Love & a Steady Hand

Here's the thing

I'm telling you all at the outset that I am disabling comments on this entry. I want to say this thing I'm about to say, but I'm not ready for a dialogue about it, even if you've got supportive and loving things to say. I know you love me. I know you've got my back. I just can't hear the specifics right now. Thanks for respecting that, even if you don't understand it...

Went to see good old Laurel J. last week for my annual exam. First stop, as always, the scales and damn! Second stop, "the big cuff", which the nurse couldn't find. So we tried the regular cuff and the results were ridiculous. Small pause while she hunts down the big cuff. And the results were still ridiculous. Like my head was going to blow off at any moment... to summarize, not good. It turns out, I am a short, fat, highly pressurized woman -- and at least two of those things need to change fairly soon.

Now, none of this was news. I have always been short-ish. I've had slightly elevated blood pressure since about 1997, or maybe even longer. And I've perceived myself as fat since age 11 or so -- except for a brief period which I'll get to in a minute. That last one isn't surprising given the number of teachers, 'friends' and even putatively loving relatives who suggested I should strive to be thinnner: "You want to start thinking about that baby fat now..." "You'd be so much prettier if..." "I wouldn't have to break up with you if..." "We love you, but next time we see you, maybe you could have dropped a few pounds..." You know the type: friendly, genuinely helpful people, who only want what's best for me. People who are certain I would want to be thinner (really, what sane person wouldn't?) if I could only, like, see myself in a friggin' mirror and get a clue. People for whom I am clearly the dumbest person on the planet, because until they started talkin' I never even knew I was fat at all...

Yeah right.

Here's the scoop. We fat people know we are fat. We've got the idea. Really. We know all about swimsuits and blue jeans and tank tops -- why they are difficult to find, often impossible to fit into, virtually unaffordable if they do fit. We have mirrors. We know what we look like. We know who we are. We don't need you to fill us in.

And we also don't need you to love us this much, if it means we have to talk about it all the time. If all folks can think about when they see me is how fat I am (or am not anymore), I will find some new folks to check my shit out. And yes, I realize we're all worried about my health and mental well-being -- but doncha think it might contribute to my high blood pressure to walk around worrying about who is evaluating the size of my ass or checking out what (and how much) I'm eating every day? Might it be stressful to wonder when the next "helpful" reminder that I am still fat and it's still bothering folks is gonna surface in a conversation?

There was a time in my life when I was thin. Very thin. I didn't choose to lose the weight. I frankly just didn't have enough money for food. I "got a lot of exercise" because I couldn't afford to park my car on campus and thus had to walk everywhere I went, even in the bitterest Wisconsin cold at 5 a.m. and often home very late at night. But at the time I was delighted by the side-effect of my "life-style". I was about to be married and the dramatic weight loss meant I would fit into my aunt's beautiful satin wedding gown. I wore a sun-dress to leave the church after the wedding and I had gorgeous lingerie for the honeymoon. But I wasn't very happy.

In the first place, I had a really bad attitude. I was still very size-ist myself back then and being thin was so desirable, right? I was finally doing what everyone wanted me to do. [Actually I was starving, which I don't think is exactly what anyone meant for me to do, but the end result was the same... thus the process is perceived as positive and intentional.] And I was a total bitch about it. I stuck out my tongue at the fat girl stores. I declared my freedom from their high prices and crappy fabrics. I wasn't very happy and I couldn't quite fathom who this skinny person even was. But I thought those feelings would pass. I thought being thin was going to solve so many problems.

Instead it just caused new ones -- like emotions that see-sawed between terrifying vulnerabilty and raging homicidal tendencies. Because the other significant side effect was that as I lost weight, I suddenly began receiving attention from a lot of men. Comments I had never heard as size 16 were frequent and disturbing when I was a size 6 or 8. Despite being engaged to the best guy in the world -- somebody who loved (and still loves) me fat -- I was newly hot and apparently available as a commodity. "Oh baby, you are fine!" "Gimme some of that!" And the whole thing made me mad. Before, when I was 'chubby' and 'heavy' -- by which we mean fat of course -- I was invisible. To these really special guys, the ones who delight in making sure you know just how special, I wasn't even there. I didn't rate the time of day from these guys. But now, miraculously, I had re-appeared. For their pleasure. And I wanted to kill them. Literally.

