Great Expectations

So this post has been something on my mind for a long time.  Something I have wanted to write about.....but not sure how to.  I have posted before on our family blog about my issues with the way I look and how hard I am on myself, but I thought this time I would just tell my story, get it out there and hopefully some of you can relate. (This post is not  intended to be a pity party post or to seek attention...it is just me getting personal...that's all.)

 This is me today.  What your seeing here is an anomaly. This is me posting a picture of......me. I am in frumpy sweats and no makeup, my room is not perfectly clean and as I am writing this I am feeling guilty for not going downstairs and cleaning my basement or the bathrooms.....and I am not exactly positive where my kids are.  My life is not perfect and it is easier to cover that up or put on a show and pretend. What I am trying to say is...."Hi my name is Amie and I struggle with.....life."

A lot of my issues come from basing my self worth on being perfect.  From the way I mother to the way my body looks, but most of it stems from my self image. I hate posting pictures of myself because all I can see are my imperfections and how my body is not the way I want it to be.  I want to be thin and toned and I don't want my bubble but, chubby arms, round face and love handles.  That is why I prefer to be behind the camera. If a stranger was to look through our family pictures they might wonder if my children had a mother because I do not allow pictures of me! Yes that sounds crazy and you are probably thinking I need to see a therapist right away (been there done that) but that is the truth people.

I have based my self worth on the way I look since I was a kid.  There were times when hating the way I looked was more then just a thought.  I remember getting so frustrated I would scratch and pick at my arms or pinch the fat on my stomach and arms till I made bruises or bled.  I hated my love handles and even tried wrapping duct tape around my waist to see if it would make me look skinnier.  I only did that once because taking off the tape also took off a lot of skin.  I even tried not eating for awhile but in my warped way of thinking I couldn't even pull that off.  The pinching and bruising and emotional depression stayed with me for many years.  It wasn't until the last few years that I finally stopped  these behaviors, thanks to some awesome supporters and my patient husband.

The illusive backside...I have not seen what I look like from behind in months

My dislike for my body came in physical and emotional abuse.  I hated mirrors and preferred to use the ones that only showed me from my shoulders up.  I never would look at the back of me because I hated the way my backside looked.  I would even avoid looking at my shadow and often my own reflection.  I have overcome my distaste for mirrors but I still finding myself at times standing in front of a mirror pinching the fat roles I wish would go away.

From an early age I pretended to be like everyone else.  I pretended not to care and to be the easy going girl, but inside I was hurting.  I compared myself to every girl I ever knew.  Why couldn't I be skinny like my sisters?  Why couldn't I be smaller like my friends?

 This is my older sister who I love and adore.  But at times I put myself in her shadow and made her accomplishments my standards of success.  In high school she was a honor student, valedictorian, and in every club you could think of.  She was a  medalist in state cross country and track.  She was also the homecoming queen.  She always seemed so put together, poised, beautiful, skinny and could do no wrong.  She was driven and worked hard.  I think I had a "Marsha" complex when it came to her. "It was always Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!" I wanted to have her success but I was not her.  I was not (am not) a runner, I was average in school and at times lazy.  I did not save my Halloween candy till the Easter (it was gone in one night and then I hunted her room to eat some of hers). I was goofy and sometimes let my emotions get the best of me.  I tried lots of things but was never excellent in any one area.  So I got down on my self for these "failures."  I had set unattainable standards for myself and when I did not reach them I put myself down. (Just so you know I love my sister to death I just thought I needed to be exactly like her....if you know her you would know why....my siblings are pretty amazing)

 Although my looks and style was never what the popular kids looked like, by my Junior year I became more comfortable with myself.  I was just "Amie" back in my little high school.  I tried to make up for my insecurities by being the funny nice girl.  When my mom sent my to an EFY at Ricks College my horrible insecurities came flooding back.  I was with a whole new breed of girls.  These girls wore makeup and had name brand clothes and actually had cute hairstyles.  Instantly I realized my thrift store polo's and baggy boy pants made me different and not in a good way. The boys flocked to these girls.  I felt like an alien from another planet watching this newly discovered species. These girls knew how to flirt...unlike my me, who thought flirting was trying to wrestle or show how tough I was.  It took me till my Junior year of college to master the art of flirting.  I knew I was lacking in this skill after putting a potential date in a headlock. After that failed attempt I realized I needed a new strategy. Don't worry by the time Matt came around I figured it out.

