Oh, sorry, that's just my anxiety showing

I have been an emotional mess for the better part of the last month and it shows on my skin.

I was born with a condition called keratosis pilaris that causes lots of little bumps all over my arms, legs, torso, back and neck. Some people say it resembles chicken skin. It isn't contagious or life-threatening, but it has gotten worse as I have gotten older.

Since I was a child I have, as a mechanism to cope with stress and anxiety, picked at these bumps whenever I felt overwhelmed or highly frustrated. During the last month, I've been at times so down in the dumps that I'd of made Eeyore seem as happy and chipper as a newly-minted lottery winner, which is why my skin looks as though I am suffering from a raging case of chicken pox.

I won't go into detail about the poor state of my mental health because, well, I come out looking at best bad and at worst completely nuckin' futs, and there's no need to bring others down with me; but suffice it to say it's been bad.

My mother always chastised me to not pick at my skin, and, even now, several people have said "you need to stop that." I know I need to quit doing this to myself. I am even more aware of how badly I need to stop since a doctor questioned whether I was using crystal meth - a question to which I replied, "If I was, and I am not, then I must have the worst product on the planet considering I weigh as much as a baby elephant."

My problem, though, is that I often unconsciously pick at my skin and sometimes aren't even aware of what I've done until I realize I am bleeding. This is typical OCD behavior, I recognize that, but, considering I have two kids and no reliable source of regular babysitters, I am unable to see a therapist to deal with this and my multitude of other psychological problems.

I know people have varying methods they use to cope with the rigors of life. I don't drink or use recreational drugs because I come from a long line of drug addicts and alcoholics. I don't over-exercise because to do so would mean I exercise at all, which I don't because it makes me hot and sweaty both of which I hate.

I am outing myself today in the hopes I can take some of burden of carrying this secret off of my shoulders. Also, I am hopeful I can find a new, healthy way to combat my psychological demons so I can learn to leave my skin alone and until that happens maybe stop being ashamed every time I catch someone checking out my awful handiwork.

Tag photo game

My great-uncle Boyd Martin was the baby brother of my grandmother, Lillian Louise Martin Bonds. He fought in World War II and was killed on April 17, 1943 while fighting in North Africa. My mother was barely a year old when he died so she didn't remember him, but she as well as all other members of the family grew to become keenly aware of how much my grandmother adored her brother.

She was the keeper of his things and of his memories. In my possession, I have letters, postcards and photos that belonged to him that she lovingly and carefully saved. Although I have neither a brother nor a sister, I think I can understand the love between siblings by perusing all the ephemera my grandmother, affectionately known in the family as MaBonds, held onto.

Boyd is buried in Rock Springs Cemetery in Marshall County, AL. He forever lies next to his parents under a headstone inscribed "Nobly he fell while fighting for liberty." This coming July 4th take a moment, as I will, to remember those men and women whose lives were cut short fighting for the freedoms each American enjoys.

To read more posts in the tag photo game, check out Sandra's blog, which you can access by clicking: HERE. If you'd like to participate, follow the rules outlined below.

1) Go to your photo files… Select the 6th photo folder or album.
2) Select the 6th photo in that folder/album.
3) Post that photo along with the story behind it.
4) Then challenge some blog friends to do the same!

Claim

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It was 11 years ago today ...

... that I married my wonderful, brilliant, loving, generous, kind, strong, handsome husband Jeff, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Fun day with friends

Amelia, Lola and I enjoyed a super fun day Wednesday at the Imagination Place children's hands-on exhibit. We met up with some wonderful friends and spent over two hours visiting and playing.

Amelia and her good buddy Duece played until they were exhausted. These kids met at preschool and have been friends since the moment they locked eyes on each other. In fact, Amelia likes him so much that she's told us more than once that she plans to marry him. Whether Duece is aware of her intentions is unknown at this juncture.

Duece's baby brother Cooper is a little over a month younger than Lola. We affectionately call him her "boyfriend," although after she pulled his hair hard enough to make him cry yesterday I doubt he'll be wanting to "date" her anymore.

