My name is Gina, and I'm a Resolutioner.

I'm wearing a hat these days that I never thought I'd wear.

But the Resolutioner cap is squarely on my head.

You don't know what a Resolutioner is? It's the people who join the gym in early January. The ones who come in and fight for a bench in Body Pump even though they don't know the routine, who squeeze themselves into that last spot in spinning class even though they don't even have spin shoes, who take the good spots in the parking lot even though they weren't even going there last week.

The last few years, I cursed the Resolutioners. I cried that they shouldn't be allowed to take "my" spin bike. I had worked hard to move up to the hardest class and I felt entitled to my spot, thankyouverymuch. I rolled my eyes when my class instructors had to slow down to reteach the form in Body Pump.

And now, after two months of a nonstop cold, exacerbated by sleep deprivation, sick boys, a hurt knee, and a decreased motivation in general, I've been away from the gym. B won a phenomenal all-expense-paid vacation this week (which deserves its own post), and knowing that I have two months to get bikini-ready, that further kicked my arse into realizing it was time to re-enter the gym. Last week, I marched back into classes, for the first time in years as a newbie of sorts.

Walking into the gym as a Resolutioner makes me look at everything differently. I realize that we Resolutioners have the same rights as every other gym patron. That an encouraging smile is much more kind than an eye roll. That that rockstar spin spot is no one's and everyone's. That walking a few more steps from my faraway parking spot just gets me that much closer to my goal.

I'm a Resolutioner. And I'm proud of it, yo.

A weighty post (in more ways than one)

*peeks head out and looks around*

Hello? Anyone still here? Yes, I'm alive. I know my blog looks like a ghost town these days. So much for having more time to post during the summer. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I have two little boys to chase, who rarely take a nap at the same time. L adores television, so I am trying to find daily activities that will keep him from begging for "jus' one more Curious George."

Hence the lack of posting.

To make matters worse, I have a bit of bloggy block. I could post an update on L, although I really don't have one. I could post about why I cancelled his GI appointment, but that'd surely jinx us. I could tell you about how G took seven!steps!in!a!row! three times last week, but that's pretty much all there is to say about that.

Then, I got a request from one of my favorite bloggers (Hey, Saf!) via Twitter last night about my workout routine.

It occurred to me that a lot has changed since my last postpartum body post. But if I tell you, you can't hate me, because I've gotten a lot of hateful comments from people when I explain what's up with my body.

The long and the short of it is that I've continued to lose weight. So much weight, in fact, that I've been concerned about a medical issue (I know, me, worry?) because I am now fifteen pounds under my prepregnancy weight. I'm also 1-2 pants size smaller and I've had to buy all new shorts (thank goodness for thrifting). In fact, I've been a bit self-conscious about my bony chest and chicken-esque legs.

While I think the workouts during and after my pregnancy helped, I also credit a lot of my weight loss to breastfeeding. I am still nursing G. Where my tatas went largely underused during L's first year, G has made up for and then some. Some days, he still nurses every 3-4 hours. He still gets up in the middle of the night to nurse.

(And before you start penning your "let him CIO" comment, I am perfectly okay with his efficient nighttime nursing. I am 95% sure that like L, G has a milk allergy, so I plan to extend breastfeeding if possible. I believe that the around-the-clock nursing is helping my supply to continue this long. On the allergy note, I also believe that cutting dairy from my diet has resulted in pounds dropped as well.)

With all that being said, my belly is not pooch-free nor completely toned.

So I've gone from once-a-week-personal-training session+twice-a-week-intense-cardio+one-more-gym-class to twice a week power yoga.

I've had several people ask me to talk more about yoga. I know many people picture a yoga class full of unshaven people twisted into unhuman positions and chanting "ommmm." While I've been in some yoga classes that aren't too far from that, not all yoga is created equal.

My power yoga classes are filled with people of all shapes and sizes and ability levels. A good yoga teacher can challenge the most progressive yogi and easily modify poses for beginners. I've been lucky enough to find those this summer. The classes I take are different each week, but always intense, vigorous, and get my mat slippery with sweat. My newest class has me in headstands, downward dog with my feet up on a wall, and getting closer and closer to mastering crow pose each time. I try to practice yoga at least twice a week. The hardest part of each class, though, is the savasana at the end. Quieting my mind enough to go into a quasi-meditation is next to impossible for me.

