Bath Bombs and Healthy Habits

I've made a resolution to myself that I would start taking better care of me, in every way possible. I'm eliminating gluten. I'm walking every day. I'm eating better. I'm dressing better. I'm wearing makeup sometimes. I am making myself a priority. 

Things I've Noticed:

1. The attitudes of people around me change as I change. Some good, some bad. 
2. My reaction to those changes has changed. I'm indifferent about the changes, because I realize it's not about me. It's about them. It's not my burden to bear. 
3. I feel so good when I come in from my daily walk. I feel happier. 
4. Hot tea makes me happy, too. 
5. My happiness is important. 
6. My happiness is not dictated by the size of my jeans. 
7. Your happiness does not dictate my happiness. Apply the your to anyone in number 1. 
8. Taking better care of myself makes me feel better about myself. 

I'm going to keep taking care of me, keep improving me, and keep having a fun life. I like the direction I'm headed. 

Anyway, none of that has anything to do with today's craft. It was just on my mind. Here you go, patient reader. A simple craft you can make and give as a gift. 

Bath Bombs/Fizzies

based on this link

total time spent: 15 minutes hands-on

total cost to me: about $5 for a half recipe (just for the citric acid, because I had everything else already)

craftiness level: beginner, as usual

Now, I had a hard time finding citric acid here in Germany. It's not that it isn't around. The problem I had was that it was sold in tiny, relatively expensive packets. I had to buy three of them to get a scant half-cup. So, I spent roughly $5US to get half of the amount called for in this recipe. Your cost will be lower if you're in the US. Citric acid is readily available in larger jars. Ball company sells it witht the canning supplies. You can find it in the baking aisle, too. 

Tip: Use witch hazel, not water, when spritzing the mixture. It seems to improve the stability of the fizzies. 

Half of Martha's recipe netted us 14 bath fizzies. 

See you tomorrow for another holiday craft idea!

Watch Me Shrink

This is not fun to write. 

Over the years, my weight has gone up. Way, way up. I diet. I exercise. But I have trouble sticking with it, and I almost always get to the point where I think, "why bother?" And then I give up. 

me (right) in high school 

young me with my husband and firstborn daughter

with my youngest child, five years after the photo above it

a year after the photo above this one

weight really going up now. This was three years ago. 

At this point, I officially hate having my photo taken. 

I especially hate my arms. 

I look at these photos, and I see the masked unhappiness on my face. 

Savannah vacation. I spent hours obsessing over "covering" outfits for the vacation. Cover my skin. My eyes. My feelings. 

I hate the camera. This was last year. 

another last year photo. I didn't want to attend this event because of my weight, fearing being the fattest girl in the room. 

I waited on the bench because I didn't feel up to climbing stairs in the heat. My weight keeps me from having fun. 

Things have happened to my mind since I've gained all this weight:

I make excuses to avoid social events. Headaches, don't feel good, whatever. I make excuses. 

Upon entering a room, I immediately scan it to see if I'm the fattest person in the room. If I find someone my size, I make eye contact and smile. I understand, I think to myself, willing them to hear me. 

I wear ugly clothes. Baggy. Ill-fitting. Uncomfortable clothes. The better to hide in. 

I hate eating in public. I feel all the eyes on me, judging me. Even if it's not actually happening. This is especially true at fast food places. 

I feel anxiety at the doctor's office. My numbers are all good. But my blood pressure goes up a lot in triage because they take it before they weigh me. 

I do not enjoy sex. 

The scale has, at times, meant too much for me. It could make or ruin a day in the blink of an eye. 

I joined Weight Watchers. I chose the earliest meeting possible. And I would weigh myself in several outfits to see which one made me weigh "less" before the meeting. Even if it was snowing, I'd wear light clothing. And I wouldn't eat or drink a thing before weigh-in at the meeting. Obsessed. 

Every time I give up, I gain even more weight. I was 135 when I met my husband. I'm more than a hundred pounds heavier now. 

Something has to change. 

Physical things happen to me, too:

My ankle hurts all the time. 

My feet hurt halfway through the day. 

I sweat easily. 

My bladder has weakened with the extra weight on it. 

I get heat rashes. 

And chafing. 

I retain water. 

Something has to change. 

I've considered hcg, bariatric surgery. I've joined clubs. I've tried every diet I know. 

Nothing works. 

I don't know how to lose weight properly anymore. But I have to keep trying. So, I'm reading stuff. I'm making "clean" meals. And I'm implementing small strategies. I want to kick obesity's ass. And I'm inviting you to watch my progress. Because I need all the help, all the cheerleaders, I can get. 

I'll post an update every Saturday.