Is it good or bad that life continues to evolve in a constant state of change? I suppose it could be either, depending on the nature of the change...
I love watching my children grow, but hate seeing their baby days gone, one by one, forever. Quinn will begin preschool next week, and she will absolutely love this new adventure. This is so exciting, but marks the end of one stage and the beginning of another.
I am elated and ever-appreciative of my husband's decision to start from scratch in his career in order to make our family a priority. As wonderful as this change has been, it is still a daunting challenge to remain patient as we wait for the consistent, yet very gradual growth in his new endeavor. Show me the MONEY! Okay, honestly it has gotten better with time, but like I said, I am impatient.
I appreciate my employer for making a perpetual effort to better our place of work, but the immensity of 'new and improved' policies and procedures sends my mind reeling, and can be slightly irritating.
My sister, who has struggled to find peace in her life for many years is embarking on multiple significant changes at the moment, which brings a sense of hope and yet also ambivalence and worry.
A good friend who has been an amazing source of support for me during various junctures in my life has recently learned her father has stage 3 lung cancer. This places me on the other side of the court, hoping to offer her the same comfort and friendship she has given me in the past.
And as we try to adapt to all of these transitions, our environment reminds us that it too must change. Temperatures have dropped, signaling the end of summer and beginning of fall. Thanks Mother Nature. I am not done shopping for fall clothes yet.
Overall I think I'm doing pretty well with all of this crap, considering I am usually thrown off quite a bit when it comes to transition. My mind has been trying to wrap itself around it all, and I haven't gone nuts (as far as I know). But as always, my evil arch nemesis (food, food, freakin' fatty food) has crept up on me again. Damn! I have been doing pretty well for the last few weeks. Barrage me with a few bumps in the road and my ticket to self-esteem hell is right there waiting.
This week that snakey, paunch subconscious has slithered back into my mind, and I never saw it coming. It convinced me it would be perfectly fine to make my loaded baked potato soup from scratch. It said, "go ahead, eat TWO pieces of birthday cake." It opened my recipe collection and assured me that making meatballs and mashed potatoes was necessary. And that sordid serpent even wreaked havoc on my lunch one day and dished me up some Scooby Doo macaroni and cheese.
Disclaimer: In my own defense, I must say I did prepare these things as scaled-down, low fat, low calorie, as I possibly could. But really, there's no excuse for that 2nd piece of birthday cake [and the two margaritas I never mentioned, but they were in celebration of our anniversary so they didn't count] other than it tasted GOOD.
The slate (err....plate?) must be wiped clean again. I'm banishing the snake and the cake. Back in the groove, I hope. Why can't I find comfort in carrots? Nevermind. I don't even like carrots.