The TRUTH About Motherhood

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The Burden of Being a Fat Woman

Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
Being fat is not what I wanted to be. Admitting that I am fat is even harder. I hate saying those words. For me, it’s admitting defeat. As if somehow writing it down and posting it makes it real.
I have eyes. I can plainly see that I’m overweight. I have been for years and all the pulling and tugging at my clothes will not change that. Most days I feel like I’m wearing a suit of shame like my weight is some sort of punishment.
Being fat is hard.
It’s even harder being out of shape. I’ve decided to start working out again and I am now more conscious about weight management. These days working on my abs feels like working out while being 9-months pregnant because I am so out of shape and my stomach is so massive. When I sit down, my stomach literally touches my lap. It disgusts me. When did this happen?
I wish I were one of those women who didn’t care what size her clothes were, what her body looked like in clothes or what people thought of her looks. It’s weird because while I couldn’t care less what people think of my opinions or beliefs or me as a person, I have always been consumed by what people might think of what I look like, more specifically my body. Believe me, I’ve tried to change my way of thinking but still, I feel like being fat is my biggest and most embarrassing failure in life.
I’ve been binge watching TLC shows about being overweight; My 600 lb. life and My Big Fat Fabulous Life. I find myself baffled that people have let themselves get that overweight. Then afraid it could happen to me. Unfortunately, I cannot relate to finding fabulousness in being overweight at all but I am glad others can love their bodies at all sizes.
I used to restrict calories and work out to the extreme. I used to be good at it; too good at it. I was masterful at the art of willpower and self-control, where eating was concerned. The rest of the world could be spinning out of control but I held tight the reins on my food intake. My entire world could be off the hook but my stomach was always tight. When people told me that I looked “sick”, it made me happy because I felt like I was doing something right.
Food is an addiction, worse than any other because while if you are an alcoholic or a drug addict you can choose not to partake. You can quit drugs and you can quit alcohol. It’s f*cking hard but you can do it. You can’t quit food. Well, you can, but you will die. I know, I’ve tried and was pretty successful and unfortunately, being too thin because you are obsessed with your weight and food intake is just as terrible as being too fat because you are eating too much. Being too skinny is just as unhealthy as being too fat. I know because I’ve been both.
My food issues started around the time I turned 7, at least that’s when the photos show that I gained weight. I wasn’t overweight at all but I wasn’t rail thin anymore. I’d love to be able to tell you what triggered it but I can’t because, honestly, I can’t remember most of what happened the years of my life between the summer I turned 7 and sophomore year in high school. It’s all a blur. I just remember wanting to fade into the background.
My dad was an abusive alcoholic who was always angry and my mom shut down to survive. I felt abandoned and the only attention I got was unwanted so I wanted to be invisible and somewhere along the way, I did that because everyone knows the quickest way to not be seen is to become overweight so I hid there, unnoticed. People stare at beautiful things but no one wants to make eye contact with the ugly of the world.
Being fat was my way to disappear.
I’m realizing that somewhere in that haze is the answer to the question of why I have always battled my own self-image and why I have such a problem accepting the skin I live in. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been at war with my body, my health. Always beating it into submission or ignoring it all together. When I write it down, it looks like a metaphor for my childhood. Maybe that’s the entire issue.
But how do I stop? How do I learn to love my body, myself, unconditionally when I never felt that as a child? It always felt conditional. I feel like by having my own daughters and loving them so fiercely and unconditionally, I’m slowly learning that everyone deserves that kind of love and acceptance…even me.
Even if you haven’t experienced being fat, how do you learn to love something that you’ve spent your entire life wishing you could change?
02172015
2017/04/19
How to Survive the “Science Fair”
Have you survived your first science fair as a parent yet?
This may sound like a helpful post but really, be forewarned, there is no actual help here to be had, only tears, yelling and frustration. No, this my fellow weary, exhausted parents is a piece of commiseration because all one can really hope for is to survive ~~war~~ the science fair.
I haven’t participated in a science fair since my own over 20 years ago, scratch that, I’ve been out of high school for almost 25 years so it’s been a.very.long.time.ago. Absurdly, I remembered it fondly as I did the spelling bee and all the academic special occasions that I seemed to flourish in during my youth. Well, either I’ve gotten dumber, the work has gotten harder or life is just so much easier when your parents are the ones worrying and you are the one just doing it. Ahhh, to be a kid again.
Anyways, this year is my oldest daughter’s first “mandatory” science fair and like all firsts it was a complete bumbled “learning process”. That’s mom code for a complete muck up. I’ve been urging her to sign up since she was in 2nd grade but she didn’t want to. Now, I understand why. It’s hard. Aside from trying to find a suitable, age appropriate experiment that appears that your child could have actually did it on their own, and the implementing of science and then design elements, it’s nearly a full-time job for me my kid!
I’m not going to lie to you. I helped. A LOT! Our girl saw an episode of Myth Busters wherein the hosts mixed Mentos and Diet Coke and she decided that she wanted to do the same. We’re big fans of Myth Busters and she’s apparently a big fan of making things go boom. This worries me a bit. Anyways, we decided to do our own Mentos Explosion experiment and it was AWESOME.
