fa la la la la...

Christmas this year was sweet. We spent the day with my dad and stepmom and basically ate our way through the day. There were presents - I will say that for as much as I loved opening up my presents (an Old Navy gift card, a new bicycle and helmet, a fuzzy blanket), I especially enjoyed watching everyone else open up the gifts I got for them. Jason finally got an iPod nano, plus an armband (a not-so-subtle hint that I like him to join me when I run) and the entire CD library of Waterdeep, a Christian jam band. He was also really psyched about the frostable beer steins I got him - an extremely worthwhile $10 investment!

My dad and stepmom got pictures, pictures, pictures: a set of two picture frames with pictures of my dad and I from our wedding, and then the piece de resistance, a wedding photo coffee table book.


Dad and Judy viewing the coffee table book

They loved it. I loved that they loved it. I also got them two framed pictures of my dad and I, ones that I absolutely loved and captured the two of us, serious and goofy.


My dad laughed so much when he saw these photos - he just loved them

Christmas with my mom was this morning, actually, though I completely forgot to bring our camera, so you'll just have to go on my lovely descriptions of everything. It wasn't quite the orgy of greed as it was at my dad's house: Don was in Miami today with friends, and since Jason and I had already opened our gifts to each other, it was just the gift exchange between my mom and us. Still, there was no lack of generosity, and the same photo gifts I gave my dad, I gave to Mom, only of course her book was personalized to her, and the three photos I got her were of me and her. Jason got a new John Eldredge book he's been wanting, I got a book called "Simple Living" on creating your home to be the home God designed for us to have (welcoming, inviting, not stressful because you haven't maximized all your space or have too much clutter), and we both got Willow Tree Ornaments, a yearly tradition from my mom, only these were the first Willow Tree ones we got and I LOVED them. Love, love, love them. Thank you, Mom!

And so, a New Year begins, and in so many ways, I know this year will have such dramatic impact on our lives. I graduate nursing school, Jason graduates seminary, and (gasp) I turn thirty years old. Actually, I'm delighted: the older I get, the more "street cred" I seem to have - I'm starting to hear less of my least-favorite phrase, "Oh, you're such a baby - you're too young [to understand that]." Though I am sure I will have many years to come where I wish to hear those words, right now, I'm enjoying embracing being a real adult, and I am so positive for the future and what God holds for me.



May you all have a wonderful, blessed, joyous, Christ-filled New Year.

many reflections

I have a lot to catch up on here, don't I?

First, our trip to DC and Chambersburg was wonderful. Too wonderful, in fact, because it was actually physically painful to come home to Orlando. The mobs of harried holiday travelers we encountered at OIA versus the cool organization of Dulles did not enhance the comparison in Orlando's favor, either. I really feel as though I have lived in this city too, too long, and if it weren't for coming back to my dear friends, my degree, and my snugglebuttons cat, I might not have come back at all.



We spent 4 days pounding the pavement around DC and northern Virginia. The only other time Jason and I were in DC was back when we were dating and in the city for my cousin Jen's wedding in October 2004, and he only saw Georgetown University and about 45 minutes of one Smithsonian museum. So, I was determined to show him "my" DC, and we covered just about everything: the memorials and monuments, the museums, the White House (outside only, as we didn't know you need some sort of special clearance from your local congressperson to get in), the Capitol Building, the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, and of course, probably a hundred miles total of the Metro system. We must have walked between 5-8 miles a day, trying to get everything in - my legs have never been so sore. But we got some amazing photos from it all, which you can see here. Staying with my Aunt Carol and Uncle Tim was also a treat: their house was always the home you wanted to come home to when all was said and done.



