I HATE IT when I don’t have all of “my people” at home under one roof!!!! Rowland left a few minutes ago for Costa Rica. I don’t even know where Costa Rica is on the map. I don’t know what it’s like there. All I know is that it’s far away from here, and I can’t picture it in my mind. All I know is that all of “my people” won’t be together again until after school on Friday, and it sucks!

Why is is that I feel like all is well, and everyone is safe as long as we’re together? I don’t think it has anything to do with trusting God more during those times. I think it has to do with trusting Rowland more during those times. Intellectually, I know that God is in control at all times and that if He desires to take any one of us home at any time, He will. We could all be curled up on the couch together, and one of us move on to Heaven while the rest of us remain on the couch. Truth is that fear is the opposite of trust, and God wants me to trust Him all the time - not just when one of us has left the fold. Unfortunately, I don’t do that so well.

Rowland’s my best friend, and I miss him when he’s gone, but more than that, I just want to know that he’s coming back. I want to be able to picture exactly where he is so that I can feel like he’s safe. I guess it’s time for some “putting my money where my mouth is,” “sucking it up” (thanks, Carrie), and trusting God to protect Rowland and to protect us while we’re apart. After all, He’s in charge, and I’m not! And sometimes I just HATE IT!!!

The Love of My Life!!

I first became a practicing bulimic when I was 20 years old. I had a crappy boyfriend who actually encouraged me to throw up. That, coupled with a low self-image and about 30 extra pounds, plunged me into the world of binge-eating and purging.

For those who don’t understand eating disorders, there’s a great book called Understanding and Overcoming Anorexia and Bulimia. After the birth of my first child almost 13 years ago, I was a stay-at-home mom who was obsessed with getting back my pre-pregnancy body. After all, that was my identity. I NEEDED to feel sexy and appealing to others - first and foremost, above all else. As my bulimia took over my life more and more, I knew that I had to get help. I knew for the first time that I was killing myself. I would take my newborn baby to the grocery store and buy Captain Crunch cereal, marshmallows and Rice Krispies for Rice Krispy Treats, chocolate candy bars, ice cream, Velveeta and Rotel for cheese dip, and chips, then go home to eat all day and throw up all day. By the time my husband got home from work, I was a wreck. My electrolytes were screwed up so that I physically and emotionally felt wretched. When I would feel that familiar feeling, I would quickly feed my body some peanut butter to get myself back in balance. I was terrified of going into a coma or passing out with the baby by myself. I finally began counseling at 29.

I’d love to say that I completed counseling and never had another episode. The reality of an eating disorder is much different than that. Unlike an alcoholic who avoids alcohol completely, a person with an eating disorder still has to have daily encounters with food. The body image issues are deep rooted, often related to various situations in childhood. In my opinion, a person never fully recovers from an eating disorder. Instead, you just acquire the tools needed to keep it under control.

For me, I avoid Mexican food most of the time. Cheese dip is a huge “trigger” food for me. Ice cream is another one. Junk cereal is also a trigger for me. Pizza used to be, but thankfully, I’ve learned to enjoy it in moderation. Seldom will you find “trigger” foods in my house. I used to feel bad for Rowland and the kids that they can’t have these things around, but I’ve learned that my health, both physical and mental, is more important in their lives than their being able to have ice cream any time!

I’ve also learned through the years that I become very anxious when a special occasion is coming up. Preparing for the cruise that we’re going on in February is an excellent example. Rowland and I will have 9 days together in the sun! I’m excited, but the stress of wearing a bathing suit, wearing evening gowns, fitting into my shorts, and just feeling good about my body while we’re on this “special” vacation have thrown me into a whirlwind of distressing thoughts. Instead of being able to buckle down and make good food choices and work out a little more consistently, I become obsessed with all of the bad choices that I make, causing me to make even more bad choices, causing me to end up back in the binge/purge cycle. Yes, at 42 years old as a mother of four and the wife of a pastor, I still fall into the trap! The good news is that I recognize the warning signs, and I’m able to get myself out of the hole before I get into a longterm cycle.

