"Don't just look. Help someone."

I grew up in Hurricane Country.  Every year, when Summer storms started forming, we knew that it was just a matter of time before we started hearing about what was brewing in the Gulf.  Usually by July there was some storm big enough to earn a name heading towards Mobile.  The funny thing is, I never really was afraid of Hurricanes.  We never left town, and though we definitely saw some high-speed winds and some significant rainfall, we were always safe and sound and completely equipped to ride out the almost inevitable loss of power.  We would have all the nonperishable foods that children (and let's be real- adults too) love... chips, cookies, cokes, candy; you name it, we stocked up on it.  I think that sort of conditioned us to actually LIKE these storms. A few days off of school didn't hurt either!

My point is, we never respected these storms.  We - or at least I - never stopped to consider that it was not at all unlikely that a tornado could easily spin off of the storm and demolish our house.  It just didn't cross my mind.  I had never really seen a tornado or the damage that they could do, so why should I be scared of them? Don't those only happen in Kansas, anyway?

Nope.

Last Wednesday, a series of tornadoes ripped through the South, and hit- quite literally- a little too close to home.  I woke up that morning and Christopher was standing at the window.  He told me (in a voice that let me know that he was serious) to immediately take Sarah Claire into the hallway, which we were able to close off sort of like a closet.  We could hear the wind outside, and I was terrified.  I found myself wondering how I would shield Sarah Claire if one of the trees around us fell on our house, and the thought of not being able to protect her enough terrified me.  I suddenly didn't like storms anymore.  Thankfully, the only trees that fell in our yard were far enough away from our house to harm us; they were in our backyard and though they will be a pain to clean up, we were so blessed to have been protected from the first of many storms that day.

After the storm passed, we walked outside and saw that a tree had fallen right onto our neighbor's house.  Thankfully no one was hurt, but I can't imagine hearing the sound of a tree hitting your house.  The rest of our neighborhood looked pretty bad... it turns out that quite a few houses and cars were damaged and there were more trees and power lines down than I could count.  To my knowledge, no one was seriously injured, though, so we all had reason to be thankful.

We spent the rest of the night at my in-law's house, and heard 7 more tornado sirens through the evening.  It was terrifying to me every time.  Being a momma makes everything matter so much more.  After the system finally passed, we were getting bits and pieces of the news around us.  Tuscaloosa, Birmingham, Trenton, Ringold...so many places were hit so hard, and so many lives and homes were lost.  It broke my heart to hear stories of parents using their own bodies to protect their children and to know that so many parents who were ready to welcome their children home from college for the summer wouldn't be able to have that chance ever again.  It made me truly praise God for our protection, and it put the inconveniences of being without power in perspective.

I kept thinking of the Scott Krippayne song that says,

Sometimes He calms the storm 
With a whispered "peace, be still" 
He can settle any sea 
But it doesn't mean He will 
Sometimes He holds us close 
And lets the wind and waves go wild 
Sometimes He calms the storm 
And other times He calms His child.


Thankfully, my in-laws opened up their home to us and we were able to have power for the week that we otherwise would have been without.  We were blessed in so many ways that day.  Every day, really.


Driving through Trenton a couple of days after the storm gave me a new respect for storm systems in general.  Here are a few of the pictures. 

There were quite a few signs.  This one stood out and prompted us to actively help.

I can't imagine being inside this home.

This was unreal.  A couple of people lost their lives in this building.

There is not always a bright side.  Sometimes when things are bad, it seems like there is absolutely nothing positive to say.  But this time, there was definite evidence of a silver lining.  After these storms passed, a couple of Auburn Alumni started "rallying the troops," so-to-speak, and began finding ways to help our legendary rivals.  In a matter of hours, there were trucks being sent out from cities all over the south full of supplies and people ready and willing to begin restoring Tuscaloosa.  Soon, these trucks were not just coming from the south- they were coming from all over the country, and it wasn't long before their efforts were being extended to dozens of cities that had been effected by the storm.  It has been unreal to watch it unfold.  The founder of the group kept the public updated via facebook regarding their progress, and it has been so heartwarming to hear of people being fed, strangers opening up their homes, and people being willing to drive across the country to drop off supplies.  I have been floored at the generosity and ambition of these Auburn Alums, so it only seems appropriate to end this blog post with...


