Ouch. That's the best description for this week. After years of dabbling periodically in our fitness, my hubby and I had discovered we were way out of shape. Like, winded on the stairs out of shape.
So, it was time to get serious. Extreme, ninety days of seriousness. Once again, may I say ouch.
It takes at least an hour to an hour and a half every evening. Which is a lot of our "free" time. My wise husband had an excellent point though. We'd put off our health long enough, it was time for other things to be placed on hold.
That got me thinking, what else had I been putting off? It's so easy to get caught up in the daily work, cleaning, bill paying routine, are there crucial life events we're procrastinating?
My first thought was about my relationship with Heavenly Father and returning with honor.
When my son was very small we were at the County Fair, waiting for our ride on a roller coaster to start, when my precious toddler looked over at our church building just across the field.
"Mommy, Jesus is coming." He was very serious, his little brow furrowed.
I have to tell you, my heart quickened a little bit. "He is? When Baby?"
He continued to concentrate, but shrugged his tiny shoulders. "I don't know, soon."
I've made sure since then that the same conversation wouldn't be so worrisome. Even though I'm much more prepared, there's still a lot I should be striving for. Reading my scriptures daily, praying more often, the list goes on. How long will I procrastinate on these items?
Next my thoughts moved on to my family and all the things I want to do with them. Every summer we talk about taking the kids into nearby Washington D.C. to see the monuments or museums. So far we haven't gotten around to it. Or, the other historical sites in Virginia. There are lots of other things we've done as a family, but these are memories I want my kids to have. I need to stop putting it off and get it done.
Most importantly, I need to make sure I've told my family everything I want to tell them. Do my kids know why church and God are so important to me? Will my husband know how much he has inspired me and lifted me up, if I leave this earth tomorrow? Can any of them grasp how all encompassing my love for them is? Did I teach them to pray? To have faith?
I don't know about you, but I can't afford to procrastinate any longer. My fitness rehab may be painful, but after one week I'm seeing amazing results. I don't want to be in pain down the road because I procrastinated too long on other goals. Besides, what kind of fabulous blessings could be awaiting me?
What can you stop procrastinating, today?
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
Reverse Logging
First, let me apologize for not posting last week. Everything is fine, and thank you to all of those who checked up on me. I've been uprooted from my day job and transferred to a different division. The post for last week had a little too much attitude in it, so I decided to scrap it until I was in a better mood.
There's a small percentage of Americans that never actually have to work a day in their lives. The rest of us will be punching a clock for the majority of our natural lives. Depending on how broke we are, will determine how hard and how much we will have to work.
Everyone has stories to tell. It starts in high school waiting tables, pumping gas or taking orders at the drive-thru window. Maybe it's even younger working on the family farm or delivering the newspaper. I've never actually lived somewhere that had paperboys, but I'm sure it exists other then on television.
I worked two jobs through college to pay for living expenses. I'm still paying for the actual cost of college. Unless it was an emergency, I swore after graduation I would never eat Raman noodles again. Little did I know the happiest poverty was yet to come.
Combining two incomes should improve your financial situation. Unfortunately you're also combining two sets of living expenses. We discovered in the first year of marriage that our income would not stretch to cover a vacation.
Enter our short lived career in reverse logging.
What we did might sound a lot like planting trees, but it was much more labor intensive and hardcore then simple landscaping.
To prevent erosion around streams and creeks, the government provides grants to land owners to plant large numbers of trees in these riparian areas. In true red-tape bureaucratic style, there's about seventy-four steps to planting government trees.
First, a small hole is made and the stick with roots, think about twice the size of what your kid brings home for Arbor day, is mashed in and covered. Then, the next person drives a stake into the ground beside the tree and places a protective tube over the stick, cable tying it to the stake. Are you still with me?
The next team member comes along and places a 3'x3' fabric weed square with a slit in the center over the tree. Most importantly the fabric has to be shiny side up, according to government specs. We once had to re-do half a field that did not meet the check box. After that we learned to chant "sunny side up" as we laid the mats. Each mat had to have every corner folded in and a staple driven through it into the ground. Not necessarily difficult, but excruciating on the back.