I have a very good friend who has been placed in my life partly because of her healthy attitude about her body and dieting. She has helped me IMMENSELY. She doesn’t have a size 2 perfect body, but she’s a very pretty girl who is very healthy. She doesn’t obsess about whether or not her “skinny jeans” fit. When she decides she needs to lose a few pounds, she just gets on a healthy eating plan and does it. Or she doesn’t do it. Either way, she doesn’t allow her weight or size to keep her from making choices about whether or not she’s going to enjoy life. She controls her weight; it doesn’t control her. (You know who you are, and I LOVE YOU!!!)

I HATE that I can’t look in a mirror and feel good about what I see looking back at me. I HATE that when I think about being intimate with my husband, I worry about what he’ll see or feel. I HATE that I feel uncomfortable even going to the mall or to the school to volunteer if I’ve gained even 2 -3 pounds. I HATE that when I think about going on vacation with my husband and two of our closest friends, I worry about what I’m going to look like in my bathing suit. I want to feel good about who I am, not what I look like. God has done a lot of work on me, but I’ve definitely not “arrived.”

I’m not sure why I felt led to write about my struggles, but now I’ve done it. Perhaps someone will read this and be encouraged, not feel alone. Satan loves for us to hide our crap, to feel ashamed. While he may still have small victories in my body image department, he won’t defeat me! And I won’t quit fighting to make sure that my girls don’t have the same issues that I have. I want to be a positive role model for them, to encourage them to feel healthy, not to strive for “skinny.” Someday, I want to ask my husband, “Do these jeans make me look fat?” and believe him when he says, “no.”

I just realized that I haven’t posted a picture of our Westie, Cricket Too. When we lived in Little Rock, we had a precious Westie named Cricket. Since we loved that dog so much, when Rowland flew in our new Westie, we named her Cricket Too. She’s a sweet dog with lots of energy to play and yet loves to sleep with her momma. I think she’d stay in bed with me as long as I was willing to lie there! Gotta love that!! She’s doing pretty well on her potty training as long as I stay on top of things. She definitely knows what she’s supposed to do outside; she just doesn’t get that she’s NOT supposed to do the same thing inside! She loves to please me, though, so I think she’ll be fine in the next few months! We all love her tons! Thanks, Rowland!!

Cricket with Her Momma

Today is the anniversary of Rowland and my first kiss. It was the night of the Miss America Pageant, and Rowland made me dinner that night while we watched the pageant. If I hadn’t already known what a special man he was, I would’ve figured it out that night. Not too many guys would make dinner for their girlfriend while she sat on the couch drinking wine and watched the Miss America Pageant!

Actually, I planted a kiss on him that night. He was such a gentleman that I’d probably still be waiting on that first kiss if I hadn’t attacked him! Of course, I’m sure he planned it all that way - a little wine, a nice dinner, sitting next to each other on the couch, etc., etc. He just wanted me to think that it was all my idea!

Each year since that first one, my precious husband has made me a gourmet meal complete with wine and my favorite dessert, creme brulee. I sit on my bottom with my wine while he works his tail off to make a wonderful dinner for a very special anniversary. This is the fifteenth time that he’s done it, too! I always tease him that the only reason he works so hard this one night each year is that it’s the one night each year that he KNOWS he’s gonna get lucky!! After all, if he’ll do all that work for me and still make me feel like Miss America with all of those young, beautiful girls on the screen, he DESERVES a reward!!

Thank you, my precious husband! You really are my Prince Charming!!! I adore you!!!

I can always tell when my kids are really tired because they end up in tears over things that really don’t matter. I know that they hate it when I say, “Baby, you’re tired. You need to go to bed or take a nap.” They always disagree. “I’m NOT tired!” Of course, the tears continue, proving to me that they really are tired. Why do they fight it so much?

I recognize this in my children because I have the same problem. When I’m tired, I cry or at least I feel like crying. Sometimes, I can’t cry so I get really agitated. Last night, I was walking the dog at 9:45. I hadn’t stopped all day. It hadn’t been a bad day, but I was really tired. I felt the sudden rush of tears, but I reminded myself that it was a waste of energy to cry. Besides, my mom always told me that I was really ugly when I cry, and I always get a headache after crying. Instead, I yanked the dog on the leash and hollered at her to hurry up! Sensing my anger now directed towards her, she tucked her tail and did nothing. Good work, Kitty! Since I realized that abusing the dog wasn’t going to help, I found the snow shovel and began to beat the crap out of the ice on the stairs in the backyard. (I’ve fallen several times - in my hiking boots - so I had a lot of anger towards that ice!) I’m sure my neighbors appreciated the noise while they were already in bed. I didn’t care, though. I was mad at all of the people who COULD be in bed! Eventually, all of my work was done, and I was able to curl up in bed. I wanted to savor the time, but instead, I fought my eyes to stay awake.