Praise God for His protection and WAR EAGLE!!!

Change Something.

A few weeks ago, I heard a phrase, "If something doesn't change, nothing ever will."  It was one of those statements that would repeatedly come to my mind over the following weeks.  Every time I turned around, that phrase was somehow appropriate.  Usually when something takes root like that, it eventually finds its way into a blog post, so here we go. 

First, it was my messy house.  The dishes were dirty, the laundry was piling up and the bed was unmade.  

If something doesn't change, nothing ever will.  Then, it was my personal growth.  Spiritually speaking, I  admit that I was complacent.  I hate complacency.  If something doesn't change, nothing ever will.  Then it was my attitude.  I was complaining, self-absorbed and lonely.  If something doesn't change, nothing ever will.  My weight-loss goals weren't being met.  Can you guess what came to my mind when I considered my lack of progress?  IF SOMETHING DOESN'T CHANGE, NOTHING EVER WILL.  Starting to see what I mean? 

I felt a very strong call to action when I realized that I was unhappy with a few aspects of my life, but that more often than not, I was ignoring all of the blatant signs that I could- and should- do something about it. I was doing (or not doing) the same thing over and over again expecting different (and better) results.  Did you know that is the definition of insanity?  Quite a wakeup call.

My only "resolution" of sorts this year was to begin to live with intention.  In some ways I've implemented this idea, but in others, I've been doing the same things I've always done and using the worn out excuses that I've allowed myself to use over the last several months.  So, to combat the temptation to become apathetic or inactive, I've come up with a plan that has actually (so far) been relatively effective.  Every day of the week corresponds with a room in the house, so by the time the week ends, each room has been cleaned.  I don't have a ton of extra time, so I've set a realistic goal for myself when it comes to personal growth- 15 minutes a day is set aside for the Bible study that I've been attending, and at night, I've been reading books that I've been wanting to read for quite a while.  I like that sense of accomplishment.  I have realized that if I want a better attitude, I just have to have one.  So, I have chosen to get out of this "funk" and adjust to the new dynamics of my old relationships.  Life with a baby changes in so many unbelievably wonderful ways; it's just been difficult to redefine certain parts of my life.  Letting go of old expectations has been freeing, and I feel much, much better.  Not dwelling on what I miss has made me indescribably grateful for what I have- even more than before.  What I used to have doesn't even compare to what I have now that Sarah Claire is here.  I am overwhelmed with love for her!  And lastly, there's the weight-loss journey.  My goal each day is just to do something.  Some days it's a 3 mile run.  Other days, it's core-work while Sarah Claire naps.  There are some days that I consider all of the bouncing and pacing that goes into coaxing my ever-bright-eyed baby to sleep a workout, because somedays it is.  

My point is, if you aren't happy with something in your life that is changeable (don't get all hung up on the permanent stuff), why not change it?  Make a plan, and implement it.  My Grandfather, who I believe to be an infinite source of wisdom, always tells me that life is like a three legged stool, and the three "legs" that give us support and stability in our lives are our spiritual, mental and physical wellbeing.  If one is missing or weak, there can't be any sort of balance.  In my case, all three "legs" needed attention.  Each one was weakened from being forgotten for a little too long.  Ignoring the problem didn't do anything- I tried that.  I had to do something, and I'm happy to say that now, I have.

I still love the phrase.  I think of it daily, and I love that it really does have an action-inspiring effect on me.  As it turns out, that statement was what prompted me to break the insanity-pattern, and I'm grateful to leave that phase behind! 

Everybody has a "soapbox" moment now and then...

I don't often use my blog as a soapbox, but tonight is an exception.  Lately, there has been an ongoing dialogue centered around the topic of breastfeeding- one of the only things about which I'd risk posting a controversial blog.  The modern arguments surrounding this old-as-Adam (or Eve, in this case) natural act have brought out the best in some and the ignorance in others.  Michelle Obama's recent mission to encourage breastfeeding among women who are the most likely to choose formula and least likely to realistically afford it has convinced me that she isn't just composed and well-spoken; she's smart.  She is reaching out to the population at the greatest risk for SIDS and obesity and helping them get the tools they need to breastfeed, which is proven to lower the risk of SIDS as well as obesity.  She's also discouraging the popular practice of paying for formula at the expense of the utility bills.  Her remedy is an obvious one, probably the same one most people would come up with in theory, but she's putting action behind the idea, and I'd be willing to bet that we'll see results.

