Here are a few of the things that made me happy this week.

I love laughing until I cry, so Sunday was an especially good day.

On Monday Nicholas made me a very fancy necklace.

I received a Facebook notice on Tuesday. Something about being tagged in a picture. Oh goody, my favorite. I clicked over and found a picture of Mikey and his baseball team, with Mikey looking positively miserable. Full on pouty face with arms crossed! Fabulous. I showed it to him later and asked him what was going on when the coach took the picture. Mikey took one look and winced, then claimed he didn’t know how to smile. I told him I wasn’t buying it. Try again, and this time tell me the truth. Truth? He was trying to look like “a tough guy” in the picture. Looking like a guy with a murder of zombie crows at his disposal his new thing, in case you didn’t notice. So, Mikey was trying to look hard and he ended up looking like someone took his lunch money. Not so happy, happy for him, but the end result is that his toothy grins are back.

:: The price of gas is killing us, but at least on Wednesday I remembered to go to Sam’s Club. They were 20¢ cheaper than the gas station near our house.

:: Thursday was a relaxing day. I spent an hour in the afternoon reading in the family room while Nicholas napped next to me. Then Mikey came home from baseball practice and I marveled at how handsome both my boys look in sky blue.

:: There is a Mother’s Tea at school on Friday, so I’ll be putting on makeup and taking down my ponytail. Maybe I should wear sky blue, too.

:: Saturday is more baseball, and is Sunday Mother’s Day? Oof. That was fast.

We received the pricing for the trip to Rome shortly after Easter. It was eye opening, but I was confident that with hard work and prayer we could make it happen. I took on writing jobs, whittled down the balance on our only credit card, and accepted another sponsored post opportunity shortly after the one that almost killed me. Our Roman holiday seemed like a real possibility, and I was getting excited. I talked about it to anyone who would listen, and even those who wouldn’t. All I needed was the final price to reflect child discounts before turning in our deposits.

The discounts came in, but they weren’t enough. I went over the numbers with a fine-toothed comb and realized that, lifetime opportunity or not, we couldn’t afford the trip. In order to go we would need to pay off our credit card and then charge it back up again to staggering heights. That’s not something we are willing to do.

We tried our best but it didn’t work out. That’s how life goes sometimes. I won’t feel sad about it because our time will come. I’m disappointed, but realistic. It’s a luxury trip, not a personal rejection or a layoff. Perspective, you know? Speaking of which, the fact we even believed this trip possible shows how far we have come from the disaster of the Mister’s layoff in 2009.  How far we have come since just last year! We can finally see a light at the end of the tunnel, and if that isn’t something to be happy, happy about, I don’t know what is.

:: On Saturday we watched both boys play baseball, and for once it was a beautiful day. Hot, even.

:: Sunday brought us more baseball and more heat. Everyone was complaining, but I soaked it up like a lizard. Vitamin D, that’s what I was thinking.

:: Monday brought very good news, indeed. Good enough to take the sting out of yet another baseball game. Also, I was honored at Mikey’s school assembly for the volunteering I’ve done at the school.

:: We didn’t even touch a baseball on Tuesday.

:: Buster snuck out of the house on Wednesday while I was talking to the Mister, who just got home. It wasn’t a big deal because Buster is far too lazy to go more than a few yards without Buddy leading the way. I ended up walking alongside him for all twelve feet of his journey and took some pictures of him playing in the neighbor’s garden.

:: I drove Buddy to a fancy canine ophthalmologist in Upland on Thursday. His left eye is clouded and irritated, and has been since December unless we give him special drops. I had to take him in to rule out a “more aggressive disease state,” which is code for cancer. (If I never hear that word again…) Turns out he is fine, though he will be on drops for the rest of his life. He has, essentially, Old Man Eye. He has Old Man Lung, too, but that’s a different set of medication. My poor Buddy. Twelve is hitting him hard.

:: Today is Friday, a day Nico has been looking forward to all week. A school friend is having a birthday party! I will not know a soul there. I can’t hardly wait.

Saturday and Sunday? More baseball? Get outta here. I’m shocked.

I’m back, and with good news. The procedure I had on Thursday was a surgery and biopsy, the culmination of almost four months of testing, failed medications, and waiting. I received my preliminary reports on Monday, and everything that is but shouldn’t be is benign. I trust those results won’t change in the final report. Whew and hurray!

