On a Tear

Know what really jumps in my craw and sticks there? Pharisaical Pomposity.

What in the world is that, you ask? It's having the misguided idea that as a superior thinker you know what's best for me and intend to show me the error of my ways. Some folks simply believe that they know better than you do and that you need to be told what to do and what to think, and that if you don't think it and know it as they do, you are clearly an idiot.

Who are the biggest offenders?

1.) People with no kids who want to tell me how to raise mine. Yeah. Okay there, Buddy. Sling that parenting advice somewhere else, because if I have four children and generally no idea what I'm doing over here, then as a non-parent, I know you can't possibly have anything to add to the equation. (Sidenote: Having a cat or a dog makes you a pet owner, not a child rearing expert. You people especially need to shut it.) I'll do fine making my own educated guesses in my personal human bio dome experiment at Casa Johnson.

If you want to do something to help me, come over here and get the grilled cheese sandwich out of the DVD player, find my youngest daughter's left tennis shoe, repaint my den where my budding Rembrandt's painted self portraits on the wall, and help me convince my son that ketchup isn't a vegetable. THAT would be helpful. But telling me that their education isn't appropriate, that my parenting style isn't effective, and that their diet is terrible is just rude.  Do not be confused if you see me smiling and nodding as you blather on. YOU ARE BEING A JACK WAGON, AND I WANT TO HIT YOU UPSIDE THE HEAD WITH MY SHOE!!! I am simply too polite to knock you down and pummel you in public.

2.) People who don't believe in God wanting to argue with me about Him. Why are you wasting your time arguing about a fairy tale if you don't believe in it? I don't sit around having higher level discussion about the ramifications of Goldilocks' anti-social crime spree on the neighborhood of the three bears. Why are you discussing theology at all if you don't buy into it? Don't you have something to macrame or whittle or something organic to grow? Just go on about your business over there somewhere and let me get on with it. Something smells fishy when I get around a pseudo-god-worshiper. Maybe you secretly do buy into it, but want someone to talk you in off of that ledge. Now, if you will shut up going on and on and on about the Earth Mother or crystals or what your aura is saying for five seconds, I'll explain to you in a rational way why I believe that Jesus Christ is the only way to Heaven, and I'll use some Scripture to back up my position. If you don't like it, fine. The best part about my faith is that God makes it a take it or leave it proposition. You don't have to believe; you can be righteously wrong all you want, just stop talking down to me. Believing doesn't make me ignorant. In fact, I think it proves the opposite, but that's another rant.

3.) People who assume they are spiritually or politically superior. Know what the difference between me and my OBGYN is? He read the books and passed the test. There is nothing that you know, no knowledge that you hold dear, that I can't learn with a little time and effort. So, quit behaving as though you have some sort of Special Status in the Club of Those Who are Enlightened. Nobody can stand to be around you. How about putting on a cloak of humility? How about coming to serve? How about the first shall be last? Being pious and holy are things that should humble you, not elevate you. Nobody likes a spiritual Nelly Knows it All.

4.) People who want to force me into a healthy lifestyle. We all know that I've been an excercising maniac lately. I've also dropped about 56 lbs through careful diet changes and exercise. It's taken a year of work and deliberate effort. I have a theory about why I got so huge. Wanna hear it? It's a good one. My parents never, ever, in my whole childhood allowed junk food to have any place in our lives,

Cokes, sweets, snacks, candy, etc., hardly ever came into our house. It was like this huge deal when my father would bring a candy bar home. We'd cut it into fourths and share it, savoring every bite. When I'd go spend the night with girlfriends, and their families dealt with food differently and had, say a bowl of Hershey kisses on the kitchen counter, all I could see, all I could think about was that candy. Why was it just sitting there? Why weren't they eating it? What was WRONG with these people????? Didn't they know they were supposed to eat it for special occassions? As a result, I never learned how to self regulate cravings. So, when I got to college and had my own grocery money and my own pantry, it was Game On! I ate it all double time.

