The Paleo Mama

Homegrown and Handmade

About Me

One Year Paleo!

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Apologies for slacking in the blogging sphere! The Holidays were busy, the kids have been sick, and I came down with strep throat AND the stomach flu at the SAME time! Yes, that was miserable, to say the least. So, 3 ER trips later, we are finally back to our healthy selves and mommy is back to her normal self!

I saw on the news today that only 8% of people stick with their New Years resolution of weight loss. Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am so proud to say that I am that 8%! Last January, I made a New Years resolution to eat healthy, Paleo foods. I started New Years of 2012 with challenging myself to the Whole30. Whole30 was such a success for me and my husband that we haven’t stopped eating Paleo. We are more tolerant now; I would say we are about 80% Paleo. We leave room for grace and the occasional piece of pizza. 🙂

I have never stuck with a resolution, especially a weight loss one. However, I was desperate. I had recently given birth to my wonderful son and had also recently lost my younger sister. I was a fat, depressed mess. Comfort food was pouring into our lives and pounds of extra weight started adding to my body. I wanted to love life again. I wanted to chase my kids out in the grass. I wanted to feel comfortable in my own skin. I desperately reached out to Paleo, praying that this would be the answer.

Thankfully, it was!

I am happy and proud to say that in one year of eating Paleo, I have dropped around 50lbs, I LOVE working out and exercising, I have a ridiculous amount of energy, I keep up with my kids all day long, I have a passion and a ferver for life, and I love inspiring other people to make the same kind of changes.

However, when I talk about this past year and the physical changes that it gave to me, I have to emphasize that the majority of the change happened internally. I’m not sure if it all happened from the inside out like a lot of people say. I think for me it happened from the outside-in. Once I became comfortable in my own skin again, I became more happy

…more joyous

…and more energetic for each day God brought me.

 

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This is my story…

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I can sometimes close my eyes and smell my childhood. It smells like freshly raked leaves, chlorine on my bathing suit, sweat that lingers on my skin, and freshly popped cheesy popcorn.

It tastes like Oatmeal Cream Pies, tacos on a Saturday night, and hose water.

I treasure the childhood I had. I spent summer days riding bikes with my sister, Dinah, to faraway lands and magical “secret” places that only we knew about. My sister treasured it too. Five days before the worst day of my life, she wrote a short story for college about a time when we were playing hide-and-seek as kids. She must have treasured it as much as me, for no one can ever take these moments in time away.

I am the middle child. I am the free spirt. My mom sings, “I Hope You Dance” over me because she says the words remind her of me. I’m my Daddy’s little girl. I hold his hand in mine even when my teenage friends could see. I walk with pride standing next to my big brother. He’s huge. Standing at over 6’6″, he stares into the eyes of boys and frightens them away. I smile at him because I’d rather hang out with him, then stupid boys. My sister was always my best friend. We loved hard and we fought even harder. Yet, at the end of the day when we layed down in our beds that shared a room, we always said:

“I’m sorry if I’ve done anything wrong.”

“I forgive you.”

” I’m sorry if I’ve done anything wrong too.”

Every. Single. Night. We didn’t want to die and go to hell for unforgiven sins.

Sometimes we had a line dividing up our bedroom. Other times we slept in the same bed when outside terrors scared us.

Eventually we grew up.

I started college, then became involved in church ministry. Soon, I left for Australia, then to Thailand for a year of missionary work. My passion became showing women how beautiful they are. Thailand changed me forever. I talked to prostitutes and taught them English. I helped a center that gave them a chance to come out of prostitution by choosing to learn a trade. I bought them out of bars for a night of fun and feasting.

Life became hard there by myself. I came home.

I went to massage school and became a licensed massage therapist and worked on completing my bachelors degree.

During this time I met and married the man of my dreams who I met in the most unique way…online! He, since, has given me two beautiful children and fulfilled my greatest purpose in life of being a mother.

Now I am reliving my childhood through my two children. Nothing could be better than the life I have now. Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t been easy. Some of you know the missing part of my testimony. One year ago I lost my best friend, my sister. She made the impulsive decision to end her life the day after her boyfriend was killed in an automobile accident. By just admitting this, I feel like I have to defend her honor. I wonder when that will go away?

Her death shattered my perfect, little world and questioned all I believed in God.

It’s been a year since her death and life is changing once again. We are eagerly anticipating getting out of the military and moving back home to establish our roots close to our families. Life is good for my little family. With each boo-boo that I kiss, each diaper that I change, and each word that I speak to my children, I remember how critical the present is.

I remember to kiss my husband deeply everyday.

I remember to tell my parents how much I love them.

I remember that life is too short to have fake friends.

I remember that no matter what God is still good and still my God.

I remember that if my kids adore me, then I have successfully been the mother that my mother was.

