I Was Going To Title This Post…

To Spanx Or Not To Spanx, That Is The Question…

And the answer? Yes. Always, well, maybe not while you’re sleeping…But that's not really what today's post is about, at least not entirely.


First off, I know I said I'd post on Sunday, but that proved impossible. Something had to give this weekend, and it was the blog. Along with all of the regular Easter stuff (more about this below), I had to procure and provide snacks for my Sunday School class, and I also had a presentation due in my masters' class last night (did I mention I'm pursuing a Masters in Education? Oh yes, add that to my pile of Supermom stuff I have going on...), so my self-imposed blog deadline just had to fly out the window. There will be no more of those. I'll try for two entries a week, but I won't say when they're coming ever EVER again.


Today's post is really all about is the "Supermom Complex" - which I admit I am fully vested in. I never really looked at it that way, but yeah, I guess that's what it is. My whole life, I've tried to do EVERYTHING and do it all PERFECTLY. Written down in plain English that looks insane. It IS insane, and really just kind of dumb, but I will probably not stop because it seems to be in my DNA. I'm German, and I'm a Virgo. People like me like to master things and have trouble settling for anything less than perfection. And  - unwittingly - we make a lot of people hate us in the process. Even members of our own immediate families.


I'm a lot better about this than I used to be, though. I realized I was stressing everyone (especially my husband and daughter) out with my own self-inflicted stress, and although I thought I was working to create a happier environment for everyone, I was just making us all miserable. I've worked to curb this compulsive side of me, and I have reigned her in to some degree, but part of her will never leave...and she comes out at full force on holidays. I truly love holidays and all the traditions and trappings that go along with them. I am a "More is More" kind of girl when it comes to holidays, so - judge me if you will (but we talked about that in the first post) - at least I'm honest about it.

So, Easter..holidays...Supermoms...Spanx...what gives, right? Obviously this is not going to be a post dwelling on the spiritual nature of Easter. I feel kind of guilty about that, so I'll be sure to post something spiritually uplifting at a later date.

Easter is a kind of "smoke and mirrors" holiday - the ultimate Supermom test. We bring out our best selves at Easter. Yes, it is the celebration of the resurrection of Christ, but somehow we’ve devolved it into a celebration of all things shiny, bright and new. I’m not going to get into the right or wrong of that thinking right now. It is what it is, and I get that. We get new dresses and suits. We make sure our children are all decked out in their best new spring finery, and after the presentation of candy-laden baskets full of chocolate and toys we scramble to pull it all together, we take a bunch of pictures and head out to church hoping that none of that chocolate made it onto the kids’ new clothes. Many of us have to manage this organizational, good-looking nightmare AND get a holiday worthy meal ready and waiting for the family after church.

Supermoms – we've got to do it all, don’t we? Or at least we think we’re expected to for some reason. But, here's the deal - it's ALL smoke and mirrors, everyday. Entire industries are dedicated to feeding our smoke and mirror jones. Like I said, I’m not debating the right or wrong or the who-what-when-where or why of this; it is what it is. (So why not take a little help when we can get it now and then, right? Hooray for Spanx! The Modern Supermama’s best friend.  Even after a 50+ pound weight loss, I probably love them now more than ever.)

Fifty-plus pounds…yeah, that's a lot, at least it is to me. My husband says I should show what that looks like, so here’s me at Easter last year (minus the nine pounds lost to lack of sweets AND yes, rockin' the Spanx)…

Nine pounds down, but still...hmm...something was obviously wrong. I guess, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. Easter Supermom Chaos at its finest...I guess Emma thought it was funny, though.


And here we are at Easter this year...definitely smaller, certainly happier, and yes, still proudly rockin' the Spanx!...

Being the holiday happy girl that I am, Easter is a major event. This year was no different, in fact, I think I had put more on my plate than usual, but see how happy we all are!! Haha! Actually, all kidding aside...yes. It was a good day, and we were all very happy and relatively stress-free even with how much we (I) had going on.


To tell the truth, we're a pretty happy family most of the time these days, and - not to toot my own horn, here - but I do think my change of self and change in attitude HAS had quite a bit to do with that. Not just for me, but for all of us. So the fact that I am genuinely smiling in this picture and my kids are not screaming is a testament to this. I had a tremendous amount going on this past weekend, even things that tested my Lenten resolve. My previous self would have been spitting fire and burst into flames because not only did I have to prep and tackle the normal Easter stuff (new clothes, kids scrubbed & tubbed, Easter baskets for two - oh, and the Sunday School snacks...oh, and school...all that jazz...), but I also had to BAKE.


