Moving In

I mentioned in my previous blog entry that we moved to Georgia. It was a bit of an ordeal- we knew Kyle had orders to Fort Gordon for, oh, a year or more before the actual move, but knowing where you're going and actually getting there are concepts worlds apart when the head of household is a military member. As Kyle's tech school graduation came close, we began to plan the move, which included looking for housing. Many military families choose to stay in some kind of temporary housing upon arrival at a new duty station so that they can tour houses, apartments, military housing, etc., before choosing their new abodes. Not the Wilsons. I had to be all difficult and get a work-from-home job about a month before we were set to move.

The job is awesome. I'm a social media moderator, which means I play on my computer all day and call it work am the filter through which new content passes before it reaches certain companies' social media venues. I make sure the things people post are in keeping with the guidelines set to maintain the company's professional, social image. Yep. Good stuff. The best thing is that I do this from home, so I can work in pjs if I want to, and my commute is from whatever room in the house I find myself five minutes before work starts to the computer. It's a very portable job, but surprisingly it made our move quite frustrating.

I had my work schedule a month before our move. I had three convenient days off during which I could make a three-day trek across the country with Kyle and Damien. What I needed was an assurance of high-speed internet with which to report to work the day after arriving in Georgia. And every day for a week thereafter. Which meant that we had to a) stay in a hotel until we found a house (temporary military lodging being entirely unable to guarantee any kind of internet connection in its facilities); b) give up my job; or c) choose a house from a distance, sign and scan the lease never having seen said house, schedule internet installation for the day of arrival in Georgia, and thereby solidify my three days off as the ONLY possible options for our move. So of course, we chose plan C, knowing full well that creating a set, concrete schedule is just about the worst thing you can do to yourself when the military is a factor in any of your decisions. It made things scary.

Our fears were realized when Kyle was attempting to outprocess: he was missing one signature. One little nom de plume from the commander was absent from one piece of paper, and he couldn't leave Texas. But we had a signed lease, with a take-posession date. We had internet installation scheduled. We had hotel reservations for our travel. I had a work schedule. So we (Damien and I) left San Angelo without Kyle. The next morning (in Dallas) my cell phone rang. It was Kyle: "Well, I got my signature. I fly into Augusta tomorrow night at 11." Isn't that just the way of things? Damien and I had a lovely mommy-baby drive to Grovetown, Georgia, and 12 hours after arriving we picked up daddy from the airport. I always poke fun at Kyle, telling him he just wanted to avoid the drive so he made up the signature story so he could fly. Let's just say, Damien is less than angelic on the second and third days of long car rides.

Anyway, that was back at the end of February. Our household shipment? You know, the one with furniture, washer and dryer, all our dishes and most of our clothing, that one? It got here last week. The Air Force is real quick on the uptake. :D We've been slowly making our way through the many (MANY MANY MANY) boxes of STUFF. I almost wish that they could have brought my piano, the washer and dryer, Damien's bed and dresser and a few other odds and ends and then just continued on down the road to the dump with the rest of it. I'm wondering now if it's a good rule of thumb that if you don't remember owning most of your stuff when you see it again after 6 months (we got packed up from Monterey in November, if you recall), you probably have TOO MUCH STUFF. Fortunately we were able to give a LOT of the bigger stuff away, and we have a two-car garage to house all the trash. The City of Grovetown only allows one trash can per household, and won't pick up any trash that doesn't fit in said trash can each week. Lovely. Because, you know, that works out really well when your kid fills half the can with soiled diapers in the first three days of the week. He's a BOY, PEOPLE.

Random observation about moving: I am by no means an environmentalist cheerleader. You'll never find me at a Greenpeace rally, nor will I advertise for the Baby Seal Salvation Front on my t-shirts, and I have even been known, at times, to purchase paper plates. I am simply and certainly an advocate for moderation, economy, general respect for the world and smart living. But even I, the occasional-butcher-of-the-environment-via-the-purchase-of-disposable-cutlery non-activist, am alarmed and distressed by the vast amounts of unnecessary paper used in packing our things. We're talking... SOCKS. WRAPPED IN PAPER. It honestly struck me as such a gross overuse of resources, such an unnecessary compilation of flat-out TRASH, that I might even be moved to write to someone about it, if I can figure out who. End rant.

