I went to high school with a girl who was under five foot tall. There was a running joke by her friends and most everyone about her, even though she was very well-liked. It was regarding her weight. The joke was that you could always tell if this girl had a boyfriend or not at the moment by taking one glance at her. If her weight was up, she was in a relationship and happy. If she was thin and trim, she was single and looking.

I wish that were true for me about now.

I am quite the opposite. If you were to look at me right now, you’d see I’m wearing my spare tire again. After a full year of working hard to whittle it away with some success. After months of getting favorable comments about my appearance and how trim I was getting.

I even kept getting the complements as I was gaining it back. And, I felt guilty the entire time.

You can look at me and tell at a glance whether my life is in a good place. Just look at the roll around my waist. If it is there, I’m struggling. My belly is like the yellow or red flag at the beach, waving to everyone that it is not safe to swim. There are dangerous waves, rip tides, and currents pulling me down.

This fall has been very difficult on too many levels to even discuss on here. But, what I hate most is that, in the struggle to keep it together, I let go of what I’d worked so hard to regain–my good health.

What is scary when you have a disease like Type II diabetes is that a gain of just 5 or 10 pounds during a stressful time doesn’t just make you feel bad. It can cause a trigger of all sorts of other problems. It can send your disease spiralling downward and out of control. It doesn’t matter if you take all your pills if you’re not supporting it everywhere else–with good and consistent workouts and healthy foods.

So, I will pick myself and try to shed that spare tire now. I’ll toss it out on the side of the road that I’m on. I can keep rolling on what I have and I don’t need the backup.

I will try and remember that it is a battle every day of making the right choices versus the wrong ones. And each choice makes a difference, no matter how small…

I found myself the victim of a snap-judgement based on my Southern accent. Call it Twang-scrimination.

After giving a welcome and sharing some personal information about myself with a few women for an event recently, a younger woman who was from New York looked at me and, as if holding back her amusement, said, “And, did you grow up here your whole life?”

There was a condescending nature about her tone, which suggested that she felt superior by the mere fact alone that she could say she was a New Yorker. It annoyed me completely given that a>she was much younger than me and b>had much less career and life experience than myself.

I moved to Texas from North Carolina when I was three, so you can imagine what a thick and bizarre accent that made for in my elementary school years. But, by high school, I was just like everyone else in my rural Texas town. The daughter of an English teacher with grammar in my blood, I was a Journalism major in college and worked through my accent in my Broadcasting classes. Today, I actually have much less of an accent than most of my family and most of my hometown friends.

I promise you, I didn’t utter a “Fixin’ to,” a “y’all,” or a “Get ‘er done, Bubba!” the entire conversation with this woman, and yet I found myself sitting there feeling as if she thought I had just stepped off of my double-wide to meet her.

As a woman who is proud to call herself a Texan, who has a college degree and published writings, who has travelled around the States and abroad, and considers herself not to be a complete idiot, it was hard to not tear into this woman.

In fact, I considered opening up a Texas-sized can of whoop-arse on her, but thought better. It might not make my point very well and could mean the end of my job since this was a work gig. Alas, it was also not the only time that I’ve experienced “Twang-scrimination” and I am certain it will not be the last.

“What did you say?”  The waiter had asked me back in high school on a marching band trip to Colorado for competition.

“DId you say you wanted TAAAY to drink? (giggling) TAAAAY? Did you mean “TEEE?”  He blasted back as I scowled at him.

Cue the entire table of my band mates, all of which had as bad or WORSE Texas drawls than my own, laughing heartily at my expense.

“Uh….I’ll stick with a water,” I’d said sheepishly.

Why is it that people who grow up without a Southern accent, think so little of those of us who do?

Do they not realize that they have their own dialect that might seem foreign to us as well?

Do they think that because you have a southern accent, you cannot be articulate and intelligent?

On this particular evening, I was already exhausted and edgy. I considered going into my Roscoe P. Coltrain imitation from the Dukes of Hazzard, just to see if I could scare the New Yorker girl off with visions of Deliverance in her head.

I imagined chortling back at her, “Oh, no you did-ent! Newsflash, homeslice! We’re not ALL uneducated country bumpkins! I could, in fact, judge you as an up-tight, sour and brash New Yorker, if I chose to perpetuate stereotypes, but you don’t see me doing that do you? SNAP!” 

We finished out our evening and I eventually did have nice conversations with the “Northern” group of ladies. I think once they stopped being so amused by my Texas accent and started listening to what I had to say, they realized that I do not just sit on my back porch and shoot up some vittlins’ for dinner each night. I am really not very different from them, and I sometimes have meaningful things to add to a conversation.

