Raising Awareness: Things you NEDA know

Hi friends! Today's Thursday blog post is something very different from my usual mommy/soapbox blogging. It may be one of the most important things ever shared on this blog--and I didn't even write it.

One of the things I have tried to do with my blog is to raise awareness about topics that I feel are important. Usually this is in relation to diabetes, because that is one of my struggles. It can be so hard to write about the problems closest to your heart, and I have a lot of admiration for those courageous enough to share their stories (because the things I struggle with the most, I have the hardest time sharing). 

Today I invited one of my dearest friends, Nicole, to share her story in honor of National Eating Disorders Awareness (NEDA) Week. For the past few years she has struggled with anorexia and depression, both things I have written about before, both things that I know very little about in comparisson to what she knows. I am so grateful for the many, many things she has taught me. 

The thing I love about what she has shared with me is that she not only talks about the disease and the struggle, but how others have and can help her and how we can help prevent eating disorders.

Take a minute. Share her story. You will be glad you did!

Love, Marinda

Why a bag of chips is my worst enemy…

I could have titled this with just about any food item, really I just wanted an item that you can relate to and I can use to perfectly describe my battle with food.

Take a bag of chips.  Most of you see it and think, "yum, I will have a few."  You reach in, grab some, eat some and that is where it ends.

My battle starts at the grocery store.  My first thought is I better not buy it, or I will eat it all and hate myself.  My second thought is, it’s part of healing and a test of my strength to be able to purchase a bag of chips and not binge on them.  I need to do it.  This battle goes on, as I continue to shop and even as I purchase the bag and make my way to the car.

When I get home, I really want those chips.  I give myself a pep-talk about how I can do it, I can be a normal person and only take a couple.  So I open the bag.  I take a few.  Then my type-A-OCD personality takes over.  I “must” eat all of the broken chips.  So I proceed to root through the bag looking for any chip I consider imperfect or broken.  Once those are gone, I look at the bag and think, “wow, no sense in saving the rest of this I nearly ate all of them and if I leave them I will only be bad again later.”  So I eat the rest of the bag.

By the time I am done, I am angry with myself and my lack of self-control.  At this point, I figure I have already ruined the day so I might as well eat everything I ever wanted. I go into a food trance.  I have no other way to explain it other than I am the cookie monster possessed by the consumption of food and I must eat everything.  If that means eating by stirring peanut butter in ice cream, or topping macaroni and cheese with mustard and BBQ sauce … that’s what it means.  I do not discriminate, I do not taste.  I simply eat until there is nothing else to eat.  Until I am so sick that all I can do is sit and cry.  This usually ends with me in the bathroom wishing I was good at throwing up, or trying to take laxatives in the hope that it will all be better tomorrow.  I know, perhaps a little too honest, but it is the truth.

My Struggle

I have an eating disorder, if you didn’t know that or weren’t sure, you do now. It’s kind of hard to hide when you once weighed as much as a twelve year old in a 5’7” frame. I chose, however, to remain silent because I didn't want to be a hypocrite or to be judged by others. While I still am not at peace with myself, I have wanted to be more active and help prevent others from going down this pathway. Feb 22nd marks the start of NEDAwareness Week, and now is a perfect time to share with you.

Three years ago, I was officially diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa. At 82 pounds, I was severely malnourished and should have been hospitalized. I was depressed, suicidal, and spent a lot of time hiding. I lost most of my friends, pushed away my family, and pretty much only let Lucy in. If you know Lucy, you know that she is a pretty demanding, energetic little dog, and just what I needed.

So how did I get here?  I believe it was a combination of teachings as a child, genetics, and the need for approval.  I was taught to eat everything placed in front of me, to not waste, and given food as a reward or had it taken away as a punishment.  While these are wonderful notions, I believe it is more important to teach kids to try things but not to force them to finish every last item.  I am not the voice of reason here, just listing some of the factors that contributed to my disorder.

Most of my friends and family did not know how to approach the issue, as I took every precaution to avoid them and situations where food was involved. This seems to be every social gathering. I am pretty sure it became easy for them to not to be there, because I wouldn't let them.

The need for approval was probably the number one contributor to my success.  When I first started losing weight, I actually was healthy and happy.  I weighed about 20 lbs. more than I do now, but that didn’t matter.  I was confident, and loved myself.  Even if I gained those 20 lbs. back now, I would not be confident or love me just because of those extra pounds.  I know, astonishing.  I can also tell you that losing more weight isn’t going to make me happier.  However, the compliments I got about losing weight made me strive to lose even more.  I am OCD, a type-A personality.  If I am going to do something, I am going to do it.  I lived for those compliments and would punish myself by further restricting if I didn't receive approval because I believed I had failed.  

Now I receive compliments about gaining weight and how much better I look.  Well, they have the same affect.  They highlight the fact that I think I am “fat.”  That gaining 40 pounds has made me a whale.  Then I get negative and beat myself down again for not being good enough.  You, see it is a vicious cycle.