I figured it would be easy. Mentos and Coke, very cost effective. Only I hadn’t wagered into the cost, a geyser tube, 6 bottles of Diet Coke, as many packs of Mentos, science fair board, border trim, printed photos, aggravation with graphs and hot glue gun burns. And I never anticipated the human error tears (hers) when the Coke fell sideways or the Mentos didn’t drop. Oh we paid. We all paid and I’m not just referring to the $40 at the damn art store.
You know the saying it takes a village to raise a child? Well, it’s not bullshit because it takes an entire family to do one science fair project. One to hold the GoPro and take video, one to shoot photos on the DSLR, one to set the experiment up and the child doing the science project to actually perform the experiment.
You think the science fair is going to be your 3rd grader filling balloons with vinegar fumes or conducting electricity via potatoes. You , ma’am would be wrong! You think you are an innocent bystander but I’m here to tell you that the science fair is an equal opportunity destroyer and you will be collateral damage.
So next time, don’t wonder why your 2nd grader didn’t volunteer to enter the science fair, just stay quiet and be glad that you have two years left to enjoy your sanity and that beautiful burn free body you have now because in a couple years, it’s be all burnt eyebrows, singed arm hair and tears. Lots and lots of tears and nobody needs to see their parents cry that much!
What’s your “fondest” science fair project memory?
2015/02/24
I Shaved my 7-Year-old
Last fall, I received a personal laser hair removal system because I’d already shaved myself silly for the past 30 years and waxing hurts my feelings. My 7-year-old saw it and asked what it was. I told her. Then, she mentioned the hair on her arms. She said if the laser hair removal treatment worked, she wanted me to use it on her. I took notice but didn’t want to make a “thing” of it. It felt like a little punch to my gut that this was a concern of my 2^nd grader. It broke my heart a little.
For those asking, opulentlasers.co.uk has the permanent laser hair removal at home which you can check out now.
I’ve always believed that when my daughters came to me about hairy legs, out of control eyebrows or the inevitable extra lip hair (because God knows I am living proof of maintenance) that I would help them. It wouldn’t be an issue, until they came to me if it bothered them. As long as they love the skin they are in, that’s all that matters to me.
I remember being in middle school myself and having hairy legs and my dad forbidding me to shave my legs. I had to wear ugly tube socks to hide the Sasquatch I was evolving into. It was humiliating. Eventually, embarrassment and humiliation got the best of me, I butchered shaved my legs and nearly took my ankle off with it. I never wanted my girls to have to sneak and shave their legs, tweeze their eyebrows or, heaven forbid, wax their mustache. Mostly, I never wanted them to feel that awkward humiliation or be stumped when someone else pointed out what they already knew.
So, when my 7-year-old came to me for a second time last night and asked me if I could laser her tiny little arms, I looked her straight in the face and asked her, “Why do you want me to take the hair off of your arms?” And she answered, “Because it bothers me, Mommy.” I made the decision to stick by my guns and I agreed to shave her arms.
You see when she originally asked about it, I consulted my aesthetician and she recommended shaving her arms. When my daughter came to me, very seriously, after several months and still wanted the hair gone. I had to do what was best for her.
I took her to my bathroom. I explained that hair is natural and we all have it. Some of us have more than others but that if this were what SHE wanted, I would shave her arms. She was sure.
I washed her arms. Lathered them with shaving cream and almost surreally,
I shaved her tiny arms from her elbow to her wrist.
When we were done, she hugged me and said, “Oh, Mommy! They are so smooth. Now, I don’t have to wear my fleece every day in class to cover my arms!”
She was ecstatic. She ran downstairs to show her dad and her sister. And then I died a little bit inside, as I held back the tears because I realized that she hadn’t given me the entire story.
I followed her downstairs, pulled her aside and asked, “Baby, why do you wear your fleece every day in class?”
Then she said something I never wanted to hear, “ Well, *Sophie asked my why my arms were so hairy. Then she told me they were weird. Then she laughed.”
I can tell you that as a mom, I wanted to punch this other 7-year-old in the face because she has put it in my daughter’s head that her arms are weird because they have hair on them. That will never go away. She’s never going to forget that moment that someone laughed and called her “weird” because of her body. That infuriates me.
I know some of you reading this are thinking why on the earth would you shave your 7-year-old’s arms? I realize that it sounds vain and cosmetic and no I don’t want to encourage my girls to believe that they need to change to meet society’s expectations of beauty. This wasn’t about that. This was me helping my daughter feel better about herself because it bothered her just like I would take her to a dermatologist if she had acne or get her braces if her teeth were crooked.
I shaved my daughter because that’s what she needed to feel happy in her skin.
I’m thrilled my daughter feels more confident without the hair on her arms but I’m hoping, since I didn’t have the entire story, that I didn’t send the wrong message. I don’t want her to think she has to conform to other people’s concept of beauty because I think she’s perfect already.
What would you have done in this situation?
Would you have shaved your 7-year-old if you could see it truly bothered her?
