Work Out, Baby.

One of my favorite hobbies is whining, whether it be in-person or virtually, with girl friends about eating right and working out. If I exercised as much as a I whined, Sports Illustrated would have itself a new cover model. We often send each other those clearly fake studies that say, "20 ounces of chocolate a day equals 1 hour of exercise, says scientist." We're like, "See? We're doing great. Move along."

Today's discussion covered what exercise style best fits our personality. My friend said, "I need structured classes. I need someone to tell me what to do and change it up. I get bored easily; I'm like a toddler." She has had two toddlers so I consider her an expert on toddlerisms.

It got me thinking. I already whine like a toddler. I bet we have more in common when it comes to exercise than one would think. Using what I have absorbed from my FWTs (Friends with Toddlers), I have come up with a few similarities.

1. Puddle Melting: It's not unusual for toddlers to go completely limp in aisle 7 of Target. One minute they are jabbering about wanting fruit snacks, the next minute they have morphed into an Alex Mack pile of goo (Nickelodeon 90s kid shout-out). With judging glares, you collect your 30-pound glob, place it in the cart and cover it with two loaves of bread.

This is me after spin class. Every time I have attempted a spin class, I loathe it with every muscle fiber of my being. This is the cycle for me. Friend asks if I want to take spin, I picture leisurely riding a bicycle, I realize- 30 seconds in- that this in no way resembles riding a bicycle, I go home and cry when I have to go to the bathroom, I vow to never do it again, a friend asks if I want to take spin, I picture myself leisurely riding a bicycle, and so on. The gig is UP. The last time I attempted Satan's favorite group class, I literally couldn't walk for a week. Like I needed someone to collect me, put me in a shopping cart and stick two loaves of bread on my face (I would have used it as a pillow).

2. No: Why we made the worst possible word to hear so easy to say, I don't know. But someone did that and now we have to live with tiny humans spouting it like there's no tomorrow. Come here. "No." Do you want applesauce? "No." Do you need to take a nap? "No." DO YOU WANT A MILLION DOLLAR GIFT CARD TO TOYS R US? That's what I thought.

This is me when a workout instructor (especially DVD ones- I own you. I'm the boss) tell me to do burpees. Some Crossfit fanatic please tell me why these are called that. If I eat a Sam's barrel of cheese balls while binging "Making a Murderer," I will often burpee. If I am going to do something as strenuous as drop down to all fours, get back up, slap my hands, and jump, I'm going to need it to be called something more hardcore, OK? When I'm told to do these, I straight up, toddler style, say, "Oh heck no." I will march in place until you are done with that nonsense.

3. Instantaneous Boredom: Have you ever been to a little kid's birthday party? The gift opening segment is pretty much parental damage control, It's a PR nightmare. You spend 15 minutes amidst the aisles of Wal-Mart doing FBI research on what toddlers like these days and the kid looks at it for 1.5 seconds and tosses it and grabs the next package. The parents pick it up, embarrassed, and try to show it to them again, but the child is like "BYE FELICIA" and tosses it to the curb once more. The parents try to explain that it will get played with when there isn't so much stimuli around. It's OK. He's 2. I get it.

I also get it because this is how I am with workout routines. Zumba classes tread the very fine line of being repetitive enough for you to learn the dang dance and not being so repetitive that you want to send threatening letters to Carly Rae Jepsen for bringing "Call Me Maybe" into the world. There came a point when "Dark Horse" by Katy Perry would come on and my legs would begin to shake in preparation of the leg routine. It's like my thighs were Pavlov's dogs and Katy Perry was the bell. I need to constantly shake it up (NOT SHAKE IT OFF. GO AWAY TECHNO TAYLOR SWIFT).

You see, when it comes to staying in shape, we're all babies. Ok, maybe not all of us. Some of you have Instagram accounts full of pictures of you and your boyfriend working out together. If I did that, it would be a picture of Justin telling me that if I can go immediately into my second set, I need to add more weight and push myself harder. It would be a sepia tone picture of me rolling my eyes.