Finally, I am not sure what role genetics played in it.  However, depression was a major contributor and I know that there have been genetic studies tied to depression.  I am a contributor to the ANGI research and would love it if my small role in it could help future sufferers.

Oversights in Treatment

Gaining weight took a team of doctors, friends, coworkers, anti-depressants, nutritionists, family support, and therapy. I have been and maintained a "normal" weight for two years now, but I really want to take some time to address what I feel were huge oversights in treating this disease.

•        First, the doctors were so concerned about weight gain, that I was placed on a much too large dose of Prozac. While this worked to help me gain weight, I tuned out the world. I am sorry if during this time I seemed distant or like I didn't care. Quite honestly, I felt nothing. I didn't smile, laugh, cry or even feel. I began cutting because I was pretty sure I couldn't feel pain. I never intended to try and kill myself, just to make sure I was still “alive.”

•        Going to a nutritionist was also a horrible experience. Two nutritionists were covered on my insurance, but only for severe obesity. I spent hours on the phone with insurance, as did the wonderful Human Resources lady at my work. After all of our hard work, we finally got insurance coverage, or so we thought. When the bill came later, it was not covered and after several more phone calls and being placed on hold, I finally gave up and stopped going to the nutritionist. Why? Because I flat out couldn’t afford it. Doesn’t it seem wrong that being in a life threatening condition and severely underweight, the help I needed was not covered by my insurance? Yet if I would have had the opposite problem, it would be covered? I have been on both sides of the scale in my life and I just want to say that they both
would benefit from insurance coverage.

•        Finally it seemed like there was a lack of awareness of eating disorders. Many of the doctors would give me pamphlets about losing weight and proper portion size. They would say things like don’t look at certain parts of it, but this is what you should be eating. Another told me to eat all the ice-cream I wanted. While eating onion rings and ice cream without digression led to weight gain... I still felt unhealthy. This is the struggle I have had for the last two years. What is healthy? What does it look like to eat normal?!?! I just don’t know. I don’t feel full, no matter how much I eat, or how slow I eat. I go from starving to sick with nothingness in between. I crave sugar and sweets and have to convince myself to eat a vegetable or fruit. Not that they aren't good, but with the amount of highly processed foods I ate to gain weight, I just cannot seem to get normal in perspective. Add to that, that if I restrict I terrify myself that I could go back to anorexia. I live somewhere in the land of restrict one day, binge another. This is why I have had such a hard time speaking out. What right do I have to tell someone how to cope or how to help someone else if I still struggle? Someone once told me that healing from an eating disorder is one of the hardest things to do. It’s not like alcoholism or cigarettes. And funny enough no one treats these like they are something easy to do. You cannot just quit. You need food to live and survive and learning to balance is difficult. I am still working on this, and will continue to everyday for the rest of my life.

Things That are Actually Helpful

·        Join NEDA and a support group.  You need help dealing with this, just as your loved one needs help.  It is going to be a long journey and any support or understanding you can get will only be a benefit.

·         Do not blame, undermine, or try to provide cures to someone suffering from an eating disorder.  It is a mental illness and not something that has an easy cure.  Avoid sentences like “Just eat,” “Why can’t you be happy?,” and anything about looks.  Instead talk to us, treat us like a normal person.  You are not our doctor and if we fill like we are being treated by you we will act like petulant children.

·         Create a safe place.  I knew that no matter how bad things were I could always go to my mom for affection and love.  She would simply hug me, and make me a something to eat.  Why was it ok to eat there with just her?  I felt safe, not judged and she didn’t push it. 

·         Avoid open ended questions, such as “What would you like to eat?”  Too many options or decisions will shut us down.  We get overwhelmed by all the possibilities.  Even at my worst, I loved a slice of pizza, and someone saying “I feel like a pizza” and then letting me pick a topping worked way better than the open ended questions.  By making food decisions less intimidating, I was better able to accept them.

·         Be patient. Play by our rules, even if they do not make sense to you. Hopefully one step at a time we will recover.  I have never been a fan of butter on my toast, so if you wanted me to eat something it was better to make me a toast my way.  Why?  I felt like you were listening, and surprise you got me to eat.  Trying to get me to eat more or eat more fattening only made me angry and stubborn. 

·         Finally, affection.  A lot of people pulled away from me as I pushed them.  Even people who were very close to me didn’t know what to do.  I craved affection, a hug, contact of some sort.  For me I finally got this from Lucy, but human interaction is critical.  We need to feel like we matter and are noticed not just in a negative manner or because you have to deal with us.

Prevention

I wish I knew then what I know now…

I cannot say enough on the topic of prevention.  Anything you can do to stop an eating disorder before it starts is critical.  Here are some items I wish I knew before I went down this pathway:

·         Nothing fits right.  You look like a prepubescent boy in your mothers clothing.

·         Your heart literally hurts. It hurts to breath, it hurts to walk, your boney legs rub together when you try and sleep making it nearly impossible to get comfortable.