It’s been a long four months. I’ve been tired, moody, and preoccupied. I haven’t been focused, especially the last couple of weeks, and this whole mess is the real reason behind my Happy, Happy posts. There was a Thursday a while back where everything seemed bleak, so I went through the week day-by-day and looked for good news. I found it, as it often goes when you make the effort to find what you have lost.

Last night I caught Nico dancing while I made dinner. The video was spontaneous and unplanned, so the quality is poor at best. What is excellent is his spirit and personality, the same one teachers call “a ray of sunshine on a dark day.” Nicholas is just a happy kid, despite his introspective parents and older brother, and that makes me happy, happy.

Also excellent:

1. His dance moves, including the finger pointing.
2. The finger pointing!! At the minute mark!!! GAH!!!!
3. If he can’t raise a glass, he’ll raise a stool.
4. The grand finale.

I was going to try to fake it through tomorrow, but it doesn’t look like that will happen. I’m having a small procedure Thursday and while it is not serious (or cosmetic, sadly), I have a few things to prepare around the house before then. The William Morris Project will have to wait, which is a shame because I like what I did this week, even though it is minor and along the lines of my kitchen odds and ends post. I’ll be back on Tuesday, ready to go! No worries. Piece of cake.

This picture doesn’t have anything to do with surgeries, kitchens or organizing. I just like mountainscapes. Actually, I like exactly what I have in real life: mountain ranges that dot large expanses of land. I’ve never been much of a coastal gal. I took this in Bishop off the 395 this past July and decided to put it up today so that when I return on Tuesday, I will have something pretty to greet me.

I started the week determined to make it great. I’m ending it committed to making the next one even better. These are some of the things that made me happy.

:: On Saturday the Mister had the stomach flu, so we stayed home. He slept, I read, and the boys played. All in all, a good day. Probably better for me and the boys than him.

:: Sunday was Easter, and Mikey earned rave reviews for his Easter Mass solo. Then, we got to spend the day with my youngest brother, his wife, and my cherub of a niece, Gabby. Isn’t she adorable? I want to bite her.

:: Thanks for being there on Monday.

:: Tuesday was a relief, though I don’t remember much of it.

:: The boys used their Easter money from their grandparents at Barnes and Noble on Wednesday. Mikey noticed some of the Legos were priced incorrectly, so he (of course) stood in the customer service line to voice his outrage. “Um, yes. Hello! These Legos are $29.95, and these same Legos are $69.95. That doesn’t make any sense. They are the same thing and, you know, they’re made from plastic? $69.95 is a totally ridiculous price for plastic. I hope $29.95 is the right price!” They were, but as Mikey explained to the associate, “Unfortunately, that’s still more than my budget.” I love his confidence.

:: On Thursday Mikey made me a Psalm. I swear, I don’t make this stuff up. This is really how he is. Belinda and I are assuming the fellow on the right is none other than the devil.

:: I’ll be spending Friday enjoying the last day of Easter vacation and looking for an optometrist for Mikey. I think he might need glasses!

:: On Saturday we are doing makeup pictures at Nicholas’s preschool (don’t ask) and on Sunday we are going to church and then trying out a new brunch place with my parents. They are obsessed with brunch.

Two weeks ago Chase offered me the opportunity to write about healthy eating and body image in children. It was an opportunity I accepted gladly. I planned and researched and leaned back in my chair, hands behind head. It’s my thinking position.

I sat there, playing with my ponytail, and realized I would have to discuss my own eating and body image history if I wanted to effectively communicate how important this subject is to me, how much it has impacted my life and informs the decisions I have made feeding my children. I became agitated.

I went to the library and checked out twelve books. I came home and avoided them. I opened the first one two days later and started to sweat. I put it down, picked it up. I struggled to read more than a few pages at time. I rubbed my eyes hard enough to see colors behind my lids.

I discovered that my boys are good eaters despite their mother, that what I thought was right was wrong, or at least not great. I decided I am not equipped to write this post. I told my husband that the last two weeks have been hell, that I don’t know what I’m doing, that looking at old pictures and remembering old memories has been stressful and painful. I didn’t want to publish this post.

He said that is probably why I must.

We’ll see.

I was born on November 30, 1972, a petite 6 lbs. 15oz. We moved to the states six months later. I had my father’s curly hair and large eyes, my mother’s full cheeks and pointy chin. I spoke Spanish, then English. I liked dolls.