In my husband's household growing up, there were snacks everywhere. Little Debbies, soft drinks, chips, candies, goodies, everything you can imagine. He's thin as a rail. He'll eat two bites of something sweet and put the rest in the trash. He's an amazing self regulator. So, we decided to do it that way with our own children and see how it went. Right now in my fridge there are apples, lettuce, tomatoes, grapes, pineapple, pears. On the counter are three or four kinds of bread: white, wheat, bagels, doughnuts. Little Debbies galore: brownies, cookies, doughnut sticks, swiss cake rolls. There are Oreos, Chips Ahoy, a zillion little baggies of chips, popcorn, sweets, candy, milk, five kinds of juice, tea, and five liters of cokes. Know what The Little Flower wanted for a snack tonight before bedtime? Chicken noodle soup. She had all of that at her fingertips and wanted low cal soup. The Number One Son just walked through here eating a whole apple. And one of the Wondertwins had a spoonful of peanut butter.

Here's the moral: Even with access to everything, no limits, no regulation, they all chose WITHOUT FAIL healthy snacks. Are there nights when it's popcorn and chocolate? Sure. But they are thin, healthy, athletic, balanced kids who get to make choices and are learning about what it means to eat well throughout your lifetime, not just when you have no free will and your diet is chosen for you. They play sports, exercise, cheer, basketball, football, run, aerobics, gymnastics--all by choice. Sure, we encourage them, but it's their choice. They will have to run the sprints, not me.

So, if I hear one more government regulation about what I can/can't eat or one more diet do gooder dictating what I should feed my children, I might lose it. The beauty of free will is that we LEARN to make good or bad choices. You have to have a CHOICE in order to exact free will. I would never dream of making my child clean a plate (teaches over eating) or bribe with food (teaching food as a reward) or make my child play the piano or a particular sport ad naseum (because that indicates that it's YOUR obsession, not theirs). I don't care if you choose to do those things to your child. Just leave mine alone!

I have about ten more things to put on this list, but I'll stop for now since it's 10:15 and my Shorties are still up watching television. (Yes, that's right, we have a negotiable bedtime and TVs in the bedrooms, and I don't check homework unless it's some major project or malfunction. That's how you learn personal responsibility--as in, it's not my problem if you didn't do your homework--you earn your grades all by yourself, Sister.) You can ask my A-B Honor Roll kids how they like myy childrearing system tomorrow at school when one of my spiritual, empathetic, kind, thin, funny, talented, bright, joyful, beautiful, athletic, well adjusted, popular God-fearing WonderTwins gets her award for top academic student. In fact, maybe I should be telling you people how it's done...

The Over Share of the Century

This running deal is really hard.

Well, maybe it's not the actual running that's hard, it's the finding time to run that's hard. I kid you not. This week between not feeling super well (don't worry, I'll over share the incredibly personal details of my life in just a second) and basketball games and school work and teaching and travel-agenting and fighting The Great Mouse Invasion of 2010 (another blog for another day), it's been a figurative and literal zoo in Johnsonville.

I had my annual OBGYN visit last Thursday (lovely) where it was time to change out my IUD (told you it was coming). Five years ago, after I'd completely healed from my fourth Shortie, The Husband and I decided that we needed to explore a more reliable method of preventing Shorties (since they were something of an epidemic of answered prayer running through here). The OBGYN said that he was unwilling to do yet another surgery on my abdomen (so no tying of the tubes), and that short of the Big V on The Husband, the Mirena IUD was the way to go. It's been awesome. That little suzy has done it's job wonderfully and has this amazing bonus feature: no monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Perfect!

Well, it was time to change that program out. It's like parts on the Ford; the belts and plugs need changing every now and again. Sounds simple, yes? Put her on the rack and rotate the tires.

You silly, naive readers! Nothing in Johnsonville is that easy! Naturally, because I'm a Johnson, the little part that you need to have access to in order to remove the program wasn't readily available, so the doctor made some "blind grabs" (his words). This is not as calm as it sounds on paper, because when the OBGYN "blind grabs" some stuff that's not the actual IUD, you are acutely aware of it. I'm not joking. (Note to self: don't let anyone use the phrase "blind grab" in reference to me again if I'm not fully clothed and upright.) I know that I don't really need any of those parts anymore, but I don't much fancy the idea of having them yanked out by the root either.

The Good Doctor finally got the old part out on Blind Grab Attempt Number Four, but the new model wouldn't fit back into the correct place (Definitions: see The Johnson Factor). He mentioned getting an ultrasound and calling in another doctor for consult since my uterus is so tilted we can tune into Mars without a satellite if I hold my arms and legs in the right positions. 

It looks so deceptively small, doesn't it? It's a trick on par with that "objects in mirror are closer than they appear" deal in the car.  That thing is the actually the size of a small subcompact vehicle.

