The Recap that wasn’t…

Sunday I ran 13.1 miles.

It’s the best race I’ve had.

It was my fastest time ever. I spent an amazing 1:58:40 alone in contemplation about my life, it’s direction and where I see myself going in the near future. There should be an amazing recap flying out from my fingers at lightening speed. I should be replaying all the awesome things I saw and did (I ran some of the race with a 71 year old man who had just completed the Boston Marathon two weeks prior). I should be reliving all the thumbs ups and pats on the back I received (seriously if you don’t wear some kind of sign proclaiming your accomplishments during your long races – you’re nuts). I should be contemplating how I ran in areas of my home town where I used to buy and use my drug of choice and here I was running through them again successful to have come out alive and in the best shape of my life. I should be telling you about when I woke up Sunday and dressed for the race I was happy to just be showing up and anything that happened would be okay with me. I should be throwing down words of emotions that pull at your heart strings when during mile 5 I passed the 2:00:00 pacer and decided right then and there I was going to pull of my first sub two hour half marathon despite all that has happened to me in the previous weeks leading up to Sunday morning. I should be telling you about seeing my friend Jessi waving her sign as I came around the last corner and in that instant I loved her more than I thought possible.

But I’m not.

I’m keeping this one for me.

There are just some events in your life that you don’t want to share. You don’t want to let it go for fear that the momentum of what happened will be lost. This is one of those events. I just want to keep this close to my heart and find the ability to be proud of what I’ve done and to find the validation of what I accomplished from inside myself. Not everything on this journey is meant to be shared here…

Just trust me when I say:

It was awesome.

Pre Race thoughts / changes

Tomorrow is Race Day

13.1

I’m earning every fucking mile!

When I wake up tomorrow and begin to prepare for my half marathon I’m going to do so with a lot of soul searching. In light of recent events, I almost didn’t make it to this race. I almost gave in because of bad choices. I almost did not step up to the starting line.

Unacceptable.

I’ve been very quiet over the last 7 – 10 days. Not spending to much time on twitter or facebbook. Not  spending too much time trying to lay some words of wisdom down here on ALifeChangingJourney because I didn’t really feel I had any to offer. I’ve spent a lot of time looking inward and wondering if I had what it takes to get my shit together in time to do what I do best: Run.

1663

That’s my number. Not only do I have what it takes to recognize when I need to get help. I reach out and get it. I ate my food, I stopped weighing myself, I earned my stickers and tonight I got to lay out my running gear…

I earned this race.

I earned the right to step up to the starting line. I earned the right to do what I love. I earned the right to cross over the finish line and know that when I do I’ve earned the right to move forward and beyond the choices of yesterday. Beyond the doubt and the fear. Beyond the self sabotaging. Beyond the hurtful words only spoken in my ears by the inner voice I still carry. I’ve earned the right to brush myself off, pat myself on the back and say: “Today I live to fight another day”…

It’s gonna be a great race!

__________________________________________________________________________

Changes

Are a comin!

This site will be down for maintence

Starting Sunday night (*crossing fingers*)

And up When the time is right.

Changes

Are good…

Hanging out with my Fairy Godmother!

Jules, over at Biggirlbombshell asked me to do a guest post! When your fairy godmother calls…you listen!

Clicky click and go!!!!

Hello, my name is Tara

 And I am an addict

(Hi Tara)

It’s been five days since I last weighed myself and it is freaking me out. I’m always thinking about how much I weigh and wondering if it’s changed much since the last time I stepped on the scale. I’m constantly pulling my rings on and off as a way of double checking to make sure everything is still okay. If I’m standing around you will pretty much find me with my hand on my stomach to make sure it feels the same today as it did yesterday as it did the day before…

Five days doesn’t seem like long.

But when you’re longing to pull into your local Target and sneak into the bath department to find some relief of the anxiety inside your body by stepping on a scale, five days can seem like a very long time. If my scale was at home I would have weighed myself probably no less than 70 times in the last five days.

Hello my name is Tara

And I am an addict

(Hello Tara)

I’m ashamed of the behavior much like I was ashamed when I decided to get clean and realized the power the drugs had over me. I’m ashamed of the behavior much like I was ashamed when I decided to end my World of Warcraft account and realized the power the video game had over me. I’m not afraid to admit being ashamed. This is not a behavior that is conducive to a healthy lifestyle. This is not a behavior that is conducive to being a role model to those coming behind me, trying to take control of their own lives. This is not a behavior conducive to who I am destined to be.

