In a few hours it will turn to 2013.
I hope that 2013 is going to be a big year for us. It's going to be the year I lose 50 pounds. It's going to be the year we get pregnant. Hopefully it will be the year we pay off our debt, too. Maybe it will be a year of new jobs.
I'm going to be using this blog for tracking my weight loss journey. There's probably going to be some partially naked pictures of me here, and I'll apologize for that in advance. But if it will keep me on the right track, I'll do it. My body isn't pretty, but it's what God gave me, and I'm trying to make it better.
I pray that 2012 treated you well, and that 2013 will treat you even better. Blessings to you, friends.
Monday, December 31, 2012
Thursday, May 3, 2012
High School
I've been bantering back and forth with some high school friends on Facebook, and I thought I'd write a little bit about it since it's been a while since I blogged, and I know you're all missing me, anyway. :)
I graduated from high school in 1998. My graduating class had between 80 and 90 kids. Not bad for rural, total small-town Minnesota.
I think of our class has having something like a "caste" system...the popular kids, the kids stuck kind of in the middle, the semi-outcasts, and the generally unpopular. I was one of the semi-outcasts, and I'll tell you why.
My family lived in a small, run-down farmhouse 10 miles from town. My parents never made a lot of money. I never had the "Girbaud" jeans, never had a silk shirt, never had a B.U.M sweatshirt, or E.N.U.F t-shirt. I had elastic-waisted jeans and I sometimes had to wear the same shirt twice in one week, because we couldn't afford for me to have a "wardrobe."
My little group was pretty close. We'd meet in the hallway in the morning and between classes to chat, passing notes, and spending time on the phone in the evening. I know the other groups were close, too, probably doing many of the same things that my bunch did.
Now that I'm an adult, and I've experience a whole lot more, I get it. Most of the popular kids, and a major portion of kids in the "stuck in the middle" bunch, I really couldn't care less about. They haven't grown up, gotten some normal-people priorities, or are still just way too good for me. We have absolutely nothing in common. I wish them well, but I don't want to waste my time or energy thinking about them, or caring. In fact, as soon as I'm done with this, those people are getting trimmed from my "friends" list on Facebook.
I keep in contact with the people I want to keep in contact with, even if it isn't as frequent as we'd like. I think of my high school friends, and pray for them often. These friends are the ones that helped mold me into who I am as an adult, and I am forever grateful for that.
At any rate, there is life after high school...SO much life, and it's so much better than I ever imagined. I am glad I never have to go back there, and I'm so excited to go FORWARD.
My high school friends...the REAL ones...know how very much I love you from afar.
I graduated from high school in 1998. My graduating class had between 80 and 90 kids. Not bad for rural, total small-town Minnesota.
I think of our class has having something like a "caste" system...the popular kids, the kids stuck kind of in the middle, the semi-outcasts, and the generally unpopular. I was one of the semi-outcasts, and I'll tell you why.
My family lived in a small, run-down farmhouse 10 miles from town. My parents never made a lot of money. I never had the "Girbaud" jeans, never had a silk shirt, never had a B.U.M sweatshirt, or E.N.U.F t-shirt. I had elastic-waisted jeans and I sometimes had to wear the same shirt twice in one week, because we couldn't afford for me to have a "wardrobe."
My little group was pretty close. We'd meet in the hallway in the morning and between classes to chat, passing notes, and spending time on the phone in the evening. I know the other groups were close, too, probably doing many of the same things that my bunch did.
Now that I'm an adult, and I've experience a whole lot more, I get it. Most of the popular kids, and a major portion of kids in the "stuck in the middle" bunch, I really couldn't care less about. They haven't grown up, gotten some normal-people priorities, or are still just way too good for me. We have absolutely nothing in common. I wish them well, but I don't want to waste my time or energy thinking about them, or caring. In fact, as soon as I'm done with this, those people are getting trimmed from my "friends" list on Facebook.
I keep in contact with the people I want to keep in contact with, even if it isn't as frequent as we'd like. I think of my high school friends, and pray for them often. These friends are the ones that helped mold me into who I am as an adult, and I am forever grateful for that.
At any rate, there is life after high school...SO much life, and it's so much better than I ever imagined. I am glad I never have to go back there, and I'm so excited to go FORWARD.
My high school friends...the REAL ones...know how very much I love you from afar.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Get Outta My Head...
And into my car.
I have so many good memories with vehicles. So many good childhood (and adult) memories revolve around rides in cars. I remember my dad's "Babe the Blue Ox" old Ford truck that had an 8-track player and we listened to Kenny Rogers' "Coward of the County" over and over and over.
And I remember the old beige and brown Chevy with the wood bottom in the box. It started on fire one time on Highway 29, and my uncle had to run down to the river to get a bucket of water to put it out...