I've told you about my love of baked goods and my penchant for creating them. At Holiday-time, I am called upon to go into production mode, and this Easter - despite my swearing off of sweets for Lent - was no different. Aside from the necessary few tasting licks (you cannot make food for others without tasting as you go - if I hadn't, that lemon cake would have ended up sugarless...seriously...), I did not partake of any of these delights until Easter Sunday (mint brownies go great with gin & tonic at 12:03 in the morning...I'm just saying, 40 days is a long time...don't judge, Friends, don't judge...).

So maybe it was the Easter Sweet Smorgasboard here that helped put the smile on my face. I'm not denying it. I had fun making this stuff and even more fun eating it after 40 days of denial. Those mint brownies were killer (thank you, Paula Deen), and I'm having to hold myself back from snarfing another one down right now.


But I won't. Easter's over. I let myself enjoy the day with abandon, and I feel no guilt whatsover, but now life returns to normal, and that's a good thing. Although I was not rewarded with some huge nine pound weight loss this year, I was rewarded with a feeling of accomplishment and pride, and that's what makes me feel good these days. I don't want to ever lose that feeling. The not-so-supermom I WAS was stressed out and unhappy; I'm content with the somewhat super-Mom I've become. Whether I've finished a nice long run or if I've honored a committment, that good feeling on the inside will show on the outside, and you don't need Spanx for that.


It's not about the size of the dress anymore - which DOES always look better with the Spanx - and no, they don't pay me to say that (but if they want to they can give me a call). It's not about how spiffy my kids look - although I do feel compelled to point out that my wonderful mother knitted that sweet shawl my daughter, Emma, has on. It's about confidence - the confidence I find from honoring a committment or creating something beautiful (like Emma's shawl) or taking charge of yourself, your life and your own happiness.


In subsequent posts I'll be writing about what I did to get from the chaotic not-so-supermom in the first picture to the super-happy mom in the second and everything in between. It's been quite a ride, and I don't expect to get off anytime soon. In the meantime...get those dang mint brownies out of here...my lord, those should be illegal!!


Until we read again...keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!


TTYL - Ali

The Breakfast Clause

First off, let me clarify – I did not actually give up “sugar” for Lent. I gave up “sweets” – a malleable term, to be sure. You knew there had to be a crutch in there somewhere, didn’t you?

I truly think it would be impossible to totally give up sugar. It’s everywhere and in everything, well, almost. Seriously, I don’t think anyone can totally foreswear sugar ENTIRELY. How would that – happen – exactly? You would have to give up fruit and veggies and lots of good and healthy things, too. That could not happen in my world. Even with God’s help, I don’t think that would truly completely happen – and why would you want it to? So sure…there were some “exceptions.” Like I said, I gave up “sweets.”

A “sweet” – to me – was any kind of unnecessary, unhealthy, sugary TREAT (ice cream, cake, cookies, candy, popsicles, chocolate covered pretzels, pudding and the like). Said sugary treats could not be replaced by “diet” alternatives, either. All sweet treats – both real or artificial – were banned, with the exception of sugar-free French Vanilla coffee creamer or sugar-free vanilla coffee syrup; my day was not, is not, nor ever will be complete if not started with one of these items in my cuppa Joe.

So where did that leave breakfast?

Think about it. Did you have something sweet for breakfast today? What about cereal? What about muffins? What about pancakes and cinnamon rolls and jelly donuts? If you’re eating that stuff for breakfast – a main meal – does that make it a “treat?” Heck yeah, sure it does. It’s freakin’ donut – you could eat some fiber cereal and call it done. At least, that’s how I feel about it this year. (See, I’ve given up sweets for Lent again this year – along with alcohol, fried food, potato chips and Diet Coke – EASTER CANNOT COME FAST ENOUGH!!) But, hoping to succeed, I was a little more lax with myself last year, and yes, there was a “Breakfast Clause.” I think it’s the only thing that got me through those 40 days. If it was sugary, but it was breakfast, I allowed it.

FYI - My kind and generous husband has joined me in my Lenten ban on sweets and alcohol this year (not the other stuff) – but to help keep him on track, I have allowed HIM to take the Breakfast Clause (not me, just him). If he does it next year, there will be no saving donuts. 

Besides the Breakfast Clause, I think I only slipped up once during all of Lent. Through lots of spontaneous prayer and taking it one day at I time I was even able to say “No, thank you,” when my mother-in-law presented me with a plate piled full of homemade, fudgy, chocolate cake AND Miss Muffin strawberry cake – my absolute favorite – at her father’s birthday party! That was hard as heck, but I was good. I explained my situation and politely declined – but not until I’d taken a good long whiff of the chocolaty strawberry goodness, though.

