Honest Optavia Review

When I was researching Optavia, I appreciated reading honest reviews of the program, so I though I'd write one of my own. I've lost 50 pounds in nine months on the Optavia 5&1 plan. I've struggled with my weight most of my life. I have four kids and a lot of exercise and fitness plans were too time consuming for me to realistically keep up with. Plus, I could only lose 10-15 lbs and then couldn't lose any more.

 

I have hypothyroidism. I believe it has caused me problems losing weight in the past. I also used to have swollen and tender joints and hands. That has gone away on Optavia. I also no longer suffer from brain fog. My left thigh has been numb since 2006. The doctors told me I needed to lose weight to relieve the pressure on my spine and nerves. Just this week, I have started feeling tingling and the return of sensation in my leg.

I think having a coach along with the simplicity of the program and the no-brainer pre-macroed out food is what has made the difference from other methods I've tried in the past. It really is SO easy. If you can rip open five packages a day and use a microwave, you can do this program. I lucked out with a really nice coach. We chatted a couple times a week to work through my eating triggers, my bad habits and how to live life without using food for comfort. It was nice having a coach who knows what it is like to overeat and be overweight.

Some of family and friends saw me losing weight and wanted to do the program with me as a coach, so I paid the 200-ish dollars to get the coaching packet. My coach helped me do some calls to my early clients and has been a very consistent resource whenever I have questions. I feel super supported by her and some other Optavia coaches who are always available to help me with my program and my coaching. In that way, it's been a great experience.

Some people complain that the coaches get commission on the food. My thoughts are that coaches should be compensated for their experience and time. We get paid about 50 dollars per month on a month's supply of food. But we also provide a service. Coaches I know are happy to go above and beyond once a week communications. We are on call to answer questions, encourage, celebrate and counsel with 7 days a week.

So far I've coached 8 people. 6 have had great success. One quit because she just didn't like the taste of the food. One I think just wasn't ready for the commitment. One of my clients has lost 59 lbs so far. When she started she was basically house bound because her feet were so swollen she couldn't wear shoes. Now, she's going on a cruise this month for her 50th anniversary. Her life is undoubtedly improved through the program.

Some people complain the food is overpriced. It depends on how you look at it. You are paying for food that has had years of development by medical doctors in reputable centers of medical excellence. You are paying for food that is nutritious, macro-balanced and interchangeable, and most of all, proven to work. I can't say that about a box of granola bars from the store. Most of all though, you are paying to not have to meal plan, cook, or use any type of brain sweat to be successful. If you just want a plan that is easy and you can't possibly screw up, this is your plan. If you  need something that doesn't require a lot of time in the kitchen, this is your plan. If you want 3-4 meals of fresh food, this is not your plan. I've read some reviews that state they could have done just as well on Keto or just eating better. I can speak only for myself, but I did not have the level of success with either of those methods. My life was too crazy and busy to keep up with them, and I stalled out even with compliance.

I will say, two of my clients had a hard time the first week or two. Stomach issues, nausea, flu-like symptoms and headaches. Both of these clients had issues with candida before the plan. I believe they were suffering with the effects of yeast die-off in their bodies (Herxheimer reaction). When you stop feeding yeast sugar, it dies and that process can cause these symptoms. One of them stuck with it, one of them didn't. I think it would be important to have open communication with your doctor if you have any health issues before starting the plan.

One of the best things about the plan is that by preparing one lean and green meal a day, I have learned how to cook and eat healthy. That is going to make all the difference when I transition off plan. I used to cook a lot of packaged and processed food. Frozen pizzas, canned soups, sweet cereals, white bread and lunch meat. And I was sick. Headaches several times a week plus the stuff I mentioned earlier.

I think the genius part of this plan is I only have to cook ONE meal a day. That's doable. I can even cook big batches and eat the same meal for a few days. It's not overwhelming like some other plans are that expect you to shop and eat and cook differently 3-5 times a day right out of the gate. And if you have a family that you cook for that eats differently, FORGET about it! It's so much work. Thankfully, the Lean and Green recipes and concepts are easily adaptable to family life. I just add some rolls or a side of rice for them to give my kids some extra carbs. My family in general eats more healthy now because their dinners are protein and fresh vegetables. Not creamy casseroles, mac and cheese and hamburger helper! Now that I've had this learning period that is not overwhelming, I have the know-how and confidence that I could eat, shop, and cook like this more often without feeling stressed at all. It's my new habit. And that is KEY. Because no matter how great a program is, if you don't change the habits that landed you overweight in the first place, you will gain it all back.


Some people complain that the program has too much packaged food. I see their point. But it is a HECK of a lot more nutritious than other packaged food like mac-and-cheese from the store. It's packed with vitamins, fiber and probiotics. And, even though I only eat one lean and green meal a day, my fresh veggie consumption is wayyy up from when I had the "freedom" to eat anything. So...it's all in your perspective, I guess.

The Optavia books that come with the order have GOOD info in them. But only if you take it seriously and apply it. I think for long term success it is necessary. It's not just about the food.

I would for sure recommend this program to people who feel like they've tried everything or feel like they need something simple.
I would suggest to talk to your doctor first if you have health issues or are taking medications that might interact with soy.

Instagram: @angie_opts_in
My Optavia Coaching Website

Witching Hours

It seemed like a good idea at the time, to turn my 7 year old loose with a butcher knife.

I'd been to Gilcrease Orchard earlier today and brought home three pumpkins.  Sounds like a simple thing, doesn't it?  To carve three pumpkins with three children?