2015/03/09
Letter to Parents of Autistic Teen, Max Begley: “You have a Retarded Kid, deal with it!” Not a Hate Crime

WTF is wrong with people? I have seen some pretty crazy shit in my lifetime but nothing compares to the disturbing letter written by an anonymous Newcastle, Ontario neighbor calling herself, “One Pissed Off Mother” urging the parents of a 13-year-old autistic teen, Max Begley, to “…take whatever non-retarded body parts he possesses and donate it to science…” Going so far as to write the words,
Do the right thing and move or euthanize him!!!
If you read the above letter and your jaw did not hit the ground, I’m not sure that we can be friends. When I read this letter for the first time, first I was in shock, then my heart was broken that someone would say something like this about another human being, never mind a special needs child and lastly, I was pissed off and that is where I am this morning.Hey, anonymous asshole, you are not the only pissed off mother today. I’m pissed off too. Pissed off that animals like you are not kept in cages. Let’s be clear, Max Begley has a disability that he was born with. He has no control over it. YOU.CHOSE.TO.BE.AN.ASSHOLE!!!!!!
The even crazier part is that police won’t be able to pursue hate crime charges for the anonymous letter.
“Despite the hateful language used … the content of the letter falls below the threshold for a hate crime,” police said in a statement Tuesday.

Police are asking anyone with information regarding the case should call Crime Stoppers at 1-800-222-8477 (TIPS and they are still moving ahead with a criminal investigation. This cannot be swept under the rug. These actions were too heinous and reprehensible.
If that is not dripping with hatred, I don’t know what is. This letter is the epitome of hatred.The one good thing to come out of this whole awful ordeal is that the community is rallying around Max and supporting his family. Tolerance and kindness are filling the space where hatred once was.
We all have bad days. Maybe this one pissed off cretin was having a bad day. Maybe her “normal” kids were being monsters and she was trying to get everything around for back-to-school, maybe her husband’s a drunk who beats her, maybe her daddy didn’t love her, maybe she can’t find a job, maybe she’s not slept in 9 years and she’s about to lose her house and maybe she took all her frustration with the world and her life and put it into this letter, viciously attacking and wishing death on a child. Maybe she needs mental help? Even taking all of these conditions into consideration, that is NO excuse to call a child names and tell his parents to do the world a favor and euthanize their son.
As a mother, I am appalled that any other mother would not only lack the compassion it takes to write such a disgusting letter but be so callous in her disregard for this child’s life and for the struggles of his parents. Let me be clear, this “one pissed off mother” is a C You Next Thursday in the worst way and I kinda hope her identity is revealed and the neighbors ostracize her ass right out of the neighborhood. This woman should have her children taken away and her uterus removed because she does not deserve to have children, be around children or humans; big or small.

I am still in shock that any “mother” would ever think such things, never mind, write them down and send them to someone.Why would she think that these parents of Max Begley should take their child and move to a trailer in the woods? Just because he was born with a disability, does that make him less deserving of medical attention and love and life? He has done nothing to deserve this hatred from her other than being vocal in his neighborhood.
This is everything that is wrong with this world. So called “normal” people wanting to lock those of us who are different away in a tower, an institution, a trailer in the woods or a deserted island hidden from the world like some kind of monsters. Just because you don’t see us doesn’t mean that we don’t exist. Just because you ignore us doesn’t mean that we don’t feel and your cruelty cuts deep. You, one pissed of mother, you are the monster!
Anyone who can write the below line has their own set of problems beyond a autistic teen being a vocal “nuisance.”
I HATE people like you who believe, just because you have a special needs kid, you are entitled to special treatment!!!
They do not want special treatment. That is the entire point. They want to be treated like any other family. They want to live in a neighborhood and be a family. It is monsters like one pissed off mother who make this impossible by being cruel, unkind and lacking of human compassion and understanding.
What do you think of this One Pissed Off Mother? What would you do if you were Max Begley’s parents?
2013/08/20
The Blogger Crisis
I’m Debi and I’m an old school blogger. I started blogging 6 years ago ( well, it will be on May 7th). I’ve seen blogging change a lot.
I’ve noticed a definite trend in blogging lately.I’m seeing blogger “midlife” (of the blog) crisis happening almost daily. Everything that is old is new again. Or at least this is what I’ve seen happening; quit blogging, start a new blog and then make a come back….when you never really left. I’m kind of missing the days of self contrived press releases about being lost in the dessert and rescued by your childhood boy scout leader.
I guess “quitting blogging” is a euphemism for “2 week hiatus” and “new blog” is what’s “on trend” these days. I’m not making light of the desire to quit blogging or feeling like you have stayed past your expiration date, the struggle is real, y’all. And of course it’s easier to start a shiny new blog than to try to restore the old one. That’s expensive and a lot of work.
Hell, I understand wanting a do over. Man, I started my blog way back before I knew bupkis about SEO. When I started blogging, I had one objective and that was to write. I wanted to share my stories with other moms so they knew they weren’t alone in this craziness that is motherhood (because, it is CRAZYTown all the way.)
Then I made friends and built a community because I loved what I was doing. I was making connections by being me. Sure my photos were not professional caliber and I didn’t know shit about what sizes to use and this was way before Instagram, Vine or Pinterest existed.