We hauled cows and hay and ginormous Christmas trees that covered the windshield so much Dad had to hang his head out the window to see his way from Dale's to Grandma and Grandpa's. I remember when my dad backed that truck into a roll of wire on the farm and drove all the way home on Highway 29 with sparks flying behind him.
Oh...and then the day when dad bought the cursed "new" blue Ford. It was automatic, so I could drive it! We took it on vacation up north, and I thought I could surely handle backing the boat trailer back so I could drive it around the lake to pick dad up at the access. Unfortunately I was wrong. I practiced in front of Grandma and Grandpa's cabin, trying to weasel that trailer in between a tree and a stump. I hit the stump, and I remember Grandma hollering at me for it. I told my dad...and he just laughed. I've never been able to learn how to back a trailer. Maybe my husband could teach me.
My driver's license...the freedom that afforded me. My parents bought an Oldsmobile, so I got to drive our '87 Ford Crown Victoria. I felt like a queen in that limo. I wonder what happened to it...
After the Crown Vic, I inherited the Oldsmobile, which I took to college. I put so many miles on that car. My dad was sick at the time, and I was back and forth from Morris to Frazee every weekend, and I remember driving from Frazee to Rochester to Frazee again in one day...twelve hours of drive time.
After Dad died, Grandpa bought the cursed blue Ford, and since the Olds was about done with, I took the money from the Ford and the Olds trade-in and bought a year-old Chevy Cavalier. I drove it for six months before I totalled it and broke my humerus in the process, which led to six months of physical pain and deep, dark, pit-like depression.
And then...the Grand Prix. I bought my '96 Grand Prix in 2000 when I was ready to head back to work after that car accident. I lived at my aunt and uncle's in Hawley and drove it back and forth to Fargo every day. That fall I drove it to college in St. Paul. I drove it to the gas station on 9-11 because everyone thought gas was going to be $5 a gallon and I was concerned I wasn't going to be able to get home for Christmas. I drove my car to East St. Paul to work at JOY Preschool, where I found out how much I adored children, and decided to teach. From Concordia I drove back to Detroit Lakes for my grandfather's funeral, my uncle's funeral, and one of my church kid's funerals. I drove that car the day I met my husband. I drove that car to meet his family. I drove that car all over the Cities with my college friends packed into it.
I drove the Grand Prix to Fargo the day I graduated from college and got my first apartment. I watched Ryan pull my car behind the U-Haul when we moved to Las Vegas for our first teaching jobs. After that year, I drove that car around Austin, Minnesota for a year. I drove that car the day Ryan proposed to me, and I drove it the day I was blessed enough to marry him. I watched Ryan pull that car to Wyoming when we moved here.
And then, after all of that, I decided it was time for another one. I was worried about the Wyoming winters, and I was afraid my trusty Grand Prix wasn't going to cut it anymore.
So we bought our Equinox. We had it for about six months. I drove it back and forth to work, and Ryan drove it to Minnesota in October of 2006 to help me say goodbye to my William Dean. We drove it that winter, and drove again from Wyoming to Minnesota during our spring break, hitting a deer in southwestern North Dakota in the middle of the night. During our trip, we traded it in for our Chrysler Pacifica that we have now. We thought we'd gotten such a good deal...we drove a LONG time before we had to fill up, thought we were getting great gas mileage. And then...then we found out it had a HUGE gas tank.
The Chrysler has been with us through a lot, too. It gets me back and forth to work every day, and helps us do our paper route on Friday nights. It's driven me back and forth to about a bazillion doctor's appointments. It's driven me back and forth to the doctor's here in town, trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth to Salt Lake, through numerous attempts at trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth from Minnesota. I was driving home from Minnesota the day the I-35 bridge collapsed. I remember crying for an hour, barely able to see through the tears, hoping that my friends weren't on the bridge. So many tears have been cried in that car over unfulfilled hopes and dreams. I hope this summer I get to cry happy tears in that car--good news.
There's also Ryan's black Lumina. He's had that car since we met. It's now sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for us to decide what to do with it, as the engine is about to go. We made out in that car. That car drove us from the church to our hotel on our wedding night. It's driven me back and forth to work, and Ryan back and forth to work. It's taken us from Las Vegas to Minnesota, and pulled motorcycles across the country.
Sometimes I feel like my life runs on four wheels. I remember every car I've ever had, and ever car my parents have ever had (maybe...I barely remember the Valares. Yes...there were two.). I hope that we get to fill the Chrysler with car seats, bread crumbs, and spills. And giggles and happy squeals. And I hope the people I've ridden with never forget how much I love them, and how blessed I feel to have them in my life.
I have so many good memories with vehicles. So many good childhood (and adult) memories revolve around rides in cars. I remember my dad's "Babe the Blue Ox" old Ford truck that had an 8-track player and we listened to Kenny Rogers' "Coward of the County" over and over and over.