I know I need to do cardio for my heart; for my health. Dropping my favorite spin class has been like quitting an addiction, but I feel like right now, I can't afford to lose more weight. Trying to find a balance extends outside of my yoga class, and I haven't quite figured it out.

So that's where I am in my workout world for the moment. Feel free to comment with more specific questions. Depending on what I get, I'll either e-mail you or write another more specific, less rambly post.

You know I gotta say it.

Namaste.

Miss Nelson, the Bodybuilder

Did anyone out there read Miss Nelson is Missing as a kid? You know, the book where the kids have a really mean substitute teacher who is actually their real teacher in disguise? Then the kids stop taking her for granted and love her forever? Yeah, that one.

I'm fairly certain that I was in the grown-up, personal trainer version of that book tonight.

You see, last week, my friend and trainer led us through a particularly difficult training session. She got out kettle bells, medicine balls, the step with risers, you know, basically all the things I despise. She had us do spider jacks (basically a jumping jack with your feet and hands on the floor, in plank position) burpees, and a variety of other things that I think I blocked out.

And then, when I struggled due to my severe lack of coordination, she laughed at me.

Out loud.

In her defense, she helped me birth G and lose all my baby weight. And she's a really good friend, so she can get away with laughing at me. Plus, when I saw myself in the mirror, I understood exactly why she was giggling. In fact, all of the trainers and half of the gym patrons were chuckling. It's cool. I can take it. After 30-something years of zero coordination, you get used to it.

But then she had the gall to note that I seemed a little crabby, a tad irritable.

I think my sarcastic response was something like, "Hmmm. You've made me do all my least favorite things and then laughed at me. I can't imagine why I am crabby," from my plank position on the floor.

So.

I might have taken her a bit for granted last week.

But ohmygah, did Miss Viola Swamp make me miss her last night.

This woman bounced in the classroom, muscles popping out of her black spandex clothing. I could see every separated sinewy tendon in her arms. She announced that we were going to start the class with one hundred and fifty push-ups.

One.

Hundred.

And.

Fifty.

Twenty-five with our right hand turned in, twenty-five with our left hand turned in, twenty-five with our hands up on our step, twenty-five with our feet on the step and our hands on the ground, and twenty-five on each leg with the other leg in the air. Yeah. One-legged push-ups.

And that was just the beginning.

Using a wide variety of evil gym equipment, half the time standing on one foot or kicking our legs out because of Viola Swamp's hate of "flabby inner thighs," we worked every part of our arms for the next hour.

And threw sets of cardio in between for good measure.

Miss Swamp kept laughing at the looks on my cousin/workout partner and my faces. Every time she'd announce our next exercise, we'd look at each other, wide-eyed.

And then she made us promise we'd come back next week, because according to her, she's "notorious for losing new students."

Gee. I wonder why.

Now I'm actually looking forward to our training session on Wednesday. Bring on the burpees.

But after our session, I'll be looking in my trainer's gym locker for those spandex clothes. I'm onto her.

1.2 measly miles

It seems like everyone around me has been waxing poetic about the joys of running lately. Bloggers, friends, even B comes back from his 1.2 mile run rejuvenated.

I've never been a runner. People literally laugh when I run. Between my pigeon-toed-ness and my all over terrible form, I've been compared to Phoebe on Friends. (If you've been living under a rock or just need a good laugh, you can see what I'm talking about here.)

However, I figured that I should be able to run a little over a mile, no problem. Right? I am the girl who went to weekly spin classes until I was 38 weeks pregnant. I work out with a personal trainer every week. So what if I die a little, complain a lot, and struggle through every workout? It's just running.

We used to run a mile in elementary school. Granted, I was part of what the p.e. teacher not-so-affectionately dubbed "the coffee clutch." We were the few girls who refused to run, or even jog, in gym class. We strolled around the track, gossiping.