It was me blogging alone at night after the babies went to sleep and in between constant wakings. Co-sleeping was simultaneously awesome and killing me( especially the random head-butts it the middle of the night). I didn’t sleep a lot in those days but I craved the human interaction that blogging brought into my solitude life of new motherhood. You guys kept me company for two entire years while my husband lived out of state for work. You ladies (and gentlemen) saved my sanity and probably my life. YOU made it all tolerable and I survived.
Back then, I used Twitter like a phone and those 140 characters were my battle cry to whoever would listen. It was my mom 911. I made so many amazing connections; personal and business. There were no concerns of tweeting out links. Hell, I never even considered it. That was absolutely shitting where you ate. I would never text my IRL friends my links 3x plus a day and I would certainly never talk over their tweets or hijack their hashtags for my own benefit. In my defense, I’m not an asshole nor did I know what the heck a hashtag was.
Facebook was for sharing my posts, if I remembered but mostly it was for connecting to my readers. It wasn’t me virtually shouting ,”Look at me! Read what I wrote! Validate me!” It was, “Hey, so-and-so did the baby sleep through the night? How is the potty training going? Hey, you, if you need me, I’m here!” It was fun. It meant something. It was something I looked forward to. It was definitely not bugging strangers to play Farm games, JAMBERRY and poking people. HOW RUDE! I took social media and applied all the rules of real life to it and it was a beautiful thing. It worked.
People commented. We had conversations. I commented. I cared. You cared. We were invested.I craved to know their stories; their real stories. They felt safe enough to say something more than, “True.” I devoured the struggles and the triumphs. When I commented, I felt that it meant something to the person on the receiving end other than just traffic. It felt like community and friendship.
Then money came into it. Money is good and getting paid to do what you love is probably the best job that you can get. For a long time, I was naïve. I still didn’t notice traffic like I should. Hell, I didn’t even know how to check my traffic until Jessica told me to put Statcounter on my site. I had Google Analytics but I had no idea how to use it.
Then more money came and more jobs! Oh the writing jobs. I couldn’t turn any down. I just couldn’t believe someone would pay me to do this. I got to stay home with my girls, write about it and get paid. What??????
More jobs came. Then traffic goals became a thing. My free time was no longer free and soon, I felt like in order to be a good blogger I was becoming a shitty mom and that brought guilt. I decided I couldn’t live with myself in that state. My priority is to be the best mom I can be to my girls and wife to my husband but I want to be fulfilled personally too and it shouldn’t all have to be exclusive. I want to be happy.
By this point, I depend on my money. More money, more problems and all that shite. I found myself having less and less time for conversations and engagement. I started scheduling social and realizing that all of those amazing women that had gotten me through the lean years began to fall through the cracks. I still craved the conversations, the connections; the friendship. I missed every single one of you.
Then I became one of those assholes who checked her numbers constantly. I tweeted links a lot. I shared links on Facebook, Instagram and Google+. I pinned my posts and shared to Tumbler and even Linkedin on occasion. To be fair, I’ve always shared other people’s stuff too but I just didn’t get to read and comment like I wanted to. I shared it so that I could come back to it. My intentions were good.
I was writing everywhere and I began to feel like the Truthful Mommy train was over saturating the market. I’m sure you all got sick of me and I know that you knew that you could find me anywhere so why bother coming to read me on my actual website. It was too much.
I lost touch with many of you because I had so many deadlines and not enough hours in the day. It wasn’t fun anymore, it was a job. I was working really hard to build something but I’m not quite sure what it was that I was trying to build. I lost myself in the middle of my journey.
I’m not quitting my blog to reinvent myself. I’m addicted. I’ve been doing some face-lifting. Last fall, I changed the website. It’s not The TRUTH about Motherhood anymore…it is now simply just The TRUTH (because it’s not been just about motherhood for a very long time) I’ve learned that I need to organize so that I can actually spend quality time really engaging again. I’ve realized there is no shame in admitting that my blog needs some work done under the hood. I also know that some things are worth the price, this is one of them.
I’m going to pass on the Blogger Midlife crisis. I like my husband a lot, I need to give my girls more of my time this summer and I want to keep focusing on my health journey. I want to get back to writing because I love it. I want to have conversations with you. I want to surround myself with my tribe and I want us to grow together. I want my posts to be to the point where sometimes you’ll read 1355 word post and not mind because it meant something. I want us all to get lost in our stories. Who’s with me?
Disclosure: SEO was not considered once while writing this post. This post will never go viral because people don’t share like they used to. I don’t care because I enjoyed “talking” to you this morning. Let’s do it again soon.

2015/04/28
Throat Punch Thursday~ The No Privacy for a Pregnant Princess Kate Edition
Princess Kate is expecting!
I know that news is so Monday but I have had a crazy week. You may be asking yourself, why does Debi care so much about whether or not Princess Kate is pregnant? I care because Princess Kate is something that my own two princesses and I share. What I mean is, we watched the royal wedding together. Yes, I am that mother. I woke my 5-year-old up at 4:30 am on the morning of the royal wedding. I let her sister sleep in. She was only 3, what am I a monster?
