Trying on Someone Else for Size (and Other Things)

So in one of the magazines I read recently, it said to give yourself motivation, imagine someone you admire doing something they are known for. It gave the example of using Jennifer Aniston to motivate yourself for working out, since she's a devout exercise enthusiast. Supposedly, you don't have to picture the person doing what you want to do, just using their motivation for their own passion is enough. I think. The blurb was longer than my attention span so I only got part of what it was saying.

But I figured I'd put it to use today, and I would tell you the results so you don't have to waste your time if it doesn't work. How's that for a great deal: I'll do the work, and you don't have to buy a bunch of magazines trying to find the paragraph I'm talking about.

So first thing this morning, I decided I would do more than my usual "mom" routine of shower, blow-dry, and dress. I woke up early enough (and the kids are still drugged up on Tylenol) to actually do something with my hair AND put on makeup. So to motivate myself, I imagined Angelina Jolie, and all her kids, and how great she always looks. We'll ignore the fact that she probably has at least three nannies (I'd say a minimum of six, but that's just because that is what I'd have) and her hair is long enough to pull into a pony tail and look fantastic in about 30 seconds.

So about 45 minutes later, I look nothing like Angelina Jolie, but I have make-up on and only two burns from the curling iron. And for myself, I look pretty good. Let's just say that if I had six nannies, Angie would be keeping a close eye on Brad.

Now for the clothes. My usual sweats aren't going to look good now, so I have to find jeans that fit and a cute top. Who can I imagine that I admire style-wise? I decide to be inspired by my girlfriend Sarah, who always looks great. I use her because she's also curvy and has lots of great ideas. So I go through my closet imagining Sarah by my side, throwing away the majority of my clothes. She's right: I need new clothes. Clothes that say "I embrace my curves" instead of "I refuse to admit I'm fat." Maybe someday my personal style maven will taking me shopping with her and help me. If I promise not to sit at her feet and fawn.

Anyway, I finally find something to wear. I look okay. I should probably say I look great, but after Sarah was here my self esteem took a bit of a hit. So it's time for breakfast. What I want is the rest of the box of powdered donuts my husband left. What I should have is something healthy. Hmmmm, honestly, I'm going back to Angie on this one. Because I see her as the type of mom who feeds her kids normal food, which means there are temptations in her house. She probably works out in the morning, right, so she'd have something workout friendly. I guess I'll have a smoothie. Of course, that means I have to go work out soon, or I'll lose all those benefits. Darn you, Angelina, why do you make my life so complicated?!

Complicated or not, I had my smoothie, then went in search of my workout clothes and shoes (so far the budget doesn't support the staff I desire nor deserve). Finding everything, I finally made it out the door and to the gym. YAY! This picturing someone I admire may work!

So I workout, come home, have sick kids, and do everything else boring that happens in a mom's life. About mid-afternoon I'm getting tired (I was up at 5:30 and worked out, after all!!) and, lo and behold, there is a box of ding dongs calling for me. Okay, I confess that before I could use my new trick, I ate one. What can I tell you? I was holding two sick boys and I was tired. Angie NEVER had this problem, I guarantee it! Anyway, I ate one. Only one. Because I did catch myself and think of my girlfriend Stephanie. She is one I admire for willpower. She can pass around a plate of brownies and not eat a crumb.  Not one little piece.  I live in awe of her. So I pictured Stephanie and put those chocolate pucks out of sight and out of mind. Thank you, Steph, I now know to think of you sooner.

Stephanie is also my go-to imagine person for grace under pressure and class in any situation, but that's another blog.

So there you go, a mini demonstration of using a person you admire for a boost of willpower. It appears to work if you can really see the person as a person, not just an icon. Like, in my mind I see Angelina's build and I think, she works for that body. She isn't just handed a skinny frame. I think I could like her, although her lips would be a bit distracting.

She may be a bit unnerved about the Brad comment, though.

The Great Mom Debate: When to Go to The Doctor

My two boys are sick. Baby C has only been sick a few days, but four-year-old B is going on about seven days. I think. I can't remember, exactly. Here's where the guilt starts, because that's a question the doctor's office asks, and a good mom should know, right? I just know he's been sick for a while and the fever has been about 101-102 the whole time.

Yes, he's been coughing like that since the beginning, I think before the fever started. Let me check my notes. Oh, wait. I didn't think to take notes because I have three kids and don't think every cough means something. Sometimes it's just a cough, right? Especially at my house, with allergies running rampant and animals running wild (see previous post). Plus, if it clears up in a few days, I did all that extra work for nothing!