Maybe if my 5th grader hadn't had three hours of homework.  One assignment was to make a bar graph on the computer to display data she'd collected for a science experiment.  (You can whip that out, right Mom?)  Oh yeah, daughter, I make bar graphs in Excel all the time.  So while I'm nursing a break dancing baby and trying to watch youtube tutorials on how to label the axises on the bar graph, the kids continue to beg to get started on those pumpkins. They take them in the backyard to "show to their friends".  I hear the neighbor boy, who is hanging over the cinder block wall screaming and my kids laughing.  Whaaat is happening back there?

Jemma, my five year old,  has dropped her pumpkin from an undisclosed height, splitting it.  And Evan has gone all Norman Bates with a butcher knife on his pumpkin, leaving it fit for a crime scene, not my front porch.  Did I actually tell him to go ahead and carve his pumpkin??  Am I psycho?

The concessions I make between the hours of 3pm and 7pm are sometimes baffling.

Like, if I survive those hours with a meal prepared, homework done and my voice not raising above she-witch decibels, I feel like I need a fat medal.  And a sticker to put on my van.  Something along the lines of "My kids are fed and educated every night between the hours of 3 and 7".  Ragnar stickers?  Marathon stickers?  Mama, please.  Feed and educate four kids between the hours of 3 and 7.  That's a true test of endurance.

I told Jemma to put a show on for the crying baby so I could get dinner going.  (A new recipe of course, on a night when my husband was gone and pumpkins are dying and science experiments are barking orders at me.) I'm just asking for punishment, sometimes.

In the fringe of my consciousness, I think I hear The Hunchback of Notre Dame on.  Something whispers to me, "Isn't that a super creepy Disney show?"  Like so creepy it's the only Disney movie that never made it to DVD?  Like all the imagineers later said, "Yeah.  Never mind.  Our bad."  My whispering suspicion was confirmed when I see Jemma holding up her Elmo plush toy to Luke and making Elmo sing, "FIRE! HELL FIRE!" In a creepy five year old girl Elmo voice. (Smack my forehead)

Truth:  It's a lawless zoo up in here. It's not that I don't try.  My kids are good and they follow rules.  It's just the laws of nature I have no control over.  And four tired, hungry, hyper kids between the hours of 3 and 7 follow the laws of nature, which closely resemble chaos theory.  It's like popping a bag of microwave popcorn and asking the kernels to please pop one second apart and line up by size and saltiness.  Nope.  They pop how dey pop.  They eat stuff off the floor, and they violate pumpkins and they fight and cry and sing in creepy Elmo Satan voices to sad babies.  Freaking chaos.

After things simmered down a bit, I fed them warped Ikea bowls of new recipe food, finished up the last 17 problems of algebra and duck taped a pumpkin back together.  No, I won't be instagramming this year's jackolanterns.  Especially since they are still all stringy inside and are barfing seeds out their noses.

But I hope my kids had fun.  I hope they remember the jokes we told while we tried to carve the most hard pumpkin I have ever carved.  I was grunting and sweating and Evan kept telling me to imagine the lines super long at Walmart...that should give me the wrath necessary to cut through that impenetrable pumpkin skin!  I hope Afton goes to school proud of her science bar graph.  I hope they know I love them and these afternoon hours, though undeniably trying, are the hours that at this time in my life, are making me the mom and the woman I am.  And I hope baby Luke doesn't dream of Devil Elmo tonight.

Dear Matt Roloff, You Blew It And This Is What You Should Have Said.

My family teases me because I am an ardent fan of the TLC reality series Little People Big World.  It's about a husband and wife, Matt and Amy Roloff, who are dwarfs, and their kids (one who is a dwarf and three who aren't.)  It's set on their deliciously beautiful farm in Oregon.  I've loved watching it for years because it celebrates overcoming challenges, working together, family values and living a BIG life.  Let's face it, there aren't a lot of shows on t.v. that fit that bill.

In fact, it's the only show that actually changed my life.  I know, I know...commence eye rolling.  The thing is, the mom, Amy, is THRILLED to be a mother.  No, really.  She is thrilled.  I started watching when I had (plural) kids in diapers and was feeling overwhelmed by my duties as a wife and mother.  I often felt sorry for myself and nursed a huge chip on my shoulder.  Too many times I lamented to anyone who would listen, about how exhausted I was.  I survived the day so I could make it to bed time and finally have some time for myself.

Lots of times that time included watching LPBW.  As I watched Amy raise her kids over the years, I noticed that the sparkle in her eye came from being a mother.  It was obvious her greatest accomplishment as a human being was that she screamed at soccer games and flipped pancakes and took hundreds of pictures and hemmed pants and took road trips and counseled and immersed herself body and spirit in the lives of her kids.  My Grinchy heart melted.  She helped me see that my biggest treasures were right in front of me and some of them happened to be standing in crappy diapers.  And that was okay.  In fact, that was great.  In fact, changing that butt bomb and a million other things were the reason I was here.

This attitude I learned from Amy is summed up nicely with this thought, "Motherhood is not a hobby...it is a calling.  It's not something to do if you can squeeze the time in, It's what God gave you time for." -quoted by Neil Anderson.

I'm not perfect. I still get tired and overwhelmed and whiny.  But I never doubt the opportunity I have to mother these kids is priceless.  Much of that assurance, I got from watching Amy.

So now on to why I'm so riled up over an episode of LPBW I recently watched.  It's no secret that Matt and Amy have "relationship challenges".  Actually, from what we see on t.v. they bicker and struggle a LOT.  So much I want to knock their heads together and say, "Get it together, you ding dongs!"  Who knows, an outsider watching me fight with my husband might say the same thing.  I know it feels easy to solve OTHER people's problems.

