Stop.

I will bore you endlessly with details about our trip to French Polynesia, but am going to start with this story just in case life gets in the way and I don't post for another six years or so . . . 

On Sunday, June 12, 2022, Kevin and I hopped on a boat for the "Ultimate Tour" of Tetiaroa. We boarded a boat with the new (only two weeks) manager of The Brando, a sweet couple from outside of London who were ending their "six week holiday" through Hawaii and the Polynesian Islands at the Brando, and a young couple who was not interested in any of the old people on the boat with them. 

Our guide was named Teva (pronounced Teh-va). The boat left the shores of the resort Motu (Tahitian word for island) Onetahi and headed to the shores of Motu Oroatera, which is an island where the Tetiaroa Society is focusing conservation efforts on the Aito tree and coconut crabs and different bird species. 

We started out our tour walking along the "beach" which is composed of tons of crushed coral shells and rocks. Teva told us to stop, hold still, and look down. After about 45 seconds, it looked like the entire shore was moving because it was so filled with hermit crabs. There were so many that you couldn't even count them and they were in constant motion--some moved lightning quick and some very slowly. We were introduced to a "strawberry" hermit crab that is larger than most and has a beautiful red body with white dots on it, similar to the look of a strawberry.    

 

After that, we walked into the forest of Aito trees. 

It looked like what I would imagine a primitive forest looked like--huge canopies formed by tall tall trees and roots and super soft ground underneath. Teva explained the birth of a motu to us and then went into fascinating details about the Aito tree and how it is able to be practically hollowed out in the middle, but continue growing despite that.  . . .

 

We were then introduced to a young coconut crab that was a spectacular shade of blue and climbs like a spider. They live over 100 years and the force of their pincher claw is stronger than the jaw of a great white shark. They are called coconut crabs because they can literally break coconuts with their claws and eat the meat. Unbelievable!

 

As we were heading out of the forest and going back to the boat, we were all looking straight ahead to the boat. And this is the part that matters . . . Teva put up his hand and said, "Stop. Look down. (we saw the crabs moving again) Look up. (we saw several types of birds circling above) Look around. (we saw the tree we had all walked under as we were exiting the forest)." Lo and behold, there were three different species of birds nesting right over our heads as we left the forest--THREE! Not one of us had noticed it and we walked right underneath it.

 

Teva encouraged us all to stop. Notice. There are surprises and beauty everywhere you look, but you cannot see any of it if you don't stop. If I remember nothing else of our amazing journey around the world, I hope my heart holds onto that lesson and stops to enjoy my surroundings, because there truly is beauty in everything. 

After reflecting on Teva and his spirit, I remembered that "te" in French means he and "va" means go. I cannot think of a more fitting name for our guide--he teaches, he guides, and his lessons will stay with us even after he goes. . . .

Why French Polynesia?

When I was going into the 7th grade, I was required to take a foreign language in middle school. I could choose between Spanish and French. Because I had tremendous difficulty rolling my "r," they recommended I take French. I have exactly three memories from that year of French. 

1. I mispronounced "ma soeur" and it came out like "monster" and my teacher chastised me about it in front of the entire class. I cannot remember her name. I cannot remember her face. But I can still hear her voice saying, "Monster? Monster!? NOOOO! MA SOEUR!" I never pronounced it incorrectly again. 

2. We had a cultural event in class where we all had to bring French food. I brought a baguette and Brie, which I had never tried before. I fell madly in love with Brie and baguettes and decided that some day I would live in France. Because cheese. And baguettes. 

3. When we were studying where in the world French was useful (because it really wasn't in Park Ridge, Illinois), we learned about this place called French Polynesia, and specifically, this remote island called Bora Bora. I remember seeing pictures of "the natives," (hey, it was 1984) and their over water huts and also deciding that some day, I would go to Bora Bora. 

Fast forward a few years--like 8 or so--to the summer of 1992 . . . I was able to do "Baylor in Paris" and spend a summer in Paris and Lyon studying French. My family came at the end of the courses and we drove all over France and took in the sights. I turned 20 in France and that summer was the one that changed my life the most. I grew up a lot. Fell deeply in love with France. Got to know myself and what I believed in, on a much better level. I can't recommend study abroad highly enough for any student.  Mission to France? Accomplished. 

The third thing I remember from 7th grade French? That Bora Bora dream? It came true 38 years after that seventh grade goal was set. 

Kevin and I had much to celebrate. In 2021, Kevin turned 50 in February, and our marriage turned 25 in March. But Covid. Covid and travel restrictions and continued fears and worries and waiting our turn to get a vaccine that may or may not help us got in the way of celebrating. . . .so we put it off. But then came 2022. And Covid is still around, but traveling got a whole lot easier, and I had Covid in January and no one else in the house got it . . . and I'm turning 50 in July, so it was time to celebrate. 

