There are a lot of things that we can't change in this world. We can't avoid natural disasters. We can't heal all of the sick. We can't rescue all of the oppressed. We can't feed all of the hungry. We can't give water to all of the thirsty.
But we can help some of them.
It's so easy for me to go about my business in my day-to-day life, worrying about whether I am going to get any quiet time that day, whether my show recorded on the DVR, whether I have any of my favorite snack food left. I have no real problems. I sure think I do when things get chaotic and it feels like I am trying to do 1,000 things all at once. But I am not worried that my children will not eat, and I am not worried that my children will be poisoned by the only drinking water I can give them.
But there are mothers who are.
Over the last year and a half, I have come to appreciate how my body operates. I can feel it respond to the food I give it, feel it absorb the water I can pull from my tap whenever I please. Bodies need this nutrition, they need this water. They literally cannot live without it. So people will go to any length to be sure that they and their loved ones have it.
For me, that's turning on my sink. But for some in Africa, it's a hike that is miles long to an unsanitary water source. It's a hike that has to happen, making things like school impossible. It's a hike that brings with it, not the promise of life-giving water, but a russian roulette, a chance that this glass of water may be the one to kill you, but without which you would die anyway.
I've joined the people of Team World Vision in their fight against this solvable problem. $50 is all it takes to provide one person with clean water for the rest of their life. $50. For Christmas this year, I bought my daughter two games for her handheld gaming system. Each was worth $25. Fifty Dollars. I recently bought my son Toy Story birthday party supplies, which totaled around $50. FIFTY. DOLLARS. WATER FOR LIFE. It's astounding, and awesome, and totally doable.
We cannot change much in this world as individuals. But if five people give $10, a child that you will probably never meet, probably won't think of again after a few months, that child will have water. Clean water. And I assure you that he will think of you for the rest of his life. This is life-changing stuff! Life-saving!
If you want to help, you can. On October 14, I will be running the Perkins Great Eastern Half Marathon Run in Peterborough, UK. It's going to be ugly on my part, I assure you, but the discomfort I am sure to feel is not even comparable to the discomfort that some feel every moment of their sometimes very short lives. Click here and either choose to run with me and help raise money and awareness, or make a donation or pledge. No amount is too little. Even encouraging words are appreciated!
This life of ours is meant to be lived big. We cannot do that if we live only for ourselves. Our communities are everything, and that includes those that we have the ability to help even if we may never meet.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Control Freak.
I often wonder about how I was able to pack on so many pounds so quickly. Some of the weight can be attributed to baby-weight, but in reality, most of it came before Alex and after Eli. So there must be something else. I really do love to blame the babies, though. It's convenient. Everybody gains weight when they have children. It's expected. It's one of the small areas in the world of a Woman's Weight that has yet to be touched by Hollywood, try as they might to make it seem normal to lose it all within a month or two of childbirth. And then, sure, it's hard to lose it because now? You have a BABY. A baby that does THINGS. And takes TIME. And doesn't SLEEP. And gosh all I really want to do is just SLEEP.
But see, my problem was that when I popped Eli out, I weighed 175. At my biggest since having him, I was 207. That was not baby-weight, as much as I like to tell myself. That was 'Bout To Lose My Damn Mind weight. That was Things Done Hit The Fan weight. That was I've Lost Control Of Just About Every Other Aspect Of My Life So Of Course I Would Lose Control Of My Waistline weight.
Control is a funny thing. I think it's a part of human nature to crave it, even if you aren't a controlling person. I like to think that I am a go-with-the-flow kind of person (though, change can throw me if it's overwhelming... see my size 18 pants for further details). But I still need to feel like I control something. Anything. I need something that I can look at when everything else is spinning around in patternless craziness, and I can say that this... this is stable, this is under my control, I control this. And for a long time, that stable line that I thought I had was food. When the babies were crying and the husband was deployed and the moving boxes were being packed and the funerals were taking place, at the very least, I could control what I put in my mouth. And I said that. A lot. That I get to eat this huge bowl of ice cream after the kids go to bed because it was my reward. And I get to have this beer(s) because dang, it was a rough day. And I get to have six slices of pizza because, dude, can't you tell I'm freaking out? It was the One Thing I could control. I saw the weight coming on, but I didn't care, because I am a grown human and I get to decide what I eat. I was in survival mode. I just needed to survive. One day at a time.
