Baby steps and all.

Taking a break right now and watching Biggest Loser. It's incredibly inspiring, and I desperately need inspiration to keep going on the treadmill. It kills my back especially after not having been on it for 2 years. In fact, I had to take pain medicine and a muscle relaxant when I was done walking tonight. I'm hoping that as I lose weight and build my core muscles my back pain will go away or at least lessen enough I don't need steroid shots anymore. Eventually, I'm likely going to need surgery, but there's no way they'll touch my back at this weight. I easily have over 100 pounds to lose.

So tonight, my second night on the treadmill, I did 15 minutes instead of only 10, and I increased the incline to 2 for part of the walk. It's not much at all. I used to be able to walk miles with no problem. In junior high and high school I was in track. I often ran the mile or two mile, and even though I wasn't the best, I did it. It will likely be awhile before I work up to a mile on the treadmill. The doctor has told me I need to only be on it for a few minutes at a time, so I don't overdo and hurt my back even more.

The main thing is that I need to be on it regularly.

I've at least started.

And at least we've put the treadmill in it's own separate room with other workout equipment, so it can't get covered with clothes, papers or books.

I will do this in spite of myself just as surely as I will finish the process of dehoarding the house. It will happen.

So now that I'm done with the pep talk I needed to give myself, onto other things.....

I was able to finish the last coat of paint on the majority of the bookshelf/entertainment center today. I will hopefully be able to finish it up completely tomorrow, so it can sit on the back porch to air out for a few days before we take it downstairs. I have well under half of it left. It is looking really nice. I'm pleased with it, but I'll tell you something...it's a lot harder to paint bead board than it looks! The paint has to basically be forced down into the grooves. It doesn't go in willingly.

When I was done with the painting, I went downstairs to work on the outlets. We need to replace the outlets in the workout room and a couple in the family room. We also have to add spacers to some of the outlets, because they're recessed so far back into the walls. You see, the outlets in the outside walls in the basement are in concrete. And whoever put the paneling up on the walls likely did it, because the outlets would be recessed, if drywall was used. And since we chose drywall, we need to extend the boxes the outlets are in by at least an inch and a half.

I was able to get two of the outlets finished, but right as I was finishing up the 2nd outlet, the light went off. I think it overheated. It's a halogen treble light. So I guess I'll have to work on them during the daylight when I can see a little better without artificial help. I was going to work on replacing all the outlets in the workout room and the few I have to do in the family room, but I can't find the box of new outlets, either. We used them recently when we installed the ceiling fan in Scooter's room and replaced her outlets, but for the life of me I couldn't find them when I looked today. I'll look again tomorrow or go buy more. We have enough outlets that still need replaced that we'll use the ones in the box eventually anyway. I just want to get them finished.

I'll be going to bed early tonight, because the muscle relaxant is going to kick in hard and make me really sleepy soon, I'm sure. It's probably a good thing. I still need to get on that elusive schedule.

Instead. I sleep like a baby.

A few hours here.

A few hours there.

Enough.

I was talking with a friend about yesterday's post. The part about me giving up some of my dreams. While talking with her, I realized that it's more than just giving up the dream of having fun moments with the girls creating things and playing games. It's having to give up a little bit of hope.

Fifteen years ago, I almost fired the girls' physical therapist, because she made me feel as though there was no hope. I would tell her what the girls had accomplished since she saw them last, and she would proceed to fill me in on all they couldn't do. After she finished telling me everything my girls couldn't do one particular day, she went on to tell me a joke. I could hardly even muster a smile. I don't even remember the joke. I just remember being crestfallen at her criticism of my babies.

She realized something was up, and she asked me, if anything was wrong. At first I protested and said, "No." But somehow, I stopped myself. I said, "Actually, yes. Something is wrong. Every time you come to our house for physical therapy, and I tell you what the girls have done, you counter by telling me everything they can't do. Don't you think I KNOW what they can't do?? I see it every single day! But I can't focus on that. If I do, I'll drown! I will have no hope. And I can't live without hope. I have to celebrate even the smallest accomplishments they make, because they work SO much harder than the average kid to do the smallest things. Please don't end every session by telling me what they can't do. I can't handle it." And I started crying.

I don't cry a lot. I didn't back then either. I think that somehow I was afraid that, if I started crying I wouldn't be able to stop. I didn't want the girls to pick up on that crying and think that somehow they, simply by being who they were made to be, were making me unhappy. That somehow they weren't enough.

The therapist ended up apologizing profusely. She said she'd never realized that she'd been doing it, and she'd been doing it for years with all of her patients. She said she learned a lot with that conversation, and she was going to do what she could to implement a more positive approach with all of her patients, and she thanked me for bringing it to her attention. She ended up being wonderful with the girls, and I'm so glad that somewhere I found the strength that day to say exactly what I needed to say instead of stuffing my feelings.

I've always had hope for our girls. Even when our youngest weighed 21 pounds and couldn't sit up without being propped by tons of pillows stacked around her when she was almost 4. Even then, I held out hope that she would walk. And she did!! She does! She can! And while I know that I'm not the reason that she learned to walk, I hope that somehow she knew I believed in her. That I believed she could do it. And that maybe it inspired her and helped her to not give up.

But soon, I must face reality. I must let go of some of that hope, as I eventually sort through those board games and crafts and part with those that are above the girls' abilities. I have to allow myself to let go. I have to make myself face what the girls aren't capable of doing. One of the things that I hate most of all.

Most of all, I must remind myself that they are, always have been, and always will be.

Enough.