Friday, April 12, 2013
(Beds I make at work)
It's hour #2 and I'm counting shadows on the wall. The sleep aid that the pharmacist seemed all paranoid about I am convinced a placebo. It sure wasn't a skittle or a tic tac! Then, from the quiet dark, I hear a sigh from my hubby's side of the bed and I can't help but grin. His next move is his cocoon manuever. He begins a steam roller move to edge of the bed and the blankets follow their leader, but, not without me giving them a little tug-o-war yank. I hear him groan and I know that just because I can make the sheet sharing fair again, I can't impose my insomnia on him. There are still enough sheets on my side.
Together we have ridden our marriage of 100 pounds! That is the size of a 4ft 7 person!
We have trouble sharing blankets with the two of us in our healthy range, adding that 'third wheel' (the equivalent of weight we lost together is the 'third person' to the mix) was cause for many nights of poor sleep on so many levels.
I was so infuriated with waking up in Canadian winters without blankets. That brings 'frigid' in the bedroom to a ridiculous level. I had proposed to do a Desi & Luci with separate twins, but, neither of us wanted that distance. My man finally no longer works nights and I want him within an arms reach at bedtime. I had been making the the bed with two sides; his and hers, to accommodate the 'Third Wheel'.
Tonight, even though I'm battling sleep issues due to stress, health and an epic return of winter that has caused school closures...I'm feeling awfully proud of, 'us'. We have space on our Queen to cuddle, play, and rest. We have eliminated weight that was that third wheel between us. The Third Wheel only brought awkwardness, miscommunication and lethargic intimacy.
His hugs envelope me now. That's a level of awesome indescribable.
Monday, April 08, 2013
Instead of eating one I grabbed my hoop and chucked on some tunes. I'm feeling like quite the country gal after the CMA's (yes, that does mean I'm swapping stilettos for red cowboy boots this summer), hence the variation from my usual Trance Dance stuff.
I'm a visual learner. I am accepting it. I also clued in I am not the only one. I NEED to SEE how healthy people live, eat, play and battle demons. Not reality t.v. drama. Life is too stressful, I don't need to see that scripted or unscripted stuff.
This is how I'm coping with the blah of physical illness (between naps) instead of gluttonfesting my worries.
SparkWorld is not letting me load vids .
So a quick Hoop Tutorial is on Youtube:
I'm in my favourite jammies (again) and this was unplanned (again).
Thursday, March 14, 2013
"I really miss your dancing skills being broadcast, just saying :)
I remember u distinctly saying that its what helped you to lose a lot of weight.
Oh maybe some day I can see Liz dancing again - OOOOO may I suggest a little tom cruise sliding across the floor, maybe with some pink hair :D ..."
ROGUE_RUNNER began them as part of her challenges with the Vlogger Team. I loved watching my SparkFriends groovin' and sharing a quick vlog. It felt like we were chillaxin' together. It came at a time when I had trouble moving, so, a quick 10 minute group thing was perfect...
then that Spark grew into a flame...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
I’m playing ‘Chicken’ with my appetite and it’s only ending up in physical, emotional and mental disaster.
It all started when hubs took over cooking and that boy can cook.
So, to show him my appreciation (and secretly hope he feels so valuable that he’ll take over the cooking until my dying day), I make sure I eat. I do. I eat everything to the power of 3 and that equals weight gain and feeling like crap.
Does he pour it down my throat?
Does he guilt trip me that if I don’t eat in excess I’m rejecting him?
After almost killing him nightly with my flatulence and poltergeist sounding stomach (my guts’ way of sharing its misery). We had to have a talk that did not include my flaming red cheeks begging for forgiveness for my body’s assault on his nose.
“Hunny, I can’t control my portions around your food. It’s going to kill us and my co-workers and anyone within a house radius.”
“It’s not my fault.”
No. No, it’s not. I’d like very much to dump a guilt trip on your shoulders and have you be responsible for my decision to be a glutton, but, at the end of the day; it’s my choice. Even if I thought that being minimal with my appreciation of your food was going to seem more of an insult than an appreciation, I still need to take care of my body. I do love you and I trust that you want me healthy.
I’ll own this weight gain, and stomach rebellion and distorted relationship obligation.
Day 1 Streak of portion control.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
“I’m tough, Captain. I am. I really am.” I insist to my boss (she’s ‘Captain’ since telling me she’s not old enough to be a “Ma’am”), I say it as tears of pain are streaming down my cheeks. Her usual sexy, raspy voice turned almost melodic when she comforted me with, “I know, but, it’s okay to not be tough all the time. Take some time to heal and call me. I can make sure you get your hours and some time to recuperate.”
Then I was driven home to sleep, cry and growl my way through a migraine.
I have my doubts about being allowed to not be tough all the time. I have my doubts with her knowing how not to be tough all the time. I think she’s really a super hero (she broke into my car to retrieve the only set of keys I had for my van – in my van) and this boss gig is a cover.
Also, I HATE being vulnerable. Crying = vulnerable.
That is not ‘okay’. Also, crying at work is a humiliation of epic proportions. I hate crying.
I started today in a cranky mood. My smile was stuffed up where the sun don’t shine and I was here physically but that’s it. My mind was out for a wander and I couldn’t find it. My british buddy (I gotta come up with a nickname for her) she called me on it and together we figured I was a little ‘off’ and then we determined it must be a miscalculated time of the month. We promptly cursed teenage girls that pull our cycle and she slipped me a Midol with instructions to NOT maim Miss. Mean. (A good friend knows when you’re hiding your sunshine a better friend works preventatively).
I’ve been internally begging for that little Chihuahua co-worker of mine to even toe the line with her snarky, mean spirit. I was all prepared to ground pound her superiority complex with a biznotch slap that Miss. Piggy would envy. I was okay with being arrested over it. She’s been spreading rumours, and insults like icing on a cake...she’s convinced she’s doing the world a favour by criticizing my every breath. She’s only successful at sucking the joy out of my day. A jovial, lighthearted room is turned to stone misery when she enters and it’s miserable to be around her.
I was prepared to hurt her today. The thought was the only thing (next to being enveloped in my hubby’s arms) that brought a big smile to my face.
“Revenge is mine saith the Lord.” He meant it. He sent me a migraine to keep my attitude in check. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever thanked Him for pain. I didn’t want to be the person that was brought down to that ugly level and He didn’t let me fall.
“Liz, she’s jealous. You walk into a room and people feel your love for them. They know you genuinely care. You’re refreshing, sweet and cute. You’re something that she chooses to not let me help her be. You share joy, she gives pain. I created you to be a happy Tulip in this Garden called Life. She chooses to be a thorn instead of the beautiful person I designed. Please let me protect you from her sting instead of choosing to be a destructive weed yourself.”
Migraines and Spring Fever make for wonderful analogies.
Life is a garden and you its flower ~ you grow girl!
Which flower are you?
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