·         You lose friends.  Why?  You don’t want to be in situations where you are uncomfortable or food is involved.  They don’t know how to help and unless they are persistent it becomes easier and easier to not have them.

·         Guys really do not like a walking skeleton.  I cannot count the number of times someone said things like, “You would be a lot prettier if you had a little meat on your bones.”  My husband became so worried about me that he thought he would hurt me if he touched me.  Really great for your relationship…

·         Anorexia can kill you.  It is the most common cause of death for young women ages 15-24.

·         Anorexia can make it difficult to get pregnant and easier to lose a baby if you do get pregnant.

·         You become a liar.  You use any excuse you can to avoid people and food. You hide things, you try to sneak the dog your food, you say you don’t like things, you aren’t hungry, and oh so much more…

·         Deciding what you want to eat is the most difficult decision of everyday.  You think about food 24-7, but it’s a constant battle between what you will allow yourself to eat and eating everything in sight.

·         Losing a large amount of weight doesn’t make you more attractive.  I looked like a cancer patient.  Just because you lose weight doesn’t mean you will be happy with your body.  I had excess skin that could make a Shar Pei jealous.  That little triangle some of you strive for, I had it.  I hated it.  I just found other things to hate about myself.  It wasn’t an accomplishment.  It pointed out the other flaws I thought I had.

·         Getting help is worse than pulling teeth.  Insurance companies are a pain, doctors are not educated or too scared to say anything, you have lost your friends and maybe even family members.  Once you are at a “normal weight” you are considered fine unless you are persistent.  Just because you gain the weight back does not mean the mental struggle goes away.

·         And the scariest statistic to me:  20% of people suffering from anorexia will prematurely die from complications related to their eating disorder, including suicide and heart problems.

I hope that will discourage you.  I do, however, have some other prevention items that I wanted to share.

Is it possible to prevent an eating disorder?

Yes. Prevention is key to future generations.  Watch what you say around your kids. They absorb everything and I get worried as I see and hear five-year-olds saying they are “fat" or teenagers with Pinterest motivation boards teaching them how to look "perfect." You never know-- what may be a joke to you, may be taken seriously by them.  It is more important to be confident and happy with yourself. I believe that is the only way to truly be healthy. No airbrushed picture should be someone’s motivation.

Here are a few tips and highlights that I believe can help:

·         Encourage a balanced diet. Everything is okay in moderation. While I agree that highly processed foods are not great nutrition choices, not allowing them only made me crave them more and if I gave in, resulted in binges.

·         Food is not a reward or a punishment.

·         Exercise and have fun. Make it a part of your life, but not your whole life.

·         Encourage your kids’ curiosity to try new things, try a little at a time. Serving an adult sized portion to a child and forcing them to finish it isn’t going to work.  This likely will make them learn they have to finish everything all of the time, even when full.  It also can make them more resistant to new foods.  I know that if I feel forced I associate that item with the bad feelings.

She's amazing. Am I right? 

 If you or someone you know struggles with eating disorders and you would like to find out more about NEDA or Nicole's story, please email me or leave a comment and I can put you in touch with her. Thanks!

In Those Little Hands

My son has recently become very fascinated with his chubby little hands. When I go and get him out of his crib in the mornings, I often find him holding up his hands, turning them this way and that, flexing his fingers, and studying the entire adage intently. He has been using his hands for months, but it seems he is just now coming to realize what an amazing thing hands really are.

Because he has been watching his hands, I have been watching them too. I watch him use them to roll himself over or prop himself up, to grab toys and his sister's hair and anything within his long reach (he has his father's wingspan). When he gets impatient for food, he slams the palm of his hand down repeatedly on his high chair tray until we get a spoon into his mouth. When he gets excited, his arms flail up and down, willing the rest of his body to follow suit. When he is feeling particularly loving, his sweet little drool-covered hands grab my cheeks and pull my face to his so that he can plant a kiss (or sometimes a raspberry) on my face.

I love all the things those hands can do.

And I often think, as I cuddle him close while feeding him a bottle and he reaches his hands up for my hair or my chin, about all the things I hope those hands will do someday:

Learn to crawl.
Bring food to his mouth.
Catch him as he tumbles from trying to walk.
Build towers.
Splash in the bathtub.
Carry cinder blocks.
Give man-pat hugs.
Draw and paint and create masterpieces.
Pick dandelions, just for me.
Help with chores around our home and yard.
Complete puzzles.
Climb ladders and swing on monkey bars.
Make cookies.
Write his name on his first alphabet worksheet.
Get covered in ice cream drippings or popsicle juice.
Shoot baskets with his Daddy and Uncle.
Read books.
Push his siblings on the swings.
Write reports and finish worksheets and help him learn.
Play an instrument.
Hold the door open for others.
Build things with his Daddy.
Lift up small children who look up to him.
Pass the sacrament.
Collect fast offerings.
Keep a journal.
Go on adventures outdoors.
Learn to drive.
Work at his first job.
Ask a girl to a dance.
Graduate from high school.
Encourage his friends to do good things.
Fill out mission papers.
Give blessings.
Hold a special girl's hand.
Make covenants.
Graduate from college or a technical program.
Hold his babies close.
Wipe away his wife's tears.
Provide a living for his family.
Serve others.