After about three really uncomfortable tries to shove an entire filing cabinet into my uterus (aka a Mirena IUD), I yelled 'uncle' on the table and announced that I was done. Over. Finished. No more, thank you very much. This has been fun, but I'm ready to get my goody bag and leave the party now. I also appealed to the four people with me in the examining room, calling for an immediate vote on the floor.

Proposed Motion Number 1: All in favor of The Husband having the Big V raise your right hands. (All hands in the air including both of the OBGYN's hands.) All in favor. Motion carries. Meeting adjourned. Oh, and will someone please hand me my clothing on the way out?

I waddled out of there thinking that I'd still try aerobics class. (Um, no.) No running either. No standing. No sitting. That entire deal caused me to go four days off program. Then, to add insult to injury, I had my first real cycle in five years. Have mercy. (Now it's The Husband crying 'uncle' in the background, because I was quite the little she-devil all week, which is so out of character of me; I'm usually just a little ray of sunshine. Ahem.)

Having forgotten what that little party was like for the past five blissfully cycle-free years, it was beyond shocking. (Incidentally, I'm not for it.)  I lay in the bed for three days with a bottle of Pamprin and a heating pad, while questioning all of my life choices leading up to this point, finally announcing in a fit of rage that I may need a vote recount and an appointment for that ultrasound and second attempt. Lord have mercy!!!! What was I thinking????  How did I dare leave that office without my precious Mirena??? Curses!!!!! And where are the blasted M&M's? How do I live in a house with no chocolate in it?!!! Oh, Sweet Jesus, just ONE square! What is the matter with you people? Somebody find CHOCOLATE!!!!!! RIGHT NOW!!!!!! Mother of GOD is the heat on in here?!!

That effectively killed the rest of the week in the exercise department. Because I got so far out of whack on my running schedule (that was what I originally started talking about in this blog--see, you'd forgotten what we were supposed to be doing too, and it wasn't even your uterus under attack), I figured I'd start over this week. Then we had cheer and basketball and church and orthodonture and Elaina's eyeball almost fell out (I don't have time to blog every single little thing, you know) and so on and so forth. (It's really quite a little program keeping everything happening around here. Sometimes I impress myself.)

I shared all of that to say this: I think I'm going to have to bite the bullet and run in the pre-dawn hours, as much as I hate it. My evenings are just too full to put it off.  I need to pray through that deal, because waking up is hard enough much less waking up and running somewhere. I don't suppose I can make a deal that I'll run every day that it's 72 and sunny either, so I need to suck it up and just do it already. And I need to be committed before that next cycle rears it's ugly head or I'm a goner.

Mirena, Mirena, wherefore art thou, Mirena!

Week One: Fin

My friend, and our amazing school secretary, Ms. Julia, actually did the Couch to 10K program from beginning to end. She ran in her marathon this morning (The Vulcan Run) and finished in one hour and six minutes. She went from being in a sedentary lifestyle to running a marathon in 12 weeks. Whoa. I'm so proud to know her, and it gives me hope on Week One that I might actually be able to do it.

Running was harder today than it has been the rest of the week. I don't know if that's because it's a Saturday and I wanted to stay in my jammies or because it was so chilly outside. I'll have to move this running thing inside some of the time if I'm going to stick with it. But the important part of that info is that I did it. I woke up, put on running shoes and clothes, and went down behind the church for the warm up walk.

Today is was retro 80's dance music on the MP3. I jammed to a little Youthquake from Dead or Alive (I was cool before Flo-Rida); Love and Rockets (No New Tale to Tale is such a fine song); and the ever faithful and fabulous, Duran Duran. (I'd forgotten what a great song "Planet Earth" was.) And the important info in this paragraph is that if you drive into the church parking lot for any random reason, like getting ice or visiting the graveyard, and I'm throwing down, you'll know why.

I think I scared a couple of church members half to death this morning with all of my dancing and singing. There they were trying to change out flowers on the headstone and I'm head banging, shaking my arms around, and singing at the top of my lungs behind the family life center. Lovely. At least they came after toward the end of my run/walk deal when I was almost out of steam. (Thank goodness for small favors.)

This afternoon we are going to my Mamaw's 90th birthday celebration. I'm expecting a zillion relatives from our extended family. I sincerely hope someone asks me what I'm up to these days, so that I can drop the running bomb on someone. They only thought they were shocked when I announced The Husband was being called to preach, thereby making me The Preacher's Wife by default. Wait till I tell them I ran, I run, I am running. We might need to have oxygen standing by for the uncontrollable laughter that will follow.