Like I said, I did slip up once. During this time, we took my daughter’s Girl Scout troop on an overnight mother-daughter campout. And no, there was no camping involved, only nice cabins with indoor plumbing and a staff on hand to cook our food – that’s the only kind of camping I “do” – but we did build a fire and make S’mores. I figured God wouldn’t mind if I shared a S’more with my kid and her Brownie troop. And, in hindsight, I guess He didn’t.

When Easter finally rolled around, and I’d finished eating half the chocolate in my son’s Easter basket, I was pleased to say that by doing nothing except giving up sweets – for forty days – I’d lost nine pounds. I didn’t know what to think of that except A: Thank you Jesus!! and B: I must eat a TON of crap!

But nine pounds was not enough. I’d started to feel a little peppier. I’d started to feel a little happier. I’d done something good for myself, and I’d started to feel a little more confident - but I still had a long way to go (still do, we all do - we are all Works In Progress). Even so, I couldn’t stop at nine pounds and go eat my fill of Reese’s again and gain it all back – which easily would’ve happened. I’d been given a gift - an inspirational, motivational gift - and I had to keep going. So I thought about it, and I did a little research, and I took the next steps forward.

Which you can find out about come this Sunday (Easter!! FINALLY!!) when next we read again.

Keep trying for what you're trying for, Friends!

TTYL - Ali

I'm Southern, I'm Long Winded, And I've Got A Lot To Say, So...

These first few posts are probably going to be long ones. There's quite a bit of backstory here, and I realize I should have started this blog on February 17, 2010 – Ash Wednesday. But that would’ve taken more courage and foresight than I could ever muster, because, really, I never dreamed I’d ever get this far or have this kind of story to tell.

First off, no, I’m not Catholic; I’m a Methodist, and a pretty lax one at that (considering I’m sitting here writing this on Palm Sunday morning instead of getting ready for church). But, regardless of the packaging, I am a Christian woman. I try to do my best to get my little chicks to church and keep it all on the straight and narrow throughout the week. I’m a faithful wife to a good and faithful husband. We have been pretty happily married for close to 14 years now, and we have built a good life together based on sound moral principles and common good goals. We’re trying to raise good kids. It’s good to try to be “good” – right? Sure it is, so for years I’ve tried to do something “good” and give something up for Lent, because that’s what good Christians try to do. Key word here, Friends: TRY.

Every other year, I’d tried, and failed. If I slipped up on my “sacrifice,” I gave up and gave in. But last year, I wanted something more, and last year I succeeded. Believe me, Friends. God knows what He’s doing when he plants these little seeds of change...

And I needed a change. I was dog tired all the time. I woke up every morning with severe lower back pain (which I had hoped would subside when the hubs and I sprung for a Sleep Number bed, but it didn’t). I couldn’t keep up with my two-year old son (aka Baby Taz), and my nine year-old daughter was beginning to wonder if I was really seriously sick or something, because I just couldn’t (or wouldn’t) get off the sofa at night. She was worried, and I was just too tired to be bothered. I was cranky all the time, and I just wasn’t really all that happy.

I’d been happier and more energetic before I got pregnant with my son, Charlie. I was quite a bit lighter, but I wasn’t a stick or anything. I wasn't at my lowest weight, but I wasn't near my highest, either, and I sure felt a whole lot better, both physically and frankly, just better about myself in general. It didn't help that I'd gained quite a bit while pregnant with him and then was blessed to give birth to one of the world's biggest, strongest and most energetic little boys in this galaxy or beyond. I love the kid more than my life, but seriously, he is a force to be reckoned with to this day! Whatever energy I did have was gone by lunchtime.

Just to get back to the “pre-Charlie me” would’ve been a dream come true. I wanted that feeling back. I needed that energy back. I wanted it back really – really - bad. You’re not supposed to feel like this crummy at 35, right? I was still young, right? There was still time, right? I’d tried a number of times, and as they say, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” I’d been lacking the will, ‘cause there’s always a way. I realized I needed to call in Reinforcements.

So, on Ash Wednesday, 2010, I admitted that I had let myself climb back up to a bouncy 189 pounds (dress size: 16ish, pants size: 14ish on my 5’ 7” frame). And no, I didn’t find that out on Ash Wednesday, per se. I was well aware of it long before then. Frankly, I’ve been obsessed with the number on the scale most of my life. I’ve been “technically overweight” – to one degree or another - for probably 26 of the 36 ½ years I’ve been on this Earth. I actually stopped growing at age 12 (5' 7" & 12 years old = AWKWARD!), and have run the gamut since then from the mid 130s (nice at 36, not so nice at 12) to just under 210 (a few months after my daughter was born). But honestly, no one had really ever seemed to mind the fluffiness but me.