At age four my tonsils started to swell. I choked on my food and eventually stopped eating out of fear. There is a picture of me at the beach where I am wearing a red bikini, holding a bucket and smiling wide. I’m brown like the shell of a coconut because I lived outside and in the 7os no one used sunscreen. You can count my ribs, all of them. I looked emaciated and frail; strangers thought I was ill. In the first grade I had my tonsils removed to improve my health and weight. The doctors warned my parents to monitor me as far as food went because I would make up for lost time.

I wore dusty rose to my First Reconciliation in the 4th grade. I felt beautiful. I fingered the satin ribbons but was disappointed my skirt didn’t flair when I turned. The pediatrician that year said I was far too overweight, a victim of my tonsillectomy and poor willpower. I heard that and felt fat for the first time. She had ridged nails that ended in points. I noticed that as she wrote out a diet for me. She wore unflattering polyester shifts in loud florals and rested her clipboard on the second roll of fat below her breasts. I noticed that, too. I was 9. It was 1982.

Telling a mother to put an normal-sized 9 year old on a diet is a fabulous idea. It really produces results, too. Maybe not the results you hoped for, but I promise a change in weight is forthcoming! My mom was upset this dress was tight. She felt like a failure, and I did, too. For many, many years I hated this picture. 1983.

I’m on the far right. I can’t explain what is happening with the top of my head. I could be wearing a hat, I could be experimenting with Aqua Net. I can explain the unfortunate hand position. I spotted the camera and was trying to pull down my shorts to hide my legs, which I hated for being big. Now I know they were strong and muscular, all the better to kick in teeth. That’s what I should have done to the boy who called me an ugly, fat whale around the time of this picture. I found him on Facebook. Not impressed. 1986.

There is no greater injustice than to form your body image at the same age you dress for the trends and not for your figure. Then again, I’m not sure anyone looked svelte wearing high-waisted, acid wash z. cavaricci jean shorts. Too many classmates called me fat/chubby/thick/insert-pejorative-here in a way that was supposed to be funny, but wasn’t. 1987, maybe 1988.

I really wanted to be on the homecoming court my senior year in high school, which boggles the mind since I was so shy and introverted I could count my friends on one hand. I was also hoping to make it into the yearbook for something like “Most Attractive” or “Best Dressed” or “Nicest Girl.” They didn’t have “nicest girl,” but if they did I might have won. I think. Who knows. I went on my second diet to increase my odds on any of the above, but it wasn’t enough. I was at tennis practice when I overheard two team members talking about me. They said it was a shame the guys only voted for skinny girls with good bodies because I had such a pretty face. I was a size 8. 1989.

Shortly after that, I started drinking a Big Gulp of diet coke as my lunch. After school I played competitive tennis, sometimes for two hours a day. I got down to a size 2-4, but still wore an 8, sometimes a 10, because the larger sizes hid my arms and legs. I started getting attention from boys. I hated it. I hated that 20 pounds was all that stood between approval and disdain. That didn’t stop me from dating them, of course. My taste in boys was as questionable as my diet. 1990.

I was back to a 6-8 at my brother’s high school graduation. I worried the entire time about my weight. Some studies show that people who are people pleasing, excessively goal-oriented, obsessive, and/or perfectionists are more likely to suffer from eating disorders or disordered eating. You don’t say. 1993.

By my 23rd birthday, I was up to a size 9/10. I still wore large shirts and jackets–a blazer, here–because I thought it better hid my thighs. The same thighs I would love to have now. 1995.

Not long after that, I met my husband. He’s a rail. Always has been. We met at T.G.I. Fridays; he was a bartender. I went back a few days later with a friend to get her opinion, but before she could see him I nearly collided with him on the way back from the restroom. He was rude. I went back to the table and told my friend it would never work out. I could never date a guy with thighs thinner than mine. It worked out. 1997.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t hide behind purses and museum programs every time we took a picture. I’m not a fan of having my picture taken. It’s why you see so few of them my blog, and they are almost exclusively of my face. 1998.

I gained twenty pounds in one month due to a medical condition. I was devastated. 1999.

I could go on with more pictures, but they become increasingly painful for me to see. I gained more weight, and then more. The white knuckle hold I had on restricting my food slipped. And, like the girl without tonsils, I made up for lost time. Then I restricted, then I didn’t. Then I did.