Unfortunately, not everyone is supporting her efforts.  It seems that people are abandoning their own views of breastfeeding so as not to appear to be "friendly" with the First Lady.  Heaven forbid that we remain true to our values if it means that we might be accused of crossing political lines!  Michele Bachmann, who nursed five of her babies, has taken issue with Michelle Obama's cause.  It's interesting to me, because once you breastfeed ONE baby, you become aware of the undeniable benefits, so I would assume that after FIVE, you would be so keenly aware of the immunity, comfort, attachment and nutrition that breast milk provides, that you would support the effort to help others give that same gift to their children- regardless of your political agenda.  I'm just disappointed.  I've never been a fan of Bachmann, but in my opinion, she's lost all credibility.  Pretending to disagree with a good - no, great- cause just to prove that you don't have a liberal bone on your body doesn't sit well with me.  That's not even good politics.  

I hope these recent efforts encourage more women to breastfeed, even if they only plan to do it for a few weeks.  Chances are, those weeks will turn into months.  It is incredibly beneficial for newborns, and it plays a huge role in the mother/child attachment.  It makes so much sense financially - not just because of what you aren't paying in formula costs, but also, because the immune system benefits, there will be fewer doctor visits to pay for, and fewer missed school days - which means parents won't have to miss work to stay home with a sick child.  It makes sense that most women would choose to breastfeed, but it is so important to remember that while it may be a natural act, women need education and support to get through the first few weeks of nursing.  Natural or not, it isn't always easy, and that's exactly why I am so thankful that someone with such an influential voice is finally addressing these issues.  Hopefully, those that are tangling their view of this administration with their views on the specific subject of breastfeeding will sort out their convictions before they find themselves fighting against a worthy cause, and ultimately, agains themselves. 

I miss y'all this morning.

One of the best gifts a parent can give a child is a sibling... or in my case, five of them.  "Four sisters and one brother... Yes, one set of twins.  No, we aren't Catholic."  I used to give these answers on autopilot when people would ask about the size of our family.  I also got used to the question- well, really the statement: "You're a York!"  In college, before Christopher met my family, that used to really freak him out.  I guess that is a little creepy, when a stranger knows your last name just by looking at you.  It was just part of life to the six of us.  We seemed to share more than just a slight sibling resemblance.  It was more than that.  Actually, way more than that.

We shared rooms.  For a while, it was the pink room with the bunk bed set on McIntyre.  I got to sleep in the trundle, which in hindsight was really a drawer that happened to be about the size of a bed.  Later it was four of us down in the "big room" on Mordecai.  Yes, four.  We shared in Christmas traditions: The Christmas Eve pallet, Advent (B is for Bells, anyone?), matching pajamas and drawing names for Secret Angel.  We all shared in the embarrassment brought by our "Big Red" club wagon, and in the trips it took us on: Junaluska, Gulf Shores, Louisiana, Walmart.  I wouldn't care at all if walls could talk.  All I want to know is what Big Red would have to say.  We shared a love for our extended family; Meme's Sunday lunches, Mamie's Black Friday Bell Ringer tradition, and Big Dad's life-threatening road trips.  And Pid.  Capture the Flag, Kick the Can, the Shopping Center, bike rides, Monster, roller blading, The Swing, Sunday School.  Those things sort of belittle what our relationship with him really was... I just don't know how put the other stuff into words.  All I know is that when it comes to the things we shared, he was one of the most unifying ones.  We shared the grief of losing him and I think we also probably share that pre-thought impulse to pick up the phone and call him when we need advice or have big news.  I know that was one of my first instincts when I found out I was pregnant.   And that was 3 years later.  We shared in the mixture of relief and sadness as each one of us left for college, and in the excitement of each reunion we've had since then.  Now we share in a collective addiction to coffee (FINALLY, we won Austin over),  a hunt for inexpensive plane tickets and a love for a little baby named Sarah Claire.   

