"You have a hole in your head," a niece of mine declared bluntly a few years ago. She was pointing to my forehead--the very distinct chicken-pock scar above my left eyebrow that looks like a little crater. I laughed at the honest assessment and said, "Yes, I do have a hole in my head."
The hole in my head was fine, funny really, but lately I haven't been able to shrug-off the comments from blunt little ones--especially the FAT comments. For example, after hearing that I was pregnant, a young boy asked, "Oh so that's why you're so fat?" I responded, "Well, I'm really not that fat." He was confused, "No, you actually look pretty fat to me." He wasn't trying to be rude; he was quite serious and firm in his observation.
On a different occasion a boy whispered (I say whispered when I really mean SHOUTED in a raspy voice, clearly audible) "Guess what, I have to tell you a secret," speaking to my then two-year-old daughter. Ally leaned her head toward the boy eager to hear the news, "Your Mom is really fat!" He put his hand to his mouth and laughed in my direction. It didn't really faze my daughter, but I was mad! His intent was clearly malicious. "That is not a nice thing to say, and you know it," I said in a firm tone, "You owe me an apology." He looked down, shamed, as if to say, "Oh No! You weren’t supposed to HEAR that," then said sorry.
There are several other specific examples of this exact circumstance, but I think you get the picture: Kids think I'm fat and are not afraid to tell me to my face. The second child in my opinion was old enough to know that he was being rude, but most of the time, kids are just kids--honest and blunt. The child is simply stating a fact, a description of his or her visual perception, so why do I let it hurt? Here's what I came up with. First, I'm hormonal--a sad commercial hurts right now. Second, these things are usually said in the presence of my daughter and I am wary of her acquiring some sort of complex amongst her peers about having a Fat Mommy. Third, the paranoid, catty, old lady in me says, "Their skinny moms put them up to this!" Fourth, unlike the children, I have the experiences that have helped me attach other meanings to "You are fat," like “You are”: useless, ugly, lazy, yucky, etc. And finally, it simply hurts to hear no matter where it comes from.
So I'd like to hear your opinion on the matter. Have kids ever said hurtful things to you? Were you able to shrug it off without much thought? Should kids be allowed to say these things just because they are kids, or should they know better? How do you socialize your children to be sensitive while still having good judgment about reality? Thanks for letting me whine, and I'm eager to hear your response.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Food Changes
About two months ago I had ALMOST mastered The "Listening" techniques described in the book, "Women, Food, and God." The change was tangible and empowering--I felt great and unstoppable. I had learned to LISTEN to when my body said "STOP EATING JUNK FOOD AND FEED ME SOME FRESH THINGS FROM THE EARTH!!" Then two weeks later, I allowed myself to "bite" a little fast food. One bite, two, still no complaints from my belly, three, four, and a carton of fries and hamburger later I realized my body LIKED what I was eating. "Maybe I'm....no, just stressed out, yup, It'll pass," After another five days of eating like a HIPO trapped in McDonalds, I took my monthly pregnancy test (I have kept the folks at First Response in business). One line, not two, I put down the stick and went to tell my mother I was not pregnant. I was disappointed and nonchalantly swayed back to the bathroom where the test laid face-down. I picked it up, turned it over, just to make sure. GASP!! Those little lines on that pee strip suddenly made me feel like the luckiest, happiest, most fortunate person in the world! THRILLING!
I've had the usual issues with pregnancy: moodiness, tiredness, nausea--nothing crazy. People ask me "How are you feeling?" And I respond, "I'm feeling terrible but I'm soooo happy!!" HA! Luckily for me and future baby, I've lost my taste for fast food binges. AND for the FIRST time in my life I cannot stand sweets!! Just the thought of digging into a chocolate mousse cake makes me want to gag. I've wanted salt and protein. BUT I put brown sugar on my tuna sandwich and that was GOOD. I also have a strange aversion to drinking water. I have to choke it down to keep my kidneys healthy (I developed a stone during my first pregnancy). Also, the only food that makes my stomach feel better is Starchy, Whitey, Bready, Bread--bagels, Ritz crackers all the good things that you're never supposed to eat.
Weight gain doesn't worry me too much, I'm just really happy I lost a few pounds BEFORE I became pregnant--I'll know what to do after baby comes, and most importantly I'll know I CAN DO IT. So bring on the bagels and salt meat, however, if someone would like to write a book about managing hunger and cravings during pregnancy, I would happily read it.
