Friday, May 28, 2010

Exercise and Jesus

Exercise and Jesus are so alike. I love the way that both make me feel. I need them everyday. I enjoy talking about them and encouraging others to engage. I preach the importance of both to my children. I need them both to be a well-balanced, happy, energized and focused individual. However, Jesus is good to me even when I'm fat.

I have decided to make some changes in my life over the last few years. It happens to everyone as they grow. Well, I suppose it doesn't happen to EVERYONE. We all know those few people who are stuck in a decade that they are continually chasing their tail, or bangs, or whatever vice they had during said era. But, for the most of us as we age, we evolve and pick up new knowledge and interests, and aches and pains as well as new needs. In turning the ripe old age of thirty this year I have decided, along with several close friends, to stop living as if I am twenty-one, in the way I eat and diet and exercise. I will not be rebounding after a night of staying up late pigging out. These days, too much chocolate means a hangover all of the following day. As much as I hate to admit it, some days I feel like the Tin Man. My joints are squeaky and I can't find the oil can!

My body won't forgive me for not getting the exercise it deserves like it did a decade ago. This epiphany occurred one morning when I woke up and realized I had convinced myself I was "bloated" (you ladies know what I mean) for a six month stretch. I am no doctor, but that doesn't seem possible. I am not twenty-one. I have to be careful what I put in, and I have to be sure and work it out. Exercise, like it or not has to be a key element in my day to day. If I don't get it, I don't feel well. Lord help me, I am tired and grumpy and no one likes me but Jesus.

Because He loves me, (this I know) I need Him every day, just like exercise. Otherwise, I am cloudy, and lazy and wandering. I don't have the drive, focus or intention. I am a better me with God. At twenty-one, I am not sure that I whole-heartedly understood faith, let alone did any sort of worship. But, things change. Life happens and you begin to realize, much like with the effects of food on your body, God can change your heart and your mind. There's a reason it feels good to run. There's a reason it feels good to pray.

Anytime you change your lifestyle, you change your surroundings, your habits and your relationships. If you're not going to eat bad food anymore, you're probably not going to dinner with someone who wants to eat at a buffet. That's not to say I don't enjoy a buffet sometimes. I AM human. The deeper realization is that you have to sort of "clean up" your habits. "Clean up" your friendships, in order to grow. Some people decide to only eat salad bar at the buffet before they eliminate it from their lives altogether.

There is a certain peace of mind you obtain when you do something that is good. When you help a little old lady reach the top shelf at the grocery store, or when you walk a mile after dinner, you feel better. If you forgive someone for something that was beyond hurtful, if you take a stand for something that you believe in, despite what people think or say, you feel better.

Making the conscious decision to change my every day life (my breakfast, lunch, dinner - be the best wife I can - try and be SuperMom - daily exercise regime - prayer time - church on Sundays - stop cursing so much - pray for people I dislike - see the good in others - read my Bible- LIFE) takes guts, gusto and great strength. People don't like change. Some relationships have to taper off. There are a handful of people who will love me no matter what I'm doing. THOSE are the ones who encourage growth. Everyone should be so lucky as I am to have them.

While my friends and Jesus love me even if I'm fat, my rusty joints hurt and the fact of the matter is some people will never understand. I have to cut my losses and trudge forward. The people who pull me back are the ones who have to eat my dust. I am not stopping or slowing down. I am joggling (hobble+ jog = joggle) toward a better tomorrow for myself. Do not remind me of the self-deprecating, buffet-devouring, faithless days of my past. This motivated Mamma is unapologetically moving forward, and not slowing down! I've got my joggling kicks on and I know how to use em! Paaa-raiszze Jesus!

Judgement will come soon enough without my two cents. I am saying that it feels good to feel better. It feels good to BE better. I encourage it for everyone to find a healthy center. I elect to love myself enough to actively participate in my life. Be better. If it were easy, everyone would do it and all of the buffets would close.

Exercise and Jesus, are so much alike.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

So, EVERYONE'S an author...

