Dec
13
Posted by Kym
Mostly this ole blog of mine is about shameless self-promotion, but as that tends to annoy people after a couple hundred posts, I like to be magnanimous every once in awhile and draw your attention to other fabulous people.
Now, I’m not a great fan of nepotism in general, but hey…family is family. Besides which, the gal I’m about to promote has some incredible skills. Quite frankly, she boggles my mind a bit. For a wee little one time fee, she’ll take your mundane photo and transform it into something awe inspiring.
So please take a peek at Jaded Photography and welcome my sister-in-law Naomi to the world of blogging - even if it’s just business blogging rather than the high and mighty whingeing and whining personal blogging I do over here.
Happy weekend everyone!
p.s. There was a small technical glitch at Jaded Photography today that made it impossible to see her portfolio. Oops? Problem is fixed and please do take a peek. Not that I’m begging or anything. I’m far too cool for that. Cheers!
Dec
12
Posted by Kym
But, you know, in a good way. In the proud mummy grinning from ear to ear because her little darlings have it so much more together than everybody else’s. Some people become parents for the love and all that good stuff. I did it for the bragging rights.
Anyway, this is a pretty common dinnertime conversation at Casa de VanderHorst…
Neil: Emma, please eat some of your noodles. You’ve had enough cucumber.
Emma: [in her I'm-cute-and-therefore-you-ought-to-adore-me voice] But my don’t like noodles!
Me: Good grief (because I dig bald guys, Charlie Brown included apparently), Emma, if all you eat is vegetables you’re going to have enough gas to rocket yourself to the moon.
Emma: [giggling and making fake farting sounds and saying in a sing-songy voice] My going to go to the moooooon, ’cause my’s got a tooty buuuummmm!
Neil: Nice one, Kim. That really helps with the getting her to eat her noodles issue.
Me: [giggling right along with Emma, being mature and all that]
Becca: [randomly shouting] Noodles! Noodles! [while munching on a carrot stick]
What’d I tell you? Total freaks. All my life I’ve heard parents whining about getting their kids to eat their vegetables and what a chore it is. Heck, you should’ve heard my parents whine about it. Granted they had cause because my siblings and I treated the vegetables served to us like they’d been dipped in radioactive waste or something. I had a good laugh a few months ago when my mom gave me the book Deceptively Delicious for my birthday. Like I need help sneaking veggies into their food. Maybe I’ll use it the opposite way it’s intended and say things like, “Look! These pancakes have got carrots in them! You love carrots! Ooo…and look…sweet potatoes…that happen to be in a muffin…mmm…sweet potatoes!”
Yeah, I’ll give the book a try mum, but no promises.
That’s the problem with being smart enough not to complain that you can’t get your kids to eat anything other than fruit and vegetables. People? Don’t have a clue. We used to entertain a lot before we had kids but we don’t dare now. There’d be a lynch mob outside our door full of angry, envious parents hucking half rotten produce at our house if we did. And I’ll peek out the window of course and yell “Neener neener neener!” at them.
Right, apparently my house is somewhere I need to get out of. Too much time living in the headspace of my two and four year old little girls. Ow. I think I just felt myself de-evolve a little bit. Ow. Higher brain processes rapidly deteriorating…
So, back to the my kids being freaks thing. You see, they’re all about the fruit&veg. Me? Not so much. You can talk about nature vs. nurture all you like but that fact is that my kids make no sense. They were born liking foods I detest (Emma adores pickles - seriously, I considered blood tests after that), and refuse to eat what I love.
The alien body snatcher theory that Neil has suggested is not without merit…
I am all about the sweet stuff. Fruit and veggies while okay, don’t really do it for me. I’m working at it in a one at a time sort of way. I manage an apple every day or so, baby carrots, a little steamed broccoli. Still, they don’t figure hugely into my day. And as for the more exotic ones? Asparagus and squash and eggplant and other veggies that smell like something that died…a long time ago.
Blech.
I’m getting the water drinking thing down. A gallon a day. So there. Got that pegged. I figure eating my vegetables is one of the next possible steps but I find myself making the same I-just-bit-into-a-grapefruit-and-I’m-trying-not-to-spew face I made when I was a kid.
Sugesstions? I am so without ideas here.
Err…wait…maybe I should use the recipes in that cookbook on me instead of the kids…
Dec
11
Posted by Kym
It’s about time I started contributing something at least mildly useful to the bloggy world so I thought I’d start a list of Weight Loss Tips since I’m attempting to be health conscious prior to the holidays. My mum made hand dipped chocolates this year. Heaven help me.