And because all this new-found attention was really scary, I wanted to hide. So I did. About two months after our wedding, I started gaining weight again. I was still walking a lot, out of necessity. I was still working two jobs and going to graduate school. I was still stressed and depressed and there wasn't much money -- enough for food though. And my attitude towards fat was starting to change. I wanted my missing insulation back. As a thin person I had lost my protection from the sharp edges of myself and the world. So I started gaining weight again. I felt guilty. I felt like a failure. I felt like I'd let so many people down -- all those folks who were so proud of the skinny me were gonna be sad. And that made me sad -- for any number of reasons.

But I also felt more self-assured. I made some cute pants and tops in bigger sizes and funkier shapes. I had a better sense of style sewing for myself and for a while I was true to my vow not to shop in the fat stores again. I felt comfortable with myself and I was also invisible again. Thin friends got hassled by frat boys on campus, but the dudes left me alone because they couldn't even see me. And I'm talking about me as a size 12 or 14 now... not even very fat at all. Just fat enough for their eyes to slide away -- maybe I'd get a "fat ass" muttered as I walked away, but I know I've got an ample bottom, and I'd rather ignore an insult from an asshole than a sexual suggestion (or thinly veiled threat) any day.

It's been a long time since then, and I've had two kids and gotten even fatter. There are many things about being fat that I do not enjoy. I don't like paying twice as much for my clothes as my thinner girlfriends do. I don't like being tied to one main store for things I can't make, like blue jeans and bras. I don't like worrying about who is watching me eat and what they might be thinking about my food and/or lifestyle choices. I don't like going to the doctor for a sinus infection and being told I should lose weight even before they take my blood pressure. I don't like feeling judged and measured and censured for the way I look instead of who I am or what I'm saying or doing or contributing to the world. And most of all, I don't like that so many people seem to think it's any of their damned business. That's not directed at anybody in particular. I just feel that folks who have issues with their own bodies (and their feelings about their own past or present fat) should deal with their own shit and not come stirring up mine. If you are happy that you lost weight, I am happy for you. But don't go telling me in that "and you could be happier too" way that the recently thinner too often have. If you converted to Judaism, would you expect me to be Jewish too? Let me be who I am, fat and all, in peace.

The problem is, Laurel J. my awesome baby-doctor, who I love and respect so much for her kindness and for not saying "Damn, you shoulda lost that weight before you decided to have that baby..." (even though she wrote obesity on my chart) says I need to drop some pounds to keep my head from blasting off. And because she hasn't made it an issue until now, and because she has been respectful of me and my choices -- even when she busted me coming out of Burger King with a big ole Coke and a Whopper with onion rings when I was "watching" my sodium while pregnant with Mara -- and just because she obviously likes me a whole whole lot, I'm deciding she's right.

But folks, recognize right now that I am really scared.

I don't want to lose weight. I want to be healthier, sure. But I emphatically don't want to be thin again. And the prospect scares me shitless. So I need ya'll to recognize that the whole thing has me terrified and some of the reasons why:

First: I am not ready to let go of my radical fat activist persona. I need her. She's one strong mother, and I'm not sure who I will be without her.

Second: I am not ready to be a sexual object in the general populus again. I have plenty of great love and sexual vibes from my current posse without any excess (and unwanted) attention from strangers. (All of ya'll who said "you'd be so much prettier if...," you didn't realize you were actually deterring weight loss, didja?)

Third: I just started getting a wardrobe I really like at this size. Not only do I not want to start over, I am scared to -- especially since I am probably not gonna lose enough to be in the really skinny stores again.

Fourth: I'm worried that I'll try to lose the weight and just fail outright. So if you're gonna fail, why bother trying in the first place, right?

Fifth: I'm also not sure about the other changes that are going to come with this whole attitude shift. I don't want to be size-ist again. I don't want to hate the person I am now, just because I lost some pounds. I don't want to be perceived as having lost weight because I wanted to look different. I don't want to hear "wow, you've really lost weight, you look great!" Why? I looked like shit before? I don't want to be another conformist fat girl, giving in to the pressure of an asshole sizeist cultural expectation.

Just keep it all in mind. And remember, please, that giving up french fries or hauling my ass off the sofa is truly not the hardest part of this for me. I know you love me just the way I am. I know you're proud of me for taking on this fight. And I know you want the best for me, whatever that may be. So try to keep in mind, that the best way to get my back on this is not to make it a big deal at all. Try to keep loving me and being proud of me and wanting the best, even if it's not exactly what you had in mind.

And be warned: the first person who says "You look great, have you lost weight?" will probably get punched in the face. It might be better to start practising phrases like, "Oh my god, you've lost so much weight, are you okay???" Just a helpful suggestion to the wise!

I am now addicted to quizzes

As if you hadn't noticed. Duh.

