I so should not blog this but it's too funny NOT to.

What I'm about to tell you happened a month ago and I'm just now going to blog it.

Maybe I shouldn't.

Maybe you'll be offended.  {please don't be}

Mostly I'm hoping you'll laugh as hard as I did.

and as hard as I still do when I think about it.

Remember the Brazilian birthday? {only click the link if you want a play-by-play of a wax job} For those who don't want to click the link, the short version is this:  I had a Brazilian wax done on my birthday a month ago.  the end.

So.

It's a day or so after my procedure and I get out of the shower and head into my bedroom - in my birthday suit.  Sugar (age 6) is sitting on my bed, sucking her thumb and watching a movie.  She looks at me, then does a double take.

and says, with all seriousness...

"Mama, where's your fur?"

I died.  I'm still dying about it.  I had no response.  What was I supposed to say to that?!

a very jumbled TMI post about working out

First things, first.

If you're of the male variety - and you know who you are, Mister, it's time to click the little x in the top right.  This post is not for you to read.

Okay, now that we have that settled and only females are reading, here goes.

Working out is embarrassing.  Running is embarrassing.  I super much hated it when I started at the end of January.

Wanna know why?  And remember, I told you this post was TMI.  You were warned.

Okay, so one of the reasons I hated running was because my shorts would creep up my thighs.  You've seen it on women.  Maybe you've seen it on me.  It's not pretty.  But when your thighs rub together, it happens.  So, I'd be out there running and every once in a while I'd be pulling the shorts outta the crotch area.

So.  Attractive.

(seriously, if there's any guy still reading.  GET OUT.)

Then there's the issue of peeing while you run.

Yeah, I said it.

It happens.  It also happens when I ride my bike.  Don't you wish you worked out with me?  I'm a blast!  My shorts ride up my crotch and I pee my pants.  Who wouldn't want to be work out partners with me?!

Seriously, though.  The peeing issue sucks.  I don't know if it's because I've had kids or what the deal is because I do not remember this being an issue when I ran Cross Country in high school (5 trillion years ago).  Occasionally I'll put on a panty liner, other times I just pee my pants.  Good times.

I'm not sure what finally got me to the point that I realized it was just time to get off my butt.  I think I finally realized that my metabolism changed after kids.  It wasn't nearly as easy to have it come off.  I also realized just how sedentary my life is/was.  I didn't move much at all during any given day.

I just went for it.  I took a huge step out of my comfort zone and went into a gym.  I participated in a class and felt like a fool.  I felt like an ass.

And after 3 or 4 times I felt like less of a fool.  I started to feel proud of myself.  'Cause even if I did look like a fool, at least I was there.  At least I was finally doing something other than complain.  And then I set a goal. I set a goal to run a 5K.  3 miles.  Doesn't seem like much to some but for a girl who hadn't run in 15 years, it was a big deal.

So I set the goal.  I made the goal public for accountability.  And then I accomplished it.  I figured after I met my goal I'd probably quit running.  I did.  For almost four weeks.  I still kept at the gym but I stopped running for awhile.  But I eventually got back into it and once I hit the road instead of the treadmill, it almost got addicting.

I've added in bike riding.

When I first started the bike, it was the one at the gym.  When I'd look down my tummy hung over my pants so much that I couldn't see my crotch.  (TMI!) and tonight while I was on the bike at the gym, I looked down and there it was!

4 months ago I should have measured myself, I almost did.  Honestly, though, I didn't think I'd stick with this. So I didn't want to know my measurements.  I wish I had.  I know I've lost several inches everywhere.  I've gone from a size 12 or 14 (depending on brand) to an 8 or 10.  The smallest jeans I own are now loose in my thighs (one of the main areas of my body that I LOATHE) so I'm feeling a little better there.  My love handles are going away but are definitely still there.

My tummy?  Oh, my tummy.  I still look like I just gave birth a few weeks ago so let's not even go there.  It's amazing what a shirt can hide.  So please, even if you feel compelled the next time you see me, don't lift my shirt, k?

Glad we got that settled.

I had planned to run Bloomsday.  A 12K.  7.5 miles.  I ended up not.  I bailed.  And I felt like a failure.  Then I had the opportunity on Saturday to run a 12K.  Though I didn't know it was a 12K.  I thought it was *just* six miles.  I hadn't run in almost four weeks but I went for it.