It seems to me that his entire life story is contained in those chubby little hands.

Seasons of Change

Perhaps writing this is a bit premature, but the weather outside seems to reflect my mood. The sun is shining but it feels almost out of place--we are in the middle of February, right? Where did this spring weather come from? What is it going to mean later on, since we've had less snow this winter than I saw in both of my winters in Texas?

It is like mother nature is whispering to me that it is time for a change, and that I need to embrace the new things coming.

Before you get ahead of yourself, let me clear this up right now: nope. Not pregnant.

In the past two weeks I've had to do a lot of cleaning out, cleaning up, and moving on. It came to my attention when we took Sly into the doctor for his first-ever high fever that he was only half a pound away from the weight max on his infant carseat. Half a pound, people. He's not even six months old! That began a new quest to find the right car seat for him and for his sister, who has needed a new one for a while. We found the right one...which was also the most expensive, so we made ourselves feel better by saying that you can't put a price on your child's life. And, that these were carseats that would grow with them, until they no longer needed a car seat.

After the car seat thing was resolved, I realized that Sly was also outgrowing most of the clothes in his drawer. So, one afternoon, I sat him on a quilt in his room (yes, sat, as he mastered that skill a few weeks ago!) and cleaned out all of his dresser drawers, filling a box full of infant hats and socks and bibs that won't fit around his Burningham neck anymore. Then I put away the six-month size stragglers and most of the nine-month size clothing, keeping every possible onesie that still sort of fits in the drawer just to make myself feel better. And I pulled out the 12-18 month clothes, some of which are already a little snug, with a sigh and a few tears.

A few days later, it was Kevin's turn. Her drawers are almost empty now, and I feel slightly less guilty for picking up items of clothing here and there for her over the past couple of months. All of the 2T clothes met their storage fate, as did most of the 3Ts because this girl is just so tall. And, as if it weren't hard enough to acknowledge her graduation from toddler to preschooler (signed her up for next fall this morning!), the whole experience played to a soundtrack of her chattering about how she is "getting big! Brother is getting big! My babies getting big. We all getting big togeder!"

So last weekend, Scott and I moved a bag of too-small little girl clothes, the nursing pillow (which, granted, wasn't used much for nursing but did help Sly learn to sit on his own), the playmat, and the infant car seat downstairs and I just wanted to slam on the brakes.

2015 was supposed to be our quiet year. The year we felt settled, finally. I knew going in that life never works out that way. All of December I dreaded the start of the new year because I was afraid of what it could bring. The past few years have all had not-so-fun surprises, and I was just getting used to life as we knew it.

Five days in, Scott emailed me a job posting. He wasn't looking to leave his current job, but this one was just...perfect. Right location, right salary, right benefits, right career for him. I tried to rebel and say "no way!" but as I read through the posting, I had an unmistakable feeling of peace, calm, and rightness. So I surprised myself by encouraging him to apply. We went two weeks without hearing anything, and then he got a phone call and had an interview scheduled for ten days later. Four and a half hours of interviews later, and we are waiting to hear, still not 100% sure if a change is right but willing ourselves to embrace it all the same, if it is offered to us.

I am getting used to the idea that change is permanent. My children are going to be different little people every day they wake up. I can never get too comfortable because as soon as I do, someone shakes up the snowglobe (good bye Relief Society, hello Primary. EEK!). And, just like the weather, I'm not sure that I want to go back to the way things were. I am ready for spring and something new.

Reading Challenge 2015

Since Scott's classes are on Thursday nights this semester, I am predicting that most of my blog posts happen on Wednesday or Friday...don't judge and just be happy that I'm posting.

I found this Reading Challenge on pinterest a few months ago, and I am so excited to use it to guide my reading for 2015! That means I need to work in a little more reading time into my day, so if you have any suggestions on how to do that with two over-active little ones, please share!

I often get requests for reading suggestions, so I thought that a good way to start off this year's "Rinda's Reads" posts would be to list books that would fit with this reading challenge from ones that I've already read. The ones in italics are ones that I haven't read but I plan on reading this year, the ones in bold are books that I've read. My goal is to read new books to fulfill the challenge, but perhaps you are looking for suggestions on where to start with your reading this year. Well, here you go!