What Snack Food are You?
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Here's an interesting development

Kym and I were discussing some faith issues last night and I was being really flippant (and irritating) so she sent me a link to a "which religion are you?" quiz.

Here is are the results:

According to the SelectSmart.com Belief System Selector, my #1 belief match is Neo-Pagan. What do you believe? Visit SelectSmart.com/RELIGION

More Silliness

Play along if you wanna. (Thanks, Chryse & Kym, for the idea.)

Please recommend the following...

1) A movie
2) A book
3) A CD
4) A LJ user/blogger (not one I'm reading already)
5) A website/magazine (for the non-bloggers)

Then do the following:
A) Ask me something. Anything.
B) Tell me something about yourself that you don't think I already know.

Tim's Results

Tim has very graciously allowed me to post his results, and here they are:

INTP - "Architect". Greatest precision in thought and language. Can readily discern contradictions and inconsistencies. The world exists primarily to be understood. 3.3% of total population.

Take Free Myers-Briggs Personality Test

Meyers Briggs Results

INFP - "Questor". High capacity for caring. Emotional face to the world. High sense of honor derived from internal values. 4.4% of total population.

Take Free Myers-Briggs Personality Test

I'm Elrond, baby!!

Bwah-ha-ha That's two in a row for Quizilla!!!

Congratulations! You're Elrond!


Which Lord of the Rings character and personality problem are you?
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Parenting Books

One of these days I am going to write my own parenting book. "All well and good," you are probably thinking, "but what will it say?" And to some extent, I agree with you. What, indeed, has not already been said by Spock, Leach, Brazelton, Sears, the What to Expect gang and everybody else out there who claims expert knowledge in this complicated field?

Here's the difference, and the single detail that will make mine the best parenting book (and also the worst seller) of all time...

My book is going to start out with the audacious suggestion that since I don't actually know your kid, I may not have the only ideas for solving your problems. And I'm gonna follow that up with another scandalous idea: you can pick and choose amongst the ideas I have to offer. You don't have to buy my book and sign on for a package tour. And thirdly, and this one is the kicker, I'm gonna tell you (or any reader fool enough to check out the book), that even if you follow my plan, your kid may still not turn out the way you want her to. Indeed, I am going to be so heretical as to suggest -- no, I think I'll assert -- that no one parenting approach can promise perfection.

Because I am really tired of the idea that if you follow your chosen guru's advice, you can achieve some kind of parenting nirvana. I am tired of the package tour approach -- you can't get off and visit Italy with this guide, because that's not Switzerland, and we are parenting the Swiss way because Dr. Erlacht said if we did, we would be doing the best for our children and ourselves. (I made that name up, do not go Google it!) The trouble is, some kids are Swiss-made (like little watches) and some kids are just screaming out to be Italian or French or German or whatever, and using just the Swiss method can lead to broken springs and really twisted cogs. Whereas, if you just added a little pasta on the side, everything would have been copasetic from the start.

But Dr. Erlacht doesn't want you to leave Switzerland. He believes, really, that the Swiss way is the only way, and somehow he almost makes us believe it too. And that makes me really mad. Because where is he, in the middle of the night, when his patented, supposedly fool-proof (but only if you're not as big a fool as me) child and family centered approach is breaking down and we're up all night and the Italian kid is thumping on the French kid and the Swiss kid, who was asleep (because the method works really well for him, but only him) has just woken up and started WWII all over again... and wasn't Switzerland supposed to be all neutral in the first place? Then the good doctor refers you to his special book on "Sleeping Swiss" and the companion, "Swiss Success" which continues the program for older kids... He wants you to keep reading (or at least keep buying) the whole Swiss set, but he's not showing up at 3 a.m. to explain how exactly to make this thing work for real.

And it's not just any one of them -- they all have a vested interest in making us believe their way is best. So they coerce us, through guilt or earthiness or intellectualism or psychology, with the notion that their way is the most loving, most responsible, most child-centered (or if you're swinging the other way, most parent-supportive) parenting approach around. And if you stray from the path, you are a traitor and you're not doing it right and your kids are going to go straight to hell in a handbasket and it's your fault. It's all your fault!

Well blah. That's my final word. Blah. I am not buying it and I'm now on a campaign to help everyone else stop buying too. Take what you need, take what suits your kids and your family and leave the rest behind. Just leave it. Park it where you can come back and re-visit if you need to, but damn, stop dragging that heavy shit along because you think you're supposed to. Enjoy the tour, get out and hitch-hike if you want, rent a car and drive on the wrong side of the road, climb a few mountains, cross some borders, sample some new flavors and routines... because who knows when you'll get to Europe again. Seems a shame to waste all your time and resources on just one country after all.