I'm starting a "Biggest Loser" challenge next week with some church mates. Luckily, our church has inherited some shopping carts from the Target across the parking lot. Now I just need two loaves of bread and someone to push me around.

Present.

There's an older woman at church who regularly does something so meaningful, yet so simple, that she probably doesn't even realize she's doing it.

During the meet and greet time of service (aka, the worst 3 minutes of an introvert's life), she approaches and says, "How are your babies doing?" She might be including Justin too (haven't established this), but what she's truly saying is, "How are your dogs doing?" But she calls them babies, signifying their place in my heart.

She does it with sincerity and it's evident that she actually wants to know the answer. She knows, while some might belittle an animal's role in our lives, that they are a huge part of mine.

They are my present. In them, I find joy.

It's not like this is news to anyone. I have nothing short of 3,746 pictures of them on social media.

But the reason it's significant is because we live in a world where people rarely relish in other people's present. They can always have more children. They can always get a better job. They can always find their spouse a little faster. We begin to dread interaction with those that we crave interaction from because it's tiresome; it's physically and emotionally exhausting.

So far, having children has been an unsuccessful two-year journey for me. I say that, not to solicit sympathy or advice, but to better illustrate my overall message.

I want people to invest in my present; to enjoy my present with me; to ask about my present.

When pictures or talk of my dogs evoke comments like, "Ya'll need kids," or "Wait until you have kids," or somehow imply that my dogs are only fillers for kids, it's hurtful. Undermining my knowledge or ability to empathize with a situation because I'm childless is painful.

Because the truth is, this is my present. And most of the time, I am joyous in it. It's only when people fail to rejoice in it with me that the walls to that happiness begin to erode.

This post wasn't meant to be a scolding post. I realize most things that are said are unintentional and not meant to cause hurt feelings. I want you to know I'm not jotting down names and incidents in a revenge journal (watch yo back). I kid, I kid.

I only write this as a New Year's challenge. We may quit the gym and our diets after 2 weeks, but let's make a vow to live in the present with ourselves- and with our friends and family.

Ask them how they are doing now. Ask them how their parakeets are doing. Anything.

I promise you it will make their present brighter when the anxiety of the future starts creeping in.

Happy New Year!

My Book of Life

I would hypothesize that at least 67% of our adult lives is spent waiting on some sort of repairman. For the second time in a row, the Terminix guy didn't show up during his three-hour window. Isn't it funny how we pay a fortune so that little micro-bugs don't eat our ENTIRE house? That's one of the many fun details they don't tell you about being a grown up. Probably because it would induce nightmares. Hey sweetie, I can't believe you just got your driver's license. Next thing you know, you will be ready to finance a company to make sure your floors don't cave in from gluttonous home terrorists. Have fun.

Then it was the plumber's turn. He showed up 15 minutes early. Early. He was polite and he finished within an hour and only charged me $90 (when another company said it would be $185 just to crawl under my house. Even if they did nothing else). I wanted to kiss him. I didn't. I'm not a Desperate Housewife...yet. 

I still share exciting news like this with my mother; she used to hear about college functions, now she gets to hear me squeal that the plumber didn't charge me a billion dollars. "You need to write his name down," she cheered.

"I will. I'm going to write his name in my book of life."

I don't know where that quote even came from. But there it was.

It's the truth, though. When you become an adult, you keep a little black book of sorts. When you find a stylist who doesn't style your hair like the duck in the Aflac commercial, ya write it down. When you find the grocery store cashier who lightning scans with fire in her eyes, ya write it down. When you find a mechanic who doesn't tell you a bad brake pad totals your vehicle, ya write it down.

Justin and I will purposefully try to sit in a certain waitress's section if she knows us and has our order pretty much down pat.

You spend most of your life trying to get in with the "cool kids." You spend the rest of your life trying to get the cell number of an honest plumber, a capable mechanic and a hair stylist. They're the ones you don't want to get all 'Mean Girls' on you.