The episode in question featured their son Zachary issuing a challenge for them to tie a rope to each of their waists, connecting them chain gang style, so that they would be forced to spend 24 hours working together and cooperating.  The challenge began with an agreement to spend the first half of the day on Amy's stuff and then the afternoon on Matt's things he needed to do.  Amy's day started out much like my days do.  Cleaning up after people, throwing in a load of laundry, washing dishes, watering and a plant that's on its last gasping breath of life, taking out trash, setting out things to prep for dinner etc.  She ran around like a chicken with her head cut off. Like all busy moms do.

From my experience, daily mom activities often get mixed up and derailed. For example, when I go to take the trash out and find the dog has peed in the hallway, I stop and clean it up.  And then after I clean that up I remember I was actually just trying to clear off the counters, but there was no more room in the trash for the used paper plates and that's why I had to take out the trash and that's when I found the dog pee.  And that's why someone looking in from the outside might think I'm a hot mess.

Matt thought Amy was worse.  He watched her buzz around and do what we moms do.  He was disgusted.  He commented again and again about her poor use of time and lack of organization.  How her time could better be spent out of kitchen - out of the house.  He thought he knew better. He thought all that she was working on could and should be hired out.  Later in the day when she began making a dinner of delicious veggies he turned up his nose and criticized her meal choice.  Half way through her preparation, he demanded they leave and  go out to eat something he wanted to eat.  My jaw hit the ground.

His behavior was one of the worst messages I've seen on t.v.  And it is SAD that I'm not exaggerating. As he watched her labor for the family, this is what he should have said.  "Thank you, Amy for all that you do around here.  I know it must not be easy to pick up after people who leave their messes.  Thank you for the clean clothes on my back.  Thank you for your desire to gather us around the table to talk and enjoy a healthy meal.  Thank you for prioritizing time spent in this house so that when one of our children log off of the Xbox or their Iphones and wander through the kitchen for a snack, you are there at the crossroads to talk, and check in with them.  Thank you for making this house a home with your love, your presence, your food, and the work of your hands.  You are my greatest treasure.  May I give you a kiss?"

As much as I mourn the fact that he didn't uplift, encourage and praise his wife for the little and big things she does to serve her family, I am volcanic about the ripple effect.  How many mothers or wives were watching and felt the sting of his words?  How many of us felt a devaluation of our life's work?  How many battles do we fight that try to beat into us that being a mom and wife isn't a real job?  How many television shows tell us to be truly powerful we must seduce, deceive, fight and scrape, put off a godly life, demean ourselves and toss away anything ladylike?  How many shows devalue qualities such as patience, tenderness, femininity and old-fashioned work?  These messages scream in my face at every turn and I can't help but to scream back.

It is good and lovely and virtuous to honor and hold dear my role as a wife and mother.  The work of my hands and the fruit of my loins are known by God and they mean something.  I do not need any worldly power, because as the poet William Ross Wallace said, "The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world".

So please, Matt.  If your wife values time spent in her home taking care of the family in the way that she sees fit, let her.  In fact, praise her.  She does not spend every minute in a way that you would, but isn't that great?  Isn't it wonderful that the sexes are driven to care for their families in such different ways?  You are a giant among men with your abilities and imagination.  You have built a monument of beautiful success your family will always enjoy.  But so has Amy.  In pondering all of the big things you have done, consider these words from a wise man, "No success will compensate for failure in the home." - David MacKay.

 And you might be fed up with the way Amy does or doesn't value your life's work. And I know it takes two to tango.  And I know it's a t.v. show that may edit words out of context.  And I know I'm writing a blog post to a celebrity who will never read it.  But I had to say what I said, because for all of the power and ability you have to spread a message, most of which has been wonderful and inspiring, this time you blew it big time.

Love Your Man

I was a mean little ninny when I married Nic.  I was a selfish person.  I had all kinds of ideas on how to be a good wife, but often gave in to a sour temper and worried mostly about myself.  Almost 12 years have passed, and I've learned a lot in that time.  I have observed others, experimented myself, learned from my good husband and studied bits and morsels of information from all kinds of sources on how to increase the warmth and mutual love in marriage.

I think there is a fallacy out there that your man has to be perfect for him to deserve your best effort in loving him. It's a lie.  Give him your best.  Be the initiator, and if he isn't a jerk, or abusive or a mistake, I'd bet he will reciprocate in ways that will surprise you.

 I've been thinking about two topics.  How to treat HIM and How to be a WOMAN.  I'll write about the first topic today and tackle the latter later.  I like saying that...latter later.  Heh heh.  Anyhoo...

How to treat your MAN.

Ever felt ambivalent in your marriage?  I think it is not uncommon to have that loving feeling ebb and flow.  Don't panic, it is just what happens in direct result to how we treat each other - not some sad nonsense the world tells you about "falling out of love".  No such thing.  The feelings we have for each other are always our fault, good or bad.

I love these ideas on how to make your man feel your love and how to make YOU feel love for your man:

- Never speak badly of your husband to anyone, ever.

-Compliment him in front of his friends and family or even your friends.  Complement him in private. Compliment him in front of his children.  Say something like, "Kids did you know your dad is the best ______?"  or "Do you know why your dad is so awesome?  Because he ______."

- Put a hand on his shoulder or face and tell him he is handsome.  You might be in a place where it is hard to think of a compliment.  Start small - start anywhere. If he isn't used to you doing that, he might be taken aback a bit.  But he will feel good-whether he admits it, or not. Find a way to compliment him every day.

-BEST question to melt an icy heart..."What can I do for you today to make you happy?"  Mean it and do it.
Offer a foot rub with lotion while you watch t.v.  Ask what he would like you to cook for him one night.  It doesn't have to be a huge thing...you know your guy.