Quizilla Finally Works!

You are Virginia Woolf! You were openly bisexual
and had public affairs, but you never liked
sex. You wrote a seminal feminist work, long
before feminists knew that they were feminists.
In this vein, you never really considered
yourself a feminist. You were a tragic figure,
but a damn genius.


Which Western feminist icon are you?
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A Crafting Orgy

It's not what you think, really, or I promise you'd all be invited!

Yesterday I started yet another crafting project -- this one a cross-stitch I hope to finish by the end of the month for my MIL's 60th birthday. So I sat down and counted out all the threads, figured out what size I'd make it, and which threads were missing. Then this morning, I managed to get to the store and buy the four colors I needed -- only to get home and realize I'd picked up a wrong one by mistake. So now I'm stuck, needing to hit the store again and feeling very reluctant to drag the kids along, one more time.

And really, it was more complicated than just run in and get the one floss color I was missing. Because:

1. I had a "just about to expire" 50% off coupon to Joanne's and our local Joanne's basically sucks for the terrific, expensive stuff you want 50% off of, and

2. Last time I tried to go to Hobby Lobby I forgot it was Sunday (when they are closed "to allow our employees time for family and worship"), but they have better beading supplies than Joanne's, and

3. I've got a $20 gift card to Michael's burning a hole in my pocket.

So when Kym volunteered to take the kids for a couple of hours, I jumped at the chance, dumped them on her front porch and ran off to Pick for a whirlwind tour of everything crafty, just a quick 40 minutes away. And it was FABULOUS.

I allotted myself 30 minutes in each store, and did a pretty good job of sticking to that. At Hobby Lobby I looked at EVERYTHING -- so many ideas, so little time! I swear, after my pottery class I am going to look into lamp glass blowing for making beads. The materials looked so cool! And I am totally getting into making beads with polymer clay and enjoyed pricing their tools and materials -- Meg, Hobby Lobby carries a pasta machine made specifically for Fimo/Sculpy... $24.99, but I'm checking second-hand stores first. I did quite well and only bought the missing floss from paragraph 1, some clasps and crimp beads, and 3 pairs of double-pointed knitting needles, which I will now justify.

Here's the sitch: all my friends are starting to knit stuff like mittens. I am scared of double-points and have thus avoided them so far. But no more. So last week I bought some (at Mega Joanne's) for the low low price of $7.99 per set. Turns out, however, that I had bought the wrong size, and also they were those weird new plastic ones -- Lion Brand -- and just didn't feel right. So back they went. Tonight I found double-points, from the Wright/Boyle company I like better anyway (can't stand Susan Bates, ugh, terrible matte finish on the needles, not smooth or pointy enough and with a nasty whiskery sound as you knit) and all for $2.99 a set. Reader, I bought them. And with glee.

Then on to Michael's where I sneered at the higher priced needles and scoffed at the less than wholly acceptable yarn (the Knitwitches and I are going to the newest yarn store in the Big City on Wednesday -- who will offer to hold my credit card while I go in and look?) but got completely sucked in by a sale on Classic style Fimo. Bought seven colors at just $1 each (this is a really good deal) and a pair of size 7 needles -- because I remembered, belatedly, that I have no sevens and thus had to make Sarah's hat on 8's. And it was all FREE! Thanks Kathleen & Dave! (and I've even got money left over... hee hee).

Then over to Joanne's, to use the coupon. I had hoped for some kind of clay extruder, similar to Hobby Lobby's fabulous pasta machine, but they only had the mini-shape extruder and it was only $10 and available at my home Joanne's, so hardly worth the bother of driving up. I considered a mat cutting tool, but if I'm going to start framing my own stuff, I'd just as soon have it bevel cut, and this wasn't going to do anything but cut straight down -- also I couldn't figure out how much the damned thing cost. $12.99 was reasonable, but it could have been $27.99, and that was nuts, even at half price. The coupon is worthless for yarn, because it would only count for one skein, and I didn't have the damned thing when I bought the rainbow fabric for the kids' curtains last week, so what to do??? Then I found a double-knife Xacto set with about 10 blades and that was the ticket. I can cut Fimo and about a hundred other things, probably even mats if I use a straight edge, and it was just $11.99, which is expensive enough to warrant using the coupon, but not so much that I'm spending money just to use the coupon. If you know what I mean...

Then back to town, stopping to get a full tank of gas for 20 cents a gallon less than at home -- hee hee -- and now I am going to stop blogging and go work on the cross-stitch that got me into this mess in the first place.