Dating was not easy for me.  I felt bigger than most of the boys and anyone who wanted to date me was smaller then me.  I had no desire to go to dances and putting on a dress and makeup made me feel more like a circus clown.  I tried out the high school dances my Junior year.  This was Prom and my sweet date was shorter then me and 50 pounds lighter.  I looked everywhere to find cute shoes without a heel so our pictures would not look like a scene from David and Goliath. The ones I found that actually fit my size 12 feet were tacky white ones that looked like they were from the 80's.  Needless to say Prom was not the most memorable night of my life.  It did not help that my dance moves had not developed since middle school.  Why wouldn't they play YMCA or the Macarena? At least I knew the moves to those songs!  So my Senior year I attended 0 dances and planned on keeping it that way.

I was always bigger, taller then most girls and boys my age.  The nicer way of saying it was "big boned."  When I would vent about being "fat" ( I would love to be able to be the size I was in high school by the way....what was I thinking!) friends and family would assure me that I was not, I was just "big boned."  This never settled with me.  In my warped mind big boned meant I looked like the giant from Princess Bride. "Anybody want a peanut?"

 Luckily for me I loved sports. As a kid I tried it all, softball, volleyball and even football.  I tried cross country and track.  I loved swimming and even did dance my Senior year but basketball was my passion.

   

I loved dancing but was so insecure about being on a stage with girls who were half my size.  I always felt like the ballerina hippo from Fantasia.  

I loved swimming and my broad shoulders, long legs and big feet were actually useful in this sport.  What I did not like was walking around in a swimsuit in front of a crowd. 

 Basketball was the one place that my body size was a good thing.When I was on the court I didn't care about my size but my need to be perfect transferred into my performance.  Again my unattainable standards and need to be perfect surfaced.  I was never happy with the way I played and always thought I could do better.  I wanted to win every game and I wanted to play my very best.  Missing a shot was not acceptable and it would eat at me after every game.  I wanted to be the best.  My team never made it to state and I never became the collegiate player I had dreamt about.  Besides, who would want damaged goods.  I was a girl with a broken back and had a tendency to crumble under pressure and never thought I was good enough. 

 My love for the game did not end with my high school career it has stuck with me.  I went on to coach high school girls basketball for 5 years and loved it, although I still struggled with the need to be perfect.  I would come home and process a game for hours.  I would watch film until late in the night.  My poor husband had to deal with my emotional rantings and tried his best to reassure me....but in the end I just wasn't good enough.  I held my coaching to ridiculous standards.

Since then I have learned to lower my standards a bit...or at  least make them realistic.  But when it comes to my body.....I still struggle with those "realistic expectations."

                                            

I look back on this part of my life and the hell I put myself through.  It was self inflicted and still is to this day.  I look at the innocent girl I was and how I chose to treat myself and it breaks my heart.

So why do I write this story?  Well because even though I am 32 years old I am still that same girl.  I have grown and experienced more, but at heart I am still this girl.  Thanks to my husband and my desire to become a better mom I have had help and have learned how to change many of my ways, but through everything I have been through I still find myself trying to obtain "perfection," especially when it comes to my body.

So now I go to the gym and try to eat clean.  My unrealistic expectations kick in and I beat myself up for not loosing weight as fast as I would like.  After a year I am still not where I want to be and that can be very frustrating. 

 I still struggle with looking at pictures of myself.  This picture was taken at a golf tournament where I won an award for the longest drive.  This could be a big deal since it was the second time I have tried to golf since my back surgery.....but instead all I see is a a girl that needs to loose weight.

 I remember days where I thought I looked cute and then I see pictures of myself from that day and realize I how I thought I looked and how I actually looked were not the same.

 So in group pictures I try and hide in the back....thinking it is some optical illusions that will make me look smaller....like the idea that wearing black makes you look thinner.