2015 Reading Challenge: Suggestions

• A book with more than 500 pages: Pick a Harry Potter, any Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling
• A classic romance: Persuasion by Jane Austen
• A book that became a movie: The Book Thief by Markus Zusack
• A book published this year: The Heir by Kiera Cass (if you haven't read the rest of her "Selection" series, I really enjoyed them! This newest installment is coming in May)
• A book with a number in the title: Counting by 7s by Holly Goldberg Sloan
• A book written by someone under 30: The Diary of Anne Frank
• A book with nonhuman characters: The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis
• A funny book: The Honest Toddler's Guide To Parenting by Bunmi Landitan
• A book by a female author: The Blue Castle by L.M. Montgomery (every woman should read this book)
• A mystery or thriller: The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley
• A book with a one-word title: Christy by Catherine Marshall
• A book of short stories: Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson
• A book set in a different country: Mr. Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson
• A nonfiction book: Here is Where by Andrew Carroll
• A popular author's first book: Edenbrooke by Julianne Donaldson (perhaps this author is popular only in Utah; nevertheless, I love this book!)
• A book from an author you love but haven't read yet: ANYTHING by Lynn Austen (if you haven't read her yet, you should!)
• A book a friend recommended: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows
• A Pulitzer-Prize winning book: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• A book based on a true story: Twenty and Ten by Claire Hutch Bishop
• A book at the bottom of your to-read list: (this isn't at the bottom of my list, but it is one I love and couldn't fit anywhere else on the list) The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Stewart
• A book your mom loves: Love is Eternal by Irving Stone
• A book that scares you: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs
• A book more than 100 years old: Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (technically this book turns 100 this year, but I love it so much I just had to put it on the list)
• A book based entirely on its cover: A Song for Summer by Eva Ibbotson
• A book you were supposed to read in school but didn't: Warrior's Don't Cry by Melba Pattillo Beals
• A memoir: Alicia, My Story by Alicia Appleman Jurman
• A book you can finish in a day: Caddie Woodlawn by Carol Ryrie Brink
• A book with antonyms in the title: Big Sister, Little Sister by LeUyen Pham
• A book set somewhere you've always wanted to visit: The Silent Governess by Julie Klassen
• A book that came out the year you were born: Charly by Jack Weyland
• A book with bad reviews: Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
• A trilogy: The Birthmarked Trilogy by Caragh O'Brien
• A book from your childhood: Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine
• A book with a love triangle: Matched (series) by Allie Condie
• A book set in the future: The Giver by Lois Lowry
• A book set in high school: Scribbler of Dreams by Mary E. Pearson or The Secret Journal of Brett Colten by Kay Lynn Mangum
• A book with a color in the title: The Blue Sword by Robin McKinley
• A book that made you cry: The Help by Kathryn Stockett
• A book with magic: Enchanted by Alethea Kontis
• A graphic novel: I've never actually read one of these.
• A book by an author you've never read before:  Something by Charles Dickens (because I've never actually read a book by him!)
• A book you own but have never read: The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
• A book that takes place in your hometown: As far as I know, there is only one book set in Richmond, UT and it is a history of the town. Looks like I'll have to write one!
• A book that was originally written in a different language: Ruby Red (The Precious Stone Trilogy) by Kerstin Gier (translated by Anthea Bell)
• A book set during Christmas: Little Red Buckets by Lynda M. Nelson
• A book written by an author with your same initials: I'm still looking for this one!
• A play: Twelve Angry Men by Reginald Rose
• A banned book: Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
• A book based on or turned into a TV show: Arthur by Marc Brown or The Little House Series by Laura Ingalls Wilder
• A book you started but never finished: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte 

Comment below if you want any additional info on any of these books!

 Since the month is almost over (I started this post four weeks ago!), here's how I'm doing so far:

• A book with more than 500 pages:
• A classic romance:
• A book that became a movie: 
• A book published this year: 
• A book with a number in the title: 
• A book written by someone under 30:
• A book with nonhuman characters: 
• A funny book:
• A book by a female author: 
• A mystery or thriller: 
• A book with a one-word title: 
• A book of short stories:
• A book set in a different country: 
• A nonfiction book: 
• A popular author's first book: 
• A book from an author you love but haven't read yet: 
• A book a friend recommended: The Winter Witch by Paula Brackston (*** PG-13)
• A Pulitzer-Prize winning book: 
• A book based on a true story:
• A book at the bottom of your to-read list: 
• A book your mom loves: 
• A book that scares you: 
• A book more than 100 years old: 
• A book based entirely on its cover: Into the Whirlwind by Elizabeth Camden (**** PG)
• A book you were supposed to read in school but didn't:
• A memoir: 
• A book you can finish in a day: 
• A book with antonyms in the title: 
• A book set somewhere you've always wanted to visit: 
• A book that came out the year you were born:
• A book with bad reviews:
• A trilogy: 
• A book from your childhood:
• A book with a love triangle: 
• A book set in the future:
• A book set in high school: 
• A book with a color in the title: 
• A book that made you cry: 
• A book with magic: Wisdom's Kiss by Catherine G. Marshall (*** PG)
• A graphic novel: 
• A book by an author you've never read before: 
• A book you own but have never read:
• A book that takes place in your hometown: 
• A book that was originally written in a different language:
• A book set during Christmas: 
• A book written by an author with your same initials:
• A play:
• A banned book: 
• A book based on or turned into a TV show: 
• A book you started but never finished: 

I will update this list monthly, so come back for more ideas! The star ratings are based on a five-star system. The list includes 50 books, so if you want to join me you should plan on reading a book roughly every week. Happy reading!