And I remember the old beige and brown Chevy with the wood bottom in the box. It started on fire one time on Highway 29, and my uncle had to run down to the river to get a bucket of water to put it out...
We hauled cows and hay and ginormous Christmas trees that covered the windshield so much Dad had to hang his head out the window to see his way from Dale's to Grandma and Grandpa's. I remember when my dad backed that truck into a roll of wire on the farm and drove all the way home on Highway 29 with sparks flying behind him.
Oh...and then the day when dad bought the cursed "new" blue Ford. It was automatic, so I could drive it! We took it on vacation up north, and I thought I could surely handle backing the boat trailer back so I could drive it around the lake to pick dad up at the access. Unfortunately I was wrong. I practiced in front of Grandma and Grandpa's cabin, trying to weasel that trailer in between a tree and a stump. I hit the stump, and I remember Grandma hollering at me for it. I told my dad...and he just laughed. I've never been able to learn how to back a trailer. Maybe my husband could teach me.
My driver's license...the freedom that afforded me. My parents bought an Oldsmobile, so I got to drive our '87 Ford Crown Victoria. I felt like a queen in that limo. I wonder what happened to it...
After the Crown Vic, I inherited the Oldsmobile, which I took to college. I put so many miles on that car. My dad was sick at the time, and I was back and forth from Morris to Frazee every weekend, and I remember driving from Frazee to Rochester to Frazee again in one day...twelve hours of drive time.
After Dad died, Grandpa bought the cursed blue Ford, and since the Olds was about done with, I took the money from the Ford and the Olds trade-in and bought a year-old Chevy Cavalier. I drove it for six months before I totalled it and broke my humerus in the process, which led to six months of physical pain and deep, dark, pit-like depression.
And then...the Grand Prix. I bought my '96 Grand Prix in 2000 when I was ready to head back to work after that car accident. I lived at my aunt and uncle's in Hawley and drove it back and forth to Fargo every day. That fall I drove it to college in St. Paul. I drove it to the gas station on 9-11 because everyone thought gas was going to be $5 a gallon and I was concerned I wasn't going to be able to get home for Christmas. I drove my car to East St. Paul to work at JOY Preschool, where I found out how much I adored children, and decided to teach. From Concordia I drove back to Detroit Lakes for my grandfather's funeral, my uncle's funeral, and one of my church kid's funerals. I drove that car the day I met my husband. I drove that car to meet his family. I drove that car all over the Cities with my college friends packed into it.
I drove the Grand Prix to Fargo the day I graduated from college and got my first apartment. I watched Ryan pull my car behind the U-Haul when we moved to Las Vegas for our first teaching jobs. After that year, I drove that car around Austin, Minnesota for a year. I drove that car the day Ryan proposed to me, and I drove it the day I was blessed enough to marry him. I watched Ryan pull that car to Wyoming when we moved here.
And then, after all of that, I decided it was time for another one. I was worried about the Wyoming winters, and I was afraid my trusty Grand Prix wasn't going to cut it anymore.
So we bought our Equinox. We had it for about six months. I drove it back and forth to work, and Ryan drove it to Minnesota in October of 2006 to help me say goodbye to my William Dean. We drove it that winter, and drove again from Wyoming to Minnesota during our spring break, hitting a deer in southwestern North Dakota in the middle of the night. During our trip, we traded it in for our Chrysler Pacifica that we have now. We thought we'd gotten such a good deal...we drove a LONG time before we had to fill up, thought we were getting great gas mileage. And then...then we found out it had a HUGE gas tank.
The Chrysler has been with us through a lot, too. It gets me back and forth to work every day, and helps us do our paper route on Friday nights. It's driven me back and forth to about a bazillion doctor's appointments. It's driven me back and forth to the doctor's here in town, trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth to Salt Lake, through numerous attempts at trying to have a baby. It's driven me back and forth from Minnesota. I was driving home from Minnesota the day the I-35 bridge collapsed. I remember crying for an hour, barely able to see through the tears, hoping that my friends weren't on the bridge. So many tears have been cried in that car over unfulfilled hopes and dreams. I hope this summer I get to cry happy tears in that car--good news.
There's also Ryan's black Lumina. He's had that car since we met. It's now sitting out in the parking lot, waiting for us to decide what to do with it, as the engine is about to go. We made out in that car. That car drove us from the church to our hotel on our wedding night. It's driven me back and forth to work, and Ryan back and forth to work. It's taken us from Las Vegas to Minnesota, and pulled motorcycles across the country.
Sometimes I feel like my life runs on four wheels. I remember every car I've ever had, and ever car my parents have ever had (maybe...I barely remember the Valares. Yes...there were two.). I hope that we get to fill the Chrysler with car seats, bread crumbs, and spills. And giggles and happy squeals. And I hope the people I've ridden with never forget how much I love them, and how blessed I feel to have them in my life.
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