9/11/2001: I Will Forgive

I was going to write a less serious, more hilarious blog tonight. But this subject is heavy on my heart. I heard this song on Air1 today and it gave me goosebumps. I knew I had to write this tonight rather than wait until Sunday — the 10-year anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks.

Here's what I heard:

Can you believe its been ten years? I remember Sept. 11, 2001 like it was yesterday. I woke up to 99.1 KGGI blaring on my dorm radio at University of Redlands, but it wasn't music I heard, it was a newscast about the attack. It was right after the first plane hit the tower. I made a quick call home, including one to find a way to contact a childhood friend, Kristal, who was a flight attendant and worked in the New York area. She's the first person I had thought about. I walked out into the common room of the dorms to find my fellow college students huddled around the TV and we watched as the second plane hit and then as the towers collapsed.

It was surreal. The news network we were watching thought it was debris from the plane hitting that fell from the windows high above the New York City skyline. The camera zoomed in and quickly zoomed back out because it wasn't debris. It was a man. A man in a suit. A man who had felt so helpless and who was so scared that he jumped out of a window.

I think that is when it hit me the hardest. That's when what I was watching became real.

I was scheduled to board a plane with my volleyball team the following week. We were supposed to fly to Nashville for a tournament. But flights were cancelled and we couldn't go. I remember feeling somewhat relieved that I wouldn't have to board a plane.

What if it happened again? What if they chose the plane I was on?

I had been scared.

I've been thinking about this a lot. And the rest of this post may piss some people off — but it's my blog. My thoughts. My opinion — so if you don't want to read it, you don't have to.

Fear. "An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat." That's what Google says.

It was just a short time ago when the Hemet Police officers were being attacked. They had had bombs placed underneath their cars, guns rigged to shot at their heads when the gate to their Gang Task Force headquarters was opened, city cars were blown up. It was a terrifying time for the city and it had come on the heels of an incident where a boy had shot, killed, and burned his "friend" in a bonfire in his backyard.

More fear. I stopped running at night. I would replay my MMA training scenarios in my head when I saw a scary-looking person around in a parking lot — thinking about all of the ways I knew I could bring him down. I began to look over my shoulder more often and I stopped making eye contact with strangers. What if they had bad intentions?

My brother-in-law recently wrote a paper on the Hemet police attacks. He asked me, as a former reporter during the time of the attacks, for a quote about what it did to the community. Here's what I told him.

"The repeated attacks on local law enforcement instilled fear in the community. People began to question their safety. If police officers were vulnerable and the offenders were not caught, certainly the general public felt threatened. It was an act of terrorism and the sense of fear it produced was real. Even the arrest of the suspects didn't ease the minds of the public. I think the fear the attacks caused is still present today. Maybe not a fear of those particular suspects attacking again, but a fear caused by the realization that no city is truly safe from terrorists."

 I began to think about terrorism. Terrorism is named that because it goes deeper than the single acts of violence. It is bigger.

 It makes people question one another, makes them view people who may be different than them as suspect. Fear makes us irrational. It makes us do and say questionable things. It makes us want to "shoot first, ask questions later."

My former editor, Kari, once told me that she believes that people either live in fear or live in love. To live in fear is to not live at all. It's to act scared, to not risk anything, to freeze. To live in love makes us free, it gives us courage to live the life we dream. It was true and I agreed.

I came across a quote that said "There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them." Andre Gide said this. He was a writer and won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1947.


I think this is true. Yet so many people walk around afraid of those who are different. You see, ten years after the Twin Towers were attacked, the fear that violent act produced is still very real. You hear it everyday. You heard it in the debate about whether or not a mosque should be built near Ground Zero in New York City. You heard it when Bin Laden was killed.

I saw photos of Bin Laden's head with a bullet in it posted all over Facebook. They weren't even real. They were made in Photoshop. The government chose not to release the actual photos. 


You know, many people celebrated the murder of Martin Luther King Jr., too. It's true. 


I know. You're ticked right now. You don't want me to compare King to a terrorist like Bin Laden, right? That's not fair, right? One was obviously good and one was obviously evil. Right! Right? Really? Who are you to assign value to a human life? Who are you to say one is more valuable than the other? Do you know their soul? Now you're fuming. I know.

"But, Val, one used his life to try to destroy people! The other tried to bring people together!" you may say. Yes. But I'm not making a judgement on who was better than the other. I'm saying that a human life, good or bad, or still a life. 

King once said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."


So when we celebrate the death of a person, aren't we acting in darkness? Aren't we celebrating the same evil that Bin Laden may have been celebrating when he watched the people throw themselves out of the melting towers? In both instances, death is being celebrated. Which one is right? Is there a "right"?

I see those slogans "I will never forget!" plastered all over cars and the Internet. And, to be honest, I won't forget Sept. 11, 2001.

But I want to. I want to forget the evil. Holding on to what another man did to us in sin will only bound us and hold our hearts captive. It will not free us. Forgetting, however, will free our hearts from hate. Now you're really mad at me, aren't you? You are correct in thinking that I'm telling you to forget. Forget the sin. 

If we choose to remember the hate and carry that hate on, we are not doing the victims of 9/11 justice. We are fuming the flames for it to happen again.


Those of you who read my blog or who know me, know I'm a Christian. I love the Lord. And I believe that He would forgive. That He would love harder in hopes of saving lives. Not hating harder in hopes of punishing lives. He loves all equally.