So now my husband wants to know if I--as a mom--think he's sick enough to see the doctor. And I start to panic a little inside. Because there's that fine line between the Overprotective Mom, who runs to the doctor the second her prince (or princess) sniffles, and the Oblivious Mom, who has no clue her child has chicken pox until the scabs are falling off.

At least that's how it feels when I'm at the doctor's office. You get the usual questions: How long has he been coughing? How long has he been running the fever? How many wet diapers (or whatever they ask for potty trained boys, we haven't been sick since potty training finally took hold)? How much has he eaten? Did his coughing get bad enough during the night to wake him?

I don't know the answer to these questions. Why can't they ask the questions that are easy? Like, how many tv shows have you erased from your DVR? Were they 1/2 hour or full-hour shows? How high was the volume to hear over the coughing? How many nights did your husband bring home Chinese, pizza, or other take-out? Were you able to sleep in your bed, or did you sleep with your child in the recliner/toddler bed/rocking chair? How many days since you shaved your legs (now that, I think I could estimate!)?

Those are questions I could probably answer, and it would give the doctor the same approximations. I guess I should just re-write the questions in my head as we're going along, and I'll be okay. If I could remember, since I'm so tired.

But the problem is, if I go in too soon, I get the "Overprotective Mom" treatment. You know, where they treat you like your child is ill, but you know behind your back they are rolling their collective eyes. "Your child has a virus, it will run its course and be gone, possibly before you get home," is what they want to say. I feel it,  I've done it, I hate it.

Wait too long, though, and you not only endure the above questions, you also get treated like "Oblivious Mom," the one who probably would miss a broken arm. I know I wouldn't, at least for very long. At least if it looked funny, or if he was crying.

But that isn't the point; the point is, it's been several days that my little boy has been sick, and my husband wants to know my professional mom opinion of going to the doctor. Which is to pray the fever breaks tonight and makes the decision for me.

Okay, I'm Done With *This* Roller Coaster Ride

Wow, it's been a crazy the last few weeks: Literally and figuratively. My oldest came home on leave and was here for almost the whole month of January. It was good and bad. She has bi-polar, too, and she had a manic episode that pretty much rocked our little world. We all survived, fortunately, and she's working hard on getting the help she needs. The Navy seems to make it hard to get help, but once she's back in the states I think she'll be okay. She's a good girl, and she's determined to do what needs to be done. I'm very proud of her for that.

Oh, and in the midst of all this, while her boyfriend Mike was here too, they took a drive to Redding and got a pitbull puppy that will live with us until they get permanent housing in San Diego. After Suzannah gets back from Japan and Mike finishes school in Missouri. Yeah, in other words, we got a pitbull puppy. I'm counting the days til March 1, when the first day of puppy obedience school starts at the local dog training place.

So we have that going on, and then our van gets repossessed. Yes, that's right folks: We can't pay all our bills. We struggled and scraped and really worked to keep it all together, but we finally just couldn't do it anymore. It's a fact a lot of people have faced, so after the initial shock, I thought I had it all together.

But between my increasingly hostile daughter and the stress of money, my depression just got worse and worse until I was suicidal. And so I was hospitalized.

A lot of people can't really understand the dynamic of mental illness. One girl I was in with had a husband who told her to pull herself out of it, to just think positive, that if she wanted to be better she would be better. Until she slit her wrist. Now I think he sees it a little differently.

Trust me, if we could think positive thoughts and be better, we would be thinking hearts and flowers all day long. Not one of all the people I was in with wanted to be there, but we all wanted to be better. We all wanted our pain to go away. Unfortunately, too many times we get bogged down with the negatives thoughts and feelings and we can't reach the solutions by ourselves. We need help getting that solution. Sometimes it's as simple as a trusted friend listening to us; sometimes it's the hospital. But all of us are fighting a very real brain problem, like MS is a real brain problem, or rheumatoid arthritis is a real joint problem. You can't pull, wish, or think yourself out of it.

Time does help, though, and I had the time at the hospital and then with a trusted friend, for whom I am eternally grateful. So back home and back to my routine, and first thing is my younger daughter, J, gets sick, then the older boy, B, gets sick, and now baby C is sick. Yay, I have three sick kids! This I know I can handle, though. Easy, cause everyone sleeps a lot so it's quiet. And I can write.

And the pitbull is actually doing pretty good. She's very smart, which is good for her, cause I think at this point I'd feel no guilt letting her live in the garage (I have no car to go in there, anyway).