-If you are a spiritual couple, pray as a couple at night, hold his hand when you kneel and express to God your gratitude for specific things your man has done, such as provide for your family, help with the kids- anything you admire or would miss about him if he were gone.  On your own, pray for your husband, mention his specific challenges.  You might mention to him he's been in your personal prayers.

-Think kindly of your partner and have a forgiving heart.  If you find yourself silently arguing with him while you do the dishes, or wish he were THIS or wish he were THAT or why can't he just....Stop it.  Appreciate the good he does and leave the fault finding behind.  Ruth Bell Graham said, "Marriage is the union of two good forgivers".  True that, Ruth.  True that.

These are a few things I've learned and try to do...I'm not perfect at any of it...but when I do it, it brings my heart to a warm and loving place.  It makes my home happy.  What do you do to make your husband feel special and loved?  I seriously want to know!

Next time, I'll share some thoughts on How to be a GIRL! :)

A Surprise at Smith's

  I was at Smith's and I had just hefted the car seat onto the shopping cart.  I wiped down the parts of the cart with an antiseptic wipe that I or Jemma was likely to touch.  I squatted down, carefully as not to hurt any still sore muscles or wounds from the delivery three weeks ago.  I fished out my grocery list from my absurdly large diaper bag.  It was written on the back of an ABC tracing practice page.  Jemma had traced A through E with a blue crayon.

Then I had the most wonderful experience.  It was neither sought after or contrived.  It just came.  As I unfolded the list, I had the most clear impression of how much I do as a wife and mother is not a thankless job.  Many images ran though my mind at once.  The time I've spent helping an emerging reader sound out the same words over and over.  The third round of teaching ABC's to the third child.  The extra effort I put in this week to make a healthier grocery list and not throw any old sugar-junk thing in front of the kids.  The midnight trip to the store to get medicine for my fevered husband.  The scriptures read at the table while I made a peanut butter sandwich for the cold lunch.  I felt acutely how much my Father in heaven notices my efforts.  I felt so loved and so gratified. I squatted there at the basket area and cried for a second.

Sometimes it's easy to feel like we run from task to task.  No one notices.  No one cares.  We mop the floor and a dog runs in and does a lap around the table with muddy feet.  We bathe, we comb, we correct, we listen, we cook, we wash, we tidy up.  There is no glamour in these things.  It won't land us on the cover of any magazine.  Honestly, I have wondered from time to time when I'm very tired, what's it all for?

But today I felt it.  What an unexpected tender gift.  It all matters.  The smallest things matter.  The clean, combed, well fed, taught, loved and corrected child is His child.  He thanks me and he loves me for caring for them.  There is no other thing that would matter more.

Rant-a-roonie and a happy ending.

Rant-a-roonie.  You've been warned.

If I told it to you in reverse it would go like this:

 Nic walked in the door and all the kids ran to him and said, "MOM BIT HER TONGUE AND SHE'S CRYING!"

Before that I popped Tylenol for a booming head.

Before that, the container of play-do toys fell out of the cupboard and spilled all over the floor.

  Evan went limp and cried and slid out of his chair about 400 times during the 45 minutes it took to write four words for his homework.

The air conditioner broke.  That's right.  (I can not name any higher level of rudeness than to have the AC crap out on a pregnant woman.)

I did a Scooby-do like slip on some spilled dog food.

Jemma fell asleep at school pick up.  It was 100 degrees and I had to carry her to the ends of the earth (the very last line at the playground) to pick up Afton.

Evan kicked my toe with his fat shoes and ripped my big toenail off.

I discovered a week of bronchitis is not kind on the pregnant bladder.  Over and over again.

I spent a day in the emergency room trying to figure out why I can't eat without pain and nausea for days on end.

I moaned and bawled all night while telling Nic, "I'm not going to the hospital!  They never find what's wrong with you!"

I held the breathing treatment mask over Afton's face and a bucket under her chin for three nights in a row.

Oh yeah, I've been nauseated every single day since Mother's Day.

So when I bit my tongue, I cried.  Sue me.

BUT!  If I could have the opposite experience...

I would drive to Disneyland and check into the Grand Californian Hotel.  I would have breakfast at the Storyteller's cafe.  I would order Caramel stuffed french toast with scrambled eggs and ketchup, red potatoes and milk and o.j..

I would ride Pirates first, Haunted Mansion second, and then Pooh Bear.  I would stop for a caramel apple with peanuts at the Pooh Bear store.  I would make sure to watch the senior citizen swing dancers at the plaza at night.  I would also eat a pineapple float from the stand by the Tiki Room.  (Disneyland is always about the food for me...not just when I'm pregnant:)  I would have Nic push me in a wheelchair the entire time.  When is somebody going to invent an adult stroller?

After my fill of Disneyland, which I'm sure would take at least 6 or 7 days...I would go to Ikea.  To fuel up my body before my shopping, I would eat the Swedish Meatballs with lingon berry sauce.  (Okay...maybe my pregnancy is influencing my food fantasies a tad...)  I would buy window coverings  for my whole house and soft cotton covers for fluffy duvets.  I'd buy huge impractical tropical plants and over-sized art.  Nic would still push me in a wheelchair.

Then I'd drive home to my beach house that was conveniently purchased by surprise for me while I was at Disneyland and unpack my wares.

I'm done crying now.

I was going to, but...

Do you have a favorite ice cream or candy you cannot trust yourself around?  Like, you know you will eat the entire thing and loathe yourself for it later?  That's how facebook was for me when it first came out.  I was coo-coo.

I've finally found a happy balance.  I don't look at it every day.  Sometimes not even every week.  But I do enjoy it.

