Family Pride

My brother has had his low points. He's had trouble with drugs...with the law. He stole our mother's jewelry to pawn for meth money. He's stolen checks. He's lied. He's hurt a lot of people. He has not been a very good person.

Today he graduated into the National Guard. There have been times I wanted to wash my hands of him; I was so angry with him and the choices he made.

Today, I am so proud of him, I am almost bursting. I contemplated driving 6 hours to see him and then 6 hours home to make it in time to go to work tomorrow. (Obviously, I didn't do that.)

I am so proud of him and this choice that he made. Lots of the kids that signed up with him went home. They gave up and never made it. He stuck it out...and his goals are so different now. He wants to go to college. He wants to get a good job. He wants to make something of himself.

We've been texting back and forth tonight as he's trying to get home. He told me some guy told him "Thanks for serving," and gave him airline money to buy drinks on the plane. He also said "Too bad I'm not 21 yet." In the weeks before basic training, he was pulled over (underage) for a DUI...now I trust him to make the right decision. He sent me another message telling me he'd been upgraded to first class.

Politically, no matter what personal views on the war are, our service men and women deserve our support and respect. I'm so proud of my brother for making the choice to stand up for our country.

God Bless.

RUN

I love magnet poetry.

I love those little letters and words that seem so random, yet tie together so perfectly. I got a page free somewhere, and found an entire box for a quarter at a garage sale, so the front of my fridge is covered in words. I play with them, the kids play with them, and apparently, Little Sister's Polly pockets use them as skates. They tend to wander when no one is looking, and little words end up all over the house.

Tonight, I've just had it. Another argument with Big Sister, and the way she treats me and Little Sister, and how the Hubster does nothing about it. I lost it, big time. Went on a screaming rampage. Told both of them that I was going to take Little Sister and leave because she doesn't deserve to be treated the way Big Sister treats her...how she's going to wind up hating her because all she ever does is yell at her. I've just had it. I'm done with half assed "I'm sorry's" that don't mean anything. I'm done with the Hubster standing by and watching it happen. I'm just done.

I've started picking things up when I'm mad...It's a habit I picked up from the Hubster, I think. Something psychological about controlling the physical chaos when I'm on an emotional roller coaster. I folded a basket of laundry. I cleaned one of the bathrooms. I organized the shoes in the rack by the front door.

RUN.

I saw it through my tears as I picked up, strangely enough, one of my running shoes. The little rectangular word, free from it's magnetic prison of the fridge, lost in the carpet, staring up at me.

RUN.

Is it a sign? That I'm really done? That it's time to just give up trying to fix things, cut my losses and go?

RUN.

How odd that I found that particular word at that moment in time. Does it mean something? Do I listen?

And here we are again.

My favorite quote of all time is from the BC comic strip a few years ago on New Year's Day.

"Well look here, another year is knocking on our door. And we'll try not to do the stupid things we did before. And when next year comes a'knocking, we shall pledge to persevere. And try not to repeat the stupid things we'll do this year."

January 1, 2007.

If I don't weight exactly the same or more than I did a year ago today, I'm pretty darn close.

I have excuses from here to high Heaven. Shortly after my last post, my husband lost his job. As long as I concentrate on paying $12 a week, I don't think WW is a bad deal. But when you add it all together, it's almost $50 a month, and I just couldn't justify that with our family struggling.

I could have, should have stayed on the play without the meetings, but I didn't.

We moved= more stress.

Work has been hard, home has been hard. I'm fat and miserable.

This time, though, Hubby has agreed to join me. In fact, it was HIS idea. We're jumping on the beach today. South Beach, that is.

We did it together in 2003--God, was that 4 years ago already?--and both of us lost more than 50 pounds, but promptly gained it all back once we slipped off. (Okay, jumped off, head first, into the jumbo sized tub of chocolate covered cherry ice cream with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream...oops. Yum-o. I mean, gross.)

This morning for breakfast, I had a 1/2 cup of cottage cheese, 10 grape tomatoes, a slice of Canadian bacon, and a small glass of vegetable juice. Right now I'm drinking water. We've opened what will hopefully be the last case of pop to ever enter our house.

It will be better this time. It will work.

It has to.

Major Breakthrough...

I shared this at my Weight Watchers meeting last week, too.

My dad has always been really critical of my weight. What ever is wrong with me...Whether I have a runny nose or a sore knee, it's because I'm overweight and out of shape. I've gotten constant lectures for as long as I can remember. It's been hard on me.

This past weekend, we had a birthday party for my 10 year old step daughter. We went bowling...Never let anyone tell you that bowling isn't exercise. It was a lot of fun, and the camera got passed around.

On Sunday, I e-mailed the pictures to my dad. My first big step is that I sent him ALL the pictures. I didn't take out the ones of me, like I usually do.

The second big breakthrough is that, after he looked at the pictures, my dad called me and asked my how much weight I've lost, and told me that he can really tell.

I think you could have blown me over with a single breath, I was in so much shock.

A compliment from my dad is better than all the other compliments combined. Better than a 5 pound sticker. Better than finally reaching my 10% goal.

It's enough to keep me going.
(But not quite enough to help me get up early and exercise.)