Celebrate ALL the things. Celebrate birthdays and anniversaries and health and the ability to travel and see the world again . . . How fortunate I am to have a husband who said yes to my French Polynesia dream and decided that it was the place to celebrate our big life events. 

testing testing

is this thing still working? Can I still post on my long abandoned blogspot? Will it publish? I am not even going to believe it if it does . . . here goes nothing!

1 day down--20 to go

How did I wake up feeling this morning? Awful. Horrific headache, aching body--like I've been in a fight. As weird as it sounds, I'm okay with that. The headache is from a lack of caffeine (not a part of the diet plan, but something I decided to do because I can't won't drink coffee without a truckload of my sugar free hazelnut creamer (and that is a no-no)) and a lack of sugar. I am a total and complete sugar addict. There. I said it. I'm having withdrawals. I get it.

The aching body is from that super special workout experience yesterday. Let me tell you--thirty minutes of one minutes of a move followed by a 20 second break is WAY MORE INTENSE than it sounds. I started off thinking, "this isn't so bad!" and by the time the cute little countdown clock had reached 30 seconds down, 30 to go, I was begging for mercy. Good heavens--I knew I was out of shape, but seriously? Embarrassing. So thankful little Lucy was in the other room because I think I uttered a cross word. Or maybe two. And yes, I went sprinting for water during the fourth 20 second break. Yes, I thought it was ridiculous to think I would need water during a 30 minute DVD.

Shakeology. Shakeology. Shakeology. First sip--oh my yum! This is delicious! But then, the after taste. Little bitter. Midway through, I started my shakeology countdown mentally. "You're halfway there! Hang in there--a few more sips and you'll be 3/4 of the way there! Keep going! Keep going!" However, the effects of the Shakeology shake are well worth the taste, which I figure I'll get used to, right? Because seriously--after my shake--I was full. SO FULL. And not hungry at all. Like the rest of the day, not hungry at all. As a result, I totally wrecked the diet, because I didn't eat nearly enough. I couldn't. I wasn't hungry. I've already started to make adjustments for that today by starting my morning with a three egg white omelet with tomatoes, onions, spinach, and swiss cheese.

So this morning, I am thankful. I am thankful that one day is behind me. I am thankful for the 20 that lay ahead. I am thankful that I'm already feeling SOMETHING in my body. But most of all, I am thankful for our "comfort height" toilets.

21 Day Fix--Here We Go!

It's time. When you step on the scale and weigh what you did in your second trimester of pregnancy, it's time. Time to stop talking. Time to stop whining. Time to do SOMETHING.

My sweet husband said to me several months ago: "I love you whatever size you are. Seriously. It just doesn't matter to me. So if you're happy here, stay here and stop complaining. Own it and be happy. But if you're not happy here, then do something about it other than complain because THAT gets old."

I tried the Plexus program back in May. Did it faithfully for two months--all of their products. Woke up with a pink drink, took 2 factors and one accelerator (then one new launch product--now called Boost) with breakfast, two Biocleanse mid-morning, two Bio-cleanse mid-afternoon, and ProBio at night. Gained 7 pounds, mostly around my middle. I was a Plexus fail, through no fault whatsoever of my awesome sales associate who is continuing to urge me to try it again and keep at it for months. I never felt any different on Plexus. Never felt that surge of energy. My nails did grow faster and my hair did do better, so I plan to keep on the XFactor vitamins. Love those!

Last Thursday, when I stepped on the scale and saw the shockingly horrifying number, I contacted Shari Hill. I've watched her become more and more fabulous every day since January and want in on somma that. I loved that she told me, "These Beachbody programs are no magic pill or drink or anything that's just gonna make the weight fall off and sculpt the muscles . . . it's great nutrition and great exercise that you can incorporate into your busy life for the rest of your life . . . and the results are amazing!"

So I ordered the 21 Day Fix. It arrived two days ago. When I saw the size of the food containers, I started laughing. Hard. Did they send me the American Girl doll containers instead of the adult containers? That's my first clue that maybe, just maybe, I've been way overeating. Today is the day I start. Today is the day I start because in 22 days, it's Lufkin Bistro, and I want to have a glass of wine or two and enjoy myself. And I want to walk out the door feeling GOOD about myself and how I look and not terrified that someone is going to see the bottom of my girdle and that someone is going to see me from the wrong angle and notice how I've let myself go completely. I am ready to walk out of the door feeling GOOD inside, not anxious about how fat I am or miserable because the wires from the damn girdle are digging, digging slowly and steadily into my insides. I want to be happy because the first dress I put on fit, and fit well.

Getting ready to start my first workout. I can do ANYTHING for 21 days. I know I can. This will be my accountability page, in addition to my cute coach Shari. 21 days to fabulous! 21 days to feeling better! 21 days to alcohol and cookies! Ha!!!