Disclaimer: The vapid meandering thought processes of Kimberly VanderHorst should not be used in place of proper medical advice. She abdicates all responsibility for any potential unpleasant side effects of taking her advice, making no exclusions for death, accidental decapatation, funny smells or rashes, or losing a huge amount of weight and having the awful burden of having to purchase a new wardrobe.
1) Water. 8 cups a day is the bare minimum. Up the water intake and wash those pounds away. Yes, you’ll have to pee every 2.9 seconds for the first week or two, but your bladder will catch on eventually.
2) Stop eating 2-3 hours before bedtime. First week is hard but it’s pretty easy after that. I’ve no earthly idea why this works, but it does. When I’m “being good” I have a small treat after dinner then brush my teeth and eat nothing else the remainder of the evening. Teeth brushing helps me. Immensely. I’m lazy and I don’t like going through the effort of doing it twice.
3) Use your laziness to help you. If you must have junk, stash it somewhere inconvenient like the trunk of the car, the bedroom closet of a sleeping child, a locked box in the garden shed. Make it hard to be bad.
4) Eat regularly. As in every 2-3 hours kind of regularly. The three big meals a day mentality seriously sabotages our health. If your body knows there is a regular, consistent supply coming in, it won’t hoard the fat so much. You can actually gain weight from skipping meals or eating too little in general for this reason.
5) Weigh in daily. I know there are people out there who say this is a bad thing, but it helps me stay on track. It’s the times when I avoid making eye contact with the scale that I get the most off balance.
6) Move. Turn up the tunes and dance. Wiggle your bum while you mop. Park freakishly far from the grocery store entrance. Do whatever you can to add little bits of activity to your day. Actual exercising? Fabulous. Getting in the habit of having an active lifestyle where you move about lots, climb stairs, don’t stay sitting for long stretches? All the better.
7) Look at yourself in the mirror. And be nice. Remind yourself why you’re doing this. That fat in your tummy area? So dangerous to your health. It’s good to love yourself. It’s even better to love yourself enough to treat yourself well. Remind yourself of that fact. Daily.
8) Don’t eat it if you don’t enjoy it. If you’re going to eat junk, eat good junk but less of it. Savor it. Let the high quality chocolate melt slowly in your mouth. Slow your eating down in general. It can take up to 20 minutes for your brain to receive the message from your stomach that you’re full. Give it time.
9) Enjoy your body as it is. Make sure you have an outfit or two that fit you well as you are now. Don’t keep looking at your “skinny clothes” wistfully. Find something that makes you feel good now, in this moment. Your baggy old sweatpants might not be tight on you, but they probably make you feel like crap.
10) Feeling like crap is not an option. This isn’t about punishing yourself for getting fat. This isn’t about beating on yourself till you get to where you “should” be. This is about treating yourself right. You are amazing already, and you have the potential to be even more so. Take that leap. Treat yourself as if you’re already who you want to be, and the end result might surprise you.
Dec
10
Posted by Kym
Emma: [walks up to me as I'm wiping down the dining room table, because yes, I do that sometimes] Has you seen me before?
Me: Um…yes, you’re my daughter.
Emma: [solemnly shakes her head]
Me: Hmm…well, you do look different. What’s that on your head?
Emma: [Fingers the edges of the blue flowered beanbag on her head] My hair!
Me: I see. Blue hair with flowers in it. Very pretty. What’s your name?
Emma: Umm…Dala!
Me: What a pretty name! Where are you from Dala?
Emma: Mexico.
Me: [trying not to grin too big] Mexico, eh? What’s it like there?
Emma: It’s got the sharp things. These liiiiittle sharp things. Cactus.
Me: Is that why you came here? To get away from the cactus?
Emma: Umm…yeah. And Mexico, it’s just…gone!
Me: Gone! What happened?
Emma: It got vacuumed up. [stretches her arms out wide] By a great big vacuum!
Me: Wow! How did that happen?
Emma: It got stolen! By ninjas! And I was sucked up in a great big vacuum and then I was all gone!
Me: Then how did you get here?
Emma: From far, far, far, far, far away! [gesticulating wildly]
Me: Well, welcome to Canada, Dala.
Emma: I have to go. I have to go find Mexico.
I have the best job ever.
It’s a struggle though, not to suggest elaborations on her stories, to just let her imagination roam free. Neil and I have started making up stories with her before she goes to bed each night. We read books during the day, being a household of bibliophiles like we are, but just before bed we tickle her imagination. We pause at times in our story and let her supply the dialogue or a new plot twist. She giggles and guffaws over our concocted tales and I love how every night she goes to bed smiling.