I kept her home from school and we wore tiaras and ate a fancy breakfast while drinking English tea and cheered as Kate Middleton married her prince and became Princess Kate. We love her in this house and we love a good romance, especially of grand fairytale types. We don’t see too many of those these days. It was magical and I will remember it always, just like I remember watching Princess Di marry Prince Charles with my own mother.
We are over the moon excited for Princess Kate and Prince William. Not so excited for the hyperemesis gravidarum because I have so been there. 5 almost 6 months of non stop vomiting with my second child has left me with a large sympathy for any mother -to-be who has to go through that. But as I am bombarded with Princess Kate in the news, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.
Princess Kate looking ever graceful as Prince William looks concerned
I remember that time between finding out I was pregnant and telling my husband and the time we announced it formally. That time is sacred and special and reserved for the parents. It’s that time when you get to walk around the world knowing and keeping the worlds happiest secret. It is magical.
We women wait to announce our pregnancies for many reasons, the number one reason being that if something were to go wrong with the pregnancy, we don’t want to have to see all of those sad, disappointed faces pitying us. It’s true. We’ve all been there. So, I think it is crap that poor Princess Kate and Prince William had their first pregnancy force outed because of the media. I mean, my God, she can’t sneeze without a thousand photos being taken of it so there was no way that she could quietly and peacefully slip into hospital for a few days of recuperation without the rumor mill working over time churning out tall tales of alien babies and plastic surgery. They had to reveal the pregnancy. The public has stole their special time, the biggest and best secret they will ever share as a couple.
My throat punch goes to the media for outing Princess Kate and Prince William’s pregnancy and to that nasty case of hyperemesis gravidarum because it truly is a bitch to suffer. As for whether or not she is having twins? Who knows. I just wish the Princess and Prince a healthy baby, an uneventful pregnancy and the privacy to enjoy this time together without the scrutiny of the press.
I know you are excited people but everyone deserves to have that special time to enjoy their pregnancy. I know I wouldn’t have wanted people all up in my business the first trimester of my pregnancies; I felt horrible, I looked run over by a truck and I was still trying to process the miracle that was about to change my life forever.
Don’t you agree that Princess Kate deserves to enjoy her first pregnancy without the watchful eye of the press?

Photo
2012/12/06
Getting to Know you Sunday!
Questions are:
1.If you had 5000.00 to spend on plastic surgery what would you have done?
Well, I would definitely have the “girls” placed back to their original location because we all know the bigger they are, the harder they fall! I’d probably also have those girls evened out. If I had any money left over, which I probably wouldn’t, maybe some ass implants since I definitely have a case of the Mexican flat bootie disease. If there was more, tummy tuck, botox, and maybe some collagen for the lips. Just saying, off the top of my head:)
2. Do you watch Soap operas and if so what is your favorite and why?
No soap operas since high school, but I am definitely a follower of TRUE BLOOD. Why you ask? Because, Vampires are apparently hot.. I think its the whole glamouring/ sucking on your neck thing plus they never age and they are apparently SMOKIN HOT!
3. Favorite clothing brand?
As long as its cute, I don’t care. But I do love Burberry, Louboutin, Diane Von Furstenberg, Anthropologie, and Juicy..to name a few!
4. An afternoon shopping spree at your favorite store or maid service for a year?
Actually, how about a spa day! That’s what I rally need!
5. Would you ever vajazzle?
Sure, why not… I try everything at least twice!
6. Favorite Disney Princess?
I love Tiana from the Princess and the frog because she was very “real” but I also love Belle from Beauty and the Beast because she reminds me of my girls, Izabella and Gabriella!
7. Last movie that made you bawl your eyes out?
Lots make me cry, most recent… Mamma Mia. I know you are saying… what? Well, when the “Slipping through my fingers” song came on, my then 4 year old looked up and me and said.” Mommy… this is mine and your song!” Now, every time I hear it I cry!
8. Have you ever broken any bones and if so what?
Yes, arm.. roller dome skating accident when I was 11. Tripped over my little sister who I was skating with. It really hurt but at least I didn’t hurt my little sister!
2010/06/27
I’m Starting a Revolution
There was no revolution. I turned 40 a couple of days ago, you may have heard. Oddly enough, it passed quietly with dignity and grace. There was no bucking and raging against the night like there was for my 30th or even my 38th. I did not feel overwhelmed with failure or the need to fight my evolution tooth and nail. I was enveloped in peace and all consuming contentment. Sounds strange, right? I’ve never felt this way before, except for the first few minutes immediately after my children were born and on the day I got married. I’m assuming it’s the calm before the storm of life changing events.
I am Resolving to incite a revolution
I am way past the point of making resolutions. After all, what the hell is a resolution anyways, nothing more than an empty promise, a flimsy threat at the most. Nope this year, I am declaring war. I’m inciting a revolution.I am resigning myself to a little shock and awe!
No MORE Cheating! You heard me. I don’t mean that I’m cheating on the Big Guy, never! I mean cheating on diets, cheating myself out of life, cheating myself short on opportunities, cheating my girls out of my complete attention and devotion.