The crowning piece was a little birdie net that went on top of the tube to keep birds and animals from eating the trees.
There's a couple things you should know to put this logging project in perspective. Planting a few trees on a lovely spring day sounds like a charming way to make a little extra money. We planted 750 to 2500 trees per farm in wind, rain, mud and bone-chilling cold. There were a few days we could work in our shirt sleeves, but they were few and far between. It was more common that we would lay thirty mats, and then sit in the truck for five minutes to warm up, and then lay thirty more mats.
Now, a dozen years later, my husband likes to tell these stories to our kids. He wants them to know that the mother they always see with hair and make-up done, heading to work in high heals, is capable of manual labor.
He especially likes to tell them about me walking through a truck stop to the ladies room. To stay warm and dry, I would layer my husband's brown coveralls over my coat, jeans, sweatshirt and long johns, paired with massive insulated boots. I stomped down the hallway like a brick wall. The roughest of truck drivers and bikers stepping aside in reverence, or fear.
The following year we still couldn't afford a vacation, so we went on a "free" time share weekend. All we had to do was take part in a ninety minute presentation. After being held hostage for three hours, I would have gladly planted trees again before accepting another deal from that particular devil.
Everyone has experiences like this. The waitressing job that kept you on your feet so long you had to go into the walk-in freezer to get your wedding rings off your swollen pregnant fingers. Or the teacher that delivers pizzas and DJ's weddings so he can provide a better life for his family. Maybe you're there right now. Whether you know it or not, you are making someone very proud.
What story does someone tell about you?
There's a small percentage of Americans that never actually have to work a day in their lives. The rest of us will be punching a clock for the majority of our natural lives. Depending on how broke we are, will determine how hard and how much we will have to work.
Everyone has stories to tell. It starts in high school waiting tables, pumping gas or taking orders at the drive-thru window. Maybe it's even younger working on the family farm or delivering the newspaper. I've never actually lived somewhere that had paperboys, but I'm sure it exists other then on television.
I worked two jobs through college to pay for living expenses. I'm still paying for the actual cost of college. Unless it was an emergency, I swore after graduation I would never eat Raman noodles again. Little did I know the happiest poverty was yet to come.
Combining two incomes should improve your financial situation. Unfortunately you're also combining two sets of living expenses. We discovered in the first year of marriage that our income would not stretch to cover a vacation.
Enter our short lived career in reverse logging.
What we did might sound a lot like planting trees, but it was much more labor intensive and hardcore then simple landscaping.
To prevent erosion around streams and creeks, the government provides grants to land owners to plant large numbers of trees in these riparian areas. In true red-tape bureaucratic style, there's about seventy-four steps to planting government trees.
First, a small hole is made and the stick with roots, think about twice the size of what your kid brings home for Arbor day, is mashed in and covered. Then, the next person drives a stake into the ground beside the tree and places a protective tube over the stick, cable tying it to the stake. Are you still with me?
The next team member comes along and places a 3'x3' fabric weed square with a slit in the center over the tree. Most importantly the fabric has to be shiny side up, according to government specs. We once had to re-do half a field that did not meet the check box. After that we learned to chant "sunny side up" as we laid the mats. Each mat had to have every corner folded in and a staple driven through it into the ground. Not necessarily difficult, but excruciating on the back.
The crowning piece was a little birdie net that went on top of the tube to keep birds and animals from eating the trees.
There's a couple things you should know to put this logging project in perspective. Planting a few trees on a lovely spring day sounds like a charming way to make a little extra money. We planted 750 to 2500 trees per farm in wind, rain, mud and bone-chilling cold. There were a few days we could work in our shirt sleeves, but they were few and far between. It was more common that we would lay thirty mats, and then sit in the truck for five minutes to warm up, and then lay thirty more mats.