Hello my name is Tara.

And I am an addict.

(Hello Tara)

I’m back to getting my eating under control. I got pretty deep into some dangerous behaviors. A week later I can see a difference in my face (much less gaunt). I’ve had to take this in small steps (first focus: 5 meals a day / each with a protein) and the reward system is some what childish in nature (think stickers) but it’s what is working for me right now. I’m scared about moving on from this first focus. This was difficult (difficult) and I’m only a few days into it. I’ve cried my way through more than my fair share of small meals that shouldn’t be causing me so much angst but they are. The foods that I used to love eating are now taken in the smallest amounts I can stand but in the end all my stickers are earned!

This journey of mine is one of complexity and confusion. It’s one of understanding and forgiveness. It’s one of fear of going back and fear of moving forward. It’s one of love for the person that looks back at me from the mirror and frustration for those same eyes that long to just have a little quiet time from the mind. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change: this is no longer a weight loss journey. 120 pounds is enough and anything less would be detrimental to my physical well being. The courage to change the things I can: I am in control of what I do on this journey. I can eat to nourish my body, I can exercise to maintain the weight loss, I can do both with balance even if it takes me some time to figure out what balance looks like. And the wisdom to know the difference: I am present. I am in the moment. I’ve surrounded myself with people that love and care for me and even if I don’t know the difference, I trust they do and will guide me down the path until I can walk it on my own.

Hello my name is Tara

And it’s okay to admit I’m an addict.

(I love you Tara)

Not afraid to say what is necessary…

 

is tough.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk about what I’ve been going through the last couple of weeks. I’m still trying to figure out where my mind was going with some of the decisions I was making. What I can tell you (because this is about being honest right) is that I had stopped making healthy choices in the food I was consuming (and simultaneously working out too much). I don’t mean I was binging on foods full of calories with ingredients I can’t pronounce. I mean I stopped eating. Literally. I was getting calories in but in unhealthy amounts.

At the end of March I weighed 157 pounds.

Less than three weeks later I weighed 150 pounds.

(I would have kept going)

I don’t know why I started to push food away. I do know that there are certain behaviors that were fueling my desire to not eat food. One of them being challenging myself to go longer durations before eating. First it was an hour after I left gym, then it was challenging myself to go two hours after leaving the gym before eating. Three hours followed close behind until I was trying to go up to four hours. It was to keep my panic in check. It was a good plan to work through the panic but it was poorly planned and executed.

Another behavior was throwing food away. In the beginning the #100daychipquest challenge was set forth to help me understand that no matter where I was I had access to food. Throwing it away was like telling the panic it didn’t have a place in my life anymore and over the past 29 days it was doing exactly what I was hoping…dissapating the panic.

It was also taking away necessary calories.

As time went on, the amount of food I was packing for the day was getting smaller.

But the food I was throwing away was staying the same.

The final behavior is my relationship with the scale. It is unhealthy. I weigh myself multiple times a day…when I say multiple I mean double-digit amounts. Upwards to 15 a day. I don’t know why. A fear of gaining: maybe. A desire to keep losing: maybe. Habit: maybe…whatever the reason, it’s not a good enough one to justify what I was doing…

Not eating enough over the last couple of weeks has left my body weak. I don’t look healthy. I don’t feel healthy. I am not healthy. I can’t complete a workout without getting light-headed. I’ve had to stop doing whatever activity I was doing multiple times because I’m on the verge of passing out. My heart rate is up. My stomach hurts all the time. Eating is painful (emotionally). I don’t want to chew. I don’t want to swallow. I don’t want eat.

Period.

The reason I am writing this post is because over the course of the last couple of days, someone in my life came forward and called me on my shit. At some point in our conversations she asked me the following question: “If I was told I had to eat more in order to keep working out would I?”…I answered honestly: No.

Red Flag

She told me I had two choices – I could either go down the road to living healthy in all aspects of my life or I could go down the road of not living healthy. That I needed to choose. You’d think the choice would be easy but again let me be absolutely honest: I didn’t know at that moment of being asked where I wanted to go. I was thinking like an addict and if you’ve ever been one you know we don’t make the best choices…Before I could answer she sent the following text:

“I’m only going to hold your hand and walk with you down the road to strength and health. I can’t stand by you if you choose the other direction“

Being on the receiving end of tough love is hard.

