My Best Year Yet. Bring it, 39.

Yesterday, I woke up looking like this:

Double Eye Infection.

It sucked. I cried.

Because yesterday was the day before I turned 39 and 2 days before I celebrate my last year in my 30’s with friends at a piano bar somewhere in Orange County. And who wants to look like that when they’re Drunk Dancing next to a piano while some dude plays a bad cover of Don’t Stop Believing?

No one. That’s who.

Today, my eyes are slightly less swollen, my throat isn’t as sore and I have not cried once. Today isn’t for crying. Today is for reflecting. Reflecting upon the 38th year of my life.

Turns out, Year 38 was the best year of my adult life.

Nothing extraordinary happened. But it was extraordinary.

It was a year full of small victories, both physical and emotional, that helped shape a Better Me. A happier, healthier, stronger, more content Me. It was the year I stopped hating my body because I was too busy loving my life.

38 was so good to me in so many ways, for so many reasons.

I got to spend time in the city I love the most, New York City.

Twice. And the second time, I got to ride to Central Park in a pedicab driven by Mario.

I reunited with friends from high school, 3 of them whose friendship saved me from feeling totally alone during the hardest years of my life. I went to my 20th high school reunion where I was stalked by an old class mate. I ran my first (treadmill) 5K. I bought and wore my first dress in many,many years.

I had lunch with Tony Hawk.

I hugged Erik Estrada.

I reconnected with dear, old friends and made new ones that have brought so much laughter (and Stella Rosa) into my life.

I Owned My Sexy. Oh, yes I did.

I got a promotion. I cut bangs. I had Hot Soapy Naked fun in Vegas.
I got my medical problems under control. I lost more weight. I gained more confidence.

I watched my daughter blossom in kindergarten, make new friends, learn to read. I watched my son win a drum contest, crush his opponents on the basketball court and receive numerous academic and social awards. I watched my oldest take his senior portraits and began his last year in high school.

I fell in love with dancing and I danced so hard, more than I’ve ever danced in my entire life.

Tomorrow night I plan on spending the evening dancing, surrounded by people whom I love. I started to panic a bit yesterday, because people started sending me the all too familiar “sorry, I won’t be able to make it after all” messages. But then I talked to a friend who told me “it doesn’t matter if it’s just me and you and your sister, we’re going to have so much fun.”

She’s right. Tomorrow is going to be so great.

But first, I have to get through today. The first day of my 39th year. I welcome it with open arms. And quite possibly, a drink in my hand.

I’m Pretty Sure I’m Going To Need An Assembly Line of Shoulders To Cry on in Exactly Six Months From Today

Today is September 3rd.
Which means today my first born child is exactly 6 months away from his 18th birthday.
Which means in exactly 6 months I will be the mother of an adult human being.
An adult human being who can use the phrase “YOU CAN’T STOP ME! I’M 18!” if he wants to.
To which I could respond “well then, you can start paying for your own place and your own groceries, Mr. Adult Man!” if I wanted to.
I hope he never does and I hope I never do, because I’m dreading those kind of conversations with my LEGAL ADULT HUMAN BEING.
Other things I dread are more serious, like, my son apparently having made up his mind that he wants to attend a law enforcement academy this fall because he wants to be a cop. He’s been saying that for a while, but I’ve been hoping he’ll change his mind.
All indications are that he’s not going to change his mind. He’s talking about it more and more and telling me the classes he wants to take and criminal justice this and police academy that and oh my delicate heart can not take it because it is too overwhelmed with both pride and fear. At the same time. Because good for you for wanting to protect and serve, son. But also? You could get shot and killed so choose something else please, son.
I swear to Regis Philbin that just yesterday we were having conversations about Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles and how many tickets he had saved for that one prize he was trying to earn at Chuck E Cheeses. And today, we’re talking about graduation and THE POLICE ACADEMY. What? How is this possible?
I try to look at the bright side.
He’ll be earning his own money! He’ll be experiencing the world and all that it has to offer! He’ll be doing important things that will make a difference in this world!
I remember being that age. I remember how excited I was to be so close to graduating and living my life (and for me? “living my life” pretty much meant “marrying PigHunter so I could have all of the sex I wanted every single day!)
I am happy for my son and looking forward to watching him be the man that I’ve raised him to be. But at the same time… tears. So many tears. Because even though I know that in my heart he will always remain my sweet baby boy, the reality is that he is just six months away from being a legal adult.
Good for him. Bad for my heart.