Now, a dozen years later, my husband likes to tell these stories to our kids. He wants them to know that the mother they always see with hair and make-up done, heading to work in high heals, is capable of manual labor.
He especially likes to tell them about me walking through a truck stop to the ladies room. To stay warm and dry, I would layer my husband's brown coveralls over my coat, jeans, sweatshirt and long johns, paired with massive insulated boots. I stomped down the hallway like a brick wall. The roughest of truck drivers and bikers stepping aside in reverence, or fear.
The following year we still couldn't afford a vacation, so we went on a "free" time share weekend. All we had to do was take part in a ninety minute presentation. After being held hostage for three hours, I would have gladly planted trees again before accepting another deal from that particular devil.
Everyone has experiences like this. The waitressing job that kept you on your feet so long you had to go into the walk-in freezer to get your wedding rings off your swollen pregnant fingers. Or the teacher that delivers pizzas and DJ's weddings so he can provide a better life for his family. Maybe you're there right now. Whether you know it or not, you are making someone very proud.
What story does someone tell about you?
Friday, June 8, 2012
The Wedding Story of Life
Tis' the season for showers, bird seed, and floating bubbles. That's right people, it's wedding season. I've recently been asked to be a bridesmaid, something I haven't done in ten years. Believe it or not I'm completely stoked, not because I have a love of teal taffeta, but because I adore the bride. It's an honor to be asked, plus I think this is going to be a really special event for our family. Now after all that warm fuzziness, I have to be honest, my next thought was that I better start hitting the gym. I'm going to be standing next to my cousin who is about as big as my little finger, and the bride who's the "after" of my Jenny Craig commercial.
Weddings offer so many opportunities for entertainment. My cousin drug her father up the aisle and then had a cow moo during the middle of the ceremony. Unfortunately, as guests we sometimes miss the best parts of the event. The story that unfolds later.
During the set-up of my sister-in-law's wedding, her fiance left with the keys to her car. That normally wouldn't be a big deal, except large portions of the decorations were in her trunk. Using good old fashioned American ingenuity, I shimmied through her half open window and folded down the back seat to access the trunk. Yes, this was prior to the birth of my three children.
At that same wedding the groom realized just minutes before the processional that he had forgotten the CD of the bridal march. The home owner scrambled through their limited music collection. Would the bride really walk down the aisle to Wayne Newton? Luckily, I have a freakish obsession with the cannons. I find them relaxing, okay? There was a full disc of wedding music in my car, and it was unlocked.
Some of the most ridiculous wedding moments I've heard of, come from my own wedding. What can I say, I was young and didn't plan well, but it made for a memorable day.
Bubbles were just coming into fashion for weddings, but were still a bit expensive. I was wearing way too much hairspray to let our guests surround us with sparklers. Still, I was not interested in spending hours packing birdseed into tiny little bags. My bright solution? Fill a birdbath with seeds and each guest could grab a handful to toss. Simple enough. I failed to take the groomsmen into account.
My husband's dearest friends lifted the top off the birdbath and dumped the entire thing on our heads. I had to take down my hair on the balcony of our hotel room that night, to shake out the six cups of birdseed trapped in the intricate up-do. It was in our pockets, ears, shoes, anyplace you can think of.
I won't go in to detail about what they did to the car. My car, that my trusting husband left unlocked with the keys in the ignition. It was epic, I'll say that much. Even after a trip to the car wash, it was a conversation starter at every rest area we stopped at on our honeymoon.
With first dances, cake cuttings and socializing with distant family members my husband and I never had time to eat anything at our reception. Never fear, our family took care of us and packed a cooler with all the best snacks and finger foods. When we got to the hotel we were starving and couldn't wait to dig in. Except in all the craziness of leaving the wedding we'd grabbed the wrong cooler. All we had were extra broccoli and carrot sticks that had not been on ice all evening. Not exactly a pleasant smell.
At five minutes till midnight my groom and I rolled into a local McDonald's and super sized ourselves a first matrimonial dinner. I was stilling wearing my hairpiece, and we hadn't cleaned out any of the aforementioned birdseed yet. To say we were stared at would be a mild understatement.