So we're almost entirely moved in, after nearly two months. Three boxes left to unpack, and I already know they mostly contain wall decor for which I have yet to choose locations, so I'm not in a hurry. After watching out for the washer/dryer hardware/hookups in every box, I was finally advised to check INSIDE the washer and/or dryer for said hardware, and there it was in the dryer. Smart placement, because, you know, I was going to OPEN the dryer at some point without having yet been able to hook up and use the washer. *massive eyeroll* As it turns out, though, Electricity, that drama queen, is far more needy in Georgia than in California and requires four prongs on her dryer plugs, as opposed to the currently installed three, and so I must go yet another day without laundry; Kyle couldn't find Home Depot. He hasn't been into town as much as I have yet to get his bearings.

That's the story of our move-in to Georgia, random and boring as can be. Cool things are going on, like Damien's developmental assessment/speech therapy, my tummy-tuck referrals, going to the Atlanta Opera (!!) this month, Kyle being on eternal casuals (the lovely waiting game before he can actually do his job, not really very cool but quite boring), etc. But those are another boring blog post for another time.

Thanks, Kenmore

The California Wilsons are behind. Mostly because we haven't lived in California for four or five months now. We went TDY to Texas for a few months and inhabited a teeny tiny apartment. Close quarters are fun because they are easy to clean, but that's one of the few benefits of living temporarily in a tiny apartment without one's belongings or room to turn around. Happily, we have completed that phase and moved on to Georgia. We are renting a beautiful little three-bedroom house. Little, that is, until it's time to vacuum. We moved in about a month ago, bought our vacuum about a week ago, and I finally put it on my checklist to get it out of the box and USE it today.

Taking care of Damien, Kyle, the house and now a calling and a full time job means that I need checklists for the first time in my adult life, just to keep track of things and make sure I don't forget to get my tasks done. Actually writing it down has made me realize, however, that I've always made mental checklists, separating the "need to dos" from the "want to dos" for the sake of prioritization. Today as I was vacuuming (one of my "need to dos" for the day) I realized some things about myself. My new Kenmore vacuum is smarter than me, apparently.

Let me tell you about this vacuum. It has a feature called "inteliClean" composed of four lights of varying shades: red fades to dark orange, to yellow, to green. As you vacuum, the power of the vacuum automatically adjusts based on the level of dirt in the carpet- you know the floor is clean when the light turns green. It sounds simple enough. Honestly it's sneaky and divisive. Kenmore must have known how obsessive I am about such things, and that I would be absolutely unable to tear myself from the vacuum until every spot of carpet in my home merits a green light. Tricksters.

Anyway, as I was vacuuming, I realized that I wish I had inteliClean for every aspect of my life. How much better would my performance be at my job, as a wife, as a mother, as a ward music chairman, as a homemaker, if I constantly had a blinking notification of the thoroughness of my effort hovering over my head? I think I get too caught up in getting the things on my list checked off. I do things adequately and efficiently, but I think I miss out on the satisfaction of living thoroughly. I could vacuum my entire house in 15 minutes if I could ignore the lights, and check the task off my list for the day so I could move on to things I like more. The funny thing is, when I spent the time it took to make my inteliClean happy, I actually enjoyed vacuuming. I got a little thrill out of making the light change colors.

Today is more than halfway over, and I spent a lot of it working and cleaning. I have probably missed opportunities to excel, to exert a complete effort, to be not just good enough, but as good as I can be. I've checked a lot of tasks off my list, but I think a lot of my "need to dos" are going to change into "need to do betters." Silly vacuum, showing me how to live my life. I'm going to install a mental inteliClean. Tomorrow I will do my best to vacuum until the light turns green.

Big Changes

It's been a long time since I updated this blog, but I thought this warranted a blog entry rather than a Facebook mention.

This is me around the highest weight of my life. I can't be sure, because it's very hard to find pictures of me from that timeframe, but this is close:



I know "before" pictures don't usually look like this, but I chose this picture deliberately instead of one where I look miserable, because I wanted anyone who reads this to know that I was happy with my life in general at that time. I've been overweight as long as I can remember. My first distinct memory of realizing that I was bigger than other girls my age is from walking home in second grade, looking down at my thighs and being embarrassed. I even remember the horrible flower-print leggings I was wearing that day.