Up, down. Up, down. Up, barely down. Over time, your body gives up on you.

When I laid out all the pictures last week, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to move to a remote island or hide under the covers. It seemed preposterous that someone with such a warped body image and history of disordered eating should write about healthy eating. I’m not an expert, I’m a cautionary tale.

But I’m also a mother, and a smart one at that. People ask me how I got Mikey to read so much and so well, and I always tell them it’s because I model the behavior. He sees me read and believes it to be fun. I think Nicholas will be the same.

If modelling can teach a love of reading, it can also teach a fear of food. I’m not going to let that happen on my watch.

I’ve tried a few things over the last couple of years to help me learn to approach food as a necessity rather than an enemy. Some have worked, some haven’t. Nothing has worked long term, mainly because I haven’t been consistent. I’ve talked to other women and men in a similar position, and they say it gets easier to find time to handle your issues when your children are in school. I’m counting on that.

In the meantime, there are a few things my research suggests I’m doing right. Turns out, in my own crack-pot way, I’ve been establishing some healthy eating patterns in the boys.

1. I make one meal. What we eat, they eat. There is no short-order cooking to appease multiple tastes. They can eat from what is available at the table, or they do not eat. The choice is theirs.
2. We have a family dinner every night it’s humanly possible. It’s almost always possible.
3. We eat healthy foods, and we eat not so healthy foods. I try not to create labels on food, but it’s hard. I’m working on that one.
4. We don’t force them to clean their plates. When they are done, they are done. The decision is theirs. They don’t get anything else, though, and we remind them of that before they leave the table.
5. We eat a wide variety of food, and I let them help me in the kitchen. The helping takes a back seat during the school year but during school vacations or on the weekend I let them make us breakfast, season our food, etc.

I’ve also learned a few new tricks from Ellyn Satter. Since starting her approach–particularly in regards to scheduled snack times for myself and the boys–I’ve seen both boys graze much less. Also, I’ve stopped worrying about Mikey being too skinny and Nicholas’s sweet tooth. They’re fine.

They’re more than fine.

Organizations

• National Eating Disorders Association
• Proud 2 Be Me
• Overeaters Anonymous

Books on Establishing a Healthy Relationship with Food in Children

• Secrets of Feeding a Healthy Family by Ellyn Satter.
• Your Child’s Weight: Helping without Harming by Ellyn Satter.
• How to Get Your Kid to Eat: But Not Too Much by Ellyn Satter.
• Take the Fight Out of Food: How to Prevent and Solve Your Child’s Eating Problem by Donna Fish.
• Good Girls Don’t Get Fat by Robyn Silverman.

Books for Parents of Children with Eating Disorders or Disordered Eating

• Your Dieting Daughter by Carolyn Costin.
• The Eating Disorders Sourcebook: A Comprehensive Guide to the Causes, Treatments, and Prevention of Eating Disorders by Carolyn Costin.
• 100 Questions & Answers about Eating Disorders by Carolyn Costin.
• Conquering Eating Disorders: How Family Communication Heals by Sue Cooper, PhD and Peggy Norton, RD.

Books on Establishing a Healthy Relationship with Food in Adults

If you believe in a behavioral model

• Intuitive Eating: A Revolutionary Program that Works by Evelyn Tribole.
• When Food is Love by Geneen Roth.
• Breaking Free from Emotional Eating by Geneen Roth.
• Full-Filled by Renee Stephens.
• The Food & Feelings Workbook: A Full Course Meal on Emotional Health by Karen Koenig.
• 50 Ways to Soothe Yourself without Food by Susan Albers.

If you believe in an addictive model

• Food Addiction: The Body Knows by Kay Sheppard.
• From the First Bite by Kay Sheppard.
• The 12 Steps and 12 Traditions of Overeaters Anonymous.
• Food for Thought: Daily Meditations for Overeaters by Elizabeth L.

I started the week determined to make it great. I’m ending it committed to making the next one even better. These are some of the things that made me happy.

Saturday we ate sushi and watched The Hunger Games, just as planned. I thought it was an excellent movie adaptation and in some ways more suited to 12-year-olds than the book.

I spent three hours gardening in perfect weather last Sunday.

