Alone.
This blog post won't be packed full of witty observations or the lighter fare which my readers have come to expect of me. However, this is an important blog post for me to share so that I may move forward and get back to my old creative self.
So, my dear readers, I have been noticeably absent in my postings of late and much has transpired in my life since I left you last. I did take that leap of faith and strayed away from my comfort zone and left my job to pursue my college degree as a full-time student ... and just three days later, my husband left our household.
My husband has been plagued by a lot of demons over the course of many years and the nature of these demons are not mine to divulge. That is strictly his story to tell. However, his abrupt decision to depart came as quite a shock (and that's putting it mildly). And since rumors tend to spread like wildfire ... I would like to be the one who authors this tale... straight from the horse's mouth so to speak.
I will not go into the details that have led to this separation as there are only four people in this world who need such detail ... my husband, my children and I. What I will say, however, is that my husband is not a bad man ... not a bad husband ... not a bad father. Quite the opposite actually. But as I mentioned above, he has demons to conquer ... and he feels the need to find a way to fight them ... on his own.
And as I have mentioned to you on several occasions ... I struggle with letting go and letting God ... and this has been a test of major magnitude. Allowing my husband to be himself ... allowing him to go on this journey alone. I pray every day that God will walk my husband through this dark valley and carry him through safely to the other side. And what I have learned through much prayer and meditation is that God is the potter ... not me ... and it is necessary that I allow God to continue working in my life and to open my heart so that He can show me the path he has paved for me and my family. I would be lying if I said that this road is not a difficult one. I have had many moments of complete despair. And I will have many more. But faith, hope and love keep me plugging along.
I have openly used my husband in many of my anecdotes since the inception of this blog ... making witty references that my husband is not my BFF and that the union of marriage involves a lot of hard work. And I did once attest to the fact that the only way two people stay married and stay together is because they both want to ... and I stand by that today. Because love is freely given ... and cannot be forced.
My husband and I still love each other ... very much. We love our children very much and are still parenting them together ... and are both very active in helping them get through the enormous amount of change they are being subjected to. We are still very close friends ... we talk daily. We even spent the recent Easter Sunday holiday together as a family. Because we are a family ... a family that, unfortunately, no longer resides together under one roof ... but a family nonetheless. Our separation did not generate from a lack of love ... but sometimes, I suppose, love isn't always enough.
So why share this very personal tidbit with all of you, one might ask. Well, because when I began writing this blog, I felt compelled to be completely honest about my life ... and I have no explanation as to why I felt that way. But the overwhelming number of responses I have received to my silly little posts have led me to believe that I was called to begin this blog for a reason. That I had struck a chord within many of you. So to withhold this important piece of my particular puzzle would hinder me from being true to myself ... and not being true to myself is something that I will not allow.
So with that thought firmly planted in my mind and with the support and encouragement from the "peeps" who are convinced that I have a talent for writing ... I have decided to once again make my debut into the blogging world.
One afternoon over one of our three-hour lunches, the peeps were in their "you need to get back to writing" mode and we were throwing around ideas for the title of my next blog entry. Some of the titles tossed around were ... "Did You Hear About The M's?" ... "The Times They Are A Changing, Part Deux" ... and my personal favorite ... "Holy Sh*t, Have I Got A Story For You!" As you can see, however, none of the aforementioned titles made the cut.
I started this blog because I wanted to share my personal journey into my 40th year as a woman who had a love/hate relationship with age and the bathroom scale. Yes, I still have a love/hate relationship with that pesky bathroom scale ... well, not just the bathroom scale ... I would have a similar relationship with a scale if it were say, in the living room or dining room for that matter ... or in a doctor's office. You get the idea.
What started out as a silly little way to kill the time and make people laugh has actually become so much more. I have shared with you my thoughts, feelings and discoveries about being in the autumn of my life. About how important it is for we, as women (and perhaps my one or two male readers) to take time out for themselves. To take time to enjoy their life. To find time to exercise ... to read ... to write ... to follow their passion ... to try something new. None of which I gave much thought to until I started putting my thoughts down in writing. Obviously, at the time I had absolutely no way of knowing how this story would unfold ... or that I would find myself with exactly this much time on my hands in order to focus on myself. But c'est la vie.
I had some reservations about writing about this subject ... felt it might embarrass my husband or my children. And then I realized that I feel comfortable sharing this portion of my life with you because I have nothing to be ashamed of ... I did everything that I knew how to do to be a good partner ... a good wife ... a good mother. And I have not failed. This is yet another chapter in my life ... and the rest of this particular chapter remains unwritten. And by sharing it ... I can be free ... free to move forward and free to be creative.
If you are someone like my husband and have demons to conquer ... you know you become lost ... broken ... and lose a sense of self. You need to "find yourself" so to speak. And this is where the title of this blog was born ... because I find myself to be fortunate. For I am not lost. I may be broken but I am not defeated ... and I have a very strong sense of self. I know that I am a strong, confident, independent woman who is 40, fabulous and fat (although on a plus side I have lost 16 pounds since all of this went down ... which I definitely wouldn't recommend to any of you ... nor will I patent it as a fast-track to weight loss). I have a lot of work to do on myself ... because I have been part of a "we" for 19 years and am on shaky ground when it comes to just being an "I." I will figure it out.
I am still heading off to school this fall in order to finish my college degree ... I am still on a mission to conquer these extra pounds ... and the lost weight I mentioned above which began as a reaction to stress, I was able to turn into a positive by labling it as a "jump start" to a healthier attitude ... walking whenever I start to feel alone and sorry for myself. I am still going to maintain this blog ... because I love it ... and I believe that perhaps someone out there might benefit from my experience and the hiccups along the way. Tomorrow I will be attending a Zumba class at Curves with the Sargent ... which should provide for a much more entertaining blog post in the future. And I still have my sense of humor and the ability to enjoy my life ... despite my circumstances.
No, I don't need to "find myself," because I am right here ... in the palm of God's hand ... and headed wherever He decides to take me. And arent' you lucky? You get to go alone for the ride ;)
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Never Let Them See You Sweat ...
There are many excuses I can conjure up to avoid exercising. It's too early. It's too late. I'm too tired. It's too cold out. It's too hot out. I'm too busy. I'm too old. I'm too fat ...
Yes, there are many excuses that I can conjure up to avoid exercising ... but none of them hold as much merit as my dirty little secret ... I sweat excessively. No, I don't have hyperhidrosis, the medical condition in which one sweats excessively when it isn't appropriate for the circumstances. Nor do I have a thyroid problem or diabetes. Each of which I have insisted my family doctor screen me for. Nope ... I just sweat ... a lot ... when doing any form of physical activity ... or when the sun is shining just a little too brightly.
Once upon a time when the peeps were in their heyday, the Sergeant would gather her troops together and lead them on a three-mile hike every morning. Rain or Shine. Sleet or Snow. Hurricane or Earthquake. Nothing would stop the Sergeant from taking her morning walk. As an enlisted member of the Sergeant's Army, I would dutifully show up for basic training. Since Podunk, PA is in the middle of the snowbelt, our winter weather actually overtakes a good portion of our fall and spring as well ... and showing up for basic training dressed in down jackets, scarves, hats and gloves was imperative. For everyone. Except me.
On any given day, passerby could drive down Main Street, Podunk, PA and see three women braving the below freezing temperatures, trudging through the wind and snow all bundled up in their winter best ... and one chunky blonde girl bringing up the rear ... sporting nothing but a long-sleeved T-shirt and yoga pants, looking flushed and drenched in sweat. Frozen sweat particles stuck to the end of her nose, ears and every place in between.
I never so much as caught a cold while walking in the middle of a blizzard half naked. The only incident on record was the day I was wearing a sports bra that zipped up the front and the zipper busted in the middle of our route. As the Sergeant is a stern mistress ... there was no time to deal with wardrobe malfunctions ... so I continued on my way with my high beams blazing through my thin T-shirt for all of Podunk, PA to see.
I will never be that girl at the gym with the perfect flowing hair and glowing complexion ... no, I'm the one with the beet red face with hair that looks like I've been caught in the middle of a cyclone ... in the pouring rain ... wiping the sweat away with a beach towel. Yep ... a beach towel. That's what I carry to the local YMCA for a workout. Not a cute little golf-sized towel like I see other members carrying around. A beach towel. And wiping down a machine after use? Well, that's a cardio workout all on its own.
One time I went to the YMCA for a 20-minute lunchtime ab-only workout that they cleverly referred to as the "Lunch Crunch." My personal trainer at the time led the group and I specifically asked him if I would sweat profusely if I participated in this lunchtime ritual as he was privy to the buckets of sweat this one female could produce. He said no. He lied. I showed up that day, changed out of my work clothes and into cute color coordinated gym clothes and was beach towel free. Less than 10 minutes into the class, my mascara was running down my face, my hair was soaked, my clothes were drenched and I had to leave the class early in order to go home and take a quick shower before returning to work. I obviously never went back.
I have mentioned on several occasions my passion for dance. If and when you see me out and I am currently or have recently been dancing ... by no means come up to me and hug me or touch me in any way shape or form. If you do so ... it is at your own risk. There is a reason that I hit the dance floor with a napkin or tissue in my hand ... it's to wipe the sweat away. There is a reason that every dress I've worn to every wedding I've ever been to has to go the dry cleaners immediately the next morning ... it's because I sweat. At my daughter's 16th birthday party the dance floor was located next to a lit fireplace. Yes ... a fireplace ... next to the dance floor. My worst nightmare. While the dozens of teenagers danced for hours on end and never broke a sweat ... this mama was lured to the dance floor only once ... at the beckoning of Trey Songz ... and promptly left the dance floor when the song was over to hit the ladies room to run cool water over her wrists and place a cold wet paper towel on the back of her neck.
On one vacation to Mexico my husband, children and I hiked through the fields to get to and explore the Mayan Ruins. It was over 100 degrees out and shade was nowhere to be found. My then 12-year old son caught me on video tape saying that this must be what Hell feels like and at one point looking directly into the camera and saying "the white people are melting out here." A quote from one of my favorite romantic comedies Fools Rush In.
It doesn't matter if I weigh 98 pounds or not 98 pounds. I have always been this way. There is no medical explanation for it ... well there is but it isn't that profound. The medical reason I have been given by numerous physicians over my 40 years of living is this ... "Some people just sweat more than others." Brilliant.
It's embarrassing. And inconvenient. And gross. It's not fun being the crazy girl at the dance party who's sweating like Whitney Huston on crack ... yes, I have used that reference before. It's my favorite. Because I've never seen anyone who sweats as much I do other than Whitney Huston ... and I don't do crack ... and I don't sweat that much when I'm just sitting still.
The only place I can exercise that has proven to be a sweat-free zone is in the pool. But I'm not a great swimmer ... I don't breathe properly and I only know one kick ... the flutter kick. So one trip down the Olympic length pool whipping my head from side to side so my mouth doesn't touch the water while kicking vigorously is about all this fat 40-year old woman can handle. My husband has tried to teach me proper swimming techniques ... but as with most things my husband tries to teach me to do ... I don't really listen and turn into a stubborn child. Behavior I have been working on for about 18 years now but I'm not really making much progress in that department. I just don't like it when he tells me to do something ... even when it's productive. But that's a story for another day.
So for now, my friends, until doctors find a cure for my excessive non-medically related sweating, I am limiting my time at the gym to the non-peak hours ... when the senior citizens are in the pool, the adults are at work and the children are at school. Or you can find me in the pool ... using a kick board and/or a noodle. Or in my living room ... doing some form of exercise video. Armed with a water bottle and beach towel for each activity.
My goal ... to workout a minimum of 30 minutes per day ... five days per week. My real goal ... to never let you see me sweat. Have a great week!
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Yes, there are many excuses that I can conjure up to avoid exercising ... but none of them hold as much merit as my dirty little secret ... I sweat excessively. No, I don't have hyperhidrosis, the medical condition in which one sweats excessively when it isn't appropriate for the circumstances. Nor do I have a thyroid problem or diabetes. Each of which I have insisted my family doctor screen me for. Nope ... I just sweat ... a lot ... when doing any form of physical activity ... or when the sun is shining just a little too brightly.