And today as I listened to her create a wild story out of thin air, I could hardly contain my joy. How blessed parents are, to be able to see the effects of their hard work and nurturing come so quickly to fruition. Whether my influence on my children is bad or good in a given moment, it isn’t long before I see a change in them. Harsh words often lead to attention seeking. Gentle words and effusive praise yield sweetness and an eagerness to please. Not without exception, of course, but so often our children teach us the worth of ourselves.
When Neil returns home in the evenings, the girls leap up at the first sound of the door opening. They drop their toys and run like mad till they are in his arms, hugging, kissing, babbling away about whatever is on their mind. The long hours, the worrying, the messes, are such small things in the face of that kind of love.
Recently I’ve had cause to examine myself afresh, attempting to confront my need for approval. What my darling girls are teaching me is that theirs is ever so much more than enough. I see the glow of it in their eyes. In the way they run and leap into my arms. The way they follow me about, wanting to be near me, interacting with and learning from me.
What is the approval of the world at large when compared with that?
Dec
09
Posted by Kym
…how it felt to run down the stairs, jump the last few steps, and land…without jiggling in uncomfortable ways.
…being able to walk without my knees groaning in protest.
…stepping into a public bathroom stall without having to employ contortionist like movements.
…fitting into the seat of an airplane without my hips being pinched.
…being able to wear button up shirts without flashing anyone.
…not being afraid to get dressed in the morning.
But I also remember being ashamed to look in the mirror. Hating my body. Feeling worthless. I remember slouching around hoping no one would notice me. Wishing at times that the earth would just swallow me up so I didn’t have to hurt anymore. I was always hurting. Always going over and over in my head all the evidence I had compiled of my own idiocy.
In many ways, I’m happier as a plumper version of myself. I’m older now. I’ve had a lot of life experiences which have taught me a lot of things. Like how size is no predictor of happiness. And that my favourite people to spend time with aren’t necessarily slender fashion model types. I’ve learned there are things that matter more and some of those things? I’ve totally got going on.
I’ve got a wicked sense of humor. I’m quirky and weird. I make damn good cookies. My kids love me, and Neil is pretty fond of me as well. I keep a nice home. I’m a fabulous hostess. I can sing and play piano and while I can’t dance, I dance with my whole heart. I care about people so much it hurts sometimes, and I love that about myself.
Somehow the fact that I’m not the dress size I want to be just isn’t important in the face of all this.
I’ve been going about this backwards. So many people have told me that. So many books. But I scoffed about it behind their backs a bit. Love myself first? Pish. I’m going to make myself into someone I CAN love…that’s what this is all about right?
Wrong. So wrong.
I remember being skinny. And I remember being miserable.
I remember losing forty-five pounds to get to where I am now. And it wasn’t the sight in the mirror or the smaller number on the labels of my clothes that made me happy. It was the incredibly indescribable feeling of accomplishment. Of having decided to do something and having done it. Having fought off the laziness and apathy that all too often dominate my life.
I’m going to keep fighting. Lately, despondency and despair seem determined to knock on my door. I crack it open and consider them. Feel them slip in and begin to overwhelm me. I’m not giving in to that this time. I’m slamming that metaphorical door. So much seems to be conspiring right now to convince me that it’s not worth the battle. But I will not be persuaded.
I’m striving for clarity here and that teaches me, reminds me, how good it can feel to fight.
Dec
04
Posted by Kym
It seems a bit cruel to leave my last post up for such a long stretch. No follow up. No details or explanations. Truth is that I, who am usually overflowing with annoying amounts of wordiness, just can’t find the words.
Ah, sweet irony. How you tickle the senses. Make us groan and giggle all in one go.
I sit at the keyboard lately and wonder why I’m here. What am I for? What is the end result of the hours and hours of time put here, and taken from…there. From everywhere else. You see, moderation just isn’t something I do. Neither is scheduling, though my yearning-to-be-organized brain thrills at the thought of it. I’m a groove wearer. A stuck-in-a-rut-er. A one track mind that keeps changing tracks.
And I really, desperately, want to change that about myself.
What I’m coming to realize is that the answer to my many confusions can’t be found by a google search, or stumbled across on the blog of an acquaintance or even that of a dear friend. There are insights galore, and so much wisdom to be had. I see it offered up like gifts in the comments on my last post, but they just slide through my fingers.
The only insight that can change me is one of my own. That sounds arrogant. Trite. But I need an epiphany, and those only happen in the inside of one’s head. Lucky for me, I’ve given you all a key.