So try and forget. Isn't that what Christ did for us? Did he not forget our sin? Did He not die so that we were free from it? So why should we remember the sin of another? What if Christ decided to "never forget" that lie you told your husband, but confessed to Christ? What if He chose to place a yellow ribbon on your rear view mirror every day to remind you of that time you cheated, lied, or stole? What if you could never escape it? You would be driven mad and think Him unloving. But He's not. And you're free from those sins.

 


Every time you choose to love, to smile at someone who you may perceive to be "trashy" or "shady," you give love a little more power and hate a little less.

My prayer for this country is that we are freed from the death grip that fear has on our hearts. My prayer is that we embrace one another and show more love and less hate. I will attempt to forget, attempt to forgive, and live in love.

John 12:35 says "Then Jesus told them, 'You are going to have the light just a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, before darkness overtakes you. The man who walks in the dark does not know where he is going.'"

On this anniversary of 9/11, I'm committing to love more. To love those who are different, to love those who have done me wrong, to love those who the world perceives as evil. Because if we aren't loving, we are hating. And hate is destructive.

I will not allow terrorism to win. By celebrating death and acting in hate, we allow the terrorists to win. We give them power. I will not allow the sin of a few make it okay to hate many. I will not allow terrorists to cause me to be afraid of people of a different race, color, or creed.

My prayer is that we truly do choose to rise out of those ashes — not to take our revenge, but to love and spread light so that darkness does not overcome.

 <3

Once Upon An Unexpected Dream

It's been awhile since I've blogged. A long while. I'm not sure if it was a lack of motivation or a lack of FIOS at home. But now I've got both! So look forward to more of my nutty rants.

"Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours." Mark 11:24

I've read this verse so many times. Over and over again I'd read it and I'd remember God's promise — the promise that He will provide. It's been a crazy few years. Maybe five. Okay, seriously, the majority of my 20-somethings have been utter crap. Literally.

I had goals, people! And serious ones. By the time my 30th birthday rolled around, I had three goals: 1. Publish my novel and watch it climb the bestseller list, 2. Earn my first $1 million, 3. And fight Gina Carano ... and win. 

You don't know who she is? Gees. Why are we friends? This is her.

You may also recognize her as "Crush" from the revived American Gladiators. She's gorgeous isn't she? Man, I really wanted to mess up her pretty face. Preferably without damaging my "just okay" face.

So those were my goals. I was well on my way, too. I was training to fight, writing, and well, not earning very much money. But my book wasn't done and that was the gateway to my millions.

I could name a ton of reasons why none of the above has happened. I could say it was because I had to work more than one job or because the fight team I was on disbanded or because I had no computer. Blah. Blah. Blah. Point is, my goals were not reached.

Like I said, most of my 20-something years were crap.

Until recently ...

I remember the nights I'd spend praying for a man. A real man. Not like the fake ones I had been dating. The cheater, liars, and users. Nope, not them. I wanted my prince charming. Those stupid Disney movies I had watched as a child really ruined things for me. Your life was not complete unless you had a man. And not just ANY man — a prince.

When my niece was younger, she had told my brother-in-law that she was going to marry Aladdin. "No, Honey," he said with a straight face, "You can't marry him. Aladdin's a terrorist." My niece was five. She had no idea what he was talking about and ran off to play. But he was right — and it has NOTHING to do with race so don't even go there. Nope. It's because men are lame. They come into your life, terrorize you by making you fall for them and then they are caught with (fill in the blank with a person's name) doing (fill in the blank with something they aren't supposed to be doing) while you are working four jobs to pay for their (fill in the blank with the useless hobby they've taken up).

Seriously? What a peach of a prince. The fact is, they simply do. not. exist.

Well, at least not the way those movies depicted. No, my prince turned out to be much more unorthadox. He leaves toilet paper off of the roll. He smells funny. Often. He says inapproprite things at even more inapproprite times. He makes my eyes roll until I'm dizzy.

He also works 80-plus-hour weeks to provide for his family. Once a month, he spends his only day off that week driving me to LA where he sits all day watching me play volleyball. He supports me in every dream I have and does whatever it takes to help me accomplish them.

He is truly my Prince Charming. A fuzzy one who hates shaving, but nonetheless, a prince for ME.

And I had prayed for him. And God had delivered. Then we prayed for a baby. It wasn't easy, but God delivered. My precious son is the most demanding, slobbering, awesome kid.

Does it even get cuter than that? Because I really don't think so.

I will be entering my 30s in approximately two months, one week, four days ... but who's counting?

I prayed for God to help me train, to help me write, to send me my $1 million payday. And I read that stinking verse over and over and over.

"Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours."

It wasn't mine. None of those things were mine! So, do I still believe in that verse? Does the fact that I have NONE of what I really wanted mean God has not delivered on his promises?

Nah.

You see, I was praying for the wrong things. God knew it. Funny thing about that guy. He knows ALL. He sees our big picture.

Look, let's be honest. I'm not that great of a writer. And what I lack in writing skills, I make up for with an underwhelming amount of motivation to write. And I'm not that great of a fighter. Did I win some fights? Sure. But I probably would've had Gina dropkick me in the head and get knocked out in five seconds on television. And, really, who would want that hanging over their head for life? And I don't need a $1 million-paycheck. (But if you're willing to write me one, I take that last one back.)

