Sweat & Sparkle

Let’s Get Started

I have tiptoed and danced around the topic of weight loss here. I have wanted to write about it, about starting over, about my day-to-day struggles and victories, but, to be honest, fear has stopped me. What if I lay it all on the line, set goals, make plans…and then fail?

For some reason, while out for a walk yesterday, it finally struck me how irrational that is. If I fail but don’t blog about it, I still fail. But if I blog about it, I can write about it, get the feelings and the words out of my head, and anyway, don’t we all fail at times? Is it such a bad thing to publicly share that, hey, guess what: I am human?

So here we go. After losing over 70 pounds last year, I stumbled. Well, I guess it was more than a stumble. It was a flat-out, epic splat. I could blame the anniversary of my mom’s death right after I had lost the weight, and a lot of travel around that time, but let’s get real. All of that is a copout and nothing but excuses. I stopped working out, stopped watching how I ate, and I rapidly gained the weight back.

Not all of it, though. I would love to get back on track before I am right back where I started.

So what’s the plan? I know what I need to do: work out, eat better, drink more water, cut the soda, log my food. Everything that worked for me before. And writing here, because Lord knows I have a long way to go and could use all the support I can get!

I lowered my goal weight by 10 pounds, because when I lost weight last year, I felt like I still wasn’t quite where I would like to be. I may adjust that as I get closer to my goal, but that feels like a million miles away. For now, I just need a target to start moving toward.

So…before I chicken out and don’t post this…let’s get started on day #1, shall we?

Grandkids

Last week, my husband and I saw not one, but both, of our grandkids. It’s hard for me to get pictures of the 3-year-old, because he is always moving, always spinning, turning, running, or jumping, so all the pictures turn out blurry. It’s like attempting to photograph the Tasmanian Devil. I managed a few, though, when my husband picked him up to play him like a guitar, and they were both laughing so hard. Every time he is here, he is determined to pet my cat, but my cat is equally determined not to let that happen, so alas, it has yet to transpire. Maybe someday.

Then we enjoyed a weekend with our younger grandson, who is 8 months old and has us completely wrapped around his little finger. When I got home Friday evening, the dining room table was covered with shopping bags, baby clothes, tiny shoes, and toys, as if the little guy was moving in with us. The two culprits were snuggling conspiratorially on the couch, smiling and laughing.

We played on the living room floor, practiced walking (not quite there yet, but he stands while holding our hands), went to the park, went out to eat, went for walks, made up songs, and just enjoyed ourselves immensely.

After we put the little guy to bed, and the house quieted down, my husband put his arm around me and said, “You’re a good granny. I love watching you two together.”

I was worn out, tired, but felt so peaceful. Hearing him say that was a lovely ending to a beautiful day.

I was holding our grandbaby the next morning when he suddenly wrapped his little arms around my head and pressed his face close to mine. I gently hugged his little back and laughed as I could feel his tiny fingers work their way into my hair, which I had wisely braided but was still tempting for baby hands to hold onto tightly. My husband got a picture of us, and while it’s no Glamour Shot, I don’t care: I love it.

On our way to drop him off to a mom and dad who were anxious to see him, I thought of all the other countless trips we had made back and forth, dropping the kids off in that same town, but how different this time was. Then, we spent the hour-long car ride trying to distract and soothe four tearful kids who were not ready to leave yet, while also trying to calm our own doubts and fears about their safety and well-being for the next two weeks before they came back. This time, we were singing to and talking to a very happy baby who we knew was going back to very capable and loving parents (who were pretending they weren’t having a hard time with the separation)! How different things can be when everyone truly loves and wants what is best for the child. What a concept, isn’t it?

After we visited for a bit with our son and his wife, my husband and I headed home and talked the entire time about what we could do next time, things we need to buy, how much fun we had had that week with both grandsons, how fast both of them were growing. Soon they’ll both be shaving and driving 🙂 Slow down a bit, fellas!

What You Choose to Focus On

Someone commented on yesterday’s post about how it would be understandable to think about revenge every now and then, after all the senseless and unnecessary stress and stupidity that my husband’s ex, Psycho, has deliberately hurled at us over the many years that he and I have been together. I am no saint, and I freely admit that sure, at one time, revenge definitely crossed my mind.

But the comment yesterday got me thinking. As time went by, my husband and I responded to the constant onslaught by drawing closer together, narrowing in on us and the kids. Eventually, without even realizing it, we blotted Psycho out.

That choice–to tune in to us, to love, to happiness–was monumental, and we didn’t even know it at the time.

