blah blah blah house, blah blah fucking boxes! blah blah underwear???? etc.
Open House for old house tomorrow! SELL MOTHERFUCKER SELL!
on flickr

daddy’s hair as handle

I am not even sure I have the balls to write everything I want to in this post. In March I was asked to be on a BlogHer panel, called Who We Are: “Coming Out” via Blog. It is about revealing personal issues and struggles on your blog. Here is where I tell you that I haven’t been coming out very much on the old blog lately. This has happened often since I started the blog. So much gets brushed under the rug, that I can’t keep the lip on the pot that is boiling, too much in my head. The ticker in my head is going fast and furious and I don’t or can’t stop to write it down.
Sure, there had been the move, the new house. I feel kind of homeless despite moving into a new house and still not having put the other house up for sale. Going over to the other, or old house, picking some last things up, watching my mom clean (CANnot stop her), and longing after my garden, it all makes me sad. Strange. Knowing that other people will live over top of our memories, our lives. I am going to take some of my favourite plants from my garden. I am not overly sentimental over lots of things. I sold my wedding dress as soon as I could. I don’t keep all my birthday cards or letters. We don’t have a video camera and I think I taped over our wedding video with “ER”. This change has made me sad and glad. I love the new house, it doesn’t feel like home yet, the old house makes me feel melancholy and I wish I didn’t have to go over there anymore. We are also still steeped in boxes. It is hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel, or the light from our window in our bedroom where 6 boxes of sweaters and somewhere, Mark’s gonch.
Also, I have been negligent in talking about my weight, eating, my weight loss surgery. I am struggling. I am eating the wrong foods. Not bingeing per say, which is difficult with a small stomach, but grazing, graze bingeing. I am bringing foods I shouldn’t eat into the house – cookies, chips, usually low fat or sweetened with less sugar, but what does that matter when you eat the whole box or bag over a period of time. I occasionally stop at the Quik-e-Mart for an ice cream bar. I am not eating enough protein and definitely eating to many carbohydrates. I have this great tool, this small stomach, this bypass, and I am squandering on eating improperly. I had an invasive surgical procedure that we paid for out of pocket and I am fucking it up. Like I feel I always do. Fuck up opportunities. I have all these resources and here I am, fucking up. I have not been working out regularly, granted the packing and moving has been intensely time consuming, I should always be able to find time, right? I am so sore from the move, overdoing it, lifting too much, at least I am getting some strength training it. Ha. I don’t know how to stop eating things I shouldn’t. I mean, I know it is ok to have a treat now and again, I am human (so claims my therapist). I think part of it is a control issue. Perhaps a lot of it is. I am being told, or I have these RULES about what to eat and when. It pisses me off, just like when my parents made me eat tofu and miso soup when I was in grade four. Years of disordered eating, starving, bingeing, brief affair with purging. You cannot purge with a tiny pouch of a stomach, which is a blessing to my health, and a bummer to old eating disorder behaviour. I got the surgery for me, for my health, to feel better, to live longer. How did it shift back to old thinking, body image issues, control and rebellion, sabotage? Why can’t I do what I am supposed to do? I have no idea anymore how much weight I have lost. I was weighed in March when I saw the doctor about my, now postpones, knee surgery. I know how my clothes fit and I know I have lost a certain amount, I fear constantly that I might be gaining or have not lost as much as expected. I am terrified of the scale.
I haven’t had my blood work checked in months. I haven’t seen a doctor in months. Since I had the surgery out of province, I do not have the support of a dietitian or a bariatric surgeon. I am supposed to have monthly follow up which can be done by my general practitioner and internist. I haven’t been checking my blood sugar levels to see if or how much insulin I need. I no doubt need to take some given the carbohydrate load I eat on some days. I am embarrassed about all of this. I haven’t wanted to tell you, or anyone really. I am not as strong or dedicated or disciplined as I should be, could be. Everyone has been so supportive. People calling me strong and amazing, and other great things. I do not measure up to any of that. All of this failure is a reminder or my insecurities about how I do pretty much anything. What kind of mother I am, housekeeper, blogger, writer, friend? Sometimes it feels like I am inadequate at every fucking thing I do.
And thus I open my door and come out.

I wanted to let y’all know that I will be adding some fabulous items to covet on WeCovet.com. Brain child of Sweetney and HerBadMother (now with twice the mothering)!. Come and visit! If you are going to buy things, buy nice things!
I have toyed with the idea of having a style section on jennui, similar to other blog peoples, but it didn’t seem to fit my angsty blathering tone. So wecovet fits perfectly.
xo

sleeping om the mattress on the floor. So sore. Never try and keep is with professional movers. Mark got the cable and internet working, my ice machine is humming and i will take a break this weekend, from unpacking, to plant some flowers in pots and my kick ass flower boxes beneath the living room window. Mark is snoring, we haven’t seen cat #2 yet and i have bath in our 6 foot tub tonight. Chiropractor and phone hookup tomorrow. New paint looks awesome, unpacking is daunting. Next time label boxes very specifically. WHERE the hell is Charlotte’s bedside lamp??? Charlotte asked the movers today to; “put it all back”. Poor lamb.
p.s. how did we get so much stuff? seriously
come over and help me unpack, i will buy you a diet gingerale.
call me, we will make a date
love,
jen

I barfed at my mom’s after dinner last night. I ate a piece of cake that was surely made of lard and corn syrup, but tasted so good. First rule of weight loss surgery, your body don’t like too much fat and sugar.
Had a nice day regardless. Mark brought me a latte in bed, we napped, I hurled, napped more. The only downside? No packing done yesterday except Mark did ask me if I wanted my 20 year old university textbooks that I still have. Hmmm…. ummm… no. Today is supposed to be marathon packing day with my mom and I am getting closer to just letting the professionals do it who will be here. It will only cost about the same as a kidney.
Instead, photos:

Public Service announcement
More of these are available at SuspectShoppe on Etsy.

Also, lots of other fabulous artwork.
Your welcome,
Jen

Got the keys to the place yesterday. Overwhelmed with loveliness of house and gravity of change. My poor little anxiety ridden brain just shut down around 6:30pm. I slept, got up, had a snack, slept again.
Today, met with painters! Painting starts tomorrow at 8AM. Too early for this slacker mom. I also actually worked out today. In an actual work out setting. Not vigorously raking the lawn with my CRAZY parents who insisted ever leaf and piece of debris be picked up on Saturday. ONE DAY ON DAY ONE DAY! and if you are in jail, BREAK OUT! Then pizza, then soreness, then thankfulness on Sunday when I saw it and it was good.
Still packing, might move some plants and other less “movable” in a gigantic truck type things while I hop over and check on the painters tomorrow. I will bring them snacks.
I am saving the best for last on this teeny post. Our fridge has… AN ICE MAKER. It now really is my dream house.

Just packing, angsting, fixing blog pages that Mark and I have seemed to have buggered. Trying to remain calm.
We get possession of the house tomorrow.
We must have “wanged” the comments, so says Mark. Be patiient.
xo

AARGH!