The Difficulty of Body Image

I’ve been trying to drum up a post about positive body image for months now, and frankly it isn’t coming to me.

I think it’s because I don’t have a positive body image and therefore I feel like a hypocrite.

I feel like I’m in a constant struggle between trying to love my overweight body and also no longer wanting to be in my overweight body.

What hurts me most is my daughters watch, they watch their mommy as she feels this way, and projects it onto nearly every aspect of her life.  And consequently their lives. I want so badly to feel comfortable in my own skin. To not let the fear and shame I feel creep into my life on a daily basis, and yet it does.

I’m so tired of being ashamed of myself.

I’m tired of avoiding activities, because I’m afraid I will feel foolish.

I’m tired of avoiding pictures, because of how gross I think I’ll look.

I’m tired of feeling self-conscious eating meals, because someone will judge me if I overeat.

I’m tired of being scared to take an escalator, because I’m worried someone is thinking I could use the exercise that stairs would bring.

I’m tired of feeling judged at the gym when I’m trying to get healthy.

I’m tired of feeling so bad about myself that I eat another donut in order to feel better.

I’m tired of feeling judged by all the skinnier moms at school activities.

I’m tired of being worried my kids are being teased because of my weight.

I’m tired of letting my weight hold me back from being the active mom I truly want to be.

I’m tired of every family activity that involves something physical being “dad’s job.”

I’m tired of being worried my husband is ashamed of me.

I’m tired of hearing “it would help if you lost some weight’ every time I visit the doctor.

I’m tired of being flooded by these thoughts and feeling on a daily basis.  It’s exhausting.

I know I need to fix how I speak to myself.  I know I need to fix how I cope with life in general. I know the real issue isn’t my weight, but instead my inner monologue.

I know I’m not the only woman that feels this way. We are many and it is so unfortunate that we have been groomed by society to feel like this. My mom always told me it didn’t matter, and that I was beautiful no matter what, but still society’s expectations have crept in, and I want so badly to protect my daughters from this cycle of secret self-shame.

I’m reversing the cycle, right now!

My daughters are going to hear me speak kind words to myself.

My daughters are going to see me join in activities.

My daughters are going to watch me be healthy on the inside and out.

My daughters are going to watch me interact with the other moms, whether they want me to or not.

My daughters are going to see me be strong.

My daughters are going to watch me be confident.

I’m going to go swimming with them.

I’m going to go hiking with them.

I’m going to show them that you can do anything you want to do, and that it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks or what size you are.

I’m going to show them a happy mom.

I’m going to show them a healthy mom inside and out, and I’m going to do it for me, and me alone.

As women let’s stop the negative self-talk, let’s stop shaming each other, let’s stop the judging, and stop the f*cking cycle of self-shame.  Let’s be healthy women together.

The cycle stops now!





Take 3 kids to Target in 30 easy steps!

Have you ever wanted to take your three kids to Target?  Well, today is your lucky day!  By following my 30 easy steps you’ll be joyfully pushing that red cart in no time.  Let’s begin:

  1. Asks all three kids to get their shoes on, we are going to Target
  2. Begin gathering your shopping list, cell phone, wait where are the minivan keys?
  3. Do you have your shoes on yet?
  4. Turn off all the lights, and the TV. Normally you wouldn’t worry too much, but the husband could be home at any time, and quite frankly you’re not in the mood for a lecture on the importance of saving power.
  5. They’ve got to have their shoes on by now. Nope, 5-year-old can’t find one of her 2 billion pairs.
  6. Go downstairs and help find the shoes.
  7. Almost out the door, wait the 3-year-old forgot her Cabbage Patch Kid, wait for her to grab it.
  8. Ok, the door is locked and shut. We are headed to the van. Shit! I never got the keys.
  9. Load kids in the van, buckle them up.
  10. Go grab the spare house key and frantically search the house for the regular keys. They are literally nowhere.
  11. Go check your purse again, it’s in the van with the kids. Nope.
  12. Check the house again. I just know they must be in the couch cushions, or underneath a pile of junk mail.  Again, nothing.
  13. Back to the van, dump the purse, find the keys that were in it the whole time.
  14. Head to Target, the hat comes off the Cabbage Patch Kid, child screams the entire drive.
  15. Get to Target, park near the cart return so you can put the kids directly in the cart.
  16. Load everyone in. 7-year-old nearly gets run over when she does an impromptu cartwheel in the parking lot.
  17. Get inside, 3-year-old begins screaming for a free cookie, head to bakery.
  18. Realize you left your list in the car because you dumped your purse. Screw it!  You remember the whole thing.
  19. Go up and down the aisles, tell 7 and 5-year-old to “move” at least one thousand times.
  20. Fill the cart with everything you could possibly need.
  21. 3-year-old is done with the cookie, and starts screaming for another one, strangers stare, secretly flip them off.
  22. Walk past the dollar spot, add 30 more things to your cart.
  23. Now your 3-year-old is climbing out of the cart. Buckle her in. Screaming is louder now.
  24. 7-year-old wants Pokémon cards and 5-year-old wants a Barbie. Take whatever you want, let’s just get out of here.
  25. Check out. Cashier tries to pacify 3-year-old with stickers.  It doesn’t help and only slows us down.
  26. Spend $400, but at least you got everything you needed.
  27. Load everything in car, including 3-year-old that is now acting like you’ve kidnapped her, try to ignore the stares.
  28. Swear you’re never doing that again.
  29. Look at your list and realize you forgot the main component for dinner tonight.
  30. Order Pizza.