My precious "nerd"

So I had the oddest experience yesterday. And what's so strange is that it took me--an adult, a former teacher of middle schoolers, a mother of three, an educated woman--right back to sixth grade. And tenth grade. And that party in college when I went back home after being gone two years. It took me there--and it almost took my breath away. Because I thought that at 41, I couldn't go back there. I couldn't feel so small, so worthless, so defensive, so, well, hurt. But I did. And I can. And maybe that's what has me so unhinged about the whole thing. I can't remember the last time I just wanted to start crying over hurtful words. It was all I could do to keep it together. And it came from a sixth grade girl--a little girl! What on earth?

I have known this child since she was four years old. I have watched her grow up. I have watched her navigate through speech issues and body issues and struggles with being young for her class. And I've always loved her. I've never been anything but kind and positive and supportive of her. Whenever we see each other, we hug and we catch up. I've always enjoyed her and told my son what a sweet girl she is. And then yesterday. Yesterday.

I'm sitting at the Expo Center watching the county science fair. I have my three year old by my side. I've been taking pictures and watching experiments and I am feeling good. Observing my son has been a real treat. He is nearing the end of his first year of middle school and this is the first time I've been able to watch him in a big peer environment.

He is awkward. It's the time of life for awkward. He told me early in the year that he "just feels like he's weird." My response was "welcome to middle school. Everyone feels weird. Everyone thinks they are the only ones who are weird. It's the nature of the beast and I promise you, love--you are feeling what every other sixth grader is feeling. Give it time. You are unique and special and yes, a little weird right now. But so is everyone else you see. So be kind. Be strong. Be you."

As I watch him, I am amazed. He is walking around and saying hey to a lot of faces I've never seen. He is stopping to watch other people's work and is giving them fist bumps afterwards. I meet two of the boys in his classes I've been hearing about all year. They are such good boys and they look nothing like him. And I'm relieved. Because we've always emphasized spirit and goodness of people. So when it's his turn to run his experiment, a small group gathers in the stands.

It is composed of his best friend, who we adore. He is brilliant, well mannered, easy going, always smiling, and a true delight. He's half Korean, too. Three more boys are Hispanic, one sporting a mustache that has impressed Luke all year long. There is another white boy. There are three girls--one white, one Hispanic, one black. On the opposite side, in the arena, are two boys from his Boy Scout troop and one set of their parents. Everyone is so encouraging, so positive, so kind. And it does my heart good.

When Luke's experiment doesn't go flawlessly, they stay and watch and say "that's okay, man!" It's truly an awesome thing to see. I am grateful that he has found people who radiate goodness. No, they're not the athletes, but then, neither is he. Never has been. No, they're not the bunch walking around cocky looking good with their hair perfectly gelled. But then, neither is he. They're not the group on their devices texting each other not to talk to one boy in their group (true story. They decide every few weeks who to ostracize and then change it up to another boy). But then, neither is he. And I'm okay with that. Middle school is awkward, but he has found his groove.

So the experiments are over and it's time to just mill around waiting for results. And I'm approached by the young lady mentioned earlier. We exchange hellos and hugs and I take pictures of her with her science fair entry. She is excited. Her experiment went well and she's eager to tell me all about it. And then. And then. "Hey, Mrs. Langston. You do know that Luke is a total nerd, don't you? Like, he is totally awkward socially and weird. You know he's a nerd, right?"

And I am torn between slugging her (oh c'mon, I wouldn't ever strike a child, but there was an urge) and just crying. And I'm telling myself to breath deep and stay calm and choose my words carefully. And I'm at a loss. A loss. Because I am taken back to feeling less than. To being judged. To being called a name. And because it's my child. And I know kids can be mean and cruel and judgmental, and I know this will happen to everyone at some point. But from this little girl? Her? It almost took my breath away. I don't even really know my response--I think it was something like, "yes, he's in classes with a lot of really smart kids. I know that." And once again, "no, it's not just the people in his classes. It's him. He's a big nerd." So I think the response then was, "well, nerds rule the world so I'm okay with that." Or something equally stupid. And then she walked off.

The day continued. Awards were distributed. My son's group was sitting on the first row of the stadium seats. When four of Luke's friends returned from getting their prizes in the arena, Luke got up, came up to them, and congratulated them. And I was proud.

I pick him up from school and we are talking about the day. And he says, "so, (insert girl's name here) said she talked to you today." "Yes, she did. I took a couple pictures of her, too." "so, she told me that she told you I'm a total nerd and a weirdo. Did she say that to you, mom?"

What??  She was inappropriate enough to say to it me and then she went and said it to him, just in case he wasn't insecure enough? Just to make him feel terrible? Just to prove that his mom, who has always said what a sweet girl she is, is dead wrong? What? What?

