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It's been interesting the past month for sure. I'm hanging in there and watching my kids grow at the speed of light. It feels like I'm going to blink and it will be Christmas morning! </div>
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Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-79934724085200350352012-08-20T21:32:00.000-04:002012-08-20T21:34:56.303-04:00One Blessed Year Later.....<br />
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Well, hello!! Welcome to my celebration! Yes, my friends, it's been ONE year since my surgery. August 18, 2011 happened to be one serious life changing day for this ol' gal. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Some people in the weight loss community call this a Surgiversary. I'm cool with that. I don't really remember being in the world much this time last year. Little did I know just how much life would be changing for me. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Since my last post wasn't the greatest in being positive, I have deemed my celebration post to be all positive. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Being positive will allow me to tell you about some of the NSV's I've experienced in the past twelve months. An NSV is a Non-Scale Victory. It's those little and big things that are not related to the scale. I've had a few that have made me happy, cry a little, and just plain out do a happy dance. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I think my favorite one is being able to cross my legs. You read that right. I love being able to cross my legs like a lady and not hurt. I was able to do this comfortably a few months ago and every single time I do it, I grin on the inside. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I've lost 8 sizes in clothes. Think about that a minute. Women's clothes go by 2's, you know (2,4,6, and etc). Suffice it to say, I was on the high end of the plus size spectrum. I now shop in the misses department with ease. Ha. No, I don't. The first time I went in the misses section was ....well, it was hard. My husband and I went to a store after supper out with the friends one night. I needed some pants. All of mine were falling off. He did a pit stop at the bathroom and I headed on to see to what I could find. I automatically went to the plus size section. When I got there, I realized the clothes were too big. I just stood there a minute. I walked over to the misses section and just stood there again. When my husband found me, I was literally about in tears because I was so overwhelmed and didn't know where to start. The choices! The styles! Oh my!! It's funny now, but it sure wasn't funny then. It's been 14 years since I've been able to shop in a section where the tags read small, medium, and large. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My fingers are thinner now. Since ring sizes go by half sizes, we can safely say the size 10.5 I wore before can't compare with the size 7 I can wear now. Yes, another eight sizes lost in the hands. Just within the past couple of weeks I had to go buy a simple wedding band. My original rings fell off long ago and the ring of my Mama's was too loose for me to feel safe wearing. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Let's talk about shoe sizes, too, shall we? I've worn a size 10 since I was ten years old. No joke. Firm foundation is what my Daddy has always called it. When I lost a hundred pounds fifteen years ago, I got down to a size 9. (I still miss those shoes!) Giving birth twice after that weight loss plus putting on a massive amount of weight, I've flirted with some size 11 shoes in the past couple of years. I've got plenty of size 10's, but some 11's have snuck into my closet. Lately, I've been buying size 9.5 shoes. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">While on the subject of shoes, guess who has some sassy heels? Yeah, baby, this GIRL has some heels. And you know what?? I can wear them without dying!! They are actually comfortable! And I feel awesome wearing them, too! </span></strong></em></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am off of my cholesterol medication. That was HUGE for me. Having to take that medication scared me. In my mind, that was flirting with danger right there. My family doctor took me off of that medication within a couple months of the surgery and I've had blood tests to check for it every three months since then. I am officially off of it and not worried about it now. </span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My blood pressure blows my mind. I was an inch away from being put on medication before surgery. I was going to be just like my Mama and on blood pressure medication when I hit my 40's. Well, lo and behold, that stupid pressure has gone the opposite direction! Now, I have low blood pressure and get the dizzies when I stand up. My pulse is lower and I honestly don't feel like my body is struggling like it was 13 months ago.</span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">What about sweat? Anyone who is overweight knows sweat intimately. It's what happens all the time no matter what the weather is like. Summer time is hard, especially in The South. There's nothing like trying to put on a little makeup during the summer and it basically starts melting off before you hit the front door. Lord help when you hit the humidity. There goes the rest of it down the drain. It has been wonderful not sweating all the time. In fact, I stay cold in buildings and keep coats in the trunk of the car. I feel sure I will be wearing thermal underwear this winter as my core temperature struggles to regulate. I read that may be problem for a year or two while my body adjusts. I'm perfectly fine with that. </span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'm in therapy now. Can I just say I just love me some good therapy? I have no shame in admitting I need help with figuring out the root of my food addiction. I want to fix it. If I can't fix it, I want to understand it and have better tools in my arsenal to fight that demon that lives inside of me. I am very blessed that a renowned psychologist who specializes in addictions and treating WLS patients lives in this area. We're really digging into my psyche and I may fall apart before all is said and done, but if I do? Putting the pieces back together to make a better Miss Hope is worth it. </span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Pain is not a constant in my life anymore. I think I do have a tad bit of arthritis in my left hip, but years of being overweight and three pregnancies are big contributing factors with that issue. Before, just standing at the washing machine killed my back. Standing at the stove crippled my back with pain. Walking long distances (like simple grocery shopping throughout a grocery store) would almost put me in tears. I have none of those issues now. I can shop like a champ, walk the mall, and wash clothes all day long. </span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">These are just a few NSV's that I wanted to share. I'm sure there are more, but I don't want to bore you all too much. You've been too patient with me like it is. I'm excited to experience more this upcoming year. </span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I...uh...went through my pictures trying to figure out what to share with you. I am ashamed of how bad I looked before surgery. Recently, a friend asked how much weight I had lost and I told them I was almost embarrassed to say because it meant I came from a bad place. I need to stop that. I made some poor choices with my food, health, and body. I stepped up and am now trying my best to work with this amazing tool I've been given so as to improve my food choices, my health, and my body. Yes, it was bad. Now it's not so much. </span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Thank you for hanging with me the past year. So many of you have supported me and I am forever grateful. The battle hasn't been won, but it's been a heck of a fight. </span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">One year after surgery (give or take a day because you really don't start losing until the week after because of surgery and such).........</span></em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-large;">I HAVE LOST 140 LBS !!!!!!!!</span></em></strong><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">(<span style="font-size: small;">clicking on the collage should make it bigger for you to see. My computer guru is at college now and I had to muddle my way through this thing. Sorry!)</span></span></div>
