Squeeze Your Babies

I complain about my kids.
I bitch about them all the time.

I talk about how they're exhausting, or behaving poorly, or won't eat anything that isn't processed.
I sometimes talk about them as if I might be better off without them.
I daydream from time to time about how easy and carefree the days were when they weren't around.

The truth is, though, that I would be nothing without them.
I would be an entirely different person and my heart would ache in a desperate way, for them.

For every beautiful, memory making moment, there is one or five or one hundred moments of exhaustion, and desperation and sometimes crying or shouting.

Just today we had to leave Costco, in a hurry because Ellie was screaming that she wanted a pretty dress.
SCREAMING.
Over.  And over.  And over.
(Apologies if you were there today.  Thankfully, Costco is never busy.  Except it is, and we elicited a LOT of stares.  So, I'm sorry.  I'm not really sorry though.  Sh*t happens.)

And although in those times of stress and fried nerves, when I'm trying to just get us all to bedtime in one piece, I'm grateful.

I have three, gorgeous, healthy kids.
Three.
THREE?!?!

Three little people, that the universe decided should live at my house.
And they make me happy.
Shouldn't I make me happy?

But I did, don't you see?
We created these creatures who are growing up to be profound individuals, and they make me feel like I have a fierce and intense purpose.

When I hear or read about families who are struggling to have babies, or where heinous things have happened to little kids, my entire being feels raw, and I can feel my heart, ache.

And I want to immediately hug my littles.
I want to squeeze them and kiss them and tell them I love them, because that same universe doesn't guarantee they will be here tomorrow.

In all the moments where I think my kids are awful, misbehaving tyrants, I am still eternally blessed to have them.

This weekend, my Dad and I went to Disneyland to run the Avengers Infinity Gauntlet Challenge.
My Mom came to cheer for us.  She's almost always there!
(Best parents ever.  I don't even need to defend the title.  They just, are!)
We had a very quick but adventure packed trip.

I went to Disneyland and didn't bring my kids.
It was peaceful, and relaxing and we did whatever we pleased at whatever pace we chose.

But I missed my kiddos like crazy.
I started to think about them during the race.
My chest got tight and I had to focus very hard on not breaking into an ugly, sobbing bawl-fest, where, I'm certain, hyperventilation would have occurred.

I do almost everything for them.  With them in mind.
I do loads of things just for me, but I can't go a day without thinking about them, and what I can do for them.

As I sit here, I type with one hand because my boy wanted some lap time.
I always have time for that.
(I had to take a break to play with the little trouble maker.  He demands undivided attention!)

I'm planning to write about our Coast to Coast challenge because it truly was a once in a lifetime adventure and we honestly do make some fantastic memories, but after being away from the herd for a few days, I was missing them so very much and couldn't wait to get home to smother them with smooches and bear hugs.

Even when they're pitching a friggin' fit in Costco!

Inner Chubby Girl

She's there.
She's there all the time.
Sometimes her voice is loud, and dominating.
And I give in.
Other times the voice is a quiet whisper in the background.
But it is always there.
Every.  Damn.  Day.

I don't know what it's like to be a small person.
I've never, ever in my life, aside from infancy, (and even then I'm not too sure!) been able to eat whatever I like and not worry about the consequences.
Ever.

That's OK.
I'm not complaining.
It is my own path, and it's a pretty beautiful one to be on.
However, I just don't know what it's like.
Does everyone have this voice?  Has it always been there?

I've carried around extra pounds forever.
Still do.
Just a whole bunch less now.

But, my inner, chubby girl voice is always, always inside my head.

She's the one who says, "g'head, eat that.  It's OK."
"You haven't had a lot of sleep, and you're stressed and that spoonful of peanut butter/handful of chocolate chips/mini candy bar, or three, isn't THAT big of a deal."

I don't think she'll every go away.

"Y'know what?  How 'bout just f*ck it today.
Just be fat today, and start again tomorrow.
Although you know I don't care about that, so really I'll just encourage you to do the same tomorrow, soooooooooo...
what was the point of all your hard work anyways?"

It doesn't get easier.
You just get better.

You get better.  Stronger.

You make the choices, every day, every moment, to get you to your goals.

And when you reach your final goal, that chubby broad will still be saying shit like, "YAHOO!  We've arrived!  Bring on the cheeseburgers and poutine!  And then we'll finish it off with cheesecake and donuts!  WOOHOO!"
That b*tch never goes away.

I'm comfortable knowing that the voice is here to stay.
But It makes me uncomfortable to live in constant fear for what feels like the inevitability of a future failure.  Setback.
Gain.

That the voice will prevail one day, and then again the next day, and for a few weeks, or months or years, and I'll find myself at a weight that starts with 2 again.