Our time in Chambersburg was really incredible, even though we only had a few days to spend there. Chambersburg is this little-but-growing town in southern Pennsylvania, about an hour from Gettysburg and 20 minutes from the Maryland state line. It is home to Martins Potato Rolls and hundreds of acres of manure-scented pasture. When I was growing up, it was always cool to go to DC - endless hours of stimulation and entertainment awaited me. However, I never liked going to Chambersburg: nothing there to entertain me. I loved all my uncles there, my mom's Amazonian brothers, who towered over me and made me squeal with delight when they tossed me into the air. I loved seeing my Nana. But those cow pastures get pretty old, and to boot, there weren't any kids my age on that side of the family. I had 3 cousins whom I hardly saw, two of whom were boys and therefore Infested With Cooties, and the one girl, a few years younger than me, decided that it would be great fun to lock me in the trunk of her dad's car, giggling outside and making me sure I would die a slow, carpeted death. She got me out after 15 minutes, but I never got over it and vowed to never, ever play with her again.

So it really, really surprised me last week when I found myself falling in love with the town after so many years away but so many vivid memories still playing in my mind. It is small, quaint, miles away from anything resembling bad traffic, filled with families and cute antique shops and some newer development, like the Target store being built and the Hagerstown outlet mall just minutes away. My Nana is still there, my uncles are still there (and still very, very tall), the cow patties are still there. Two of my aunts are there who are both wonderful, down-to-earth people, and there's the addition of my most precious cousin, Kiana, who delights me with her 8-year-old girliness and giggles (you can see her about a year and a half ago here). After about 6 hours there, Jason and I looked at each other and then to the town where we saw everything we had been looking for: a small town with wide open spaces, a great community to raise a family, all four seasons plus some snow. The job market is wide open, as is the real estate market, and Chambersburg Hospital is a great place that desperately needs good nurses. We're hoping to visit again during my next semester break - possibly early May - and we're submitting all of these revelations and deep desires to God in the meantime.



And I came home to Orlando after several large, butter-laden meals financed by my relatives, only to find that I had lost 1.2 pounds. It was pretty astounding, I tell you. I am only .2 away from reaching the 150's, numbers I saw only for a brief while as I was growing up. And even more amazing than that was the shopping day in Hagerstown at Ann Taylor with my mom: I instinctively reach for size 12s, thinking that they're going to be tight anyway. This cute skirt I found in a size 12 nearly fell off my hips, so I assumed they sized them big and reached for a size 10. Still didn't fit: it was just too long and didn't hang right. My mom insists the size 10 is too big and gets a size 8 for me, and I protest because no way am I a single-digit size in anything, especially not at Ann Taylor. Still, she makes me try it on... AND IT FITS.



I think I'm still in shock. I'm in shock over all of it, really: the knee-length boots that zip without tugging, the tops in sizes not containing the letters "XL" or "L", the butt that is both smaller and rounder, the delight in seeing myself in the mirror reflection. I'm not yet where I want to be - I'm about halfway - but I love that I am smaller and am finally enjoying the process and not just the anticipation of the goal. People compliment me a lot these days, and though the weight isn't dropping off as quickly as it used to, I'm at a miraculous spot right now, and anything in the losing-weight direction is just more icing on the fat-free cake.

might be in trouble

Jason and I acquired something I've been fantasizing about for years now: a steam cleaner. It's actually a loan from my friend Wendy, but nevertheless, it is in our possession for the entire weekend. I was so excited about the reality of having clean carpets, I mean really stinkin' clean carpets, that I could barely contain myself during church today. People probably thought I was having some sort of Advent-inspired religious experience. I mean, our carpets have gotten so bad that when I apologize in advance to visitors for our messy carpet and they sort of brush me off like, "oh yeah, we have the same issue at home..." and they walk in our door, they actually stare at the various spots under their feet as if being hypnotized by some primitive Rohrschach test. One of my friends, upon seeing the disaster, actually muttered, "Wow... yeah... whoa..." and sort of tripped out on all the spots and stains. So, this steam cleaning we're doing is actually a purification of my renter's soul - I am no longer an Untouchable and can live amongst those who have sparkling, all-white carpets and never ever rub Coke into the carpet with their sneaker, surreptitiously, during dinner with their husbands.