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This was me in January of 2011 during a visit for Neighbor Greg's Military Retirement. Silly me thought if the picture was from the neck up, you couldn't see the bad part. Yeah.</div>
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This was in the past month. Neighbor Debbie gave me that lovely necklace for my birthday and when I wore it to church, I took a picture for her as proof I loved it. </div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I went this morning for my one year visit with the surgeon. He said he declares me a success thus far. So do I. All my nutrition levels are good and I am to keep doing what I'm doing. I do believe I shall. I'm having a few issues with the gall bladder and it will probably have to come out sooner rather than later. Eh, that's pretty standard for WLS kids. (For some reason, the gall bladder surgery TERRIFIES me.) He also said my coffee <strike>addiction</strike> love is okay, too. </span></strong></em></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I'm feeling pretty decent, Internets. Yep...pretty dang decent.</span></strong></em></div>
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Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-9095874091750005952012-08-14T09:17:00.000-04:002012-08-14T09:17:26.894-04:00Preparing for Big Kid School<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm pretty sure people are tired of my Book of Faces status updates talking about my kid going to college this Friday. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I was unprepared for how involved a person can get trying to make sure their child is going to have what they need when they are away from home. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">It literally looks like Dorms R Us exploded in my living room. I have under bed containers (3) lined up with different things in them. I have smaller containers lined up waiting to be filled. I have bags...no, really... BAGS of stuff lined up full to the brim. There are bags in the kitchen and another under bed container already full of dried goods, spices, oh you name it. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The Man says he feels like an ATM machine. He now dreads when I head out to run errands because I'm texting him every hour with how much I spent at what store. (He has a nifty budget program he's using for us and he likes to input every single thing so I bombard him with texts stating stores and amounts all the time.)</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Today is bonding day for The Man and the College Kid. They took her car first thing to the dealer to have it thoroughly checked out. I am already cringing because I feel sure two new tires will be required. They get to go to two doctor appointments for the kid, fill prescriptions on base/post for The Man, and to top the day off? They get to sit at the I.D. place on base/post for a few hours to update her military I.D. and insurance information. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Guess what I get to do while they do all that fun stuff? I get to stay home and do the mountains of laundry that are sitting in my hallway. Last night, my girl decided doing some laundry to have clean clothes to take with her would be a grand idea. Ya think? I feel for her future spouse. I hope they know how to do laundry because that sister will put it off until the last minute....like a month later if she can help it. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">To top it all off? For a whole year I have waited and waited for a fever blister to appear. I've had those stupid things since high school and have never gone more than a few months without battling one. I was SURE I would have to fight them after my surgery because of the stress, compromised immune system, and all that goes with triggering fever blisters. Nope. Haven't had a one the whole year.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Until yesterday.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Apparently, having a child go off to college is a fantastic trigger for the ol' fever blister. It's been so long since I've had one, I almost had a mild panic attack because I couldn't remember where the cream was I'm supposed to use. Good thing I out smarted myself because it was in the basket that holds mine and Paige's medicines. Crisis averted. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Three days. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I can make it three days. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I can pack this incredibly huge pile of stuff in two vehicles and take my child to Big Kid School and leave her there. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I can do this.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Some times?</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">There's just not enough coffee.</span></em></strong><br />
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Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-85808406627814446412012-07-23T09:45:00.000-04:002012-07-23T09:45:21.215-04:00Consumed<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Hi. I just finished writing this post and realized..wow, it's long. Apologies if you're bored, but I'm keeping it real. You might want to fix a fresh beverage or pack a snack before reading. And as always....your comments and feedback are appreciated. </span></em><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">How's everyone doing this fine hot summer? We're tooling right along here in the extremely hot Southeast USA. I had an outing this weekend with some ladies and while eating supper, they asked many questions about my surgery and how things are going. One made the comment that I needed to blog about my experiences more than I have. So, I figured I would take a minute to talk a little bit more about myself and what's been going down in the life of Miss Hope.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Next month is my one year anniversary since the change of my life. I will take that time to tell you all about the good side and how much better my health is and blah blah and etc. Right now, I'll tell you how consumed I am and may be just a tad overwhelmed at times. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Before surgery, I never worried about eating. That's kind of obvious because I was what is called SMO (super morbid obese). *shudder* I hate that I let my body get to that term in my medical files. How can I put this to explain what I'm trying to say?</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Let's try this. How many of you really worry about what you're going to eat for your next meal? You eat breakfast, lunch, supper, and maybe a snack or two. Not much thought goes into it unless you're cooking a big meal and need prior preparation. Before surgery, I ate what I wanted for breakfast, if I even ate breakfast. No joke. I am not a breakfast eater and couldn't understand why on earth I got so big when I wasn't eating twenty four hours a day. I never ate a super huge lunch, either. Sandwich and chips were fine or just the sandwich alone. I always tried to fix a good hearty supper (I am Southern so think of hearty in capital letters) for the family and I took full advantage of that meal. It was nothing for me to ask the hubby to bake up some peanut butter cookies maybe every other month and sit and eat a plate straight from the oven. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">If I thought about food, it was along the lines of "hmm, I just finished lunch, wonder what I can whip up for supper or where can we go eat?" You think about food, but it brings warm fuzzies because you just adore it. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">All that changed on August 18, 2011. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I wasn't prepared.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I wasn't prepared for how my world would change so drastically on that day. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I had some serious buyer's remorse in the few weeks after surgery. I know now that having that feeling is normal and common. I cried to my husband as I smelled all this wonderful stuff I couldn't eat. I wailed to my family, "What have I done to myself? How could I do this?? I will never eat agaaaaaaaainnnnn!!!" </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Yeah, it got ugly, people. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Little did I know that we store estrogen in our fat cells and Miss Hope had fat cells popping left and right so the hormones were going off like a ticker tape parade that wouldn't end. I was a big pot of a hot mess. (Apologies if I've mentioned this in a previous post, but if I could prepare one person going to have this surgery about anything afterwards, this is it right here.)</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">My cycle went completely bonkers on me, because yet again....hormones being released at a crazy rate into my system. At my six week post-op visit, I told the smug acting doctor who replaced my amazing surgeon that he really needed to warn women about this because I thought I was dying. Seriously. I went to my family doctor just knowing I was dying and she calmed me down and assured me that I was totally normal and what was going on was normal, too. Just to let you know, I did try to convince the wonderful Dr. C to remove my uterus while he was doing the gastric bypass and he said, "1. I don't mess with girly parts. (yes, he said that) and 2. I want to take as little time as possible with surgery for your sake." I remember looking at him and saying, "Surely, you got a golf buddy who is an ob/gyn who could slip in beside you?" Yeah, I wish I had pushed that a little harder. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I still have my gall bladder, too. Most surgeons will go ahead and remove a gall bladder during WLS (weight loss surgery) because chances are you will have it removed within 18 months or less due to massive and quick weight loss. I think I had an issue with it a few months ago and went in to see Dr. Smug. He told me he believes in yanking it out and taking a look around while inside. BEHOLD! I felt immediately better! It was a miracle! I kid you not. I haven't had any issues since, but I've tried to watch what I eat so as not to aggravate it further. Miss Hope doesn't feel like going under again any time soon. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Now to address the eating part. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Gah.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Before surgery, I would eat what I wanted. Now? I eat to stay alive. Big difference. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">And it's hard. Harder than I thought it would be. Impossible? Not at all. Just different than my life had been up until that point. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am told that I need to get in 60-80 grams of protein a day. 64 or more ounces of fluid that has no sugar is required. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">People, that is hard to do. Count one day as you eat and see for yourself. I really don't want this post to turn into a long boring piece about what I eat day by day, so suffice it to say it is not easy. I can only eat around 3/4 to one cup of food per sitting. Some days my system is grouchy and I'm lucky to get in a 1/2 cup of food. If you don't eat enough protein, you won't lose weight. True story. Your body will hang onto every single thing you ingest because it believes you are trying to starve yourself. Talk about messing with your mind! </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I have become consumed with food. I hate that part. I hate that before I loved food and never worried about fat, protein and carb content. I hate that now I am obsessed with making sure I give my body what it needs to survive and lose what it needs to lose. I hate that I end up talking about it with Neighbor Debbie and Sherry Lou so much because I know they're bored senseless with my ramblings. God bless 'em, though, because they have been such amazing support and never act like I'm bugging them. They listen. They make suggestions. They keep me sane. I would literally be locked up by now if it wasn't for my husband, children (they police me "have you had enough to drink, Mama? Have you had enough protein today?"), Neighbor Debbie, Neighbor Greg, Big J and Sherry Lou. These people are on my Christmas List from now on and forever. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I can't have rice, breads, pastas, or sweets. You know, all that is Southern and good. It will cause the <a href="http://weightloss.about.com/od/obesityhealth/a/bl_gastdump.htm" target="_blank">dumping episode</a>. (posted the dumping link before but it helps you understand better) I am scared of the dumping syndrome. I've had it happen a couple of times because of crazy reasons. I didn't do it intentionally, but sugar/carbs hide in food that you don't know about and I've been caught unawares. I miss these foods. Wait, let me see if I can make you understand. I MISS THESE FOODS. With every fiber of my being. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Addiction much? Many WLS patients scoff when you mention food addiction. I believe it exists and I have it. Let me ask you this. Why do we have pity and label someone who is an alcoholic or hooked on drugs an addict and we're all "Let's help them! Put them in rehab! Let's get them straight!" They tell the addict to avoid the situations where alcohol is involved. Get away from that former life. Hey, Drug Addict, you need to avoid the "friends" you had before and get away from that former life, too! Uh...where do I go? I can't avoid my family. I love them. I can't avoid food. I kinda need it to live. I have triggers just like the alcoholic. If I were to eat a helping of pasta, I would want more. Even if it made me sick as a dog from dumping syndrome. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, what do I do? I watch others eat what I can't have. I console myself with the fact that I've had enough of these foods in my life time to last five life times. Will I ever be able to eat them again? Probably. The further out from surgery you get, the more you are able to tolerate. I don't want to, though. I watched my Grandaddy be an alcoholic until I was six years old (yes, I remember his drinking) and after that, he was a recovering alcoholic until his death ten years ago. I hope and pray I can be as strong as he was and just put the bad away and concentrate on the good. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">A few weeks ago, I didn't feel like cooking supper one night. I had some frozen pizzas in the freezer for a time such as this and I told The Man to cook 'em up for himself and the kids. For the first time since surgery, I was affected. Those pizzas smelled so good cooking, I couldn't hardly stand it. You know the cartoons where the subject is literally lifted off of the ground and lured somewhere by the aroma of something good? That's what I felt like. I stayed in the living room while they ate supper and sipped a protein shake. The Man went to run an errand and while he was gone, I walked in the kitchen. Big mistake. HUGE mistake. I just stood there and looked at that pizza with such longing. They had cooked a really thin crust cheese pizza for my son. I picked up a piece. I took a bite. I took another bite. I ate the whole piece. It wasn't a big piece, but I ate it. Then I went into panic mode and waiting for the dumping syndrome to begin. It didn't. Crap. What did I do? I ate another small piece. Son of a gun. What on earth was wrong with me??? I did feel a tad yucky but not a full fledged gonna die episode. (Had to tell you this after proofreading. When The Man got home, I told him I had a confession and then told him about the pizza. His response? "We'll have to work hard to make sure it doesn't happen again." We. He said "we". That's how he rolls. We're in this together. I loved him so good in that moment.)