She can be so convincing.  Familiar, and comfortable.
She is me, after all.

The weight loss struggle has little to do with calories in vs. calories out.
And everything to do with battling inner beasts, and conquering them, day after day after day...

Choices. Every. Day. Making Choices.

I should be putting laundry away.
Or finishing dishes from lunch.
Or starting another load of laundry, since obviously the second you put clothes away there will be another full hamper to do.
Obvi.
Really, and truly, I should be getting in the shower.

I tend to stay in my sweaty gym clothes waaaaaaaaay too long.
Ask Audrey.

Last night, I had just returned from a run, and was carrying her down to the girls' bed.
"Mom, you're warm.  And sticky.  And, kinda smelly."
Thanks, kid.
Your breath smells pretty special too.

We all tend to convene in our bed.
Thank heaven for king sized beds because many mornings there are five of us in there, and we are all still friends.
Mostly.

There are only two TVs in our house, and one of them happens to be in our room, so naturally, the kids like to spend some time up there watching cartoons.

There will soon come a day when they're not going to want to spend much time with us, and would never dream to hang out in their parents' bed.
So for now, like this morning, while they really love Mom & Dad's room, I'll take it.


School day mornings are very hectic.
Get everyone out of bed around 7.
Feed three little people.  One will decide that there's nothing they'd like for breakfast of the five  two options I've given them.
Get weather appropriate clothing onto three children.
Get oldest child's lunch and snack packed and books packed for school, and probably sign something for the teacher.
Get oldest on the bus.
Pack two littles into car, with water and snacks and head to the gym and/or to preschool.
And all before 815.
My husband has to get up an hour earlier.
But he has to get only himself ready and to work.
I would trade him a million times over, for that one hour less of sleep!

I've been shuttling the littles with me to the gym quite a bit lately, which is nice for me because then there's no pressure about getting back home to pick someone up.
I think it's good for them too, to see their Mom lifting heavy things and working out like mad.

I know it's having impact on them, when I catch my middle gal doing a burpee while she's watching some weirdo show on youTube.
Or grinders, which, of course, she makes look like a breeze.

I want to be able to show them that Mom's can have muscle.
Mom's can have a lot of muscle.
Mom's can be not so muscle-y, too, but my goal is to have muscles.

Which means less donuts.
And I'm getting much better at this, but it's so hard to give up those delicious lil' nuggets!

I was very sick for a couple of weeks and didn't eat anything of substance.
I lost 5 pounds, which promptly found their way back when I started eating again.

I also noticed a definitive lack of strength at the gym, and endurance while running.
I have worked for months, years, I might even say, to gain strength and muscle mass, and it felt like in just two weeks, I lost so much.
I will work even harder to regain what left so quickly, but it was depressing to notice the regression.

I want to have muscle not because of how it looks, (although I think it does look awesome!), but because when I have more muscle, I can eat more.

F'reals.

Most of my motivation, in life, comes from food.
I love to eat.
Always, have, obviously!

Now, though, I'm concerned with how my body performs, which means making wise choices, most of the time.
That being said, having muscle allows me to eat more, and sometimes to make less healthy choices.
Sometimes.

There comes a time, during every, single long run, when I start to talk about food, if I'm with other runners.
If I'm alone, my thoughts are almost entirely consumed (no pun intended!) by food.

Many of the races I choose to do, have fantastic food at the finish line.

I've always loved to eat.
And now I can say that without it feeling like a dirty word.

I'm at a place where I'm comfortable with the consequences of the lousy choices, and I really hate how I feel, so I choose to eat well, because I feel, well.

So, my goal is to have more muscle.
So I can lift like a bad a**, have a nice one, and eat more!
Now, I think it's time for me to make a snack...
And then I definitely have to shower.
But, food first.

Them Feels

What's odd about having a houseful of kids at different ages, yet all, still, quite small, is that a milestone for one is very different from another.

My son has started to find words.
Learning to talk has been one of my favorite things about having kids, as I personally find it's when their true personalities start to sneak out.
Sure, it's fairly evident that he's already a comedian and serious flirt, but now that he's just starting to discover words, I'm sure the scope of his humor and charm will come to fruition.
He's loud, too.  When I bring him to the gym with me, there's almost always a time that he's joyfully shouting and reaches his arms out, which coincidentally turns out to be the time I need a little push.

Ellie has started preschool and although she's been talking for a few years, the sentences just keep getting longer, and funnier.
She is our first "girly girl".
Whatever that may mean.
To us, it means she's the first kid at our house to be interested in hair, fingernails, dresses and anything pink.
She adores the word, "wonderful!", which is a strangely regal word, so I'm not sure if she's destined to actually live in a castle one day, or perhaps just drink a lot of tea.
If only her hair would grow.  She starts ballet on Friday and I've instructions for a classic bun, to be worn to each class.
Her hair won't go into a ponytail.  On the top of her head.  Or barrettes.
We'll have to manage with a nice headband, maybe.