While Jason was steam-cleaning my carpet (and my soul, mind you), I wandered into the kitchen for a snack. I have weigh-in tomorrow and am anticipating a loss, so I don't want to pig out on anything tonight and have to include its remains for the numbers on the scale tomorrow. I'm drinking a LOT of water, needless to say. Anyway, I'm in the kitchen, and I decide to have a bite - yes, just one - of ice cream. Now, Jason's favorite ice cream in the whole world is actually the one I despise: espresso chip. If it was espresso-flavored ice cream with chocolate chips, that would be pretty okay. But the chips themselves have coffee grinds in them (Jason argues they are chips of espresso beans, which is pretty much coffee grind to me) and that's just gross to me. So, having half-gallons of espresso chip in the house doesn't hold much temptation for me. However, there was a sale - a 2-for-1 deal - and since there was only one tub of espresso chip left, I also got him peanut butter cup. He normally eats the generic version of this from our local Publix, and it's not really that great: the fudge tastes too dark, the ice cream isn't that great, and there are maybe 3 miniscule peanut butter cups for the entire tub. Hmph. I'm expecting the same from this new tub I get from Edy's, so I go to have my one little spoonful, just enough to satisfy that cold-creamy-sweet craving and go on with my life.

Holy freakin' cow. It was, quite possibly, the most spiritual experience I've had outside of accepting Jesus and getting married. With the whirr of the steam cleaner in the background and chunks of perfect fudge and peanut butter (and HUGE peanut butter cups) in my mouth, I thought I was being lifted by St. Peter himself to the pearly gates. I had the simultaneous conflicting thoughts of wanting to pledge my not-yet-conceived firstborn to the Edy's corporation and visions of a massive hate-mail campaign against them for being Diet Ruiners and Fat Packer Advocates. It took every last iota of willpower in my body to put the spoon down and not shovel the rest of the tub into my mouth in a last-supper experience.

Damn you, sweet ripples of fudgy, peanut-buttery evil.

giving it away

I donated my wedding dress, crinoline (aka Big Puffy White Nightmare), and shoes to Goodwill this afternoon. I have to admit I was feeling like Mother Teresa, driving down to the donation site. However, I think I was more relieved to just have the space in my closet back. It was the last remaining clutter of the closet after I had cleared out all the clothes that no longer fit, and now my closet looks all clean and roomy and pure. I have to admit I was a little nonplussed when the lady accepting the donations just took my bagged wedding dress, folded it over, and plopped it on top of some dusty puzzle boxes, Danielle Steel books, and stuffed animals of indeterminate breed (is it a dog? a horse? or a "dorse"?). But I hope it can bring someone else joy for their wedding day and perhaps take up large amounts of space in their undersized closet, too.

I took my exam Wednesday morning. I walked in confident, hoping for an A, and left terrified, praying that I had not failed badly enough to have a bad grade for the course. As it turned out, I scored a B - miraculously - and earned myself a good, solid B for the class. I was so relieved when I found out - I think pharmacology/pathophysiology was the hardest class I've taken to date. And now I have a whole four weeks to relax and recuperate before starting it all again for another 4 months.

The Sarasota trip was good. We ate at Yoder's, an Amish restaurant about 5 minutes from his grandparent's home. The Amish restaurant experience is pretty great: a mom-and-pop style restaurant with quilts everywhere, friendly teenage girls in plain frocks, and massive portions. Jason and I shared a slice of apple pie the size of your average barnyard animal, and our dinners could have each fed 4 people. So much for portion sizing!

I'm gonna poison all my patients

This morning's weigh-in: down 1.4 for a total of 26.6 lost. I've lost my cat... twice. (her dead weight feels like the whole 26 pounds, though) What I didn't understand, though, were the ladies just behind me who talked the entire way through the meeting, only to stop the leader every 5 minutes or so and bark, "Huh? What did you say again? Can you repeat that?" in nasally-toned New England-y accents. Why? Maybe they think they'll burn more calories with all that constant whiny talking. I don't know.