I guess I’m still tired this morning. Little Kitty has been asking me for several weeks to switch the seats around in the van so that she can crawl in and out easier. I switched them before so I knew how to do it. While in the garage, I gathered up the odds and ends lying around and threw them in the trash. I came in and emptied the litter box and all of the trash cans as well. Back in the garage, I began working on the seat. It was actually very easy to remove; however, when I moved it over to the middle of the van, I dropped the back metal pieces into the slots on accident. (When you place the seat, you have to place the front metal pieces first, then lower in the rear ones.) Try as I might, I could not get the stupid back of the seat removed again. Eventually, with tears streaming down my face, I smashed my finger, the one I was flipping myself off with!! I just sat there in the car by myself and cried and cried - just like my babies do!

When I came inside, I wanted to call Rowland to cry to him, but I knew how ridiculous I would sound. “Honey, I smashed my finger, and it really hurts. I can’t get the ********* seat placed correctly because I screwed up…….” I knew what he would think. “You’re tired, baby. Go get back in bed and take a rest.” I know this because that’s what I tell my children.

A few minutes later, he called me. I told him what had happened, then started to cry. “I’m really tired…..” He told me just what I knew he’d say, “Go get back in bed and take a rest.” The only problem is that I have errands to run, laundry to do, a dog to feed and walk, bills to pay, etc., etc. Sometimes I just get tired of feeling tired. It’s frustrating! Even as I type, my dog is upstairs barking to get out of her kennel, the bills are waiting to be paid, my shower is calling as are the errands, the sheets are on the floor waiting to be washed, and the suitcases I’m giving to a friend are in the back of the car waiting to be taken to the church. I still have my groceries and some hairspray to buy. By then, it’ll be time to pick up Carson, then the little ones after Spanish, then dinnertime, clean sheets put on the bed, walking the dog several times, cleaning up the kitchen, helping my babies get in bed, working out, and finally crawling into bed around 9:00 (if I happen to be lucky!).

I know it sounds like I’m whining, but the truth is, I wouldn’t change my life with anyone else’s in the world. I just know that for at least the next 13 1/2 years (when Jia graduates from high school), I’m going to be tired. Hopefully, my husband will still be compassionate enough to tell me, “Go get back in bed and take a rest.” And when he does, I’m going to do just that - with tears running down my cheeks!

Carson will tell anyone who asks that I love to torture him. Torture takes on various forms. A couple of my favorites and his least favorites are picking his zits and cutting his hair.

Since he’s a middle-schooler now, he has a few blackheads on his nose and chin. They aren’t really bad, but I always know that I can make them go away. Although my medication helps with most aspects of my OCD, this is one area that is not exactly under control. I become obsessed with squeezing them and making them go away, obsessed to the point that I HAVE TO do it. I even bought a tool recently to help in my endeavor!!! Carson calls it a “torture tool!”

My other torture tool is a pair of scissors. I’ve always cut my kids’ hair. (I’ve also whacked on my own a few times too many!) Finally, my lack of training has caught up with me. Last night, I trimmed Carson’s hair and left him with a very bushy, shorter bowl cut. I kept thinking that it wasn’t as bad I was imagining. Well, I was wrong! It was bad! When my precious love got home from school today, I mentioned that we should go to a professional to have his hair trimmed. I told him that we wouldn’t go any shorter, but that I thought it needed to be layered and shaped up a bit. He then told me that the kids at school told him that his hair looked “stupid,” adding that it was what he already knew! I felt horrible. I couldn’t believe that I had hurt him like that. I asked him if the kids hurt his feelings, and he told me that he just became mad - at them and at me! I thought I’d cry.

Immediately, I called my hairdresser and left her a message of my latest catastrophe and asked her to call me tomorrow. When she heard my message, she called me right back and told me to bring him to her house right then. She wouldn’t allow him to go to school the next day and have other kids make fun of him. She remembered when she was in 7th grade and how she felt. What a gem!