Still, as the group walked a way, I felt this urge to channel my inner Jed Clampett scream out,

“Y’all come back now, ya HEAR!”

You know, just to see what they’d do…

That’s what I take in each day.

When I actually admit this to people (which is rarely), I get raised eyebrows. I imagine they either think I have some sort of “problem” with prescription meds, or that I’m half crazy. Friends show concern, “Are you sure you can’t try a more natural approach?”

Only my peers with Type II diabetes give a knowing nod or a shrug of understanding. And, those with Type I diabetes probably think this is pretty minimal, actually.

14 pills a day translates into 98 pills a week. If you had asked me when I was 20, if I thought I’d be taking close to 100 pills a week before I turned 40 years of age, I would have laughed at you.

I’m someone who hates even taking Tylenol if I can help it.

The toughest part of having a disease, I am learning, is this: you have to accept that, as much as you’d like to think you have control, you really do not. You have to trust your doctors.

You try to eat right and exercise in the hopes of losing weight to get off of some of the medication you are on. Then your body ages or you gain a few pounds or the disease takes a turn, and suddenly you find yourself in a downward spiral of bad labwork, more weight gain, and more medication. When you ask what you should do to stop this, sometimes your doctor has ideas. But, sometimes he has to admit what you don’t want to hear, “It’s just the progression of the disease, unfortunately. We’ll keep after it.”

It is not all negative. You are not on insulin yet. Part of this huge pile of pills you take each day are vitamins that keep you healthier than most in some ways. Your hair grows quickly and your nails are strong!

You look at people struggling with the disease who have horrible problems, and you feel thankful for your eyesight, your healthy feet, your healthy heart and it helps those pills go down a little easier each day.

You have learned so much about nutrition and healthy living. Enough that sometimes you consider swapping careers to be a nutritionist, a personal trainer or something where you can pass along what you know and help others who feel so helpless with this condition.

Honestly though, some months you don’t have the energy for it all. You quit taking some of the pills. You might quit taking all of them for a short time. You realize how bad you feel when you do. You watch the scale fly upward at an alarming rate, even though you’re still working out hard.

You are forced to admit to yourself that your body actually needs those pills to feel somewhat normal and function well. You detest relying on anything like that–it goes against every fiber of your being. But, it is what it is.

One open pill window and 13 more to go for the week.

Currently, you are working hard at this–trying to take them all and not forget, and also injecting a new medication at mealtime that is supposed to work with the old to help you lose a little weight and help your organs deal with the disease better. You wonder though if the shot is really just a precursor to insulin–a last ditch effort by your doctor. You fear that most of all, so you push the thought out of your head immediately.

You have had many phases in your five years of having Type II diabetes. So many you feel like a seasoned war veteran, but you realize that you have so many battles left to win in your lifetime. You still have SO much to learn. You still haven’t gotten the diet just right or found that balance you need.

Depression hides just around the corner and rears its ugly head now and then. You battle back though. Always. You try to keep focused and stay optimistic. You are young. You are healthy. You are determined. You are educated about this disease and what it can do if you do not stay proactive. You refuse to go there. Ever.

Windows up and windows down…your week moves on. This is your life with Type II diabetes, whether you want it to be or not. Be thankful for each pill you swallow and each step you take. Never let it get the best of you…

This is my tribute to their Halloween efforts:

Dear oldest one,

You had the best costume of the night, and I had other parents tell me that too, so it isn’t just a mom bias. You wanted to wear this last year and it didn’t work out, so I’m so glad we got it this year. Do you know how neat I think it is that you like to listen to Elvis’s greatest hits when you’re vegging in your room or to go to sleep at night?

The past few years, I’ve really appreciated your choice of Halloween costume. Gone are the days of Star Wars or football players. We’ve gone from a Guitar Hero rocker:

To an out-of-this-world alien complete with a voice-morphing microphone.

To this year’s Elvis. 4th grade has turned out to be a very difficult year for us, my boy. But, we will get through it. When I see this smile, I know that everything will work itself out and you’ll always be my uniquely fabulous and creative son.

And to the little miss,

You were very opinionated about your costume this year. “I don’t want to be any princess or fairy!” You firmly stated. (Even though you’ve been in full princess garb for several years running before this one.) You held that stance even after you heard almost all of your friends were being fairies and princesses too. Instead, you chose something that completely fit your fun and fiesty personality:

You gave your mom two choices with very specific requirements this Halloween. The pirate girl, but not the one with pants or a “triangle hat.” It had to be the do-rag hat and a skirt. The only other acceptable option was the glittery pink Super Girl costume.