I have a friend, Stacie,  in my ward who I enjoy too.  She kept posting things about her California vacation with some fun looking ladies.  When I saw her in Sunday school I told her that I'd like her to take me on her next vacation and introduce me to her people.  She laughed and said she had a good time and then she mentioned something that has happened to me before and it kind of bugs me.  She said when she got together with all of her girlfriends, the conversation had to be worked on a little because each new topic that was brought up ended with someone saying, "Oh yeah, I already heard about that on facebook."  Has that ever happened to you?

It got me to thinking.  I think facebook is fun, especially to keep in touch with old friends you don't see on a regular basis.  But I will say, I kind of miss old fashioned chatting.  And I do HATE that when I'm trying to share some juicy news and everyone already heard it on facebook.  Kill joy.

Well, on Monday I found out the sex of my baby.  I have to admit, my facebook finger was kind of itchy to post it right away.  But I'm not going to.  Not for some self righteous lesson to teach the universe, but as a way of SEEING the smile on the faces or hearing the voices of those I tell.  If you wanna know, ask me next time you see me:)  I look forward to chatting.

That's What I Thought

I picked Afton up at the church the other night.  It was a gorgeous evening, so I rolled the windows down.  The fresh air blew in and YUCK!  The smell of it was so disgusting!  That was my first clue.  Fresh air should not smell disgusting.

Then I felt scatter brained and overwhelmed for no identifiable reason.  I thought my thyroid medicine was wonky.

Then I felt like a 500 lb woman just trying to make it up the stairs. 

The last straw was the 15 minute bawl session I had on the freeway for no reason yesterday.  Nic had that little twinkle of fear in his eye.  That one that silently screams, "Oh my Heavens, WHAT did I marry?"

Sho' nuff.  I'm pregnant.

I get it, Eleanor.

"I hate doing this. It's very embarrassing. I swear I'm not hustling you and I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to. I just need a little money to buy some food and pay for our room tonight."

A dark haired mother held the hand of her five year old daughter and stood near my car in the Walmart parking lot. She had a flimsy backpack on and her daughter wore a thin sweater and jeans. It was near dark and chilly. I had to admit, the mother did look embarrassed.

Normally when I have someone approach me for money, ashamedly I feel annoyed. Sometimes I avoid eye contact until I absolutely have to speak to them. Sometimes I grumble at how young and healthy they look and how they need to GET IT TOGETHER MAN! Often I run through the inventory of lame things I'm SURE they are going to run right out and buy as soon as they collect enough money to do it. I always look them up and down and scrutinize each detail to assess how much they surely are lying.

I didn't do it this time. Something in me said that this mom was in trouble. I believed her. I got out my wallet and said, "I don't have a lot to spare, but..."

She assured me it was okay and she was grateful for whatever I could afford. I sorted through my bills and gave her a portion of what I had. She thanked me and hurriedly moved on to the next person, baby girl in tow.

I turned to my basket and crumpled a little inside. It was loaded. I picked up Jemma and buckled her into her expensive car seat in her safe and clean van. I took the several minutes I needed to load the groceries into the back, having trouble fitting it all because there was SO MUCH. I felt like an idiot. Had I not just said, "I don't have a lot to spare..."

I looked around and found the mother skittering from patron to patron, trying to get enough money. She was urgent. She was quick. Night was falling.

I was lead. I drug myself into the van and drove away. I watched her through my mirror. Could I take her home with me? Would she even come if I offered? What would Nic say if I walked in with these two? Would they be to embarrassed to sit at my table and share a meal?

I talked myself out of two U-turns. I systematically stacked up reasons why I should leave her and her daughter there. Then I went home and unloaded my food and ate at my table with my family.

I'm fairly sure I did the wrong thing. I thought about her for days afterward. I know I can't drag home every homeless person I find in the street, but my heart told me this was different.

So, this experience was fresh in my mind today as I drove home from preschool drop-off. I was about 2.5 miles from my house and I saw an elderly woman picking her way across the uneven and rocky dirt. There was no sidewalk for quite some time due to construction.

She was white haired and bent. I slowed down. As I passed her I looked at her face. She looked worried. She looked like it was hard for her to safely walk over the terrain. I kept driving, thinking she would probably be scared if I stopped and approached her. Then I remembered the Walmart parking lot. THAT'S IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT!

I turned around and found her. I pulled up onto the rocky dirt and rolled down my window. The funny part was I said "Excuse me, may I offer..."

"OH YES! I need a ride!" She didn't even let me finish! She hobbled toward my car and barely gave me time to run around to her side and help her in!

She DID need a ride. Girl was OLD! Her name was Eleanor. She moved to Las Vegas at the request of her son. He said he wanted her to be close so he could care for her better. Then he flunked out of AA. Then he found a woman and moved to Virginia. Then Eleanor's husband died. Now she has to walk 5 miles round trip to get her prescriptions. It takes her over 4 hours to do it. She had been walking for 3 hours when I found her.

I thought about how Jesus loved the widows. How he cared for them. I gave her our phone number and asked her to call us if she needs a ride or help in her home. I hope she does.

I hope I learned my lesson. I hope I follow my heart when it nudges me and don't explain away my opportunity to serve. I hope you don't find it distasteful that I shared this story. I hope you don't think I'm tooting my horn. I don't mean to. I just hope it helps you learn quicker than I did.

I hope Eleanor puts her feet up and eats a candy bar.

It ain't much, but it's MINE!

"Babe, I'm taking a spinning class tomorrow with Mindy." I explained to my husband.

He looked at me doubtfully, "Let me help you out with that. It's a SPIN class. Not a spinning class. You don't want to embarrass yourself on the first day."