Now, for the reason behind this post.
My oldest gal has been in Grade one for two weeks.
I'm not the most prepared Mom out there, but I always, always have a back up plan.
My backup plan was to put her into another year of kindergarten this year.
She isn't five until December, so it wasn't unreasonable.
But she doesn't need another year.

Tonight, as I read books to her and Ellie, I didn't actually read at all.
I lay there, beside Audrey, as she read, and silently let tears roll down my cheek.
Even right now, as I think about my big kid, reading, I get choked up.

Of all the milestones, this one is blowing my freakin' mind.
Crawling, walking, talking.
Huge, important milestones, and also, rather essential to living.
But this, this whole reading business.
Man.
That's about all I can say about that.

I lay there, with wet cheeks, watching her still chubby little hands hold the book, sounding out the tough words and easily moving through the sight words, or simpler ones, mispronouncing night as niket, and I was in awe.

She is an incredible little person, and on the days, aw, who am I kidding, everyday, when I think I'm doing nothing right, and I'm causing them to someday have nothing but ticks and bad memories, I lay between my kids, who surely have been tyrants all day long, and think that I have the most blessed life on earth.
One of them is reading, by herself, to me and her sister, who stops, after the book is read, and tells her big sister that she loves her before slinging her arm across her, and then they both start excitedly telling me two different stories, at the same time, not caring that no words can be deciphered in all the loud, jumbled conversations.

Man.
That's about all I can say about that.

YOLO

Life is short, 'ya dig it?
So eat the ice cream.
OK, so maybe some frozen yogurt.
Or perhaps just a little plain yogurt with some fruit, y'know, because it's healthier.

Or maybe just have the fruit.

Life is short.
Eat fruit...
...does not have the same ring as the ice cream thing, amiright?!?!

Truth be told, everything is bad for you.
Even too much water can be bad - sometimes fatal!

I sure hope you wash your hair with baking soda because the chemical shit-storm in shampoo is enough to make you catch the cancer!
Watch TV?  Shame on you!  You probably shouldn't even own a television!
And heaven knows that if you're cleaning your house with MrClean, or anything other than vinegar and water, you're basically poisoning your family.
Do you cook in non-stick frying pans?  Y'know how bad teflon is, don't you?
Consume much sugar/fat/salt/kale?  Well the dia-beetus/heart disease/high blood pressure/pesticides are going to kill you one day.
Squats?  Running?  Kiss your knees goodbye.

EVERYTHING is bad for you.
But, truly, nothing is - as long as you live reasonably and use moderation.
As in, don't run 100+km weeks, for months on end.
Don't eat ice cream everyday.
(I use regular shampoo and cleaning products, off the record...because I love the smell of pinesol!  To the detriment of my own family, of course, but we all make our choices, right?)

It's simple, really, but in our seemingly mass-hysteria-media-powered world, when one study comes out concluding that fat makes you fat, we all ditch our butter for fat-free snackwell's.

Just.  Eat.  Real.  Food.
Most of the time.

Just do a bit more exercise.
A lot more often.

We don't have to get all crazy and pitch every processed food item out of our cupboards.
I still like to eat a twinkie once in awhile! I mean,  I could totally relate to the cowboy in Zombieland, lookin' for the snowballs!  Those food-impersonating baked goods are all sorts of waxy goodness!

We don't have to enroll in a five day a week fitness class, where yesterday, and for the last five years, we haven't done much more than channel surfing.
The eating part of losing weight is sooooooo much more important than the exercise, so once you've got a few healthy food habits under your belt, add a little bit of exercise - and big 'ol gold star if it's something you actually like to do!

Losing weight is the hardest thing in the world, I ain't gonna lie.
But if you take it slow and practice patience, making small, manageable changes before adding new ones, then the weight will come off.
It will.

So, basically, everything is bad for you.
Krispy Kreme sums this up much better than I ever could, so here's their brilliant marketing campaign about eating donuts doughnuts.
But only occasionally.

Self Pride

I am so very proud of my own accomplishments.

It has taken me a very, very long time to be able to pat myself on the back.

Being on the receiving side of a complimentary statement has been difficult for me, and I find myself trying very hard to say, thank you, and not offer up some self-deprecating side note as to how or why I got here.

And I had to dig deep, to figure out, that I'm doing this for me, above all.