Lady HaHa.

The kids already have their first day of school off. “Staff development day.” Normally, this would annoy me because seriously, teachers? School just started. But I was looking forward to their day off.. I didn’t get home from a work trip until 1am and I am wiped the hell out. I was looking forward to sleeping in.
But at 6am, I felt a little finger tapping on my arm.
“Mom?” She whispered.
“No. no! Go back to bed! It’s too early!”
She didn’t go back to bed. She went to the couch to try to watch TV, but the batteries on the remote were dead and I only know this because 30 seconds after I had fallen back to sleep, she was tapping on my arm again telling me that the batteries were dead.
I switched out the batteries and tried to fall back asleep. I tossed and turned but eventually fell back asleep.
Except 8 minutes later, my son was standing next to my bed.
“Mom. Gabby just said the funniest thing.”
“Tell me later! I’m so tired!”
“But mom, it’s hilarious.” He insisted that I needed to hear the story right this very minute.
“Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.” I said, all angrily while forcing my eyes open.
“She wanted to play with my itouch, but I told her no because I was in the middle of the game. So then she got so mad and said ‘you know what, Ethan? I’m going to do what Lady Gaga said. I’m going to Pa-pa-poke your face pa-pa-poke your face’.”
I know, I KNOW. So mean. So violent. So very worth being woken up for.

Picture Day!

Today was picture day at G’s school.
She wanted me to curl her hair. And even though I knew it would be flat before we made it to school, I got up extra early to curl her hair. Because I love her.
I wanted to cut her bangs, because they were annoying me. I didn’t want her bangs covering her beautiful eyes in her pictures. But she wants to let her bangs grow out because bangs “make her look like a little baby!”
I put the head band of her choice on her pretty little head when I was all done fixing her bangs. She looked at herself, smiled a huge smile and said “it looks beautiful, Mommy.”
I grabbed the camera and asked if I could take a few pictures outside before we left. She agreed.
I told her where to stand and she started to pose. I snapped away.
But then, I stopped. I stopped and I stared at the little beauty standing before me. Where did my baby go? Time stood still as I took her in. All traces of baby are gone. She’s a little lady now. A beautiful little lady who makes me laugh, who knows how to put an outfit together, who knows how to melt my heart. She’s everything I could have asked for in a daughter.
My baby girl, the last baby that I’ll ever have is growing and becoming her own little person, with her own wants and desires (no bangs!), hopes and dreams (she wants a pony!)
It’s both beautiful and heart wrenching to watch.

I Like To Think She Learned That From Me

My boys spend every Friday night at church hanging out with youth group. So, every Friday night it’s just me, my husband and our daughter, hanging out here at the house. Last night my husband had to go from his regular job to do a side job. I thought it was the perfect opportunity for a Girls Night Out with my daughter.
“Hey, would you like to go to dinner after we drop your brothers off at church?” I asked her, excitedly.
She responded with an enthusiastic “YES!”
Until I told her she would have to change out of her pajama’s back into the school clothes she had just taken off.
“But I want to stay in my pajamas!” She whined.
I explained to her that wearing pajamas to a restaurant was absolutely not acceptable and that if she wanted to go, she would have to change.
Long story short– she had a total meltdown that ended with her slamming her door while shouting “I THINK MY ANSWER IS NO! I DON’T WANT TO GO!”
I could feel the anger rise up within me. I wanted to fight back. To shout back at her something like “I DIDN’T REALLY WANT TO GO ANYWAY!”
I took a deep breath to compose my thoughts. I didn’t want to have another meltdown of my own.
l opened her door and found her on her bed, her arms crossed and the Meanest Mad Face I’ve ever seen.
“GO OUT, MOMMY!” She snarled.
“I just have one thing to say to you and I’ll leave.” I said, calmly. “I’ve missed you so much since you’ve started first grade and I was really looking forward to spending time with you. I’m sad that you’ve chosen to act this way instead of being excited to spend time with me. You just made my heart sad, GabbyGoo. I love you.”
I closed the door and walked out.
She didn’t say a word.
For 20 minutes there was complete silence.
I walked in her room again to check on her. She was sitting at her desk, writing.
“Mommy! Please don’t look! Close the door!”
I left her alone.
A few minutes later, she walked into my room with her head down and handed me a folded piece of paper. There was a little heart with a flower in the middle on the front. I opened it up.

