Sometimes I worry that I'm an over-helper.
When I hear that a friend has suffered a loss, or a family member is sick, or someone I love had a bad day, I immediately want to jump in with both feet and help. I'm the one who offers to get your mail, feed your dog, or fold your laundry. I'm the one who scours the internet for articles specific to your plight, sends them to you in an email, triple-checks every hour to make sure you know I sent them in that email, and then sends them to you in a text message just to be sure you got the info. I'm the one who wants to show up with a casserole, two pies, and a week's worth of magazines.
I know, I know. I'm sure most of you are thinking, "Oh, she must be a nice friend to have!"
Maybe. But I worry.
A lot of my desire to help comes from that period in our lives when Brian had first been diagnosed with cancer. Each and every person---from the maintenance workers at the hospitals to the dear friends who dropped off sub sandwiches so we wouldn't have to cook---were so very valuable to us. I'll never forget the kindnesses we were shown--from friends, from family, from nurses and doctors and surgeons and techs. It was the only thing that kept us standing, kept us moving toward a destination rather than staying stagnant, cooped up in our own sorrow and fear.
And so, when I hear there's trouble in the neighborhood, I feel called to action, ready to offer my services in any way, no matter what is needed.
I show up with my casserole and my two pies and my week's worth of magazines, hoping that the help I'm offering is appreciated. Wanting to be helpful. Wanting to be valued. What I tend to forget, in my gusto, is that every person reacts differently in any given situation. Where I might be thrilled to my toes to hear the doorbell, my friend may rather be left in peace to deal with life in their own way.
And sometimes, their own way doesn't include a stack of magazines three miles high.
I'm glad now, looking back, that I wasn't given much time to grieve and worry and pace. Relieved that our friends and family filled the scariest moments with conversation, casseroles, and consolation. I know, for us, that it was exactly what we needed.
I think it makes sense, then, that my immediate reaction to a friend in need is to don my "Save The World" cape and swoop in to save the day. Often with baked goods and some form of mindless entertainment.
So I'm learning to offer a kind word instead of a pot of chicken noodle soup every once in awhile. I'm trying to hold back that part of me that wants to rush to everyone's rescue when, in fact, they may not need rescuing at all. But above all else I'm trying to remember that, while a stack of magazines a mile high might just be the ticket to someone's happiness, it might just be coffee table clutter for another one to deal with later.
But don't worry. If you give me the green light, I'm still going to offer to bring them over. Especially if you haven't read the latest issue of "O." But I won't be offended if you say no.
My question to you today, readers, is a complex one.
Can you please explain to me how, when I come home from the salon, my hair is fabulously shiny, smooth and luxurious, and perfectly coiffed...
...and yet, even armed with explicit instructions, products, and tools, when I style it myself it looks more like this:
It is a Hair Conundrum.
Guess who's jumping on the "Let's Lose Weight Because It's The New Year And We're Really Fat" band wagon!
If you guessed Team Abby Gabs, then you'd be 100% right!!
Of course, we're not doing it just because it's January. Yes, everybody else is bustling to their local 24-hour gymnasiums, buying stock in fad diet books, and venturing out in the wee hours to buy bigger stretchy pants for their afternoon jogs. But that's not the reason we're doing it.
Between the two of us, Brian and I definitely need to lose some weight. It seems there's some sort of mathematical equation that involves increasing ages, decreasing activity levels, and expanding waist lines.
Who knew?
(Other than Oprah, that guy on the Biggest Loser, and Richard Simmons?)
At any rate, we've got our work cut out for us. The bad news? We've got at least 125 pounds to lose between the two of us. And that's a low-ball number.
The good news? (Fortunately, there's more good news than bad.) Brian is home 4 days a week now, so we actually have time to dedicate to fitness. And, better than that, he's totally on board with the whole thing. In fact, he's the one really driving us to start ASAP. (Had it not been for the monkey flu of death, we would have started at the 'official' beginning of the year. Whatever that means.)
Brian is so keen, he even posted the following on Facebook over the weekend:
(It's ok. You can gag over my response. We tend to be way mushier than most couples, both in real life and on social media websites. We can't help it---we strive to annoy people with our ooey-gooey-ness.)