The crowning jewel of the night, however, came right after we left the reception. Tradition holds that when the bride and groom leaves, the rest of the wedding party piles into cars and follows them through town honking, cheering and raising a general commotion. Our wedding party was exceedingly good at this task. As we were ending our rounds through town we passed a gas station where two not-so-distinguished country gentlemen were rolling out of their pick up truck. One looked up and with out missing a beat yelled out "You fool!".
No matter what hysterics take place backstage during your wedding or catastrophes that go seen or unseen by the guests you will be just as married in the end. Best of all you'll have some great stories to tell one day, when you're writing a blog about weddings during the week of your thirteenth anniversary. Who wants a boring "everything was perfect" story to tell?
Life, like our weddings, isn't perfect. That's what makes it a good story. It doesn't matter if you're a millionaire or a pauper. If your house is spotless or a mess. In the end we all meet the same maker, it's just about the story we have to tell.
How interesting is your story going to be?
Weddings offer so many opportunities for entertainment. My cousin drug her father up the aisle and then had a cow moo during the middle of the ceremony. Unfortunately, as guests we sometimes miss the best parts of the event. The story that unfolds later.
During the set-up of my sister-in-law's wedding, her fiance left with the keys to her car. That normally wouldn't be a big deal, except large portions of the decorations were in her trunk. Using good old fashioned American ingenuity, I shimmied through her half open window and folded down the back seat to access the trunk. Yes, this was prior to the birth of my three children.
At that same wedding the groom realized just minutes before the processional that he had forgotten the CD of the bridal march. The home owner scrambled through their limited music collection. Would the bride really walk down the aisle to Wayne Newton? Luckily, I have a freakish obsession with the cannons. I find them relaxing, okay? There was a full disc of wedding music in my car, and it was unlocked.
Some of the most ridiculous wedding moments I've heard of, come from my own wedding. What can I say, I was young and didn't plan well, but it made for a memorable day.
Bubbles were just coming into fashion for weddings, but were still a bit expensive. I was wearing way too much hairspray to let our guests surround us with sparklers. Still, I was not interested in spending hours packing birdseed into tiny little bags. My bright solution? Fill a birdbath with seeds and each guest could grab a handful to toss. Simple enough. I failed to take the groomsmen into account.
My husband's dearest friends lifted the top off the birdbath and dumped the entire thing on our heads. I had to take down my hair on the balcony of our hotel room that night, to shake out the six cups of birdseed trapped in the intricate up-do. It was in our pockets, ears, shoes, anyplace you can think of.
I won't go in to detail about what they did to the car. My car, that my trusting husband left unlocked with the keys in the ignition. It was epic, I'll say that much. Even after a trip to the car wash, it was a conversation starter at every rest area we stopped at on our honeymoon.
With first dances, cake cuttings and socializing with distant family members my husband and I never had time to eat anything at our reception. Never fear, our family took care of us and packed a cooler with all the best snacks and finger foods. When we got to the hotel we were starving and couldn't wait to dig in. Except in all the craziness of leaving the wedding we'd grabbed the wrong cooler. All we had were extra broccoli and carrot sticks that had not been on ice all evening. Not exactly a pleasant smell.
At five minutes till midnight my groom and I rolled into a local McDonald's and super sized ourselves a first matrimonial dinner. I was stilling wearing my hairpiece, and we hadn't cleaned out any of the aforementioned birdseed yet. To say we were stared at would be a mild understatement.
The crowning jewel of the night, however, came right after we left the reception. Tradition holds that when the bride and groom leaves, the rest of the wedding party piles into cars and follows them through town honking, cheering and raising a general commotion. Our wedding party was exceedingly good at this task. As we were ending our rounds through town we passed a gas station where two not-so-distinguished country gentlemen were rolling out of their pick up truck. One looked up and with out missing a beat yelled out "You fool!".