If you're reading this and thinking, "That is such a sad existence," you are young and your time will come. And when it does, call David at Emergency Plumbing and try not to kiss his face.

.....

Isn't it cool that God has our number on file? Our name in his book? We have nothing to give him. He doesn't need us to patch a leaky pipe or give him blonde ombre'. He just needs us to bring our messes to him. To have faith in his power. To love like He loves.

And when that day comes, we will hear our name called and we will rise.

And go to a place where moths and [termites- praise Jesus] can't destroy.

Temple.

I was monotonously riding the elliptical today; I say riding because I like to create so much momentum at the beginning that my legs kind of just go on repeat for about 45 minutes. It's like a less fun swing for grown-ups to do so they can eat breakfast.

My mind began to wander. How did I get here? I'm on this hamster wheel next to all these other hamsters. You have bombshell hamster who doesn't sweat and somehow has a ponytail that perfectly keeps the beat of her Taylor Swift techno mix. You have Big Gulp hamster, who puts a Dr. Pepper in the cup holder and hopes for the best. You get in the middle of them so you feel like a mediocre hamster - not the first to get picked from the pet store, but certainly not the one gnawing on its own leg in the corner of the cage - the one who will soon be on sale for 75% off.

I got here because, when I turned 25, my body said to me, "I hope you lived your carb years to the fullest. I'm out. Peace." I went from not knowing what a nutritional label was to reading one like a Nicholas Sparks book (same amount of tears involved). I would slave for weeks only to lose a pound. I would allow myself some birthday cake at a party and subsequently gain 7. There has got to be some angry gremlin harboring my socks and living in my scale.

This time in my life has given me perspective; it has given me empathy for people who didn't even get 25 years of calorie-loading bliss. Now I'm that creeper who accidentally finds herself, mouth agape, staring at beautiful women at the gym. Forget Magic Mike over there grunting like a child making a dirty diaper. My eyes are fixed on that fine lady who doesn't sit up and have sweat streaks on her shirt where the rolls huddle for a break. You lift back up and hello, zebra. But not this gal. Her XS "I Hate Running" tank mocks me from afar: "I love to run. My shirt is just rubbing that in. Salt in the wound. I am about to go run right now actually. Want to join? Of course you don't."

As evidenced by the above paragraphs, I have my days. I have days where I am tired of working hard. I have days where it hits me, in one swift moment: This is the rest of your life. It's only going to get worse. You haven't even birthed an 8 pound human being yet. You might as well sell your soul to this treadmill and strap a weight belt on. This is you. Forever.

 .......

I remember when I was baptized and dedicated my life to Christ. I rose up out of the water and breathed new air into my chest. I was changed. I was pumped. It's like pre-25 when I could (and would) eat an entire log of chocolate chip cookie dough for dinner with no repercussions.

But the second I became a temple of God, the world started trying to trash it - littering it with discouragement and lies from the pits of hell. I went to church a few times a week; I went on mission trips; I joined small groups. Anything I could do to maintain and grow my new spirit.

Staying in shape physically is quite the feat; but staying in constant relationship with God is much, much harder. Yet I often jog on the hamster wheel of doom more than I kneel in prayer. Perhaps it's because saddle bags are more evident to those around me than sin and a pair of jeans buttoning is a greater victory to me than bringing someone to Christ.

It hit me today while the clock on my machine dragged on: my body is a temple. My whole body. Yes, even the stretch marks (I didn't get fat that fast, dumb skin).

You only get one body- so not mistaking mozzarella sticks for carrot sticks is an important first step. But our physical bodies are slowly fading away. I was ever so reminded of that after camp this past week when I couldn't walk or sit down without groaning.

We've got to work, ya'll. Every day of our lives. Forever. Until he comes back for us. It's not going to be easy. You're going to compare yourself to other hamsters. You're going to wonder why your journey has more obstacles in it.

But it will be worth it. I promise. So keep fighting and get back on the hamster wheel.

(Plus, rumor has it, there are carbs with no calories in heaven).