Living Life Slow

I am trying my very best to keep up with this blog this year. As you can tell, I'm not doing so well. I've been working on last week's post for over a week (it's a list of reading recommendations, so be on the lookout for when I finally finish it). I'm so far behind on our family blog that I'm hoping we at least make it into the New Year by Valentine's Day.

I always thought that life would take on a slower pace when I was a stay-at-home mom with small children. We aren't even to the point of extracurriculars or preschool yet, but life seems busy. When I step back, I know it isn't, I just want it to be.

Scott is taking a class about human behavior for his MBA this semester. Last week they had an online discussion about the pro's and con's of the "Living Life Faster" trend going on right now, where employers are asking more and more of employees and in an effort to do more and be more, are we really accomplishing anything? A wise woman in his class pointed out that as employees devoted more time to their employers to move up corporate ladders faster, it was their homes and families suffering most. She thoroughly explained how, as the workforce demanded more and more, the employee's home life started to crumble. And when you look at it that way, our quest for success is really only hurting the next generation.

I often feel guilty for being a stay-at-home mom. I'm not sure why, when I know this is where Heavenly Father wants me to be, but there it is: I feel guilty. I feel like I could do more, be more. I feel like I have so much wasted potential. I could be changing the world, right? It is hard to not feel stuck changing diapers when I want to be superwoman.

Last Thursday Scott headed back to school. We are almost halfway through his MBA and it has been one of the hardest things I've ever done, but we both know the time is right and he needs to be there. I was having one of those days. I think I sent Scott the email with my bi-weekly Motherhood Resignation around 2:00 pm. Thank goodness he doesn't take those things seriously. The rest of the afternoon was difficult, as I was spending more time counting down the hours until the weekend hit and I wouldn't be on my own anymore.

That evening, I had gotten Sly to sleep for his pre-bedtime nap (he seems to think that he needs to sleep for 45 minutes around 7:00 pm and then be up until ten...but he sleeps through the night so we let him) and Kevin and I were playing in her room. Well, she was playing, and I was trying to figure out how to talk her into starting the bedtime routine of pajamas and brushed teeth and winding down.  She told me she had to put her baby to bed first and I consented wearily. She then proceeded to sing "Jingle Bells" to her baby doll, cradling the plastic body into her chest in a way that mothers do with their infants when they don't care if anybody is watching because the whole world only consists of them and their sweet-smelling, sleepy baby.

She then proceeded to pray with her doll. I mean, really pray. "Hen'ly Fader, Thanks day. Thanks our famiwy. Bwess [Sly]. Christ, amen."

It was the first time I'd ever heard her say a full prayer on her own, without help. And it meant even more because lately she refuses to pray, even with us helping her, and I haven't pressed the issue, just simply asked her to close her eyes and fold her arms while her Daddy or I pray. Those simple words simply melted me.

And then it came, the little reminder, the little whisper of the Holy Ghost: "You are doing something right. She is listening!"

Suddenly, the day didn't seem so long. The hours didn't seem so slow. The job didn't seem so miserable. I have all day everyday to teach my babies to pray. And they have all day to teach me to do and be a little better.

New Year, New You...No Thanks

I read a book to my daughter yesterday that disturbed me greatly. It was one of those "I can read it all by myself" Cat in the Hat labelled books (although, thank goodness, it wasn't written by Dr. Seuss) and she had picked it out at the library all by herself.

I should have known by the title.
Oh well.
Hopefully her childhood an emotional well-being isn't too terribly scarred (and we can all be grateful for the fact that she doesn't actually listen for more than two minutes when I read her books). Although perhaps it is not a good sign that I just bribed her with two chocolate kisses for the rights to borrow said book long enough to write this post.

This is how it went down yesterday.
"I Want to Be Somebody New!" by Robert Lopshire.

"Once I wanted to be in the zoo. 
And that was the day I first met you.
You said that the zoo was not for me.
The circus, you said, was where I should be.

At about this point, I realized once again that I read way too much into simple children's literature (see my controversial facebook post about Curious George that took place about a month ago). But already, two pages in, I was seeing literal evidence of a social media phenomenon that has taken over my facebook timeline and instagram feeds: #newyearnewyou and proclamations that if we all just lose 20 pounds we will feel better about ourselves.

And so the circus is where I went. 
I did my tricks with spots on a tent.
I put my spots way up in the air. 
I put my spots just everywhere!

Do you see where my mind went with this? If spots are our talents and perhaps our time, I started to view myself and others putting our focus on outward beauty, something that the faceless "society" has told us we must be and do: a stay-at-home mom must have a side business (most likely some pyramid scheme); a woman must have a passion that every spare moment is dedicated to (and it cannot be family or religion, that's just wrong); if you didn't sign up for a 5k, half-marathon, triathlon (or heck, a gym membership) this year, what the (bleep) is wrong with you?