I've had the usual issues with pregnancy: moodiness, tiredness, nausea--nothing crazy. People ask me "How are you feeling?" And I respond, "I'm feeling terrible but I'm soooo happy!!" HA! Luckily for me and future baby, I've lost my taste for fast food binges. AND for the FIRST time in my life I cannot stand sweets!! Just the thought of digging into a chocolate mousse cake makes me want to gag. I've wanted salt and protein. BUT I put brown sugar on my tuna sandwich and that was GOOD. I also have a strange aversion to drinking water. I have to choke it down to keep my kidneys healthy (I developed a stone during my first pregnancy). Also, the only food that makes my stomach feel better is Starchy, Whitey, Bready, Bread--bagels, Ritz crackers all the good things that you're never supposed to eat.
Weight gain doesn't worry me too much, I'm just really happy I lost a few pounds BEFORE I became pregnant--I'll know what to do after baby comes, and most importantly I'll know I CAN DO IT. So bring on the bagels and salt meat, however, if someone would like to write a book about managing hunger and cravings during pregnancy, I would happily read it.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Poignant Pepperoni
It's been hotter than Satan's mistress these last three days, and from all my extra TV time, it seems this is a trend across the country. I've had my three window AC units working overtime to compensate for my bun-in-the-oven hot flashes and have managed to stay busy making sure the couch stays put. My life hasn't been completely wasteful, in fact, I walked a WHOLE 5K for the third day in a row this morning. OH! Thanks for the advice on exercise during pregnancy, I will defiantly keep it simple. (And I sincerely hope my tiny baby is doing tae bo in there with me--really Sonia, I do--Oh and Ashley S. I WAS talking about you in Chick Filet, you are nice to me)
My girlie and I played "Catch me if you can" with the garden hose on Thursday--a terrible muddy mess but great fun. It was approaching dinner and I had no intention of digging through my kitchen mess to make anything, and I would NOT turn on the oven. So I did what any sensible lazy person would do: I ordered a carryout pepperoni pizza. I squelched the tiny guilt inside and loaded little girlie in the car to fetch my easy, greasy sustenance.
I don't know if you've noticed, but Dominos Pizza has changed their recipe, and unfortunately for me, it is REALLY good, really convenient, and REALLY inexpensive. They are all trying to kill me! When we arrived outside the red, white, and blue emblem, I hoisted Ally out of her car seat into the 102+ weather to walk to the double glass doors of my latest Sin Factory. I handed over my magic plastic and received my prize--a piping hot pepperoni pizza. As I walked outside with a firm grip on my dinner and on my toddler's hand, I noticed that the clouds were thickening and turning gray--it was a definite change from the beating sun a few minutes earlier, but I welcomed the possibility of rain.
With everything in order, I headed down the road toward home. It's a busy street with three-to-four lanes each way and a speed limit of 45. Out the right-hand window I saw the familiar orange trees with over-ripe fruit that someone did not bother picking--I guess they decided it would be cheaper to let the orbs fall to the ground rather than pay wages to have them harvested. On the left were other looming monuments to the current economic decline: rows of stucco shopping malls left to the elements--most empty but some with abandoned paint buckets and stirring sticks: the dust of someone's dreams.
About 100 yards beyond the orange grove, a young family caught my eye. I counted five children, the youngest in a stroller, probably 9 months old. The tallest child looked to be no more than 8 or 9. The couple looked hot and worried but determined to continue to wherever it was they were going. Despite the new cloud cover, I knew the heat outside my air-conditioned car was nearly unbearable. "Flip around and give them your pizza," I heard myself say. There was no oncoming traffic for at least a quarter mile and if I was going to make a U-turn, now would be my chance. With about 1.5 seconds to question my instincts, I flipped across the road, turned on my hazards, and walked toward the family.
"What are you thinking, this is the stupidest thing you've ever done, they are probably fine and just headed to the next bus stop, they're gonna think you're racist, naive, or rude for offering them food," I warned myself. But that little nudging in my heart could not be ignored no matter how silly I felt. I addressed the father and asked, "Do you guys have any plans for dinner tonight?" He glared at me a little. "Why do you ask that?" He said, with a commanding air of concern and protection. SEE, YOU'RE STUPID, THEY DON'T NEED ANYTHING, I said to myself. "Oh, I don't know," I stammered, "I just picked up a hot...uh...large, pepperoni pizza from the corner, and I was wondering if, um you might want it," I said almost shaking.
