Vanity, Thy Name Is... Me

Anne in 1993

O.K., I've made a decision. I want to have Rebekah Girvan photograph my family. Including me. Her portraits are so stunning that every time I see them I think, "I wish I had photos like that of my own family." And I want to be in them. I still love the black and white portraits we had taken of my own family in 1993, and am so glad my parents were willing to shell out the money for an excellent photographer. I also still love them because they caught me at my thinnest point in adulthood. Sure, I was in the midst of bulimic behavior and had crash-dieted and overexercised to drop 40 pounds in just a few months. But I was pretty!

These days I shy away from photos, because I hate how I look in them. Namely, I'm fat. I don't like photographic evidence of this. However, I really want these pictures done. And I want to look beautiful in them.

See, the truth is, I'm vain. Most people might not guess that from the way I dress, or the fact that I don't usually wear any make-up, or that 90% of the time I'm running around with my hair pulled up in an unflattering ponytail. But I am. I'm vain in the way I would surmise many women are. Or at least women with eating disorders. I'm vain in that I'm constantly checking myself out in the mirror. I'm vain in that I love good photographs of me - to the point where I have them hanging up in my home. Who hangs up photos of *themselves* to see? I do. Because I like to think I'm pretty, and have evidence that, at least for that shot, I was. I'm vain, but don't often like the image I see, because it doesn't match the image in my head. I'm vain and hugely self-critical, all at the same time.

So I've made another decision. It's time to use vanity to prod me into doing what all my talk about healthy eating, modeling for my children (behavior, not my figure!), lowering my cholesterol or blood pressure, or whatever, has not been able to get me to do: really lose weight. It's time to admit while that all those things I mentioned are important, what supersedes them all for me is, simply stated, vanity. Printed vanity. See, in my day-to-day life, even as I check myself out in the rearview mirror or peer at my eyebrows in the bathroom, well, it's not permanent. I can look, and look away. And of course most of my day I'm NOT looking at my physical self. I'm doing my best to IGNORE my physical self. But when I see a photo, I'm transfixed, because there, on paper, for better or worse, is an image of what I really look like. And I've spent too long trying to convince myself I don't really look like that. I do!

Therefore, my goal is to lose weight before this photo shoot. I want the pictures to be taken sometime in March, around my 39th birthday. That gives me about 6 months. My goal is to drop somewhere between 17 and 37 pounds. Obviously I'd like it to be the higher number, but I need at least a bit of realism to pop in here to remind me that I will most certainly freak out over this effort at least a few times; I do have distorted eating and body image, after all, and the idea of losing weight is actually scary for reasons I both know and don't know. And my body may rebel even if I "do the work," since I supposedly have PCOS. So we'll see.

I know I've said time and again I'm going to lose weight. I've even said it here. I know realistically I may fail. So why publicly proclaim it (again)? Because, baby, I've gotta do something. All my dither-dallying, all my convincing myself not to "diet" because it won't work, all my certainty that my disordered binge-eating means I'll always be fat, hasn't moved the scale down. In fact, it's done the opposite. Therefore it's time for a good, old-fashioned, short-term dietary goal. I work best with a goal. I just haven't been able to come up with one that's as effective as the vanity card. So I'm playing it.

Chocolate vs God

With chocolate, all things feel possible.

With God, all things are possible.

Balancing Act

So this is Ellie's first full week of preschool, which is great in terms of meeting her social needs and giving me a little time to myself. But it also means adjusting to a new schedule. Apparently I'm not very good at this - I've found myself at loose ends too many times this week to count, trying to figure out what we should do next, what I should do during my "free time", and how to balance my needs with my kids' needs and my husband's needs and the house's needs.

One too many times I've found myself acquiescing to Ellie's request for more movie time, because it's easy; it keeps her entertained and lets me play on the computer. One too many times I've found myself swinging through a drive-thru or stopping to get snacks somewhere because I forgot to bring anything with us or there wasn't enough time to go home for a healthier lunch before our next activity. One too many times I've found myself making a short, manageable to-do list, but found reasons to avoid doing portions of it, just because I didn't feel like it.

Too many oopses, not enough good choices. I don't want my daughter eating junk food or spending all her time staring at a screen. So I need to figure out (i.e. PLAN) some good activities for us to do when we're not at the gym or at school or carpooling. I need to pack some healthy snacks in the car for the kids and for me, so I don't have the excuse to stop and buy junk that certainly none of us need.