I miss my siblings more than I know how to say, and way more than I ever thought I would.  I HATE that we live so far apart, and I always imagine what life would be like if we could all meet for dinner or coffee or a quick run whenever we wanted.  I'm sure there would be plenty of arguments and differences- there always has been, and there always will be- but I would give just about anything to know that we could be there for each other when one of us had a rough day or when one of us had something to celebrate.  My siblings aren't just my siblings anymore.  They are my best friends, and I love them unconditionally.  I mean it when I say that siblings are the best gifts you can give a child; and - at least in our case - the more, the merrier.  

Healthy Competition and Humble Pie

I have a competitive streak in me that won't quit, which is why I have always been surprised by my love for yoga. Yoga is about as non-competitive as a physical activity can be, with all of it's self-acceptance and peaceful inward reflection and all. It's just not possible to be competitive in yoga - at least that's what I thought before last week's class.

So there I was, in downward dog, when suddenly I saw a boy across the room, bending in ways that would make Rodney Yee proud.  We went through a wonderful flow- plank, cobra, child's pose, downward dog, forward fold, lunge.  So far, I'm keeping up.  Gumby (I'm guessing that was his name) is nailing every pose, but so am I.  Tree.  Still keeping up.  Eagle- my favorite.  On one foot, all tangled up, I managed to hold the best Eagle pose of my life.  Beat that, Gumby.  He isn't too bad at Eagle either.  Then our instructor says three terrifying words: "Birds of Paradise." I think they should call a round-table yoga meeting to discuss changing this pose's name to "Vultures of Hades."  It's that bad.  I can't even begin to get into this pose.  I can't manage a full bind- not by a long shot.  I was banking on Gumby having the same handicap, but when I look over at him, there he is, in all-too-perfect form.  He might have smirked.  Probably not, but if he doesn't have a yoga-related flaw, he's got to at least have a personality flaw like arrogance or pride.

Sure, I felt a little defeated as I managed an amateur modification of the pose, and my normally relaxing Savasana was a little less about inner-reflection and more about planning my improvement before next Thursday, but honestly, I should thank him.  I think the only thing that's been missing from my workouts lately has been a little healthy rivalry, and I'd be willing to bet that this competition is all I need to shed these last few pounds of baby weight.

See you next week, Gumbo, and thanks for the motivational push.  You'd better pray that we don't do half-moon.

A Breath of Fresh Air

Finally, after a ridiculously long stretch of cruel and frigid temperatures, it reached 50 degrees in Chattanooga, TN!  Believe me, we took full advantage of this weather.  We walked across the Walnut Street Bridge, stopped at a local bakery, enjoyed a homemade soft pretzel, walked along the Tennessee River and then headed back to the north shore.  A cup of coffee outside of Greenlife Grocery was the perfect way to end our day out of the house.  This kind of a day sounds down-right romantic, but I'll be honest. This was less of a "wouldn't this be fun?" trip and more of one of those do-or-die kind of outings.  

Seriously.  

I was going so stir-crazy that I wasn't sure if I'd survive another day.  I know, I sound like I'm being dramatic, but 1) In the words of one of my sisters, I come from a long line of over-reactors, and 2) I really don't care.  When I decided to be a stay-at-home mom, I wasn't really prepared for how incredibly true the "stay at home" part would be.  Leaving the house with an infant is a lot harder than it sounds.  Between the diapers, wipes, strollers, extra outfit, burp cloths, hooter hider and, in this weather, blankets, the process of leaving the house without Christopher's help isn't easy. If you throw the need to shower in the mix, some days leaving the house just isn't an option at all. Trust me, there is NOTHING that I love more than being with my little girl.  I would gladly sign up for a life-long case of cabin fever if it meant that I could be with her every day, but this winter has turned into a whole lot of togetherness, and let's be honest - too much of a good thing can be... too much. So when I checked today's forecast and then confirmed that Christopher didn't have a job to do this afternoon, I shouted "FREEDOM!" and pulled out the jogging stroller.  Pathetic, I know.  I really don't care.  