Truth is, at almost 30 years old, I'm finally starting to live the life I never knew I always wanted. I'm losing sleep each night my hubby is home, when he snores loud enough to bring down the Great Wall of China, I'm losing more sleep when my son cries for me, I'm losing even more sleep when I try to think about how on earth I'm going to pay this or that.

But I'm losing sleep next to a man who loves me with everything he has. I'm losing more sleep to hang out with, seriously, the coolest kid that was ever created, and I'm losing even more sleep in a bed ... in a house ... that somehow has managed to remain mine, despite having too much month at the end of the money.

This is my life. And I love it.

Things change. Dreams change. We change. Our passions change. And when we're least expecting it, our life becomes a hot mess of wonderful moments that you never planned for but would never trade.

My faith in that verse hasn't changed. My faith, actually, has grown. I watch in awe as God directs my paths in motherhood, in starting a new photography business (that road is full of miracles, but that is for another blog), and in abandoning all of my fears and worries and allowing Him to work on me and through me.

The more I pray, the more my will aligns with God's will for me. And therein lies the answered prayers.

It's been a wild ride. And I'm looking forward to even more unexpected twists and turns. Thank you, Lord, for this life and help me to make the one you've given me the best I can for YOU.

Night, all.

Be careful what you pray for...

I remember a time, when Brandis and I were trying to get pregnant, that I cried out to God and said, "OK, Seriously ... this is taking forever. I want to have a kid before your return, Christ. I want to know what it is like to raise a child that is ALL mine! So, if you grant me that, THENNNNNN I'll be ready for you to come back."

In retrospect, it's laughable. Like God would stop the Second Coming to wait for me to get knocked up and raise my baby ... But to have a child, and to have an impact on him like I have on the kids that I coach was so important to me! I felt like I had ALL of this love to give and it was being wasted by me not having a baby.

Which is also laughable! Like my coaching has ever been or will EVER be a waste of time ... I know I have a positive impact on those who play for me — even when they claim to hate me! :)

Ever since I found out about our little, life-changing blessing, I've been doing an intense amount of soul searching. I've always known that people frequently say having a child changes you. But I kind of thought it changes sleep patterns, work schedules, family dynamics, and free time — I guess I didn't realize that it would force me to literally put my entire being under a fine-tooth comb and examine who I really was and who I wanted to be.

Now, I completely see why I did not get pregnant sooner. I simply was NOT ready. Sure, I had love to give. But would I have been ready to do the "soul cleaning" that I'm doing now?

Not a chance!

I've been thinking a lot about how I want to raise Koa. What kind of environment will I raise him in? I know I want to teach him about healthy living, how to eat well, the importance of sleep, and that no matter what he does, God loves him and so does his mom! I know that my son will disappoint me because he's human, and he will make mistakes. There will be times when he will tell me he wants to trade me in for a new mommy. That will suck! But I will love him, regardless, and NEVER leave him nor turn my back on him.

I will work to build him up at every opportunity. I want to empower him and make sure he knows how special he is. I never want him to feel unloved or unwanted or unimportant. I want to encourage him to explore and challenge the status quo, to fight for what he believes. I want him to be a hard worker and to realize that he has the power to change his life whenever he wishes. I want him to take responsiblity for his actions and to be honest about when he screws up. I want him to know it's OK to make mistakes ... if you learn from them! I want my sweet baby boy to lie his head down on his pillow every night knowing that his parents love him and they love each other. I want to make our home a safe place where he feels comfortable expressing himself and knows he will not be judged.

I've learned so much about how I want to raise my son. But, more importantly, I've learned that being a mother doesn't mean I have to be perfect. I WILL make mistakes. Although, rarely ... :)

So, now, I've got this laundry list of things I want to instill in my son. That's the easy part. But HOW? How do I get him to learn these things? How will I show him that it is OK to go against popular opinion and to stand his ground? Or that the kid on the playground who makes fun of him may really be very sad and may need Koa to show him kindness?

This is something I've taken to prayer because I'm SO serious about making sure my little boy grows into a strong, confident man who loves the Lord and has a heart for the hurting. I know how many times I was hurt by men before Brandis came along and I NEVER want OUR son to be that kind of man.

I've found out that it all begins with me. If I want to see these qualities in my son, then I better be the first to exemplify them. If I see wrongdoing, I better stand up for what I believe, even if it gets hard. If I want him to put God first, I BETTER be doing that in my own life. If I want him to be hard-working and have a heart for other people, then ... you guessed it ... I better be hard working and SHOW that I have a heart for other people.

After thinking about all of MY qualities and which of those I want my son to pick up, I realized that it's MY responsibility to be a living, breathing example. How can I get mad at him for being a horrible listener if I'm constantly interrupting him? (Something I know I need to work on. Being opinionated is, sometimes, hard!) Or how can I be upset at him for putting others down if I am putting others down, or worse, if I'm ever putting HIM down? Simple. I can't. If he sees his mommy and daddy do it, nine times out of ten, HE will do it.

It made me reflect on my own childhood and made me so thankful to have the parents I do. They were far from perfect. There were times they hurt my feelings, times I felt judged — but one thing my parents NEVER pretended to be was perfect. I have seen HUGE transformations in my parents over the years. And I told my mom that I feel I have learned far more from watching them fail, admit it, and work on it, than from them trying to be perfect. When my dad would say something that hurt me, he would later come to me and tell me he messed up and that he is sorry and that he loves me — although sometimes it took time, I knew he'd always tell me he was sorry. My mom would make sure I knew that mommy's weren't perfect and that they mess up, too.