I don’t recall my parents ever consistently encouraging me to do anything about it or take any steps to prevent it. I lived (live) in a world of yummy Southern food and family and overindulgence – which was (is) the norm, and it was (is) GREAT!! Being more into choir and drama and creative writing and art and literally able to walk smack dab into any door jamb that happened to get in my way, I was convinced that there was nothing athletic about me at all, so seriously, what was I supposed to do? Sometimes mom would worry about my health and say, “Oh honey, I worry about you…,” but she’s never been super-thin or anything, and my dad (step dad, really...stories for other posts) has always been a big guy, and so’s my husband (no offense, Babe), so that’s just how my world WORKED. We weren’t the Clumps, but we weren’t going to win the World’s Fittest Family contest anytime soon.

And my husband, God bless him, he’s the best. We’ve been together since college, and he’s always loved me (maybe since we first met in high school, at a writing competition no less), no matter what size I’ve been. So my desire to be smaller, to be healthier, to feel GOOD was (and still is) not the result of others’ opinions or what the “media” was telling me I should be. It’s all been what I’ve wanted for me…well, maybe…

HERE I WILL DIGRESS FOR a moment to address the FACT that women are obsessed with their weight for many reasons - both internal and external - and that one woman’s “large” may be another woman’s “skinny." Women have granted great and mystical powers to the magic numbers they get stuck in their head and long to see between their feet down on the scale or on the back of their pants near their ever-too-ample rumps; numbers that may or may not be achievable or even really desirable for them, but we long for them anyway. And sometimes we get crazy jealous of someone who we think is what we'd like to be or has something we think we'd like to have or who was kind of like us at one time or maybe she was cute but bigger than us but then she lost some weight and, well, "Who does she think she is, anyway?" Who knows why, but we know we think it. We know we do it, and it’s not our place to wonder why or judge each other for it. But it stops on this blog right now.

There are some lucky ladies out there, however, who are perfectly happy at whatever size they find themselves. “Celebrate Your Curves!” they say, and I am ALL FOR THAT!!! Jillian Michaels and all her scary skinny friends can take their six pack abs and their bravado and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine; I am not – repeat NOT – trying to send out any kind of negative vibes to all my friends - and all you folks out there who aren’t now but hopefully may one day become my friends - who struggle with weight issues, whatever “size” you are (which is totally relative, by the way, because no two designers define “size” the same way, but that’s for another post…).

The point of this blog is to chronicle my own issues and my own struggle with this (which I realize may not seem like much of a struggle to some folks and may seem like a large struggle to others – it’s all about perception, People) and to discuss the choices that I have made – for ME. Good or bad, right or wrong, this is what I have done and the journey I have taken to change myself both inside and out. It’s not about losing weight. It’s about finding strength. We all need each other for that, so, “Hear me now and believe me later…”* this ain’t about calling anybody fat, and I’M sure as heck not judging anyone. The very fact that I feel compelled to spell that out plain and clear here in the first post on this blog just goes to show what a hot button issue this is for us, Girls. I know that. This little aside is GREEN for a reason. We’ve got to quit beating ourselves up and beating each other up about this. Let’s be a positive force in each other’s lives, provide encouragement and banish judgment from our hearts and lips. Let’s be the nurturing, comforting ladies we’d all like to be and not the catty, gossipy harpies we all can be, okay? Okay. Getting off the soap box now and back to my story…

So, here’s the deal. I decided to TRY again, and call on my Higher Power. I thought I knew my strengths (again, stories for other posts…), but I knew my weaknesses better, and there’s a reason I’m the family baker. I love sweets. Every tooth in my head is a sweet one. I can make magic with butter, sugar, flour and eggs, and if you throw some candy and ice cream in there, oh just thinking about it’s making my head spin in ecstasy. There was no Ambrosia in Ancient Greece, only Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and vanilla ice cream. Sugar, yes, she is my best frenemy.

So, in a last ditch effort to try to change, I turned my back on her, that Siren, Sugar – for 40 days. I said, “Lord, I’m going to TRY to give up sweets for Lent. Please help me, and please…help this ‘sacrifice’ HELP me.” And I did. And He did. And IT did.

And I’ll tell you more on Wednesday.

Until we read again…keep trying for whatever you’re trying for, Friends!

TTFN – Ali

*With special thanks to Hans & Franz. Man, I miss those guys.