The next morning I woke up at 4:45 to make it to my 6:00 class. In hind sight I ask myself...why?! I had been tossing through a weird Christmas Eve-like sleep pattern. I kept waking up wondering if it was time to go to the gym, but hoping it wasn't.

I heard someone post on facebook one time, "The joys of the gym in January." Meaning, when will all these new year resolutioners get off my elliptical? I just knew everyone would take one look at me and know I was one of those people who hadn't been to the gym in ages. Or years. Or decades. Whatever.

I walked in and was surprised to smell it. It smells exactly how I remember. Exactly! Smoothies, sweat, clean towels and shampoo steam.

Embarrassing private thought: "Where in the heck are the elevators? These stairs are making me winded!"

After wandering around, trying to look busy and getting lost twice because of wall to wall mirror confusion, I finally met my friend. She kindly gave me the lowdown on how to get set up for a spin class.

The perky instructor had kind eyes, THANK GOODNESS. She matter of factly looked me up and down and told me my goal was just to make it to the end of the class. Ouch. But, the truth.

The first work out in over a year is a brick in the throat and fire in the lungs. How can two previously obedient and well functioning organs suddenly turn on me and refuse to give me air?

Gratefully, I have the wisdom of many a first work-out to know that the first day is death and it will get better.

Perky instructor was right. I prayed my way through those 55 minutes. I didn't want to fall of that bike or worse...barf.

I have a lot of wishy- washy wimp feelings about the gym. I doubt my determination to get up early. How I hate any hour before 8 am. I defeat myself before I even get started, sometimes.

I worry the health- nut skinny thigh girls will smell the cookie dough seeping from my pores.

I compare, I compare, I compare.

Here's the deal though: Take care of your body, it's the only place you have to live. Be grateful for the mind-blowing creation it is. Don't curse it for the way it varies from someone else's. Be generous to it.

I love to study old people. Really old people. People who poop in a pan in their beds and have had bed head for years. Do you think they'd turn down my strong body because last year's jeans are too tight? Do you think they'd turn their noses up at riding a wave into shore, or a climb to the summit? Heck, do you think they'd refuse to carry a sleeping baby with my arms because they have a little pudge? Nope, they'd relish five more minutes with a body that could carry them anywhere.

I think it pains God when I spend so much time sad about my body. What a punk I am! Get over it sister! Use it. Use it up. It doesn't look like it did when I was 17, but it is forgiving and eager to improve when I treat it right.

Work it. Enjoy it. Love it.

The Twilight Double Standard

I was rushing around the house, waving my arms and yelling (in a nice get your butt in gear way) at my entire family. It was Sunday night and I needed everyone in the van. My nauseatingly creative friend, Lil had offered me her homemade stencils to make a Breaking Dawn t-shirt. I had no clue what the stencils even were, but I know Lil and they would have to be genius. The stencils were across town and I needed them.

We all raced down the 215 towards Henderson. I leaned forward in my seat, Twilight sparkle in my twitching eye. Must get the stencils. Nic turned to me and said, "You know, if I was going to wait in line all night with my guy friends to see the latest Megan Fox movie, clad in my homemade t-shirt you would have a fit. There's such a double standard."

I sighed. Edward and I don't have time for this trivial banter.

I tried to explain. It isn't that I lay awake nights thinking in a lusty way about Rob Pattinson. Honestly, Edward could be played by any fool, and I'd feel the same way. It's the romance. It's the story. I get drunk on it over and over. AND I'LL MAKE NO APOLOGIES FOR IT!

Take the old BBC version of Pride and Prejudice. No insult intended on Colin Firth, but he's not the epitome of a manly man. His jaw is not chiseled. He boasts no biceps or washboard abs. But he melts my innards every time I watch it. It's the romance! It's dreamy, so intoxicating. When I see him in that movie...I don't feel about him the way every red-blooded male feels about Megan Fox when she emerges from the explosion in a torn tank top and all dewy with sparkling sweat. It's DIFFERENT! It's the delicious, heady perfume of out -of- this world romance that I love. Not a lusty obsession.

So yes, I will wait in line for hours tonight in my homemade t-shirt. I will cat call and squeal. I will claw the arm next to me when Bella says "I do". And I will come home and crawl in bed with my guy and thank the Lord that he is mine.

It's not a double standard. It's Twilight.

Deep Thoughts in Walgreen's

Nic came home and surveyed the battlefield. Greasy paper plates and empty Cheetos bags littered the kitchen table. My permanent butt print and the butt prints of several of my children still lingered on the couch cushions. The reasons why don't matter, it was just one of those days. He gave me a long hug and told me, "Even perfect mothers need a day off."

He sent me to Walgreen's to buy milk and bread and a flavor of Tylenol that maybe Evan won't barf up on the couch. I gladly went. It was rainy and cool and I wanted to lay on the pavement and smell that wet asphalt smell til I died. I don't know why I love that smell so much.

I had me a time at Walgreen's. The fluorescent lighting was cheerful. I took my sweet time with my undersized shopping cart. I shuffled down each aisle in my sweatpants and contemplated. I knew it was a perfect waste of money, but I couldn't resist picking up a rag mag spewing the sordid details of Justin Bieber - baby daddy.

I tried to think of situations in which turquoise nail polish would work in my life.

I walked by the enemas and was grateful I didn't need one.

I gasped at the audacity of charging five dollars for a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

I lingered in the baby lotions and binkies and felt a tiny pinch in my heart to have another baby.

I smiled down the Christmas aisle and pushed all of the buttons on the annoying singing do-hickeys. My favorite was Miss piggy in a cheap and easy leopard dress singing "Santa Baby".