They didn't point fingers and blame others for their actions. My dad never told me, "YOU made me do that because I was mad." NO. He would tell me he did it and then he would work to fix it. And then he really WOULD work on it.

THIS is the kind of parent I want to be.

I am so blessed to have the family that I do. They are supportive, loving, genuine, and my relationships with them are SO rewarding. That's another thing my parents taught me — the important of having meaningful relationships. It's so important for me to be able to go to bed at night and KNOW that I made someone's day brighter. It could be as small as striking up a conversation in a grocery store or making someone laugh when they are upset. THESE are the important things!

Isn't that the kind of person God calls us to be? The kind of person that can put aside their desires and wants and focus on others? Sometimes I do this too much and I put myself at risk. But I know that God sustains me in a miraculous way. I know that He will sustain me when I have hard times raising my son.

Because, as I have stated before, God doesn't need me to be perfect, rather WILLING — willing to see my own imperfections and WILLING to admit them and work on them. This, more than any other thing, will speak volumes to my sweet, baby boy.

I never realized that he would have such a deep impact on me before I even laid eyes on his chubby cheeks! (C'mon, he's Brandis and I's kid — there will be chubby cheeks!) He's not even here yet, and already, I've learned so much from him. He won't owe me a thing for raising him — because even now, he has taught me so much and I will forever be grateful to Koa and to God for giving me the chance to learn these lessons in a loving way.

Approximately three more months until I get to hold my little superhero! But for now, I'm enjoying my time I spend praying for him and feeling him punch my guts. Mommy's little warrior is strong! Even only weighing two pounds!  :)

We're having a baby, baby!!!

Pregnancy tests ... I used to hate those things. Seriously, I would pee on them constantly. For 14 months, whenever I felt slight headache (hormonal changes mean baby!), or my boobs were sore (again, BABY!), or when I thought I was late (BABY! BABY! BABY!)! But every test came out negative. It was so frustrating. I began googling "Do some women never get a positive on a pregnancy test, even if they are?!"

I stopped at nothing to get the bottom of my problem. But no one had an answer. It was simple — I. Could. NOT. Get. Pregnant.

Both of my sisters got pregnant so easily. Why me? Why was this an issue I had to deal with?

After month and months...and then a year...and some more months, God finally gave me exactly what I've been praying for.

It was a Monday. I had stayed home from work the Friday before I took the test because I had felt icky.

Through the weekend, I was exhausted and figured I was coming down with the flu. Pregnancy was not even a twinkle in my mind because, after begging God for a little one, I had finally given up. I began looking into joining the Navy so I could develop my photography even further. I just thought, "OK, God. I'm trusting you! You know what's best!"

I told my husband I was going to take a test that week, just in case. But I wanted to put it off because I was so tired of peeing on that stupid stick and having it read back, "No, Valerie, you aren't pregnant, just like yesterday, and the day before, and five minutes before that! NO. The answer is NO!" Seriously, my digital test would say that. I didn't know they could personalize them like that! :)

Monday morning came and I was still dragging. I went to my car and pulled out the Walgreens bag with the devil pee stick in it and walked sl----oooowwww-----ly back into the house.

I wasn't even going to text or call my working hubby to disturb him because I knew it was going to say NO.

I took the devil test out of its evil wrapper and did my business. I remember sitting there watching it, saying, "Hurry up and say no so I can go back to bed."

But something crazy happened...

Holy. TOLEDO! These things work? These things work! THESE THINGS WORK!!!!!!!

I hyperventilated for a minute and then said out loud, "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!!!!" I felt a warm sensation come over me, as if He was saying, "I told you to trust me, you stubborn girl!"

I e-mailed the picture above to my husband and text him to tell him I had sent an e-mail.

"I don't have anything," he sent back.

"CHECK AGAIN!!!!!!!" I responded.

"What is it?" he wrote.

Oh for heaven's sake!!! C'MON! Freaking modern technology! So I resent the e-mail ...

Obviously, he got the e-mail. Ignore the cursing ... my hubby was freaking out.

He promptly followed that text up with jewels like, "I have to get another job!!!!!!" and "I'm SO SCARED!" Later, I found out he also threw up — something I have not done at all in my first four month of pregnancy!

It's been about three and a half months since that day. It was such a fun day! We went to my father-in-law's work and told him the good news and I called my mom and sisters and my editor ... and then I posted it on Facebook. I seriously couldn't wait a single second longer! I had thought about how I would announce it for over a year.

I'm nearly four month pregnant and it's been so easy. I feel so wrong in saying that! (Knock on wood!) I see others around me getting super sick and looking miserable. I'm tired and that's about it.

It almost scares me how easy it is. I keep thinking, "Something MUST be wrong! This is way too easy!" I've been able to coach my volleyball team, run practices, exercise, do yoga, and work my full-time job. It hasn't always been easy, but God is sustaining me!

We had our first ultrasound done at 12 weeks ...

It's so unreal. It was like I was in a dream — but this time, I wasn't going to wake up. I can't describe the joy I felt when I watched my hubby watch the screen and when the doctor pointed out the beating heart. He had to fight back the tears. It was a magical moment.

I can't wait to be a mommy, to make everyday an adventure for my child, to play make believe with him/her, to build forts and play in them together. I can't wait to teach my child to pray and read them the same Bible stories I was read growing up. I can't wait to make this world a special place for them — a place where they really feel like they can accomplish anything.