As motivated as I am to be in shape and lose weight, I am just not feeling the motivational vibes for school, and I only have one exam left to go. One. Tomorrow morning, for my super-hard Pharmacology & Pathophysiology course. We took some standardized, generalized, lobotomized testing last week - ATI tests for those of you in the know, supposedly to simulate the NCLEX experience - and I just found out I scored somewhere in the 10-40th percentile. Now, it was a hard test, I know, but you have to realize that I grew up as this test-taking wunderkind, scoring in the 99th percentile of, like, every freaking subject, even when I was making mediocre grades in high school but still managed to crank out an obscenely-high SAT score. So scoring in the 10-40th percentile in anything except perhaps my body weight, well... my whole world just got shaken. I know it's pathetic, my obsession with perfection even on the stupidest crap like a test that doesn't even count for a grade. The pharmacology part of the NCLEX is only a very small percentage, anyway. Or at least that's what they tell me. If I get to the actual test and the only questions I get are asking me about the contraindications of Depakote and the method of action of adrenergic antagonists, someone's gonna have to pay.

Tomorrow, after the exam, I get to be prettied up by my stylist, and then J and I set off for Sarasota to see his family. I have spent so very little time with his family that going to see them is like the first time, every time, and I start getting nervous and chatty and Avon-lady smiley in anticipation, forgetting that we've already broken bread together a handful of times and I have no reason to be uptight. And as far as in-laws go, I lucked out: no horror stories here. But I still get wigged out. We're bringing them gifts, and they're taking us out to a Sarasota phenomenon: Amish restaurants. I was so enthralled by the idea of an Amish restaurant: I imagined a large wooden house with no electricity, and you have to leave your car in the next block over and walk, or else come by horse and buggy, and you are served all sorts of amazingly hearty culinary delicacies by candlelight, served by women in frocks and austere hair arrangements. My friend Rachel, a Sarasota native, tells me that it's really more like going to Cracker Barrel, but I hold on to my other-world fantasy.

Oh, and the singing went well. No high-note-itis or glitches here, except for perhaps a small moment of amusement as I launched into the second verse and saw a small boy vigorously arm-farting his appreciation to me. Very reverent.

you know it was... divine night

As I prepare to deliver another heartfelt rendition of this loveliest of Christmas songs to an assembled crowd, I am always struck by my panic, left over from my singer-in-training days, that I will not get the high note. The one everyone waits for, and the one that makes the song. The version tonight is in a fairly safe key, but like most people's fear of public speaking, I too have the fear of Public High Note Shaming. Kelly, my realistic, ever-grounded fellow singer, always tells me that we are our own worst critics and that the majority of people don't know from bunk if you mess up. Maybe I have too much faith in my fellow man, for I imagine everyone in the audience with a pen and paper in hand, writing extraordinarily-crafted, detailed critiques of my every diaphragmatic offering. (A flair for exaggeration? Yes, I do have that.)

However, nothing makes me feel more at ease - or makes me nearly lose control of my bladder - than this. There is no possible way that anything I could sing tonight could come remotely near it. And if it did, I would sell it and make millions off of my comedic genius, like this singer should have done a la William Hung and Florence Foster Jenkins.

how I run

I've had a lot of people ask me this question, which always surprises me because I am 1) the slowest runner EVER and 2) have only been doing it for about 4 months. So, here's my unofficial advice. Ingest at your own risk:

I started running about two weeks after I started Weight Watchers in August. I know people who run at a bunch of different weights, but I'll admit I was about 185 when I started (and 5'2", proving you don't need to be a skinny mini to do it). I'll definitely put the consult-your-doctor-first disclaimer here, though I was bad and did not call my own doctor. One lap around my apartment complex is about half of a mile, and at first, I went around three times, doing the infamous Couch to 5K running plan. Though the plan itself is geared for an 8 week time period, I ended up running a straight 20 minutes after about a month... but not a 5K in that time, of course. I was probably running a 16-minute mile! Anyway, I just gradually increased the time I ran - about 5 minutes every two weeks, and made up the rest by walking either at the beginning or at the end.

Currently, I run about 18-20 miles a week, provided I am not sick or having finals. Usually, it's about 4-5 miles per run, 4x a week.

I always, always started with a 5-minute warmup walk and ended with one, plus some light stretches at the end.

One of my WW internet-buddies, Corinne, is my favorite couch-to-runner success story - she made a fabulous transformation and has an awesome running tips page and a great newsletter you can sign up to receive each month.