While the babies played in a fenced play yard just for children younger than three, Hollie, Duece and Cooper's mom, and I enjoyed a very nice visit. She and I are alike in a lot of ways so there's a nice ease and level of comfort when we get together.


After the playdate ended, I took my girls to the mall for a snack and a spin on the carousel. Amelia has been begging to ride the carousel for a couple of weeks, so she was thrilled when I announced where we were going.

Lola got tickled watching Amelia ride the carousel. She has the most precious laugh. I could listen to her laugh all day.

We enjoyed cookies after eating at Chick-fil-A and then threw "wish money" in the fountain. (I keep pennies in my wallet just for such occasions.) Amelia couldn't resist riding the different transportation rides at the mall. She loved the new taxi cab they've installed, tore up the speedway in the race car and flew injured patients to the hospital in the helicopter. However, she was terribly disappointed she didn't get to tend her farm because the tractor wasn't working.

After visiting the bookstore to pick up a gift for a friend's birthday and allowing me time to browse my favorite store, we headed for home. Both girls were asleep before we were two blocks from the mall. I enjoyed the quiet ride home during which time I was able to listen to some tunes of my choosing on the radio.

All in all, it was a great day. I pray we can enjoy more days like these in the future.

Look out Shawn Johnson!

Amelia has been in gymnastics camp this week. Her first class was Monday, and she took to it like a duck to water. On the way to the first class she expressed to being somewhat nervous, but watching her perform I wouldn't have known she had been a little scared before we got there.

I was so proud of how intently she listened to Ms. Debbie, the instructor, and how hard she tried to mimic the more advanced students. She has talked non-stop about how much she loved getting to walk on the balance beams, jump on the trampoline and "dangle" from the uneven bars.

Amelia has made it very clear that she wants to sign up for gymnastics classes that begin in the fall so I guess Lola and I can look forward to afternoons spent not only waiting for Amelia to finish dance class, for which she's already enrolled, but now gymnastics as well.

Shrimp? Who knew?

We had shrimp for Father's Day dinner because it's one of Jeff's favorites. Amelia tried it once last year and will tell anyone who will listen that she is not fond of eating this sea creature.

I gave Lola some pasta and baby snacks for dinner figuring she wouldn't want any shrimp. Well, I was wrong-o! While I was eating, she beat on her high chair tray and whined, actions which are meant to indicate she wants something from my plate.

After offering her a spoon, which is usually what she wants, and a few other offerings from my plate, I handed over a shrimp. She relished eating that one and enjoyed another one after she finished it.

I couldn't resist snapping a few photos to document her happiness. Plus, if I didn't have photos I don't think anyone would believe my 1-year-old eats shrimp.

My little fish

Lola has decided she likes the baby pool we got her for her birthday. She played in it for quite a while the other afternoon. She really loved it when Amelia got in it with her. Lola loves being with Amelia so having her in the pool made it a much more enjoyable experience.

Monday memories: Time flies when you're raising kids

I swear it seems like about only a minute has passed since this photo was taken, but it's actually been a year since Lola joined our family

This has been a trying year in which my patience and faith have been tested. I am proud, though, that Jeff, Amelia, Lola and I have made it through all the trials and tribulations sane, strong and closer than ever.

I have always been a "glass half-full" kind of gal, which is why I know all we've been through since Lola's birth will serve to bolster us against any future adversity we may encounter.

Martin Luther King Jr. said it best when he said, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands in times of challenge and controversy."

Because of my family's support, I know for sure I am capable of facing any challenge or controversy.

Life of the party

Lola celebrated her first birthday yesterday with family at the house. She loved getting to see her five cousins. I think she enjoyed watching them most of all. She got lots of great presents: A telephone that speaks French, English and Spanish when the buttons are pressed, a spinning top, two books, a puzzle and a Santa Claus snow globe that Amelia wrapped up for her in wrapping paper she designed especially for her sister.

Lola seemed to enjoy her cake, but didn't get into it like we'd hoped. She took dainty little bites and kept the mess to a minimum.