And then we arrived in England. And life settled down. And the weight continued to creep on, albeit at a slower pace. And it brought me to a day that had me laying on the couch, crying because the reality of my situation finally caught up with me. My husband, who I love and appreciate more than I would ever be able to describe, sat in front of me on the floor and did not deny anything. But he did say that he knew that I had it in me somewhere to make the decision and to change. There was no sugar-coating, there was just an arm, a promise to do it together. To get healthy for the kids and for each other, yes, but mostly for ourselves. It was time.
Control is a funny thing. I thought I had control over the intake of food. But the complete opposite was true. It was controlling me, and it made me like it. Calling a person who sits down to huge portions and constant snacking and nasty food someone who is controlling their situation is like calling a person who is swerving down the road in their car someone who is controlling the steering wheel. I ate those things because I had no control. I ate that much because I had no control.
So that is what most of my journey has been so far. A lesson in control. I still fail sometimes. I don't blink twice when it comes to sweets, but man... I can't have an open bag of chips or box of crackers in my house. Because I lose my control. I give it up, I toss it aside. I close my eyes to the reality of my situation. But then it's done. And I open my eyes and decide to regain control. I make the decision to have control about 50 times a day. Every day. And sometimes it sucks. And sometimes I lose. But it's a decision. It's a choice. Every damn day.
But see, my problem was that when I popped Eli out, I weighed 175. At my biggest since having him, I was 207. That was not baby-weight, as much as I like to tell myself. That was 'Bout To Lose My Damn Mind weight. That was Things Done Hit The Fan weight. That was I've Lost Control Of Just About Every Other Aspect Of My Life So Of Course I Would Lose Control Of My Waistline weight.
Control is a funny thing. I think it's a part of human nature to crave it, even if you aren't a controlling person. I like to think that I am a go-with-the-flow kind of person (though, change can throw me if it's overwhelming... see my size 18 pants for further details). But I still need to feel like I control something. Anything. I need something that I can look at when everything else is spinning around in patternless craziness, and I can say that this... this is stable, this is under my control, I control this. And for a long time, that stable line that I thought I had was food. When the babies were crying and the husband was deployed and the moving boxes were being packed and the funerals were taking place, at the very least, I could control what I put in my mouth. And I said that. A lot. That I get to eat this huge bowl of ice cream after the kids go to bed because it was my reward. And I get to have this beer(s) because dang, it was a rough day. And I get to have six slices of pizza because, dude, can't you tell I'm freaking out? It was the One Thing I could control. I saw the weight coming on, but I didn't care, because I am a grown human and I get to decide what I eat. I was in survival mode. I just needed to survive. One day at a time.
And then we arrived in England. And life settled down. And the weight continued to creep on, albeit at a slower pace. And it brought me to a day that had me laying on the couch, crying because the reality of my situation finally caught up with me. My husband, who I love and appreciate more than I would ever be able to describe, sat in front of me on the floor and did not deny anything. But he did say that he knew that I had it in me somewhere to make the decision and to change. There was no sugar-coating, there was just an arm, a promise to do it together. To get healthy for the kids and for each other, yes, but mostly for ourselves. It was time.
Control is a funny thing. I thought I had control over the intake of food. But the complete opposite was true. It was controlling me, and it made me like it. Calling a person who sits down to huge portions and constant snacking and nasty food someone who is controlling their situation is like calling a person who is swerving down the road in their car someone who is controlling the steering wheel. I ate those things because I had no control. I ate that much because I had no control.
So that is what most of my journey has been so far. A lesson in control. I still fail sometimes. I don't blink twice when it comes to sweets, but man... I can't have an open bag of chips or box of crackers in my house. Because I lose my control. I give it up, I toss it aside. I close my eyes to the reality of my situation. But then it's done. And I open my eyes and decide to regain control. I make the decision to have control about 50 times a day. Every day. And sometimes it sucks. And sometimes I lose. But it's a decision. It's a choice. Every damn day.
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