My tricks with spots were lots of  fun. 
But no more spot tricks!
I am done!
Now I want to be somebody new.
So here's a  new trick I'll show to you!
   Ready! Get set now.
  One, two, three...
Now look and tell me what you see.

This just in...all of those things, if they are something that you feel compelled to do by some outside force and not a real, inner desire, will cease be fun and at some point they will not be enough. You will have to go further, work harder, and spend more time, all for the sake of becoming someone new.

When will just being you be enough?
Surely, I thought, that was where this book was going. The character had to find out he was okay being just the creature he was, right?
And, it did, eventually, but this is what I had to wade through to get there...

But being that big cannot be fun. 
Say! You must weigh at least a ton!
...You're very big.
You're very fat.
We do not care for you like that.

...But  being that tall can't be any fun.
You're taller now than everyone!
Your head is now so high in the air,
it's hard to see your face up there.
...We do not like to see you tall.
We do not like you tall at all!

...You are as small as small can be.

Well, what do you think? 
I'm asking you.
Do I look good this way to you?

We did not like you fat or tall.
And now you know what's wrong with small!

Okay! Okay! Okay, you two.
I'll make myself be someone new.
Ready? Get set now,
One, two three...

Now look and tell me what you see!

Oh no you don't! 
You stop right there!
We like you and we really care. (Insert sarcastic snort here from me)

We liked you best, a whole whole lot,
when you were just our old friend Spot.

Say! You are right!
As right can be!
And it does feel best to be just me!

FINALLY, I say. FINALLY.

Why does this get to me so much, you wonder? Surely this is no big deal. And why does this book immediately remind me of body image?

Well, perhaps it is this January Resolution time of year. Perhaps it is the post-Holiday treat guilt trip you find on billboards and commercials and junk mail and every outside source that tells you there is no other way to be a "new you" without losing ten to twenty pounds.

Here's the thing. I did that.
Not--and let me make this very clear--not on purpose.

Almost five months ago, I gave birth to a nine-pound baby. I now weigh 55 pounds less than I did the night before I had him. That's more than just getting rid of the pregnancy weight in celebrity speed. I now weigh 30 pounds less than my pre-pregnancy weight, all thanks to a medication that keeps me alive.

And, you can hate me if you want for saying this, I didn't put one ounce of effort into doing that. I ate every darn cookie and carbohydrate and French fry I wanted (I'd spent the previous eight months on an extremely strict diet). And, unless you count running up and down stairs fetching clean diapers and burp rags and running after a two-year-old all day, I did nothing in the form of dedicated exercise. No marathon training or yoga routine here.

So it might make sense to you why every time someone compliments me on my weight loss, I feel a bit like quoting Taylor Swift: "Fakers gonna fake fake fake."

I have extremely conflicted emotions about all of this (catching on to that now, are you?). While I appreciate that people care about me to notice, there is some part of me that hurts with each compliment.

"You are looking so good these days!"
Did I not look good before I lost thirty pounds?

"You get more beautiful each time I see you!"
Was I not a beautiful person before I lost thirty pounds?

"You are so skinny!"
Are you saying I was fat at what I thought was my ideal weight (twenty pounds ago)?

Actual quotes from actual people. Actual thoughts from actual me.
Please do not be offended if you have said something like the above quotes to me. I am truly not offended, and it is truly the sweetest and most cherished people in my life that have said these things. I just feel that it is important for me to set the record straight.

It might seem crazy to you, but I don't feel like a new person (isn't that what all the ads promise? New year, new goal, new weight, new numbers, new person?). Aside from the weirdness of putting on size six skinny jeans, I still feel like the same me. When I look in the mirror, I see the same person. In fact, I don't really notice a difference around my middle (where the most weight has disappeared), but rather on my feet and ankles and wrists and fingers. Sometimes (gasp!) I even miss the weight I was before--I liked those clothes, and I loved being able to wear my wedding ring 24/7 without worrying about it falling off my finger.

I know, people change. We become new people daily (haven't I written about that before?). But at the heart of it all, there is a core to me that will always be the pure essence of Rinda. It is what lets you recognize me through the years and trials and education and experiences and a few extra helpings of cheese and ice cream.

I was very blessed to be raised by a family that didn't base their love for me off of the way I looked. I always knew my parents found me beautiful, and my siblings appreciated me for me (even when we teasingly called each other "40 Fat" and "Chubalub," weight did not define our love). Those traits have blessed me well in my marriage (did you know that my husband lost 85 pounds on his mission and I loved him long before he became a triathlon athlete?)

While sometimes I did feel out of place growing up as a tall, "solid, big-boned" girl, those thoughts and feelings always came from outside sources, never my Heavenly Father or my family. I learned over a decade ago that my beauty was not dependent on how I looked on the outside. I learned that if I worked hard to make my inside beautiful, the outside beauty would come.