Jeff, Amelia and I gave her a baby pool for her birthday. As you can clearly see in this photo, she did not like it one bit. She sat in it long enough for me to snap two photos and then was rescued from her version of hell by her daddy.

Lola took a shine to all of her presents. She has played with them almost exclusively since we opened them. Here she is with cousin Payton showing off one of her puzzle pieces.

After cupcakes and snacks, the big kids got to have fun on the Slip-n-Slide. Here Parker watches as Amelia crashes into Payton while Kelsey mans the water hose.

Kelsey keeps a good hold on the hose while her sister Zoey goes down for a slide.

Lola preferred to watch all the action from the safety of her grandmaw's arms. She wanted no part of any water-related activities.

I get by with a little help from ??????????

When I was a kid I loved getting to go to other people's houses. Nothing made me happier than getting to enjoy the chance to spend some time in another environment.

I know part of my joy came from the fact I could get away from my home where alcoholism, anger and depression permeated the air. While my home was often the hub for family gatherings, those get-togethers often devolved into drunken soirees that embarrassed me. I loved to escape to friends' homes where their life more closely resembled those of families on television that I so idealized.

Because I was embarrassed, and oftentimes ashamed, of my home life, I almost never invited friends over to my house. Those who did get invited did so because they'd managed to prove to me they could deal with the environment that waited behind our front door. I had to know they would still be my friend even after I let them into my world before I could ever commit to unlocking my secrets for them.

I didn't find too many people who were able to meet my requirements because I had very few friends who ever spent much of any time at my house. Therefore, I learned very early to be independent and alone.

The struggles I've faced all of my life in making friends have followed me into adulthood and I am having a much harder time coming to grips with how this affects me and my family. I haven't had a lot of problems meeting and connecting with people. Where I fail is in maintaining these friendships.

I am not the type of person to call up my girlfriends to gab on the phone or throw out an open invitation for folks to drop by whenever the urge hits them. Part of the reason for this is because social rules have a tight rein on me thus preventing me from being so casual. Additionally, those old insecurities from my childhood are still with me even though I am in no way embarrassed or ashamed about my current home life; although, I am often less-than-thrilled with the level of nastiness in my house.

I wouldn't worry so much about any of this if I didn't have children because I have always been comfortable doing things alone or just with Jeff. However, Amelia is quite the social butterfly and gets such joy from being with children her own age.

Just this morning she told me she misses a certain child from preschool. Her admission made me so sad, and I was even more sad after seeing the look on her face when I tried to explain that other families have certain people with whom they enjoy spending time and, unfortunately, were are not on their list of people they like to get together with.

She looked like I'd just told her she'd have to throw away her dear, beloved yellow blanket. Her expression was a mix of utter anguish and massive discomfort like I'd just punched her in the stomach. I tried to comfort her best I could and promised her a trip to ride the carousel at the mall, but what I wanted to say was, "Reality sucks, baby. No matter how hard we try some people are just not going to like us."

I know people have lives to lead, jobs to go to and troubles of their own to deal with, and I try to remind myself of all these things when I find myself trying to decipher the reasons for our lack of non-familial relationships. However, I cannot help but be envious of people I know who have friends they have known for years and whom they consider to be one of the family - people who they know they can count on morning, noon and night and who feel so comfortable they come in the house without knocking and who know all about you, but love you anyway.

I wish I could magically conjure a pile of friends for the both of us, but I think we'd be happy if we could each have just one person with whom we could be comfortable. I'd love for Amelia to know the love of a dear, true best friend - at least one that is real. Because as of right now her longest and closest friendships are with two imaginary buddies - Anaconda, a purple, female snake, who, despite her name, is apparently small enough to fit in Amelia's pocket, and ALF, the furry, saxophone-playing alien who starred in a long-running 80s sitcom and who is often at the center of any trouble in which Amelia finds herself.

Ride 'em cowgirls!

My little cow pokes.

My black thumb

I come from a long line of gardeners. My maternal grandfather grew roses that were envied by the entire neighborhood and planted rows of old maids every year that drew butterflies from far and wide. My mother loved plants and flowers and never failed to plant marigolds in the flower beds and African violets in pots that she displayed on the window sill.