When I see you in this getup we found, I know that we chose the best one for you. After all, you love to wave your sword and shout out, “Shiver me TENDERS!” (It sounds so much better in the form of a chicken nugget, doesn’t it?) And much to your enjoyment, you found that two older girls on our street were also pirate girls. It could not have been more perfect!

And, as for your Mom. I am semi proud to admit that our candy bag did not develop the annual hole at the bottom whereby your Dad and I have the unspoken agreement that candy will be secretly withdrawn. I didn’t have a single candy until Halloween night. That night, I had 3 pieces. Not terribly bad.

I’ll admit here that my candy intake has steadily increased since then though. Ugh. Gotta work on that…

What about you? What were your kids for Halloween?  How are you faring with the candy?

But, I never know what is going to come out of her mouth or what loop she is going to throw at me next. One week, I’ll be talking about how she’s not a girly girl and is more sporty than most of her friends on the street, and the next week she’ll ask me to wear a dress every single day to school and why can’t she wear the black dressy shoes even on P.E. days?

I’ll talk about what a picky eater she is and…

Well, no scratch that–she is still a horrendously picky eater. But, that will be the week she chooses to actually try and like shrimp poppers in the cafeteria at school and fish sticks at home. My son is the opposite of a picky eater and he won’t touch the shrimp poppers or most of the cafeteria food for that matter and I don’t blame him.

And, now, I have found myself with a boy-crazed little girl. She is five-years-old and, I swear to you, I have seen her bat her eyes at several little boys in her class already this year. What? Are you kidding me? My daughter, a boy chaser? Really?

I have rolled my eyes at little girls in our neighborhood and hemmed and hawed about little girls acting older than their age on more than one occasion. Now, I find myself eating my own words humbly as I watch her smile and sweetly say, “Byeeeeee, Shame…” to an adorable little blonde-haired boy in her class who always says goodbye to her after school. (His name is actually Shane, but I had to share that find it precious that she calls him, Shame.)

And, friends, I tend to think this flirty approach is all working out for her when I open her backpack and find something like this:

For those of you who cannot read “Kindergarten” that says “Evan’s Phone Number.” I have no worries about publishing the digits, because I am certain this is entirely made up as we have no area codes resembling that where we live and plus it IS kindergarten and he was missing a digit too!

That’s right, she came home with a hand scribbled boy’s phone number on construction paper.

What is next, I ask you? Will they be buying her lunches in the cafeteria? Offering to carry her backpack out to the bike racks?

The other day, I asked her who her favorite friends were in the class. Her response? “I don’t know who in the girls, but I can tell you who my favorite BOY is, Mommy. And, that’s Brady.” (Notice, it wasn’t Evan? Or ‘Shame’? Yeah, that means there’s more than one of them she’s noticed.)

Good Lord, what am I going to do here?

I’m left wondering, where is my little girl who always plays well with the boys, but does so because she PLAYS with the boys and LIKE the boys–soccer, football, tag, and so forth.

Also, shouldn’t this “I think boys are cute” thing hit a lot later–say age 10 or 11? Or, if it were up to her Dad and me, maybe she could hold off with it until around say age 25?

All that I know is, if she’s going to skip right over the “boys have cooties” stage and go to this, she’s got a LONG time to wait until we allow boyfriends, dating or any of that mess. In fact, does anyone have the name of a good Houston area catholic girls school or convent? I’m thinking I may need to have THAT number on hand if this gets much worse…

First, I’m struggling with a carrot that has been dangled at me. It’s being dangled as an offer to quit a volunteer commitment that I made. And, I’m pretty sure it is being held before me because I have not held up my end of the volunteer work to date and all that I’m doing is holding people back at this point.

The guilt. Oh, how it comes over me! I am not someone who drops commitments. I have always been someone who is super dependable. But, I’m finding myself in a place where I’m realizing that I can’t do what I have always done. I cannot just push through after a few serious stress meltdowns and knuckle through it, vowing to never ever EVER over-volunteer again. Well, in truth I could do that, but every core of my being is saying NO this time.

Maybe it is because I have a child who is struggling right now. Maybe because my family’s foundation is weak and buckling. It could be because I joined a Bible study that just means more to me than some of this stuff really. I could possibly be just feeling tired, selfish or unmotivated for one reason or another.

Whatever the case, the carrot offering friend is just like me (an over-committer), and she’s still offering it up, even though it probably makes her workload heavier. And, I feel bad about that. But, I’m still seriously considering taking her up on the offer to drop out.