Carson and I rushed over to her house, and she “fixed” him over her 2nd glass of wine. The sad thing is that even after a glass and a half of wine, she was a huge improvement over my totally sober haircut! I promised Carson that I would never again cut his hair, that I would always take him to a professional. He has thick “man” hair now that his mommy can’t and won’t cut again!

I’m definitely not saying that I’m giving up all forms of torture, but I am going to stop torturing him with scissors. Any suggestions on an alternative torture tool?

This morning Carson and I became a little “sideways” before he left for school. It wasn’t anything major, but I knew that his feelings were hurt. As he was leaving, the memory of Columbine and other school shootings flashed through my mind, and I thought, “What if something like that happened to him today?” I hurriedly yelled down, “I love you, Carson!” before he left the house. I just didn’t want something to happen and that be my last memory (or his last thoughts either).

Yesterday, when Carson got home from school, he was telling me about the experiences of one of his teachers when she taught in a school in Alabama. She told the students about the school being “locked down” because of rival gang activity and of shootings in the school. Evidently, it was a very rough place to be. She even had a game plan of what exactly she would do if her classroom was under attack. Imagine living in an environment like that.

Things have changed so much. I never worried when I was in school that another student would come into the room and start shooting students or teachers. Even when I did my student teaching in a rough high school in Little Rock, I worried about being caught in the crossfire, not being the subject of a random attack. When I taught school in a rough middle school, I worried about being caught in the middle of a couple of girls’ fighting, not about being attacked myself or having my students attacked.

Carson’s middle school has a security guard at the front door. William and Kitty’s elementary school has locked doors with a doorbell and “peephole.” While I am grateful for the extra security measures, it makes me sad that that is “normal” now. We are in a nice, rather rural area. Our schools are nice with good administration and teachers. The kids all look painfully the same. Yet, school violence is still a very real possibility, something that is actually planned for “just in case.”

In addition to being concerned about who Carson’s friends are, how he’s doing in school, what temptations he’s dealing with, I also have to be concerned about his safety at school. It’s definitely enough to wear a momma out!

For a couple of days during the holidays, I felt like I was living in a different world than everyone else, like what I believed to be true was actually only in my imagination. I felt like I needed to shake my head real hard or have someone awaken me from my “coma.” It was the strangest thing.

It started first with my parents’ flight to Denver from Little Rock on Christmas Day. About 2:15 our time, I checked their flight’s status on line only to discover that, according to Travelocity and to the United web page, their 6:49 p.m. flight was pulling out of the gate at that very moment, 3:16 p.m. CST. I immediately called United Airlines, knowing that there must be a problem with the computer information. To make an incredibly, incredibly, incredibly LLLOOOOOONNNNGGGGG story short, the customer service rep told me that the flight had indeed left 3 1/2 hours EARLY due to a crew change. She also told me that the decision had been made only a few hours before and that my parents were notified. Of course, my parents weren’t home on Christmas Day but later discovered that they had never received an e-mail or a phone call regarding the change. We were all very upset, and the customer service rep re-booked my parents for the following night on an American Airlines flight.

The next evening, my mother called me very upset from the Little Rock airport saying that the United attendant told her that their previous flight had left on time and that they would not be honoring her American tickets because she just didn’t show up for the flight. Huh? I got on the computer only to discover that the flight was now posted as on time. Where was I? How could the flight have shown as having left 3 1/2 hours early in all computers and yet it was actually on time? I felt so confused! Finally, after a VERY rude Mrs. Carter in Little Rock would not even speak to my parents and after my being on the phone with a VERY helpful man in India for an hour, my parents were able to board their flight in Little Rock on American Airlines.

Fast forward….Rowland bought me a precious new Westie that we call Cricket (again!). I made an appointment for her to be spayed and boarded while we were out-of-town skiing. The receptionist had to okay the drop-off with the vet because we would not be present for her check-up, and they had never seen her before. I had it all worked out to leave her at 7:00 a.m. the morning we left town and for her to be spayed the next day and be picked up the following day. On Christmas Day, I listened to my messages and discovered a call from the vet’s office telling me that my “appointment was confusing. Please call.” Obviously, I couldn’t call, and the person calling told me that my appointment would be at 11:00 a.m., then I could leave Cricket to be spayed and boarded. Since my parents didn’t make it into town on Christmas, I was able to keep the 11:00 appointment the next day. At 10:15 that morning, as I was getting ready, the receptionist called to ask where Cricket was. “Are you not still bringing her in this morning? I thought you were going to drop her off at 7:00.” Huh? I explained the phone call that I had received and told her that I would be there at 11:00. Where was I? Confused…….