For so many years, while coaching, I've been attempting to inspire other people's children — to teach them to live fearlessly, to teach them to be brave enough to dream big, and to show them how they can accomplish those dreams. And now, I feel so blessed to be able to do that for my own child.

Of course, I have my own dreams for him (I REALLY WANT A BOY!!!!) ...

... but I will be sure that whatever he or she wants to accomplish, I will be there every step of the way to support them.

I feel so blessed and so excited to start my family. After so many years of heartbreak and pain in the relationship department with lame men who said a lot but never followed through, I got my prince charming in Brandis. He's not perfect, but I know I'm blessed to have him.

And now, we get to bring this perfect little person into the world and we get to guide him or her through their lives.

I know I haven't blogged in awhile! But, first, I was busy trying to make a baby! Now, I'm busy trying to get ready for baby!

All I know is that there isn't a timing better than the Lords. This is the perfect time for us to be parents and we are so excited to begin out journey.

I'll try to keep the blog updated about the pregnancy! I felt him/her move for the first time today! But I'll blog about that tomorrow!

For now, I'll leave you with the song I've been singing to me baby since the moment I found out about him/her.



Always remember, God's timing is perfect

Money can't buy love ... right?

My husband would kill me if he knew I was blogging right now. But he'll soon find out because he's an avid reader of this blog.

I've just spent 11 hours at work and he's sitting on the couch waiting for me to come home and make dinner. Of course I guess he could make his own ... HAHAHAHA .... right. I just woke up from that fantasy!

Yes, that's more like it! Except my hubby is WAY hotter than that guy. And I'd like to think I'm not that pale. Gees, she almost looks dead, doesn't she? Maybe it's just the evil look on her face? Hmm.

Sorry, ADD moment. I'm good now.

Actually my husband has cooked for me and it's been wonderful. So that wasn't really fair of me. He's a great husband and I am very blessed to have him. Which is the reason for this blog.

In the past, I've been in some pretty decent financial situations. Not because I have ever made a ton of money. Rather, because I am used to working two and three jobs at a time. Hey, I'm a girl who likes her shoes! Actually, that's not entirely accurate either — I simply cannot relax. If I'm not working or cleaning or cooking or doing laundry than I feel an immense amount of guilt — like I'm cheating at the game of life. It's pretty horrible and not at all right. But it's me.

I keep getting off subject. I hate that. So, back to the story.

Summary: I worked a lot, therefore, I usually had money.

I've always been the type of girl who has spoiled the men she is with. Consequently, I've always had the kind of boy (the word "man" not used here on purpose) who only cared about what I could buy them and how often — the kind that thought work was optional and it was only something they had to do every now and then and only until I wrote my bestselling novel that would be made into a chick flick starring Sandra Bullock and make us millions! The kind of man who, on our first Christmas as a married couple, bought me sheets ($12 on clearance at J.C. Penny ... I know because he left the price tag on) when I had gotten him a video iPod (when they first came out, valued at $600.)

Yes. That kind. Except I'm not in the picture — because I'm upstairs doing laundry and paying bills online ... at the same time.

So now, I'm broke. After a horrible first marriage to the man described in the paragraph above, I was ruined. When I first met him, I felt like I could own world. After he left me for a stripper, I owned nothing and the world was calling me telling them I owed them everything I had, plus $592,864.67 for collection costs. 

Awesome.

Then I meet my husband — the good one, not the crappy one. He knows how much I hate my job and he talks often about the day when he'll be able to make enough money to replace my income (he's five years younger than me and just out of college (I know, I'm a cougar. It's something I take pride in)

"Just hang in there, Baby. I'm going to take care of you! I promise!" he says.

And you know what? I believe him.

He truly is my Prince Charming (usually) and all I want to be able to do is give him everything he wants. I want to be able to get him new golf clubs for his birthday and a membership to a golf club at Christmas. I want to lift his truck for him, just because it's Thursday!

But that can't happen. On his last birthday, I could barely afford a card. Stupid.

I felt like such a jerk! Here I have this man, who, the other night, comes in the house, sits next to me on the couch, grabs a bottle of lotion next to him, and starts rubbing my feet. Holy. Crap. Never mind the fact that he asked me to do his next ... it's simply the fact that I didn't have to ask him to do it. It was so nice! And I can't get him anything! It's completely frustrating.

I've been thinking — I know that God is showing me that money isn't everything. He gave me this wonderful blessing of a man and that, in itself, is such a gift! It's true success when you find a soul mate that cares about you so deeply — that is WAYYYYYY better than money! No amount can buy the happiness that comes with that! RIGHT?! I know, I have a hard time with it too. I thought writing that would solidify it in my mind. But no. I still like money. A lot.

The fact is, I have none. And I most likely won't until Sandra Bullock stumbles across my blog and loves my voice so much she stops at NOTHING to track me down and asks me to write her a screenplay in which she can star. But Jesse ruined everything and now she's busy being a single mom. So I don't think I'll hold my breath waiting for that one.

Thanks a lot,  Jesse. Maybe you and my ex could get together and go bowling.

Because of Mr. James' indiscretions, I must make peace with my broke self and come up with some alternatives to show my husband how much I love him without spending a dime.