• I need some calm time.
• I need to not feel my heart race the second I get up every morning thinking about all I have to get done and my eyes burning at night because I can’t go to bed yet until I finish X, Y, and Z.
• I need to get all the laundry done for once, the closets organized, the outgrown clothes to good will.
• I want to get my scrap table cleaned up and start back with my albums for my own family that have been calling to me.
• I want to be able to workout AND have time to do other things.
• I want to keep up with the other commitments that I have that I’m only doing halfway right now because there’s just not enough time in the day. I want to do those well.
• I just don’t want to be this person anymore. It is exhausting, quite frankly.

I have a heavier post waiting in the wings for later this week. But, I couldn’t put it out there today after yesterday’s whine-fest. So, instead, here’s a few posts that I thoroughly enjoyed today:

• Sary Markley isn’t afraid to be different. Are you?
• An amazing writer and the can of beans that brought him back. Aren’t we all so lucky?
• This hasn’t been updating in my reader and I’m glad I clicked over to find out why now.

How does one grow thicker skin?

Is it an age thing? Do you hit 40 or 45 or 50 and just decide that you’re not going to sweat the small stuff?

Do you wake one day and tell yourself that the witchy actions by insecure people around you that are so hurtful just don’t hurt your heart anymore?

Do you suddenly find one day that being left off the invite list AGAIN and seemingly purposely…when you’re so obviously right there when people are doing the inviting doesn’t really matter to you? It doesn’t sting even the slightest?

Because I am ready to have this shift go on in my heart. Do I ask God to help me with this?

Does anyone else ever FEEL this way? Or am I grossly insecure and immature? Wait, maybe I don’t want you to answer that!

I feel like I’m human, honestly. I don’t think I’m that out of the ordinary. When I’m PMSing, I have more sensitivities and can be a little too sensitive. I admit it.

When I am not hormonal though, I am still a person with feelings. I try to be friendly and a friend to everyone around me. But, after years of this happening when I least expect it, and watching it happen to my own kids too, one starts to wonder if they are SO bland, so insignificant, or so completely not “worthy” enough that they are the one who is always forgotten. Never the favorite friend, but a nice friend. Blah, blah, blah…

It is easy to develop a complex really about this kind of thing. And, that’s where I find myself–utterly exhausted by it and determined to just not care anymore. It is NOT worth it. It is stupid. And, most of all, I know that if I can get myself to this place where it doesn’t matter anymore, not only will I be happier, but I can help my kids learn to not care either.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go too far to where I’m flipping the world the bird and doing whatever I please, not caring about anyone around me. How do you try to have a loving heart, and put yourself out there, without having that heart injured sometimes?

So, last night we picked our books. In usual fashion, my daughter had specific books that I simply MUST read. Much like the outfit that she told me every day this week she MUST wear on Friday. So, we piled up the books, Morris the Moose Goes to School, Chewy Louie, The Halloweener, and a few others.

I arrived at the class right on time and sat to begin reading. Four hands went up before I read the first book.

“My sister has a fever today.”

“Hey! You live by me!”

“I like that book you have on bottom. It’s about a dog. I have a dog too.”

“You’re Natalie’s Mom!”

Apparently, I had forgotten the shear spontaneity that is a kindergarten class. This was going to be interesting.

The kids settled down and we read. My daughter pointed at the funny parts and made sure I was turning the book so everyone could see, obviously setting aside her shy ways for the day and enjoying getting to sit in the front while I read to her friends.

There were silly comments during each story. The kids laughed at every funny part and sat hanging on my every word. One little boy raised his hand during each story and left it there until I called on him. Then, he’d forget what he was going to say almost every time. There’s always one of those, isn’t there?

As I got to what ended up being the last book, little did I realize that I was about to be heckled by an adorably enthusiastic five-year-old.

“I have this book!” She shouted out triumphantly.

“Great! It’s a good one, isn’t it?” I said.

Then, I began to read. This book reads as journal entries. Most entries have just 2-3 sentences and all have the punchline/most funny part in the last sentence which you read as you show the kids the story. It always goes over well with most ages of kids.

Only, this time, as I got to the end of the words on each page, I would suddenly hear a voice shout out the last line.

“He said they can’t run, they don’t have feet!” She laughed heartily.

And, then I repeated the line after her, smiling.

Next page, same thing. I get to the last line and…

“I know this one too! It’s so funny. Then he says (insert rest of line here…” Hahahahaha!

This time, I paused, looked at her smiling, and then looked back and read the line, trying to contain my amusment at her enthusiastic interrupting.