5 Honest HGTV Quotes

There's something about standing on the plank of 30 that leads you to HGTV's pretentious door. You start looking to granite counter tops for solace and decide that your lack of an open floor plan is making you feel trapped in your own home.

You haven't been fully sucked into the madness, though, as long as you still harbor a deep disdain for all of the couples on the show. I make fun of Justin for shouting at the TV during ballgames, but he doesn't know that it hasn't been a complete day for me yet if I haven't yelled, "You can paint over the lavender, you moron! Paint isn't permanent!"

Here are the quotes that I think would fill the show instead if the couples were truly honest with themselves and others.

1. "I need a clear view into the living room from the kitchen so I can watch my family as I OPEN A PAPA JOHN'S PIZZA BOX. Ok, Barefoot Contessa. Cool it with the 'I spend 2 1/2 hours on supper every night' bit. Your kids will see you in about 3 minutes after you pay and tip the high school delivery guy on your porch.

2. "When I say this dining room isn't sufficient for entertaining, I am floating around in my dream world where my husband and his two friends don't immediately hit the recliner and sectional to discuss absolutely nothing that's going on in each other's lives." Sister, unless your Netflix isn't working, I think your entertaining abilities will be just fine. And you know it.

3. "We've outgrown this place. And what I mean by that is, my husband and I are forced to run into each other and our child when we're wandering around our house." If you want to be able to hide from your kids and spouse, just say it. Don't act like a 4-bedroom house is busting at the seams. We know your games.

4. "I need a large master bath. Not so I can take daily Jacuzzi baths like the Queen of Sheba, but so I can have another large ravine to throw dirty towels and other bath junk in." Good luck taking a bubble bath in your new $4000 laundry pit, lady.

5. "There's no home office. I will have to check Facebook and Twitter on the couch and ignore my family just like everyone else." I'm sure you really do "work from home." Apparently, in parts of LA, you can be a brain surgeon from the comfort of your home office. What else would explain a work-from-home house budget of $1.5 million? I know you're not selling Mary Kay.

Summer Observations

So I spent a good part of the morning trying to talk one of my friends into starting a mom blog. Her witty observations and fiery sarcasm would be a dynamite combination. But as I kept firing reasons at her, I realized that I had abandoned my blog for all of the reasons I was using to convince her to start one in the first place. "Blogging is taking mundane situations and making people relate to them," I said, patting myself on the back for this glorious sentence. Yet my blog just sits vacant in black hole internet land because I often feel like my own mundane is unworthy of a paragraph.

So I'm back (I think).

I've spent a good part of my summer with other people's kids. Luckily, my friends have good kids and have initiated me into the club quite slowly. Still, I can't help but laugh sometimes when I come back home and retreat into my "norm" of cream cheese bagel halves (with no one saying "Eww" when I offer them one) and my two weenie dogs, who bring me more joy than I am willing to admit.

Here are some of my summer observations and thoughts:

1. I can do absolutely NOTHING with your kids and I pass out when we part ways. Kids will come over to swim. Or watch a movie. Or play on their own iPads while I sit there and make sure they don't jump out the window. Yet when you pick them up, I fall out unconscious. I don't know if their video game has the option to suck the living daylight out of the nearest adult in order to level up, but I would almost bet a two-hour nap on it. Justin will find me face-down on the couch with a puddle of drool and knows just to ask, "Were you in the presence of children today?"

2. I wish kids ate like weenie dogs. A slice of cheese will get my dogs into the bath, into a kennel, into a large body of water. I have to drop the cheese onto the floor like I'm conducting a feeding at Jurassic World in order to ensure I don't lose a hand. But kids?

"What do you want to eat for lunch?"

"I would like to stop by Sonic for a small sweet tea. Next, we will make our way to Arby's for their curly fries, followed by a quick trip to McDonald's for their one-of-a-kind chicken nuggets. We will then eat all of these things at the mall so we can play at their play place. So the answer is everywhere."