Embracing Exhaustion! Oh yeah, I am about to make it my mission to exhaust every single iota of potential that these bones have in them. No more sitting on the sidelines letting life happen to me or waiting for things to be done for me, this broad is grabbing life by the balls and making him my bitch. I am going to work this potential so hard, its not going to know which way is up. As the old cheer goes, “Be aggressive..B*EE* EE Agressive!” I’m about to be the change I want to see in my world!
Organization, Organization, Location! I am a planner, a scheduler, a write it down on paper and DOER! Life seems to have gotten out of control.I don’t mean a little bit off kilter, I mean it has spun right the hell off its axis.Well, NO MORE! Hey, life! Guess what? I AM IN CHARGE..NOT YOU! So, I’m putting pen to paper ( yes, I’m old school like that sometimes) and I’m making a schedule. I’m waking up earlier, getting more sleep, not rushing through life because I’ve planned accordingly, and ( because I am still a bit reckless) I’m even allowing copious amounts of free time for spontaneity. I may even take a day or two off of social media and just put my feet up and take it all in.
Love Hard, Love often! I am making sure that the Big Guy and our girls know how very much I love them and how important they are to me. I’m not referring to telling them, speaking the words. I do this already, several times a day. In fact, I’ve told the girls ( constantly) since birth “Guess what? I have a secret.Want to know what it is?” They used to get all excited, their eyes like saucers and ask”Yes, Mommy. What is it?” My answer, I’d bend down and whisper in their tiny ear ,” I Love you more than anything.” Now, they just give me a sheepish smile and say, “What is it Mommy? Tell me!” But more than saying the words, I want to show them with my thoughts and actions.I want to be present in every moment with these family and friends that I have been blessed to be surrounded by in my life. I want them to know in their heart that when I say “I love you” it means..forever, for always, for good, for bad, for ups, for downs, for skinny, for fat, for Always. When they speak, I want them to know I am listening and that what they say matters to me. No more decorum.I am loving on my littles, the Big Guy, my family and friends with an embarrassing amount of exuberance. I want them to feel it to their core.
Revolution: A Commitment to Change
Prioritize, Perspective, and Present. The only way to get it all done, in conjunction with my handy schedule, I have to prioritize what’s really important to me and my family. This depends on my perspective. I am choosing to utilize my own perspective finally. I am not considering all the outside factors, aside from my girls. I’m also willfully choosing to see life as ALWAYS half full and at my disposal because, in reality, it is. My only limitations have been those I’ve set upon myself. No more! Last but not least, I’m living in the moment. I’m embracing every stinking moment as it happens. I’m not planning for next year, next week, tomorrow…I’m living in the now..RIGHT NOW,with my girls and the Big Guy. I want to enjoy the small things of my life as they happen, not in 20 years in retrospect as a memory. I want to feel the full effect of my life.
Forgiveness I am forgiving myself for not being perfect. I am not the perfect wife. I am not the perfect Mom. I am not the perfect friend or daughter.I don’t have the perfect body. I don’t have the perfect house. My temper leaves something to be desired. I over extend myself. I expect too much from myself and others. I fall short, in a lot of ways. But that doesn’t mean that my efforts do not have merit. I am hitting reset for everyone I know. I’m passing out forgiveness like Kool-aid at a Jonestown party. No more Mommy guilt, no more fatty McFatty guilt, no more I’m not the perfect wife.My house is disheveled. My kids aren’t perfect.No more, I wish I was Bree Van De Kamp bullshit. From this moment forward, I am going to try my best at every endeavor that I choose to undertake with my priority being excelling at being a good example of a the kind of woman I want my daughters to see me as. I will never be perfect, and that is perfectly acceptable, as long as I am living my life as the best me.
Incite a Revolution. I’m initiating a change in my way of life. I am actively taking steps to become the person that I want to be.That woman who lives inside of me and has been too afraid for a long time to take a gamble.The woman who, even though I hate to admit this, I have realized has been so afraid of failure that I have let it stave off success. No More! No more excuses. I’m not afraid of failure anymore.If I fall, I will just pick myself up and try, try again!But today, I am inciting a revolution between the version of myself that I’ve let myself get comfortable with and the woman I know I can be. I’m starting by setting fire to excuses and self doubt and I’m marching forward with self confidence.
How do you treat yourself well? Do you treat your body well? Your soul? Your mind? You are worth the revolution.
The Revolution Starts Today

**I am hosting a Twitter party this Sunday night September 30th for #Previlean at 9 pm EST/ 6 PST. I hope you can make it. Just follow @TruthfulMommy @PreviMedica and @JessicaGottlieb to join in the conversation. Please leave your Twitter handle in the comments so that we can follow you back! I’d love to find out what you do to treat yourself right? How will you start your revolution?

****Part of this post was originally posted here.

2012/09/28
To A Night we’ll never forget
I’m sure you all are on pins and needles wondering just how my birthday celebration went, so I’m going to tell you..the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the TRUTH!
