Ghost Milk

Here’s a little something creepy for your Halloween pleasure…


About a month ago, I got up one Saturday morning and got the milk out of the fridge. I poured a glass and then set the milk on the counter. I kept hearing this “pop” sound every few seconds. I saw what it was and grabbed my camera and took this short video:


It did this for at least 3 whole minutes.  Creepy, no?


Can someone explain this? Or is it something from The Other Side?!?!?  (not to be confused with The Far Side – although I love me some Gary Larson)

Happy Halloween y’all!!


The enemy within

whisper @ elvismas

Image by macwagen via Flickr

So last night I’m sitting on the couch after dinner and thinking “this would be a good time for a work out”. But instead of getting up, I just sat there.  I kept thinking that if I just did 20 minutes, I could quit and call it good. But I just sat there.  I already had a t-shirt and track pants on, so all I had to do was put my kicks on and go to the garage and do a quick 20 on the elliptical… yet the sitting continued.

Then I began to wonder why I was just sitting there and why didn’t I want to get up go fit in a quick workout.  I got very quiet and still and started listening to my thoughts. And that’s when I heard it: a very small, very subversive, almost inaudible voice way back in the dark recesses of my brain. It was whispering “you need to work out because you are a disgusting fatty. You have GOT to burn some of that fat off because, girl, you are outta control. You HAVE to do something about this now, before it really gets out of hand. You don’t deserve to eat – you need to be working out an hour every day to get your uncontrollable self under control, Fatty.”

Let me tell you, I was as surprised as you are to hear that voice. I thought I had this body image thing pretty well knocked out. Yes I know I need to lose some weight, but “Fatty”? Really?  Gaining this weight back hasn’t made me happy, but I still think I got it going on, ya know? I guess there is some part of me that is REALLY upset about the weight gain and thinks the only way to motivate me is to belittle me.

Well, I’ve got news for you “Fatty-Voice”, I don’t do so well with the beat-down. That kind of talk? Makes want to dig in my heels and not do a damn thing (hence the couch-sitting).

I do however, respond very well to kindness and compassion. If you flatter me and tell me that I am super-awesome? I’d probably do 45 minutes on the elliptical for you just to prove you right.  I always kind of thought that affirmations, mantras, and chanting were a little too “woowoo” for me, but I think it’s time to pull out the big guns and tell FattyVoice to shut the hell up. I’m not putting up with that sh*t.

Here’s my ammo:

Working out 3x per week for 20-30 minutes is perfectly fine for right now. You can always add in more time later if you want. You don’t have to do anymore than that.

No need for restricting your food – just eat a little bit less today than you did yesterday. Try to throw in some veggies a few times a day too if you think about it.

You are super-awesome. Own it.

Anything else I should add to that?



Back from the South, y’all.

I’m back!! Oh it was a wonderful trip – quick, but wonderful!!  The hubs and I drove 18 hours to get to my friend’s wedding (my mom stayed with the kiddos), spent two days in Charleston, then drove 18 hours back.  I so so so wish we had more time to spend in Charleston – what a great city!! Such a lot of history – and the houses are gorgeous.  We drove to Folly Beach and ate at a little pizza place called Woody’s Pizza – oh. my. gosh. I nearly had an orgasm over the breadsticks – they were that good!

Speaking of eating too many bread sticks, I gained 7 pounds while we were gone.  How could that happen, you ask? Well when you eat out 12-14 times in one week, it’s bound to happen!! I’m so SICK of eating restaurant food – don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed every minute of it, but really after a while all the richness gets old. I was so happy to have my boring bland food Saturday night!!

And now for your viewing pleasure, a few photos from my vacation:

Cotton fields in Georgia. I'd never seen cotton growing in a field before.


The pier at Waterfront Park. This was our only sightseeing day.


Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with me!


My feet on Folly Beach. That white stuff? Millions of tiny shells.



There was a lake in the middle of this neighborhood. Can you see the houses on the other side? Gorgeous, every one of them.

Those are just a few of the things we saw while we were there. I really want to go back some time when we can really explore the area.