</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I got scared. No, I was terrified. I ate something I wasn't supposed to eat. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The next morning, I called the therapist associated with my surgeon's office to make an appointment. She had a cancellation that week and I snatched it up. When I went into that appointment, I was a woman on a mission. I had been working on my body for almost 11 months at that time but never really worked on my head. It was time. Now, I want to go in my brain and find out the root of this addiction and see if I can find a way to control it. She was thrilled that I was terrified after eating the pizza. It meant I was aware and ready to fix the upstairs portion to match the downstairs. I believe that will be the best call I've made in a long time. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I've done much better since then. I have too much to lose, Literally and figuratively. I don't want to go through the surgery to reroute my insides, only to out eat all that hard work. I want to succeed with all my heart, mind, and soul. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I've said this before and I'll say it again and again. Weight loss surgery is NOT the easy way out. It's the last resort. I've lost so much weight over the years and regained. I was a foodaholic that kept falling off of the wagon over and over again. Will I fall again? I don't know. If I do, I will get up off my considerably smaller butt and run like crazy to jump back on that wagon. I have to, people. I owe it to myself first and my family and friends second to do what I can to be around for a while, God willing. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I admit that most days I am mad that I have to be consumed to my eyebrows with making sure I get enough protein and fluids in my system. I almost got dehydrated last week for the first time. I was busy and time got away from me and when I started getting sick, I realized I hadn't been drinking for two days like I was supposed to be doing. Now, I have Neighbor Debbie pointing her finger at me and saying "You drinking enough?" when we're out and about. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I truly hope you don't think this is a negative post. It's really not how I intend to come across to my peeps. It's a new lifestyle I've been trying to adjust to while the world keeps going around me with so many distractions. I'm looking forward to my one year post where I tell you all the amazing NSV's (non-scale victories) I've had since last August. There will be pictures, of course. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am asking that you do your level best to keep from judging those who have had to have weight loss surgery. The obese world is a hard world to live in..especially in society today. Trust me, we are hard enough on ourselves. We don't need unkind words, snickers, or asinine opinions from those who haven't had a weight problem of this magnitude. Just know we are properly jealous of those of you who can wear the cute clothes and eat whatever you want. We only want to be accepted and for you to get to know how cool we are on the inside. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Be kind to one another. Please.</span></em></strong>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-11673956423686381302012-06-25T09:09:00.000-04:002012-06-25T09:09:57.494-04:00Postive Thoughts on my Daughter Going to College<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This evening we leave for college orientation! It's going to be a busy two days filled with lots of walking, meetings, and scoping out the campus where my child will go live come August. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Update for those who aren't friends with me on the book of faces. After clicking on quite a few "contact us" links and sending those emails, I received a phone call from the university Friday. This incredible woman sat on the phone with me and answered any and all questions I could come up with in my mind. I wanted to write everything down so I could share it with The Man and my daughter so I had her repeat until I finally grasped everything she was saying. She was patient and kind and I thanked her profusely over and over for being so awesome. By the time I got off of the phone, I felt better prepared to handle the orientation this week and was much calmer. (I think the anti-anxiety pills were kicking in- I may never quit taking them again. Ever.) </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Yesterday, the girl child didn't go to work until the evening, so she went to church with us. A casual conversation between us made me realize she really didn't have anything to wear this week. Poor kid. She wears jeans and the restaurant tshirt to work and hasn't really had need for anything for summer up until this point. We did a quick run after church and Sunday dinner to see if we could find something quick before she had to head to work. We found cute knit skorts that are comfy and stylish. Add in a tie-dye'd tshirt in her school's dominant color and she is set for the all day session Tuesday! She feels good about having the cute outfit and I'm happy she's has something new and comfy to wear.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, I've been thinking about the positive aspects of my child being on her own. What have I done, as a parent, to prepare her for the world? I've been working on a list that I will add to when I think of things, but here are a few I've come up with thus far.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">1. She can cook. She has cooked for the family the past couple of years when I've been sick (or recovering from surgery) and has really done a wonderful job. If she can get to a grocery store, she can cook. This may come in handy for fellow students who are her friends.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">2. She can do laundry. All three of my kids can do laundry. Yes, even the eight year old. He operates the washing machine better than his Dad or sisters. Doing laundry is important because I have laid down the law that she is not to bring home huge bags of dirty laundry unless she is planning to wash them here at home. I have a feeling that many of these college freshmen will have no idea how to clean their clothes and she has potential to make some money if she charges to do it for them, right? </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">3. She can take care of business. Literally. Paige has had a bank account since she was fifteen with a debit card. She is not afraid to walk in the bank and deal with her business and handle what needs to be done. At first, she was hesitant, but I've told her the only way to learn is to just do it. Now? She's a pro.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">4. My child can stand up for herself. Now, she may get a little mouthy at times and I chalk that up to age and that sooner or later she will learn to temper it and be a little more calm. As it stands now, she will not tolerate being mistreated or having those around her mistreated. She may only be 5' 2" (and a half....Lord, don't forget the HALF), but she's a firecracker when she gets angry. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">These few things are comforting the Mama in me. Sure, there are more things that make her great and somewhat ready to head out into the world, I just feel good about these at the moment. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I have to share a laugh I had at her expense with you (because we're all close friends and it's not like the world will see this, right?) On the orientation schedule, it's broken down to student activities and parent activities. On hers, it states that tomorrow night after walking and touring and meeting all day, they are doing some great stuff tomorrow night. You know, stuff like swimming, Wii, karaoke....busy exciting things! That's fine and dandy, but we read they won't leave to do that until 9:00 p.m. That makes my child blink because Grandma likes her sleep and will go to bed shortly after that time. She's already stated she'll see the bus off because she's not about all that activity that late at night. We all know better, of course, and so does she. She will be in the middle of everything and I feel sure she'll own the karaoke singing since she has an amazing voice. I also have a feeling she'll sleep all the way home Wednesday afternoon until she has to go to work Thursday. Grandma needs her rest, you know. (We've always called her Grandma because even as a small child, she has never gotten in a hurry over anything. Nothing. The child leaves for work almost an hour early (we live about 15-20 minutes away) so she doesn't have to hurry so get my drift?) </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">So, there you go. I am finding comfort where I can over letting my child leave home and get busy with her life. I've taught her what I can (and feel sure there will be many phone calls where I give crash course lessons on life) and she should survive pretty decently while she finds her footing in her new life. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I miss her already.....</span></em></strong>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-31302080721247618242012-06-21T11:09:00.000-04:002012-06-21T11:09:23.403-04:00The Summer Miss Hope Went Crazy<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">People, I am losing my entire mind over here. No joke. After surgery, I quit all prescription medications while healing and the anti-anxiety pill was one of those. I never started it back because I thought I was cool and handling this thing called life pretty good. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Yeah, I started those bad boys back last night. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Two months until college. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Gah.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Next week, The Man and I are taking our Baby Girl (a.k.a The High School Graduate and/or The Legal Adult(am reminded of this on a regular basis)) to orientation at her university. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">To say I am overwhelmed is a tiny little massive understatement. We have no clue where we have to go or what we have to do. I finally had my child pull up some kind of link on the computer with an itinerary of sorts. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Looking at it made me blink really really hard. It was confusing and of course they split us up from our child because *cue club music* she gets to go experience college and see how fun it is(!) and how cool life is going to be (!) while my husband and I get to do the adult fun stuff. What?? We get to go to a financial aid seminar while she has small group and gets a SOUVENIR!! (My sarcasm level is so high right now, you should be glad you can't hear my tone of voice.)</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Now Miss Hope is a good person. If you're my friend? I got your back. I can take a lot and keep truckin'. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">My truck ran out of gas right at that moment.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">What did I do?</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I clicked on many "contact us" links and I started emailing. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I mainly told them that there's nothing like dropping a few hundred bucks to go walk their campus and not knowing how to get to the flippin' campus. I also stated that we're not paying for college so how come we're attending the financial aid seminar?? (Hold your britches now. -okay, now go back and re-read that word. It's Southern for pants- We are helping her with expenses and such, we just can't whip out the checkbook and write a check for cool ten grand or more.)</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I sent those emails last night when the anxiety was high and, therefore, I may have been a tiny bit obnoxious, verbose, and not so nice. (I wasn't UN-nice....I was Southern Belle pissed off nice- there's a difference, you know.) Kudos to the university because I've already received two responses and methinks I may know a little more than I did last night by the end of the day.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I am a first time college student parent here. They need to recognize my need for communication and need for knowledge on how much debt they're going to give my child. You know, the kid that started out at 3 lbs 7 oz and right now? I just can't get past the whole watching her lay in the incubator deal thinking she would never grow up.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Medication, oh how I need thee. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Of course, my actions make my child roll her eyes and count down to the minute when she leaves this house and my froot loop acting self. *sigh* When do we stop being our kid's strongest advocate? I obviously didn't receive that instruction upon her birth and so now I don't know when to just let her do her thang. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">You need to feel sorry for Makenna, too. Every road block we hit or what have you, I turn to her and point my finger and tell her she's not to do this or do that or she WILL do this and she WILL do that. Bless her laid back heart. She simply agrees with the Crazy Mama and goes about her business. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">I hope and pray that the anti-anxiety medication won't take long to work in my system. That's another thing there. I don't know how the new plumbing inside of me will react, so it's a wait and see kind of deal. Hopefully, my system will say, "Hey, Celexa!! Where ya been? Welcome home, friend!" and open its arms and give it a big ol' hug and let it start where it left off ten months ago. I think my family is praying harder than I am at this point. </span></em></strong><br />
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<br />Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-69636264368038153602012-06-13T10:41:00.000-04:002012-06-13T10:41:36.471-04:00Paige's Graduation 2012<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I woke up in January and went into panic mode. It was 2012 and it was officially the year my oldest child was going to graduate high school. Immediately, I went into planning mode because at my age, five months were going to fly by and the Big Day would be here before I knew it. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">We decided to have the after party here at our home so that meant many things had to be done. There were walls that needed to be painted, curtains to be purchased, menus to plan, rooms to clean. From January up until the day everyone started arriving, we were working on this house of ours. I didn't quite get to do all I wanted, but it was sufficient and I was happy with the end results. That's one of the main reasons I suppose I've neglected The Edge in the past five months. I have had to promise others that this won't happen now because there's many things I need to update you all on and I would almost have to write every day to get caught up. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">For now, this post is dedicated to my kid. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I got a little emotional around March at random times. The cap and gown hanging on a doorway would make me teary. All the correspondence from colleges would make me shake my head in denial. Finally, I think I reconciled myself that she was going to graduate no matter how badly I want her to be a little girl and need me forever. I found some kind of inner peace and made it my mission to make sure she had a day to remember. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I love how a couple of weeks before graduation, Paige and I seemed to trade emotional places. We would sit on the back porch while Prissy did her business and my girl would get teary eye'd her own self as the enormity of the situation hit her. She was leaving high school. Time to face the big bad world was upon her. I would smile and listen as I remembered thinking those same things when I was in her shoes. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I wondered how I would feel when I saw her walk across the stage to receive her diploma and would I be able to hold the tears at bay so I could truly see her face and expression. Lots of emotions rolling around in the ol' heart right there, friends. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The Friday before The Big Day, family and friends started rolling in. We had family and friends come from near and far to share the weekend and I am here to tell you, my house looked like the Walton's lived here. We had every room filled and even a few kids spread around in the living room "roughing it". It was simply amazing and good times and late nights were ours for the taking. Everyone got along and all pitched in to make sure things ran smoothly. I refused to stress over the small stuff and kept meals simple. We had the after party catered and that in itself was worth the moon. Go to ceremony, come home and VOILA! the food was here and waiting (Neighbor Debbie took over that job and supervised the delivery and set up.) </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">We had around twenty people go to the graduation ceremony and another twenty or so come to the party afterwards. Suffice it to say, the yard was filled with kids playing and inside was filled with people enjoying good food and company. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Paige was the Belle of the Ball. Normally, she doesn't like being the center of attention in certain situations. This was one of them. I told her to smile and enjoy the day to the fullest because it was all hers. She was gracious and did her best to spend a few minutes with everyone she could. She opened gifts in front of thirty plus people and even stood at the end to give a very well spoken speech of thanks and gratitude. I may have bust a few buttons over how well she did the whole day.</span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I think my favorite moment of the day was when the graduates were walking in. They were all so adorable in their cap and gowns...trying very hard to act all proper and grown up. We were at an arena so it was a big place and parents, friends, and family, were scanning the line to see their kid. I saw my girl walk in and I admit the tears threatened, but I held them back. When they were all told to sit, I saw her looking through the crowd. When she spotted me, she started waving like a kid and then stopped and started fanning herself. She told me later that they were told to be dignified and solemn for the occasion but when she saw me, it was like she was in first grade again looking for her Mama and then when she saw me, she was that first grader waving like crazy because, "THERE'S MY MAMA!! HEY, MAMA!!" She said at that moment she almost burst into tears and had to look away. I want to squeeze her every time I think of that moment. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">I am overwhelmed by the love and support that has been shown to my child. So many from near and far have shown great love for her with driving to be here, sending gifts that are just amazing and humbling, and amazing words of support and love. Of course, I think my kid is pretty dang special, but it's just a beautiful moment to my heart when I realize so many others believe that to be true, too. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Paige, you are such a special light in this world. You have made the world a brighter and much more beautiful place for me since the moment you were born. I see myself in you and I see this incredible unique person that I am proud to know and call my daughter. You have the greatest potential in life just in your smile and kind and gracious heart. Add in your gifted brain, and the world is yours for the taking. I don't know what your future holds, but I want to be there to see it with you. I want to still look around me and tell everyone in earshot "That's MY baby right there!!" while clapping like a loon. I just love you, Baby Girl. More than words can ever say...more than life itself. When I take you to college and cry when I have to leave, just hug me a little tighter and I'll make it through. And as always.....LYMI!!!! </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">*grabs tissue* </span></em></strong><br />
<br /><strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Okay, now I get to share a few pictures with you. Many took pictures and I haven't gathered them up yet so all I have are the ones from my camera. They may be a little out of order, but you get the "picture". Hope you enjoy sharing the day this way....</span></em></strong><br />
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I did this first thing day of graduation and sent it by picture message upstairs to the sleeping graduate. Woke her right up!</div>
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<br />This was before we left for the ceremony. </div>
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This was at midnight the night before. I had The Man and Derrick outside putting up the coolest banner EVAH. She had no idea I had this for her.</div>
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Love this! I may have left this up for a few days because the world needed to know she was on the way!</div>
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<br />The foyer coming into the house.</div>
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Michelle (USS Retired) took this. Ha ha. Uh...we also know the hat is on backwards. She had it fixed before walking out. I promise.</div>
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The MiMi and the Poppies. Two incredibly proud grandparents.</div>
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The Mama and the Daddy...</div>
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Aunt Lu and Uncle Chris</div>
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After the ceremony. One proud man right there, people.</div>
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Walking across the stage...feeling emotional just looking at this picture.</div>
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Aunt Cindy and Galyn. Can you tell these people are related?</div>
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Paige and Faryn. These two love each other to pieces and Faryn was a surprise guest that came for the weekend. These were two happy people to see each other!</div>
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Just to show how big the place was. It was a madhouse!</div>
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Miss Arlington Paige</div>
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Class of 2012</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>I'm missing a few pictures. I hope someone got one with her and her siblings because I can't find one! All in all, I believe the day to be successful and I am so glad my kids are five years apart. My poor heart couldn't take it if they were closer together! Please note that on the second picture and the last...she cut all her hair off! I made her promise to wait until senior pictures were taken. Two days before graduation, she went to the salon and told our stylist that she was "starting a new life" and needed something fresh. Of course, it looks fantastic on her. </em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong><em>Thank you all again who helped make this day so amazing and memorable for my child and our family. Your love and support mean so much to us and we will always be grateful</em></strong></span>. </div>