Once upon a time when the peeps were in their heyday, the Sergeant would gather her troops together and lead them on a three-mile hike every morning. Rain or Shine. Sleet or Snow. Hurricane or Earthquake. Nothing would stop the Sergeant from taking her morning walk. As an enlisted member of the Sergeant's Army, I would dutifully show up for basic training. Since Podunk, PA is in the middle of the snowbelt, our winter weather actually overtakes a good portion of our fall and spring as well ... and showing up for basic training dressed in down jackets, scarves, hats and gloves was imperative. For everyone. Except me.
On any given day, passerby could drive down Main Street, Podunk, PA and see three women braving the below freezing temperatures, trudging through the wind and snow all bundled up in their winter best ... and one chunky blonde girl bringing up the rear ... sporting nothing but a long-sleeved T-shirt and yoga pants, looking flushed and drenched in sweat. Frozen sweat particles stuck to the end of her nose, ears and every place in between.
I never so much as caught a cold while walking in the middle of a blizzard half naked. The only incident on record was the day I was wearing a sports bra that zipped up the front and the zipper busted in the middle of our route. As the Sergeant is a stern mistress ... there was no time to deal with wardrobe malfunctions ... so I continued on my way with my high beams blazing through my thin T-shirt for all of Podunk, PA to see.
I will never be that girl at the gym with the perfect flowing hair and glowing complexion ... no, I'm the one with the beet red face with hair that looks like I've been caught in the middle of a cyclone ... in the pouring rain ... wiping the sweat away with a beach towel. Yep ... a beach towel. That's what I carry to the local YMCA for a workout. Not a cute little golf-sized towel like I see other members carrying around. A beach towel. And wiping down a machine after use? Well, that's a cardio workout all on its own.
One time I went to the YMCA for a 20-minute lunchtime ab-only workout that they cleverly referred to as the "Lunch Crunch." My personal trainer at the time led the group and I specifically asked him if I would sweat profusely if I participated in this lunchtime ritual as he was privy to the buckets of sweat this one female could produce. He said no. He lied. I showed up that day, changed out of my work clothes and into cute color coordinated gym clothes and was beach towel free. Less than 10 minutes into the class, my mascara was running down my face, my hair was soaked, my clothes were drenched and I had to leave the class early in order to go home and take a quick shower before returning to work. I obviously never went back.
I have mentioned on several occasions my passion for dance. If and when you see me out and I am currently or have recently been dancing ... by no means come up to me and hug me or touch me in any way shape or form. If you do so ... it is at your own risk. There is a reason that I hit the dance floor with a napkin or tissue in my hand ... it's to wipe the sweat away. There is a reason that every dress I've worn to every wedding I've ever been to has to go the dry cleaners immediately the next morning ... it's because I sweat. At my daughter's 16th birthday party the dance floor was located next to a lit fireplace. Yes ... a fireplace ... next to the dance floor. My worst nightmare. While the dozens of teenagers danced for hours on end and never broke a sweat ... this mama was lured to the dance floor only once ... at the beckoning of Trey Songz ... and promptly left the dance floor when the song was over to hit the ladies room to run cool water over her wrists and place a cold wet paper towel on the back of her neck.
On one vacation to Mexico my husband, children and I hiked through the fields to get to and explore the Mayan Ruins. It was over 100 degrees out and shade was nowhere to be found. My then 12-year old son caught me on video tape saying that this must be what Hell feels like and at one point looking directly into the camera and saying "the white people are melting out here." A quote from one of my favorite romantic comedies Fools Rush In.
It doesn't matter if I weigh 98 pounds or not 98 pounds. I have always been this way. There is no medical explanation for it ... well there is but it isn't that profound. The medical reason I have been given by numerous physicians over my 40 years of living is this ... "Some people just sweat more than others." Brilliant.
It's embarrassing. And inconvenient. And gross. It's not fun being the crazy girl at the dance party who's sweating like Whitney Huston on crack ... yes, I have used that reference before. It's my favorite. Because I've never seen anyone who sweats as much I do other than Whitney Huston ... and I don't do crack ... and I don't sweat that much when I'm just sitting still.
The only place I can exercise that has proven to be a sweat-free zone is in the pool. But I'm not a great swimmer ... I don't breathe properly and I only know one kick ... the flutter kick. So one trip down the Olympic length pool whipping my head from side to side so my mouth doesn't touch the water while kicking vigorously is about all this fat 40-year old woman can handle. My husband has tried to teach me proper swimming techniques ... but as with most things my husband tries to teach me to do ... I don't really listen and turn into a stubborn child. Behavior I have been working on for about 18 years now but I'm not really making much progress in that department. I just don't like it when he tells me to do something ... even when it's productive. But that's a story for another day.
So for now, my friends, until doctors find a cure for my excessive non-medically related sweating, I am limiting my time at the gym to the non-peak hours ... when the senior citizens are in the pool, the adults are at work and the children are at school. Or you can find me in the pool ... using a kick board and/or a noodle. Or in my living room ... doing some form of exercise video. Armed with a water bottle and beach towel for each activity.
My goal ... to workout a minimum of 30 minutes per day ... five days per week. My real goal ... to never let you see me sweat. Have a great week!
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Monday, March 14, 2011
It's Great to be a Girl ...
It has been my experience ... and perhaps my experience alone ... that the differences between men and women are not all that difficult to navigate. I don't particularly feel the need to read Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus ... or keep up-to-date on the latest psychological studies that spend years observing the differences between the genders. For one ... I don't really care. For another ... you shouldn't either.
One of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld is the one where George is explaining "shrinkage" to Elaine. Elaine scoffs and walks away saying, "I don't know how you guys can walk around with those things." Love it ... and so on point!
Quite honestly ... I really, really like being a girl. Sure there are some inconveniences that come along with having two X chromosomes ... I could really have done without the monthly menstrual cycle ... and childbirth could be a little easier ... but all in all, being a girl is pretty awesome. The clothes are cuter ... the shoes and handbags are to die for ... we can cry our way out of speeding tickets ... and we can walk into a bar with nothing but a cute outfit and a group of girlfriends and not have to spend one dime of our own money on drinks. And that's just a few of the perks.
Another of the perks to being a member of the female gender is that our communication skills are far superior to our male counterparts. If you could be a fly on the wall at any of the BFF Breakfasts that the peeps and I participate in ... you will find that women have their own language. A sentence does not have to be completed or even make absolute sense ... the other women in the group get it ... with no need for lengthy explanation. A man eavesdropping from the booth behind us may not understand one thing that is being said ... and truth be told, we like it that way.
You see ... my husband doesn't really want to tag along to the nail salon and have a mani/pedi and then on to a 4-hour lunch where the discussion revolves around last night's episode of The Bachelor. And I don't particularly want to tag along with him to a log sale and then on to an hour lunch wherein the discussion revolves around different species of logs and how many board feet is in each log, etc.
Women and men are different ... and God really knew what he was doing there. I have said it before and I will say it again ... my husband is not my BFF. But how many times have you and your girlfriends dedicated your 4-hour lunch pondering the subject of how clueless men seem to be? How many times have you gotten angry with your husband, son, boss, any member of the male species really ... only to come to the realization that none of them can seem to figure out why you're angry in the first place? How many times have you looked at your spouse when he is keeping you awake in the middle of the night with his incessant snoring and thought ... what the Hell was I thinking? Or is that just me?
Let's examine the differences in men and women through a media which I understand ... the movies. Let's play a game I like to call The Hangover vs. Something's Gotta Give. Two movies ... two very different demographics.
The Hangover portrays four men in their late 30's on their way to Vegas for a bachelor party. Hijinks ensue and due to the irresponsible nature of the men's behavior, the groom almost misses his wedding day. It's hysterical ... one of my favorite movies to turn to when I need a good laugh. I actually will never be able to pronounce the word "re-tard" the same again. And it's actually a pretty accurate ... if not exaggerated ... portrayal of most of the men I know. And that alone makes me think that it's high time I broaden my social circle.
These men are on a quest ... to act like fools ... get drunk ... hook up with a young lady or two or three ... to regain the glory of their youth. And while it's funny to watch on screen ... it's not so funny in real life. Because in real life, while the men head out to relive their glory days in search of a young lady or two or three that will make them feel young again ... there is usually a bright, beautiful woman in her 30's, 40's or 50's left behind ... alone ... heartbroken ... while he flits off to sow his wild oats.
Okay ... I'm getting off my soap box now.
Something's Gotta Give is a story about a mature woman with a grown daughter, divorced (and the story never gives a clear explanation for the dissolution of the marriage) who is highly successful, independent, intelligent, funny and beautiful. This woman falls in love with a man in his 60's and is being courted by another man in his early 40's. She wants a long-term relationship with the older man but he is terrified of committment and wants to date younger women. While she is flattered by the attention of the younger man, the age difference isn't something she can seem to get past.
The themes of each of these movies are actually quite similar as they each depict the stereo-typical man in the throes of crisis ... having no idea how long each of these men are projected to live ... I cannot predict their specific crises to be "mid life" in nature ... but in crises nonetheless. And please do not crucify me for pointing out that men seem to speed down the mid life crisis highway holding the hand of a "trophy" wife while their other hand clutches the steering wheel of a brand new Porsche. It's a story as old as time ... and a tired cliche. Do not shoot the messenger.
In Something's Gotta Give, however, we see how this mature, successful, intelligent, now single woman travels through her life ... and you know what? She's fine. She's more than fine. She's fabulous. She has a true sense of herself and doesn't need a man to complete her life ... moreover she's looking for a man who will enhance it.
It was during one of the many screenings of The Hangover that I had an epiphany. The main difference between men and women is that men seem to be clinging on for dear life to their youth while women are content to grow older.
Maybe we women don't particularly appreciate the appearance of crow's feet, the gray hairs we find when plucking our eyebrows or combing our hair, the thicker hips, the loss of skin elasticity which creates that pucker of skin on the elbow and knees and the waddle on the neck. But I bet if you asked most women of a "certain age" if given the chance to go back and be 20 years old again ... the answer would be no. If you ask most men of a "certain age" the same question ... they would say Hell yes!
I often have a recurring nightmare in which I am back in high school. When I say that this is a nightmare ... I am being completely honest. The thought of going back to high school is a complete and utter nightmare ... one time in my life that I would never choose to relive. I wasn't particularly traumatized or bullied ... but the thought of having to go through all of that bad skin, bad hair and insecurity again makes me slightly sick to my stomach. I also don't want to go back to my 20's ... to the two-bedroom walk-up apartment with the hand-me-down furniture and flea market finds. Nor my 30's. And I am pretty confident when the next ten years have passed, I will not want to go back and start my 40's over again either. Even though the birthday party was pretty spectacular ...
I have said every year when my kids have had a birthday that this is my "favorite" age. I said it when they were 6 months old, 2 years old, 8 years old, 14 years old, 17 years old, etc. Because it is. Every year I spend with these two miracles that I brought into this world is better than the year before. Even now that they are teenagers and the teenage years are supposed to be horrible ... because this has not been my experience. There are times when they test my patience with everything that they have ... but overall, every day is more enjoyable than the last.
And I feel the same way about my own life. Yes, some years were better than others. I could have done without some of the drama, the heartbreak, the tough times. But all of life's experiences have led to me to the person I am today. And I like who I am today.
I am happy to leave the part-time jobs at McDonald's, the crappy apartments, first-time home buying, pregnancies and baby-raising to those that have yet to experience it. I like knowing where my life is heading and know that any curve balls that come my way can be hit way out of the park because I am stronger, smarter and able to stand on my own at this age better than when I was young. That's one of the great things about being a girl ... we started maturing faster than the boys at a young age and never stopped.
I don't know why a lot of men suffer from a mid life crisis by trading in their wives for a newer model ... I think maybe it's because they have spent a majority of their adult life working and supporting a family and tire of the responsibility and go looking for greener pastures. Chris Rock once said that "men are only as faithful as their options." Think Donald Trump and his string of supermodel wives ... each one younger than the last. He's not a good-looking man ... but he has a lot of options when it comes to securing a young trophy wife.