His shoulders dropped, and he wiped his head as if relieved, and his wife put her hand on her chest, looked to the sky and whispered something inaudible. "I'm sorry I came off like that at first," he said in a new, friendly tone, "See, people have been shouting at us from their cars all along this street for us to get the H*&% outta here, and when you turned around so fast, we weren't sure if you were just another angry person, or what you were doing." I took a deep breath and said, "I am so sorry I startled you. I know it must seem very strange for me to pull up here and offer you a pizza, but I saw you and your children and something told me I needed to stop." The wife whispered again to the sky.
"I really appreciate that," he said, a little unnerved. "Hey, uh, I'm Riki, and this is my wife Tanishia," he said offering his hand. "I'm Christina, it's nice to meet you," I said taking each of their hands in turn. The oldest daughter's eyes perked "OH! And my name is Christie, kinda like YOU!" I chuckled, "That's a great name!!" I turned again to the parents and said, "Would you like the pizza? It is pepperoni," I repeated stupidly, "I just got it a minute ago, I haven't touched it, I promise." Ricki nodded his head, "Yeah, that's really nice of you, you know it's funny you stopped cause we're really having a hard time, and just yesterday I had to sell most of my things." I nodded, "I know, things are really tough."
Meanwhile, my daughter began to sob in the car as if sensing their plight. "I'll be right there baby," I said. "Here you go," I handed the pizza to Christie who had the sweetest smile, and the parents thanked me again. "Well, enjoy, and you guys will be in my prayers," I said. Rickie nodded and replied, "Yeah, I really appreciate that."
I stepped back into the car, my eyes welling toward my cheeks. After I turned on the car my daughter said in sobs, "That was my pizza, I wanted that pizza for me!" In a broken voice I responded, "Sweetie, those children didn't have any pizza for dinner, it was so nice of you to share with them." She wiped her tears and seemed to understand. I drove home with a heavy heart and looked up to that familiar place in the sky feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I laughed through the swollen lump in my throat thinking how humorously God chose to deliver me from temptation. It's my new diet. I call it the Friendly Fast Food Diet, and I highly recommend it.
My girlie and I played "Catch me if you can" with the garden hose on Thursday--a terrible muddy mess but great fun. It was approaching dinner and I had no intention of digging through my kitchen mess to make anything, and I would NOT turn on the oven. So I did what any sensible lazy person would do: I ordered a carryout pepperoni pizza. I squelched the tiny guilt inside and loaded little girlie in the car to fetch my easy, greasy sustenance.
I don't know if you've noticed, but Dominos Pizza has changed their recipe, and unfortunately for me, it is REALLY good, really convenient, and REALLY inexpensive. They are all trying to kill me! When we arrived outside the red, white, and blue emblem, I hoisted Ally out of her car seat into the 102+ weather to walk to the double glass doors of my latest Sin Factory. I handed over my magic plastic and received my prize--a piping hot pepperoni pizza. As I walked outside with a firm grip on my dinner and on my toddler's hand, I noticed that the clouds were thickening and turning gray--it was a definite change from the beating sun a few minutes earlier, but I welcomed the possibility of rain.
With everything in order, I headed down the road toward home. It's a busy street with three-to-four lanes each way and a speed limit of 45. Out the right-hand window I saw the familiar orange trees with over-ripe fruit that someone did not bother picking--I guess they decided it would be cheaper to let the orbs fall to the ground rather than pay wages to have them harvested. On the left were other looming monuments to the current economic decline: rows of stucco shopping malls left to the elements--most empty but some with abandoned paint buckets and stirring sticks: the dust of someone's dreams.
About 100 yards beyond the orange grove, a young family caught my eye. I counted five children, the youngest in a stroller, probably 9 months old. The tallest child looked to be no more than 8 or 9. The couple looked hot and worried but determined to continue to wherever it was they were going. Despite the new cloud cover, I knew the heat outside my air-conditioned car was nearly unbearable. "Flip around and give them your pizza," I heard myself say. There was no oncoming traffic for at least a quarter mile and if I was going to make a U-turn, now would be my chance. With about 1.5 seconds to question my instincts, I flipped across the road, turned on my hazards, and walked toward the family.