Also, everyone in my family eats in 10 seconds flat. Hiccuping because you have consumed large amounts of food quickly is a thing. And we all, pups included, sit on the couch convulsing with drunk- guy- in- a -tavern hiccups. So the inspection of each individual Cheerio before eating it was painful to watch. Especially when we have to leave in 30 minutes. I think I might have scared a child a little when I said, "I'm about to get a spoon and eat your cereal with you."

3. I will probably be involved in a car line homicide someday. I have never been insecure about my Toyota Camry. It's a smooth ride. It gets great gas mileage. And then I was smashed in a 10-mile line of GMC Yukon XLs. I would give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they have 10 very large children. Maybe they coach a medium soccer team. And then a minion-sized child would jump into the back. She wasn't even toting a large art project. Let's just call it what it is: a motor home.

I hate honking. I really do. But I had to honk at a texting mom twice for not pulling forward after waiting several minutes for her to look up. I had to do this twice. "I will never see this person again in my life," I said comfortingly to myself. Until THE NEXT DAY when I got behind her again. What are the odds of that? I hunkered down so she couldn't notify the PTO of my behavior.

4. When you're not the parent, you can make up whatever answer you want. I was at swim lessons and a mom leaned over and said, "What level is your child?" "She's in the Michael Phelps group. She graduated from dolphin last year."

Meltdowns are also not a part of your everyday life so you get to look at other parents with less empathy and more THANK THE LORD. I watched a mother lower her screaming child into the pool like she was the crane of death. You would have thought sharks were jumping up out of the water to eat the girl's flailing limbs. The child I was with plopped in the water like a golden fish angel child. Now I get why parents get so celebratory with #2s on the potty and things like walking. Because your radius is just as close to a crane of death reaction.

I know the day will come when I will most likely drive an SUV motor home and pay way too much money to throw my possessed child into a pool. And I know that all of you will be there to bail me out of jail when I throw punches at Mrs. Personalized License plate in front of me in the car line.

But as for now. As for me and my household, we will s...still quickly eat large amounts of processed cheese. (Tricked you, huh?)

Yet

There's an individual I cross paths with pretty often who begins every interaction with, "Found a job yet?"

"We are blessed that Justin's job is allowing me to stay at home and be more selective about a job if the right one presents itself." 

I say some version of this every.single.time.

Yet I can feel it looming when I approach; like the musty perfume that signals "that" customer is already waiting for you in your office.

"Found a job yet?" 

I know this person means absolutely no harm; I know it is simply a grasp for a more personalized greeting. But I was telling a friend the other day that I sometimes feel like every question phrased to me ends in the tiny but highly personal word "yet." 

"Have you and Justin thought about having kids yet?"

"Are you pregnant yet?"

"Have you tried Monster.com yet?"

We agreed to refer to these people as "yetties" to make ourselves feel better. The Yetties are coming, the Yetties are coming.

The reason I think this small word can harbor a big blow for a lot of people is because it reeks-- even if accidentally-- of personal control. 

And honestly, I don't have the answer to the "yets" either. Next week will mark a year since I lost my job and it's hard to outline what strides I've made since then (if you don't count learning how to make a wreath and no longer burning supper). 

I used to halt the job inquiries by talking about possibly starting a family; that has begun the fairly early stages of not looking like it's going to be easy either; so I am lying on a hammock in "yet" limbo.

Most of the time I am content; I realize I am blessed to have a spouse who says, "Don't just take any miserable, minimum-wage job. You've done that enough." I'm blessed to have this time to sleep through the night (praise ye the Lord) and be selfish a little bit longer. 

But I think I speak for a lot of people, when I encourage you to take a new conversational path. This includes me. Let's take a cue from Proverbs 12:25 that says, "An anxious heart weighs a  man down, but a kind word cheers him up." 

People are anxious by nature; people are naturally feeling like their lives are moving at a snail's pace and spiraling out of control simultaneously. Let's not add to that by including more "yets" into their timelines. 

There are plenty of questions to ask and encouraging words to give. And I guarantee you, they'll be glad to give you an answer.