Quite honestly, if I had all of Trump's money, my mid life crisis would be centered around shopping for a new refrigerator or vacation home in lieu of a new husband. But that's just me ...
And quite frankly, the thought of dating again seems exhausting. Not to mention the whole new crop of cougars that have arrived on the dating scene. I really can't imagine carrying on a relationship with a man 20 years my junior and spending my evenings playing Halo on the XBox 360 or going to "keggers" on a Friday night. Blech.
I am certainly not trying to imply that all men who suffer a mid life crisis leave their wives for newer models. I am not. Nor am I trying to imply that men are the only ones who suffer a mid life crisis and uproot entire lives in search of something bigger and better. I am not. Women do it too ...
Men are not your enemy ... even Gloria Steinem eventually broke down and secured herself a spouse. No, they are not your enemy ... but they are not your mirror image either. And you will do yourself a great service if you figure this out and accept it sooner rather than later. My marriage became a much happier one when I stopped trying to figure my husband out ... stopped wondering why he did the things that he did ... stopped trying to figure out what was going through his mind. I stopped wondering and just asked him. Sometimes his responses were enlightening ... others left me completely baffled and confused.
I don't know why he finds South Park so hilarious. He doesn't know why I become so emotionally invested in the lives of contestants on reality shows. And I eventually realized that it doesn't really matter. He is his own person. His decisions are his decisions ... and his reasons are his own reasons. And mine are my own as well ... and clearly better. :)
I appreciate my husband's perspective when I'm trying to solve a particularly perplexing problem. I appreciate his ability to take emotions out of the decision making process. I appreciate his immature sense of humor and his ability to take a situation from serious to hilarious in a matter of moments. I appreciate that he pushes me to take big risks and to stand on my own two feet ... and I appreciate that he is there to catch me when I fall.
I am not naive enough to believe that a life-changing mid life crisis may not be somewhere in my husband's future ... that I am irreplaceable. Nor am I naive enough to believe that it wouldn't hurt like Hell and send me reeling. I have seen it happen to women that I love time and time again. What I do know, however, is that I am one tough cookie. Have a much better understanding of what it is I am capable of and a sisterhood of friends that would be there to see me through.
Men and women are different ... we don't always understand each other. Men tend to like being the "big man on campus," tend to rely on no one but themselves. That's one of the great things about being a girl ... because you have other women to lean on for comfort and support and women you look up to as mentors. Women understand each other while men are left scratching their heads in confusion.
When I was in the process of potty-training my daughter, my son, a whole year older than she was and successfully out of diapers, wanted to help. When we went into the bathroom, I pulled down my daughter's "big girl pants" and put her on the potty. My son looked at me and said "where's her thing?" and pointed at her legs. I said, "she's a girl ... she doesn't have one." He looked me square in the eyes and said "Well I have no idea what to do with that ..." and turned and ran out of the bathroom. An excellent example of how men, having no idea what to make of us, run in the opposite direction when they don't understand what we as women are all about.
Jane Fonda once said that "the day you quit growing as a person is the day they bury you in the ground." That's the great thing about being a girl ... you can keep on growing ... keep on chasing your dreams ... making new dreams when the old ones don't come to fruition. Because women are strong ... a lot stronger than most of the men I know. Don't believe me? Go and spend the weekend with a single mom ...
So the next time someone tells you that you that you "throw like a girl," ... smile and say thank you. Because it's great to be a girl ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
One of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld is the one where George is explaining "shrinkage" to Elaine. Elaine scoffs and walks away saying, "I don't know how you guys can walk around with those things." Love it ... and so on point!
Quite honestly ... I really, really like being a girl. Sure there are some inconveniences that come along with having two X chromosomes ... I could really have done without the monthly menstrual cycle ... and childbirth could be a little easier ... but all in all, being a girl is pretty awesome. The clothes are cuter ... the shoes and handbags are to die for ... we can cry our way out of speeding tickets ... and we can walk into a bar with nothing but a cute outfit and a group of girlfriends and not have to spend one dime of our own money on drinks. And that's just a few of the perks.
Another of the perks to being a member of the female gender is that our communication skills are far superior to our male counterparts. If you could be a fly on the wall at any of the BFF Breakfasts that the peeps and I participate in ... you will find that women have their own language. A sentence does not have to be completed or even make absolute sense ... the other women in the group get it ... with no need for lengthy explanation. A man eavesdropping from the booth behind us may not understand one thing that is being said ... and truth be told, we like it that way.
You see ... my husband doesn't really want to tag along to the nail salon and have a mani/pedi and then on to a 4-hour lunch where the discussion revolves around last night's episode of The Bachelor. And I don't particularly want to tag along with him to a log sale and then on to an hour lunch wherein the discussion revolves around different species of logs and how many board feet is in each log, etc.
Women and men are different ... and God really knew what he was doing there. I have said it before and I will say it again ... my husband is not my BFF. But how many times have you and your girlfriends dedicated your 4-hour lunch pondering the subject of how clueless men seem to be? How many times have you gotten angry with your husband, son, boss, any member of the male species really ... only to come to the realization that none of them can seem to figure out why you're angry in the first place? How many times have you looked at your spouse when he is keeping you awake in the middle of the night with his incessant snoring and thought ... what the Hell was I thinking? Or is that just me?
Let's examine the differences in men and women through a media which I understand ... the movies. Let's play a game I like to call The Hangover vs. Something's Gotta Give. Two movies ... two very different demographics.
The Hangover portrays four men in their late 30's on their way to Vegas for a bachelor party. Hijinks ensue and due to the irresponsible nature of the men's behavior, the groom almost misses his wedding day. It's hysterical ... one of my favorite movies to turn to when I need a good laugh. I actually will never be able to pronounce the word "re-tard" the same again. And it's actually a pretty accurate ... if not exaggerated ... portrayal of most of the men I know. And that alone makes me think that it's high time I broaden my social circle.
These men are on a quest ... to act like fools ... get drunk ... hook up with a young lady or two or three ... to regain the glory of their youth. And while it's funny to watch on screen ... it's not so funny in real life. Because in real life, while the men head out to relive their glory days in search of a young lady or two or three that will make them feel young again ... there is usually a bright, beautiful woman in her 30's, 40's or 50's left behind ... alone ... heartbroken ... while he flits off to sow his wild oats.
Okay ... I'm getting off my soap box now.
Something's Gotta Give is a story about a mature woman with a grown daughter, divorced (and the story never gives a clear explanation for the dissolution of the marriage) who is highly successful, independent, intelligent, funny and beautiful. This woman falls in love with a man in his 60's and is being courted by another man in his early 40's. She wants a long-term relationship with the older man but he is terrified of committment and wants to date younger women. While she is flattered by the attention of the younger man, the age difference isn't something she can seem to get past.
The themes of each of these movies are actually quite similar as they each depict the stereo-typical man in the throes of crisis ... having no idea how long each of these men are projected to live ... I cannot predict their specific crises to be "mid life" in nature ... but in crises nonetheless. And please do not crucify me for pointing out that men seem to speed down the mid life crisis highway holding the hand of a "trophy" wife while their other hand clutches the steering wheel of a brand new Porsche. It's a story as old as time ... and a tired cliche. Do not shoot the messenger.
In Something's Gotta Give, however, we see how this mature, successful, intelligent, now single woman travels through her life ... and you know what? She's fine. She's more than fine. She's fabulous. She has a true sense of herself and doesn't need a man to complete her life ... moreover she's looking for a man who will enhance it.
It was during one of the many screenings of The Hangover that I had an epiphany. The main difference between men and women is that men seem to be clinging on for dear life to their youth while women are content to grow older.
Maybe we women don't particularly appreciate the appearance of crow's feet, the gray hairs we find when plucking our eyebrows or combing our hair, the thicker hips, the loss of skin elasticity which creates that pucker of skin on the elbow and knees and the waddle on the neck. But I bet if you asked most women of a "certain age" if given the chance to go back and be 20 years old again ... the answer would be no. If you ask most men of a "certain age" the same question ... they would say Hell yes!
I often have a recurring nightmare in which I am back in high school. When I say that this is a nightmare ... I am being completely honest. The thought of going back to high school is a complete and utter nightmare ... one time in my life that I would never choose to relive. I wasn't particularly traumatized or bullied ... but the thought of having to go through all of that bad skin, bad hair and insecurity again makes me slightly sick to my stomach. I also don't want to go back to my 20's ... to the two-bedroom walk-up apartment with the hand-me-down furniture and flea market finds. Nor my 30's. And I am pretty confident when the next ten years have passed, I will not want to go back and start my 40's over again either. Even though the birthday party was pretty spectacular ...
I have said every year when my kids have had a birthday that this is my "favorite" age. I said it when they were 6 months old, 2 years old, 8 years old, 14 years old, 17 years old, etc. Because it is. Every year I spend with these two miracles that I brought into this world is better than the year before. Even now that they are teenagers and the teenage years are supposed to be horrible ... because this has not been my experience. There are times when they test my patience with everything that they have ... but overall, every day is more enjoyable than the last.
And I feel the same way about my own life. Yes, some years were better than others. I could have done without some of the drama, the heartbreak, the tough times. But all of life's experiences have led to me to the person I am today. And I like who I am today.
I am happy to leave the part-time jobs at McDonald's, the crappy apartments, first-time home buying, pregnancies and baby-raising to those that have yet to experience it. I like knowing where my life is heading and know that any curve balls that come my way can be hit way out of the park because I am stronger, smarter and able to stand on my own at this age better than when I was young. That's one of the great things about being a girl ... we started maturing faster than the boys at a young age and never stopped.
I don't know why a lot of men suffer from a mid life crisis by trading in their wives for a newer model ... I think maybe it's because they have spent a majority of their adult life working and supporting a family and tire of the responsibility and go looking for greener pastures. Chris Rock once said that "men are only as faithful as their options." Think Donald Trump and his string of supermodel wives ... each one younger than the last. He's not a good-looking man ... but he has a lot of options when it comes to securing a young trophy wife.
Quite honestly, if I had all of Trump's money, my mid life crisis would be centered around shopping for a new refrigerator or vacation home in lieu of a new husband. But that's just me ...
And quite frankly, the thought of dating again seems exhausting. Not to mention the whole new crop of cougars that have arrived on the dating scene. I really can't imagine carrying on a relationship with a man 20 years my junior and spending my evenings playing Halo on the XBox 360 or going to "keggers" on a Friday night. Blech.
I am certainly not trying to imply that all men who suffer a mid life crisis leave their wives for newer models. I am not. Nor am I trying to imply that men are the only ones who suffer a mid life crisis and uproot entire lives in search of something bigger and better. I am not. Women do it too ...
Men are not your enemy ... even Gloria Steinem eventually broke down and secured herself a spouse. No, they are not your enemy ... but they are not your mirror image either. And you will do yourself a great service if you figure this out and accept it sooner rather than later. My marriage became a much happier one when I stopped trying to figure my husband out ... stopped wondering why he did the things that he did ... stopped trying to figure out what was going through his mind. I stopped wondering and just asked him. Sometimes his responses were enlightening ... others left me completely baffled and confused.
I don't know why he finds South Park so hilarious. He doesn't know why I become so emotionally invested in the lives of contestants on reality shows. And I eventually realized that it doesn't really matter. He is his own person. His decisions are his decisions ... and his reasons are his own reasons. And mine are my own as well ... and clearly better. :)
I appreciate my husband's perspective when I'm trying to solve a particularly perplexing problem. I appreciate his ability to take emotions out of the decision making process. I appreciate his immature sense of humor and his ability to take a situation from serious to hilarious in a matter of moments. I appreciate that he pushes me to take big risks and to stand on my own two feet ... and I appreciate that he is there to catch me when I fall.
I am not naive enough to believe that a life-changing mid life crisis may not be somewhere in my husband's future ... that I am irreplaceable. Nor am I naive enough to believe that it wouldn't hurt like Hell and send me reeling. I have seen it happen to women that I love time and time again. What I do know, however, is that I am one tough cookie. Have a much better understanding of what it is I am capable of and a sisterhood of friends that would be there to see me through.