Momma's oldest sister, Gayle, has always had the greenest thumb of anyone I know. I've seen her more than once revive a plant from sure death, and she can get something to sprout from the most meager cutting. Her garden at her former home was a show place. It was the kind of garden you'd see in a magazine. Her beds were so lush and full of plants and flowers that for my wedding I didn't hire a florist but rather got up early on the day of my nuptials and cut my wedding arrangements from her front yard.

One would think with such a magnificent pedigree to my name that I would have inherited the know-how to grow my own gardens that would make others swoon with envy. One would be wrong.

Until very recently I didn't care too much about planting things in the dirt and making them grow, but I've been wishing more and more frequently that this task were one I was capable of undertaking. I know, though, that I can wish all day, everyday but at the end of it all I still won't be a master gardener.

First of all, I never paid attention when my mother tried to teach me the information I would need to take up her gardening mantle. Secondly, I've suffered a life-long aversion to being hot, sweating and getting dirty - all of which go hand in hand with being a gardener. Lastly, I am inherently lazy so, therefore, cannot grow things that demand a lot of my attention (except, of course, children, but they're too loud for me to ignore. If plants and flowers were loud they might have a chance of surviving at my house.)

Despite my aforementioned challenges I have in the course of my 11 years of marriage made many attempts to put things in soil and pray they grow. Most of my efforts have failed. However, I do have photographic evidence to prove I am not totally worthless when it comes to growing plants.

Momma started growing this bamboo plant before she died. After renting her home to a cousin, I left the plant in his care, and to my surprise he actually kept it alive. When he moved out, I brought the plant to my house. It's life has not been cut short because it doesn't demand more from me than the occasional drink of water and making sure the cat doesn't drink all of said water.

This clematis also came from momma's house. It's been at my place since shortly after she died. It's also low-maintenance in that I don't have to take it inside when the weather turns cold and it only needs watering occasionally. However, I must not be doing enough for it because I've yet to be able to make it sprout a single flower.

This pot of creeping jade is my miracle plant. Honest to God, this thing was barely a sprig three years ago. Momma had given me an arrangement she grown from a cutting off of her plant thinking a succulent would be hard for me to kill. Turns out she was right - somewhat.

See at one time, this was part of a quite lush, lively green plant. However, I sufficiently ignored it until all that was left was a tiny bit of stem with a few leaves. I was all set to throw it away, but decided against doing so and began giving it a little bit more attention. To my surprise, it lived.

Now, obviously, I haven't been giving it heaps of TLC because this is all it's grown in three years. The dirt in the pot is very compact and could stand to be changed, but, knowing my track record, I've decided to leave well-enough alone.

I have no idea what kind of plant this is. It has red berries on it and sometimes sprouts white, lily-like flowers. It's name is of no matter to me. I am just thrilled to be able to report I've kept it alive for 11 years!

My mother-in-law gave me this plant shortly before Jeff and I got married. She rooted it from a cutting off the plant she had at her house. In my grand tradition, I've left it in the very pot (and dirt) in which she planted it. I pull off yellowed leaves, water it from time to time and move it outside when the weather turns warm. I am afraid if I did any more the dang thing would drop dead from too much attention.

Mrs. Hair. Amelia brought her home from preschool. She didn't yet have "hair," but was merely grass seeds covered in wet potting soil. I was fearful that because of my black thumb, Amelia might never get to see her project grow "hair" and would be the only kid in her class with a "bald" bowl of dirt.

I think this fear caused me to wish Mrs. Hair's coiffure to life. Amelia was so happy when her seeds sprouted, and I am still shocked I've keep this bowl of grass alive. I've even been able to give her a couple of "haircuts!"


So, even with my horrible history of growing plants and flowers, I do have a few of Mother Nature's gifts in my home. However, I would love to be able to look out over my yard and see bright colors and lots of textures, have my nose tickled by the scents of roses, ginger and honeysuckle, and watch bees and butterflies flit from flower to flower gathering nectar. Problem is: I don't want to be the one to make all of this happen.