I scowled at the paperback shelf and wondered how on earth the airbrushed abs and heaving bosom books make the NY times best seller list every darn week? Who reads those?! Gross.

On the way out, there was an Asian man impatiently accosting an arguing couple at the Red Box. He was tired of waiting and wanted the couple to check if the machine had cartoos. Not cartoons, cartoos. The couple had no idea what he was talking about. I'm a mom. I know what he was talking about. He was trying to say Cars 2.

I should have cleared up the matter. But I didn't.

It was just one of those days.

All It Took

Poor me. Poor, poor me. Walking in the rain to the medical building to have my blood drawn. Then the lab was closed down, door locked. Moved to another location. On the cell phone, in the hall listening to the robot lady on the phone tell me of another lab I could go to. Poor me.

All it took was a peek into another room on my way out. The cancer room. A chubby mama, holding her baby with the daddy near by. Cancer? In one of them? How about a peek into the dialysis room? A woman with a ruddy face and watery eyes tucked her dry, messy hair into a baseball cap. Waiting to recycle her blood so she can stay alive.

All it took was a book I'm reading in the waiting room about the Irish potato famine. A mom waking up with no more milk to feed her baby. Pricking the vein of her horse to feed her sons with blood. Fever, death, shallow graves in frozen ground.

I recently ate a dinner with potatoes. They were piled high on my plate, steamy and covered in ketchup. I ate so much I felt sick the rest of the night.

I felt so lucky to make dinner for my kids tonight. Dropping sticky dumplings into a rich soup of fish, onions and cream. I hear them slurping the dregs from the kitchen.

I wonder how many days I've truly, truly worried. I worry about if I have too many dimples on the backs of my thighs to go swimming in public. I worry if my Tivo recorded Vampire Diaries. And of course, like all of us, I have true worries.

But for the most part, I have a blessed life. I need to worry more about my hands. What have they done to lift another today?

Summa Summa Summa Time

I think I've won the award for most epically lazy blogger this summer. Lest I spoil my rep, I shall continue blogging with the least amount of effort possible...hence this hodge podge of unrelated summer photos.

My handsome tan husband had a birthday. The highlights were the puppy I bought him last minute and the incredibly manly wrapping paper I found for him. Not that there's any shame in the Tinkerbell and Elmo motif last year...Julie was my first friend I made in Las Vegas. She is a superstar among women and I am sad sad sad she moved away. This was our fancy farewell photo.
This is Nic getting Jemma psyched for the chicken chase in Gunlock, UT.
Two faces I kiss often. Wouldn't you?
The 4th of July celebration in Pine Valley Utah was so darn patriotic I about had a heart attack. I love my country.

I was just feelin' it that day. Doesn't it just look like I was feelin' it?
Did you know there are cool hikes that are super easy for kids up at Mt. Charleston? Well, it was a little much for Jemma apparently, but check out the cool pay off at the end! (Scroll down)
A waterfall! Who knew?
Do you remember feeling like you were hot stuff when you were little? For me it was when I got some lime green sunglasses with rainbow paint splatters on the lenses and a flash dance sweatshirt that hung off of one shoulder. HOT STUFF. For Afton and Ellie it was sitting on the top of the truck at the drive-in. Doesn't get any cooler.
There you have it friends, the laziest summer re-cap ever. Go me! :)

Strange Brew

You never know what a new day will bring. Lots of times it brings exactly what it brought the last ten days. Not so today. When I woke up this morning I had no idea that:

-The dog would eat my stash of powdered Crystal Light.

-Jemma would eat the powdered stash of my feet skin which was still sitting in the Ped Egg after I tamed my Sasquatch feet.

-I would have an artichoke and a spoonful of Nutella for lunch.

-I'd be diagnosed with a geezer ailment. A hernia. What?!

-A one armed man in a turban would steal my cell phone and then lie his head off about it.-When I told my sister about my phone she happened to know the guy who stole it. Ha!

It's been a weird day. I'm going to go hide my other electronic devices and powdered substances now. I also can't get over the thought that he hid my phone IN his turban. I keep picturing myself unwrapping it slowly while saying, "Ha-LOW! My name is Angie Larkin. You steal my cell phone. Prepare to DIE!

For Two Minutes

For two minutes I was a fish at Walmart. It was a rather dark exercise of imagination.

For instance, what if I were that one Beta fish that was more brown than magenta or turquoise? Who's going to buy a brown Beta? How many times would fish get restocked while that little brown one just sat there?

There is always that one fish who is sucked up against that vent thing. Deader than a door nail. Did that fish gradually drift that way after death, or did it die because it swam a little too close and got trapped and died of a massive hickey?

Goldfish are either at the bottom of the gene pool or they get no respect. Because there were at LEAST 20 dead ones all in a pile at the bottom of their tank. What's that all about? And do the live ones just swim around and avoid the dead gaze of their fallen comrades? That's gotta mess a fish up.

Why do some float when they die and some sink? And the saddest thing of the day: The little fish who swims sideways because he's on his way out. I'd rather be the trout in the meat aisle, dead under plastic with my son repeatedly poking its eye than be the sideways swimmer.

They say fish brains totally reboot with no memory of the past every three seconds. I hope that's true.

Excuse me, I will now go apply some black eyeliner and lipstick, stick a few hundred safety pins on my t-shirt and lay in a dark room listening to My Chemical Romance.

Friday the 13th, 2001

I woke up on the second day of my honeymoon and cried like I never cried before. It wasn't a wailing cry or a puffy nosed boogery cry, just a cry I felt down into my bones. It's not like I didn't know that one of us would die before the other (unless we performed some sort of Thelma and Louise stunt), it's just that I understood for the first time that there would come a day when one of us would wake up without the other one. And now that I had found THE ONE and married THE ONE, the thought truly soaked in that morning and it vaporized my heart. I hugged him so tightly. I wanted to be absorbed into his body so that it would be impossible for us to be parted. I know, I was so dramatic. But it's how I felt!