I’m a Fat Mom and it’s OK

I’m fat. There I said it.

I’ve been dreading saying it since I started blogging.

I see all of these other blog moms.  They comment about food and eating everything, being so fat. I see them with envy.  What I wouldn’t do to be their size, and call myself fat. Instead of just being fat.

My struggle is something I’m know many others face. I’m a fat mom. I try not to let it bother me, and most of the time it doesn’t, but once in a while a bit of self-consciousness will creep in, and I try to keep it at bay.

Being a fat mom doesn’t mean I’m any less of a mom. I haul my kids everywhere. I still take them to the park, and try to make healthy meals. I’m careful about the language I use around my three daughters in hopes to promote a positive self-image, while secretly crossing my fingers that they stay skinny like they are now for their own sakes.

With friends I’ve always been the funny fat friend.  Which I don’t mind. I mean, I wouldn’t trade my sense of humor for a skinny body.

About the only time I’m bothered by it is when I get the look. The look from another wife and mother. The look that says “How did you get this husband?” or “You’re her, mom? But she’s so tiny.” I don’t see myself as inferior to them, but it bothers me that they see me as inferior just because of my weight. But that’s their problem, not mine.

Does it mean that I don’t take care of myself? I don’t think so. I still enjoy a good walk and a round of tennis. Broccoli is one of my favorite foods. However, I will gain two pounds at the mere sight of chocolate cake. It’s a struggle, but I try to keep the gains at bay.  At this point in my motherhood journey I don’t have time to devote hours of my day to exercise and weight loss, but that’s not to say I never will.

So there you have it. I’m fat. I love my kids. I’m me. Now where are those Cadbury Eggs I was promised?

Special Needs

When you really are alone.

“It’s never been seen before.”

The geneticist told my husband and I with a faint grin.  I could tell that for someone in his profession, he was trying to contain his excitement.

We had been on the journey for F’s diagnosis for 18 months now.  She was about to turn 3, and we finally had an answer.  She had a genetic mutation on the Shank 2 gene that had never been seen in anyone in the world, ever.

I immediately had mixed emotions.  So it wasn’t ASD, Rett Syndrome, Angelman’s Syndrome, or something else. It was this.

“Which is what now?”  I thought to myself, waiting for an explanation.

However, all I got was “we don’t know” and “time will tell.”

Just as we were about to leave, the senior doctor (who was one of many we had seen in the 3-hour appointment, everyone wanted to see our girl who was 1 in 6 billion) told us “Well, you thought today would mark the end of a journey, but really it’s just begun.”  The more I think about that statement the more I realize how true it is.

With every other possible diagnosis, we had come across, there were others.  There were support groups, message boards, books, blog posts, articles, Facebook groups, and studies.  But with this we were alone.  There was no What to Expect book.  There was no other parent to contact.  There is no doctor who specializes in it.  It’s just us.  We are alone.  Completely alone.

The genetics doctors have decided to publish an article about F in medical journals, giving me some hope that we will find someone else in the future.  For now, we watch and wait.  We wait to see if she will thrive or develop more problems.

Right now we know that she is completely nonverbal, has receptive language disturbances, low tone, loose joints, sensory processing disorder, ASD, and visual processing issues.  That’s enough for me.  I want her to stay right where she is, and for my control freak brain the fear of the unknown can be unbearable.