That is what I hope people see when they see me.
Not my weight loss.
And maybe, perhaps if you are someone who has said something to me, that is what you meant to compliment. Because you know what? I am looking good these days because I am feeling good these days. I love being a mother again. I am no longer battling depression every hour of every day. My family has brought a new light and twinkle to my eyes. And, two and a half years after the job that destroyed my writing soul, I am coming up with new story ideas daily and I am gaining the confidence to start writing again.

So this is what I hope to teach my daughter and she grows older and taller,as she inevitably (which she reminds me on a daily basis) will "get big!"

Try new things, find new passions, work hard to be the person you want to become.
But don't let your body image, a number on a scale, or outside forces define who you are.

And, though it seems so Pinteresty-cliche, be-you-tiful.

Stages of Life

My mom and I were shopping a couple of weeks ago and happened upon a sign that describes my father's life fairly well at the moment:

The Four Stages of Life
1. You believe in Santa
2. You don't believe in Santa
3. You are Santa
4. You look like Santa

My father gave in this past year and stopped dying his hair and mustache. He made this decision somewhere between the time we dropped Kevin off at his house and he brought her to the hospital to come meet her little brother. Having a baby I could adjust to...seeing my dad actually look like a Grandpa was another thing all together.

I think one of the hardest things about growing up is watching your parents get old. My parents and my in-laws are both dealing with health challenges that we all thought were a good 15-20 years away. Suddenly our invincible parents aren't so untouchable anymore.

When I was little, I knew my dad was superhuman. He was the strongest, smartest, funniest man I knew. He could answer any question, solve any problem, and he always had the money for ice cream (even if he didn't spring for the idea of going to get some at Casper's). I never worried that he couldn't carry me to my bedroom if I fell asleep in the car or that he wouldn't be able to help me with my homework. He was the kind of dad that saved up his PTO and I didn't figure out until I was older that Dads don't automatically get your birthday and your school breaks off work. He came to every parent teacher conference, every recital, every ball game, every awards ceremony. He spent an entire school year driving me to middle school so that I could go where my friends attended. He checked my homework assignments, edited my Sterling Scholar portfolio, gave me advice about boys (which was usually just what I needed to hear). He scared off all the high school boys and helped me register for college. When I asked him how they paid for my brother's mission, he told me that if I wanted to go, they would find a way.

And so they did. It wasn't easy.

He taught me that it is okay for diabetics to eat treats and enriched pasta.

Though they probably shouldn't have done it, he found a way to leave home at the very worst possible time and take my mom and me back to Texas, where he got to meet everyone I loved and eat the three-dollar taco plate on Taco Tuesday at Rosa's. While we were there, one of the investigators I had been working with for over a year finally got baptized (I knew all it would take were some handsome Elders asking her), and my dad spent the whole time talking to her parents in Spanish and explaining what was going on.

A week after we came home, he helped me book a plane ticket to go back a month later so I could be at the Temple Sealing of one of the people I taught.

And somewhere in there, when Scott asked for my hand, he was man enough to say okay, even though he knew there wasn't a man alive good enough for his daughter.

He's also the one who turned on the child lock when we got to the Temple on my wedding day so I couldn't get out of the backseat.

Dads have a hard time letting go.

So do daughters.

Turns out, however, that me getting married just might be the best thing that ever happened to him.

Enter: Kevin.

His #1 Fan.

In a season of my life where I realize just how human my Dad is (and I love him all the more because of this), where I see him getting old and withering and struggling to do the simple things that used to come so easily, my daughter sees the very, very best in him.

To her, he isn't sick. He isn't aging. He isn't chronically tired and in pain. He doesn't have any other responsibility in life other than being her Papa.

He is her hero,

If her sunglasses break or her colored pencils are dull, the answer is always, "Papa can fix it." If we are out of purple paint, "Papa will get me more." If she can't sleep at night, "Papa come play me?" If her dad is taking too long to get home from school and her mother just can't handle her anymore, "I call Papa?"

Her pack-pack is continually packed for Papa's house. It's better than Disneyland (where she's never been) or the Temple (which is her favorite building).

She knows, without a doubt, that he loves her. That he will do (and frequently does) anything for her, even if it means setting her in the baby exersaucer that she is two years too old for. He plays dollhouse and babies, he takes her to see the pets, he feeds her crackers and cookies and ice cream. He reads stories and sings songs and rocks her to sleep and shows her love in a thousand different ways.

A few weeks ago, I was rocking and singing Sly to sleep when Kevin peeked her head through the doorway, excitedly whisper-shouting, "Papa sing me this song!"

For a week after we brought the baby home, she kept telling me that she was "borned at Papa's house." And she wanted to go back.

It would not surprise her at all if I told her that her Papa was Santa Claus, and not just because he has a ton of white facial hair. And it's more than the fact that Papa gives her way more presents than Santa does and he loves to eat cookies.

It's because Santa embodies all things good, and she knows there is truly no better person than her Papa.

You want to know why I believe in Santa?
Because he's my dad.