Charleston, I miss you already.

Carolina bound

The Angel Oak Tree in South Carolina

Image via Wikipedia

Thanks for all your kind words about my last post. Friday was a super bad day – lots of emotions running way high, ready to overflow at any minute except that I didn’t have the time or the privacy to really let it go.  Writing that post helped a bit, I think.

Anyway, remember how I said that gaining 15 pounds was no big deal? Well, apparently gaining  18 pounds is HUGE deal for me.  I’m up to 173 and I’ve been freaking out.  I am fat. That’s just a fact – I have amassed large amounts of fat all over my body. My legs are heavy, my face is round, and lets not even talk about how from behind I look exactly like my matronly mother.


But I don’t have time to hyperfocus on that right now because tomorrow the hubs and I are going south.  We are heading to South Carolina for my best friend’s wedding – we are making the 16 hour drive because I haven’t seen my BFF in over 5 years and I need some SisterFriend time!! She is getting married under the Angel Oak Tree and then we will head to the reception where much wine will be imbibed! I’m not looking forward to the drive, but I think it will be good for the hubs and I to spend some time together. Flying was going to be hugely expensive (over $1000 for the two of us), and I’ve been told that it’s a perfect time to drive because Autumn in the south is a sight to behold.  So we will pack a cooler with some snacks, some tunes, and lots of magazines and we will head on down the road! I just thought I should let you know so that Debby doesn’t think I’ve fallen off the face of the earth and send out a search party (which I totally appreciate, btw)!  😉

Okay well I’ve got lots to do to get ready – those bags aren’t going to pack themselves!  Have a good week.  🙂

PS. That picture up there is where D is getting married. Beautiful, no?

October 1999

Because of this, I will share this:

In 1996 I got pregnant with my son fairly easily. A little too easily if you ask me, as I was not yet married and really hadn’t even planned on having kids EVER.  But I did get pregnant, got married, and had the most beautiful baby boy the world had ever seen.

Two and half years later, the hubs and I decided that it was time for our son to have a sibling. Once again, getting pregnant was a piece of cake – I come from a long line of Fertile Myrtles.  I waved the pregnancy test in my husband’s face and proceeded to tell everyone who would listen that I. WAS.  PREGNANT!!

Twelve weeks later, we went in for our first OB check up.  The OB listened for the heartbeat with the doppler radio thingy (technical term), but couldn’t hear anything. “No big deal” she said, “sometimes it’s hard to hear, I’ll get the nurse – she’s a little bit better with this thing than I am.” I wasn’t worried. The nurse came in…and she couldn’t hear the heartbeat either.  I still wasn’t worried, because after all, I had had the perfect pregnancy before and delivered just fine. Why should this time be any different?

My OB said we would have to have a vaginal ultrasound (and yes, it’s as unpleasant as it sounds) to see the baby’s heartbeat. I was still very upbeat about everything – laughing and joking with the nurse while they got everything ready. My husband was quiet – not unusual, but he wasn’t saying much of anything at this point.

So I’m laying there on the table with this very cold, very long instrument in my hoohah and the doctor keeps saying things like “this is bothersome” and “see how the uterus sort of caves in right here”… I STILL didn’t get it.  Finally she turns the machine off and she’s talking about things that I don’t understand. I finally ask her “So what does all this mean?” She pauses and says, “it means it doesn’t look good, kiddo.”

It all finally sinks into my naive brain.  I’m not going to have a baby, after all.

I ask her why I hadn’t miscarried before now, and she says that it would have happened within a couple more days, judging by the way my uterus looked in the ultrasound.  She gives my arm a squeeze and  leaves the room and I crumble in my husband’s arms and sob.

We went home and Shawn called all the family and told them what had happened. I hid in my house and didn’t talk to anyone or see anyone other than Shawn and my son for over a week. I wanted to hide away and not talk to anyone. I didn’t want anyone to tell me they were sorry, I didn’t want to hear that we would have another one someday, I didn’t want to hear that sometimes these things just happen.