Here's a list of things I've come up with:
1. Do a chore that I usually force him to do that he hates.
2. Leave him love notes on the bathroom mirror in dry erase marker.
3. Mail him a letter from my work to home telling him how great he is.
4. Record his favorite shows so that next time he sits down the queue will be full of the NFL's greatest moments, plays, quarterbacks, fields ...
5. Write a bunch of reasons why I love him on pieces of paper and tuck them into his pockets as I fold his laundry.

I think these will be just great! It's kind of fun not having a boat load of money at my disposal. It forces me to be creative! Nope. That still didn't work. I still don't think being poor is fun. Thought I'd try that whole writing it down to trick my mind thing once again. But no. I still like money. A lot.

Oh you sweet pile of green happiness ...

I'm going to go make my wonderful husband dinner now. And then slip some notes in his jeans.

How to be a gem at the gym

This morning, I started writing a blog post and it made me sad — so I stopped. I'm really tired today. I am "can't-keep-my-eyes-open-even-if-I-was-being-chased-by-a-serial-killer-with-a-bloody-axe" type of tired. If today was a scene in a horror movie, I'd be the girl in the beginning. You know that one that trips. Five times. And then, instead of getting into the cab waiting with a driver out in front of her house to escape, she runs back into the house and runs upstairs into the closet where she will be safe.

Yes, that girl.

So I decided that I needed a blog that would make me laugh instead of cry.

This morning's trip to L.A. Fitness to workout inspired me. Some of the things I saw were pretty freaking laughable. My sister and I were running on the treadmills. No, that wasn't the laughable part. Anyone who has been to L.A. Fitness knows they have all of their cardio equipment on the second floor. The floor overlooks the rest of the gym. This is helpful because if you aren't good at running while looking up (at the televisions they have mounted to the ceiling), you can look down and be entertained by the freak show that is the weight room. That gave me the idea for the rant.

I'm all down for looking cute at the gym. My husband makes fun of me for putting on makeup before I work out. But honestly, I need it. Unfortunately, I have a pretty public job in a retardedly (Yes, I know that's not in my spell check dictionary, Mr. iMac, it's because I just made the word up. So kindly remove that annoying red line from underneath it!) small town and if I look like crap out in public, people, literally, will talk about it for days. I'm dead serious. It's crazy. Plus, I firmly believe that you MUST feel good about how your face looks when you go to the gym. I mean, if I'm lifting and I look in the mirror and see Shrek staring back at me — I will immediately drop the weight and go grab a double-double from In-and-Out. WHY, you ask?

Because if my face is effed up then who cares if I'm thin?! It's not like it's going to help! See, so I have to put on makeup. Not a lot. I'm not sporting blue eye shadow and smokey eyes or anything. Just enough to make it look like I just woke up — without a black head, a wrinkle, a zit, or a spot of dry skin.

I say all that to get to the point of this blog post.

Some people are very intimidated of the gym for a number of reasons. My mother, for instance, doesn't like people watching her work out. It freaks her out. Some women are scared to look dumb so they avoid lifting weights. Others hate the feeling of their butts bouncing up and down when they run and they don't want other people to watch their rear ends defy gravity. I HATE that feeling. I just do more squats to tone the J-E-L-L-O.

I have decided to establish some ground rules for behavior when at the gym. That way, when you go, and you see me, you can avoid ticking me off. So really this is more like a public service announcement.

Rule No. 1: Strap 'em up.
You'd think with all of the running and bouncing going on, women would be inclined to strap their puppies down, no matter their size. You'd be surprised. There is a reason that this is the first rule. I completely GET the fact that you've worked hard for your abs and you want to show them off. Cool. Kudos to you. However, JUST because you have silicone boobs does NOT make it OK to only wear a thin sports bra to work out. And no, if you wear a sports bra as a shirt, you are NOT wearing a bra — you are actually just wearing a mini-shirt. If you do not have fake boobs, the rule is even more applicable. Also, if you do wear a whole shirt, just because its tight, doesn't mean it supports. There are many reasons for this rule. First, when you run on the treadmill, it has to hurt. I mean, really, it hurts me looking at you. Second, my husband works out with me, and although there are MANY single men (but most are married or hiding girlfriends. Trust me, check their pockets, or the ash trays in their lifted trucks and I will BET $4 there is a wedding ring just chillin' there) who want to see that, my husband doesn't want to see it. Or maybe he does. Which is even more of a reason for you to go stop at Ross and pick up that over the should boulder holder. Just. Wear. A. Bra. Comprende? OK.

Rule No. 2: Machines aren't leased by the week.
I know, I know! You got an uber important text message and you HAVE to sit on the abductor and write back and you MUST sit there until he writes you back and then you MUST respond regardless of if I am camping out five feet away from the machine giving you the death stare. I get it. Now get the heck off the machine before I cut you. Look, I'm a busy girl. I go to the gym with one intention — to stop being chunky. I usually know exactly how long it will take each day for me to accomplish what I have planned. But if Malibu Barbie and her BFF are chatting it up with Ken on steroids and they are on or surrounding the only machine I have left to conquer — the only machine that stands in the way of me and dinner — I will not be held responsible for the measures I must take to kindly remove them. I'm not saying to hurry your workout. If you're using it, I'm completely OK with waiting. But if you're not, or you insist on doing a set, waiting, eighteen minutes, and then doing your next set, I'm going to be annoyed and so are the others who came to workout. Some girls (and guys for that matter) only go to the gym to pick up Friday's date. That's fine if that's what you want to do. But don't pretend like you're working out. Trust me, it's wayyyyyyy hotter if you're ACTUALLY working out.