The anger and disappointment that I had felt towards my daughter just seconds before instantly melted away. I pulled her close to me, hugged her tightly and kissed her over and over again on her soft little cheeks. I was so proud of that little girl in my arms.
“I love you and I forgive you.” I whispered in her ear.
She smiled, walked back into her room and walked out, dressed and ready to go out to dinner with her mama.

Getting Closer

I have set 3 weight loss goals for myself.
To eat well. To exercise daily. And to ultimately, get down to 150 pounds.
150 pounds is the magic weight because my endocrinologist says she will not take me off of metf*rmin until I reach that weight. (And I really REALLY need to get off of that evil drug. Having to know that you can get to a restroom in less than 30 seconds at any given time of the day IS NO WAY TO LIVE.) It’s totally doable, except for the fact that with My Condition, losing a single pound can take WEEKS. It’s frustrating, sometimes EXTREMELY SO. That is why I try to focus more on how much stronger and faster my body is than I focusing on the numbers.
However, it’s been hard not to focus on the numbers lately because I can’t seem to get out of the 180’s. I’ve been stuck at 182.4 pounds for what feels like 100 years. Sometimes I’ll go up to 184 pounds, then back down to 182.4 pounds. BUT NEVER LESS THAN THAT. I decided it was time to switch things up at the gym a bit. For the past month, I’ve been running faster and farther, I’ve been lifting more weight, I’ve been mother effing jumping rope and squatting and lunging and over all working out harder. And yet, every single time I step on the scale I see 182.4 flash before my eyes.
It’s been emotionally and physically exhausting. Frustrating beyond all words.
But then, today, I saw this:

I can now say I’ve lost 57 pounds and am only 30 away from my Ultimate Goal. It feels damn good to be able to say that.
(Unrelated: Please click over to my review blog to read how you can help raise money for a great cause!)

I Think We May Need to Start a Prayer Chain Now

I was in the bedroom, getting ready to take the kids to school when she called for me.
“Mommy!” She shouted from the other room. “Can I wear this outfit when I’m a teenager?”
“Which outfit?” I shouted back as I slipped on my shoes.
“Come here! I’ll show you!” She replied.
I hurried to tie my shoe so I could see what outfit she was talking about. Based on the last few “Can I do *fill in the blank* when I’m a teenager?” conversations we’ve had, I was a liiiiiittle nervous. (Last “fill in the blank” was “work at Hooters.”)
I walked into the family room. She pointed at the television, which she had paused.
“Can I wear that when I’m a teenager?”

I’m more scared than ever about the teenage years with my daughter, you guys.

My Boudoir Photo Shoot in NYC- Not Quite What I Had Planned, But Exactly What I Needed