"Yes, she did say that. And I want to tell you what I observed about you and your friends today. They are kind. They are encouraging. They are supportive. They have the ability to look adults in the eye and converse with them. They are polite. And there's not much of that going on in sixth grade. So, what she calls one thing, I call another. And I'm grateful, Luke. I'm grateful you are selecting friends who are good on the inside. Who are kind. Who like you for you. And if someone who is wandering around the expo by herself needs to put that down, I'm okay with that. And you should be, too. You are my precious child who makes me proud and you always will be."

And I am. God bless and keep him and all his classmates, even the little girl who thinks he's a nerd.

The day that Super Freak fell Helplessly in Love . . .Again . . . Part I

In the wee small hours of the morning of March 13, 2011, I was awake. The mess of pollen outside had fully clogged all of my airways and I found it easier just to be sitting up in a chair reading "Shape" magazine (yes, at nine months pregnant--I like to torture myself??) and blowing my nose instead of trying to lay down and finding all breathing impossible. While reading my magazine, I found myself kind of bored and decided I was going to write a post entitled, "Super Freak" on this blogspot.

"Super Freak" was going to be about how much I truly, really, honestly LOVED being pregnant and how much I loved having a new little precious life growing inside of me. At my doctor's appointment the prior Monday, March 7, Doc Haskins walked in and said, "So, you're ready to have this baby by now, aren't you? How about Wednesday?" I begged and pleaded for at least another week with her inside me before we induced because I was NOT miserable, anxious, scared, or going out of my mind waiting for the bambino to arrive. I was savoring every moment of having her inside of me and cherishing every single kick, hiccup, and sudden appearance of a knee or elbow gliding across my belly. Baby Girl was still soooo active and happy where she was. Haskins looked at my husband and asked if he was aware of how "odd" I was to want to stay pregnant at 38 weeks. Said that women are normally begging him to take the baby by then. . . but not me.

I guess because this pregnancy was so unexpected and so much of a miracle and a gift, I wanted to cherish every single moment of it. And I did. It was by far the easiest of my pregnancies, despite it being my biggest weight gain and my being "advanced" in maternal age. I never had that exhaustion and crazy emotion I had with Luke's pregnancy, or hours of nausea every night of the first trimester I had with Lilly Grace. The only recurring symptoms of this pregnancy were my colds and stuffed noses, and I probably would have had that with seasonal allergy stuff anyway. Because I had been through labor twice before, I didn't have much anxiety about it and I didn't find myself reading four to five different pregnancy books on a weekly basis making sure I was doing everything "right." This pregnancy was a God thing, and I let Him run the show while I tried to be grateful for it.

So, I was reflecting on all of that and what words I would and could choose to convey my total adoration of the pregnant state when I had to blow my nose yet again. Mind you, all day on Saturday the 12th, I had been having contractions on and off, but there was nothing consistent. Kevin, Luke, Lilly Grace and I had an awesome day eating daddy's pancakes for breakfast, going to the zoo, eating a late lunch on the patio at Crown, and just hanging out enjoying family time. As I went to blow my nose yet again in the wee small hours of the morning on the 13th, I suddenly starting peeing on myself, or so I thought, and I could NOT stop. I went running to the bathroom in a rawther graceful fashion with kleenex between my legs trying to make it stop when it hit me: I wasn't peeing. This was not voluntary. What was happening to me?? It was 4:50 a.m. at this point.

Because I had the forethought to bring my beloved iPhone to the hall bath with me, I immediately started goggling "signs of labor" "how to know when my water is broken" "is my water broken" "what should I do if my water breaks?" I could find no definitive answers, but as I sat there on the potty with liquid continually flowing, I concluded by 5:10 a.m. that my water had indeed broken, and by darn, I had better start working on maintenance and packing up for the hospital. As I walked to the shower, Kevin asked what I was doing and I told him, "My water broke. I'm getting in the shower. You can sleep about half-hour or so, but then we'll need to go to the hospital. I'm not waiting for contractions." Of course, he jumped out of bed immediately.

I tried to stay calm and leisurely get ready for the fun impending labor. The fact that I had absolutely no contractions at all helped significantly in that effort. I packed my toiletries, blew my hair dry, made sure my makeup was perfectly applied, and then called Mom and Dad at 5:38. Told them I thought my water had broken and that they needed to come and be at the house when Luke and Lilly Grace woke up in the morning. They came quickly, took pictures for posterity's sake, and off we went. The fabulous shots we captured that morning are at the top of this blog because I can't figure out how to move them. They are super fab!

The labor and delivery story of my precious, amazing baby girl is to be continued . . . she is waking up from a nap and I don't want to spend one waking moment away from her side!