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<br />Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-36401397978065220162012-05-03T10:08:00.002-04:002012-05-03T10:08:48.832-04:00This stuff around my house<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Every where I go in my home, I see....this stuff. It won't go away and some times I smile when I see it and other times I just stop and look at it. I may get a little sad or a little excited or a little anxious. It's all a mood thing, you see. </span></em></strong><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Sixteen days. </span></em></strong><br />
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<strong><em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">May as well be tomorrow.....</span></em></strong><br />
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Yeah..that's my feet. At least they're a lot thinner than they used to be!</div>
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</div>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-70673445721065861232012-05-03T10:01:00.002-04:002012-05-03T10:08:54.767-04:00Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-90954256221917460542012-04-15T18:07:00.001-04:002012-04-15T19:02:20.401-04:001994 Was Just Yesterday...<span style="font-size: large;">I met my first child 18 years ago today. She was a day and a half old. See, there was this whole deal with me having preeclampsia and going eclampsic with three or four seizures. Then, I woke up in the SICU (surgical intensive care) to my Mama calling my name and not knowing I had had a baby. When I finally got to a room, the NICU (neonatal intensive care) brought my six weeks premature baby to see me in her isolette. I was allowed to hold her for about five minutes before they whisked her back to that nursery with the locked doors. My fingers were so swollen I couldn't bend them good to hold her but I could stroke her tiny cheek that didn't have time to fill out before being born. She was 3 lbs. and 7 oz. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I spent many hours in front of that closed isolette of hers just watching her sleep. The hormones had me literally laying across it bawling as I couldn't hold her because she was busy working on holding her core temperature so she could gain weight. She was an amazingly healthy baby with no breathing issues. She was just teeny tiny and needed to grow some before I could take her home. I remember taking a pain pill right before driving to the hospital because I had had an emergency c-section and the only vehicle I had was a stick shift. I would take that pain pill, drive the 10 minutes to the hospital and stay there in a rocking chair by her bed for hours until it wore off and I could drive home to take a small break. See, life went on for family and friends who had to work and go to school and it was hard for them to be able to chauffeur me around. At age 22, you feel pretty invincible anyway, and I would get fussed at greatly by NICU nurses for driving myself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The other day I was talking to Neighbor Debbie and I told her how at one point and time sitting by my little girl's bed in that NICU, I started counting the number of years until she would turn 16, then graduate high school, then leave me. I would laugh to myself because 18 years seemed like a lifetime away from that moment and that tiny baby laying there so sweetly. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Then I woke up yesterday and it happened. She was 18. And here I was, 40 years old and not expecting it to feel like this. When I was 22, being 40 seemed OLD. Uh...I am not old. Not at all. I lay in bed and thought of the past 18 years and that girl of mine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now I'm scared. Scared to absolute death. She's ready to fly. She's ready to spread her wings and see this world and what it's all about. Without me. How can I protect her from the big bad world now? I still need her to need me and want to be with me. I want her never to leave me but she is going to do just that. And she will do it sooner than I will ever be ready. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">By the same token, I am so proud of her I can't hardly stand it. I've raised her the best I can. She has impeccable manners, a good work ethic, and an amazing mind to go with her personality. She started a job two weeks ago. I didn't want her to go work. She doesn't need to work. Yet, she has been determined to find a job for a year now so as to make her own money and be her own person. She finally accomplished that goal and works quite a bit as a hostess for a nice restaurant. Again, a goal was set and she made it happen. Just this morning, we paid the reservation fee for her dorm at college for the Fall semester. I was kind of forcing her to go to her Senior Prom until she finally told me she really and truly didn't want to go. I was informed that spending that much money for one night is just stupid. She had valid arguments (she always does) and I finally gave in and told her that she didn't have to go if she didn't want. The relief that came over her was just crazy. I was projecting my own selfish ideas upon her and she was going to go for my sake and finally spoke up. She doesn't like high school because she's been an old soul since birth. She's so excited to get these last weeks of her Senior year done so she can get busy with the rest of her life. She won't look back when she crosses that stage to receive that diploma and I think I will go bawl in a corner now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Paige, I have done birthday posts for you since I started blogging many years ago. So many times I've told you how proud I am of you and how much I love you. I meant it every single time. I mean it now. I also meant it today when I hugged you and said, "My baby is 18 and is all grown up but Mama is still in charge." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I can't express in words what you have done for me. How you taught this young woman who had a baby to love something more than herself. I never truly understood how one person could die for another until I had you. I would lay my life down at your feet if need be without hesitation. I will always be your biggest fan, cheerleader, advocate, supporter, and Mama. I will always want your happiness above my own because your smile of happiness makes me complete. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The world isn't in the best shape right now, Baby Girl. Lots of drama and craziness out there where no one has control and the autopilot is broken. You have so much inside of you to share with that world and I have full and complete faith that you will be able to fix your corner of that world with style and finesse. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">You will break my heart when you fly. This particular break will heal because I know no matter where you go and no matter what you do......you love your Mama as your Mama loves you. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Paige, I love you. With all my heart. Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVt2fcZ-i5ZhiVaoSbXDHFLbhoQliSUbh4TfNv2LEL8VkVotMqSL6hHJPczJvEfspEOmarEc2R2ONbq0U6HXGF8QFn5Dl-nsTGE_amNFyPftNdvbjTsQVrdk2UqBfLzRdVQC0SWQ/s1600/IMG_0639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVt2fcZ-i5ZhiVaoSbXDHFLbhoQliSUbh4TfNv2LEL8VkVotMqSL6hHJPczJvEfspEOmarEc2R2ONbq0U6HXGF8QFn5Dl-nsTGE_amNFyPftNdvbjTsQVrdk2UqBfLzRdVQC0SWQ/s320/IMG_0639.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I love this picture because she's laughing after blowing out the candles. Her laugh is infectious and it makes me laugh when she gets tickled. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRobm3lqWhVCw8CagCe6sK4VxxBjTvGlc-DaK4CzLxMPIlzgYD-YXlIhBRX17G1nxmsk2O5VOiOClQhzk94jerVf03_gqI023hdBJLbeOGyKHPnE0f6gwLW4PG9OuETlfpKECtUA/s1600/IMG_0627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRobm3lqWhVCw8CagCe6sK4VxxBjTvGlc-DaK4CzLxMPIlzgYD-YXlIhBRX17G1nxmsk2O5VOiOClQhzk94jerVf03_gqI023hdBJLbeOGyKHPnE0f6gwLW4PG9OuETlfpKECtUA/s320/IMG_0627.