I'm still not sure why.

I'm so glad I did though.  Running those 7.5 miles without walking made me realize something.

I'm stronger than I've ever given myself credit for.  I can do more than I thought possible.

And if I can do it, anyone can.

It takes getting out of the comfort zone.  It takes believing in yourself just a tiny bit and rejecting any lies you normally let yourself believe.  It takes guts.

It takes balls.

And even if you don't believe you can do it, I believe you can.

The TMI Post

I've received emails and calls about why I haven't blogged in nearly a week.

I think this is the longest I've gone without blogging in a looong time.

I was trying to explain to a friend why I haven't been around.

Part of it is because I worry I will bore you with truck stories...or gross you out (oh the things I've withheld on the bloggy for your benefit).  I have to remind myself often that this blog is for my girls. Journal of our lives through my eyes. Many things we've experienced they'll be too young to remember, this blog is for them to know all we've experienced or endured and gotten through, by the grace of God.

All of you have been so encouraging to me, of our new way of life, and our soon to be roommates.

But it's hard on a daily basis to throw out there the thoughts (and sometimes actions) of my heart. My heart can be very ugly and it's quite embarrassing to see so often in my entries. I fear people getting sick of my moaning and groaning and truck stories and just giving up on my blog altogether.

Not that I wouldn't understand!

However, I want my girls and my husband, too, should he ever read this, to see where I have been emotionally, spiritually and physically and hopefully see growth.
Run on sentence!

Okay, enough about that, how about some truck stories? FYI, you may want to click that little X at the top right and leave now while you have the chance.
*
*
*
There was your warning time.

I am not the type of person who embarrasses easily. I don't shy away from talking about personal stuff, in person. On the blog, I keep it pretty tame. But my family talks about burping, farting, potty, poop, s*x, oh and of course the ever wonderful menstrual cycle.

There's just not much that gets held back.

To me, there is really no such thing as TMI also known as Too Much Information.

But I know that some people have a harder time talking about or hearing about those certain topics. I try to be respectful of that.

And that's why I am giving you yet another chance to leave the blog before I tell you something that was actually embarrassing for me.

Rest areas are hard to come by. What's even harder to come by is a husband who will stop so you can use them. He does pretty well but miles are money and if the truck stops so do the miles.  I use most every opportunity I can to use the restroom.  But sometimes I find I have to potty between stops and I can usually hold it just fine.

#2 is, um, a different story.

When I gotta go...I gotta go.

(last chance to leave the blog)

It was the end of our first week. We were out in the middle of Nowhere, Idaho at a lumber yard. All lumber yards require hard hats for you to step out of your rig.

We only have one hard hat.

My husband was wearing it.

He's strapping the load (snort) and as he comes by my side of the truck he asks how I am doing. I had been fine until a few seconds before. I told him I had to go to the bathroom.

"Pee?" he asks. I shake my head. He's a quick study and knew what I meant.

He starts running. He's strapping the lumber, working as quickly as he can.

But I quickly realized I was not going to be able to wait.

Panic set in.

I started to sweat.

And I realized my only option.

A plastic bag.

I had enough time to put Sugar in Josh's seat, close myself behind the sleeper curtain and then use the um, makeshift restroom.

Spice was on the bottom bunk of the sleeper, pulling herself up on me and babbling, she thought it was a hoot I was on her level, while Sugar is up front, yelling, "Mama, what are you doing back there? Are you okay? I want to come back there!"

Here I am. Squatting. Waiting for someone to pinch me and wake me from this nightmare that is currently my life.

But it was my reality.

I finished what needed finishing.

Tied up the bag.

Sprayed some Scentsy freshener and watched as my husband continued to scramble about the lumber.

He gets done and comes into the cab.

"I don't need to go anymore." I tell him.

"Did you poop your pants?!" he asks and I can tell he's sad and horrified for me.

"Nope, in this bag," I tell him as I lift it up.

I wanted to die. It's funny after twelve years, two kids, and two surgeries I can still get embarrassed in front of him.

But I doo.

Don't you wish you lived in a semi too?

-- Post From My iPhone