The day started off in a bit of a hectic haze. We were trying to get the house in some kind of order before the grandparents showed up for babysitting duty. God Bless ’em! Without these two beautiful souls, the birthday celebration would not have been even remotely possible.
After frantic running around like chickens with our heads chopped off, finally we were dressed, packed and ready to hit the road.Bella decided that at the point that I was walking out the door would be a fabulous time to cue the tears. Nothing like a raging case of Mommy guilt to start the journey off with. I was determined. I had tickets to the 3 pm production of Romeo and Juliet ( I will elaborate on that in an upcoming post) and I had to go. So, I gave the girls one last hug and kiss and left them for the first time ever overnight.
It was a long night, so I will just post a quick synopsis of the entire night. After the show, we hit the hotel for a quick change into our night in the city outfits. Mine consisted of a black and white dress, 5 inch heels and an application of my nighttime makeup.It really is a miracle what a difference a little bit of time and effort can make in your appearance and your self confidence.
This is me and my little sister sometime after dinner and a couple cocktails.

We had dinner at the fabulous Japonaise downtown. Where we all consumed obscene amounts of sushi, martinis, wine and saki. There was never a lull in the conversation. I was so content sitting in the corner surrounded by some of the people I love the most in the world, my sister and brother in law, my brother in law and his beautiful girlfriend, and my best friend/sister and her amazing husband and last but certainly not least, the love of my life, the Big Guy! As you can see from the picture above, I could not stop smiling all night long. I didn’t even care that I was turning 30 ( for the 8th time). I was in the moment and drinking it all in.
Dinner was followed by dancing at a Latin themed bar. By this time, we are all feeling pretty good. So good, in fact, that my feet were not even bothering me from wearing the 5 inch hooker heels for 5 hours at that point which I found to be a bit peculiar. I went with it. It felt amazing for 1 night to be looked at like I was a woman having a birthday, not a Mommy taxing children to and fro. Of course, you can take the Mommy out of the house but you can’t take the Mommy out of the woman. This became painfully aware while the girls and I were shaking our asses on the dance floor. There were 2 girls, probably about 21, dancing behind me and they kept bumping into me. At first, I ignored it. Then I couldn’t take it anymore. And what was my reaction? Imagine if you will, me 5’7″ ( without heels on) wearing those 5 inch hooker heels..towering above these girls at a whopping 6 foot tall. They were maybe 5’1″. I swiftly turn around, after being knocked almost off my feet for the 10th time..I bend down, pointing my finger and said, “Hey! You girls have got to stop this. You are going to knock someone down!” They said ,”OK, we’re sorry.” They looked completely shocked and that’s when I realized…I just scolded them on the dance floor. You know, like I would do a 3 and 5 year old. They stopped bumping into me, but they were giggling..probably because they thought I was crazy! Funny how if I would have been their age, I would have turned around and said “Look Bitch, stop bumping into me or I’m going to beat your ass!” Funny how being a mother changes you in the most unexpected ways. That and the fact that I’m pretty sure I would have fallen and killed myself had I gotten into a tussle in those shoes:)LOL
The night started to wind down, by this point the top of my foot had been hyper-extended due to an inordinate amount of time in the hooker heels ( which I absolutely adore by the way and will wear at any chance possible) but obviously my foot was remembering that I was not 21 anymore. We were down to 4 troopers left. I was savoring every single moment of this night. Then it happened, you know that moment when you lose all of your good senses and you do that one last stupid thing. Well, I decided to cap off the evening, we all needed two last shots; 1 of tequila and a lemon drop. Talk about buyers remorse! So, we toast to my birthday and we head to the dance floor. Almost immediately, I realized the shots may have been too much. I felt discombobulated, people were moving in slow motion. Then the next thing I remember was standing in the rain, barefooted waiting as my brother in law tried desperately to hail a cab at around 2 in the morning.Flash forward, I remember hugging on to the toilet for dear life. Yes, very mature behavior for someone of my age. Right? The next thing I can logically recollect was waking up, feeling like I had eaten a bowl of cotton, and had a splitting headache.
I decided that I needed to try and get mobile as we had a drive home and checkout was noon. I sucked it up and headed for a shower, after making a pit stop at my best friend the toilet and puking up what can only be classified as pea green bile, I finally got in the shower to wash away the sins of the previous night. I was feeling a little better..refreshed. Then it happened, as I was brushing my teeth…I noticed something looked out of place. Remember in the Hangover when they wake up the next morning and the one guy is missing his tooth? Well, I wasn’t missing a tooth! But I do have a mysterious black eye! After much piecing together of the last hours of the night,the Big Guy and I came to the conclusion that while I was hugging the toilet, I must have began to doze and slipped and hit my head on the toilet rim. Classy, right? Probably explains some of the headache, as well.Thank God its just on the outside rim of my eye, so it looks like I have eye make up on.Imagine trying to explain that one at kindergarten pick up at the catholic school. There you have it, the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the unabridged absolutely embarrassing truth. But what a night it was…to a night we’ll never forget! Or is it remember?
Stu: “Why can’t we remember a godd*** thing from last night?”
Phil: “Because we obviously had a great f***ing time.”