 Letting my husband cover half of me and remembering to hold my chin up so my double chin does not show.  Also making sure my arms are at my sides to cover up my love handles.

 Getting pictures with other girls is the hardest.  We had a great time shooting at the gun range but instead of fun memories I see my giant self and wishing I would have stood differently in hopes that it would have not made me look like the Jolly Green Giant by the tiny villagers.

I find myself more comfortable taking pictures when I have something or someone to cover most of me up.  Like these weird Zombies for example.

I know it sounds like I am really trashing myself but I am just trying to be honest in the thoughts and feelings that I have.  For some stupid reason my brain is wired like this and it is my life long quest to change it.  I know from the way I have talked that it probably doesn't seem like I have changed much but amazingly enough I have made some big leaps from where I was. So don't go calling Dr. Phill just yet.  

THE POINT OF THIS LONG DRAWN OUT STORY

I thought you could only love yourself if you were perfect.  If you met a standard that was socially acceptable to the world.  Now I know you can love yourself at any stage in your life.  I know that perfection does not exist.  There has only been one perfect person in this world and he loves me more than I will ever know.  I know that tomorrow is a new day and a chance to start over and be better.  I know that we all have our own struggles and we have been given them for specific reasons. I also know we do not have to go through them alone.  Even in the darkest of times there is still hope. I know my struggles will be a life long journey there is no quick fix.  I know there are more important things in this life then the shape of my body, how much I weigh or how much muscle I have.  

I see myself differently then others see me.  There are times when I wish I could see what my husbands sees when he looks at me.  The other day I got a compliment from a friend on the way I looked at church and I went back to my old habits and brushed her off and found a way to make fun of myself.  Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and we must learn to love ourselves from the inside out. 

 I don't want to feel embarrassed about my cellulite and my larger build.  I just want to love myself for who I am and what good I am making in this world.  Mother Teresa was not famous for her good looks but for the good she did in the world.  I don't want to waste my life trying to obtain a silly standard of beauty.  Instead I really want to raise my girls to be confident and strong women.  I want to help those around me and to be a good friend, wife, neighbor, aunt, daughter, and sister.  

So while I know I will have days that I will get down on myself, I know it does not have to be permanent.  I also know that those thoughts and feelings hold me back from being who I want to be and I am pretty sure God does not put those thoughts in my head. I know I need to get over seeing pictures of myself and just be glad I am alive to be in those pictures.  I know I still need a lot of work....but that is what this life is about; working and progressing. So I push forward.....baby steps.

                                                     

 

Any Given Sunday

I love Sundays.  Sundays are the close to the old week and a birth to the new. Sunday mornings are quiet and peaceful.  I wake to a tidy house that has been cleaned from the day before. The smell of pancake batter hitting the hot griddle awakens the little ones.  A breakfast of homemade hot cakes, warm butter syrup accompanied by hot sausage links and fried eggs is eaten in peaceful reverence. Then the dishes are cleaned, kitchen straightened and children off to dress in their Sunday best. 

Getting ready is a breeze.  The girls have already laid out the dress they want to wear and after being button and zipped are off to get their hair done.  Their hair smells of aromatic shampoo and is neatly brushed and put into braids or bouncy curls adorned with beautiful bows.  Teeth are then brushed and stocking covered feet are placed in shiny church shoes.  We arrive 10 minutes early to church and the girls settle in with their coloring books, scriptures, and notebooks.  The meeting begins and the girls are attentive and well behaved.

After three hours of inspiring meetings we return home to the mouth watering aroma of roast, potatoes, and homemade baked bread.  The girls help each other change out of their Sunday best, which is then hung up neatly in their closest.  They return to the kitchen to help prepare dinner.  The table is set, dinner is ready and we sit together to enjoy a Sunday feast while discussing the lessons we learned in church.  Then like clockwork we begin to tidy and clean up the dishes from our meal. Each family member willing helps out and works together like a well oiled machine.  The rest of the day may include naps, making cookies for the neighbors or visiting those who are sick or in need. After gathering as a family to plan our week the girls obediently get ready for bed and are lovingly tucked in.