Men and women are different ... we don't always understand each other. Men tend to like being the "big man on campus," tend to rely on no one but themselves. That's one of the great things about being a girl ... because you have other women to lean on for comfort and support and women you look up to as mentors. Women understand each other while men are left scratching their heads in confusion.
When I was in the process of potty-training my daughter, my son, a whole year older than she was and successfully out of diapers, wanted to help. When we went into the bathroom, I pulled down my daughter's "big girl pants" and put her on the potty. My son looked at me and said "where's her thing?" and pointed at her legs. I said, "she's a girl ... she doesn't have one." He looked me square in the eyes and said "Well I have no idea what to do with that ..." and turned and ran out of the bathroom. An excellent example of how men, having no idea what to make of us, run in the opposite direction when they don't understand what we as women are all about.
Jane Fonda once said that "the day you quit growing as a person is the day they bury you in the ground." That's the great thing about being a girl ... you can keep on growing ... keep on chasing your dreams ... making new dreams when the old ones don't come to fruition. Because women are strong ... a lot stronger than most of the men I know. Don't believe me? Go and spend the weekend with a single mom ...
So the next time someone tells you that you that you "throw like a girl," ... smile and say thank you. Because it's great to be a girl ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Color Blind ...
I have a large family. A lot of aunts and uncles and cousins. All of us scattered about the vast expanse of this great country and some have even taken up residence overseas at one point in time or another. And while facebook has been a wonderful way to keep all of us up to date on what's going on in each other's lives, it doesn't make up for the fact that we are all too far away to physically meet up with one another as often as we would like.
And, therefore, as most of us do ... I have created my own family ... of close, personal friends. And without my makeshift family, I believe I would be forever locked away in a drab insane asylum somewhere ... confined to a straight jacket ... and white is not a good look for me.
My BFF has been generous enough to earn several supporting actress credits in the creation of this blog ... as have my other supporting cast members, the peeps. And while I do believe my portrayal of my BFF has given you a somewhat intimate look at the role she plays in my life ... the other member of the peeps, the Sergeant, remains elusive.
So ladies and gentleman ... I would like to introduce you to the last (but certainly not least) member of the peeps ... the Sergeant.
First ... some background information. The peeps were founded in 2001 ... when our children were in the same kindergarten class ... and the BFF and Sergeant were running the PTA. At that time there were 4 founding members of the peeps but we have since had one member defect from our mommy posse and while the loss hit us hard at the time, the peeps are all at an age where we do not feel that we need to beg and plead for someone to want to be with us. So we released her and wish she and her family well.
An act, I might add, that every girl who has ever spent a Friday/Saturday night at home "washing her hair," waiting for that phone call from that guy they met last week at that bar would be wise to follow ... and every woman who stars in ABC's The Bachelor should follow as well. Because, seriously, if someone doesn't want you for who you are ... why waste so much time trying to convince them they are wrong? If they don't want you ... they don't want you. And if you have to beg them to want you ... well, aside from being pathetic, it's just pointless. Wish them well ... release them ... send them on their way.
But I'm getting off the subject ...
So, our quartet became a trio, and I truly believe, if need be, we could run the world. If there were a version of Sex and the City centered here in Podunk, PA ... the pilot would fade in on the peeps meeting for what they refer to as "BFF Breakfast" once a week at the local hot spot for senior citizens, "Perkins Family Restaurant" .... ordering the same breakfasts week after week (healthy for the BFF/not so healthy for me and the Sergeant) ... sipping on coffee, green tea (guess who orders this beverage?) and chocolate milk ... talking, laughing and solving the world's problems ... well not really ... but solving our own problems and giving opinions on other people's problems whether they want our opinions or not. It should be noted that last week's BFF breakfast lasted for 3 straight hours. I will not be surprised if upon our next visit we are approached by management and slapped with a lease agreement for the booth we occupy .
Missing notably from these breakfasts as of late is the Sergeant ... who has recently left the at-home mom, part-time school substitute realm to enter the workforce filling in as a full-time school substitute and leaving the remaining members of the peeps feeling recklessly abandoned. *Sigh*
All of the us have a role to play in the peeps organization. My BFF is what we call the "cruise director." The one responsible for all of our social events ... nailing down dates and times for our meetings. I am in charge of the theater department ... as I tend to have a flair for the dramatic as well as providing the comic relief. The Sergeant is the CEO/CFO of this organization. The one with the level head, good advice and a "take no prisoners" attitude when it comes to dishing out the hard truths.
My first encounter with the Sergeant before we became forever bound by the peeps was at Curves ... you know, the circuit gym for ladies? She showed up at Curves most every morning that I was there and I was fascinated by this woman's energy. She could have/should have run that class ... owned that franchise. Because no matter where you are ... if the Sergeant walks in a room ... a certain frenetic energy permeates the air. She is the little engine that could ... the energizer bunny ... and cannot be ignored.
Now the Sergeant didn't get the name "The Sergeant," by being all warm and fuzzy. No. The Sergeant got her name because if she told you that you were to meet her at the corner of "Give me a Break" and "What the Hell" at 5:00 a.m. for a three-mile walk and a blizzard had whipped through the night before ... you had better be there at 5:00 a.m. for your three-mile walk ... without whining ... and ready to "pick up the pace" (her favorite catch phrase while snapping her fingers). To this day I believe that Jillian Michaels' character on The Biggest Loser was modeled after the Sergeant when she is in workout mode.
The Sergeant walked her three miles every morning whether the rest of us showed up or not ... with a slipped disc in her back to boot ... because she was too stubborn to go and get it fixed. She just walked through the pain. No matter how much we begged her not to. Once we finally convinced her to get to a doctor, it was determined she would need surgery. She fought and fought with us about having it done. We told her she needed to ... that she would feel so much better when it was over and done with ... to quit being a baby and that nothing would go wrong. Um ... we were wrong. Days after the first surgery, the Sergeant was still in so much pain that the doctor ordered an X-ray which confirmed that the he had operated on the wrong disc ... and she had to go back under the knife. She wasn't happy with the hospital ... the doctor ... or with us ... because we had assured her that everything would be fine.
The Sergeant has not had a dishwasher for as long as I've known her. Well, she has one ... but it no longer works and she has yet to replace it. She washes all of the dishes in her house by herself every night. When she had the slipped disc and could not stand at the sink for a long period of time, she brought in an office chair to sit in while doing the dishes. Rumor has it that she was spotted at the local Sears store within the last couple of weeks and that a dishwasher had been purchased ... I will believe it when I see it for myself.
The Sergeant has a big green tractor that she mows her acres of lawn with ... all by herself ... because she likes things done a certain way. She also has a very strange obsession with keeping her driveway "apple free." She ran the PTA when her kids were in elementary school and now runs the high school football concession stand, sits on the boosters for both of her kids sports teams, takes her daughter to ski team which is miles from home on a nightly basis in the wintertime, takes care of her husband's business financial reports, works part-time (now full-time) outside of the home, cooks, cleans, does laundry, etc. Whew!
My life without the Sergeant in it would be a lesser life to live. Our families have vacationed together ... she and I squeezing our ample bottoms into the seat of a roller coaster bench that was seemingly designed for two ... but made us feel like doughy Pillsbury biscuits being squeezed into a tube ... laughing so hard we almost peed our pants. She is the one that convinced me that I should try skiing ... which led to the fainting incident and SOS call on the toddler hill ... which has given her years and years of laughter to fall back on whenever she thinks of it. She has held my hand through some of the darkest moments of my life and always remained calm and had a voice of reason. She has kicked my ass to get motivated and get in shape ... and I love, love, love this woman for everything that she is.
The Sergeant is the eldest member of the peeps and interestingly enough, the youngest member of her biological family ... a "late life" baby ... or an "Oh Shit!" baby, if you will. The BFF would be considered the middle child and I am the baby of this family. I like to think of the BFF and I as the "little sisters" the Sergeant never had (and some days I'm sure the Sergeant thinks of us as the "little sisters" she's glad she never had). And as such, one of the BFF and I's most favorite activities in the whole wide world is to subject the Sergeant to getting "make-overs."
When we first met the Sergeant she was straightening her natural curly hair and had large eyeglasses ... not so unfashionable at the time ... but too big for her face. So the first order of business was to get this woman to the nearest salon for a fun, young, short, sassy, curly hairstyle that matched her personality and to the eye doctor to find frames that fit her face ... mission accomplished.
I, playing devil's advocate, and having supreme jealousy over the fact that my friend, the Sergeant, has naturally large (not paid for like mine) breasts, like to take the Sergeant shopping for bras ... which is harder than you think for a large-chested lady ... at least finding bras that come in colors other than white, nude and black. Sometimes I also convince her to buy items that she deems to be ridiculous but humors me anyway ... like the day we hit the mall and came back with black thigh high stockings and matching feather boas.
But the most challenging aspect of taking the Sergeant shopping is the fact that she is color blind. Yep ... color blind. As in ... can't distinguish two similar colors from one another. She can tell something is red ... but she doesn't know which shade of red ... orange-red, blood-red, pink-red ... cannot distinguish navy from black or purple, etc.
Now, if you are color blind, the best store for you to shop in when shopping solo is Christopher Banks ... which I call "Garanimals for Grown Ups." Every item of clothing in that store can be paired together ... all color coordinated and it makes for an easy match. However, if shopping anywhere else, you must enlist the help of your friends or it can be disastrous.
Now the Sergeant is stubborn ... if you haven't figured that out for yourself by now. She's a "can-do" gal and she believes she "can-do" anything. And one of the most frustrating times we had shopping with her was at a local department store when we were picking out an Easter outfit and she decided to argue with the BFF and I that the sweater we picked out for her did not match the skirt she had picked. Arguing that the flowers in the skirt were navy and would not match the purple sweater ... even though her non-color blind friends assured her that the flowers in the skirt were, in fact, a deep purple, not navy. No amount of arguing could convince the Sergeant that we were right and she was wrong. We even asked an innocent passerby to confirm what we knew to be true ... that the skirt and sweater matched. We laughed and argued about this for about an hour ... until we all gave up and went in a different direction all together.
Isn't that interesting? The color blind Sergeant arguing with the non-color blind peeps over color???? Which got me to thinking (which is the whole reason behind this lengthy blog) about how we, as women, refuse to believe what other people see when it comes to ourselves.
By a raise of hands ... how many of you out there have a hard time receiving a compliment? Everyone? Why do we do that? If someone tells you that you look really pretty ... do you say thank you ... or do you laugh it off and/or make some kind of joke and put yourself down? When someone says "great sweater" ... do you feel the need to tell them that you got it on sale ... so they don't think you paid full price for it? When someone says "what a great haircut" ... do you go on and on about how you wish it were straighter, curlier, longer, shorter? If someone says "great job" on the event you organized ... do you go into detail about how you felt you could have done a better job?
I am a big movie watcher ... and I tend to watch my favorite movies over and over and over again. Much to they dismay of my husband and children. One of the classics I have watched a million times over is Pretty Woman ... you know, the one where Julia Roberts plays the hooker with the heart of gold to Richard Gere's stuffy rich guy? There is a point in the movie when Julia opens up about her life and how it came to pass that she fell into her current profession ... Richard Gere's character's says ... "but you could be so much more." Julia Roberts responds by saying, "... the bad stuff is easier to believe."
Isn't that the truth? We believe it when people put us down ... when they say things that hurt our feelings. But we choose not to believe or trust in the good stuff that others tell us. We don't believe we are doing the best job as mothers, wives, daughters, etc., even though the people that are closest to us compliment us on a job well done ... we choose to believe the bad things.
We are all a little color blind. Just like the Sergeant who believes she is right when she is so obviously and clearly wrong ... because she chooses not to hear what her best friends are saying ... we all tend to put a little too much credit in the negatives we hear about ourselves and choose to overlook and ignore all of the positives that we each possess.
I have a big ass. So when someone says ... you look really pretty today ... I generally say something like ... yea, except for this fat ass ... or something to that effect ... because I am so hung up on my big ass that I feel like it's not possible for me to be pretty while it rests so prominently behind me. Obviously whomever issued that compliment was not focusing on my big ass ... they just thought I looked pretty. So why do I feel the need to draw attention to it ... to let them know that they are wrong ... that I can't possibly look pretty when my ass is this size? It's ridiculous ... and it needs to stop ... because I am not allowing myself to see what these people actually see ... which in this case is that I look pretty. I, like Julia Roberts, think that the bad stuff is easier to believe. I am color blind.
