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I have a sign in the front of my classroom that simply says 'believe.' I want my students to believe that they can, believe that I care, and believe that this all matters for more than just a report card.Today, though, this happened.My 'believe' toppled to the floor, and I just stood there and stared. The sign on the floor was a sign for my life and a sign of the struggle I'm currently in. My belief is falling, and I'm afraid there will be a loud bang when, at any moment, it, too, hits the floor. I want to believe that I can, believe that someone cares, and believe that this all matters for more...


My daughter captured this picture of me today.Flattering, huh?Yep, that's me working out in my den, wiping the sweat dripping off the end of my nose. When I first saw the picture, I immediately (as all women would) critiqued it. I nearly deleted it, but something struck me. My daughter, the little brown-haired girl who copies my every move and is the spitting image of me, took that picture. She sat and watched me for the entire workout, jumping up and doing some of the moves with me at times. That little girl took my picture, and as she did, she wasn't critiquing my form or muscle tone. She was just watching her mom making a choice to take care of herself. So I didn't delete the picture, and I'm hoping that somebody reading this will remember that you, too, have somebody watching you, using you as a role model.Being a mom is a super hard task, and being a mom who takes care of herself is even harder. I don't want to play the martyr here, but it's never easy to eat right and work out. It's so tempting to eat what's convenient and not exercise. It's so tempting...


Have you guys seen the show "My 600-lb Life" that comes on TLC? I am ridiculously obsessed with it. I will watch reruns, marathons, and cannot miss a new episode. These people, all of whom are at least 600 pounds, allow a camera crew to follow them for a year as they journey to lose weight through Gastric Bypass Surgery. It is riveting and heart-wrenching, and I cannot look away. Many of them begin as prisoners of their own beds and houses, unable to stand or walk more than a few steps on their own. They are often reliant on a caretaker and can do very little for themselves, including bathing and, ironically, cooking. So often, there is a fascinating dependent relationship where a caretaker becomes an enabler, cooking extremely unhealthy meals or bringing in unlimited fast food. I'm no psychologist, but the psychology in that fascinates me and could be another post.For some of the people featured, the end of the year means many pounds lost and regained independence. For others, though, the surgery is unsuccessful because they never face the real reasons they gained such weight in the first place.I'm fascinated by this show for many reasons, but I...


There are two words that more accurately describe being a working adult than any others in the English language: perpetually exhausted.I'm just tired, y'all. Like 'I could go to bed at 5:00 p.m. and not wake up until noon the next day' tired. Or 'if I sit still for more than 30 seconds, I'll fall out' tired. Also known as 'if my husband has the remote and watches the riveting show Treehouse Masters, I'll be snoring in 8 seconds.'  (Funny story: autocorrect just corrected snoring to scoring. Um, no. I'm too tired.)What has happened to me and my formerly energetic self? Work. That's what. And children and bills and responsibilities. Back before my hair turned gray and my knees cracked when I walked up stairs, I could stay awake past 8:00 p.m. with nary a yawn. I could be awake for 4 hours without praying 'please Jesus, let me put my head on this desk for 5 minutes with nobody noticing.' I used to want to go places and do things. Now I just want to go to bed. And do unconscious....