I am a huge believer of this quote:

“What you choose to focus on becomes your reality.” ~ Jen Sincero

We had a choice. We could focus on anger, vengeance, negativity. Or we could rise above that and focus on our relationship, protecting the kids, building our lives together, and seeking happiness. We chose to focus on what truly mattered to us.

So did Psycho. But what mattered to her was radically different. She didn’t care about the kids, or moving on, or laying the groundwork for a positive future. She chose her true loves: bitterness, jealousy, lying, pettiness.

Fast forward to now, and the results of our different choices are stark opposites. My husband and I enjoy being together, have a peaceful home, love visits with the kids and grandkids, are excited about our future plans. We are best friends and take care of each other.

Psycho, on the other hand, is perpetually angry, alone, and foul. The closest she gets to being content is when she’s making everyone around her miserable, too. She repels everyone, from men to her own children, and she has been reduced to whining to her father to force the kids to talk to her when they wisely choose to avoid her negative energy.

So, do I still think about revenge? No. I don’t have to. Time and life have handled it for me. She has done it to herself. And she lacks the self-awareness, courage, or intelligence to ever change it, so this has become her self-imposed life sentence.

Sad? Sure. But it’s her own doing, her own responsibility, and her burden, not mine. She became what she focused on. Simple. And so did we–and I am joyfully thankful and grateful for that.

Worth It

On any given morning, I certainly do not leap eagerly out of bed in my excitement to get to work. But this morning was even tougher than usual. I was wrapped up snugly in my husband’s arms, so comfy that it should be illegal, and if the alarm snooze would have stopped rudely interrupting me, I could easily have drifted right back to sleep.

On my commute this morning, I was pouting about being on my way to work instead of still cozy and happy in bed with my husband, when it occurred to me that it really wasn’t that bad. At the end of the work day, I would be heading home to him, to a home we love, to another evening and another morning of snuggling happily. There are worse things, right?

I thought about our roughest days. Over the past nearly 20 years, we have had some humdingers: jealous attacks, groundless accusations, depraved insults, endless court dates, confused questions and heartbreaking cries from four innocent children who didn’t understand what was happening and who were too often thrust into the middle of it by selfish others. It felt like a never-ending battlefield for a long time, but under that barrage of ceaseless cheap shots, one thing remained constant. We always ended up moving toward each other, protecting each other, finding comfort in each other.

As I thought about it this morning, instead of feeling angry, I smiled. I wished I could go back in time, find the two of us on one of those brutal days, and tell us: hey, you make it, you two. You make it through this. You come out on top. Because you will still be together, stronger than ever. You will end up married, happy, still deeply in love. Snuggly mornings wrapped around each other will bring you peace and joy every day. So hang in there, because it will be so worth it.

I have said it before, and I still mean it: the ones who fought so hard to drive us apart did nothing but forge us closer together. We have walked through their bullets and bombs, affronts and onslaughts, everything they could hurl at us, and when the smoke cleared, we were still together, still hand in hand, still loving each other.

Should I tell them “thank you”? Well, maybe. At one time, I might have even tossed in a hearty “fuck you” along with it, but I suspect that, given their loneliness, bitterness, and meaninglessness, life has already delivered more retaliatory middle fingers their way than I ever could.

I prefer to focus on us anyway. As if he can tell I am writing about him, my husband just texted me that he misses me. I miss him too. Maybe this evening, the chores, to-do list, and everything else can just wait. I want to hold onto him, appreciate everything around us, celebrate where we are, and look forward to many tomorrows with him. We earned it.

Rainy Sunday

The weekend is flying by, as I knew it would. I want it to slow down so I can keep enjoying it as long as possible.

Yesterday my husband and I went on Valentine’s Day date night. The evening was perfect, not hot, not cold, so we sat outside at the restaurant and had a beautiful time.

On a whim, I had decided to have flowers delivered to the house for my husband for Valentine’s Day. He has flowers sent to me, at home and work, all the time, so why not return the favor? When the florist delivered not one, but two, bouquets yesterday, he looked confused until I pointed out that one of them was for him. His face lit up, which made me happy, and he said, “No one has ever gotten me flowers before.” He thanked me for the flowers again today. He has his flowers beside mine on the dining room table, where we can easily see them and appreciate them.

Today is rainy and windy, perfect for staying inside and relaxing. We sneaked out and dodged raindrops for a late lunch, but for the rest of the day, we intend to cozily hibernate at home.

This evening, I think I will keep scratching out an idea I had, inspired by a fellow blogger. I want to scribble some plans out before I write too much about it, but I am excited about it.

We are both off tomorrow too. I love not having to set the alarm!