Day Two: Thank God for the Little Things

Day Two:

Okay, so today wasn't a running day--we are supposed to break every other day (thank you, Jesus!). I'm especially thankful that I didn't have to run today in light of my spectacular half-gainer at the Dollar General in Jemison. I was walking through the store, right there up near the front counter, looking up at some top shelves while walking, and neglected to notice the yellow "wet floor" signage.

Needless to say, they were serious about that wet floor deal, because when my fine brown mules hit the industrial cleaner they'd sprayed everywhere to break up some particularly nasty funk growing on the tile floor, I sat right down in it.

"It" being the Funk. The Cleaner. The Wetness. Did I mention that I was in the Dollar General? Ick. Double ick.

I just about cussed at my own stupid self. What a goober. And this wasn't one of those dainty little stumbles where you grab something and make a little whooshing sound. It was a full on, four alarm flailing and yelling sort of a deal. (Lovely.)

Now, as though this wasn't humiliating enough, no one--not one single soul in the store--came over to check on me. Are you kidding me? A 300 lb woman hits the deck yelping all the way down and no one notices? You can't be serious.

So, I smooshed around in the funky floor getting it all over my rear, my left leg, knees, blouse, and hands trying to haul my big butt off of the floor. Still, nothing from the bystanders.

I walked over to the counter with as much dignity as one can muster covered in Dollar General Store Floor Funk and asked for a paper towel. I kid you not, the little girl working at the check out peeled me one paper towel off of the roll and said, "Think that'll get it?"

It's a good thing for everyone in Jemison and (especially that cashier chick) that I don't cuss anymore. I'm thankful for that fact. I'm thankful that I wasn't wearing a dress (praise JESUS). I'm thankful that I have a shower with an enormous hot water tank and lots of fabulous antibacterial soap. I'm thankful that no one was filming a documentary in the Dollar General at that particular moment in time. I'm especially thankful that it's not my job to clean that funky floor. And I'm thankful that I didn't have to run this afternoon after almost killing myself, since I'm hurting in some places I didn't even know I had. Thankfulness is a learned skill. We should all practice it more often. :-)

Life may be like a box of chocolates, but running is like ice cream

Well, I did it. I almost didn't, but I did.

After all day at school, waiting through cheer practice, and getting the girls' hair cut (and mine too), I was TIRED and my legs hurt (all of that standing while teaching I suppose).  But I came home to find The Husband cooking dinner (without any prompting from me, he just went for it on his own--I know, like whoa) and thought to myself, if he can do that, I can do this. So, I stretched and walked and then RAN.

I had my phone with the stop watch in one hand and the MP3 tucked in, blasting The Cult on 11 (nothing like a little Fire Woman to get a girl going--that song is a flat out jam http://new.music.yahoo.com/cult/tracks/fire-woman--1440149 if you've never heard it you totally need an education in what real rock music sounds like).  LeRoy the Yard Dog joined me half way through as the day slowly shifted into twilight. Pretty good stuff.

Well, until the actual 60 seconds that I had to run. Times twelve. With 90 seconds of walking in between. (Lord have mercy.)

Things I've learned about running thus far, Day One:

1.)   It's hard to run and sing and avoid stepping on the dog and watch the clock all at once. And I'm not all that coordinated to begin with (see any posts about The Other Wonder Twin and recall that I gave birth to her).

2.)   I used to be worried about Bob and Chuck when I ran (see older posts). Obviously, I was so distracted by my abundant front that I neglected to notice my ample derriere. I'm not sure that one's bottom end is supposed to jiggle like that when running. It's not natural. (I had so much stuff going in so many different directions that I'm pretty sure I broke that Baptist No Dancing Rule in there somewhere.)

3.)   Twenty-five minutes of massage = flies by.

4.)   Twenty-five minutes of running = refuses to end.

5.)   Prayer and preparation are the two more important parts of getting my day started--like fruits and veggies and breakfast--they are Must Do Appointments for me. But sweating and jamming to The Cult are almost like diving into a honking big bowl of chocolate chip mint ice cream at bedtime (and I can assure you that I'm an expert on that topic)--both are nothing but sheer pleasure because I CAN and I DID! WHOOT!