"What are you thinking, this is the stupidest thing you've ever done, they are probably fine and just headed to the next bus stop, they're gonna think you're racist, naive, or rude for offering them food," I warned myself. But that little nudging in my heart could not be ignored no matter how silly I felt. I addressed the father and asked, "Do you guys have any plans for dinner tonight?" He glared at me a little. "Why do you ask that?" He said, with a commanding air of concern and protection. SEE, YOU'RE STUPID, THEY DON'T NEED ANYTHING, I said to myself. "Oh, I don't know," I stammered, "I just picked up a hot...uh...large, pepperoni pizza from the corner, and I was wondering if, um you might want it," I said almost shaking.
His shoulders dropped, and he wiped his head as if relieved, and his wife put her hand on her chest, looked to the sky and whispered something inaudible. "I'm sorry I came off like that at first," he said in a new, friendly tone, "See, people have been shouting at us from their cars all along this street for us to get the H*&% outta here, and when you turned around so fast, we weren't sure if you were just another angry person, or what you were doing." I took a deep breath and said, "I am so sorry I startled you. I know it must seem very strange for me to pull up here and offer you a pizza, but I saw you and your children and something told me I needed to stop." The wife whispered again to the sky.
"I really appreciate that," he said, a little unnerved. "Hey, uh, I'm Riki, and this is my wife Tanishia," he said offering his hand. "I'm Christina, it's nice to meet you," I said taking each of their hands in turn. The oldest daughter's eyes perked "OH! And my name is Christie, kinda like YOU!" I chuckled, "That's a great name!!" I turned again to the parents and said, "Would you like the pizza? It is pepperoni," I repeated stupidly, "I just got it a minute ago, I haven't touched it, I promise." Ricki nodded his head, "Yeah, that's really nice of you, you know it's funny you stopped cause we're really having a hard time, and just yesterday I had to sell most of my things." I nodded, "I know, things are really tough."
Meanwhile, my daughter began to sob in the car as if sensing their plight. "I'll be right there baby," I said. "Here you go," I handed the pizza to Christie who had the sweetest smile, and the parents thanked me again. "Well, enjoy, and you guys will be in my prayers," I said. Rickie nodded and replied, "Yeah, I really appreciate that."
I stepped back into the car, my eyes welling toward my cheeks. After I turned on the car my daughter said in sobs, "That was my pizza, I wanted that pizza for me!" In a broken voice I responded, "Sweetie, those children didn't have any pizza for dinner, it was so nice of you to share with them." She wiped her tears and seemed to understand. I drove home with a heavy heart and looked up to that familiar place in the sky feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I laughed through the swollen lump in my throat thinking how humorously God chose to deliver me from temptation. It's my new diet. I call it the Friendly Fast Food Diet, and I highly recommend it.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
What to do...
A little thanks to my sisties for giving me the old "Chin up, gal" in the last post--Siblings are great to have around even when they are smaller than you...maybe...ESPECIALLY when they are smaller than you. They can look at the world through clear lenses, whereas I must squint through my blubber goggles (JOKE).
Here is my dilemma: I am AFRAID to EXERCISE. When my heart rate accelerates and my skin drips with sweat I feel like I am hurting my tiny little baby. I have wanted this little miracle for a LONG time, and I want to do everything to make sure I carry to term. I know I know, NOT exercising could hurt the baby MORE, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all those great things. SO, where do I go to find a SENSIBle workout routine for my pregnancy? I know ladies who would run MILES until they were about 5 months along--more power to em', but I simply cannot do that. Part of me is making an excuse for myself; we know how much I love a good excuse not to exercise. But MOST of me really is concerned and wants to find something that is effective and safe---any answers?
Here is my dilemma: I am AFRAID to EXERCISE. When my heart rate accelerates and my skin drips with sweat I feel like I am hurting my tiny little baby. I have wanted this little miracle for a LONG time, and I want to do everything to make sure I carry to term. I know I know, NOT exercising could hurt the baby MORE, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all those great things. SO, where do I go to find a SENSIBle workout routine for my pregnancy? I know ladies who would run MILES until they were about 5 months along--more power to em', but I simply cannot do that. Part of me is making an excuse for myself; we know how much I love a good excuse not to exercise. But MOST of me really is concerned and wants to find something that is effective and safe---any answers?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Fatly Duckling Resurfaces
About three weeks before my big family reunion, I had my spanx all in a twist thinking "My family won't even KNOW that I've lost weight." You see, it had been over 14 months since I'd seen any of my siblings, and when I DID see them, May 2009, it was only for a few hours. "I should go on a crash diet, I should stop eating carbs, I should run 5 miles every day so I can face my family!" were just a few of my frantic thoughts. After a couple days of thinking (and eating), I realized that none of my siblings were sitting home obsessing about how much weight I've lost, despite my inflated sense of importance, so I decided to forget the crash diet and enjoy my daughter and husband.