But c'mon. It was a measly 1.2 miles. Surely I could do that.

We are starting a program called Girls On the Run at school, which culminates with teachers and students running a 5K together. If I can work out the child care logistics, I'd like to take part in it. If the kids (some of whom are out of shape) can do it, I've got to keep up too.

So on Sunday, after a particularly stressful couple of days battling high fevers and subsequent anxiety, I threw on my Asics and my iPod and headed out, determined. I even remembered to stretch, and then settled in to a comfortable jog.

I got it. The endorphins kicked in almost immediately. The rhythm of my feet hitting the sidewalk, Fergie belting out tunes to pump me up, the wind at my back...I finally understood what everyone's been raving about.

I turned the corner to begin the hill that was the second leg of my run. I immediately realized that I was running out of gas but kept telling myself that I could do this. 1.2 miles. Easy peasy.

Then I made the mistake of looking up at the hill. How had I never noticed the mountain that is near my house?

"Just make it to that sign," I told myself. "You can do this."

My legs and lungs were obviously more stubborn than my mind, however, because I had to take a short walking break. Before long, though, I started jogging again. 1.2 miles. I didn't need to walk.

As I turned on the last leg of my run, my lungs and legs gave out again. Feeling like a bit of a failure, I took another few seconds to walk and pant. I avoided contact with passersby, hoping that one of us was enjoying the spectacle that was me, attempting to run.

Once I was close to my street, I picked up the pace again and jogged back home. I stumbled in the door and collapsed on my couch, gasping. B chuckled and asked how my run was. I was so out of breath that I couldn't answer him. Sweat was pouring down my neck, collecting in my sports bra. My chest and legs were burning. I checked the time and realized that it had taken me thirteen minutes to make it 1.2 miles.

How is that even possible?

And why on earth am I excited to try it again?

Define "athlete."

I know.

You are sick of hearing about spin class.

But being able to go every Saturday after six weeks without it is such a sweet reunion for me. And when I'm bursting with love for anything exercise-related for the first time in my life, I gotta talk about it.

You have to understand. I am beyond uncoordinated. I suck at sports. I walk pigeon-toed. I was a cheerleader in high school, but only because everyone who tried out made it. I played soccer for six years and never scored a goal. I played softball for six years and never hit a home run.

But when I am pedaling on my bike on Saturday mornings, I feel like an athlete. And I never, ever thought that would be possible, even though I've always wanted it.

Desperately.

I have spin shoes that click into the pedals, so all I have to concentrate on is keeping my feet flat, my shoulders down, and my grip light.

And the music, and my teacher's voice.

The sounds of the class are my favorite. When I'm in spin, I love the music that I never thought I'd love.

Britney. Kanye. Salt-n-Pepa.

And then a song will start that I've always loved. Like today, when Get What You Give by New Radicals began, I professed my love aloud for the song. But it's never been as meaningful as it is during class. And listening to my teacher emphasize the important words of the song through her mic made me pedal a little faster; add a little more resistance.

Don't give up

You've got a reason to live

Can't forget you only get what you give


Cheesy? Maybe. But oh, so true.

I went into class this morning nursing a sinus infection. I even told my teacher that I was phoning it in today. Between the pressure in my head and the pain in my legs, I was convinced that I wasn't going to work as hard as usual.

And then the sweat started pouring.

And the endorphins started kicking in.

And I heard the teacher tell us that there are no quitters in her class. That we are rock stars. To remember why we came in today.

And I felt the energy of the spinners around me.

I wanted to make myself proud. To make my teacher proud. To make everyone around me impressed that six weeks after having a baby, I was keeping up. Hell, I wanted to be in the front of the pack, kicking ass in the sprints....on the hills...on the jumps.

For the first time in my life, I feel athletic. Strong. And it feels as good as I thought it would every time I got tagged out on the softball field as a kid.

Feeling the sweat drip from my nose and adding more resistance than I did last week, even with sore muscles or a sinus infection, I feel like I can do anything. If I can make it through my Saturday morning spin class, I can deal with the sleep deprivation. I can make it through the days that my husband works 14 hours. I can juggle a job, and two kids, and a marriage. Someday, I'll be able to do that triathlon.