Not too long ago I told Jeff, who loves to play the Tennessee and Georgia lotteries, that when we strike it rich playing the lotto hiring a gardener is at the top of my list of desires. I want to be able to give someone a list of all the plants and flowers I want to see in my yard, have them make my wish come true and then return once a week to keep everything beautiful and alive.

In the meantime, I'll just focus on managing to keep the few things I can grow - four plants, a bowl of grass, two kids, a cat and a dog - alive. Wish me luck! If I were a betting woman, I'd say the kids will last the longest of all.

Confession session: I haven't given up. I still want to fight.

Okay, here's the skinny: I'm not skinny. Not even close. In fact, I am still weighing 241, which is exactly where I was when I started paying attention to the number on the scale way back in January. Frankly, the fact I haven't gained 25 pounds in the last few months shocked the hell out of me.

I started the year off intending 2009 would be the time for me to get a handle on my eating issues and finally begin working to get myself down to a healthy weight. However ... life got in my way.

I lost focus, fell back into old habits and even stopped checking my blood sugar every morning and taking my Glucophage (something of which I am not proud). I've always had problems sticking with plans, so the fact I threw in the towel is no surprise to me. But, I must say that I didn't fall off of the get-healthy wagon because it was too hard to stay on but rather I fell off because I felt as though my life was imploding.

You see, the month of April almost killed me - physically and psychologically. Amelia's fifth birthday was on the 20th. We had a party with her best friends on the 11th and then had cupcakes and chips with her preschool class on her actual birthday. Additionally, we attended two other birthday parties that month and watched her perform in her preschool end-of-the-year program.

Any mother with children knows that multiple birthday parties in one month can strain one's sanity, but I actually handled these fairly well. It was Lola's surgery to correct a malformation in her skull on April 29 that resulted in me likely securing a nomination into the bad-eating hall of fame.

On the outside, I managed to remain calm, cool and collected during both her surgery and recovery. However, on the inside I was an anxious mess. Reflexively I sought to soothe my anxiety with my favorite comfort foods. I feel as though I drank 50 gallons of Pepsi and ate enough Skittles to fill a five-gallon bucket. I also ate so much at the hotel breakfast buffet that I am sure the staff considered adding some kind of overeaters' fee to my tab.

After Lola was released from the hospital she bounced back from her operation like a champ. But, and I swear I am not lying, it seriously took me a month to get back into a routine. Some days it was all I could do to make sure the girls were fed and cleaned. I wonder if I had a very mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder?

During this month of struggling to get my shit together, I honestly didn't cook very much and instead relied heavily on fast food and easy-to-prepare foods like pasta. Therefore, the fact that I didn't gain a lot of weight during this time is an absolute miracle.

Recently I have been inspired by two friends, one of whom is also a distant cousin, to refocus on my plan to lose weight. Both of my friends have lost weight the "old-fashioned way" by cutting calories and moving more. Brian has lost more than 200 pounds over the course of almost a decade, and Shelley has dropped 25 pounds in the last few months.

Their stories give me hope that I can also make it to my goal "mile by mile, pound by pound, calorie by calorie," which is how Brian said he reached his current size. In the past, I've considered weight-loss surgery to lose weight; but, although it's a great option for some people, I just don't feel that I am supposed to take that route to reaching a healthy weight.

One of the reasons I feel this way is because while weight-loss surgery would curb my appetite, it would not address the psychological reasons for why I overeat. I know deep in my heart that I will not win this battle until I deal with the emotions behind my eating problems. Weight-loss surgery, for me, would be a Band-aid rather than a permanent remedy. I have a feeling I would be one of those patients who overrides a smaller stomach by drinking (via milkshakes and soft drinks) my troubles away and therefore not losing any weight.

I know in Brian's case, he has, and continues to, work everyday to overcome the psychological reasons he was an overeater. Knowing that someone I know so well has been successful in winning the battle in which I am currently engaged inspires me to believe I can tackle my own demons and maybe (BIG maybe) win as well.