Rule No. 3: If it stinks, sniff your pit.

Another rule that really should not have to be pointed out. It should be pretty obvious as to why this is important. But, again, you'd be surprised. There is NOTHING worse than being on the elliptical ... downwind from Mr. Doesn't Wear Deodorant as he's huffing and puffing along on the treadmill. Really. Nothing. Worse. Look, I'm already short on oxygen over here and the LAST thing I need is a nostril full of your day's toil. I need to conserve these precious puffs of oxygen because I already feel like I'm dying from the extra cardio I have to do today for the Crunch bar I ate yesterday. If something smells and it follows you around the gym, lift your arm and sniff the pit. And then fix it. Because it's most likely YOU! If you don't smell anything, it could be that you have been so smelly your whole life, that you've now grown immune to it. If this happens, ask a friend to sniff it. Real friends tell you when you smell. It may surprise you, but even I, seemingly infallible I, have been known to forget to swipe Secret on before I leave my house for the gym. Thank goodness for the travel-size deodorant I have in my gym bag. That thing has saved many-a lives from a smelly grave! AND they are only a buck. Better to be safe than smelly, that's what I always say. Pick one up at your local Wal-Mart and you may end up winning more friends ... or killing less friends.

Rule No. 4: Just wrap it up!

Gym locker rooms can be comfortable places. L.A. Fitness has a great one! It's clean and has pretty carpet and it rarely smells like feet. It really can feel like a home away from home. But even though it may feel like you're home, you're not. So please avoid walking around butt naked. No, really, I understand you are 65 and it's getting harder to stabilize yourself to dress and hold a towel and you had group showers when you were in high school so it seems totally OK — but it's not. Just wrap a towel around yourself. It is EXTREMELY uncomfortable when I am tying my shoes on the locker room bench and I look up to see your butt crack right in my face as you bend down to get into your locker. My first inclination is always to kick it because I legitimately am terrified. It's like a fight or flight reaction I have to naked strangers. And being that I've been training to fight, I will most likely go straight for the fight and take your naked ass out. I don't know how it is in men's locker rooms, in fact, I don't even WANT to think about that. Simply put: Be a pal, cover your ass with a towel. Unless you are featured in the book in the picture — if you are, you are more than welcome to be nude in the women's locker room at the L.A. Fitness at 220 N. Sanderson Ave. in Hemet, California. Locker room is down the hall on your right after you pass the pool. Come between the hours of 6:30 and 8:30 a.m. OK? Thanks.


I have a ton of other rules, but my lunch hour is almost up. Plus, I don't want to overwhelm you with rules. Some of your ladies may just use all of the rules as another excuse NOT to go to the gym! I hope you had a good laugh or two. And if you have any rules of your own you'd like to add, feel free!

Signing off now to go write about dead people — AKA obituaries. Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy.

Hey ... I DO live in Hemet ...

What motivations move you?

Motivation is a funny thing — actually, it's not funny at all. Its concepts pretty much just piss me off.

For the life of me, I cannot understand why, for months at a time, I fill my days cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, or working longer hours ... anything but work out! I get fat and keep eating and get fatter yet I still keep eating. I complain about my weight and I'm depressed ... but I keep eating and get even more fat.

Then there are the months that I feel so driven that I could easily be classified with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. WHY?! Lucky for me, the past three months, I've been crazy. I obsess and make sure that I do something to burn an obscene amount of calories everyday. And although I'm surrounded by fatty food, I am never tempted.

Why do I do this to myself? Where is the consistency?! I'm driving myself insane and although these huge weight losses are awesome — I've gained it all back every time. WHY?!

I've been thinking a lot about motivation. Who has it? Who doesn't? What does it take to get it? And what is it in itself?

Here's what I've come up with — it's different for everyone. In fact, I'm so crazy (borderline bi-polar?? Who knows! I kid! I kid! Maybe ...) each time I get into my workout "highs," it's for a different reason. But, finally, I think I've come into a place I can exist long term.

There has been four times in my life where I've lost 60 pounds in about three months. No joke. No, really, I'm not kidding.

The first time was the summer before my junior year at University of Redlands. I was always a big girl and I had come to realize that I will never ever ever ever ever ever be "skinny." I'm always going to be thick. And I was OK with that. But something happened before my junior year — competition. I was seemingly being replaced on my volleyball team by a girl who was good. She was really good. She was really good and taller than me. Which, if you play volleyball, freaking sucks! I wouldn't be getting any taller — so I had to beat her out another way. I had to outwork her. When she was sleeping, I was on the track. When she was at sorority parties, I was lifting to increase my vertical. When she was on vacation, I was jumping on park benches. When she was in class, I was ditching and passing freeballs and serves in the gym. (Hey, don't judge! I do what it takes to win! Haha) Hence ... MOTIVATION!

I had found it! I didn't want anyone to be better than me. At least not at volleyball. I was willing to sacrifice everything to beat her out and prove to my coach that I should be on the court.

It worked! I lost a crap ton of weight and came into hell week in shape and ready to dominate. This is what I call the "The hell you are taking my spot!" motivation.

The next time I lost nearly 60 pounds was right before my first wedding — man, what a waste of motivation. But whatever. I did it, I looked fabulous, he was a tool, and we all know how that ended!

