Wait, My Health Should be a TRIANGLE?

I am a rock, I am an island.

Simon and Garfunkel are great, but they don't always describe my life accurately. If I were to rewrite the song line to fit my current feelings, it would go something like this:

I am unstable. I am a brick veneer.

And my inner emo is showing. Sorry about that. I've just been thinking about where I am now and where I would like to be. And at the risk of stating the obvious, they aren't exactly the same place. In my high school health classes we learned about the different aspects of health (physical, social, mental/emotional) and how they form a triangle that we need to keep in balance. I don't feel like I currently have a triangle—it's more like a line. Or a point. Yep, unbeknownst to everyone else, as a result of my stay-at-home mommery, I have a point of health. I think this means that I eat, breathe, and sleep just enough to survive.

I've been trying to remedy this. For example, lately I've been trying to do some workouts. It was during this escapade that I discovered that I can no longer do a sit-up. The televised work-out leader had us all put our feet together so that our legs formed a rhombus and told us to sit up. And I couldn't. She said “If you can't come up all the way, that's okay! Just come up as far as you can.” So I stared at my stomach and said “You heard the woman. Just come up as far as you can . . . yep, come up . . . NO, COME UP.” And my shoulders stayed on the ground while my stomach continued schlepping.

See, I used to be out of shape, but now I'm OUT OF SHAPE. But I look fine. So people have been asking me “How do you look so good so soon after having a baby?” I think this is a hypothetical question. Scratch that. I HOPE this is a hypothetical question, because I don't have an answer, except that I seem to come from a great gene pool. I think the real reason my belly looks so “good” after having a baby is because in addition to delivering a baby, I seem to have delivered my abdominal muscles as well. That's why there's nothing there. I don't so much care about how I look as I am about being healthy. I mean, this could end up being a matter of life and death. If someone were to put a gun to my head and say “Do a sit-up, or else!” I'm toast. Gotta make some changes.

I don't even need to tell you about the social side of my triangle. Like many other stay-at-home moms, my main interactions are represented by a few smiles, “goos,” and cries from a three month old. Going anywhere is hard when you have to schedule it around feedings and diaper changes. I get to see a few more people now that I have a couple of piano students and I've befriended the Jehovah's Witnesses, but on the whole, I don't get out much.

Mentally? I feel very little control. The hormones of pregnancy and nursing have left me exhausted and ready to cry at the most ridiculous times. Yesterday, I discovered that Melody, Alex, and I were all wearing items that needed mending because they were coming apart at the seams. Some sort of metaphor for my life right now? Perhaps. You be the judge, but first, let me say that I almost fell apart yesterday when I found out that instead of the expected three hours of church meetings (that I was already wondering if I would make it through) we had six hours of meetings. I got tired from the beginning just thinking of meetings to come.

As pathetic as admitting my physical, social, and emotional weaknesses may make me sound, they are the easiest to confront. It's when I think about my spiritual health that I start to feel the worst. And yet, I gain a little hope because of a promise found in Matthew 10:39. Trying to get myself together by starting at any other point is going to be counterproductive. I have to start with my spiritual health first. If I can get myself where I need to be in relation to my Father in Heaven, the rest of the frustrations I'm experiencing are going to be naturally resolved—or I'll realize they aren't as critical as I once thought. This is much easier realized than remedied, but I'm hoping that admitting that I'm not as strong as I look is a good step toward humbling myself and starting my recovery.

So this is my confession. The transition to being a mom, while worth it, is a little tough at times. I'm not a rock. But I'm not an island, either. And while I may not feel like I'm where I need to be now, I can get there eventually. If I put my Heavenly Father first, He's going to lead me to where I need to be and He'll be with me as I go.

Cheap Yogurt and Hypocrisy at Walmart

Walmart is an interesting place. There are people who will smile back at you when you smile at them, and there are people who won't. We all come together in this one place to purchase almost anything we could want or need, and we all respond to that opportunity differently. Sometimes we get stressed about how many other people are doing the exact thing we are: just shopping and minding their own business. I often catch myself hypocritically feeling like I have a right to be the only one in the store. “WHY DOES EVERYBODY ALWAYS HAVE TO SHOP AT THE SAME TIME I COME?” *Ahem.* Please excuse my outburst(s).

My grandma likes to tell me about how she enjoys psychoanalyzing people according to the contents of their carts. She invents stories about what kind of people they are because they have healthy/unhealthy food in their carts. Well, as much as I may judge people in my head, I try not to be too harsh because I know my cart must be giving healthy people a laugh heartier than their oatmeal. And I always try to keep my judgments to myself.

This is a lesson I learned while shopping at thrift stores with my sisters. No matter how ridiculous the item you are mocking, there WILL be someone who comes up right after hearing your “Who would buy this?” who will pick it up and buy it. Always. So, I try to discreetly whisper about how silly certain items are, instead of broadcasting it to the entire store. And though the local DI's sales have dramatically decreased, my embarrassment has followed suit. I consider this to be a win.

Unfortunately, a lady in the yogurt aisle today had not learned this lesson. I was minding my own business and making my way toward the cheap, store-brand yogurts that are, I know, less nutritious (but also much cheaper) than name brand yogurts that are all-natural with great probiotics and such. As I approached, I listened as a woman loudly explain to her children that she would be buying GREEK yogurt, and that they could have some. Her children evidently didn't want Greek yogurt because they continued to pester her to have a different type of yogurt: “But moooom, look, strawberry banana!” To which she replied even louder than before: “NO. Those yogurts are full of sugar and artificial colors!”

So, I paused for a second and tried to decide what to do since I was heading right for some colored sugar myself. Should I grab a more healthy yogurt? Just because some stranger lady was berating her children in the dairy section? No. I'm better than that. I would have my cheap, inferior yogurt.

I toyed with the idea of walking past and circling around again after the yogurt aisle was deserted, but decided that was taking the easy way out. Not to mention it would be utterly ridiculous! I don't know why I found it so intimidating to just walk up and get my darn yogurt while a woman argued with her children about the nutritional downfall of normal yogurts, but I did. For just a second. I mean, it's not like she made an example out of me after I left by telling her kids “See, what happens to you if you consume sugar and coloring? You'll be like that girl!” If anything, she probably just judged me quietly, like my grandma would. I mean, what kind of person comes home from Walmart and obsesses with people they saw in the yogurt aisle . . . ?

And thus the hypocrisy continues.