So I am sending out a challenge to each and every one of you today ... when someone gives you a compliment over the next couple of days, weeks, months ... just smile and say thank you. That's it. Just thank you. No excuses ... no big explanations ... and no self-deprecating remarks. Just take it in ... accept it ... believe it.
And maybe you and I will finally begin to believe in the good stuff ... and start to see ourselves in a new light ... begin to see how bright and beautiful we truly are ... and finally cure ourselves from being color blind.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
And, therefore, as most of us do ... I have created my own family ... of close, personal friends. And without my makeshift family, I believe I would be forever locked away in a drab insane asylum somewhere ... confined to a straight jacket ... and white is not a good look for me.
My BFF has been generous enough to earn several supporting actress credits in the creation of this blog ... as have my other supporting cast members, the peeps. And while I do believe my portrayal of my BFF has given you a somewhat intimate look at the role she plays in my life ... the other member of the peeps, the Sergeant, remains elusive.
So ladies and gentleman ... I would like to introduce you to the last (but certainly not least) member of the peeps ... the Sergeant.
First ... some background information. The peeps were founded in 2001 ... when our children were in the same kindergarten class ... and the BFF and Sergeant were running the PTA. At that time there were 4 founding members of the peeps but we have since had one member defect from our mommy posse and while the loss hit us hard at the time, the peeps are all at an age where we do not feel that we need to beg and plead for someone to want to be with us. So we released her and wish she and her family well.
An act, I might add, that every girl who has ever spent a Friday/Saturday night at home "washing her hair," waiting for that phone call from that guy they met last week at that bar would be wise to follow ... and every woman who stars in ABC's The Bachelor should follow as well. Because, seriously, if someone doesn't want you for who you are ... why waste so much time trying to convince them they are wrong? If they don't want you ... they don't want you. And if you have to beg them to want you ... well, aside from being pathetic, it's just pointless. Wish them well ... release them ... send them on their way.
But I'm getting off the subject ...
So, our quartet became a trio, and I truly believe, if need be, we could run the world. If there were a version of Sex and the City centered here in Podunk, PA ... the pilot would fade in on the peeps meeting for what they refer to as "BFF Breakfast" once a week at the local hot spot for senior citizens, "Perkins Family Restaurant" .... ordering the same breakfasts week after week (healthy for the BFF/not so healthy for me and the Sergeant) ... sipping on coffee, green tea (guess who orders this beverage?) and chocolate milk ... talking, laughing and solving the world's problems ... well not really ... but solving our own problems and giving opinions on other people's problems whether they want our opinions or not. It should be noted that last week's BFF breakfast lasted for 3 straight hours. I will not be surprised if upon our next visit we are approached by management and slapped with a lease agreement for the booth we occupy .
Missing notably from these breakfasts as of late is the Sergeant ... who has recently left the at-home mom, part-time school substitute realm to enter the workforce filling in as a full-time school substitute and leaving the remaining members of the peeps feeling recklessly abandoned. *Sigh*
All of the us have a role to play in the peeps organization. My BFF is what we call the "cruise director." The one responsible for all of our social events ... nailing down dates and times for our meetings. I am in charge of the theater department ... as I tend to have a flair for the dramatic as well as providing the comic relief. The Sergeant is the CEO/CFO of this organization. The one with the level head, good advice and a "take no prisoners" attitude when it comes to dishing out the hard truths.
My first encounter with the Sergeant before we became forever bound by the peeps was at Curves ... you know, the circuit gym for ladies? She showed up at Curves most every morning that I was there and I was fascinated by this woman's energy. She could have/should have run that class ... owned that franchise. Because no matter where you are ... if the Sergeant walks in a room ... a certain frenetic energy permeates the air. She is the little engine that could ... the energizer bunny ... and cannot be ignored.
Now the Sergeant didn't get the name "The Sergeant," by being all warm and fuzzy. No. The Sergeant got her name because if she told you that you were to meet her at the corner of "Give me a Break" and "What the Hell" at 5:00 a.m. for a three-mile walk and a blizzard had whipped through the night before ... you had better be there at 5:00 a.m. for your three-mile walk ... without whining ... and ready to "pick up the pace" (her favorite catch phrase while snapping her fingers). To this day I believe that Jillian Michaels' character on The Biggest Loser was modeled after the Sergeant when she is in workout mode.
The Sergeant walked her three miles every morning whether the rest of us showed up or not ... with a slipped disc in her back to boot ... because she was too stubborn to go and get it fixed. She just walked through the pain. No matter how much we begged her not to. Once we finally convinced her to get to a doctor, it was determined she would need surgery. She fought and fought with us about having it done. We told her she needed to ... that she would feel so much better when it was over and done with ... to quit being a baby and that nothing would go wrong. Um ... we were wrong. Days after the first surgery, the Sergeant was still in so much pain that the doctor ordered an X-ray which confirmed that the he had operated on the wrong disc ... and she had to go back under the knife. She wasn't happy with the hospital ... the doctor ... or with us ... because we had assured her that everything would be fine.
The Sergeant has not had a dishwasher for as long as I've known her. Well, she has one ... but it no longer works and she has yet to replace it. She washes all of the dishes in her house by herself every night. When she had the slipped disc and could not stand at the sink for a long period of time, she brought in an office chair to sit in while doing the dishes. Rumor has it that she was spotted at the local Sears store within the last couple of weeks and that a dishwasher had been purchased ... I will believe it when I see it for myself.
The Sergeant has a big green tractor that she mows her acres of lawn with ... all by herself ... because she likes things done a certain way. She also has a very strange obsession with keeping her driveway "apple free." She ran the PTA when her kids were in elementary school and now runs the high school football concession stand, sits on the boosters for both of her kids sports teams, takes her daughter to ski team which is miles from home on a nightly basis in the wintertime, takes care of her husband's business financial reports, works part-time (now full-time) outside of the home, cooks, cleans, does laundry, etc. Whew!
My life without the Sergeant in it would be a lesser life to live. Our families have vacationed together ... she and I squeezing our ample bottoms into the seat of a roller coaster bench that was seemingly designed for two ... but made us feel like doughy Pillsbury biscuits being squeezed into a tube ... laughing so hard we almost peed our pants. She is the one that convinced me that I should try skiing ... which led to the fainting incident and SOS call on the toddler hill ... which has given her years and years of laughter to fall back on whenever she thinks of it. She has held my hand through some of the darkest moments of my life and always remained calm and had a voice of reason. She has kicked my ass to get motivated and get in shape ... and I love, love, love this woman for everything that she is.
The Sergeant is the eldest member of the peeps and interestingly enough, the youngest member of her biological family ... a "late life" baby ... or an "Oh Shit!" baby, if you will. The BFF would be considered the middle child and I am the baby of this family. I like to think of the BFF and I as the "little sisters" the Sergeant never had (and some days I'm sure the Sergeant thinks of us as the "little sisters" she's glad she never had). And as such, one of the BFF and I's most favorite activities in the whole wide world is to subject the Sergeant to getting "make-overs."
When we first met the Sergeant she was straightening her natural curly hair and had large eyeglasses ... not so unfashionable at the time ... but too big for her face. So the first order of business was to get this woman to the nearest salon for a fun, young, short, sassy, curly hairstyle that matched her personality and to the eye doctor to find frames that fit her face ... mission accomplished.
I, playing devil's advocate, and having supreme jealousy over the fact that my friend, the Sergeant, has naturally large (not paid for like mine) breasts, like to take the Sergeant shopping for bras ... which is harder than you think for a large-chested lady ... at least finding bras that come in colors other than white, nude and black. Sometimes I also convince her to buy items that she deems to be ridiculous but humors me anyway ... like the day we hit the mall and came back with black thigh high stockings and matching feather boas.
But the most challenging aspect of taking the Sergeant shopping is the fact that she is color blind. Yep ... color blind. As in ... can't distinguish two similar colors from one another. She can tell something is red ... but she doesn't know which shade of red ... orange-red, blood-red, pink-red ... cannot distinguish navy from black or purple, etc.
Now, if you are color blind, the best store for you to shop in when shopping solo is Christopher Banks ... which I call "Garanimals for Grown Ups." Every item of clothing in that store can be paired together ... all color coordinated and it makes for an easy match. However, if shopping anywhere else, you must enlist the help of your friends or it can be disastrous.
Now the Sergeant is stubborn ... if you haven't figured that out for yourself by now. She's a "can-do" gal and she believes she "can-do" anything. And one of the most frustrating times we had shopping with her was at a local department store when we were picking out an Easter outfit and she decided to argue with the BFF and I that the sweater we picked out for her did not match the skirt she had picked. Arguing that the flowers in the skirt were navy and would not match the purple sweater ... even though her non-color blind friends assured her that the flowers in the skirt were, in fact, a deep purple, not navy. No amount of arguing could convince the Sergeant that we were right and she was wrong. We even asked an innocent passerby to confirm what we knew to be true ... that the skirt and sweater matched. We laughed and argued about this for about an hour ... until we all gave up and went in a different direction all together.
Isn't that interesting? The color blind Sergeant arguing with the non-color blind peeps over color???? Which got me to thinking (which is the whole reason behind this lengthy blog) about how we, as women, refuse to believe what other people see when it comes to ourselves.
By a raise of hands ... how many of you out there have a hard time receiving a compliment? Everyone? Why do we do that? If someone tells you that you look really pretty ... do you say thank you ... or do you laugh it off and/or make some kind of joke and put yourself down? When someone says "great sweater" ... do you feel the need to tell them that you got it on sale ... so they don't think you paid full price for it? When someone says "what a great haircut" ... do you go on and on about how you wish it were straighter, curlier, longer, shorter? If someone says "great job" on the event you organized ... do you go into detail about how you felt you could have done a better job?
I am a big movie watcher ... and I tend to watch my favorite movies over and over and over again. Much to they dismay of my husband and children. One of the classics I have watched a million times over is Pretty Woman ... you know, the one where Julia Roberts plays the hooker with the heart of gold to Richard Gere's stuffy rich guy? There is a point in the movie when Julia opens up about her life and how it came to pass that she fell into her current profession ... Richard Gere's character's says ... "but you could be so much more." Julia Roberts responds by saying, "... the bad stuff is easier to believe."
Isn't that the truth? We believe it when people put us down ... when they say things that hurt our feelings. But we choose not to believe or trust in the good stuff that others tell us. We don't believe we are doing the best job as mothers, wives, daughters, etc., even though the people that are closest to us compliment us on a job well done ... we choose to believe the bad things.
We are all a little color blind. Just like the Sergeant who believes she is right when she is so obviously and clearly wrong ... because she chooses not to hear what her best friends are saying ... we all tend to put a little too much credit in the negatives we hear about ourselves and choose to overlook and ignore all of the positives that we each possess.
I have a big ass. So when someone says ... you look really pretty today ... I generally say something like ... yea, except for this fat ass ... or something to that effect ... because I am so hung up on my big ass that I feel like it's not possible for me to be pretty while it rests so prominently behind me. Obviously whomever issued that compliment was not focusing on my big ass ... they just thought I looked pretty. So why do I feel the need to draw attention to it ... to let them know that they are wrong ... that I can't possibly look pretty when my ass is this size? It's ridiculous ... and it needs to stop ... because I am not allowing myself to see what these people actually see ... which in this case is that I look pretty. I, like Julia Roberts, think that the bad stuff is easier to believe. I am color blind.
So I am sending out a challenge to each and every one of you today ... when someone gives you a compliment over the next couple of days, weeks, months ... just smile and say thank you. That's it. Just thank you. No excuses ... no big explanations ... and no self-deprecating remarks. Just take it in ... accept it ... believe it.
And maybe you and I will finally begin to believe in the good stuff ... and start to see ourselves in a new light ... begin to see how bright and beautiful we truly are ... and finally cure ourselves from being color blind.
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Times They Are A Changing ...
