Monthly Archives: July 2015

F you Monday

Did you ever have a Monday you just wanted to go back to bed. Curl up in a ball. Disappear?

I hate complaining. I hate complainers. I hate excuses. I’ve made no bones about that stuff. So this blog goes against everything I say I stand for. I wasn’t going to write this. Or at least not post it. We’ll see if I do. I think its important, though to share our struggle. To be honest. To let anyone who might be suffering out there know that they are not alone.

When Im stressed I hold it in my shoulders and neck. It doesn’t help that I have some cracked vertebrae in my neck that flare up once in awhile. So when stress is at an all-time high I can barely move my head. It hurts. Like SHIT. I still workout- because I need to and want to and it is what I do. I woke up today with tears rolling down my face the pain was so bad. But I wake up next to a dude who’s brain is shrinking. Complaining seems idiotic. And selfish.

My business is growing quickly. That is NOT a complaint. I could not be more thrilled with that. I am ecstatic. Its amazing and a blessing and Im so grateful. My “why” for doing this coaching thing isn’t just to “help other people get healthy”. Thats a big part of it. I love fitness and exercise and feeling great. But lets be honest- there’s good money to be made. And with Patrick’s very unknown work future I feel a serious obligation to my family to keep us financially secure. He makes very good money. I have not worked in years. I cannot express how grateful I am to him and to this situation for allowing me to be home with my kids all of those years. I am one lucky girl. So it feels so ungrateful to bitch about the pressure I feel when I know there’s single Moms out there that have been dealing with this for a LONG time. Who never had a supportive partner. But I can’t help but feel the pressure. Im sure my husband has felt this pressure to provide for 18 years. It’s my turn. And lets just say Im great at the “people and parties” part of this job. I love socializing, I love working with my team, I love working with people to find the appropriate fitness program and watching them succeed. The stupid ass taxes and administrative shit can kiss my ass. I don’t do “business stuff”. And now Im forced to. I know- poor poor me…business is doing well so I will deal. Its just me having a bitch session about the fact that I HATE dealing with numbers and taxes and accounting and crap. I went to a party college- and got a degree in Psychology because it required the least amount of math classes. And holy hell I need help because I don’t want to end up like Wesley Snipes and make a bunch of money then lose it because I DON’T KNOW WHERE THE HELL IT IS! OK- rant over about that.

People are relying on me. My kids, my husband, my customers, my coaches, my team. I love that. But it is stressful. My husband has been VERY wobbly this past week. And his speech is worse. It seems to be progressing. I knew it would. But for some dumb reason I ignore it. I love the little world I love in called Denial. It serves it’s purpose. It keeps me sane. It helps my neck. It helps me continue functioning. But he’s getting worse. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. And it fucking sucks. And 99% of the time Im ok and happy and embracing life and knowing each moment is precious and appreciating it. Today is a 1% day. Fuck you Brain Rot. And I want to call my Dad for help. He’d run here. He’d move here. He’d be here to help me. But I don’t have him. I have me. And when I Iook around for the grown-ups to FIX this. For the support of a more mature person. For a place to fall down and cry while someone else cleans it up I realize there is no one. Its ME. Im the grown up. Fuck.

I got some sweet messages from people about my video I posted on Facebook last week of me dancing in my driveway to my new CIZE workout. Very sweet. And some saying- “wow I could never look that good dancing” or “wow you’re in great shape I could never live up to that”. And I feel like some people get a picture of a perfect girl with a perfect life who’s thin and in shape and happy all the time. I want those people to know that there’s REAL shit in everyone’s life. I am thin. Born this way. Im the bitch who can workout twice and have muscles. I’ve never been overweight. I was too thin at one point due to severe IBS and stomach issues. I feel great now physically- Im healthier than I’ve ever been.. I can climb a mountain. My husband can’t.

And he texts me that the wobbliness is even worse today. And I have 500 things on my list for work to do. And I have 35 messages to return. And a new coach basics group to help run. And new coaches to train. And a kid to take to the orthodontist. And a light bulb to change. And dishes. And laundry. And a health check up for school athletics. And a workout to do and video and post. And so, so , so many other things. And all I really want to do is cry. And go to sleep.

And that is me bitching unnecessarily. Because I know that there are a million Moms, a million people out there who have it WAY worse than me. I get to travel. I have amazing friends. I have a nice house. A great family. An amazing “job”. And it all looks perfect. Perfectly perfect in that dance video. And maybe thats why someone WONT think they can get fit or find their healthy or “look like me while dancing” (good lord aim higher). Dont do that- dont think its all roses. I am one tough ass girl. I am strong willed and capable and I never give up! NEVER! I love my work and I will pour my soul into that. I love my family. I know how damn lucky I am. I don’t dance because my life is perfect. I dance INSPITE of the shit and BECAUSE it is so imperfect. Now Im going to have a cry. Then Im going to put on my big girl Nike Pros and kick this week’s ass. I hope you all do the same. Thanks for letting this girl bitch a little….or a LOT!