(Difficult Difficult)

But it’s all I needed.

I’m giving up the #100daychipquest as soon as this posts to my blog. I thought about just giving up the throwing away food portion of the challenge but decided that right now I shouldn’t be involved with any challenges. I have other things I need to focus on in order to get my mind right and more importantly get my body back to being healthy.

I need to eat.

I need to eat often.

The other thing I’ve done is given up my scale. I didn’t put it somewhere in the house or give it to my husband to hide. I gave it away. When I walked into Godfather’s gym yesterday morning I did so with scale in hand. The only thing I can liken it too was when I had to give up my paraphernalia when I was getting clean. This morning when I woke up I stood where my scale would normally be and cried. I’ve already thought about sneaking off to my local Fred Meyer store and weighing myself in the bath department (Hello my name is Tara and I am an addict…).

Not only did my friend call me out on my shit and make boundaries for her own emotional well being, so did Godfather. He said if I continued down this unhealthy path, then the trainings would discontinue. To have two of the most important people in my life draw that line and stand firmly on one side waiting for me to decide which path I was choosing made the decision pretty easy…

I don’t want to be on this side of unhealthy.

Alone.

I want to be on their side of healthy.

Together.

So that’s where I am today. Figuring out how I got here and figuring out how to not stay here. Loving myself enough to know that while eating right now is difficult it is necessary. Standing in the place where once my scale was and trying through wishful thinking to make it reappear knowing it won’t. Crying and laughing, then quickly going back to crying. Then taking a deep breath and moving on to the best of my ability.

With my friend by my side.

(Thank you)

The Swinging of the Pendulum…

It’s 2:30a

I would much rather be sleeping than sitting on the couch in the dark (so as not to wake my husband) typing out this post. But the truth of the matter is, this sleep thing has been eluding me for some time now. I could lie to you and come up with a plethora of reasons why I’m not sleeping but since this journey is about being honest with myself that means sometimes what I put down on these virtual pages hurts me more than it hurts the passengers (you).

The last 16 months my life has been micro managed. Every bite of food going into my mouth was either counted and logged, subtracted from a net calorie goal or at least mindfully placed on my tongue for a reason: To not be morbidly obese. Every drop of sweat had a purpose: To not be morbidly obese. For 16 months I fought tooth and nail (and blood and sweat) to finally get out of that morbidly obese category and out of the prison of my depression…

And I did.

Both.

The pendulum was finally swinging in a direction I was happy with. Life changed. I changed. Anxiety and fear no longer controlled what I was doing (or lack of doing). Depression no longer had a hold of my heart and spirit and for the first time in my adult life I was absolutely present in the moment.

Then something funny happened.

The pendulum continued to swing.

I began to exercise too much. I was still micro managing everything going into my mouth. Every drop of sweat still  had a purpose. I wanted to see 100 pounds lost…then 110…115 was where I thought I wanted to stop. The scale kept moving and I didn’t want to do anything about stopping it from reaching the 120 pound loss. Everyone congratulated me, but inside I’m screaming “THIS WAS NOT PART OF THE PLAN”.

This is not part of the plan.

This journey was is about finding balance and honestly, I don’t think  know I’m not doing a very healthy job of finding that balance. Addictive behaviors are running rampart in my mind and playing themselves out in ways that I never thought would happen to me. Food has become bothersome. The act of chewing and swallowing almost painful at times…My body wants to eat, my mind is saying otherwise.

Life has gotten extremely raw for me in the present moment.

Having to admit that going from morbidly obese to underweight is a real possibility was never my intention. But much like when I was using meth, I never thought I’d become a drug addict. Much like playing World of Warcraft, I never thought I’d become a video game addict. I always thought I’d be in control: Until I wasn’t.

I am not.

I’m actively working on changing yet another portion of this journey. This never ending journey of finding balance. This never ending journey of finding peace in my mind, my heart, and my soul. This never ending journey of finding a balance between the food I place in my body and the sweat I leave on the floor.

This never ending journey…

For the first time since starting this blog, I’m turning off the comments to a post. Instead of leaving me words of encouragement and letting me know how much you are thinking about me (because trust me I feel that love each and every second I continue to move forward), take a few moments and think about where you are on your journey. Those words of encouragement and love that you would place here, place in your heart. Go to the mirror and look deep into the eyes that are looking back and tell yourself that above all else: You are worth saving…

It’s what I’m doing right now.

