More than numbers

I was really proud to see my cousin embarking on a journey toward better health, and for being brave enough to write about it for others http://bigboyrunning.tumblr.com/
As I read his prologue I was moved to tears. For the last several weeks I have been dealing with my own issues concerning my health,appearance,and weight (in THAT order mind you). I have been surprised and a bit scared at how deeply these issues run emotionally for me. I have also been angered as I've tried to educate myself and as my super fit personal trainer husband has tried to educate me. I am angry because all we ever hear about is "By this, drop pounds" and NOW I'm learning that "dropping pounds" is probably the MOST irrelevant indicator as to whether or not you are truly healthy. I'm also angry at the fact that somewhere between childhood and adulthood I got brain washed into equating my appearance with my health as a woman. I am also angry because somewhere along my journey of being a wife, mommy and homeschooler I've developed some pretty disturbing food addictions. I can not say I am on a diet, because "diet" doesn't even translate into what I'm trying to accomplish here physically and emotionally. The place I'm wanting to go can not be measured with a scale. Having four children in five and half years has almost obliterated me. The path of least resistance is to fade out, put forth only the effort it takes to be what others need me to be. For a woman to be what she needs to be for herself AS WELL as what her family needs her to be takes sheer force of will. You must fight like hell to hold on to yourself.. And though I had lost sight of it for a while, I'm starting to see a glimmer of hope that there can be a re-emergence for me. That does not mean neglecting the responsibilities I have taken on as wife, mommy and homeschooler, that also does not mean neglecting my responsibilities to myself. It means coming forth as something stronger, someone stronger. Someone willing to make the effort to expand myself, to expand my love to such an extent that it not only encircles my husband and children but it will encircle me as well.

Places

In the sunshine fair and kind
We walk in wider spaces
No secrets and no gaps to jump
No holes to fill with wishing

All the poets said it best
And some have dared to sing
Somehow understanding us
Though we scarcely know ourselves

There are words ripe and full
That push against my lips
But my mind warns, "Steady now."
For there are rules for this

Moderation and control
Temprance and submission
Self inflicted fetters
That will now and then free us

But there is a place between
A spot outside two realities
Where the sunshine, fair kind
Will grant to us a moment

And after that, I hold it close
A jewel in my mind
More than a memory
A gem of time

A shinning perfect thing
Whole and flawless
Of which nothing else can boast
Entirely, completely ours

In the In Between

I thought perhaps the arrival of baby number four and girl number one aka, Ivey Beth Reeves, would help me ignore my hatred of winter this year, but as joyous as having the little diva is, my mind still wanders off to warm sunny afternoons in my back yard with shirtless little boys on the run.I have so little tolerance for this time between Christmas and glorious Springtime. I have found some consolation in the pages of my Burpee catalog, though.Seed catalogs make for wonderful afternoons of daydreaming. I can so easily imagine myself hands in the wet dirt, warm sun on my neck, beautiful things all around, things I created right out of the ground. I'd love to meet the person whose job it is to name the different varieties of flowers offered in the catalogs. Dwarf Morning Glories called "The Enchantment Mix" or a Cosmos called "The Pink Popsicle". What a great job to have! To sit in a garden somewhere naming flowers! So this is how I've spent the last few afternoons. Dreaming over my catalog. However, the small voice of negativity in the back of my mind whispers that nothing I attempt to grow each spring makes it very far past May, but Springtime is the greatest of all hopes, so that voice is easily silenced by the stronger idea that this year will be different. I was encouraged last year when the boys all successfully started a little veggie garden with nothing more than dirt and some old rinsed out egg shells. The little plants popped up in the window sill with in two weeks and were easily transplanted outside a few weeks later, where everything thrived all summer. Maybe the green thumb skipped a generation with me. My grandmother Pearl could take a twig, wrap it in a wet paper towel apparently do some kind of hoodoo on it and the next spring have a Hydrangea the size of a Volkswagen growing beside her porch! My mother and I however kill pretty much every plant we touch. Still, despite years of proof to the contrary, this will be the year, that I make something beautiful grow.

Why I Love White

Writing is a secret vice, like self abuse. A person afflicted with poetic longings of one sort or another searches for a kind of intellectual and spiritual privacy- the aerial suspension of the lyrical spirit- he does not necessarily have to wrench himself away, physically from every body and everything in life (this I suspect often defeats him at his own game) but he does have to forswear certain easy rituals such as earning a living and running the world's errands.

E.B. White