The 4 most important men in my life have been my two grandfathers, my Dad and my husband. I’ve been lucky enough to have and know many amazing men. Great friends, great mentors, great people. But there is no doubt who is in the top 4. My parents were VERY young when they had me. And they were both the oldest child in their families so in turn I had very young grandparents. Like they were in their early 40’s when I was born. And I grew up just a few miles from both sets of grandparents so I saw them A LOT. I was lucky. Very lucky.

My Mom’s Dad taught me to fish at this lakehouse. He taught me how to work a trolling motor on a small boat. He taught me the difference in types of fish. He taught me that Jesus loves everyone the same and we are NOT to judge or ask questions we are just to give, and love, unconditionally. And he did. He was a preacher. He was a flirt. He would’ve given the shirt off of his back to anyone, anywhere, who needed it. And not asked questions. The ladies loved him. He was very charming and NEVER strayed from my Granny. He loved her. A lot! He worked a blue collar job his entire life and his hands were always dirty and I loved that. He was hilariously funny and sarcastic (surprise surprise) and that humor stayed with him through a decades long battle with Parkinsons. You’d be sure he was gone, mind lost to a place we would never see him again and then WHAMO- he’d make some crazy funny joke about our family and you’d know there was still a flickering of Grandad in there. His birth certificate simply had his name listed as L.D. Cannon. He never knew (or never told us) what the L.D. stood for. He stood by the name of “Little Darlin’” and we just accepted that. Parkinsons took him a few years ago. I miss him.

My Dad’s Dad (Pawpa) was a retired Navy air traffic controller. He served in World war 2. He was strict. He said “affirmative” and “negative” instead of yes and no. He gave directions as west, north, east, rather than right and left. He was very smart. He had a college degree from University of North Texas. He was loyal to his family and a serious rule follower. And he had his “chair”. You did NOT sit in his chair. And that’s the dude most people knew. I knew a man who played horsey and bounced me on his leg until I was WAY to big to be doing that. I knew a man who told fun stories about his childhood. I knew a man who adored my Dad and loved his wife and his grandchildren with all of his heart. I knew a man who let me sneak extra cookies when Nanny told me no. I knew a man who encouraged my Mom and I to get a degree because “women should”. I knew a man who let me drive his motor boat on Lake Dallas when my parents didn’t know. I knew a man who let me sit in his chair and never missed a football game I cheered at and videoed all of my performances. He used to call me often. I miss that. Cancer took him a decade ago.

I think I’ve written about my Dad so often you already know why I adored hm. Why he was IT! The standard by which I based all other men off of. He used to call me a lot. He used to be the 1st one to call me early on my Birthday. He taught me to love music. I miss him.

Papa died first, then my Dad, then my Grandad. All within a few years of each other. When Pawpa died my heart ached for Nanny but I watched a strength in her. And never a complaint- always saying you should look back on beautiful memories and be grateful. I watched my Mom widowed at 53. That just sucked. It was shitty. But I watched that lady, who I already knew was tough, keep her shit together. Continue on. Make big financial decisions alone. And go on. And smile again. Grandad died a few years ago. Fucking Parkinsons. I hate that crap. He wasn’t the same man that last 2 years that I grew up with. I choose to remember the strong man on the dock….fishing. And Granny remains strong. All of those women. All of those STRONG women left behind.

And so as these men left my life, 1 by 1, I was grateful to have a good husband. He’s smart, funny, cute, great with money (thank God) and I kinda like him. So when brain rot struck- and it struck hard in 2012- I spent a few minutes asking “good God why me?” “Why us?”. Its such bullshit that all of the men in my life get sick, or die. Im beyond that whole phase of trying to understand why. And I’ve come to find that there is a circle of women, generations deep, that I come from, that are beyond strong. I have had the privilege of watching them survive. Of watching them hold families together. Of watching them navigate an unfamiliar life, without a partner. I have seen a strength I cannot describe. And now when I see other couples….older or younger…and the woman seems so dependent on the man it makes me think. I have felt sad that my Mom wont have a 50th wedding anniversary. I have felt sad about a lot of things. And I’ve wondered why we, these women, this family, doesn’t get to lean on an older husband as they walk with a cane. Why they don’t get to complain that their husband’s don’t “do enough” around the house. That mowing the yard and changing light bulbs and balancing checking accounts and taking care of kids and whatever….is all left to them. There’s no other option.