Now that we are back home, all worn out and all together, I feel like a different person.  I feel refreshed and like myself again.  Who knew that a little fresh air would be all it took? Today was just what our family needed. I have hope now that Spring might really be right around the corner, and that maybe- just maybe- along with all of the azaleas and camellias, sanity will soon be in full bloom. 

Here is one of the pictures from our day...

Table Talk

Today is the day that we nationally remember Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  I have spent a good bit of this afternoon considering the significance of today; I have thought about the way things used to be, the way things are and the way things should be.  I have thought of Dr. King's courageous fight, his heroic death and the things he begged our nation to recognize.  I've come to the realization today that all of his convictions that he communicated through his poignant speeches were, in part, instructions for parents.  Doesn't it begin with us?

I have to commend my mother.  I always knew that if I said a bad word, that I'd spend a good bit of time without any trace of a social life, and I'd probably get myself a spanking I'd still to this day remember. But what I didn't know - what I never even allowed myself to wonder - was what would happen if I said the "N" word.  I still don't know. I still don't wonder.  It wasn't even in the same category as bad words.  See, saying a "bad" word might mean that we were full of anger, full of rebellion or full of our teenage, know-it-all selves. Saying the "N" word meant that we were full of hate, and that wasn't tolerated.  She taught us that before she taught us to walk. 

I'm 23 years old.  My mom can't chase me with a wooden spoon anymore, and she can't take away any special privileges, but the fear of punishment isn't why I believe what she taught me.  I believe what she taught me because it is inarguably and permanently true. What she taught me every single day of my life was that people are people.  Period.  She was careful about it; she knew that she couldn't exactly make it a non-issue and expect her children to learn from society what it means to respect others.  That'd be a reckless chance to take.  So we talked about it a good bit.  Learning to see people for their character rather than their color was a process that started at our breakfast table. Most lessons that really take root start there. 

So, having a family of my own now begs the question, "what will my daughter take away from our breakfast table?"  I hope that she will take away lessons of gratitude, selflessness, patience and respect.  I hope that she will learn to stand up for people who are being picked on and befriend people that are friendless.  I want her to be kind to people who aren't kind and to never define someone by the color of their skin.  I have to be the one to teach her things things, because if I don't, who will?  And if every parent was committed to teaching these lessons to their children, would our society finally transition from "the way things are" to "the way things should be?"

Double or Nothing

I was out for a run with Sarah Claire in her jogging stroller, and it had been a while since I had hit the pavement.  There has been a 6 inch layer of snow on the ground, so there has been a temporary lull in outdoor exercise.  Today, being that it was my first day back at it, was shamefully tough.  After about a mile (yes, only a mile) I was ready to quit. So I did. (tempted to enter perpetually-exhausted-due-to-baby excuse here.)  I started walking, and about the time that I did, my phone rang.  It was my sister who had just weeks before agreed to make a co-resolution with me towards better health.  Seriously?  How did she time that call?  Needless to say, after we chatted for a minute and ended our phone call, I started running again.  That kind of perfect timing couldn't be ignored, and as it turns out, guilt is a pretty effective personal trainer.  In spite of the cigaret-smoke-blowing girl with a horrifying dye job that nearly ran us over, I made it another mile.  I'm not proud to say that two miles did me in today, but it did, and I'll take it.  Two is better than one!

After realizing how much work I have to do in order to build up to my goal (half marathon in April) I went home and signed my sister and myself up for a local race in February.  If the arctic temperatures return, I might regret my decision, but I'm motivated to shake this baby weight.  The only thing left to do is recruit the other 4 siblings.  Scenic City Charity Challenge, here we come!

Want to run it too? Here's the link!

http://www.active.com/running/chattanooga-tn/scenic-city-half-marathon-5k-and-charity-challenge-2011?cmp=23-2

Checkpoint

It's 7:00 a.m, and my 14 pound, blue-eyed alarm clock goes off.  She's ready to get up for the day.  I get her out of bed. She reaches up, and with one hand she "honks" my nose, and with the other she pinches my cheek.  Hard.  So hard, in fact, that I actually have to check to see if she drew blood with her little baby talons.  So I walk to the mirror, catch a glimpse of myself and stifle a scream.  My hair looks like I licked an outlet. Great.  On my way out of the bedroom, I trip over a pile of laundry and just before we both hit the hardwood floor, I catch myself on the door frame.  Sarah Claire thinks our near-concussion experience is hilarious, and squeals to prove it.  I'm glad someone is enjoying this.