Running naked…

Hahahahaha…

I bet that got your attention!

Now that you’re here might as well stick around and read the rest of this post (you pervert!).

Today I ran without my garmin. Without a heart rate monitor. Without a route. Without a mileage goal. Without a time goal. I just ran. Today starts the idea of #watchlessmonday. Picking a time during the week where a run takes place without the constraints of what many of us are bogged down with…our gadgets.

It was a little nerve-wracking at first to leave without the comforting compressed feeling of a chest strap around my body. I’ve become very attached to knowing exactly how fast I’m running, how far I’ve run, what my heart rate is and how many calories I’ve burned. As I left the house I was scheming ways of figuring all those things out without the need of any gadgets. I thought about running a direct route, one that would be easy to remember so that I could come home and google map it. I thought about running a route I was familiar with and already knew the mileage. I thought about running for a specific amount of time so that I could estimate distance…

Then I thought to challenge myself.

You know I love a good challenge right?

I purposefully ran a route that would be impossible to map. I purposefully ran a route I’ve never run before. I purposefully ran a route in which timing couldn’t be a factor (we’re talking hills baby!). It was just what I needed. I’m back to tracking food for nutritional purposes, which means I’m back to wearing a HRM when I’m at the gym to calculate how many calories I’m burning. I’ve been bogged down by my gadgets and today was liberating (Thanks Sharla).

And just like most things in my life right now…

There was a message to be learned.

As I started my run I was trying to memorize the route. I didn’t want to, but my own thoughts of having something to prove kicked in. What if it’s not far enough? What if it’s not fast enough. I have a half marathon coming up and how can this count towards training if I have no idea how far I’ve gone? As I rounded a corner I came to a set of long stairs that would have completely thrown me off course. I ran by them.

Then I turned around and ran down them.

It was important for me to let go of the constraints of what I think I should be doing and just enjoy what I was doing. Halfway down there was a landing. There was someone there, alone, throwing a ball against the door of the building. Time slowed down for me in that instance. That person looked bored. As if there was nothing better to do in the world but stand there and toss the ball back and forth. It reminded me of when I was a kid. Socially awkward. Not yet diagnosed with Aspergers. Labeled a loner. Teachers just let me be. No intervention. A tennis ball and brick wall…

That’s just Tara.

As I ran past them I looked inward to who I am and began to give thanks to the GOD that has brought me to where I am today. I tried not to cry, but couldn’t help myself as I remembered what it was like to be that person standing on the landing (both as a child and as an adult). By the time I hit the bottom of the stairs I didn’t care about my gadgets. I didn’t care about how fast I was running. I didn’t care about whether I was going to run 2 miles or 12 miles…

I just ran.

I didn’t need my garmin to tell me I have endurance. The hills I ran without stopping (and if you know Tacoma, you know there are some serious hills in the downtown area) showed me I have endurance. I didn’t need the garmin to tell me I can run fast. I just had to feel the strength in my legs as I pushed harder to know I was running faster. I didn’t need the garmin to tell me how far I was running. I just needed the exhaustion of both my lungs and my body to tell me I ran far enough…

I didn’t need the validation of a gadget.

I just needed me.

Just Tara.

Guest Post Goodness: Meegan!

Holy crapballs am I excited to post this little gem of goodness. As many of you know, after building a friendship with Meegan (RedStar5) over the course of the last 15 months of our LCJ(s) our paths finally crossed in the physical sense when she came to Vancouver a few weekends ago. We had been planning and counting down  the days  for nearly four months before Val and I got to finally a chance to wrap our arms around Meegan…we will never be the same again.

In fact, I know I will never be the same again.

I am honored

I am lucky

I am blessed to call her my friend…

…..

…..

…..

Valerie Tara and Meegan

Sometimes your path crosses with someone who changes your life and you don’t see it coming. When it happens that you get to meet people who know you understand a chapter in your life like no one else  it’s magical. The trick is being smart enough to recognize the magic when you find it.

Just over a year ago I started a blog. Right around the same time, so did a couple of other dynamic and incredible women. Somehow we found each other and the magic happened. We all read about the connections you can make through blogging. The process not only allows you to tell your story but to make the most amazing connections.

