Why is This?

Anenigma�s entry today really touched me. Especially because she so honestly and clearly wrote what I feel on most days.

Why is it that being between an 8 and 10 isn�t good enough? Why do I get up every morning and weigh myself to make sure that pound I lost last week is not creeping back up on me? Why am I constantly looking at my collarbone and feeling on my hipbones to make sure they poke out enough?

Where do we get these unrealistic ideas about our bodies and what they think looks good?

Often times I think about how scary it will be raising a little girl, and even Peyton, so they have healthy self images and self confidence in themselves as people, rather than objects.

This fear especially hits me when I read the diaries of young women who suffer from a diagnosed eating disorder, who starve themselves till they are unable to function or throw up till their throats are raw and stomachs are empty.

Why is 100 pounds too much for them to handle and how can we break through the distortion to show them what beautiful people they are?

It breaks my heart and I pray every night that my children will not suffer from this illness.

On another depressing note. . .

We had dinner with The Family last night. I honestly don�t think I have met a whole group of people more miserable than The Family.

They all don�t like one aunt, but because she takes care of the grandmother they have to tolerate her. But every time we get together, they bitch at each other and get mad about stupid stuff. It�s like they look for ways to bicker.

They are truly those people you hear about that aren�t happy unless they are complaining.

I really need to find somewhere else for Peyton to go during the day because I don�t want him being under the blanket of negativity all the time.

Plus, they hold money over everyone�s head. It�s all about The Will this and The Will that. Be nice to Grandmother or she�ll take you out of The Will.

Fuck The Will.

I didn�t grow up with money and I sure as shit don�t need your money now. Larry and I make enough money to care for Peyton and us.

We don�t need your fucking money.

They also keep a record of all the gifts that they give people. How sick is that? I give someone a gift because I want to, not because they kiss my ass.

Case and point. One year for Larry�s birthday, they gave him a new TV. We were living together at the time, but not married. It was for his birthday.

He thanked them several times for it. I didn�t call because it was for his birthday. Plus, I feel that he speaks for me and I speak for him in that regard.

Larry�s birthday is in October. Mine is in April.

When it was time for my birthday, they didn�t get me anything because I didn�t call them back in October to thank them for Larry�s gift.

Good grief, it exhausts me just thinking about them.

So I�ll end now.

Pashaw!

I hate when mashed potatoes are plopped on your plate by an ice cream scoop.

There�s just something about that little ball of potatoes that creeps me the fuck out.