Turning 40 has been life changing in several different ways for the Divine Mrs M. My daughter, my baby, is turning 16 this week and last week was her super sweet 16 party ... a Mardi Gras theme that turned out to be as lovely and as special as I had planned. You never know what you are going to get when you get 70+ teenagers aged 15 - 18 gathered together in one fancy hotel ballroom ... but I am happy to announce that they were very well-behaved and I believe a good time was had by all.
Watching your youngest child reach their 16th birthday gives way to a mix of emotions. Excitement for them to reach this rite of passage and sadness that there are only a few years left before they leave the nest to start the next chapter in their life. Add on to that a son who is 17, on the final stretch of his junior year of high school and heading too quickly toward his senior year, taking SATs and reviewing college choices and you have one sad mama.
Awhile back I published a post in regard to the fact that I am now entering the autumn of my life. I have done a lot of soul searching and praying since publishing that post and have made some very daring decisions as to the direction I want my life to lead as I approach this new season. As I had mentioned in that post, the days of being CEO of the Divine Mrs M's household is winding down and heading toward its expiration date. With that in mind, I have made the decision to leave the comfort and safety of my current job and dive head first into the college pool and finally finish the degree I started as a part-time student way back in 1996.
I have waffled back and forth over this decision for quite some time. At a time when unemployment rates are at an all-time high and the economy is iffy at best, I, the crazy and perhaps slightly unstable, Divine Mrs M is voluntarily choosing to leave the workforce and follow the road less traveled.
I have a dear friend who chose to turn her whole life topsy-turvy right around the time of our 20th high school reunion. I spent some time with her at a wedding right before she made these life-changing decisions ... and while she didn't mention what she was planning at the time, she did say something that really stuck with me. We were talking about the upcoming reunion and how we were looking forward to becoming reacquainted with friends we had lost touch with along the path of higher education, relocation, marriages, children, etc. We were going through the list of classmates we were going to be seeing and, as is par for the course for all women around class reunion time, worried what people would be thinking when they saw that we no longer looked exactly as our 18 year old selves once did ... and were now what I always refer to as being "swollen" versions of ourselves.
My dear friend confided in me that she had recently began walking/running again. When I asked if she was doing it in hopes of losing some weight before the reunion, she said no. And this is the part that will forever be stuck with me ... she said she had decided that it was time for her to, " ... do something for me. Just me." I found that to be very profound ... mature ... brave.
Women are caretakers by nature ... and this is actually a recurring theme here on this website. But it's the truth and cannot be avoided. Some of us are more independent than others and may not get overwhelmed and bogged down by the daily routine of taking care of those around us. But my friend, like I, had shifted her needs to the bottom of the daily "to do list," and eventually snapped out of her caretaker fog and decided it was time to make a change. To focus on her needs ... her wants. And she started by focusing on feeling better about herself and hit the pavement running ... well, she admitted it was really walking at first ... but eventually worked her way up to running.
And then my friend, the text book Leave it to Beaver at-home mom, went back to work ... full-time ... as a nurse ... once again using that college degree she had worked so hard to earn. And then she made the hardest decision of all ... to leave her long-term marriage to her high school sweetheart. A heart-breaking decision made with careful consideration ... and coming to the harsh realization that the union while safe and comfortable was not a happy one and if she was taking the time to be honest with herself, it was a decision she should have made years earlier. But everything in its own time.
All of these decisions were made over the course of years ... not months or weeks. And the cycle of change started slowly ... with the running ... taking time every day and doing something just for her ... and using that time to clear her mind and focus on where she wanted life to lead her.
I have found that you can become complacent in every area of your life ... you will order the same food over and over again at your favorite restaurant because you know you won't be disappointed ... never choosing to try something new; you will stay in the same job for years and years and years, not concerned with growing or branching out and doing something different, because you know how to do this job and it's a comfortable fit; you will continue to sit in the third pew at the same church you and your family have attended since you were a small child week after week even though the church isn't headed in the same direction that your faith is pushing you to go ... but you are comfortable there and don't want to offend your pastor, members of the congregation, etc.; you will continue to remain in relationships that have become toxic or have passed their expiration dates because you are comfortable in the relationship, even if it hurts, because the pain is familiar and more comfortable than making a break; and you will continue to remain overweight and not put forth the effort it takes to lose that weight because you are comfortable with your sedentary lifestyle and are too afraid to walk into that meeting ... or that gym ... or to take that exercise class.
The fear of change can hinder your ability to live life to the fullest. I will confess something to you that may sound absolutely ridiculous but is my truth nonetheless. I love to shop ... and I mean that with my whole heart ... I love, love, love to shop. But the only place I feel comfortable shopping for myself when it comes to clothing is at "The Big Girl Store." That's what I call it ... it's a mainstream shop for the big girls located in every shopping mall across America. The sales girls know me by name. They know my kids names and ages as they have spent several hours lounging on the couches outside of the dressing room waiting for me to finish making my selections. I like that their clothing is not centered around senior citizen fashion and they have hip and trendy size W choices. I am comfortable there. If and when this weight ever comes off of my size W frame, I have to find another store to spend my money in. And I like the Big Girl Store.
I told you it was ridiculous. But it really does enter my psyche ... the thought of changing where it is that I shop. It's crazy ... and it's a roadblock on my path to success. And it took me a long time to actually admit that it was hindering my success. And I wonder what roadblocks are in your path that are stopping you from accomplishing your goals.
Now back to my friend ... I am pleased to say that this woman, this amazing woman, is more beautiful now than she was 20 years ago. She did lose that pesky weight ... but that is not the reason that she is beautiful. She is beautiful because she is happy ... truly happy. Her happiness shines through her whole self. She is living on her own ... in a new relationship ... continues to be the most amazing mother to her three amazing children ... and is in love with her career outside of the home. I truly believe that she is living her best life as her best self. And living your best life as your best self takes courage. A lot of chutzpah.
There are always people who are going to give you grief over the changes you are making. I have gotten a lot of negative feedback regarding my decision to leave my job. Your size W friends may actually lend a hand in sabotaging your weight loss efforts ... because they are comfortable with you as you are ... and afraid of what will happen to your friendship if you no longer share the same dress size. If your marriage ends, people are bound to have an opinion ... good or bad. I guess the thing with getting older is ... who cares? You only get one shot to live your life on this earth ... do what you need to do to enjoy every moment.
I believe in God ... I ask him for guidance ... and when I am afraid, I have to remind myself that He has a plan for me ... and it isn't always necessary for me to know exactly what that plan is. Because He knows. And that's all I really need to know.
I don't know where you are at in your journey in this life ... and I don't know if you have a higher power you rely on to guide you down your path. What I do know is that you cannot allow fear and all of the "what ifs" to keep you from expanding your horizons and living your best life. I have allowed the fear of failure to stop me from achieving my goals ... giving up on myself too easily. And that holds true in all areas of my life. I am not going to accept that any longer.
What I have found is that by making this one major change and feeling the weight of that decision finally being lifted from my shoulders that the physical weight I have been carrying around is starting to be lifted as well. I believe that I have a lot of internal baggage I have been carrying around that has transpired itself into an actual physical weight gain. By not being able to truly commit to choosing change ... I have kept myself trapped inside my safe, comfortable, size W bubble.
Well ... I am popping that bubble ... heading out into the unknown ... and the times they are a changing ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Watching your youngest child reach their 16th birthday gives way to a mix of emotions. Excitement for them to reach this rite of passage and sadness that there are only a few years left before they leave the nest to start the next chapter in their life. Add on to that a son who is 17, on the final stretch of his junior year of high school and heading too quickly toward his senior year, taking SATs and reviewing college choices and you have one sad mama.
Awhile back I published a post in regard to the fact that I am now entering the autumn of my life. I have done a lot of soul searching and praying since publishing that post and have made some very daring decisions as to the direction I want my life to lead as I approach this new season. As I had mentioned in that post, the days of being CEO of the Divine Mrs M's household is winding down and heading toward its expiration date. With that in mind, I have made the decision to leave the comfort and safety of my current job and dive head first into the college pool and finally finish the degree I started as a part-time student way back in 1996.
I have waffled back and forth over this decision for quite some time. At a time when unemployment rates are at an all-time high and the economy is iffy at best, I, the crazy and perhaps slightly unstable, Divine Mrs M is voluntarily choosing to leave the workforce and follow the road less traveled.
I have a dear friend who chose to turn her whole life topsy-turvy right around the time of our 20th high school reunion. I spent some time with her at a wedding right before she made these life-changing decisions ... and while she didn't mention what she was planning at the time, she did say something that really stuck with me. We were talking about the upcoming reunion and how we were looking forward to becoming reacquainted with friends we had lost touch with along the path of higher education, relocation, marriages, children, etc. We were going through the list of classmates we were going to be seeing and, as is par for the course for all women around class reunion time, worried what people would be thinking when they saw that we no longer looked exactly as our 18 year old selves once did ... and were now what I always refer to as being "swollen" versions of ourselves.
My dear friend confided in me that she had recently began walking/running again. When I asked if she was doing it in hopes of losing some weight before the reunion, she said no. And this is the part that will forever be stuck with me ... she said she had decided that it was time for her to, " ... do something for me. Just me." I found that to be very profound ... mature ... brave.
Women are caretakers by nature ... and this is actually a recurring theme here on this website. But it's the truth and cannot be avoided. Some of us are more independent than others and may not get overwhelmed and bogged down by the daily routine of taking care of those around us. But my friend, like I, had shifted her needs to the bottom of the daily "to do list," and eventually snapped out of her caretaker fog and decided it was time to make a change. To focus on her needs ... her wants. And she started by focusing on feeling better about herself and hit the pavement running ... well, she admitted it was really walking at first ... but eventually worked her way up to running.
And then my friend, the text book Leave it to Beaver at-home mom, went back to work ... full-time ... as a nurse ... once again using that college degree she had worked so hard to earn. And then she made the hardest decision of all ... to leave her long-term marriage to her high school sweetheart. A heart-breaking decision made with careful consideration ... and coming to the harsh realization that the union while safe and comfortable was not a happy one and if she was taking the time to be honest with herself, it was a decision she should have made years earlier. But everything in its own time.
All of these decisions were made over the course of years ... not months or weeks. And the cycle of change started slowly ... with the running ... taking time every day and doing something just for her ... and using that time to clear her mind and focus on where she wanted life to lead her.
I have found that you can become complacent in every area of your life ... you will order the same food over and over again at your favorite restaurant because you know you won't be disappointed ... never choosing to try something new; you will stay in the same job for years and years and years, not concerned with growing or branching out and doing something different, because you know how to do this job and it's a comfortable fit; you will continue to sit in the third pew at the same church you and your family have attended since you were a small child week after week even though the church isn't headed in the same direction that your faith is pushing you to go ... but you are comfortable there and don't want to offend your pastor, members of the congregation, etc.; you will continue to remain in relationships that have become toxic or have passed their expiration dates because you are comfortable in the relationship, even if it hurts, because the pain is familiar and more comfortable than making a break; and you will continue to remain overweight and not put forth the effort it takes to lose that weight because you are comfortable with your sedentary lifestyle and are too afraid to walk into that meeting ... or that gym ... or to take that exercise class.
The fear of change can hinder your ability to live life to the fullest. I will confess something to you that may sound absolutely ridiculous but is my truth nonetheless. I love to shop ... and I mean that with my whole heart ... I love, love, love to shop. But the only place I feel comfortable shopping for myself when it comes to clothing is at "The Big Girl Store." That's what I call it ... it's a mainstream shop for the big girls located in every shopping mall across America. The sales girls know me by name. They know my kids names and ages as they have spent several hours lounging on the couches outside of the dressing room waiting for me to finish making my selections. I like that their clothing is not centered around senior citizen fashion and they have hip and trendy size W choices. I am comfortable there. If and when this weight ever comes off of my size W frame, I have to find another store to spend my money in. And I like the Big Girl Store.
I told you it was ridiculous. But it really does enter my psyche ... the thought of changing where it is that I shop. It's crazy ... and it's a roadblock on my path to success. And it took me a long time to actually admit that it was hindering my success. And I wonder what roadblocks are in your path that are stopping you from accomplishing your goals.