No matter what hysterics take place backstage during your wedding or catastrophes that go seen or unseen by the guests you will be just as married in the end. Best of all you'll have some great stories to tell one day, when you're writing a blog about weddings during the week of your thirteenth anniversary. Who wants a boring "everything was perfect" story to tell?
Life, like our weddings, isn't perfect. That's what makes it a good story. It doesn't matter if you're a millionaire or a pauper. If your house is spotless or a mess. In the end we all meet the same maker, it's just about the story we have to tell.
How interesting is your story going to be?
Monday, March 19, 2012
A Pirate Goes Camping
I seriously considered writing a post entitled "Unfortunate Swimsuit Decisions and Tragic Tattoos". After spending a week in warmer climates I was an unlucky witness to a multitude of both. I have three children, two of which came at the same time, and a love of all things chocolate. I know the importance of shopping for a flattering swimsuit. It is my firm belief that many people, both male and female, grab a suit off the rack, put it on and strut out to the pool or beach with out ever looking in a mirror. At least I hope they don't know how they look. I digress, crayon sketched tattoos of mangled mermaids and poorly worn Speedos are not my focus this week. These observations were made because of something that has become very precious to me and my husband, relaxing time away.
I know what you're thinking, that's great for you, but not everyone can flit off to the beach. Well most of the time neither can I, but it doesn't matter where you go it's the peace you get when you arrive. Several years into our marriage my husband and I were stressed to the max and money was tight, which probably added to the stress. Our solution to a relaxing getaway, camping.
It sounded like a good idea at the time. Just thirty dollars a night and a borrowed tent, what could be better? Famous last thoughts. With everything packed and ready to go my hubby came home late from work with an eye injury. You may not have noticed, but telephone lines are wrapped with a wire. While working on a telephone pole that guide wire had sprung loose and stabbed him in the eye. Go ahead, cringe. Had we been a little older and smarter I would have insisted on going to the emergency room, but we weren't so bright and we were desperate to get away. After twenty minutes on the road he was blinded by tears and in a good deal of pain, so we pulled over at a Wal-Mart and I went in to search for a solution. I knew his patience was waining so I raced through the pharmacy aisles scanning the shelves for anything that might help. My solution, eye drops, pain killers and an eye-patch padded with tissues. If a peg leg and a parrot would have helped I'd have bought them, I was beyond desperation.
The pirate routine bought us some time. We were able to get to the campground and set-up the tent, but then he was done. He collapsed on the empty floor of the tent in pain, while I unloaded the truck and established our campsite by the beam of the flashlight and prayed. Exhausted I stumbled through the woods to the showers and prayed some more. Settling the dog under the truck and zipping us into the tent I was finally done. Oh, and did I mention I prayed?
Saturday morning broke sunny and beautiful. I was woken by a very large rock in my back, which was a bad sign considering we had been sleeping on an air mattress. My hubby cracked his good eye open and then gingerly lifted his patch. There was a slight dot that looked bloodshot, but no swelling and no pain. The prayers of the faithful were answered.
With joy in our hearts we bounced out of our tent only to be slammed back by...what exactly was that smell? It was so overwhelming we couldn't immediately distinguish the acidic stench that was burning our eyes. Then it hit me. During the night we had yelled at the dog to be quiet and settle down. Surely he had not been sprayed by a skunk while tied to our truck, in our campsite, in the middle of a very crowded campground. We peeked out at the pooch. He kept his nose in the dirt and wouldn't make eye contact. Yep, that's exactly what had happened.
I don't know about you, I pack a lot of things when I camp, but not skunk remedies. Checking out the camp store the closest thing we could find was V-8 juice, and it wasn't cheap. We bought two bottles and rationed it out between the dog and the truck tire that had been in the line of fire. Low and behold it worked. I'm telling you, the Lord helps those who help themselves, and He was definitely helping us.