Ok, heregoes. Momma says, "If 'everyone' jumped off a bridge..." you know the rest. Well, the answer is obvious. "How high is the bridge?" "Where is the bridge located?" "Are there emergency crews nearby 'just in case'?" In my reality, there are so many questions to answer before you can give the definitive "yes" or "no". My children (specifically my 7 year old) have taught me that. Truth be told, I have jumped from a bridge before. In fact, everyone was doing it. It was not high. It was just dangerous enough. I am glad I did it. Am I fit to write? Eh. I am doing it like I do everything else, the only way to do things that count, WITH GUSTO. I am capable of several thoughts at once. Some of them I get out of my head, the majority stay within the confines of my GIANT cranium. So, again, heregoes.

Welcome to a few of the thousands of thoughts that flood my mind daily. I will try and type them as quickly as I think them so as not to confuse, or lose anything in translation. Who knows where we'll go with this, or how we'll get there. God help me, it's like Bob Dylan. Did I really just do that? I do not like Bob Dylan, his writing or his whining. I spend so much of my effort trying to keep little people from doing what he's famous, and no doubt wealthy, for doing. Ugh, whining.

Even with the crazy noises, my children are my world. Now, I say "crazy" noises... I mean to say "gross, disgusting, amazing, entrancing, LOUD, smelly, hilarious, kind, sweet, loving, and sometimes even scary" noises. The smelly little buggers absolutely enthrall me. They are asleep right now. So, so beautiful. Not in the romantic way that people talk about watching their beautiful angels sleep (though, mine are the sweetest). No, it's beautiful in the way that no one is fighting, crying, fussing, Bob Dylan-ing, pooping, snotting, or spitting. And that's just since my husband laid down. ONLY KIDDING. Not funny Mommy. (DISCLAIMER: My husband is an amazing person. He's my soul mate, my best friend. He puts up with my craziness on a daily basis and I am truly blessed that he comes home to me every day!-- I love you Sweetie.)

When they are awake, I find my favorite parts of the day are spent trying to figure them out. Which of course, is not possible. Since I've become a "grown up", I no longer enjoy the world in the same euphoric way as children do. Do you remember staring at your hand for what seemed like hours on end and just flexing those fingers to see what they could do? Remember playing make believe and not having any rules in doing so? How about dancing? Ever just break it down? Or singing. I still sing songs that aren't. I make up lyrics and melodies all day long. I get onto my kids for making these "noises" because it's annoying after the same chorus is sung over and over and over... but who are they modeling? If I am in the middle of a melt down over dinner being messed up, I re-heated the wrong casserole as they weren't marked clearly (my mistake- THE WORST) in the freezer (where I planned to keep my convenient concoctions so as to eliminate chaos in my evenings with pre-prepared food) I've just broken another dinner plate, and I stepped on the glass while the baby was crying and making his way over to try and sort through shards... (OBVIOUSLY I intercept and precisely why I now have broken glass lodged into my bare feet) I am about to lose it and just start really crying. One of my girls will sashay in, wearing bright red lipstick and daddy's flip flops and sing something like "Hear this: SISTER SUFFRAGETTE, So cast off the shackles of yesterday..." THIS is what I live for. It sounds like a country song. It may BE a country song. I am making up the words and melody as I type.

This is why I drag my "sleepy-headed-Mommadon'twannawakeup" body out of bed every day. This is why I am getting up tomorrow to run. These little people, and the man with whom I am raising them are my reason. For everything. I want what's best for them. Which means what's best for me. Because I have to stay alive to keep them alive. Not just with a pulse. But like, REALLY alive. So, I'm going to pray. I am going to drink the "Green Monsters" my girlfriend suggests. I am going to run (or at very least WALK BRISKLY) as often as I can. I am going to laugh. I am going to sing. I am going to dance. I am going to live each day like every second counts, Jack Bauer-style. Because it's over too quickly, children model your behavior and I don't want to teach my children to be grumpy old people. I want to learn from my children how to be spirited and young at heart.

So, this tell-all has become my therapy. Everyone's an author.