My body.
I’ve never liked it. In fact, for the majority of my life, I’ve hated it.
I’ve been ashamed of it when it was thin, when it was obese and when it was everything in between. I’ve spoke to therapists and psychiatrists about my body hate. I’ve cried about it more times than I could ever count. I’ve hid from people that I love because of the shame I feel about my body.
I’ve starved myself.
I’ve stuffed myself.
I’ve done things I could never tell a soul to this body because I’ve hated it.
If you’ve read this blog long enough, you know what a struggle my body image has been for me. You know that I’ve missed out on so much of my life because of how disgusted I’ve felt with this body.
But then I read a post that changed everything.
I decided I had to find a way to make peace with my body. So that I could be an example to my children. I never wanted to hear my daughter say she’d “rather be dead than be fat.”
It wasn’t easy to do. I was riddled with health problems and stuck with a doctor who wouldn’t listen. I weighed 237 pounds. Not easy to love a body that unhealthy.
But I did. I loved it enough to fight for it.
I am now 55 pounds lighter, but make no mistake about it– I’m still fat.
182 pounds on a 5′ 4″ frame.
My breasts are saggier than ever. My stomach is too.
I have more stretch marks and we won’t even talk about my belly button.
But I’ve decided to to try love it anyway.
I love it by taking care of it. By taking the proper medications to make sure it functions as it should. By working out every day. By pushing it to do things I never thought it was capable of. By letting my husband enjoy it again,without reservations or hangups. By wearing cute clothes again. By treating myself to pedicures and facials.
By just enjoying every minute of my life.
This is my body. This is the only one I will ever have and the only life I will ever live.
While I was in NYC for BlogHer, I was given an amazing gift– a free Boudoir photo session. The photographer is a long time blog reader, internet friend, who wanted to do something nice for me after how hard I’ve worked to lose 55 pounds. (awesome!) What a perfect way to prove my new found Body Love! I said “absolutely, YES!” despite my fears and insecurities.
Oh, the fears and insecurities!
I haven’t worn anything sexy for at least 10 years– how would I put on something sexy and POSE FOR PICTURES? I didn’t know if I could go through with it, but godblessit, I was going to try!
This was a Really Big Deal.
This meant more to me than taking sexy pictures. This was so much more to me than that.
The shoot was fun and not as difficult or scary as I imagined it to be. Laura made me feel totally comfortable. I definitely had a ton of hangups. I worried about all of the body parts I was ashamed of (basically, every! single! one!) I was afraid my stretched out belly button would show, or my lumpy thighs. I laughed a lot, though and when it was over, I was so proud of myself for doing it.
But then, it was time to view the photos.
A very good friend had done a shoot before mine, so she came and my other friend came along with me so we could view our photos together.
As we watched, I felt a little embarrassed, but over all, I was comfortable with what I saw. Yes, my thighs were huge, but duh, I’m a big girl.
Then, it was time to view my friend’s photos.
And they were beautiful. And sexy.
I instantly felt regret about the photos I had taken. I suddenly became aware of how much time I’d spent covering my body up in my shots. Every insecurity that I’ve ever had about my body overcame my entire being.
Later, when I was alone. I cried in the cab on the way to a dinner party. I cried when a friend asked me how the shoot went. I sobbed in the bathroom.
Every awful thought that I’ve had about my body came rushing back. Not because of my friend’s pictures, not because she made me feel bad. I was proud of her for overcoming her fears — I know it was just as hard for her to do as it was for me. Simply because I was feeling so vulnerable in that moment.
For days, I secretly regretted doing that photo shoot. I hated the thoughts and emotions it brought up. I hated that I was once again reminded of how thoroughly flawed my body is.
I’m happy to say that I no longer feel that way.
When I got the first photo in my inbox, I was nervous. Nervous that I’d start crying all over again. But that didn’t happen. Instead, I felt… proud. Proud of myself for once again stepping outside of my comfort zone. Proud of myself for taking the huge step of buying myself something pretty and, dare I say it, sexy to wear. Proud of myself for working so hard every single day for the past year and a half to lose 55 pounds. Proud of myself for all of it.
Yes, my body is flawed. It’s no longer beautiful (in the way that I define beautiful.) I’m still overweight.
I had a choice to make. Pick myself apart, dwell on the negative, compare myself to others.
Or, just embrace it. My body, this experience, who I am.
And love it anyway.
Today, for the first time, maybe ever, I chose to love.
If you’ve ever felt the way that I have, I hope that you can learn to do the same. I hope you chose to embrace and love who you are, whatever your shape/size.
This is the part where I take a deep breath and show you what was so graciously given to me. Big thighs, saggy breasts and all.

Thank you, Laura, for this amazing gift. I am so grateful. [little voice] and so is my husband.[/little voice} And thank you Lena for being brave enough to do this with me. I love you.
Full set is here.

The Thong Story

Last week while in NYC, I was scheduled to do a boudoir photo shoot.

I had to go buy a couple of new, sexy lingerie because I haven’t bought lingerie since 2000.
I searched everywhere for something that would a) hold my boobs up b) hide my belly (button) c) hold my boobs up d) hold my boobs up.

After days of searching, I finally found a couple of nighties that both held my boobs up and also hid my stomach. Attached to each nightie was a tiny little thong. Confession: I do not wear thongs. This is important to know.