Apparently some of my family members had the same idea as me--one sibling lost 10 pounds in a week, another was sad that he or she did not have a chance to lose weight before the reunion and there were many other personal stories of weight success and failure. I realized that in a large family everyone wants to stand out and be special--no matter how far removed we all are from the old dinner table in Michigan. After seeing some of my family, especially my sisters, I was feeling really down. "I'm fat, I'm no good, they are skinny, they are all perfect, I am a blob slob," were the themes of my pity party. The second night at the reunion these thoughts were so overpowering that I couldn't sleep. "Stop it! You are special too!!," a little voice screamed in my head, well, not exactly an audible scream, it was more of a really strong impression. "You know you have worked hard, you are loved by your family, so STOP IT!" And I did. I slept peacefully and dropped the label of Fat Family Pariah.
I did receive compliments from my family, and it was really nice. I didn’t let my Fatly Duckling image bother me anymore--I just wanted to have fun. The best compliment I received was from a sister who saw me and said, "You look like a MOVIESTAR!" Awww thanks. I put extra thought into my 4 inch wedges that day to look more like a full-figured runway model, instead of a stocky average height lady. "What is wrong with you!? And what is wrong with your family to make you feel this way!?" You ask. There is nothing wrong with my family. This self-consciousness was all about SELF. Once I gave up the poor-me act, I really enjoyed myself, AND my skinny sisters. (They are all gonna get mad at me in the comments section, LOVE YOU GUYS). So here is my life lesson from this experience: Don't expect people to MAKE you happy about yourself, you must be happy with YOURSELF first, and the compliments and well-wishes will just be the cherry on top.
Apparently some of my family members had the same idea as me--one sibling lost 10 pounds in a week, another was sad that he or she did not have a chance to lose weight before the reunion and there were many other personal stories of weight success and failure. I realized that in a large family everyone wants to stand out and be special--no matter how far removed we all are from the old dinner table in Michigan. After seeing some of my family, especially my sisters, I was feeling really down. "I'm fat, I'm no good, they are skinny, they are all perfect, I am a blob slob," were the themes of my pity party. The second night at the reunion these thoughts were so overpowering that I couldn't sleep. "Stop it! You are special too!!," a little voice screamed in my head, well, not exactly an audible scream, it was more of a really strong impression. "You know you have worked hard, you are loved by your family, so STOP IT!" And I did. I slept peacefully and dropped the label of Fat Family Pariah.
I did receive compliments from my family, and it was really nice. I didn’t let my Fatly Duckling image bother me anymore--I just wanted to have fun. The best compliment I received was from a sister who saw me and said, "You look like a MOVIESTAR!" Awww thanks. I put extra thought into my 4 inch wedges that day to look more like a full-figured runway model, instead of a stocky average height lady. "What is wrong with you!? And what is wrong with your family to make you feel this way!?" You ask. There is nothing wrong with my family. This self-consciousness was all about SELF. Once I gave up the poor-me act, I really enjoyed myself, AND my skinny sisters. (They are all gonna get mad at me in the comments section, LOVE YOU GUYS). So here is my life lesson from this experience: Don't expect people to MAKE you happy about yourself, you must be happy with YOURSELF first, and the compliments and well-wishes will just be the cherry on top.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
What to do with all these baskets
In the first few months of our marriage, my parents were kind enough to hire my husband as a handy-man. While sweating to the 50's for a nice wad of cash, he got his first glimpse of my mother's basement and her obsession with BASKETS. "There is an entire room of JUST baskets, and then the storage room...more baskets!!!" My Husband said in livid disbelief. I replied: "Baskets are great, so cute and so functional--you can do anything with a basket." Although I knew he was exaggerating the scale of my mother's basket collection, he did have a valid point. There were over 100 baskets against the wall one atop the other. Some stacks were brick-wall sturdy, while others were shaky and crumbled to a mess of twisted whicker, plastic, and wood. The collection was impressive and diverse--there were antique baskets, cheap dollar-store baskets, seasonal baskets, and even the Rolls Royce of woven baskets: Longaberger-- I own a few given to me by lovely mother. Apparently a little 12'' round can cost $150 +. Some dude was REALLY smart and banked on the idea that goo-goo eyed basket women would fork over ridiculous amounts of money for a "Hand made" jewel of their own.