Too often I just feel like I don't know what I'm doing, and/or that I'm not doing it well. I'm struggling this week with some serious body image issues (bat wing obsession, anyone). I'm struggling with money and the budget. Both of those make me want to shop and eat. But I know that spending more moola on dubious items like Blizzards or bagels isn't going to help physically OR financially.

So it's time to stop. Stop beating myself up about the choices of the last few weeks. Stop being willing to fail by being unwilling to plan and follow through. Stop and breathe and realize it will all be O.K. Some days we'll probably watch a little too much TV. Some days we'll frolic in the park. Some days maybe we'll end up at Mr. J's for a yummy sandwich. Some days I'll bring fruits and veggies in the car.

It's a balancing act, and what I'm really good at is the all-or-nothing approach. Time to be willing to walk the high wire, even if it's only in baby steps.

Fat

On our neighborhood walk this morning, I was telling Eleanor about a cat I used to see in the neighborhood. "He was big and fluffy and fat!" I told her. "I want to be fat!" Ellie replied enthusiastically, to which I said, as nonchalantly as I could, "Nah, people shouldn't be fat." She said, "But you're fat!" Yes. Yes, I am. I said, "Yeah, but I shouldn't be." Then, as I worried about damaging my little girl's self-esteem and starting her down the path to body criticism, I decided to correct my words by trying to say that "All we can do is eat well and get exercise, and God will take care of our size." But I only got the first half out before she interrupted me to say, "Look, mom, my shadow is wearing SHOES!"

May she always be so blase when it comes to body size. And if she ends up being a bigger girl like her mommy, may she always be a happy little buddha. I love you, Pumpkin Girl, no matter what size your belly is, or ever will be.

Love And Marriage, Age 4 Edition

Ellie announced to me in the car today that she wanted to marry her friend Jack. 

"Why do you want to marry him?" I asked. 

"Because he's good," she replied. 

That's a ringing endorsement for a great spouse if I've ever heard one. Simple and to the point. I guess she's already looking for someone like her daddy. I did tell her she has to wait until she's at least 18, though.

A picture of the happy couple:

A Good Day

Believe it or not, I actually have good days. I know I'm usually driven to write when something bad, or at least unsettling, has happened or is on my mind. The good days don't get enough mention, here or in my head. So I'm blogging today to say it was a good day. Nothing amazing or really unusual happened, unless you count Jeff not having any fits as unusual (which it can be!).

The weather is GORGEOUS. I felt so blessed to be able to open every window in the house and enjoy a COOL breeze. I vacuumed and steam-cleaned the rest of the basement. I baked pumpkin bread - a sure sign I feel fall is really coming, as for some reason while I LOVE pumpkin items, I so strongly associate them with autumn that I can hardly think of baking them any other time of year. We went to the pool and I played silly games with Ellie. We visited my parents in Staunton and enjoyed casual conversation, Hershey's kisses, and pizza.

Once home, Ellie did throw a fit about not being able to play outside immediately with friends, and got so mad during her fit she actually ripped her curtains out of the wall. Surprisingly, I wasn't all that fazed. Brett fixed them. She stayed in her room for a while as a consequence. We moved on.

So thank you, God, for this good day. And thank you, Brain, for recognizing and honoring it.

Have We Hit the Teenage Years Already?

My son is changing. Gone are the days of automatic obedience. O.K., it was *never* automatic, but he's definitely challenging us and rules more and more, and often now just decides he's going to do something and does it without considering whether or not he should seek permission.

His anger is also getting worse. Or maybe it's his way of expressing that anger that's getting worse. I'm not sure which one is true. Now Jeff has always struggled with anger - it's his "go-to" emotion, for one thing; the one that seems to come out no matter what other more subtle emotion might be at play (frustration, fear, loneliness, embarrassment). As a toddler, anytime he got hurt, mad, scared, disappointed, he'd deal with it by hitting his parents. We spent nearly two years trying to get him to do other things except hit us - lots of time outs, removal of things from around him, sticker charts and rewards, etc.. We finally told him, when he started hitting his preschool teachers, that he would earn one spanking on his bottom for that, because we just couldn't figure out what else to do. Oddly enough, the threat of a swat worked - he only hit his teacher twice after that. Received two separate swats, and he was done.

Wish that would work as well now. Well, O.K., not really. I'm not really a spanker, don't like the idea of it, but know that 90% of parents do it at least once, and I have done it on occasions like that. But what do I do with a 9 year old who now is having increasingly physical reactions to anger again? He stomps, he bangs, he slams doors, he throws things in his room. Nothing has gotten broken yet (including him), but I'm sure it will. And I find it kind of scary.