This went on for almost the whole story, and she’d break into certain parts to tell the class this was a page she really liked, listen to this part, or more with saying the story line just before I read it. The teacher did shush her at one point, but it really wasn’t necessary as I found her enthusiasm completely adorable.

A few weeks ago I’d read to my son’s 4th grade class and I enjoyed it as well. But, with each year that goes by, there are a few more kids that don’t pay attention. Some read their own books now. Some whisper or watch the hallway. Others just seem bored by being read to at their older age. (Thankfully, my son and several of his friends are still very into having their Mom or Dad come and read, so there’s a small audience left!) Each year, some of the excitement about reading becomes old hat, the books become more intense and deep, and the whole vibe shifts.

But, kindergarten eyes soak in the pictures on every page.

“Let me see! Turn it this way!”

Kindergarten ears hear every turn of the story.

“Oooh! Those dogs weren’t being nice to him, where they!”

Kindergarteners will say anything, do anything, but most of all they love anything you read to them. And how fabulous is that, I ask you?

Gratitude Challenge Week 2: Be Grateful for Everything Around You

Enjoy the people around you. Take a moment to appreciate their unique talents, abilities and personalities. (I’m going just write about my immediate family today, as you know how long-winded I can be!)

My Fabulous Fam:

The hubster- Knows not only how to save a buck, but also how to make a buck. He is the king of Craig’s List. For example, he just sold a packet of Leap Pad games with our very old Leap Pad (it was my son’s who is 10) for $80!  And, thankfully, the advent of Craig’s List and Ebay has made him finally able to realize what a complete waste of time garage sales are. (Can I get an Amen to that?)

In addition, he’s very patient with me and all my “issues.” For this, I am eternally grateful. There are not enough words here…

My son- My 10-yr-old son is hilarious, creative, and interesting. He doesn’t always open up to people at first, so many may not know this about him. But, those who have gotten to know him well, get the privilege of hearing his mind at work.

For example, the other night, we had a big salad with our dinner. He asked, “Mom, does this have ‘Fah-HET-Tah’ cheese on it? I just love ‘Fah-HET-Tah’ cheese, you know.” To which I responded, “Do you mean Feta cheese? It is Feh-tah.”

“I know, mom,” he added, confidently. But, don’t you think Fah-HET-Tah sounds sooo much better?”And, that’s my son…he adds a little “Fah-HET-Tah” to every situation, making it more interesting than it was before he stepped into it. I can’t wait to see what this will mean for him when he grows up.

My daughter - My youngest is five, going on 35–but I mean that in a good way. She’s the family peacemaker. When she sees I’m under stress or angry about something, it is not uncommon for her to sneak up next to me, put her hand in mine, and quietly say, “Mommy, I LOVE you.” Now, she also uses this charm to her advantage when she’s on thin ice with her Mom and Dad as well. But, she hates to upset anyone and tries to do what is expected of her. Where my son likes to be rebellious and argue/debate it out very passionately, she’ll happily do what’s asked most of the time just to get to something else fun she wants to do. My challenges with her will come as she gets older and wants to jump the gun on dating, wearing makeup, driving, and so forth…

I also appreciate how she is very laid back about friends. Sometimes, the little pack of girls on our street can get selective with who they want to play with that day. Most of the time, this rolls right off her back. It’s not uncommon for me to see a group of them playing, and see my daughter choose to do chalk with the boys or ride her scooter the other direction. She marches to the beat of her own drummer, and how great is that? Last week, she drew a self portrait with a blue sky background and her smiling. Her title was, “I Like Me.” Oh how I hope she keeps that mindset in the years to come! (And, could I borrow a little of this attitude from her sometime?)

My family is closing out a very rough year. There have been times that I didn’t know if we would make it together, and challenges we have never experienced before this year. But, there have also been sudden moments of joy that have taken my breath away as a mother. I hope that I can learn to focus on those times and use them to get me through through the tougher times that come along that throw us all for a loop.

Join the Gratitude Challenge online or read more from others doing the challenge!

But, I AM making time to read and comment on my favorite blogs and I’m finding some new ones too! Check out my blog list to the right. Here’s also some posts that spoke to me this morning. Enjoy!

• Lindsay sums my life’s quest up best with this post.
• Along those same lines, a new blog I just stumbled across makes a great point–not perfect, just joyful.
• A favorite new blog find, Sarah makes a really important point so eloquently.
• Organizing Junkie has great appetizer recipes collecting in her comments. If you have a party to go to the next few weekends like I do, you’ll appreciate these!

Find any great new blogs or posts you loved lately? Share it in my comments and we’ll all find new inspirations! Linky hugs to all the ladies above!