We make it to the kitchen and I see my checkpoint: the coffee pot.  I reach in the cabinet and nearly laugh out loud when the mug I grab says "Best Mom" on it.  It's about the size of a five gallon bucket. Even my hazy, sleep-dprived brain can connect the ironic dots: I'm not sure that the "best mom" would require this kind of caffeinated help.  I do, though, and I fill my mug to the brim.

I put Sarah Claire in her jumperoo and sit down at the table beside her.  I take a few sips of my coffee.  It tastes like Heaven.  I pull my knees up to my chest and  watch her as she squeaks every toy around her.  I have to laugh.  She's so proud of herself.  She looks up at me, blows raspberries and grins.  She stretches her arms up to show me that she wants me to hold her, and I realize something: She doesn't care one bit if my hair makes me look like Dolly Parton and Russell Brand's offspring.  My hair, in fact, is at the bottom of her priority list.  Realizing this makes it drop a few notches on my list too.

I pick her up, and realize that I can't live today again.  I decide just to be thankful that I have a daughter and husband who don't care if I fix my hair or not.  I'm so grateful for that.  That- and my five gallon mug of coffee.

Normal Changes

I am overwhelmed with how much I love being a wife and mother.

I have a feeling that veteran mommas caught the key word in that sentence, but I know that before I had Sarah Claire, I never would have.  Overwhelmed.  

I've learned what that means lately.

I'm overwhelmed when I go to bed at midnight, after starting the 3rd load of laundry for the day, doing the dishes, and checking my email, only to have Sarah Claire wake up for the first time at 12:30.  Then at 2:00.  Then at 3:15.  Then at 5:05.  And she's ready to be up for the day.  

I'm overwhelmed when I put her down for her morning nap and try to make our bed, only to accidentally knock the alarm clock off of the bedside table, and wake her up.  Then the process starts all over.

I'm overwhelmed with guilt when I am all out of patience by the time Christopher gets home from work, and I meet him at the door with Sarah Claire, begging for a moment to eat a snack and sit down for 15 minutes.

I'm overwhelmed when I'm bouncing Sarah Claire to sleep, and she picks her little head up off of my chest, and she looks up at me and just stares at me for a moment, and then she smiles as big as she knows how, and then puts her head back down, as content as only a baby can be.  

I'm overwhelmed. Sometimes it's with guilt.  Sometimes it's with exhaustion.  And sometimes it is with the most intense love I think anyone is capable of feeling.  

I used to think that research papers were overwhelming, especially if I lost sleep over it.  In hind sight, that wasn't so bad. 

I will say that "overwhelmed"is relative.  It's not something unique to motherhood; it's just part of life.  I am sure it's one of those "it makes us who we are" kind of things, and I feel confident that there are dozens of books in the Self Help section at Books-A-Million that are full of coping strategies, but I'm not buying it-  Not the book and not the idea that there is a prescription or a method that works.  It's too complicated for that!

I can't wish the magnitude of motherhood away, and if I could, I wouldn't.  Not in a million years.  As unbelievably difficult as it is some days, it is so, so wonderful.  The day I met Sarah Claire was -so far- the best day of my life, and all of the sleepless nights in the world couldn't make me wish things were different.

It's possible, by the way, to want two conflicting realities at once.   At 1:00 a.m. I can want to be sleeping soundly and want to be wide awake with Sarah Claire at the exact same time.  Accepting the fact that motherhood makes me a walking example of contradictions such as that one has made me feel less crazy.  Or care less that I might just be crazy.

Besides, once you have a baby, "normal" changes.  

Baby Steps

If you've ever had a baby, then you know that it goes without saying that the first few months are tough.  You are faced with challenges of all kinds, but one that seems to be one of the toughest is the adjustment to a postpartum body. Yuck.