Over time, I learned to make other aspects of who I was the priority, and what people noticed about me. That worked through elementary school, even middle school (since I was homeschooled, heaven knows it wouldn't have worked had I been daily subjected to the mentalities and behavior of 12-year-old girls). It didn't work in high school, but I convinced myself that the cruelty was entirely a deficiency on the part of the cruel, and I bore no responsibility for it. In this manner I continued, and when I met Kyle, who has always been able to look past my weight and love me despite it, I was content to be exactly who I was (physically) for the rest of my life.

Then I had Damien. The funny thing is, I lost weight in my first trimester, only gained 36 pounds total in the next two, lost 20 in childbirth and took off the other 16 nursing in the first month of his life. Once I recovered from my C-section, though, my weight went on a steady incline, and 10 months after D was born, I wore a size 24 gown to Kyle's Air Force ball. It wasn't the dress size or the number on the scale that started to bother me though- it was my little boy, starting to crawl and then to walk, and the constant pain and fatigue that held me back from interacting with him as he deserved. And then it was the cravings and the complete lack of willpower; the absolute inability (I thought) to stop eating those Oreos, or to have only one serving at meals.

I had to stop lying to myself. What good would a caring personality do, if I couldn't sustain my energy through the day to care for my infant? What good are thrift and economy, if my willpower over spending in most areas is overcome on the candy aisle? What good is my optimism for my husband's career, if I am likely to suffer and quite possibly die from weight-related illness quite early in life, and leave him alone? The qualities I have worked so hard to develop in myself are fine and good, but my failure to maintain my body, the Temple I have been gifted, was holding me back from some of the most important things in life, in very material ways.

We bought an elliptical. We got rid of the junk food. We took walks together. We carefully monitored meal portions. With all the love and support in the world my amazing husband tried to help me in every way he could, and nothing helped. My weight continued to climb. Finally, I made the decision that has been hardest for me to follow through on of any I've ever made: I was going to see a doctor and talk to him about my weight. It was something I had masked for so long. It was a problem I had pretended didn't exist, and I was going to walk into a doctor's office and say "I'm fat. Help me." Saying the words would make it real. I couldn't pretend it wasn't a fact anymore. The biggest blow to my confidence that I have ever taken was to admit to my husband and my doctor (both of whom already knew quite well) that I was fat.

I have had family members who struggled with weight and its related health issues who have undergone gastric bypass surgery, and I decided to ask my doctor to refer me to a surgeon for more information. He told me I was too young, but did not refuse me the referral. The following month, I attended the surgeon's preliminary seminar and decided that this was the right road for me. It was still such a daunting task to tell yet a third person face-to-face that I was fat that it took me three months to make the appointment after the seminar. My insurance took another 7 months to approve it, and on 4 August, 2009, I had a laparoscopic gastric bypass.

This is me today.






14 dress sizes ago, I thought I was happy. The fact is, I truly was. But I had no idea how much my weight was holding me back. I still want people to notice my personality first- that is the beauty I seek. But now I can wear Damien out, instead of the other way around. Now I can make it through 12 hours of chasing my Terrible Two around and still be smiling when Kyle comes home from a long day at work, in need of some cheer. Now I can say no to cookies, and food is no longer the focus of my day. I am so blessed to have had the opportunity to have this surgery. It has changed my life, in some ways that I anticipated and others that were completely unexpected. I still have work to do, and it will never be finished: I have had to alter my entire lifestyle to reach these results, and will have to keep up these changes to achieve and maintain the end goal, but I finally have the willpower and the drive to do so.

I'm grateful for a wonderful family who has supported me through this. My husband is the light of my life, and my strength when I would falter. My mother has been there for me in every step, willing to drop everything if I needed her. Damien has obliviously given me the motivation to keep it up just by being D (he helps me get my exercise too!).

Next step: Photography lessons! I definitely didn't take the before, and the afters are lacking intensely in quality. :D