The Hardest Part...

I recently took a small trip to visit my dad and family.

What was the hardest part?

Was it hanging out with my step-mom knowing we had had a rough time the last time I was out?
Nah.

Was it staying in a hotel room by myself in a strange city and different state?
 Nah.

Was it saying good-bye to my niece and nephews who I don't see very often?
Nah.

Was it saying good-bye to my dad as I drove ahead of the hurricane?
Nah.

Was it driving through the mountains?  The dark, rainy, foggy, fast driving roads of the mountains?
Almost...

It was seeing the two walls in my dad and step-mom's house where the infamous-stick-out-our-hands wedding pictures of the ladies in the family (except me) were hung.  It was seeing the three out of four happy daughters with their husbands on another wall.  It was driving in a car for 7 hours thinking about it.  And wanting it.  And not having it.  And being sick and tired of where I am.

Sorry, reader, tonight's blog post doesn't have a happy ending.  So, you can either stop reading now and make up your own happy ending or continue on with my unhappy ending.

I recently saw on someone's Facebook status to celebrate the season you are in.

Sorry, God, but I am done with my season.  I tried to be joyous in it.  I was for a while.  Now, I'm not seeing much joy lately and I'd like to give the season back to you now.

Numbers

Even though I teach reading, writing, and math...today my day feels like it is filled with numbers.  (KJM, are you so excited?)

I waited on my mom to get to school.  7:45.

Counted students absent.

Counted my calories (trying to lose five pounds for Biggest Loser competition).

Typed numbers into copy machine.

Counted down time for students so they knew how much longer until it was time for gym (their favorite).

Went to Wal-Mart and saw my favorite number...insert a little background knowledge now.  Baring my soul in the blogging world...

I used to wear a size 18 in pants.  It was getting tight.  And so began my journey.  At my smallest I am able to get into a 12, mostly 14's with a little bit of tailoring around the waist.  My goal is to be in all of my 12's comfortably.  At Wal-Mart, I picked up two different pairs of workout pants.  A medium (8/10) and a large (12/14).

World, be still...the medium size fit!  Granted, they are stretch, but today, when I was Zumba-ing and looking in the mirror, I didn't see a number (size, weight, or age), I saw a body I am beginning to like.  And that is more important than any number!