So he sung to me. Ladies, I lucked out in this department. His voice is like butta. He sang:

Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine,
I'll taste your strawberries, I'll drink your sweet wine,
A million tomorrows could all pass away,
There I forget all the joy that is mine, today.

By then I was bawling too hard to listen to the second verse.

What a beautiful and a scary thing to let yourself love someone so much. It requires inhuman amounts of trust, because if they turn out to be a dud, you are so hosed. Luckily, he's anything but a dud.

My marriage is a testament to me that God has a plan for us all. He shooed me like a clueless baby chick through my crazy life and into the arms of the perfect man for me. He has taught me to repress my swamp witch tendencies. Through watching his meekness I softened into a new person. He's never yelled at me once in our entire marriage. Bah! I wish I could say the same!

He woke me this morning with a little blue box and a kiss. If I may quote Salt and Pepa: "Whatta man whatta man whatta man, whatta mighty good man".

Happy tenth baby. Yay us!

A weekend in favorites

The best thing anyone said to me this weekend was: You look like Elizabeth Taylor, only more wholesome.

The best thing I ate this weekend was something I have never before tasted: It was breaded shrimp in this sweet mayo-like sauce with candied pecans. Oh, and the bowl of flawless huge berries atop chewy granola and Tahitian vanilla yogurt wasn't bad either!

The funniest thing I saw this weekend was a huge missile aimed at the sky on the side of Route 66. Perched on top was, wait for it....Snoopy.

My favorite thing I wore was a new pair of cork wedged heels with silver flecks in the corky part. I buckled them too tightly though, and almost required amputation after dinner.

My favorite person I met was a man who has worked in 32 different countries. He was like Indiana Jones and held me captive as he regaled me with the tale of his 500 mile trip down the Nile river with a bunch of refugees aboard.

My favorite fuzzy moment was waking up with my sweetheart in a pillowy king sized bed and watching The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross. They were happy little trees indeed.

My favorite thing I wanted to buy but didn't was a can of bandaids that looked like strips of bacon.

My favorite traveling song for this weekend was Hurt. The NIN song that Johnny Cash so expertly covered.

Scottsdale, if you weren't an even hotter armpit than Vegas, I'd almost move there.

A Sunday

Oh...my little blog, I still love you. I know it's been a while.

I was strangely reflective today. Like a monk. A really happy monk. I even got teary a few times. I gave out random hugs to people I don't ever hug. It was weird.

I was sitting in church. My observation super powers were working overtime. A 10 month old baby behind me wore the facial expressions of a poised 25 year old pearl -wearing lady. She was a lady- baby and she kept looking at me. Adorable. Her dad directed the choir in a song that made my heart do a Grinchy swelling thing. I watched a plain woman in a simple black dress sing with meaning and joy. It made her so beautiful.

I noticed the soft ringlets curled into a little girl's hair. Her dress and headband so fancy. Her mom - careful and quiet.

I looked around at many faces I knew. People with problems. People I've had problems with. But all of them together in this place. All of us hoping to soak in a little strength. Add some oil to our lamps. Show our God we love him. I felt it, that we all are the same to Him and it made me love those faces.

Then at home some family gathered around my table. We laughed and remembered the time (he who shall remain unnamed) put soap in the fancy Country Club fountains and the suds grew to 8 feet tall and out into the street. We ate bacon wrapped chilis and deviled eggs and drank grape Kool-aid and Dr. Pepper on ice. Little ones who don't want to be little anymore laughed at jokes they didn't quite get. A kid ran through the living room missing his pants and Dad had to go on a turd hunt. Grown -up girls told harmless secrets while grown -up boys did what they do which happened to be giving a test drive to a random dude in a car we weren't selling. Boys.

Then everyone left and I looked at my table. It was sticky with used up fudgescicle sticks, and littered with mostly empty plates. Someone wanted the chili, but not the bacon. I could hear the noise we had just been making and I wanted to call them all back to spend some more time around the table with me.

I feel blessed to be around all of my peeps. All of 'em.

Don't Wanna

In the days of the Cosby Show and Madonna, McDonald's served the most delectable apple pies. Not the dry crumbly wannabe pies of today. The old ones were deep fried, boiling hot with crispy, oily skin covered in crunchy golden bubbles. They trumped hot fudge sundaes if that tells you anything. I loved them like Gollum loves his precious.

One day, while eating at McDonald's, my dad saw me looking a little glum.

"What's wrong Angie?" ( I was about 5 btw)

"I'm depressed."

"Why?"

"Because this is my last bite of apple pie."

All good things come to an end. Now Christmas is over and I feel like I just ate my last bite of apple pie. My Christmas manicure has chipped off. I poured the eggnog down the drain. It glubbed out thick and yellow and coated the sink. I haven't had the heart to plug in the outdoor lights for three days. Okay, that was dramatic...I just forgot to actually. But still. I wouldn't have forgotten if it were still Christmas!

But the worst - Trashing the gingerbread houses. The trash was full and I pressed them down in the bag with a flat palm, crumbling them into sweet smelling victims of Hurricane Angie. Christmas is over and all evidences of it must die. Okay. That also was melodramatic.

Sigh.

You know what, though? I'm leaving my cards up. I'm leaving them up well into February!

The tree's getting the boot on Monday.

At least I have the extra 10 pounds I'm sure I've gained to keep me warm through the rest of the winter.

Gag.