Will she develop heart problems or scoliosis? Will she have regression?  What about seizures? Will she ever understand what I’m saying to her?  Will she ever speak my name? I long to have her run up to me with a hug and exclamation of “Mama!”  Time will tell if I will ever get my wish.  While I wait I try.  I try everything.  Maybe pictures will be her way of speaking, or perhaps sign language.  We jump head first into every angle hoping that it could lead to a breakthrough.

She continues to surprise me with her zest for life and unique understanding of the world around her.  She loves with her whole heart and that love exudes from her smile.  If you meet her you are forever changed for the better, and I’m so lucky to have been given the gift of being her mama.

While I am completely alone in the world it doesn’t matter to me.

I have her and she is all this mama needs.


Indiana Mom and the School Pick Up of Doom

I try to be patient. Really, I do.  But nothing makes my blood boil more than the school pick up line.  The endless parade of SUVs and minivans is not for the faint of heart.  However, it’s nearly the end of the year, and I feel it’s time for an intervention for those that still do not understand how to properly navigate the chaos.  Here are a few simple rules (I’ll put them as kindly as possible)


1.  Put your damn phone down.

As if the 10+ signs scattered throughout the driveway weren’t a big enough clue for you, you really should put your phone down. I know it’s the primetime for your daily minivan selfie, but quite frankly I’ve got shit to do, and if you could kindly pay attention I would be forever grateful.  Not to mention if your distracted driving were to somehow injure a child, well, let’s just say “You don’t want none of this.”


  1. Try to keep the debris at bay.

I was guilty of this one in my first week, never again. I can’t count how many times I’ve seen a stray juice box or mitten fall out of the van when the automatic door slides open.  And unless you decide to get out of your car (which we will get to in a second), or send your kid on an under car rescue mission, you’ve basically littered.  Are we really that low, Karen?  This has a simple solution that consists of making kids put their shit away and put their trash in the trash can.  Which I know can prove difficult, do your best.


  1. Disneyland rules apply. All line jumpers will be asked to leave.

My preschooler is learning the importance of rules, and I think you might know too!  If you’re supposed to stay in your lane until a certain point, do it.  You’re not above the rules just because your late for Sophie’s dentist appointment.  Face it, you were already late, we are all late for everything, it’s called motherhood.  Last year I was literally side swiped by another van because she was “super late.” Enjoy your insurance bill, sister. I bet that extra money twice a year was totally worth you not missing the beginning of your yoga class that one Tuesday in April.


  1. In the name of all that’s holy stay in your vehicle!

Why are you getting out?  Newsflash, it doesn’t make things any faster, in fact you’re slowing us all down.  Big time!  Please keep your arms and legs inside the van at all times. I know Johnny isn’t paying attention to the fact that you are there, but I bet if his YouTube privileges depended on it he would.  So have a talk with Johnny, because if you get out of the car again.  I’m going to have some choice words with you.


  1. Pull Forward! All the way!!!!!

This is basic, people.  Everyone will get through quicker if you don’t leave a gap the size of Alaska in between you and the car in front of you.  I know Sally is right there, but Sally can walk 10 feet so that another mom can pick up her child.  If you don’t pull forward I will honk, and I will honk so hard that your rear window stick family will be shaking in their oversized boots.


I’m sorry I have to be so mean, and difficult.  But these rules really are simple and expected.  We all want to get home so that we can pester our kids to clean their rooms or fight about math problems.  If we all make an effort in the pickup line, we will all get to the misery of the evening quicker and to the joy of bedtime quicker.

Thank you!


I guess an introduction is in order?

Hello blog world!

I’m new here, so pardon the dust and lack of know how.

Let’s dive right in shall we?

What does it mean to be a difficult mommy?

You may wonder why I view being difficult as a badge of honor.  Most people don’t want to be around a difficult person (which is maybe one reason I like the title to be honest.)  I’ve been called difficult by friends and family on Facebook, workers in the customer service industry, other strangers, and my husband (in a sarcastic fashion.)

So again, what does it mean to be difficult?

It means you expect too much, it means you don’t settle, it means that you enjoy  intelligence and despise small talk.  It means you have an extreme case of RBF (resting bitch face.)  It means you don’t give two shits about what others think of you.  It means you’re right and everyone else is wrong.  It means being who you are no matter what the consequence.

That’s why I like the title.

It means, I am me.  Me. No one else, not who Denise wants me to be.  Denise can go to hell.

So can all the people that leave Christmas decorations up until April.  I have no use for them either.

But if you wear plenty of day old yoga pants and are staying alive with a caffeine drip and plenty of trashy TV, well, then you are my tribe.


You, difficult mommy, you.