Trying Not to Freak Out

Cliche

I have been many sizes in my life: normal, healthy little girl, baby fat teen, thin young adult, and uncomfortable-for-me overweight.  Anyone with half a brain (and eyesight if you look at me) can tell which one I am now. 

And I'm not happy about it and haven't been in a long time.  

But I've been too lazy, and nervous, to do anything about it.  The lazy part isn't unusual for the average American but the nervous requires a little explaining.  I know it's a cliche--it seems everyone around me is constantly "dieting." Just like everyone else,  I've talked about starting an exercise program (here and here) but I don't think I've said why dieting, exercising, etc. makes me nervous.  It's because for about 7 years I was bulimic, starting in college.  It was awful, disgusting, shameful, all-encompassing.  I equate it to being alcoholic (one day and a time and all that) except with the added challenge of the simple fact that one can live without alcohol.  Not food (and who would want to?).

So anyway, I've tried to lose weight later after getting "better" and after having slowly packed on weight after each kid, but each time I felt myself slipping into the crazy.  The obsessive.  The frightened.  So I'd stop.  And crawl into a tubby cocoon.  

But I think I'm finally getting to a point in my life (hello, 40's!) in which I'd like to be as healthy inside and out as I can. I'm going to exercise, watch what I eat (without avoiding fun stuff like birthdays, nights out with friends, etc. for fear of taking one bite/drink and sliding into The Crazy.).

I want to be healthy and not tired all the time.  I want to sweat only when it's actually hot.  I want to be strong.  I want to be a role model for my kids in every way I can.  And for some reason, I want to do this without passing out. Wish me luck.

Happy New Year!

One of the best things about my new career is learning something new every single day.  I love that.  And the fact that the things I learn are so interesting certainly helps.  I've always considered myself a pretty open-minded (though opinionated) person but working with international students has opened my mind in ways I never could have imagined.

The two portraits below were taken by Anthoni, who is graduating in May. I miss him already!  Look at him--is he not the cutest??

One culture I thought I knew pretty well from books/movies,etc. was Chinese culture. I've always loved Chinese literature.  I love the poetry of their words.   But one part that I misunderstood was that I always thought of their culture primarily as one of obedience to the state.  There's much more to it than that.  China is such a large country that, just like the US, there are subcultures just as there are so many dialects.  I think you would have to travel to every province to begin to understand it all. But one of the best parts of their culture is shared by all Chinese and something that I share with them--a love of tradition and family (friends and blood relatives).

Qin is an artist and as lovely as she is quirky.  Those glasses have no lenses but they look cool!

Filial piety is an important part of that.  Sometimes, in books and movies, the respect for elders can seem binding and restraining, but I've seen the other side of it in these students--a genuine love (and like!) of their parents and a desire to make them proud.  It's not something I consciously thought about when I was their age.  I wanted my parents to be proud, sure, but mostly I was all about me me me.  The balance can be delicate between making themselves happy and their parents proud but at its heart it is, for lack of a better word, very very nice to see.

Chenkai had the nerve to go back to China after getting his MBA because he didn't want his mother to miss him too much.  I miss making him blush by telling him about his awesomeness.

And the food!  I love the symbolism of almost everything they eat and the attention to detail in a simple dish.  HH would love to eat Chinese food every night but what is served to us Americans, so I've learned, is a bastardized version of the authentic dishes served in China.  When I asked what the difference was between what we have and "real" Chinese, my friend Chenkai said "Sugar.  Everything you eat is so sweet." And I get that.  As I get older, I'm finding I like things less sweet and more savory or tangy.  I can't wait to go to China to taste the difference. Until then, I'll just have to make my own.  Here's what I made for our Chinese New Year dinner--a new tradition!

Back to front:  Noodles for long life, spring rolls for family reunion, and crab dumplings for wealth.  (Edamame was there because we like them)

 

Tangerines for luck

Almond cookies for a sweet life

10 Wishes for 2012

1

Let's not call them resolutions because then there's so much pressure. 

1. See a friend find her feet again
2. Graduate with a 3.9 cum GPA (I can't help it, I'm a dork) 
3. Crack The Boy's teenage veneer to get to know the new him better
4. Not react (negatively/personally) when The Girl is being 13
5. Hold HH's hand more
6. Get a better grip on a few things
7. Get a new job career
8. More patience for #'s 3 and 4
9. More patience in general
10. Health, happiness and all the rest for all I love

Simply Blown Away

WOW

 

I remember the first time I met Pat.  I had mooched an invitation from Lynn to join her on a Girl Scout trip to Ringing Rocks in Bucks County.  I was still in the part of my life when I didn't feel like I had the good good friends that I wanted.  So much of having small children and staying home with them is comprised of joining play groups and talking to mothers and fathers and hoping to get a connection but sometimes that connection is only made up of the tenuous strings of both of you having small children.  

I was so hoping for some real friends.

So we got to Ringing Rocks when everyone from her troop was already there.  I had a vague recollection that the tow-headed girl with the Dutch boy haircut was little Caroline Ytsma because Lynn's daughter was in kindergarten with her.  I climbed over towards her and heard her talking to "Pat," the man next to her with the same-colored hair.

"Pat!  Look at what this rock looks like!  

Pat!  Listen to what this rock sounds like when I bash it in!  

Pat!  LOOK!!"

I asked Lynn who "Pat" was.  "That's  Caroline's father.  She calls him Pat."  

I considered myself open-minded, hip, even mildly sophisticated in my early 30's.  But it would never ever cross my mind to "allow" a child to call their father by his first name, thinking it seemed....disrespectful somehow.  Once I got to know Pat, I understood Judy's reasoning for "allowing" it.  

"There is no question of who the children's father is and how they respect him.  

They just call him Pat."

And she 's right.  Pat is one of the best fathers I know.  Pat's children had the best of him---teaching, snuggling, teasing, loving.  That first meeting was an indication of the level of involvement, genuine liking of his children and his wife that Pat had.   In a sea of Girl Scouts that first time we met, he was the one dad banging on those rocks with his girl. 

And loving every minute of it.

Dying from the Cuteness

I've become a knitter!

Raveled here