Now back to my friend ... I am pleased to say that this woman, this amazing woman, is more beautiful now than she was 20 years ago. She did lose that pesky weight ... but that is not the reason that she is beautiful. She is beautiful because she is happy ... truly happy. Her happiness shines through her whole self. She is living on her own ... in a new relationship ... continues to be the most amazing mother to her three amazing children ... and is in love with her career outside of the home. I truly believe that she is living her best life as her best self. And living your best life as your best self takes courage. A lot of chutzpah.
There are always people who are going to give you grief over the changes you are making. I have gotten a lot of negative feedback regarding my decision to leave my job. Your size W friends may actually lend a hand in sabotaging your weight loss efforts ... because they are comfortable with you as you are ... and afraid of what will happen to your friendship if you no longer share the same dress size. If your marriage ends, people are bound to have an opinion ... good or bad. I guess the thing with getting older is ... who cares? You only get one shot to live your life on this earth ... do what you need to do to enjoy every moment.
I believe in God ... I ask him for guidance ... and when I am afraid, I have to remind myself that He has a plan for me ... and it isn't always necessary for me to know exactly what that plan is. Because He knows. And that's all I really need to know.
I don't know where you are at in your journey in this life ... and I don't know if you have a higher power you rely on to guide you down your path. What I do know is that you cannot allow fear and all of the "what ifs" to keep you from expanding your horizons and living your best life. I have allowed the fear of failure to stop me from achieving my goals ... giving up on myself too easily. And that holds true in all areas of my life. I am not going to accept that any longer.
What I have found is that by making this one major change and feeling the weight of that decision finally being lifted from my shoulders that the physical weight I have been carrying around is starting to be lifted as well. I believe that I have a lot of internal baggage I have been carrying around that has transpired itself into an actual physical weight gain. By not being able to truly commit to choosing change ... I have kept myself trapped inside my safe, comfortable, size W bubble.
Well ... I am popping that bubble ... heading out into the unknown ... and the times they are a changing ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Monday, February 14, 2011
The Girl in the Hermes Scarf
Last night my daughter and I settled in and watched the movie Confessions of a Shopaholic. For those of you not familiar with Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic series of books, you should make yourself acquainted. The movie was disappointing as most movies turn out to be when you have adored the book it is associated with but it's a fun movie to watch on a snowy Sunday evening, drinking coffee and hanging out with your best girl.
Our heroine, Rebecca Bloomwood, is in denial about her debt, has debt collectors stalking her at home and at work, is close to financial ruin and cannot curb her urge to shop. In a bizarre twist of luck, she lands a job as a financial columnist at a magazine, Successful Saving, wherein she writes an advice column on how young women like herself can live debt free lives and have fun doing it ... obviously, the exact opposite of how Rebecca lives her own life. Rebecca uses the byline "The Girl in the Green Scarf," in order to protect her identity ... lest the debt collectors find her and/or she is called out for being a fraud.
Over the course of the movie, Rebecca finds herself in some ridiculous predicaments ... her excuses as to why she cannot meet with one particular debt collector are quite ingenious ... and eventually, must come to terms with the fact that she is indeed a "shopaholic" and needs to focus less on shopping and more on what is important in life. The End. All wrapped up neat and pretty ... much unlike my favorite Shopaholic book series, but cest la vie.
To say that I have a passion for scarves would be an understatement. I have never counted how many hang in my closet (and some in my husband's because I ran out of room in mine) ... but I would say close to 50 ... perhaps even more (I'm being pretty conservative with that number). My collection of scarves range from long to short, silk to knit, black and white to every color of the rainbow ... and then some. I tie them to the straps of my neutral colored handbags to give them a splash of color, I tie them around my waist and wear them as belts and wear them around my neck tied in different styles ... when I was a teenager, I used to tie them around my ponytail. I find scarves to be very chic and very French. And I love, love, love all things French.
When you love scarves as much as I do ... an Hermes scarf is the holy grail. And I have one. Only one. And it's gorgeous. It is silk ... dyed in an orange, purple and cream design ... and it is divine. And it rests in its original Hermes box along with a lovely thank you note from the French woman who sold it to me ... who told me to cherish this scarf and wear it with love. Which probably sounds quite ridiculous to those of you who only own scarves knitted by your grandmothers. But to me, it is ...
I don't even know how to describe it. My Hermes scarf is the most luxurious item I have ever bought for myself. And I bought it shortly after a visit to Paris. I could have bought one while I was actually in Paris but I just couldn't justify the purchase at the time ... you know, with my husband constantly lurking around. I did, however, have a change of heart after arriving home to the US of A ... and my husband was safely back at work. Don't get me wrong ... I had purchased a delicious cream-colored scarf while in Paris, as well as one for all of my peeps, but none of them were Hermes.
And now I have this beautiful scarf, nestled in it's beautiful box and I have never worn it outside of the house. Never. And I don't have any idea why. I have tried it on of course. Tried it in a different variety of ways ... and it's gorgeous. But I just cannot bring myself to allow it out of it's box for more than an hour or two. And, please, before you call the gentleman in white coats to come and carry me away, I am fully aware of the fact that this is crazy. That treating this scarf, which to me was expensive but to some is just another item in their closet, as if it were the Queen's jewels and should be locked away in a vault is insane. But tucked away in it's box, taking up space on my dresser, is where it remains to this day ... never to be seen by the outside world.
And it got me to thinking ... all of the words I can use to describe my Hermes scarf ... valuable ... beautiful ... vibrant ... sexy ... worth showing off ... is how I really feel on the inside. I have all of these wonderful, vibrant qualities hiding beneath the cover of a non-descript box ... or in this case, under layers and rolls of fat. And I have yet been able to lift the cover and show myself to the world.
One of the best greeting cards I ever received had a drawing of a woman on the front and written above her it said, "Inside me is a skinny girl just screaming to come out ..." Open it and it says " ... I ate her."
But isn't that the truth? If you are now or ever were struggling with your weight ... is/was there not a skinny woman inside of you just screaming to be set free? And just like my gorgeous Hermes scarf ... does she not deserve to be freed from her box and shown off to the world? I think so.
So now back to my story about the precocious Rebecca Bloomwood. What does this have to do with her story as the "Girl in the Green Scarf?" Aha ...
Because dear readers, much like Ms. Bloomwood's aptitude to give good advice and motivation to her readers on how to save money and live happily on a budget while her personal debt was shooting higher than fireworks on the Fourth of July ... I find myself willing and able to share my stories and my life experiences with you along my journey to becoming a more fabulous self in my 40th year ... all the while not having much success in achieving my goals.
Since I began this journey I have lost a grand total of 3 pounds. I have actually lost more than that ... but that is the total that I have been able to keep off. And I am finding even that to be a struggle. Much like Ms. Bloomwood, I am full of excuses as to why this has happened ... but, again just like Ms. Bloomwood, my excuses are nothing but fairy tales conjured up in my truly overactive imagination. I have just become lazy. Perhaps even lazier than before ... and I feel that if I continue down this road of insomnia when it comes to my journey ... I no longer have the right to write my beloved blog.
So, what to do ... what to do? Um ... quit whining about it and get busy, of course! Because the Divine Mrs. M loves to write her blog ... loves to hear your feedback and truth be told, hopes that if you continue to follow me along this roller coaster ride of failures and success you may be inspired at some point along the way.
And while my byline is still the Divine Mrs M ... I want to give thanks to the fictional Becky Bloomwood, i.e., "The Girl in the Green Scarf," for showing me the error of my ways ... and perhaps someday ... my journey will actually be published and I will hence be forever known as "The Girl in the Hermes Scarf ..."
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Our heroine, Rebecca Bloomwood, is in denial about her debt, has debt collectors stalking her at home and at work, is close to financial ruin and cannot curb her urge to shop. In a bizarre twist of luck, she lands a job as a financial columnist at a magazine, Successful Saving, wherein she writes an advice column on how young women like herself can live debt free lives and have fun doing it ... obviously, the exact opposite of how Rebecca lives her own life. Rebecca uses the byline "The Girl in the Green Scarf," in order to protect her identity ... lest the debt collectors find her and/or she is called out for being a fraud.
Over the course of the movie, Rebecca finds herself in some ridiculous predicaments ... her excuses as to why she cannot meet with one particular debt collector are quite ingenious ... and eventually, must come to terms with the fact that she is indeed a "shopaholic" and needs to focus less on shopping and more on what is important in life. The End. All wrapped up neat and pretty ... much unlike my favorite Shopaholic book series, but cest la vie.
To say that I have a passion for scarves would be an understatement. I have never counted how many hang in my closet (and some in my husband's because I ran out of room in mine) ... but I would say close to 50 ... perhaps even more (I'm being pretty conservative with that number). My collection of scarves range from long to short, silk to knit, black and white to every color of the rainbow ... and then some. I tie them to the straps of my neutral colored handbags to give them a splash of color, I tie them around my waist and wear them as belts and wear them around my neck tied in different styles ... when I was a teenager, I used to tie them around my ponytail. I find scarves to be very chic and very French. And I love, love, love all things French.
When you love scarves as much as I do ... an Hermes scarf is the holy grail. And I have one. Only one. And it's gorgeous. It is silk ... dyed in an orange, purple and cream design ... and it is divine. And it rests in its original Hermes box along with a lovely thank you note from the French woman who sold it to me ... who told me to cherish this scarf and wear it with love. Which probably sounds quite ridiculous to those of you who only own scarves knitted by your grandmothers. But to me, it is ...
I don't even know how to describe it. My Hermes scarf is the most luxurious item I have ever bought for myself. And I bought it shortly after a visit to Paris. I could have bought one while I was actually in Paris but I just couldn't justify the purchase at the time ... you know, with my husband constantly lurking around. I did, however, have a change of heart after arriving home to the US of A ... and my husband was safely back at work. Don't get me wrong ... I had purchased a delicious cream-colored scarf while in Paris, as well as one for all of my peeps, but none of them were Hermes.
And now I have this beautiful scarf, nestled in it's beautiful box and I have never worn it outside of the house. Never. And I don't have any idea why. I have tried it on of course. Tried it in a different variety of ways ... and it's gorgeous. But I just cannot bring myself to allow it out of it's box for more than an hour or two. And, please, before you call the gentleman in white coats to come and carry me away, I am fully aware of the fact that this is crazy. That treating this scarf, which to me was expensive but to some is just another item in their closet, as if it were the Queen's jewels and should be locked away in a vault is insane. But tucked away in it's box, taking up space on my dresser, is where it remains to this day ... never to be seen by the outside world.
And it got me to thinking ... all of the words I can use to describe my Hermes scarf ... valuable ... beautiful ... vibrant ... sexy ... worth showing off ... is how I really feel on the inside. I have all of these wonderful, vibrant qualities hiding beneath the cover of a non-descript box ... or in this case, under layers and rolls of fat. And I have yet been able to lift the cover and show myself to the world.
One of the best greeting cards I ever received had a drawing of a woman on the front and written above her it said, "Inside me is a skinny girl just screaming to come out ..." Open it and it says " ... I ate her."
But isn't that the truth? If you are now or ever were struggling with your weight ... is/was there not a skinny woman inside of you just screaming to be set free? And just like my gorgeous Hermes scarf ... does she not deserve to be freed from her box and shown off to the world? I think so.
So now back to my story about the precocious Rebecca Bloomwood. What does this have to do with her story as the "Girl in the Green Scarf?" Aha ...
Because dear readers, much like Ms. Bloomwood's aptitude to give good advice and motivation to her readers on how to save money and live happily on a budget while her personal debt was shooting higher than fireworks on the Fourth of July ... I find myself willing and able to share my stories and my life experiences with you along my journey to becoming a more fabulous self in my 40th year ... all the while not having much success in achieving my goals.
Since I began this journey I have lost a grand total of 3 pounds. I have actually lost more than that ... but that is the total that I have been able to keep off. And I am finding even that to be a struggle. Much like Ms. Bloomwood, I am full of excuses as to why this has happened ... but, again just like Ms. Bloomwood, my excuses are nothing but fairy tales conjured up in my truly overactive imagination. I have just become lazy. Perhaps even lazier than before ... and I feel that if I continue down this road of insomnia when it comes to my journey ... I no longer have the right to write my beloved blog.