When the class ends, I am spent. I have sweat dripping from places from which I didn't know I could sweat. Yet without fail, I always feel significantly better than when I walked in the gym.

It's basically free therapy that makes you skinnier. I'd be crazy not to be obsessed with it.

***edited to add an important note:
Some of you have commented or e-mailed me about wanting to try spin. If you don't love it the first time, try it again, with a different teacher. The reason I love my Saturday morning class is because of the teacher. She inspires me and her music pumps me up. I take other classes when I am desperate and they don't compare!

"Exercise is done against one's wishes and maintained only because the alternative is worse." -G. Sheehan

I survived my workout last night. It was actually really fun. My trainer, Audrey, led me through a killer leg workout, but we giggled a lot through it and may or may not have allegedly checked out some of the cute guys in the gym and their muscles.

It wasn't easy, though. However, I survived.

And when I say 'survived,' I mean by the time I left the gym, my legs felt like Jell-o.

And this morning, I was groaning about my butt pain.

Before I even got out of bed.

The pain just increased and increased throughout the day. This afternoon, I sent Audrey a text to complain. She warned me last night that I'd be texting her today to cuss her out. She predicted I'd be "M-Fing" her. I refrained from using foul language, but I did feel the need to tell her how much pain I was in.

She told me to drink water and go for a walk.

I may or may not have M-Fed her at that point. Walking was next to impossible, at least without groaning and looking like I just got off a horse.

But I did it. I told L we were going on a walk. I got out the stroller and the carseat and geared up to go. My boys and I did a mile, and I even jogged about half of it, thanks to my other trainer, who is two feet tall, three years old, and annoyingly enthusiastic.

"C'mon, Mommy! Run! You can run, Mommy! Keep up! You can't get me! Run!"

So I ran. Laboriously and in a very uncoordinated manner. But I did it.
'
And now I am still sore. I also feel like I am getting the flu. My throat hurts. My ears hurt. My nose is starting to run.There are other aches beyond that in my legs and butt.

So no before pictures tonight. I can't get up off the couch. You lucked out.

But if I end up with a six pack and a super toned butt, this pain will be worth it.

So why am I constantly rethinking my request to my parents for more training sessions for my birthday and Christmas? Right now, I'm thinking a year's supply of chocolate and elastic-waisted pants might be better gift choices.

Just sayin.

(Very) Random Thoughts

L's love for G waxes and wanes from day to day in our house. Certain talents of G's, like his adorable grin or truck-driver-esque belches, thrill L to no end. Other times, L says he'd prefer to not be G's brother anymore.

So when L initiates interactions with G, I jump on the opportunity. Therefore, when I was bathing G the other night and L asked if he could help, I enthusiastically agreed to it.

L helped rinse G after I washed him and we all enjoyed the Hallmark moment. When I asked him to recount the story to his grandmother the next day, L proudly said, "I watered him!"

***

G is not the world's best sleeper. That might be the world's biggest understatement.

Two nights ago, he made my night by surpassing his previous record and sleeping for a 4.5 hour stretch. Last night, I tried to redo the routine from the night before, with an evening bath and similar feeding/bedtime schedule in hopes of a second good night of sleep. It worked...G slept great.

Unfortunately, L woke up, screaming like someone was ripping his toenails out, at 1 am.

At 2 am, B got up, changed G's diaper, and was moving around the room. I didn't realize what he was doing until he bent over the bed to kiss me goodbye, fully dressed for work.

Ahhh, sleep deprivation.

***

I dropped L off at school this morning, and thanks to our crazy night last night, we overslept and were running late. I walked him to his preschool class, where his teacher was already doing assessments to prepare, no doubt, for parent-teacher conferences this Friday.

Um, he's three. Does anyone else find parent-teacher conferences for three-year-olds a tiny bit strange?

Anyway, I was a bit panicked to see that the teacher was assessing their abilities to put together jigsaw puzzles. Poor L is going to get a big fat F on that test, seeing as he has never put together an interlocking puzzle in his life. I felt the need to tell the teacher that, and considered rushing to Target to stock up on jigsaws.