I am proud of myself.
I have self pride.
And I don't need anyone's approval, or disapproval, for that matter, because I have to lead my life.
I have to do, me.
But I feel guilt.
Because I'm supposed to put my family first.

Why can't we be selfish?

There is a lot of judgment when one puts themselves first.

My health, now and long term, is incredibly important to me.

If I don't look after myself now, how can I expect this body to hold out for the long haul?

I guess the answer is, I can't.
I can't expect this body to endure years of neglect, and in my later life, rely on it to perform, and be healthy enough for me to enjoy life, and my adult children, and hopefully, grandchildren!

So, I'm doing the upkeep and maintenance now, with the expectation that my body will be healthy, or at least healthier, when I am aging.

And to do so, I must sometimes be selfish.

I live my life for me, but in doing so, I'm a healthier Mom and wife.
My body can keep up with my kids.
I can play on the park with them.
I can pick them up, and hold them for long lengths of time, and carry them, when they are tired.
My mind is balanced because I exercise, which makes me a happier wife, too!
Ask my husband, who knows when to kick my rear out the door for a run when I'm turning into a dark and dangerous rain cloud!

I'm aware that lots of women do not choose the path that I've chosen, and that's just fine!
I cannot offer insight into anyone's life but my own, and we are all doing the best we can, with what we have, but in my own experience, trying to be healthy has been most beneficial to myself, but also to my family, and I can only hope that my good habits will rub off on my littles!

Having goals is one of the habits I hope they pick up, but knowing that not meeting their goals isn't failure, is a life lesson I hope they take away, too.

I make goals continuously.
Once one has been met, I'm typically already moving onto a new one.

I registered for the Edmonton marathon earlier this year.
I realized that training for the full marathon was going to monopolize many family holidays over the summer, and decided that they'd sacrificed enough already while I had trained for the Goofy race, so I dropped into the half marathon.

In July, while we were on holidays, I discovered a bump on my heel.
It was uncomfortable only after I'd been running for an hour or so, and I ignored the pain.

I had a feeling, even before I started physio, (for my achilles tendinopathy as it turns out), that I wouldn't be running any half marathon this summer.
And yesterday, as I poured over everyone's race photos, and stories, I was really, really bummed.

I had hoped to run a sub 2 hour half marathon yesterday, and instead of running anyways, and pushing myself beyond my limits, and risking injury, I opted to spend the morning at the Cameron family Olympics with my loved ones.

My younger self would have run in spite of the pain.
A less mature version of me, wouldn't have been able to stand the disappointment of not running.
But this new me, knows that a relatively minor injury can become a much bigger problem in around 2 hours 10 minutes, or the time I would have likely clocked yesterday, worse for the wear and not even close to meeting my goal.

I've got a half marathon in California in November, that I'll be running in costume and alongside my Dad, again, and I'll be healed and in excellent form for that.

After that, I'm planning to shift my focus onto lifting heavier weights and doing less steady state cardio, so I'm not literally, running my ass off!
This will be a whole new ball game for me, but I'm excited to see what my body can do, while I'm busy looking after me!

80:20

Every week, I'm given another chance to make my percentages work in my favor.

Every week, for me, is usually Monday(ish), and I have 100%.
I start with 100%.
Every day, every moment, every choice, starts with 100%.
From there, I can gauge how "on" I've been.
I've never, ever been 100% "on", 100% of the time, but when I am most successful, I am around 85-90% "on", on average, for the week.

Some weeks, when there are birthdays, and get-togethers and I just don't friggin' feel like making wise choices, I may have a 40% week.

As long as I'm comfortable with the consequences of a 40% week, (read:gaining) then it's an OK choice for me to make.
Most of the time, I'm not okay with throwing away my hard work, so I strive for at least 60%.

And for me, 60% is maintenance.

To be honest, I usually think of every day as 100%.
I find it easier to split my day up into 80, or 85 or 90%, but some days are super duper great days and can make up for the not-so-great days.

Losing weight is hard.
It's hard, because you have to be incredibly patient, and diligent and committed.

That 40% week?  The one that likely had some extra hormones involved?
It might see several pounds of gain on the scale.

But I'm sure you've heard it before, and I'll say it here again.

THE SCALE IS A LYING BITCH.

Usually when you haven't made excellent choices, there was some fat and salt involved.
Salt = Bloat.

No one can possibly gain 7 pounds in a week, unless they're have a really, really good time.
Or pregnant.
Or both.

So the point is, be patient.
It takes hard work, and discipline and a long damn time.

But it WILL happen.
You get out what you put in.
Half time work, will produce half time results.

Which means it might take a little longer, but that's juuuuuuuuuust fine, because the results are for life.
Gaining didn't happen overnight, and neither will losing.

Make the percentages count.