And I am grateful to come from strong women. I am so crazy grateful to be THAT woman. And I hope and pray I raise one too. And a year ago at Beachbody Summit I told myself I wanted to NOT sit in the nosebleeds next time. I wanted to be down “THERE”. Near the stage. And in 2 days I will be WALKING across that stage. Thanks to a lot of people, friends and support. And walking with me wont just be the strong men who aren’t here anymore. It will be the strong women who taught me how to walk alone.



After several miscarriages and tests and pain- physically and mentally- I was further into a pregnancy than I’d ever been. It was New Years Eve 1999 going into 2000. And the least of my worries was Y2K. I’d lost so many pregnancies (some very late in my term) that I was constantly anxious and paranoid about losing another. Although they had found the source of my “issues” and I was on blood thinners and things seemed to be going ok….I just couldn’t wrap my head around an actual baby. I wasn’t sure it was in my destiny. In our destiny.

But on July 6, 2000 after 26 hours of labor and pitocin (evil shit) she arrived. Seven pounds, 6 ounces of jet black hair and cute, healthy baby! Patrick was so nervous he counted her fingers and toes and kept miscounting thinking she had 11 fingers. Two days later as the nurse wheeled me to the parking lot and Patrick pulled the car up to the curb he and I stood there and stared at the nurse. She kind of looked at us, checked the car seat and waited. We picked up the baby and asked”so do we just leave with it now?”.

So clueless. As most new parents are. So totally and utterly and absolutely clueless.

And now her 5 foot 3 inches self is sitting on my couch almost 15 years later registering for her pre-drivers license classes online. In Colorado you have to have 30 hours of instruction before even getting your permit. And since she wants it ON HER BIRTHDAY- which is Monday, she has to get busy.

And unlike any other milestone in my children’s lives this has me spent. When she learned to talk it was TO ME. When she learned to walk it was TO ME. When she started Kindergarten she came home every day TO ME. I know. I KNOW. With all of my heart and soul and memory of my 15th birthday what this means. When she gets her driver’s license it will be because she will drive AWAY. FROM ME. I’ve cried a few times this week about it. I don’t understand where the time went. It went so crazy fast. And I know what this represents. Its the beginning of her leaving. She will no longer need me to drive her to practice, to go shopping, to her friend’s houses. All of those millions of moments in the car that we talked. REALLY TALKED.

Who will she talk to now? Did I say all I needed to say in 15 years? Did I explain all she needs to know? Did I teach her about life? Did I convey how much I love her. Shit. If I’d have known the time in the car was going to go so quickly I might have talked more. I might have shared more. Or better yet- I might have LISTENED more.

The truth is I didn’t obey every traffic law. I didn’t drive perfectly. I drove out past curfew. I did stupid things STUPID things. I had alcohol in my car and boys and holy crap. How do you tell a kid NOT to do the very things you did? And the truth is you CANT. She knows right from wrong. She knows. But now the choices will lie squarely on her shoulders and I wont be there. Patrick wont be there…to catch her, save her or re direct her.

More than any other thing they’ve ever done this driving thing is a real eye-opener. Because I know what it means to be 15. To be 16. I know how you think. And I also know once you walk out that door, and get in that Red 1987 Chevy Z24 you don’t come back. You just don’t. My Dad took off work the morning of my 16th birthday and took me to the DMV in Lewisville, Texas to get my drivers license. That afternoon, when I drove away for the first tim on my own…I finally now know how he felt. How my Mom felt. He was a mere 35 years old that day. As clueless as I am at 42. About this whole parenting thing. We do they best we can. They did the best they could. We protect and teach, and inform and then we have to let go and trust. I trust her. She’s a good kid. A very good kid. But Im not one of those naive parents that thinks their kids do nothing wrong. After all, I was once 16.

So for this type A, control freak of a Mom this is a big thing. A HUGE thing. And Im scared and Im nervous and Im worried and Im going to slap a GPS tracking deice on her car and lock her phone in her trunk and weld the back doors shut and any other shit we can think to do to protect her. Until we can’t. Until we just have to let go. Watching your kids grow is this beautifully, symmetrical act of simultaneous joy, fear, sadness, pride and love.

The song I listened to most while pregnant with her was “I HOPE YOU DANCE” by Lee Ann Womack. It says a lot about hoping your child embraces all that life will show her. And I hope she does. I hope she finds the beauty in a solo drive through the mountains, in a convertible on a pretty day, in music blaring from the car radio, in the freedom of being able to leave when you want to. And I hope once in a blue moon she drives back home…TO ME!

“Children Get Older and I’m getting older too…”
~Stevie Nicks, Landslide