Lunch was a delicious salad on Monday. I ate at home, and I ate healthy food. That always makes me happy, happy.

On Tuesday Nicholas drew a picture of The Lorax.

I found signs of spring on Wednesday. Things really got happy after a book series recommendation.

More book recommending goodness on Thursday by one of my very favorite bloggers. Vampires and zombies in quasi literary fiction? I’m dubious, but intrigued. It’s amazing that two fantasy-ish books would strike my fancy. A year ago my eyebrows would have hit my hairline if you told me I would one day willingly read that genre. The idea was so far fetched, I put it on my life list to force me out of my comfort zone. But, ever since starting PIBC, I have been fearless about reading new genres. In fact, I welcome it heartily. This reminds me of something Andrea said to me at Camp Mighty. I told her I helped plan my high school reunion to get out of my comfort zone. Then later we mentioned a book or something, and I said, “Oh, I read that to get out of my comfort zone.” I must have said something along those lines another time because she looked at me and said, “You know, you keep saying your stepping out of your comfort zone, but maybe it’s the comfort zone that no longer fits you.”

It’s Good Friday today. Happy, happy.

And to those who celebrate, happy, happy Easter, too.

I started the week determined to make it great. I’m ending it committed to making the next one even better. These are some of the things that made me happy.

:: On Saturday, I wore a neon dress (with pleats!) to Helena’s 40th birthday luncheon. I was nervous about it, but received several compliments. Also, I had an amazing hair and makeup day.

:: The second the calendar turned Sunday, Nico started in with a croupy cough. We brought him in to sleep with us, and the snuggles were wonderful. The loud, barking cough in my ear that woke me up out of a sound sleep and nearly caused me to fall out of bed in fright…not as wonderful.

:: Mikey found out he will be singing a solo for the Easter Mass on Monday.

:: While running laps during baseball practice on Tuesday, Mikey had his first asthma attack. Until that moment, he’s only wheezed with colds. This was different, and there was much panicking and running around by the parents (and me). We spent three hours in the urgent care and left with a somewhat-clean bill of health. I am so grateful to have good medical insurance and access to quality medical care. We are so blessed.

:: I received an email on Wednesday inviting me to write about eating disorders in children. Yes, please. Sign me up.

:: On Thursday, Mikey had baseball practice again. His pediatrician asked him to try running unmedicated to see if the first asthma attack was a fluke. He ran around the field with his inhaler in his pocket and finished with a grin on his face and a thumb up in the air. Then he jogged to his position at 2nd base and did a little dance-y thing with his feet.

:: It’s Friday!

:: We have plans to see The Hunger Games on Saturday and do a whole lot of nothing, besides church, on Sunday. I can’t wait.

Have a happy, happy weekend! See you Monday for The Book Thief!

On Saturday I got to spend time with my family and the boys had a blast playing with their cousin, Gabby.

We gave day of rest new meaning on Sunday. Bliss.

Last Monday Mikey received the Sacrament of Penance and gave his first confession. The priest tried valiantly to keep a straight face while Mikey spoke earnestly and passionately. There were hand motions, some gesticulating, and a shoulder shrug and head nod to the priest that all but screamed, “You know how it is, Father.” Indeed! Shortly after I took this picture, the priest gave up all pretenses and laughed. I’ve been on the receiving end of Mikey’s rhetoric for 7 years now, and I can assure you the priest didn’t stand a chance at maintaining his composure. When I asked him later what the priest found so funny, Mikey just gave me a look and said, “Mom, you know it’s supposed to be private.” Then he thought about it and, no doubt feeling magnanimous after his religious experience, decided to toss me a bone. “I think he was laughing when I said I like to wrestle with Nico and roll him like a bowling ball.”

I spent Tuesday talking about books with an intelligent group of women. It’s a wonderful feeling to know the people who read your blog are people you would like to hang out with in real life.

On Wednesday no one threw up.

Tiffany called me on Thursday. We spent an hour on the phone talking about The Hunger Games (reading them over the weekend was her idea), the most disturbing things we’ve ever read (mine is a short story by Anton Chekhov), ex-boyfriends, movies, and how catching yourself in the mirror wearing only undergarments can be a bit of a shock if you aren’t prepared.

Friday is girls night! It’s Helena‘s 40th birthday next week, and we’re going to party it up. That prediction assumes a loose definition of the phrase “party it up.”