Before I know it I am being nudged and snapped out of this day dream.  I am in church and I have no idea what the speaker is talking about. Mattie starts to scream.  She wants to play on my phone and wont take no for an answer.  The girls are fighting over a broken crayon they found in the bottom of the bag along with the one piece of gum with a torn wrapper and crumbs stuck to it.  My girls are not neatly dressed and their hair was attempted to be brushed but may contain bits of food from last nights dinner.  As Avery lays her head in my lap the aroma of her hair smells of sweet and bed head.  I start to wonder when was the last time I made them take a bath.  I glance over at Mattie and notice that she is laying down on the chair with her feet up in the air.  Her dress is hanging over her face, her Elsa panties are showing and her muddy cowgirl boots are loudly banging against the metal chair.

Hailey is now asking for my phone and I am regretting not being more prepared.  I look down the isle and observe the family sitting next to us.  Their children are quietly coloring and playing with their cute quiet books.  "I am starving," Mattie announces. "I want a fruit snack!"  "I don't have any food just be quiet and listen," I bark under my breath.  Within a minute Mattie has scouted a family with snacks and is off to sit by them.  This starts a chain reaction.  Now the other girls want to go sit with other people they have scouted out in the congregation.  More threats are muttered and I start to feel a mounting frustration. More whining and begging to get a drink or use the bathroom.  Telling the kids they have to wait till sacrament is over is like denying them breath itself.  "I can't wait, I'll pee my pants." "I need a drink so bad, my throat is so thirsty!" I check the clock to see how much time has passed.  With only 5 minutes left I feel relieved, we will make it!  The girls set off to their classes and with a partying warning I tell them to behave. 

After two more hours church is over and trying to find our girls can be complicated.  I walk the building occasionally stopping a neighbor to see if they have seen my kids.  We finally get in the car and come home to the aroma of....nothing.  I have nothing planned and am not in the mood to cook; I should have planned better.  Matt heads back to the church to finish his calling while I scavenger the fridge for something for the girls and I to eat.  Cheese and crackers will suffice.  Some days it is more gourmet...we have grilled cheese, other days it is apples, peanut butter with celery or popcorn.  Matt does not come home to a warm meal waiting for him on the stove.  He looks through the fridge and decides on a peanut butter granola bar.

In the mean time I try putting the girls down for a nap.  The mere thought starts a revolution.  I finally get my way after massive threats and huge meltdowns. Within 5 minutes I hear Hailey crying.  The girls got out of their rooms and were playing.  Mattie and Hailey wanted the same toy.....Mattie won.  Trying to use TV as a last resort I encourage them to play kindly with each other.  10 more minutes of fighting over dolls and I turn the TV on.  They sit quietly and I sneak upstairs to nap or watch Netflix. 

When it is time to put the kids to bed they are starving and complaining how they have not eaten all day.  The basement is covered in crumbs from gold fish crackers and cheese stick wrappers.  They whine about dying of starvation, so cereal is poured and the winning stops momentarily. Getting them ready for bed is a nightmare.  Mattie refuses to brush her teeth and stay in her bed.  She refuses to go to sleep and when I come in to threaten her she asks me if she has hair under her arm pits then proceeds to go use the potty card to get out of bed. Hailey does not like how her pajamas feel and needs to sleep in one of Matt's old t shirts.  She needs all 3 of her toy bears to sleep in her bed and can only find one.  She wants the light on and both she and Mattie want someone to snuggle them.  Avery goes to bed but is in her room quietly drawing.  I tell her "lights out," and I know she will stay up drawing for another hour, but that is a battle I choose not to deal with.

Hours later the kids are actually asleep.  Laying in bed I try and plan my week.  It's a new week I have the same goals and yet in the back of my mind I doubt I will accomplish these goals.  First thing Monday my week will start to feel like the reality show Survivor and I pray we make it till the weekend.  Then Sunday rolls around we are late for church again and heads turn as we make the walk of shame across the gym floor to the metal seats.  My mind starts to drift and I can't help but think about how I need to get it together.  All the things I am not doing that I need to do. Why cant our lives be more like the Jones's? I look down the row and my girls are being quiet for now.  Further down the row our neighbor kid is screaming and crying over a broken crayon and it makes me smile.