Things I cannot stress enough:

--When you start, run at a slower pace than you think you should, but run for a longer time than you think you should.
--Good shoes are crucial in ways I could list forever. Go to a running store like Track Shack, not just your local discount shoe store, and have them fit you for a shoe after analyzing your gait. It's the best investment you'll ever make in your fitness quest, and it saved me from having achy knees and legs and generally not enjoying my run.
--Don't run every day, even if you're one of those crazy, all-or-nothing perfectionists like Yours Truly. Take a day to rest yourself in between runs.
--Hydrate: nothing will cut your workout short like a nasty, strength-sapping case of dehydration. Drink yo water.

Other things:

--Love, love, love my iPod. Great for running. Get an armband if you can.
--My running gear: cheap stretchy pants and top from Target, their C9 Champion brand. Moisture-wicking, cute, and I didn't need tons of money to get it.
--When you run, remember that it will feel about 20 degrees warmer than it actually is outside, so don't overdress.
--Use the toilet before you go, even if you think you don't have to go. Trust me on this one. Taking a dump behind a bush is not fun.
--For the girls: I have, er, a lot up top, and Target also has Champion sports bras that hold me in well and secure. They go up to a DD cup size.

Again, this is just my own, unofficial, not-an-expert story of how I became a running fool. I love it now and feel really yucky if I don't get to go for my run when I need to. Another really great website to go to is Cool Runnings, home of the aforementioned Cto5K plan. Great tips on how to start running, how to train for a race, and to answer any general FAQ's you might have.

Happy running!

a landmark event

The skinny jean saga continues:

So, I can fit into them wonderfully, and by the end of the day, they're even a bit loose. However, they are the ONLY pair of pants that really fit me well, aside from my work scrubs and my running gear. I quickly realized that my Skinny Jeans would quickly turn into my Nasty Funk Jeans if I didn't add at least one other pair of pants into my daily rotation. I went to Target, found a sale on Levi's, and since I had no idea what size would fit me, I grabbed a bunch - sizes 14, 12, and 10 - and went to the dressing room.

The 14s needed a belt to stay on me. (yay!)

The 12s were nice, but a bit paunchy in the butt.

The 10s FIT. Holy crappo!



I haven't worn a size 10 since maybe 9th grade when I was 14, over half my life ago. (Okay, that's a depressing realization. I'll focus on the joy of the pants fitting). They fit well, and they are even slightly stretchy to be forgiving of another holiday meal. Their only flaw was the pants legs are a bit long - I may be getting skinnier but I doubt I will ever add any inches to my height. I was almost daring enough to grab a (gasp) size 8, just to see how far away I was from it, but I changed my mind and scurried away to "Home Decor" instead.

Monday, bloody Monday

Weigh-in tomorrow. I am optimistic. I have run, I have nourished, I have moderated. I had a little undoing with Olive Garden and a basket of fragrant breadsticks, but other than that, I'm doing well, I think. One more run today and maintaining my dietary vigilance until tomorrow. Well, not UNTIL tomorrow - through tomorrow, really, but after 9am tomorrow, my efforts go toward next week...

So, I completely forgot to take pictures of all the food and festivities, but I did manage to get a nice Christmas-card photo of Jason and I:



I love that my face isn't so pudgy or bloated-looking anymore. And I think that guy sitting next to me is really, really hot. I want our children to have those eyes and curls.

Oh yeah, and those are the skinny jeans again. Only they're my normal jeans now. I cleaned out my closet and now have about 3 pairs of pants I can wear that fit well, and only one pair is a pair of pants not worn at work (scrubs) or out running (stretchy spandexy things). Donations welcome.

Wednesday: a breakdown

1. Today I feel highly disinclined to move. Maybe it's the remnants of a truly fantastic Thanksgiving-two-days-early feast moving through my body (still), maybe it's the chill in the air, or maybe it's the last sniffles of last week's knock-me-out cold I had. Whatever the case, I'm on a Sloth Campaign today, and my cat agrees it's a lovely thing. She gets a nice warm snuggly human to curl up next to, and she understands me, for she is also One Who Does Not Move All Day.