2010/09/28
The Seven Stages of Second Baby Syndrome
I know many of us have picky eaters. My 3 year old would be perfectly happy to exist on nothing more than chicken nuggets for the rest of her life. Most days I fight with her, barter with her, do anything I need to do ( Dance monkey dance) to get her to eat something different..but some days….I don’t. I know. I am horrible. My kid’s going to turn into a giant chicken nugget. But the nuggets, or Nuggies as they are affectionately called in my house, are just a symptom of a much larger problem…Second Baby Syndrome.
Ahhh, I feel a weight has been lifted just by simply saying the words aloud.Many, if not all of you, know exactly this syndrome of which I speak. I’m not proud to admit this but it is the truth. With Bella, everything was perfect. What I mean to say is that I did my best to do everything right! She was always dressed adorably, not a hair out of place, all meals were up to food pyramid standards, just the right amount of sleep to play ratio. I read to her, I sang to her, I engaged her, TV time was limited, classes were taken, play dates were made and minds were expanded.I used to turn my nose up to those Moms that I saw in the grocery store, who looked like they had no mirrors in their house and so obviously should not have been parents..as they were yelling at a 3 year old at the top of their lungs because the poor kid wanted granola bars. Then we were blessed with Gabs.
One child is ONE CHILD but two children feels more like ten! I naively thought that having two would be as easy as one. ( What I meant to say as easy as my one was.)What did I know? Suddenly, my days went from doting, anticipating every need, hitting every milestone in stride and ending the day patting myself on the back for a job well done to feeling like I couldn’t can’t keep up. It all became a blur. A fog filled with love and clamor.Noise.Chaos.More love. It enveloped me.I fell into it willingly.But somewhere along the way, I got lost. I lost sight of all my expectations. I think I evolved (or perhaps devolved ) in my parenting skills, however you want to look at it.Somehow I became , what I now know to be, the exhausted, sleep deprived Mom whose husband travels for work all the time and who has not had a shower or shaved her legs for 3 days. And after a testing morning trying to get her older child off to school, she NOW is standing in the middle of the grocery with her 3 year old tantruming over the exact same granola bars that Mommy had to throw away this morning because said child had spat it out all over the new carpet because…it tasted “bad”. All I know is that it was not humanly possible for me to keep up at the pace I had been doing with one child. There had to be a give and take.
It’s a hard moment in motherhood when one has to accept this fact.It feels like defeat but really what it is IS growing pains.It’s you growing into your role of motherhood. I am certain I experienced the 7 stages of grief when letting go of my expectations of motherhood. First there was shock and denial. What? Both kids won’t nap at the same time?I can handle this.I don’t need sleep! 2nd stage, Pain and guilt. I can’t take this any more.Mommy needs some time to decompress too.Please go to sleep. Oh, no don’t cry. It’s OK. Say awake.I’m such a crappy Mommy trying to force my toddler to go to bed, just so I can have some alone time. I suck! 3rd stage, anger and bargaining. GO TO SLEEP!!! Just be quiet and go to sleep. Please go to sleep! If you go to sleep, I will take you to Chuck E. Cheese tomorrow. 4th stage, depression, reflection and loneliness. Crying because you feel overwhelmed. During this time, you finally realize the magnitude of your loss and it depresses you.You can’t be the parent that you had expected to be..because it’s impossible. You may feel isolated, left to reflect alone on your lost expectations and focus on what you thought things could have been.( Cue the montage of you and your pre baby body running in a field of lilies with your perfectly coiffed matching dressed little girls.) You may sense feelings of emptiness, failure or despair.5th stage, the upward turn. You begin to adjust to your new role with new expectations.Life will become calmer and more organized. What that really means is that your house will be dirtier, the meals will be less food pyramid organic and more chicken nuggets for the finicky pallet of the most distinguished toddler connoisseur. Mommy guilt will begin to lift. Stage 6, reconstruction and working through.As you become more functional, your mind starts working again ( mommy brain may have lifted a bit but, let’s be honest, probably not.It’s a slippery slope from pregnancy brain to Mommy brain to full on forget where you put your vajayjay this morning.. sun downers.I’m just saying). You will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by motherhood. For example, the 5 second rule becomes perfectly acceptable.God made dirt and dirt don’t hurt, may be heard around the house.Summer afternoons in the pool may begin to qualify as bath time. And finally, you will reach stage 7, acceptance and hope.You learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. This in no way means instant happiness. There’s no magic pill for motherhood. Once you give in to the reality that parenting two babies is exponentially harder than one, you can adjust your attitude, your expectations and your technique. You can have hope that one day, you will sleep again.Someday…maybe when they are married and sleeping safely in their bed with their husbands. (Sucker, She’s your problem now!)
And so as I sit here, stuffing more random pieces of paper with notes scribbled on them into Gabs’ baby book, I am reminded of the quote ” Don’t be sad that it’s over, be happy that it happened!”~Seuss Be glad that you cared enough to have the expectations and to impose them on yourself in the first place. Then, go feed that kid some chicken nuggets before they throw a tantrum in the middle of the store:)
2011/02/16