If you have ideas of what I should call my Mom of All Trades business, please let me know. Meg says I need to specialize, but I don't wanna. But I do need a name for the spiffy new business cards I'm planning. And this way, I can write it off as a business expense when I buy paint to spruce up the basement work room. I've got it all figured out. Except for the name...

And Kym, thanks! I really needed that!

The Christmas Booger

This is going back a bit to the entry I wanted to write on Christmas Eve in Nashville and wasn't able to -- too busy being Santa and the unreliable internet connection just had me spooked. So imagine it's December 24th, 2003, about 8 p.m. Central Daylight Time.... (I considered editing the date on this one, but since it's already January, it would just be in the archives anyway... blah blah blah)

Just got back from Christmas Eve service at the church We're pretending, remember... -- the kids are exhausted and way past ready for bed. The switch from Eastern to Central time always causes havoc with sleeping, and waking (oh the waking!!! with a 32 pound bebe climbing on your head at 3 a.m. for a week straight...)

Christmas just doesn't feel like Christmas until we've had the service at Woodland. My dad, for those of you not keeping up, is a Presbyterian minister -- who incidentally doesn't believe in the divinity of Jesus, go figure. There's a whole blog entry on its own -- and the service at the church of my youth is really special and important. Last year my sister and her fabulous brand-new husband couldn't make it down from Boston and it was not the same without them, but this year we were all together and it was great.

Well, until we were in the line for communion and Matthew (who had been entertaining the whole assembly with his "Mom Mom Mom Mom" up until then -- picture the seagulls in Finding Nemo and you'll have the the caedence and tone of this particular favorite song...). So anyway, Matthew and I are just about last in the line to partake of symbolic bread and grape juice -- one of these days I mean to rant about how you can still serve communion if you don't believe in the divinity of Jesus, but that's a whole nother blog entry and will have to include the question of why I take communion if I don't believe in the divinity of Jesus -- but as I was saying, Matthew and I are in the line and the rest of the folks who have already partooken are lined up around the sanctuary, holding their lighted candles and watching the rest of us still lined up, waiting to sing "Silent Night" and no doubt pondering Christmases past. So I'm holding my giant son and he's not struggling, for a change, and I hear a muffled giggle. Always wanting to be in on the joke, I look around to see what folks are giggling about, and realize that my son has stuck his index finger, up to the second knuckle, into his nose and is happily rooting there for snacks. I'm hungry too, but ewwww. And everyone is watching...

But I'm a cool, laid back momma, right? So I gently say, "no sweetie, don't put your finger in your nose" and take his hand down from his face. He grins -- a purely incandescent grin -- and shoves the OTHER index finger up the other nostril. So happy. So embarrassing. And I can't get to that hand because I don't have the sling on -- his big shoes make it hard to get him in and out of the sling these days -- so my maneuvering is limited and the folks around are watching and smiling at the inevitability of 20 month olds and their boogie fetishes.

And I suddenly realize that this is what Christmas is all about -- standing in church, surrounded by people who watched you grow up, holding the next generation in abject horror (and adoration) as he picks his nose to the delight of the assembled throng. Christmas is about humiliation and nostalgia and unbelievably confusing love.

Oh, and it's about being really hungry and only realizing at 5:15 that you should have invented some last minute shopping so you could sneak out and get a cheeseburger, because there won't be time to eat, let alone make dinner and anyway "There will be goodies at the church..." And Dan, next time, when I say, "Do you want to stop at Checkers for a burger real quick before we head to the airport to pick up Meg?" just remember that I have done this gig a hundred times before. When I say there's not gonna be dinner, freakin' believe me next time. Those "goodies" wouldn't fill up a four year old -- if you even get a chance to eat anything while negotiating the throng of well-wishers who haven't seen you in a year or so but who know all about you from Daddy's sermons...

Merry merry everybody. Peace, love, and potluck! And as Meg is fond of saying, 'You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't wipe your friends on your sleeve." Luckily Matthew has transferred his affections to his "beh-buh" so we're okay for a while. Now, if I could just get him to realize that particular body part is NOT located down the front of his diaper....

Aaaack!

This is ridiculous. We've been sick for ages, then we were at my parents, where the internet connection will work for ANYONE but me (it shuts down every time, just freezes up the whole system and I don't understand why me???) and now I'm back, and ready to blog.

I have so many things to write about, but it looks so sad and empty with nothing there right now and while I don't have time to write a full entry, I wanted to say, don't give up on me. I'll do a proper blog tonight after Exec Board. I promise!

Love love love! me