2. Last night's Thanksgiving dinner was remarkably good, confirmed by lots of "mmm, nffft hrrrgish gnnnd!" through mouthfuls of my lump-free mashed potatoes and lump-free gravy (thanks for the tips, Nannie. I owe ya one when I get to heaven). I had an emotional moment with my thawed chicken: rubbing it down with butter and rosemary and its comparable size made me think of my babies, and I imagined some poor mother hen crying about missing Fat Alfie whom I was now shamelessly basting, and I thought that this must be how people become vegetarians (or vegans, or whatever they're supposed to be). Once he was cooking, however, Alfie started smelling delicious, the emotion disappeared, and our sacrificial chicken turned out wonderfully moist and tender for dinner. Even the white meat. So much for veganism or remorse.

3. Last night's dinner was so good, in fact, that I am still carrying some of it around with me, and likely will for a few weeks yet. It's amazing how I can go from neurotic must-reduce-ness to "eh, it's only once a year" in such a short span of time. WW's weigh-in revealed a gain of 3.4 - how?why?whyME? - and a week's worth of inactivity. But the world didn't crash in around me when the scale revealed its ugly numbers at me, and I actually felt this sense of sisterly solidarity with the other WW members at the meeting, most of whom had gained that week as well (as evidenced by a constant low-voiced muttering about tight pants, expanding waistlines, and water retention). Maybe it made me too complacent, for this morning's breakfast was not shredded wheat and skim, but two cold leftover pancakes. Oy. But I will hit the road for the first time in over a week: I am running today, and I think I am looking forward to it, except for my Campaign of Immobility (see #1).

4. I bought a Glade scenty oil thingy for downstairs during last week's fit of cleaning, only to discover that the subtle lotus-flower aroma I'd hoped for instead produced an Uzis-on-my-nose effect in my living room, due to an absent scent-regulating something-or-other. You know, that expensive bit of technology that is basically a little movable plastic disc that determines the opening of the scenty part: 1 for minimal, 7 for mausoleum. I woke up this morning, went downstairs, and my sinuses instantly inflamed, so I chucked the Glade scenty thingy to make a better-smelling landfill somewhere. Maybe a candle next time?

5. My husband is truly lovely. Last night, after feeling all bloated and cold from the weather, my husband's warm body in the bed felt like heaven. And he even let me snuggle my typically-frigid toesies and feet up against his typically-toasty ones and didn't complain one bit, and we feel asleep snuggling (well, just until I got a major itch right where his chest was against my back... and then we pulled away and snuggled with our pillows). He tells me every night how much he loves me and tells me things like how beautiful and sexy I am, even when I am next to him with a full T-day meal like lead in my belly, hair sticking up in bizarre spikes from my head, and the snucky sniffles from a cold. And even when he's tired and would rather just go to sleep right away, he lets me rest my head against his chest and talk about my day and ask him about his, and he talks with me for a while.

6. I love reading people's blogs, especially ones of people who are professional writers (or should be), because I love how they use words. I'm adding them to my link list because I think they are funny and brilliant. If you haven't seen her site already, I highly recommend this site by author Wendy McClure, who has published a really hilarious, slightly freakish book of Weight Watcher recipe cards from the 1960's, with titles like "mackerel pudding". She's hilarious - be sure to check out this for a hilarious commentary about stores that make you feel bad. Have I mentioned she's hilarious? Also, there's this one, not for the faint-of-heart and/or Mormon. She makes me want to get Photoshop, real bad, and a really good camera. And an English degree so I can write as well and as witty as she does. (Witty? Wittily? See, this is why I need the English degree...)

7. Oh, and last night: it snowed. Not a big deal for most of y'all living above the Georgia state border, but last night, it was both cold and damp (a rarity for us) and those little cold things I felt on my face if I stared up at the sky and held really, really still were, in fact, snowflakes that melted before they even hit the ground. All of this was confirmed by the massive media coverage this morning. I am surprised school wasn't cancelled.