I especially didn’t want to hear anyone else’s stories – I didn’t want to hear how someone else had lost a baby or had a miscarriage. I didn’t care about anyone else – I only cared that I wasn’t going to have this baby. To say that my heart was broken…I don’t think I’ve ever felt that kind of crushing pain before or since. “Devastated” was the word I used in my head when I thought about it. It was the most tremendous loss I’ve ever felt.

For a long time I thought I had been too proud, too sure of my fertility – that maybe God was knocking me down a peg or two.  I know that’s not the case, but it was the only explanation I could find.  The only one that made sense to me.

My OB had said to give it a couple of months before we tried again, and just to be safe, we gave it 3 months. In January of 2000 I peed on the stick again. It was positive. Instead of waving the stick around and proclaiming my fertility, I told Shawn and no one else. I kept the secret for 12 weeks, when I went in for my first check up. This time I was subdued and quiet. I told the nurse that I was scared and why, and also told her it was my 28th birthday that day. She patted my arm and stepped out of the room, then came back a couple of minutes later and told me the doctor said we could do an ultrasound.  I laid on the table, they squirted cold goo on my stomach and within seconds, I saw my precious baby’s heartbeating.  I burst into tears (kind of like right now) and asked the doc if she was SURE everything looked okay. She assured me that yes, all was as it should be.

Six months later, I had the most beautiful baby girl the world had ever seen.

I had another baby girl 5 years later with no complications. My kids are happy and healthy and I am abosolutely blessed to have them in my life.

It’s been eleven years since that first miscarriage, but I still cannot hear a news story or watch a movie or anything having to do with miscarriage without crying a little. I have a tiny hole in my heart where that baby lives and I will always carry a little sadness with me wherever I go.

That’s my story. It’s only one of millions similar to it, but each story is as profound and heart wrenching as the next. I pray that no one else would have to have that story as their own, but I know that somewhere, a woman is grieving and hurting right now. I’d like to send her a hug and say “I know.”

Fifteen minutes of meaning

Today a very dear friend lost her dad to ALS. It was a long battle (for both of them) and on Sunday Laura had planned on running a half marathon. She still  wants to run it because SHE CAN. She has a healthy body that can do glorious things – things her father can no longer do.

Remember the 5k I ran a few months ago? The race was for a young man who had cancer. At the time of the race, he was in remission and was doing very well. Not long ago, the cancer came back with a vengance and today, this young man lost his battle too.




But a wonderful thing also happened today. I got a call from Oklahoma Blood Institute telling me that my blood that I had donated was used at a hospital in OKC and had helped save someone’s life.  That feels pretty amazing to me.


All of these things has made me realize that I have been acting like a spoiled, petulant brat.  I have this gloriously wonderful body that, despite my best efforts, is still amazingly healthy. I don’t have any chronic conditions, no pain, no recurring illness, heck I don’t even have seasonal allergies. And yet, I abuse this body with food and lack of movement. I take my health for granted every. single. day. and yet it continues to hang on, hoping I will give it the proper attention it deserves.

Today, I finally gave it some attention. I had some errands to run this evening and I thought that while I was out, I would stop by the local park and walk for a bit. I knew I didn’t have long before the sun set, but I also knew that something was better than nothing. So I walked. I walked because it’s what I do best. I only had 15 minutes but those 15 minutes held a lot of meaning for me. They signified that it’s time to grow up a little bit a lot and stop playing Russian Roulette with my health.

But what does that look like? Getting serious about health? For me I think it looks like this:

  • taking my calcium supplement every day (and a multivitamin)
  • working my body at least 3 days a week for as long or as short amount of time as I have
  • finding ways of incorporating more veggies into my meals
  • continuing to work hard on overcoming my emotional eating problems
  • making time for things that keep me balanced – yoga, my friends, God, books.

So that’s it. This isn’t a Rocky Balboa kind of “I’m really going to do it this time!!” kind of post, but instead it’s more of a realization that I need to stop kidding myself that this body is going to last as long as I want it to. I know that there will be times when I forget all this when faced with a decadent brownie, but maybe if I re-read this post often enough, some of it will sink in.

Hopefully sooner rather than later.