Flash forward to the day of the shoot. I am in Laura’s bathroom, changing into my nightie. Keep in mind, I’ve not put on lingerie for my husband in YEARS. I was nervous as hell about letting someone see me wearing something so…revealing? I took the tags off and put the nightie on first. Then, I took a deep breath and prepared to slip The Thong on.

That is when I noticed the tags.

And that is when my heart dropped into my vaginal area because OH HELL NO I WILL NOT.
You see, the tags were in the part that I believed to be “the front.” You know, the part that covers your pachina.

“WHAT!THE!HELL?!” I thought to myself. “When did they start making them like this?”

I proceeded to put the thong on with the tags in the back. Meaning, THE STRING PART WAS UP ALL UP IN MY FRONT.

I stood there and stared at in the the mirror in horror.

“This is pornographic! I can not go out there like this.” I said to myself, full on outraged with what my eyes were looking at.

I tried placing the thong so that it covered, uh, “things” just right. I turned around so I could see what it looked like in the back. “Well, that looks kind of cute!” I thought to myself. BUT THE FRONT! I CAN’T GO OUT THERE WITH THE FRONT ALL EXPOSED LIKE THAT. I tried to figure out a way to keep the string in just the right place. It wasn’t working so well because any little movement and WHOOPS, THERE GOES THE STRING THING.

I called to Laura and asked her for scissors. She said she had some, but I think she got distracted and forgot so I took the thong off and started trying to tear the tags off. I was pulling so hard, but those mofos would not come off. I was kind of panicking, and wanted to cry! I managed to finally get the tags off and then proceeded to put my thong on in what I perceived to be “backwards.”

The entire experience left me some what traumatized and so I just had to bring it up to Laura.

“Apparently. these are the thongs that you wear with the string part in the front.” I said, all seriously, because in my mind “tags go in the back. always. I continued. “I don’t even care, though. I ripped the tags off and put them on backwards.”

Laura just looked at me, smiled but didn’t say a word.

After the photo shoot, I met with Lindsay and Lena for lunch. I was telling them all about my shoot. Of course, I had to bring up The Thong.

“Apparently, I bought one of those thongs that you were the strip part in the front, but I ripped the tags out and wore them backwards because I DON’T EVEN CARE.”

Lena looked at me with that “aww, poor sweetie” face that people have to make at me a lot because sometimes I don’t know how things work.

“Yvonne.” She said, gently. “The tags go in the front because they don’t fit in the back. You weren’t SUPPOSED to wear them with string in the front.”

I was mortified. Suddenly the look that Laura had given me made sense. She KNEW about the tags! She knew that I wasn’t wearing them backwards but the way they were intended to be worn, but she didn’t say anything probably because she felt so bad for me. Like, how could this woman not know?

HAHHAHHAHAHA I ALMOST WORE THEM WITH THE STRING IN THE FRONT BECAUSE THE TAGS WERE IN THE FRONT WHICH NATURALLY MEANT THAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO WEAR THEM WITH THE STRING IN THE FRONT AND OH HOLY HELL THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN AWKWARD.

Thongs, man.

Like The Sun

A couple of weeks before BlogHer, I received a message from Karen.
“Been looking through your photos. You give AMAZING face — all sparkling eyes and happy smile. May I photograph you at BlogHer?”
The thing you need to know about Karen is a photographer. But she’s more than that. She has an amazing gift– her photos capture and bring out the unique beauty that each of her subjects possess.
I didn’t hesitate to say “yes.”
She came to my hotel room, pulled a chair in front of the window, asked me to sit down and began to shoot. And shoot and shoot and shoot. She showed me a few shots. I don’t like my face, but I sure did like what I saw through the viewfinder. She’s amazing, I tell you.
Yesterday, I received an email that contained the photo she chose to post on 1,000 faces.
As soon as I saw it, I began to pick apart my face. I immediately noticed all of the things that I hated. My wrinkles. My bad skin. My crooked teeth, and so on…But then I read what Karen wrote underneath my pictures.

“Isn’t she just radiant? She looks like the sun to me.”
My first reaction was to reject her description. Instead, I let her words sink in. And for a minute, I allowed myself to believe them.
I hope that one day, I can see myself the way that Karen does. Every day.