Training Bras

My daughter is 9 and she is the oldest.  We put a lot of responsibility on her.  She is expected to help out around the house and take care of her younger sisters.  I want her to act mature and responsible.  Then yesterday I found my self wishing she would go back to her little self and stop growing up.  I worry I pushed her into this world of being a woman way to fast and now I want her to go straight to her room and play with her dolls.

Yesterday my daughter came into the office while I was trying to figure out my new computer to simply ask me a question.  Being a mom I tend to notice things.....lets say that her dad might not notice.  I saw two straps tied around her neck and instantly recognized the dress up bikini top her grandparents brought back to her along with a grass skirt from one of their recent trips to Hawaii. An alarm started going off in my brain.  I knew why she was wearing it.  The other day in Walmart she was begging me for a bra.  She is pretending it is a bra.  Trying to act cool I said "what wearing there Missy...I mean what's under your shirt."  "Just a bra," then she walked coolly out of the room.

I tried to shake it off but inside my mommy brain my neurons were firing.  I wanted to make her take it off.  I wanted her to stop wanting to wear a bra.  How was I going to change her mind that she is still a little kid.  She is only nine!  She has no boobs and no need for a bra.  What has happened to my baby girl.  Then I had the overwhelming thought that I was the cause of this.  Maybe I pushed her to grow up to fast.  I never let her where Dora shirts or bought her shirts with a Frozen character on it.  I never let her have the backpack or shoes with the weird Disney character on them because I thought it was tacky.....maybe that is what pushed her over the edge into this exploration of teenage hood. I waited till she was nine to let her have an American Girl doll for Heavens sake!! I created a monster....I stole her innocence by expecting too much or denying her those little kid pleasures.....stupid Tinker Bell!!!

Then after a few minutes I started thinking logical again.  As much as I want to take my baby to Never land and keep her young and innocent forever, that is just not possible.  The bra was a wake up call.  My baby is changing into a young lady and I have to change with her.  I have still haven't had the sex talk because of my fear of taking a piece of her innocence.  She still believes in Santa and she hasn't even questioned the Tooth fairy yet....even though her tooth was left under her pillow for two weeks before the Tooth Fairy remembered to do his job!

Ready or not I must embrace the future.  A future of begging for a two piece swimsuit, makeup, begging for a cellphone, big girl underwear, sex talks, periods, hormones, bossiness and being boy crazy.  I must remember I am not my daughter.  I did not start wearing a bra till eighth grade.  Makeup came after high school and wanting a boyfriend came in college.  Sometimes I wonder why God gave me all girls....Today she had on that same "bra" and wanted to wear it under her church dress.  I told her to take it off and she could wear it when she got home, which she did.  This is just the beginning, merely a small drop of water in this sea of life.  At the end of the day I just pray that I will do my best to raise strong confident girls who love who they are and can see their self worth.  Daughters who are better then I am, stronger, smarter, kinder, more loving, and grateful.  So the next time she wants something a little childish I will probably give in.

Just Another Blog

First thought....Why start another blog?  I haven't updated our family blog in months! How can I possibly manage two.  Second thought.....Is this going to be like one of your fad diets?  You get motivated to do it for the first few days and then you start your period and just want to eat chocolate for every meal?  I know I just blamed my failure on my lady cycle....totally ignoring the true facts....I am not a finisher.  I like to start projects but it takes me years to finish.  That's why I have a full walk in closet of just craft stuff I only used once, along with boxes of projects I may never finish.

Ok back on topic.  I am starting this blog because 1. I need a place to just ramble and talk and 2. I don't want my ramblings on the same blog as my kids birthdays and Christmas.  I don't want to have an adorable post about my kids playing with puppies and then the next post about how I wish saggy boobs were considered sexy.  I also want to turn our family blog into a book someday and I would feel bad about my kids having to read the post when I vent about them being Children of the Corn.

So here is to starting another project and hoping I stick with it.  

-Amie