Mom fail. Sigh.

***

I start my personal training sessions this evening and I am equal parts stoked and petrified.

My trainer is my friend and spin teacher Audrey, who I've blogged about before. Considering we are close enough that she's seen my hoo-ha (in the delivery room, you dirty minded readers), it should make for an interesting dynamic.

I don't want to disappoint her, so I think she's a good choice of trainer. However, I'm really afraid of every exercise she might make me do. I honest-to-goodness am afraid of attempting to jump on one of those steps. I am that uncoordinated.

Tomorrow I'll post a recap of the session, complete with stats, goals I set, and before pictures. Don't say I didn't warn you.

***

Happy Hump Day! Namaste.

A little Q and A

I asked for questions from my readers, and as always, you didn't disappoint! Here are the answers that I'm sure you've been dying to hear....


Katie



1. What got you into speech pathology?

I started my high school career in a private all-girls high school, which I despised. However, I am grateful that the school helped me find my calling. In one of our religion classes, we had to choose a place to volunteer. When I brought the paperwork home to my mom, she excitedly insisted that I try the "Special People Halloween Party." I had no experience with people with disabilities, and I distinctly remember how nervous I was as we pulled up to the party that day. However, within an hour, I was helping a man with Down Syndrome eat his cake and wipe his face, and had fallen head over heels in love with people with disabilities. I was certain that I would become a special education teacher, and then my mom told me about speech-language pathologists. She explained that SLP's worked with kids one on one, or in small groups, and it was a much more flexible job than a teacher. My little brother had gone to speech therapy after getting tubes at two years old, and I had been deeply touched by my grandfather's loss of communication when he lost his hearing due to a brain tumor. I did a little research, and became very interested. When college recruiters came to my high school and I told them I wanted to be an SLP, they warned me that it was the hardest program at the school. I went home and told my mom that I had changed my mind, but she refused to let me do so. Within minutes of my first Introduction to Communication Disorders class, I realized that this was exactly what I was born to do. I've never looked back.




2. Is your district public, and how many students do you see on an average day?

Yes, I work in a public district. I work with less kids per day than the average SLP, only about 15 each day. I love the students who are low-functioning and require intensive one on one therapy. But I learned the hard way last year that working with only those students will burn you out pretty quickly. So this year, I picked up a couple of 2nd grade speech therapy groups, where I am teaching kids how to say specific sounds (busses rather than buthes). I also picked up some 5th grade language therapy groups, where I preteach them vocabulary from their classes or higher level everyday language (making inferences, comparing and contrasting, etc.) and it's a joy. I've also put some of my students who are nonverbal or have limited verbal language together in small groups, which is pretty interesting too.


3. What do you do when you want to unwind and RELAX?

Duh...I enter the blogosphere! :) I also go to spinning class, practice yoga, read trashy celebrity magazines, wrestle with L, go out to dinner with B, "rock out" to Guitar Hero with my boys, watch reality tv, and drink pumpkin beer.

Karen


How did you pick L's name?

I've liked the name Logan since I was in my 20's, which was fortunate, because B was absolutely set on that name. He first heard it on X-Men (Wolverine's real name is Logan) and always thought it was a really cool name. It fits him. His middle name is the same as B's middle name (and B's dad's first name).


If you had a "List", who would be on it?

How many do I get on this list? I'm including 7. I realize that may be pushing it, but, well, this is my blog. :)
1. Ben McKenzie







2. Matthew McConaughey




3. Dave Matthews



4. Evangeline Lilly (don't act shocked that I had to include a couple of girls!)



5. Olivia Wilde



6. David Morse (this one might shock you more than the females, but I have had the hugest crush on him ever since The Green Mile.)