The support, advice, and love of all of you have sort of condensed themselves in my brain, and I guess I need time to make sense of it all. To make sense of myself. Not that I’m going to do that between one blog post and another. It’s a life long sort of thing. And I’m not going to run away from the blogging world as if that’s the solution or the access to it. I think that’s where I go wrong sometimes. Always with the running. That’s me. Run. Hide. Deny.
I can’t deny things when I’m sitting here writing. It pours out and the backspace key seems limited to typos only. I can only be honest here, and perhaps that is why the urge to flee is so, so strong. I’m worried that I’ll face something I’m not ready for. I’m worried I’ll say something that will hurt someone. Offend. Alienate.
I spent so much of my life trying to be invisible, and I feel so vulnerable now. That’s the thing about hiding. You don’t step on any toes. You don’t make someone feel crummy because it’s taken you a month to find the brain power to answer the lovely email they sent you.
I crave a nervous breakdown so I can have an excuse. So I can shout, “It’s all too much!” and people will be gentle and understanding with me. Truth is, it isn’t too much at all. I’m a heck of a lot stronger than I once was. I have the time to do what I want to/need to/ought to. I just…don’t.
And I’m not sure why.
There’s so much I’m fighting against now, but it can all be summed up in one word. Me. I’m the one in my way. I’m the one creating the confusion and giving into the fear of confronting it. I’m the one who seeks mindless activities to fill my time and mind so I don’t have to deal with anything real. So I don’t have to write that important email, or leave a truly heartfelt comment on a blog. I’m the one shuffling music around on my playlist to escape my house and all the things I want to do and CAN do, but choose not to.
I’m the one.
That’s the ultimate truth of it all really. That’s the nasty secret I’ve been trying to hide from myself. This, is what being a grown up is, I think. It’s seeing that truth for what it is. And accepting it. Sadly, I’m only halfway there.
No, I’m not going to run. I’m not going to go on sabattical and pretend that giving up writing here will fix everything. Blogging is not the problem.
It’s the scapegoat.
Dec
03
Posted by Kym
It began as an ache. I thought at first it was centred in the pit of my stomach but it radiated out, fluttered here there and everywhere till I was consumed by the yearning. The need. It was a vauge sensation at the start, but grew in intensity till it overwhelmed all other considerations.
I heard whispers in the night.
You knew how best to tempt me. Somehow, somewhen, you were granted access to my thoughts, and crept in there all insidious like. Soon, there was no loosening the grip you had on me. You wanted all and I gave all. Gladly. I was so eager to win you over. As if I could make you need me as much as I needed you. Did you laugh at my pathetic efforts to matter to you?
Resentment crept in and then you grew angry. So very angry. Gentle yearnings no more. The ache, the need, became painful. I felt lost whenever I was parted from you. Drifting. Aching. Hurting. I felt I was not myself unless paired with you, that was how much you had absorbed me. Resentment was quickly squashed. I needed you too badly. I should be grateful for you.
I found myself counting the blessings of you. All that you had given me. You taught me so much about who I am and who I can be. And yet, in your grip, the sight of that potential is a torture. I cannot achieve it with you here, dominating my thoughts. There is an irony to that. Was it sweet to you? Did you smile?
There was so much joy in you. You taught me how to be myself, even as you ate away at my independence. You gifted me with friendships. A solidarity with others who were or had been under your sway. We bonded, and your grip on me became all the tighter. To break free of you was to break free of them, and even when I loathed you I loved them too much to wish it. I was yours then. Wholly. Entirely.
And then I found my hatred of you focused on myself. I hated all that I was not achieving. Hated feeling bound to you. My self-respect lay shredded on the floor. Thin ribbons made of what once brought me joy. I clung to you even as feelings of revulsion washed over me. I sought out new ways to spend time with you, even as I plotted my escape. Such vain plotting. I gave into despair. Knew there was no escape.
I type this now, carried high by a wave of apathy. And I wonder…can I do it? Can I press the button? I smile wryly to myself, wondering could it be so very simple? A simple button pushed and one of the strings you dance me about with may be severed. An account deleted…there goes another string.
I have forgotten what it feels like to dance on my own, so long I’ve been your puppet. Your screen flickers at me and my smile curves deeper. You are afraid now. I can sense it. Your hold is weakening.
I think I am strong enough now, and I laugh, because it is you who have made me strong. You have given me the friends who gave me the confidence I need to defeat you. To disentangle myself from your mouse and keyboard.
A few last clicks. And then, I will be free. Puppet no more.
Oh how I yearn to dance.
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