Day One: See (if) Charlotte Run(s)

Today is Day One.

I did my usual aerobic deal last night with my church girls (who I am SOOOOOOO proud of!) and looked back through some old photos. Holy Mother. Let's just say that I feel a zillion times better, look a zillion and one times better, and am ready to get on with the next phase of this Personal Journey I'm on.  Today, I officially start training for the 5K.

Now, 3.2 miles may not seem like such a big whoop to most of you, but to me it's one step short of amazing. I don't run anywhere. Not in the rain, not to the mailbox, not from a rabid dog. No way.

So, on that little paper I printed out for the Cool Running’s Couch-to-5K ® Program it says "Start with a brisk five-minute warm up walk. Then alternate 60 seconds of jogging and 90 seconds of walking for a total of 20 minutes." The five-minute warm up thing I'm totally down with. I'm well into 3 miles of walking on a regular. I'm also cool with 20 minutes of walking, since I'm already doing 45 solid minutes of double tough aerobic activity three times a week. But the jogging? I'm just hoping not to hyperventilate and pass out 30 seconds into the deal. I'm also praying not to go flying through the top level of the track, landing in a broken heap on the floor of the gymnasium. Seriously.

But the biggest obstacle in my way? The snooze button on the alarm clock. I'm a notorious last-minute sleeper. Getting up 30 minutes earlier than normal on purpose (and not for something like Disney World or a Twilight premiere) is going to be the Olympic hurdle that I've got to cross, and it starts far, far before the actual running part. I'm already pep-talking myself. I'm considering downloading some famous football coach half-time speeches to play if I start to weaken and slap at the snooze button.

I'd tell The Husband to get after me and remind me to get up, but he might be injured when I flip out and start flailing around in a Sister Sunshine fit. So, nix that. I'll just have to do it myself. (I'd like to stay married during this deal.What's the point in getting all fabulous if The Husband is mad at me for dotting his eyes for doing what I asked him to do in the first place?) (This is the definition of Irony, class.)

Since I don't want to be another anecdote in a sermon, I'm going to get up in the dark, stretch, and take one more step on the road to becoming the best me I can me. And with that, it's officially time to sign off since I'm starting to sound like Daily Affirmation with Stewart Smalley or like an Oprah episode (gak) when I'm shooting for the Rocky theme.

****************************************************************************

Alarm clock: one
Charlotte: zero

Nah, if I'm being truthful, it's all The Husband's fault. He's smarter than I am. Last night when I was moaning about getting up early and not being totally sure I'd do that for 12 weeks straight, he said, "So, why don't you just run at the same time you normally do aerobics? Like, in the afternoon/evening."

Duh.

Getting to see the sunset is more my style. This is why he isn't "a husband", he's "The Husband". :-)

Running To and Fro

I am one busy white woman. I run to and fro constantly. It's a good thing, because I'd probably go crazy from boredom if I didn't have a whole bunch of stuff going on all at the same time. I should have probably reflected on that a little bit longer before having four Shorties. I mean, they all have to go for check ups, sick visits, dentist, orthodontist, gymnastics, basketball, clothing shopping, hair appointments, etc. They all have this funny idea that they have priority. Humph. See Charlotte run. Run, Charlotte, run.

But I'd like to try a different kind of running.

Since I believe strongly in accountability as a motivator, I'm committing right now that I'm going to try to actually run somewhere. I've been closely watching my friend's progress on the Couch to 10k program. While I've been doing the Walk Away the Pounds program religiously three times a week for months now (and I'm up to the 3-mile tape with my group!), I still can't get this idea of running out of my mind. I want to run somewhere!

So, I'm starting next week training for a 5K (because I'm not as excited or committed as my friend to do a 10K). She has challenged us all to run/walk in this 5K for the Ronald McDonald House that's coming up in January. I have a soft spot for this ministry since they let me crash there when the kids were all in the hospital for rotovirus while we were on "vacation" in Gatlinburg.

I've put it on my calendar, and I'm actually going to try it (provided I have no more surgeries between now and Go Time). I start walking/running the first time on Tuesday. That should be some fun to watch. I have no illusions about how I actually LOOK running, just that I'm wholly committed to this brand new me and I'm going to go for it no matter how I look doing it. Hey, I like a good laugh as much as the next person. So, on Monday and Thursday it's me and Leslie in the gym and on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday it's me running around the in the Family Life Center. Feel free to join me.