For this life is my story.

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 4

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Dinah & I getting ready to go on a ride

When I was 24/25 years old I bought a motorcycle. My brother had already had one so he taught me to ride and helped me purchase my first bike. Shortly after, my dad bought one…then my mom bought one…then my sister bought one. We all had motorcycles and a short era of riding together began.

It was the best days of my life with Dinah and with my family. We rode everywhere and nowhere. The 5 of us in our little family bike gang couldn’t be stopped.

With Dinah riding beside me, my life was always exciting. One day, we traded in our real motorcycles for my Dad’s Vespa scooter. He had this before he had the courage to get a Harley and we decided to take it for a drive. I drove, she rode on back. We went through woods and pretended we were Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels from Dumb and Dumber, her favorite movie. As we were riding around, laughing hysterically at I don’t even know what, we saw a pretty large hill that had a drop off at the end. Dinah goes, “Let’s ramp that.” I smiled and turned the bike around to gain some “speed” and distance. We started to pick up speed…15mph…20mph…30mph…35mph…and we hit the hill. We gained some serious air and we were giggling and screaming the whole time like you would on a rollercoaster. We didn’t even think about how this scooter would take a landing. As we were in the air I saw that we were not going to land this thing on its tires. We were turning and as we neared the ground I remember saying to Dinah, “We’re gonna crash, hang onto me.”

Instead of her landing on me, I completely landed on her, and, as always, she was the injured one and I walked away with scratches. She banged up her legs and elbows pretty good but didn’t require stitches this time.

We still laughed about that till the day that she died. It was a pure “Jackie & Dinah” moment. It was crazy and impulsive. It was stupid and fun. It was exactly how Dinah and I enjoyed spending our time together. You would think we were teenagers at this time! Nope, we were grown, married adults!

Memories like these with Dinah now haunt me, yet bring a smile to my face as I remember the craziness we were together. And somehow…even in Dinah’s death…she still makes me laugh my face off and cry till my eyes hurt. She was, and still is, the only person that could ever do this to me.

Dinah, our niece, Jaimee and I riding together!

Dear Suicide

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You took another this week. You must be proud. Well, guess what, I hate you. I hate you with every bone and ounce of blood in my body. You destroy. You rip lives apart. You steal truth and implant lies. You’re a coward. You’re scum. I hate what you do. I hate everything about you.

You wait; you linger; you hunt. I know your game. I know your way. I know what you do when you whisper, tempt and lead them astray. You make them think that death will ease their pain and that this is the only way. You creep right in, and then make your play.

You sit in the background and articulate your scheme. You choose the hopeless, the depressed, and those with low self-esteem. You choose the waiter, the plumber, the stay-at-home-mom.  You take the preacher, the truck driver, the rich and the poor. You take them all with you with your bite and your sting.

You laugh at their weakness. You thrive on their pain. You ruin so many lives that this has just become a game. How do you think this will end? Do you think that you can get them all? Do you think that all of us are going to take your fall?

You see, you took my sister and for that you are going to pay. It doesn’t end pretty. It doesn’t end today. Let me tell you something, this “game” that you play, won’t go on forever. No, you won’t get them all. You won’t win. I’ve got the Eight ball.

Your lies, deception, depression will end. You think you’re on a roll. You think you can snag every soul with your snare. I know you don’t want to hear this, but this doesn’t end well for you. You see, there is Someone stronger, Someone smarter, Someone more powerful than you.

He tells me He will save us from your snare, from your pestilence, from your death. He tells me He will cover us with His feathers. He will protect us, shield us, and save us. He promises life. He promises hope. He promises to save us from your hanging rope.

I hate you, suicide. I hate you, I do.  I’ll hate you forever…till the day that you are through and my King stomps all over you.

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 3

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She’s gone. But she’s everywhere.

I can still smell her. I still hear her laugh, see her gestures; the way she used to play with her hair. Everything about her is still so close, within reach.

Sometimes I can almost hear her talking to me. I close my eyes and can feel her around me and indwelling me.

I try to remember the shape of her hands. Hands that I looked at my whole life. Hands that held me when I needed a hug. Hands that fought for me when no one else would. Hands that wrote beautiful stories and quirky poems. Her hands touched many lives and she probably didn’t even realize it. When 500 people showed up at her wake and memorial, I was reminded that it was impossible not to love Dinah.

I miss her.  I miss everything about her. Even her imperfections were beautiful. She loved voraciously.

She was spirited.

She was creative.

She was luminous.

She was Dinah.

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 2

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Today, my husband and I are packing up our house. We sold our home and are, temporarily, moving into a rental home till we finish out the next few months with the Army.

I found this as I was packing.

My sister wrote this letter to me when I was serving a year in Thailand.

Chokes me up reading it. I miss you my best friend.