Inactivity is not an option for a new mom; there are diapers to change, dishes to wash, a baby to bounce and meals to make. But in spite of (and because of) this constant to-do list that inevitably keeps you on your feet all day, there is not a whole lot of energy left for actual workouts. And even if there was time in the day for such a luxury, there is the ambition factor.  One look in the mirror might send some moms to the gym, but I think I speak for the majority when I say that there is a certain form of discouragement that only a mom could experience when she sees her new body staring back at her in the bathroom mirror. And that discouragement can send her, ironically, right into the sugary, trans-fatty comfort of the ice cream carton.  After all, that will at least offer instant gratification!  But what about the long term goal?

Put on your shoes. Go! Do it now.  I'm not kidding.

Put your baby in the car, and go to the store.  Live in Chattanooga?  GreenLife or Earth Fare are both great stores for this.  Load up on oranges (in season and delicious right now), bananas, grapefruit, and almonds. Carrots and celery and a low fat dip.  As you peruse the aisle, read labels and look for items with the fewest ingredients, and get things that you LIKE to eat, just avoid the things that give you that guilty feeling afterwards.  Grab a dark chocolate bar by the register if you want.  Opt for organic if you can.

Go back home, and prepare these snacks ahead of time.  (If you have a baby carrier, this will be a much easier task!)  Slice the oranges and the veggies.  If portion control is hard for you, use small storage containers to divvy up the crackers or the nuts.  Break the chocolate bar into a few pieces so that you won't eat the whole thing in one sitting.  Just make sure that all of the good stuff you bought is easily accessible.  Manufacturers make things like Oreos easy to eat on the go.  You'll eat more, so you'll buy more.  You have to be intentional to make better options just as easy.

Do you feel better yet? You should.  You've just taken an active step towards losing that baby weight.

Now, look up local races.  Even if you aren't a runner, you can walk them!  The beauty of this is, a jogging stroller lets you take your baby along too.  No more "can't find a babysitter" excuse!  A 2 miler or a 5k is a great place to start.  Need help finding one? Look online.

If you live in Chattanooga, here's a link: http://www.active.com.  There is a half marathon and a 5k coming up in February, and they benefit the community kitchen.

Find a workout buddy.  Plan your meals ahead of time.  Don't have a good cookbook?  Look online. You'll find more recipes than you know what to do with. Make it a family affair- this will make it easier if you all vow to do away with the candy jar!

And most importantly, stop obsessing and worrying about the changes that pregnancy caused.  Stretch marks and new curves are, without a doubt, evidence that you love your child enough to let them leave their mark on your body.  Be in the best health that you can- absolutely do that. But don't be tempted to hate all of the changes that you see.  They really are sweet reminders of the 9 months that you selflessly carried your baby.  It's hard to hate the proof that you did that!

Flip, Flop.

I grew up in flip flops.

The Gulf Coast was home to me for the first 22 years of my life.  I remember going entire winters without ever seeing a thermometer drop below 30, and when summertime rolled around, sunbathing in triple digits was a daily ritual.

So, you can imagine how I felt when I woke up this morning and  looked out of the window and saw 8 feet of snow.  Or maybe it was 8 inches.  Honestly, that's irrelevant.  When you're not even used to flurries, anything more than an inch or two is all the same.

I'm closeting the flip flops.

We've been here a year, and it's taken some time for me to feel like I can put my roots down in Chattanooga. I think that my hesitation had something to do with the fact that the ground - and everything else- was frozen, but over the course of the last year, the weather warmed up and things thawed out a little.  I've really started to like Chattanooga, and even though today's weather is making me feel totally out of my element again, I know that this is just part of the cycle.  The snow is going to melt, and spring will (eventually) get here.

I might not be able to load up the car with towels, sun-tan lotion and a mixed CD (featuring Otis Redding) and head to the beach for the day, but I have a lot to look forward to.

Come to think of it, for the most part I absolutely love it.  I don't have to love it every day to be genuinely happy that we live here.  I can go back and forth on how I feel, depending on the season, and I do.  We'll make it to Mobile again soon, and I'll be able to pull out my flip flops again.

The strange part is, once we get down there, I'm sure I'll miss my snow boots. Go figure.