The following two times were serious. It was after the douche bag from said weight loss No. 2 had left me — after that, it was on. This is what I like to call "Make the douche bag pay and let him see me skinny" motivation.

There were two of those kinds of motivations in my life ... hey! I saw that! Don't roll your eyes and wonder how I made two horrible judgment calls with men in a row! Bad choices can happen to the best of us. Really! Check out this girl.

 Bad. Choice.

At the tail end of this second "Make the douche bag pay and let him see me skinny" motivation, I met and fell in love with my wonderful husband! Brandis is sweet, LOYAL, caring, and simply put — he downright loves me and all of my personalities. He's seriously amazing and although I complain about how he leaves multiple (yes, like more than three) half-filled cups of gosh knows what on his nightstand each night only to have a nightmare and fling them all over the wall all while staying completely asleep ... I love him completely!

Great. Now what am I supposed to do?! I don't play college sports anymore and I had met my prince charming! What the heck kind of motivation am I supposed to draw from now?!

Well, I found one. It turns out that when you finally meet a GREAT man, you want to get knocked up. I don't know if that's all women or just me? Whatever, it happened to me.

After a year of a lot of work (It was TOUGH! PHEW....! Hahaha), I STILL wasn't knocked up. I went to the doctor and he told me I had to lose weight to better my chances of pregnancy. I was diagnosed with fibroids. Yeah, awesome. You're supposed to get that when you're old or fifty (just kidding momma!) but NOOOOOoooooOOOOooooo, I have them at the ripe old age of 28. You know what the cure is? Go run. A lot. Oh yeah, and stop being chubby!

This time, that has been my motivation. It's been ten weeks and I've lost 45 pounds! I'm pretty thrilled and it's a boat load of work. But this time, I feel like it's for something meaningful. This isn't because I want to look hot in a bikini (yes I do) or continue to make my exes lives living hells when they see me because I'm cute and their new chicks are hopefully really nice on the inside (yes I do), it's because I can't wait to have what seems so natural for other women ... a child that loves and adores me even when I'm pounding Big Macs and eating Skinny Cows by the row instead of the sandwich.

Hehehe, just kidding.

I think that is the difference this time because I'm doing this all with raising a family in mind. And suddenly, I have this incredible motivation to make sure my family is healthy. I want to raise my kids to be healthy and make sure they know how to take care of themselves. I want to create in them good habits that will, hopefully, stick with them for the rest of their lives. This has become so important to me that I've decided I needed to find a way to make this weight loss a permanent one. And that's what I've been working on.

When I don't feel like going running, I go anyway. I downloaded Matthew West's "Safe and Sound" on to my iPhone. When I don't have the energy to workout I listen to that song — it's a sweet song from a dad to his newborn child and it makes me remember why I'm doing this. Although, it's a wee bit depressing. I mean, C'MON, I'm getting skinny just to gain baby weight? Oh well, I know it'll be worth it in the end!

It helps that, this time, I'm in a stable relationship with a man who supports me. Support really helps! My little sister has lost 55 pounds and is doing great and my older sister, well, she's always been a skinny biotch. But in a totally awesome way! Hahahaha! I have many, many friends who are really working on becoming healthier and we are all trying to keep each other in check.

The point is — ultimately, YOU are in charge of motivating yourself. Don't wait until you get left by your very own douche bag to decide that NOW is the time. If you're unhappy with yourself, fix it! Find what motivates you and make it work.

I have a few little tricks that help me and I'll let you in on my secrets.

I have found a new home for my scale — the kitchen! It's the perfect place for that little devil machine because I have to walk by it every time I go to the fridge. It talks to me ... "Are you REALLLLLLLY hungry? Because you have to step on me tomorrow, and if you eat that ... I'm NOT going to give you good news!" Really. That's what it says.

I have learned to switch up my workout routines DRASTICALLY! If I'm sick of running, I go swim. If I want to avoid the gym altogether, I go to open gyms and play volleyball. If a gym isn't open, I go to Primetime MMA and take Muay Thai. (Just so you know, Muay Thai is amazing! AND there's a plus. I train with my husband and if he makes me mad that day, I can hold my tongue because I know that I get to kick him in the head later in class. It makes for a great stress reliever! Hahaha! Love ya, Babe!)

Two people are better than one. Make a date for the gym. This morning, I was so tired! I did NOT want to go workout. BUT, I had already told my sister we were going at 6:30 a.m. and she rarely answers her cell. That meant one thing — I WAS going because she wouldn't have gotten the call had I canceled. It's hard to stand up the gym when you know someone is slated to meet you there!

 (The most hilarious thing about this picture — I could pick up that much weight allllll alone...hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!)

Prayer works! I literally have to pray for will power every morning. "Dear sweet baby Jesus, please don't let me eat the office donuts today!" "Dear sweet baby Jesus, please make these fries taste like butt so I never eat them again! I know you did that yesterday, but I think if they taste like butt twice, I won't want them anymore!" Really, try Him. He will listen and it makes it easier.

I know it's been about 45 pounds since I last blogged, but now I feel like I have more to write about. I'm constantly asked what I'm doing to lose weight and I know that so many people struggle with the same thing I do. I'm going to use my blog to try and help all of you who are going through what I'm going through!

If you can't find the motivation, just force it. No one will help you if you don't help yourself first! And keep tuning in to my awesomely well-written and entertaining blog for some more tips on how to turn yourself from a cow to WOW!