Our day went on to be fabulous. It was the first time we spent just completely relaxing together, no activities, just sitting under some trees reading magazines and taking naps. I might have put enough effort forth to paint my toenails and later we went fishing, but the point is we took time to quiet our minds and check ourselves out of reality for awhile. The peace and sanity we gained that day was life saving. It didn't matter that we were camping in the woods, we could have been on a beach or at a park. The experience is what counted. The fact that there were challenges in our path made it all the more worth while. Things that come to easily also come with less meaning.
Take time for yourself, your marriage, your sanity and don't let anything stand in your way no matter what ridiculous thing pops up. Even if it means taking a pirate camping. Maybe it's the very thing that could save you from a disastrous swimsuit decision or tacky tattoo.
So, when are you going to find a little peace?
I know what you're thinking, that's great for you, but not everyone can flit off to the beach. Well most of the time neither can I, but it doesn't matter where you go it's the peace you get when you arrive. Several years into our marriage my husband and I were stressed to the max and money was tight, which probably added to the stress. Our solution to a relaxing getaway, camping.
It sounded like a good idea at the time. Just thirty dollars a night and a borrowed tent, what could be better? Famous last thoughts. With everything packed and ready to go my hubby came home late from work with an eye injury. You may not have noticed, but telephone lines are wrapped with a wire. While working on a telephone pole that guide wire had sprung loose and stabbed him in the eye. Go ahead, cringe. Had we been a little older and smarter I would have insisted on going to the emergency room, but we weren't so bright and we were desperate to get away. After twenty minutes on the road he was blinded by tears and in a good deal of pain, so we pulled over at a Wal-Mart and I went in to search for a solution. I knew his patience was waining so I raced through the pharmacy aisles scanning the shelves for anything that might help. My solution, eye drops, pain killers and an eye-patch padded with tissues. If a peg leg and a parrot would have helped I'd have bought them, I was beyond desperation.
The pirate routine bought us some time. We were able to get to the campground and set-up the tent, but then he was done. He collapsed on the empty floor of the tent in pain, while I unloaded the truck and established our campsite by the beam of the flashlight and prayed. Exhausted I stumbled through the woods to the showers and prayed some more. Settling the dog under the truck and zipping us into the tent I was finally done. Oh, and did I mention I prayed?
Saturday morning broke sunny and beautiful. I was woken by a very large rock in my back, which was a bad sign considering we had been sleeping on an air mattress. My hubby cracked his good eye open and then gingerly lifted his patch. There was a slight dot that looked bloodshot, but no swelling and no pain. The prayers of the faithful were answered.
With joy in our hearts we bounced out of our tent only to be slammed back by...what exactly was that smell? It was so overwhelming we couldn't immediately distinguish the acidic stench that was burning our eyes. Then it hit me. During the night we had yelled at the dog to be quiet and settle down. Surely he had not been sprayed by a skunk while tied to our truck, in our campsite, in the middle of a very crowded campground. We peeked out at the pooch. He kept his nose in the dirt and wouldn't make eye contact. Yep, that's exactly what had happened.
I don't know about you, I pack a lot of things when I camp, but not skunk remedies. Checking out the camp store the closest thing we could find was V-8 juice, and it wasn't cheap. We bought two bottles and rationed it out between the dog and the truck tire that had been in the line of fire. Low and behold it worked. I'm telling you, the Lord helps those who help themselves, and He was definitely helping us.
Our day went on to be fabulous. It was the first time we spent just completely relaxing together, no activities, just sitting under some trees reading magazines and taking naps. I might have put enough effort forth to paint my toenails and later we went fishing, but the point is we took time to quiet our minds and check ourselves out of reality for awhile. The peace and sanity we gained that day was life saving. It didn't matter that we were camping in the woods, we could have been on a beach or at a park. The experience is what counted. The fact that there were challenges in our path made it all the more worth while. Things that come to easily also come with less meaning.
Take time for yourself, your marriage, your sanity and don't let anything stand in your way no matter what ridiculous thing pops up. Even if it means taking a pirate camping. Maybe it's the very thing that could save you from a disastrous swimsuit decision or tacky tattoo.
So, when are you going to find a little peace?
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