7. Taye Diggs




Sarah
You mention your workouts and you are very active....I would like to know how much do you workout? days a week.. doing what..?? I need some inspiration ;)


I am currently trying to find a new plan that works for me. My goal is to work out 3-4 times a week (plus cutting the grass with a push mower every week, which I absolutely count as a workout). I never miss my Saturday morning spinning class, and my new goal is to lift weights twice a week, either in Body Pump or using free weights at the gym with B. I also try to work in another day of cardio. I enjoy spinning the most, but the only other time my favorite instructor teaches is at 5:30 am once a week. I'm signed up for this week, but I'll be honest, I also signed up for a 6pm class just in case I don't make it to that ridiculously early morning class. My teacher today told me that I really need to mix it up a little more, so we'll see if I can work something else in. If anything, I'll probably practice yoga at home on my own. Figure out a schedule that works for you, write it down, and stick to it. Eventually, if you find something you like, it will almost become addicting. Really.



Little Woman

1. Do you have any names picked out for when you and B decide to start making babies again?

It's funny that this was one of the questions, because now that B and I are in hoping-for-baby-number-2-mode, we are fighting over discussing names quite often. For a girl, he has tunnel vision with the name Isabella. However, Bella is not my favorite, mostly because it's ridiculously popular. If I could be sure that everyone would call her Izzy, I'd go for it. My favorite name is Emilia. My grandmother's middle name was Amelia, and my best friend's name is Emily, and I really, really, really love this combination of the two names. B isn't so crazy about it. The only other two names we are even throwing around are Scarlett and Charlie. If you all have any suggestions, please send them my way. For a boy, I am set on Gavin, but B is pretty wishy-washy on it. He doesn't have any other suggestions, though, so as far as I'm concerned, Baby Boy 2 will be Gavin unless he comes up with something better.

2. It's a cool fall day and we're driving through the mountains looking at all the pretty leaves and bitching..but then a song comes on the radio, what is the song that we will sing like their is no tomorrow?!

Aw, Little Woman...this would be a dream come true. For some reason, I could see us belting out "So What" by Pink. It always gets me super pumped up in my spinning class! (I hope you don't hate that song!)

3. You are def. coming to my future wedding! lol (ok so that wasn't so much a question as it was a statement) :)

Hook up the invite, and I'm there to see you get hitched to your Big Man!



Leslie

**Leslie and I worked together at my last school and I wouldn't have made it through some days without her. No exaggeration. We sadly lost touch a couple of years back. She has recently showed up as a commenter on my blog but has her own invite-only blog and I am certain she is snickering wickedly knowing that she is torturing me by commenting on my blog, even announcing pregnancy #3, and giving me no way to get in touch with her. However, I will answer her questions out of the kindness of my heart in hopes that I either get an invite to her blog or an e-mail from her soon. Hint, Hint, Leslie.

1. Mason wants to know why we only buy Haribo gummy bears, Im not really sure except they were the only kind you would eat. Is that still so?
Yep. I love me some Haribo gummy bears but I haven't had them in years. Now I have a craving. Thanks.

2. The next time my 20 month old has a F!I!T! Do you want him...a taste of life with 2?

I can't imagine that sweet little man ever throwing a tantrum to rival L, but if it means I get to see you, then bring him over! But there is a reason I've waited to even think about Baby #2 and I am grateful that I did. If I had a newborn now, I'd be heavily medicated.

Michelle

**Michelle asked me this question as part of a comment on my little meltdown post on Thursday.

Have you ever thought about being a foster parent? I know it would be so hard but I could picture myself doing it someday.

I don't think I have it in me to be a foster parent. I used to volunteer at a rehabilitation/pediatric therapy center and I had one little boy named Micah who was my favorite kid ever. We had such a bond that they allowed me to do things that volunteers didn't normally get to do, such as bathing the kids, etc. He was there because his mother neglected him. The day I got to the center and Micah wasn't there because his mom had gotten him back was the last day I volunteered there. I can't imagine that pain to an even larger degree. I don't think my heart could take it.


Emma Lilly

I have a question. It's more for a friend she has an autistic son and is trying to potty train him. They got him stuff that he likes like mqueen pullups and such to help. But I was wondering if you have any helpful ideas because you deal with these sort of things on a daily basis. Thanks.