I would like to say I'm one of those perfect moms who never raises her voice. I'm not. I try to stay calm and rational. Sometimes it works. Other times, I, um, raise my voice. I don't scream. I don't say mean, nasty insults. But I do get mad and I yell. So I know where it comes from and how it feels. I still struggle with anger, too. But not like this. In my HEAD I want to bang things and break things and hit things with a baseball bat. In real life, I don't. I do tend to go for the cookie dough... but that's another issue entirely.

So I'm not sure what to do with this kid who now feels he's old enough to make decisions on his own, but breaks down into fits of rage that are totally inappropriate. Last night he and his sister got into a fight while a babysitter was there. She sent both of them to their rooms to settle down. After a few minutes, he announced to her he was done being in his room and was coming out. She said, "Um, no - you're not." He screamed he hated her and slammed his door very forcefully and threw a fit in his room. My Lord, what do I do with that? Luckily the babysitter was very calm and told him when she was here, everyone was expected to treat everyone else well, and that her rules must be obeyed. And she had him stay in his room until he was calm. Exactly as we would have done. So she wasn't fazed. I was aghast and appalled, but she seemed fine with it all. Bless her.

But I don't know what to do now. Certainly there will be a consequence for that behavior choice, but Brett and I haven't figured out what it will/should be. And will it make a difference? When he gets lost in his anger like that, it's like he can't control himself. Last weekend we went to a church festival for kids (luckily not OUR church, and you'll see why...). Jeff decided he wanted to go in the bouncy castle with a slide. When he got to the bottom of the slide, however, I could tell immediately from his face that something was wrong. I thought perhaps he'd scraped himself on the slide, until he stood up and screamed "STUPID IDIOT!" at whomever was behind him. I said, "No! Jefferson, come here!". And he came running at me, crying, yelling that the kid behind him had pushed him, and lifted his arms and hit me. Hit me. His mom. I retrieved his shoes, as it was clear to me now that we had to leave, and as we were walking to the car, even as I was saying we don't call people names like that, he turned around again and screamed "STUPID IDIOT!" toward the slide area. I lost it and yelled "NO!" at him. In front of all those nice church people talking about God's children. I was mortified by it all.

I was also flummoxed. What to do with this? He stayed in his room for the day. We talked to him about name-calling and about hitting me ("sorry about that," he mumbled in response to my sadness at being hit, so at least he knew that was wrong). And we asked him how old the kid was who'd pushed him. "Probably four," he said.

Four? A four year old? And you're screaming "stupid idiot" at him? Granted, the kid should not have pushed Jeff. And had he been calm enough, we would have stayed there to work it out. As it was, I cried in shame. And I've been watching as the reactions seem to have gotten stronger, more intense, and over what seems to us to be ridiculous stuff.

I asked him this morning if he thought his behavior toward the sitter was appropriate."No," he muttered. "I was angry in that moment." I told him that's not an O.K. reaction to being angry, to which he replied, "I wanted to get my anger out but I don't know how." That's often his response these days - he needs to get the anger out but can't figure out how. I guess that's a small sort of recognition.

See, here's the other thing: I *know* anger issues are a major struggle for people with Asperger's. I've read that time and again. What I haven't read is how to really help with it. We have worked with Jeff a lot on things to do to calm down - run, jump, pound a pillow, count in his head, deep breaths, etc. We even had him work one on one with an occupational therapist to try to help him recognize when he's getting too worked up, and teach him some things he could do to calm back down when it was happening. But he doesn't do any of those. It's like he goes from 0-100 in a second, and all those options to slow himself down, they go right out of his brain. We know giving him time to calm down is about the only thing that works, but what do we do with the fits and violence?

I seriously wonder when I see these fits, when I hear him talk about how it's always someone else's fault, if I have another Eric Harris or Dylan Klebold on my hands. It's scary to me, how much anger this kid has and how little he sees his own culpability in it (or in the things leading up to it). He can bang his head on a cupboard and be convinced the cupboard leapt out and hit him - and that he has to pay it back and teach it a lesson. I spend a lot of time explaining that inanimate objects are, in fact, inanimate, and cannot think or do anything. He remains unconvinced.

I'm going to look into a counselor to help him and us with this issue. But in the meantime, it's scary to me, to have a 9 year old kid acting like this. We haven't even fully hit the tween years, much less teenagehood and actual puberty. If he's this prone to anger and physical reactions now, what's it going to be like when the testosterone is fully unleashed?