And my confusion didn’t end there. According to her papers, Cricket was born in May 2007. I took her to the vet at 11:00, and as the vet examined her teeth, he discovered that her 4 - 6 month molars were already all the way in, which was unusual for a dog of her age. He also discovered that those “new” molars as well as the rest of her puppy mouth had HORRIBLE buildup on her gums and teeth! He said that from an examination of her teeth alone, he would guess that she was 1 1/2 years old. It went exactly like this: “When was she born?” “In May 2007.” “May 2007? Maybe May 2006 but not May 2007!” “But I have papers and shots for Cricket showing that she was born in May 2007.” “You have records for SOME dog born in May 2007.” Huh?

I’d like to say that my confusion ended there. Fortunately, it was followed by the normal confusion of life. If you’ve read this blog very many times, you know that I seem to live in a constant state of confusion. Remember my forgetting my birthday girl at school? Point made! At least I’m back to “normal?” Huh?????

Happy New Year!! I’m finally blogging again. I’m sure that I have lots of funny stories to tell, but this morning I’m focused on getting everyone back to school. Everyone started back last Thursday, but Jia starts back today. I’m anticipating a nice, quiet day at home alone!

We enjoyed our first Christmas in Colorado - and Rowland got just what he asked for - a White Christmas!! There have only been 14 white Christmases in the Denver area in the last 100 years. If you want prayers answered, ask Rowland to pray! We got a major dumping!!! As for the kids, they each got just what they asked for, too. Jia had been begging for a kitchen; KeKe asked for an Ipod Nano; William wanted a Wii, and his daddy happened upon one of the most-coveted gifts of this season; and Carson landed a Les Paul guitar. Needless to say, there were lots of smiles and hugs on Christmas morning!!

The Smith Kids before the Shredding of Wrapping Paper

William with His New Simpson PJs

Carson a/k/a Rowland, Jr. and His Les Paul

We had a wonderful Christmas break. My parents flew out the night after Christmas, and we drove up to Winter Park for a couple of days. My 82 year old dad can still give the slopes a run for their money! Jia tried lessons for a couple of hours but didn’t like that she moved her skis back and forth and didn’t really go anywhere. After some tears, she was rescued by her daddy and stayed with Nana and Mommy in our condo. She’s decided to wait until she’s 6 to try again! The rest of the kids are skiing like crazy. I’m so proud of them. They definitely take after their daddy and not their mommy! Carson and Rowland have been having a blast skiing together, and Carson has become quite the speed king.

The Crew Headed for the Slopes

Nana Confused About Where to Wear Her New PJ Pants!

My parents, Nana and Pop, entertained us all for the week. It was nice just having them around. Lots of days we just hung out at home, but we also made a field trip to Evergreen to eat at Beau Jos one day. The pizza was excellent, and the crust was even better with honey! We drove them through Red Rocks which continues to amaze me. What a creative mind to decide to turn those gorgeous boulders into an amphitheater.

The Gang at Beau Jos (minus Carson and me)

Mom and Dad with Their Favorite Child!!

We found an awesome new restaurant, Terra Cotta, in Old Littleton. Old Littleton is a precious little downtown with neat shops and restaurants. Terra Cotta is in an old house and has a soft, warm feel. The service was great, and the food was outstanding! We had the best tenderloin I’ve ever eaten, and I’m not a big meat eater. They had a large wine selection, and the desserts were divine! (That means a lot coming from me since they didn’t have a vanilla creme brulee, my favorite!!) We’ll definitely go back, and my parents had a good time, too. It’s a great anniversary, birthday, or just-need-to-spend-some-special-time-together place.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. KeKe, Jia, and I took my parents to the airport Friday night. It was hard to say good-bye, but it helped knowing that they’d be back in about 4 weeks. Plus, G.G. is coming in two weeks! More fun to be had by all!!!