Oh, Emma, thanks for visiting my blog, but I am the last person to ask for potty training advice, considering my own L is still struggling (and I myself was 4 before I was potty trained through the night!). However, my gut says to be ultra consistent and find out what motivates her son. When he goes, give him that IMMEDIATELY, whether it be his favorite candy, toy, sensory activity, etc. And she could always try a visual schedule using pictures (real photographs work best) so he understands what he needs to do, and what he gets to eat or do after he goes. She could put velcro on the back of the pictures and attach them to a strip. When he goes, he can take the picture of the potty off, and the next picture should be of his reward. Does that make sense? If not, e-mail me.

Laura

I have a burning question... when are we going to get sushi again?

Laura is my very good friend IRL. The poor thing is currently two days past her due date, still waiting for Little Girl A to be born. If I thought it would help her go into labor, I'd go to get sushi with her today. You know...not that I enjoy California Rolls or anything, just to be nice to Laura. I'm a good friend like that.


Katherine: If you don't mind, I have a slightly personal question. You've talked about being in an abusive relationship. I have a family member in an abusive relationship, and she doesn't seem ready to leave. From your point of view, is there anything I can do or say that will make a difference?


I have read and re-read your question several times. Every time I do, I sigh, because I understand why women stay in those relationships. I think the only thing that got me to leave was that B assured me that I could find someone else to love me. (At the time, I didn't realize that person would be him!) Part of the danger of abusive men is that they break down their wives until the women believe that they deserve the abuse. I believed that the abuse was all my fault, that everyone in my life hated me and that no one would ever want me if I did end up divorcing him. You have to build her self-confidence back up. Tell her she's beautiful. Does she realize she's being abused? Gently point out that she doesn't have to put up with anyone treating her badly. Engage her in conversations about it. Figure out her reason for staying. Is she scared to leave? Tell her she can stay with you. Above all, tell her how much she is loved. A million times. Feel free to e-mail me about this. I'd love to help if I can.

That was so fun! Thanks to all of you who sent me a question. I hope that you know a little more about me, now. Enjoy your long weekends!

I'm baaaack!!

Holy long unintended vacation from blogging, Batman!

That sucked.

First, I had to wait for my internet to be repaired. While I was waiting, and using a very weak borrowed connection, my freaking laptop broke. Again.

This, in the middle of desperately needing my blogfriends' support and distraction of your wonderful posts as I was waiting to go to the doctor and find out if I was dealing with pregnancy, cysts, hormonal imbalances, or a faulty thyroid.

Somehow, I made it, although not without a bit of bloggy withdrawal, a few screaming outbursts at anyone who would listen, and a blood draw complete with bawling a few tears.

You see, my doctor didn't say what I thought he would, which was "Oh, Gina, don't be silly, you just got off the pill...nothing is wrong." Nope, his response was more along the lines of, "Hmmm. You should have started by now. I think we need to start with blood tests and if those come back negative and you still haven't started, then we'll do an ultrasound to check for a cyst."

Considering I am petrified of needles, and quite prone to panicking, this was bad news all over. I tried to get out of it by saying I had to pick up Logan from school but my doctor asked where and when I had to pick him up, and when I answered honestly, just gave me the look and told me to get my blood drawn immediately.

So I did. And I cried. And a really sweet nurse helped me through it, telling me that our bodies have a way of fixing themselves, not to worry.

And she was right! I started that night and all my tests results came back negative. Thank God.

So now, I am backing off exercising a bit, since my doctor did say that my 6-day-a-week routine could certainly be a part of the problem. In fact, this week, we'll be at the lake with our friends, so there will be a lot of eating and the only exercise we'll be doing is shopping and chasing our two-year-olds around the pool and lake.

Therefore, I now have to close down my internet and get back to cleaning, packing, taking Kingston to PetSmart to get him a bath and a paw-dicure before leaving him with a very sweet friend who agreed to take him for the week, and most likely making a last-minute Wal-Mart run for whatever I forgot to get for the trip.

The good news is that my girl Em who is hitting the lake with me agreed to bring her laptop and I'll be able to attempt to catch up lakeside. You know. When I'm not eating or drinking or shopping or chasing the wildmen around.

So take some pity on me while I try to catch up in the land of the internet. It's a little scary how crazy addicted I am much I enjoy the sweet pasttime of blogging.