Tara and I have known each other in blog land from the beginning of our LCJ – Life Changing Journey. Tara was one of the very first commenters on my blog and we supported each other along the way. To me Tara was like a blog land super hero. I’ve watched her transformation from across the continent in awe of her strength, cheering her through each milestone and she returned the favour. I’ve watched her blog grow into a space where she not only puts her heart on her sleeve and honestly hashes through the tough stuff for us all to read, she also puts herself out there to help the rest of US out on this journey. Her heart is as big as anyone’s I’ve known.

I never dreamt in a million years we would have opportunity to meet. See, Tara lives in Tacoma, WA – that’s a whole continent away from my home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. That’s around 2700 miles apart and somehow we were meant to come together. Fortunately, back in the fall of last year I found out I was headed out west for a conference in Vancouver in April and we made a plan. Tara would drive the four hours up from Seattle and hang out with me in my Vancouver hotel for a few days before the conference. From there Val (Seattle Runner Girl) and Sharla (A Journey of 26.2 Miles Begins With a Blog)  got on board too. We were all going to come together and have a Festival of Love in Vancouver. And a twitter hash tag was born – #FoL

We counted down the days for months. First it was months, then weeks and finally we were counting single digit days like kids waiting for Christmas morning. Unfortunately as we got closer to April 1^st,  Sharla’s mom duties meant she wasn’t able to join us, but she was sure there in spirit and we sure did miss her.

That first day of April I landed in Vancouver in the afternoon just before 1pm local time. Val and Tara made it to Vancouver around 6:30pm that evening. I was waiting in the lobby (getting ETA text updates from Val) to see Tara’s orange Dusty-mobile pull up and was literally jumping up and down in front of the door men. People of Fitbloggin – you need to know this: Tara gives the best hug I have ever had the pleasure of receiving – be prepared for hugging goodness!  (No offense Val – your hugging skills are a close second!)

For #FoL our biggest plan was just to hang out together. We didn’t have anything scheduled.  We just took our minutes as they came and enjoyed getting to hang out in the same physical space instead of just the same web space. There isn’t anything quite like getting to talk to people who understand the journey you’ve undertaken and get the issues that come hand in hand with massive transformation. – “Hey T – I have saggy boobies and loose skin too!”

We did the following totally normal things that became amazing because we did them together:

• Ate cupcakes – yup, us “weight loss blogger” folk still like cupcakes people!
• Went bathing suit shopping – and Tara and I actually bought one each on sale! (If that’s not magic – I don’t know what is!)
• Had a kick ass workout together in the most amazing hotel gym I’ve ever seen only made more amazing by my company.
• Had pedicures together where I convinced Tara that yes, her thighs really ARE that little and we chatted about the strangeness it is to see yourself in a mirror and not recognize who it is for a minute.
• Ate the most delicious Thai meal I’ve ever had.
• Hung out the hotel hot tub after walking the city of Vancouver all day.

Cupcakes, painted toenails and chin ups Oh My!

There was lots of action, but some of my favourite moments from our FoL were honestly the quietest ones.  With the time zone difference for me and Tara’s whack-a-doodle sleeping habits we both got up around 4am on Saturday and Sunday. Rather than waste our waking hours tossing and turning and keeping pregnant Val up – who needed her rest – we headed out and wondered the quiet streets of Vancouver before the sun came up and found a 24 hour coffee shop and swapped tales of our journey.

Before we parted ways Tara and Val and I found a custom T-shirt shop in Vancouver and had some shirts made to commemorate our weekend #FoL. The only thing missing from our photo is Sharla – but there’s enough love to bust up the camera lens.

Memories of a Childhood (the on going story)

http://2.bp.blogspot.com

I’ve been wanting to write this for some time. This is one of those posts where I make myself as small as physically possible with laptop in tow, a box of kleenex close by and a heavy heart because I know that what I’m about to write is going to bring me to a place of sadness. It’s what I do here. Some blogs are weaved with humor in their stories. Some are weaved with meal plans and product placements. Others are weaved with daily pictures of food consumption and calories burned for the day. Mine is weaved with story after story of how I came to be who I was and how I’m fighting to become all that I am meant to be. I spend a lot of time in self reflection about how my actions as an adult stem from situations that happened as a child. While doing something completely mundane (like eating or tying my shoes) I can be instantly propelled back to a certain event in my life that I can see so clearly I could probably tell you the color of my socks I happen to be wearing at that particular moment.