I'm not going to lie, when I threw in the towel in 2012, there were several different reasons for it, none of them very good ones. The main reason, I'm ashamed to admit, was my own lack of conviction. Pair that with several extenuating circumstances (being dumped unceremoniously by someone I considered a dear friend, stress over Brian's last semester of nursing school, my overall knack for excellent laziness, and the temptation of food-oh-so-glorious-food) and what little bit of success I had early last year has been all but erased.
So, we're starting 2013 with a new slate. The fridge has been emptied of all junk food and refilled with fruit, lean meats, and plenty of vegetables. Our schedules are being created around planned exercise excursions. We plan on joining a local gym in the next several weeks so that we have somewhere to go for our workouts. (Because no matter what they tell you, as convenient as working out at home can be, it's way too easy for us Lazy Pants People to come up with an excuse not to do it.)
Our only rules going into this new phase of our lives?
1) To concentrate on how we feel physically, and how our clothes fit, and how much energy we have--NOT a number on a scale.
2) To help each other through daily cravings, and allow ourselves to cave every now and then, for the sake of our own sanity.
3)To support each other completely, no matter what.
That's our plan for now. I'm sure you'll hear about it on the blog from time to time. And maybe, just maybe, if I'm a perfect wife, I can convince Brian to do a video blog with me to talk about our journey.
But I'm not making any promises, people. He's not shy, but he's not necessarily ready for his close-up yet either, Mr. Demille.
So here I am, eleven days (11?!!??!?!?!?) into the shiny new year, and I'm just now getting around to writing an honest-to-goodness, real-life blog.
What's that ya say, readers? "What's Up With THAT?"
Well, I'll tell you.
For starters, in case you missed it, Brian graduated about a month ago. Which means my man, in all his glory, has been home a LOT lately. That translates into...well...into this:
Pure. Unadulterated. Bliss.
There's been lots of sleeping, lots of snuggling, and lots of laughing. We've been socializing, taking road trips, going to movies, watching a TON of Doctor Who reruns, and just basically enjoying each other's company for the first time in practically three years.
If it hadn't been for all the working in between, it would have almost been like a vacation.
That being said, all this extra-super-fun-time has put a serious damper on my desire to write. Not because I don't want to, or because I don't have things to write about, but because I'd just rather be snuggling with my honey on the couch whilst playing Mario on our new Wii-U.
(Brian assures me that this honeymoon phase will pass. I'm not so sure.)
(Meaning, the honeymoon phase with him, not the Mario brothers. Although they're pretty adorable little plumbers. Mustaches and all.)
On top of all that quality time being spent, I'm also just getting over the monkey flu of death. It hit me like a ton of bricks a week ago today, and I spent at least 3 of the last 7 days totally sacked out in bed, unable to move much more than to blow my nose and beg weakly for more Sudafed.
After a week of nose-blowing, pill-popping, orange juice-drinking, and nap-taking, I think I've finally kicked the beastie's butt. At least, I'm showered, dressed, and upright for the first time in days. That's a major improvement. Trust me.
I crawled out of my cocoon of covers this morning just so I could get started on the new and improved Abby Gabs, all vamped up and ready for 2013! You'll notice a new banner, a new button, and a new theme that runs throughout my social media outlets (including Twitter and Facebook.)
And that's all fine and dandy.
But the addition to my blog that makes me the most excited???
The shiny new Pinterest button that joins my other social media links at the top of the page! How cute is that??? And now you can satisfy your deepest curiosity into what That Gabby Abby pins on a maniacal level daily basis. Because believe me when I say that I pin like a mad woman. It's the truth, friends and neighbors.
So, dear reader, I hope you'll accept my heartfelt apology in the late salutations. But in truth, 2013 really started for me today! So, in true Abby Gabs fashion, Happy 2013!!!
I'm still alive.
Well, mostly.
Truth is, I'm sick as a dog and having a hard time overcoming the evil influenza.
But it's been weeks since I last checked in, so I didn't want you to think the family is prepping my funeral or anything.
(Family: If you are, in fact, prepping my funeral, make sure it's upbeat and fun, ok? I wouldn't be opposed to disco lights and funk music.)
Anywhoo, if you're here for a new Abby Gabs, sorry to disappoint. However, you can read this post about the last time I had the flu, and laugh about that instead.
Hopefully, I'll see you again soon, 100% flu free.