I've never met a woman who did NOT like baskets, but personally, my gravitation towards the woven bowls tip-toes the border of unhealthy. My apple didn't fall too far from the tree, and sometimes I think my apple is still dangling. My mom has 17 children and sixty-something grandchildren (I've lost count, really, I'm not joking, I got tired of counting) So at least she could actually USE hundreds of baskets for gifts/gatherings etc, and she does, so her collection is in a constant flux.
Some women are purse people or shoe people, I am a container people, er, person. I know, I've heard, there is an entire store dedicated to containers. I've not been there, for, reasons. Just like some people who have parents with a drinking problem decide never to take the first drink, I've decided not to take the first step into the Container Store. But I do spend extra time in the plastic bin isle of Wal Mart and Target. If you are a dreamer, you understand the obsession with containers--so many possibilities. "Oh the things I can put in THIS one, and this one, and that one, oooh and those ones." I get into a little trouble when I buy containers preemptively. I say, "Oh there MUST be something to put in this," and pretty soon I have more containers than I have things to put in them.
"Don't put all your eggs in one basket," the saying says. What about "Don't buy more baskets than you have eggs." I have never been one to put all of ANYTHING in one basket, I have what me and my sister call "Hobby ADD." There is reading, running (ish), writing, crafting--so many sub categories that I can't even begin, gardening, blogging, surfing, sewing, basket weaving (just kidding, but wouldn't that be perfect!), painting, scanning, canning, planning--so many directions to choose, so many Baskets to place what is most precious: TIME. With the little one on the way, I have had to think critically about putting too many eggs in too many baskets--spreading myself thin. (Haha, egg, pregnant, get it?) So I decided that I will pare down my "Basket" collection (places where I spend, or, waste, my time) into three categories: Family, God, and Self. If I am being completely honest, I have WAY too many eggs in the self basket--so many crafts, so little time. I do think it is important to HAVE a self basket, we don't want any ladies losing their minds, but I would much rather have my sense of self wrapped up in my family and my Maker. So now for the cleanup--anybody in need of a few hundred baskets?
I've never met a woman who did NOT like baskets, but personally, my gravitation towards the woven bowls tip-toes the border of unhealthy. My apple didn't fall too far from the tree, and sometimes I think my apple is still dangling. My mom has 17 children and sixty-something grandchildren (I've lost count, really, I'm not joking, I got tired of counting) So at least she could actually USE hundreds of baskets for gifts/gatherings etc, and she does, so her collection is in a constant flux.
Some women are purse people or shoe people, I am a container people, er, person. I know, I've heard, there is an entire store dedicated to containers. I've not been there, for, reasons. Just like some people who have parents with a drinking problem decide never to take the first drink, I've decided not to take the first step into the Container Store. But I do spend extra time in the plastic bin isle of Wal Mart and Target. If you are a dreamer, you understand the obsession with containers--so many possibilities. "Oh the things I can put in THIS one, and this one, and that one, oooh and those ones." I get into a little trouble when I buy containers preemptively. I say, "Oh there MUST be something to put in this," and pretty soon I have more containers than I have things to put in them.
"Don't put all your eggs in one basket," the saying says. What about "Don't buy more baskets than you have eggs." I have never been one to put all of ANYTHING in one basket, I have what me and my sister call "Hobby ADD." There is reading, running (ish), writing, crafting--so many sub categories that I can't even begin, gardening, blogging, surfing, sewing, basket weaving (just kidding, but wouldn't that be perfect!), painting, scanning, canning, planning--so many directions to choose, so many Baskets to place what is most precious: TIME. With the little one on the way, I have had to think critically about putting too many eggs in too many baskets--spreading myself thin. (Haha, egg, pregnant, get it?) So I decided that I will pare down my "Basket" collection (places where I spend, or, waste, my time) into three categories: Family, God, and Self. If I am being completely honest, I have WAY too many eggs in the self basket--so many crafts, so little time. I do think it is important to HAVE a self basket, we don't want any ladies losing their minds, but I would much rather have my sense of self wrapped up in my family and my Maker. So now for the cleanup--anybody in need of a few hundred baskets?
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