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We went out to supper for her birthday Friday night (this kid had a full weekend of celebrating going on!). While we were waiting, she and her siblings took some pictures. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_92eXV0YrE2R3i5QLUWETithhb_p_gENJSU41h5px7jxRQuAVVgjvxwSYi5FpRO6hn-zMT1dcTDWTQ_3iRQSOm5m53D_QllhlGGHuSWvaKHgjuJdj38bcWmNmLpVjQD1vqFG4A/s1600/IMG_0628.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_92eXV0YrE2R3i5QLUWETithhb_p_gENJSU41h5px7jxRQuAVVgjvxwSYi5FpRO6hn-zMT1dcTDWTQ_3iRQSOm5m53D_QllhlGGHuSWvaKHgjuJdj38bcWmNmLpVjQD1vqFG4A/s320/IMG_0628.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">These two love each other so good. And it makes me jealous some times because I don't have a blood sister. I have those I've picked as heart sisters, but I'm sure having a blood sister can be an awesome thing. And, yes, that is The Tiara that the ladies of the house wear on their day. Every lady should have a spare one laying around for special occasions.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXXfoiE4zfuGwUFReWv-T2WIZhEEpYnAnwawpPrBVtsR7F-oadTcwcd4dzMbusdPx7jKatxbCdjLq5S3UOcN33GX7tuSUdQucHIq1Vhi0poltdwpLn6oHqI2qmvq37EoxYteRfw/s1600/IMG_0630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtXXfoiE4zfuGwUFReWv-T2WIZhEEpYnAnwawpPrBVtsR7F-oadTcwcd4dzMbusdPx7jKatxbCdjLq5S3UOcN33GX7tuSUdQucHIq1Vhi0poltdwpLn6oHqI2qmvq37EoxYteRfw/s320/IMG_0630.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If I were to ever see a picture with all three perfectly posed, I might would faint. This is real. These are my kids. I love them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Go ahead and say it. I did when I saw it. "AWWWWWWWWWWWWWE". Yeah, we may need therapy for these two when college comes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7aPJ5cEOCElHgoULgAVmpYDI8yPDAQcKS8ctjChbcesoNrvCIPjNbGVYJVi6Eb2lGWykvRokYVJljv02GDXTBuSTZE1U-4WDyLwfd9L1l0H84gELg2dVCJeUrNsaBdsxPVd5Dg/s1600/IMG_0640.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf7aPJ5cEOCElHgoULgAVmpYDI8yPDAQcKS8ctjChbcesoNrvCIPjNbGVYJVi6Eb2lGWykvRokYVJljv02GDXTBuSTZE1U-4WDyLwfd9L1l0H84gELg2dVCJeUrNsaBdsxPVd5Dg/s320/IMG_0640.PNG" width="294" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We tried to take one of the two of us at the restaurant the other night and this was the least blurry. I have to have my picture with my birthday baby.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5H5Dp_BxKlFDBYWBmdqN1JqCXA4gb4P4WWxKnRluiCndQpqd0Dae049Ezi3I-Y9DChH91207R51tTQuM0PD5SYIWJMcsOGWSoIeAZtXMFlS7rlYN-j-sW9Yx-uQPpGceqQFrXA/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5H5Dp_BxKlFDBYWBmdqN1JqCXA4gb4P4WWxKnRluiCndQpqd0Dae049Ezi3I-Y9DChH91207R51tTQuM0PD5SYIWJMcsOGWSoIeAZtXMFlS7rlYN-j-sW9Yx-uQPpGceqQFrXA/s320/IMG_0507.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I forgot to post when the braces came off back in mid-March. I believe the metal was worth every penney we paid and day she wore them. I am constantly amazed at how photogenic this child is with self portraits. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Because I am the Mama and I think my child is beautiful (even if she doesn't believe it herself). </div>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12752423.post-6021293976329203962012-04-11T16:04:00.000-04:002012-04-11T16:04:59.590-04:00Hello Number 8!!<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Last week around Monday, my boy turned 8 years old. I have to blink because it seems like I just took his chubby cheeked self to 3K with Miss Kerry just last week. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>It was a low key kind of birthday for the kid. Spring Break had just started here and we were planning to hit the road bright and early Tuesday morning to head to South Carolina for a few days with Nana and Papa. I put off our trip until Tuesday so The Man would be able to participate in the festivities. The Man missed his first two birthdays, thankyouverymuchNavy. I shall do my best to make sure that doesn't happen again if it is in my power. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Rule around The Edge is that you get to choose where to go for your Birthday Supper. At first, he was dead set on going to Golden Corral. Nothing against the G.C., but Miss Hope doesn't visit those establishments anymore since the surgery. I just can't justify spending that much money for a half cup of food and how on earth can you choose from all of that and only eat half of a cup?? You get me here? After he and I had a small talk explaining why Mama couldn't go there anymore, he decided that Red Robin would do. For the third straight birthday. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Carla Girl let her son Jace come for a sleepover the night before and those boys had the best time. We both are amazed at how well they play together and get along. There are no fights and lots of laughing when those two hang out. Jace decided he would accompany us to supper that evening and we surely didn't mind. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>When Dad got home and before hitting the Robin, The Boy got to open his gifts. Yeah, good times. He got upgraded to a DS 3D. It was a last minute decision and I'm pretty glad we did. He takes care of his games and that little deal will save my sanity in tight situations when he needs distraction. We had the pleasure of cousins Cristin and Travis plus friends Sherry and James join us for supper. It was a full table with plenty of laughing and eating going on. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Boy of mine, I absolutely adore you. You make me laugh with your crazy sense of humor. I love how you want building kits and you tackle them with complete concentration and they always turn out amazing. I could some times live without your play by play commentary when you're playing a game because you tend to get louder and louder. Those are the times I could use a volume button for sure. I love your compassion and sympathy when I can't eat a certain food and how you pay attention and remind me when I can't do something. School and all its wonderful structure makes you happy, but you dig a day of wearing pajamas, too. I am touched at the fact that you and your Sissy have already promised skype dates when she goes to college in the Fall and I'm even more touched when you two have "sleepovers" when there's a bad storm because the two of you hate storms at night. I love watching you grow and it's a privilege to be your Mama. </strong></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3dbMwtYq_16Vcus-lxWJ5klOlCoUfIXVQMCHdxUCH-haZVHI-_6mWJxlRpAI6Du05ngsQBVvDJQmDkWv3hBRb7hiaBl_PPCcXXibsIIIrwT1alOGk0eq48ZNNCD5GPg5S8a3jA/s1600/IMG_0556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim3dbMwtYq_16Vcus-lxWJ5klOlCoUfIXVQMCHdxUCH-haZVHI-_6mWJxlRpAI6Du05ngsQBVvDJQmDkWv3hBRb7hiaBl_PPCcXXibsIIIrwT1alOGk0eq48ZNNCD5GPg5S8a3jA/s320/IMG_0556.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I had to get the whole birthday kid with presents shot, of course.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is the kid I was telling to smile, but he wouldn't because I was making him wear shoes he didn't want to wear. I do believe he won't get another wear out of the birthday shirt. At least we were able to get three years out of it! He may be pouting, but he's still cute as can be!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The two buddies, Jace and Vitt. Truly a good pair of kids together.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We took the cake and the staff at Red Robin were amazing. They brought it out with candles blazing and singing loud. It was a great time and I can't help but wonder what he was thinking at this moment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yeah, this is my boy. I love him so good. </div>Miss Hopehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07570326989323177520noreply@blogger.com1