Sometimes an event will replay over and over again…

And do so for 30+ years.

The memory comes and goes as easily as me taking a breath in and out. It doesn’t have to linger for it to have the same effect on me each and every time. It’s like a jab to my side: Quick and Painful. One that throbs when executed to perfection and trust me, it’s been perfected.

When my mother owned her bar a bank bag would be dropped off every morning. I would wake up really early knowing that it would be waiting for my little hands to zip it open and take out a $10 or $20 dollar bill. I would take that money and as I walked in the direction of my school I would think about all the candy I would buy for that day. I wasn’t very good at maintaining relationships in school. Remember I was the kid that threw a tennis ball against the brick wall for most of my elementary school experience. But candy? Now that was the way to any friendship. My friends knew I could be relied on to provide our daily dose of bottle caps, gobstoppers, dubble bubble and Nik-L-Nips.

On one particular day I left my house late.

I qualified for free breakfast at school before classes started so being late leaving the house meant being late getting to the store and that meant late getting to school and not having time to eat breakfast. It didn’t dawn on me (cause when your 8 you’re not really thinking in terms of how to make a situation easier right?) to just buy a doughnut or something breakfast like at the 7-11. Instead on this particular morning I sort of ran to the store in order to get to school on time. I remember being panicked about not getting my cereal for the morning.

I remember thinking:

maybe this is the day I just go straight to school.

I can always buy candy tomorrow.

They’ll still be my friends.

right?

By the time the 7-11 was in my sights I may have been crying. Part of me didn’t want to be headed towards the store anymore. Part of me wanted to be sitting at a cafeteria table with the other early morning latchkey kids, my little box of cornflakes and my pint of milk. Part of me wished I was like all the other kids whose moms were probably making them breakfast inside the houses I was passing.

I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.

Or what I was doing.

I jumped over a cement parking divider. The kind that are painted bright yellow. I wasn’t looking down. I was looking at the glass door to the 7-11. I just wanted to get in, get out and get on to my breakfast. I jumped and landed on a small baby bird. I heard it before I felt what had happened. Even today, almost 35 years later I can still hear the pain that came from that poor little thing as my awkward feet came crashing down. I looked down and the image of what I had done was forever burned into my heart.

The original title to this post was “I don’t deserve food”

That early morning I started down a long and treacherous path of self hatred.

I find comfort in eating the same foods for a variety of reasons (oh so many blog posts and oh so much time to write them). One of them is that I prefer bland, cheaper type foods because inside I have had deep rooted resentments toward myself. To eat foods that I enjoy (really really enjoy) means that I need to love myself to know that I deserve them. When I go out to eat I often order the cheapest menu item, because I don’t deserve to eat what I want to enjoy. When I shop for food I’m often walking around aimlessly for most of the time because there are things I want to buy but can’t because I’ve convinced myself before I even walk in the door that I only deserve to eat what I always eat (carrots, tomatoes, chicken).

In that one instance I began to use words that cut me down emotionally.

I’m bad.

GOD won’t love me.

I’m a thief.

I’ve killed something.

I’ve continued to do that well into my adulthood. Even today as I begin to break away from that “I don’t deserve” to eat what I want and slowly turn towards “Tara, you’re a good person and you deserve everything that life has to offer” my mind quickly goes back to that early morning. Back to the tears and the wanting to be comforted like any kid deserves. Back to the yellow divider and ultimately back to that poor baby bird.

I’ve only ever told this story to two people and both times were very recent. I’ve carried that story with me day in and day out but kept it to myself. I was 8. I was just a kid. It took me a long time to make the emotional connection between what happened outside the 7-11 and the choices I make as an adult. I don’t know why I’ve decided to put this story out for the world to see (or at least those who read this). I’m not looking for some deep emotional release. I’m sort of hoping that by finally letting  this out to the universe eating foods that I want to eat will be easier.

But if that doesn’t happen

At least I don’t have to carry this around with me.

I’m sorry I stole the money.

 I’m sorry I stepped on the bird.

I’m sorry I never told anyone this story.

I’m playing over at Foodie’s house!!!!

Come on over and see what I’m saying!!!

Clicky click and be magically whisked away!