So, what to do ... what to do? Um ... quit whining about it and get busy, of course! Because the Divine Mrs. M loves to write her blog ... loves to hear your feedback and truth be told, hopes that if you continue to follow me along this roller coaster ride of failures and success you may be inspired at some point along the way.
And while my byline is still the Divine Mrs M ... I want to give thanks to the fictional Becky Bloomwood, i.e., "The Girl in the Green Scarf," for showing me the error of my ways ... and perhaps someday ... my journey will actually be published and I will hence be forever known as "The Girl in the Hermes Scarf ..."
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Road from One Day at a Time to being Touched by an Angel and becoming Hot In Cleveland
Valerie Bertinelli. An American icon. Most of you will remember her as the fresh-faced tomboy, Barbara Cooper, on One Day at a Time. Some of you may remember her from various made-for-TV movies or for her role on Touched by an Angel. Maybe you know her as a spokesperson for Jenny Craig or now watch her regularly on the hilarious new sitcom Hot in Cleveland. Me? I became fascinated with her when she married rocker Eddie Van Halen ... a classic tale of romance between the good girl and the bad boy. And we all know how that turned out ...
Thanks to the particularly harsh winter weather and my lousy immune system, I have had to fight off more nasty colds and cases of the flu this season than in any other in recent memory. Which, in turn, translates into a number of sick days spent at home, on the couch, eating chicken noodle soup and watching daytime TV.
On one such occasion, I happened to catch an episode of The Nate Berkus Show. His guest that day was Valerie Bertinelli. You may know Nate Berkus as the go-to interior designer on Oprah. He now has a show of his own ... and quite frankly, I am of the opinion that he shouldn't quit his day job and should concentrate solely on design. But I digress.
While Nate Berkus may not be the most engaging of talk show hosts, he did manage to come up with some appropriate questions and the answer to one particular question asked of Ms. Bertinelli caught my attention. In response to the question as to how it is that she (Valerie) had been able to maintain a 50 pound weight loss over the past several years, she responded something to this effect, " ... because I finally realized that I deserved to feel good in my own body." Isn't that a great answer?
Valerie Bertinelli has led an interesting life. She is a star ... a household name. She was married to a rock star. But, all things considered, she's still just a girl ... a working mother ... who has struggled in her marriage ... and struggled with her weight. And, more importantly, faced those struggles under the harsh scrutiny of the public eye.
I can't even begin to imagine. I'm fat. And, in reality, the only person who cares that I'm fat is me. I'm sure the girls I went to high school with get a kick out of the fact that I'm no longer the stick figure I once was, that's just the nature of the beast. And when you live in a small town, the rumor mill is always on the look out for and spreading stories about marriages that are "on the rocks," whether they are or not. But I don't have paparazzi chasing me down the street trying to take a picture of me at a bad angle or while eating a foot-long hot dog with the works or zooming in on my cellulite as I stroll along the beach. And even the local newspaper here in Podunk, PA doesn't have an interest in making my disagreements with my husband front page news. Shocking ... I know.
So this is why I find Valerie Bertinelli to be so fascinating. Because as extraordinary as her life may seem, she really is just the girl next door ... or perhaps, even the girl right here ... sitting on this couch ... writing this blog.
I have had my fair share of struggles ... weight being only one of them. We all have our issues. But do we all deal with them? Or do we sweep them under the rug and give the impression to ourselves and others that our house is clean? My pastor once said that life is a lot like gardening ... you can pull out all the weeds and make the garden look beautiful ... but unless you dig really deep and pull the weeds out by the roots, the weeds will eventually take over and everything in the garden will die.
I, for one, have a lot of weeds ... or at least I did. Now I'm left with only a few. I am a control freak. I like to control my environment and, unfortunately, the people who enter it. I have spent so much of my life trying to control things that were so completely and utterly out of my control, that I failed to tend to my own garden. And it got overrun by weeds. Hence, the main reason for my long trip down the size W highway.
So, I had to learn to give up control. "Let go and let God," became my mantra. Which for someone who likes to be in control can actually be physically painful. It took years and years of struggling before I was actually able to give up, give in and really let God take over. It also took what I believe to be a Divine intervention. It was like I was in an arm wrestling match with God over which was one of us was going to be in control. How did I ever believe for a moment that I was going to win?
Every season of The Biggest Loser has an episode wherein one or more of the contestants finally have an emotional breakthrough that allows them to let go of whatever it was that was holding them back from losing weight. So when I decided that my 40th year would be a different one, I had to force myself to look at my weight from a new perspective. I have taken the time to start documenting somewhat of a timeline ... documenting in a diary when the extra weight started to come on ... where I was at in my life when it started to slowly creep on and what was happening in my life when it really started to spiral out of my control. I have had some revelations ... for instance, over the course of one year, I got married, had a child, my parents got divorced and my brother, being angry with my parents, kind of excused himself from our family. That's a big year ... and my clothing size from the beginning of that year to the end showed a big difference. And that's only one example. But by going down this somewhat uncomfortable road, I have been able to shed some weight ... emotionally ... as well as physically. Because I am no longer ignoring the issues that assisted in getting me to the size that I am ... I am pulling them out by the roots. And I'm not embarrassed to be sharing my struggles with you ... because no one has led a perfect life ... and it's okay to have your own particular demons. We all do. I ignored mine for years ... trying to keep everything neat and tidy and within my control. Which only led to one big, disastrous mess. So I let go ... and I encourage you to begin letting go too. It's so much easier.
Valerie Bertinelli has had to face her own demons. She was married to and had a child with an alcoholic/addict. She struggled for years in her marriage and it wasn't until she gave up the struggle and took control of her own situation that she was able to do what was right for her ... and filed for divorce. The years she spent struggling within her marriage took a toll on her ... emotionally and physically. And it took her years to dig deep and pull the weeds from her garden and make it beautiful once again. But she did ... and she now realizes that she deserves to feel beautiful. To feel comfortable in her own skin. And I love that about her.
I find her to be more beautiful today than she was ten years ago because she has a joy in her eyes that looks contagious. She has turned her life around ... lost 50 pounds ... kept it off ... walked a marathon ... is on a hit TV show ... has remarried. Happiness and self-confidence suit her. And it gives me hope
While I find her life to be inspiring, I also find the titles of Valerie Bertinelli's most successful TV shows to be inspiring as well. I am learning to live my life One Day at a Time ... allowing God to point me in the right direction and opening myself up to being Touched by an Angel ... and coming to the realization that I deserve to feel beautiful and comfortable in my own skin and that I can be Hot in Cleveland ... or in Podunk, PA or wherever life might take me. And you do too ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
Thanks to the particularly harsh winter weather and my lousy immune system, I have had to fight off more nasty colds and cases of the flu this season than in any other in recent memory. Which, in turn, translates into a number of sick days spent at home, on the couch, eating chicken noodle soup and watching daytime TV.
On one such occasion, I happened to catch an episode of The Nate Berkus Show. His guest that day was Valerie Bertinelli. You may know Nate Berkus as the go-to interior designer on Oprah. He now has a show of his own ... and quite frankly, I am of the opinion that he shouldn't quit his day job and should concentrate solely on design. But I digress.
While Nate Berkus may not be the most engaging of talk show hosts, he did manage to come up with some appropriate questions and the answer to one particular question asked of Ms. Bertinelli caught my attention. In response to the question as to how it is that she (Valerie) had been able to maintain a 50 pound weight loss over the past several years, she responded something to this effect, " ... because I finally realized that I deserved to feel good in my own body." Isn't that a great answer?
Valerie Bertinelli has led an interesting life. She is a star ... a household name. She was married to a rock star. But, all things considered, she's still just a girl ... a working mother ... who has struggled in her marriage ... and struggled with her weight. And, more importantly, faced those struggles under the harsh scrutiny of the public eye.
I can't even begin to imagine. I'm fat. And, in reality, the only person who cares that I'm fat is me. I'm sure the girls I went to high school with get a kick out of the fact that I'm no longer the stick figure I once was, that's just the nature of the beast. And when you live in a small town, the rumor mill is always on the look out for and spreading stories about marriages that are "on the rocks," whether they are or not. But I don't have paparazzi chasing me down the street trying to take a picture of me at a bad angle or while eating a foot-long hot dog with the works or zooming in on my cellulite as I stroll along the beach. And even the local newspaper here in Podunk, PA doesn't have an interest in making my disagreements with my husband front page news. Shocking ... I know.
So this is why I find Valerie Bertinelli to be so fascinating. Because as extraordinary as her life may seem, she really is just the girl next door ... or perhaps, even the girl right here ... sitting on this couch ... writing this blog.
I have had my fair share of struggles ... weight being only one of them. We all have our issues. But do we all deal with them? Or do we sweep them under the rug and give the impression to ourselves and others that our house is clean? My pastor once said that life is a lot like gardening ... you can pull out all the weeds and make the garden look beautiful ... but unless you dig really deep and pull the weeds out by the roots, the weeds will eventually take over and everything in the garden will die.
I, for one, have a lot of weeds ... or at least I did. Now I'm left with only a few. I am a control freak. I like to control my environment and, unfortunately, the people who enter it. I have spent so much of my life trying to control things that were so completely and utterly out of my control, that I failed to tend to my own garden. And it got overrun by weeds. Hence, the main reason for my long trip down the size W highway.
So, I had to learn to give up control. "Let go and let God," became my mantra. Which for someone who likes to be in control can actually be physically painful. It took years and years of struggling before I was actually able to give up, give in and really let God take over. It also took what I believe to be a Divine intervention. It was like I was in an arm wrestling match with God over which was one of us was going to be in control. How did I ever believe for a moment that I was going to win?
Every season of The Biggest Loser has an episode wherein one or more of the contestants finally have an emotional breakthrough that allows them to let go of whatever it was that was holding them back from losing weight. So when I decided that my 40th year would be a different one, I had to force myself to look at my weight from a new perspective. I have taken the time to start documenting somewhat of a timeline ... documenting in a diary when the extra weight started to come on ... where I was at in my life when it started to slowly creep on and what was happening in my life when it really started to spiral out of my control. I have had some revelations ... for instance, over the course of one year, I got married, had a child, my parents got divorced and my brother, being angry with my parents, kind of excused himself from our family. That's a big year ... and my clothing size from the beginning of that year to the end showed a big difference. And that's only one example. But by going down this somewhat uncomfortable road, I have been able to shed some weight ... emotionally ... as well as physically. Because I am no longer ignoring the issues that assisted in getting me to the size that I am ... I am pulling them out by the roots. And I'm not embarrassed to be sharing my struggles with you ... because no one has led a perfect life ... and it's okay to have your own particular demons. We all do. I ignored mine for years ... trying to keep everything neat and tidy and within my control. Which only led to one big, disastrous mess. So I let go ... and I encourage you to begin letting go too. It's so much easier.
Valerie Bertinelli has had to face her own demons. She was married to and had a child with an alcoholic/addict. She struggled for years in her marriage and it wasn't until she gave up the struggle and took control of her own situation that she was able to do what was right for her ... and filed for divorce. The years she spent struggling within her marriage took a toll on her ... emotionally and physically. And it took her years to dig deep and pull the weeds from her garden and make it beautiful once again. But she did ... and she now realizes that she deserves to feel beautiful. To feel comfortable in her own skin. And I love that about her.
I find her to be more beautiful today than she was ten years ago because she has a joy in her eyes that looks contagious. She has turned her life around ... lost 50 pounds ... kept it off ... walked a marathon ... is on a hit TV show ... has remarried. Happiness and self-confidence suit her. And it gives me hope
While I find her life to be inspiring, I also find the titles of Valerie Bertinelli's most successful TV shows to be inspiring as well. I am learning to live my life One Day at a Time ... allowing God to point me in the right direction and opening myself up to being Touched by an Angel ... and coming to the realization that I deserve to feel beautiful and comfortable in my own skin and that I can be Hot in Cleveland ... or in Podunk, PA or wherever life might take me. And you do too ...
© 2010-2011 Melanie L. Miller All Rights Reserved
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