Too Legit to Quit



I must confess, I think I'm a pusher.

Whenever I find a product I love, I always tell my friends about it. "Have you tried this recipe?" "Have you heard this song?" "Have you felt how smooth this lipstick is?"...I'm one of those. 

Hey, I'm just trying to help a sister out!  So naturally I HAVE to tell you about the Jillian Michaels ab DVD I have discovered. It's quick and effective and I am kind of obsessed.

 

 I'll stop here to throw out a spoiler alert for all my male readers- This is when the proverbial "girl-out" starts. If this were a slumber party, right now would be the portion in between the pillow fights and fingernail painting- you know, the part where we sit around and ask each other how much we weigh. (Because evidently that's what guys think we do?)

 

Who knew? After thousands of dollars and countless months spent at the gym, that THIS

 

  would be the best $10 I ever spent?

 Just looking at this picture strikes fear in my bones. I have tasted her pain, and yet I keep coming back for more. After watching her scream at contestants on the Biggest Loser for years, I always assumed I was more of a "Bob" than a "Jillian" type of person in the gym. Be kind, that's all I want. Be gentle with me! But as they say, "You've got to be cruel to be kind."... Yes?

 

 I've made no secret about the fact that I've been slowly trying to claw my way back from a physical low point over the last few years. We talked about it HERE and HERE and HERE... and then I shut my mouth about it because generally I subscribe to the idea that no one really WANTS to hear you talk about your weight. It starts to sound obnoxious after a while. But I'm also a person who believes in keeping it real, and since I've so liberally shared all my defeats along the way, it seems only fitting to share the triumphs as well.

 

I've tried many different workout programs and DVD's over the years, (Winsor Pilates, P90X, etc) and my issue with all of them is this: NOBODY HAS TIME FOR THIS NONSENSE!

 As a mom who has two tinies who are at home with me %70 of the time, it's simply not realistic for me to spend 60-90 minutes rolling around on the ground sweating it out while my children whine at me, correct my form, beg for snacks, or try to "join" me in my efforts, thus directly thwarting my efforts. I know this because I have tried. It seems that unless I'm willing to get up at 5 am and work out before my kids wake up, (and let's all be real here- I'm not) it's pretty much a waste of time.

 

 So for years I have gone to the gym instead, which works well for us. They get to play in the kiddie area, I workout and have a smidge of time to myself,  and we all get out of the house- win/win/win!

  Other than a couple seasons off to tend to the minor business of growing and birthing humans, I've been pretty faithful at working out.

 

 But regardless of my continual efforts at the gym, I have been unsuccessful in reaching my goals. Or partially successful at best. And let's face it, after having two babies, one C section, and gaining and losing a total of 100 pounds (Yes. I said it) between both of them- I have my work cut out for me. Even after managing to lose the 50 lbs after my last baby, at my lowest weight, I was never strong. I had no muscle tone. I just managed to get thin enough so that all my soft bits didn't fold over onto each other.

 It's a good trick but it's a far cry from being truly fit. And it didn't last. As soon as I started to ease up on my diet and cardio, the pounds started slowly and inexorably taking up residence everywhere between my neck and my knees. Okay fine, my ankles too.

 

I think a big part of my problem has been that I tend to master one or maybe two major elements of health and fitness at a time, but I've never quite gotten a handle on doing it all at once. I have focused too much on cardio and almost completely neglected strength training over the years. In regards to my diet I  have yo-yo'd between utter vigilance and throwing caution to the wind.

 

 While Jillian's reputation garners both fear and respect in equal measure,  the woman knows how to get results. I will say that. Her workouts are legitimate. I decided on a whim one day to buy a couple of her workout DVD's, figuring that if I hated it, it's only $10, and if I loved it then all the better.

 

I have LOVED them. 

Specifically her 6 Week 6 Pack DVD. I committed to myself that I'd give it a real go. Why not?

 So for 6 weeks I worked out 5-6 days a week and ate very clean (very little carbs, sugar, or dairy, and lots of veg and lean protein every few hours).  In 8 weeks with Jillian I have lost 10 pounds and almost two pant sizes! It works! My God, it really works!

 

 Before it starts to sound like I'm tooting my own horn here, let me clarify that I still have a long way to go. I am barely over halfway to my fitness goal. There is still much work to be done. But I am so excited to actually be seeing results. The best motivation is seeing your body start to change.

For maybe the first time in my adult life, I am starting to see muscles in my arms, stomach, legs, and butt. Like, actually SEE them!

Here's why I love her all of her DVD's and this DVD in particular.

1. It's quick and effective. Her workouts range from 25-45 minutes. Which is perfect because a half hour is about the longest I can keep my kids preoccupied.
2.  It's SIMPLE! You don't need any weird bands or equipment. A small hand weight and room to move are all you need.
3. It's just hard enough that you feel accomplished, but not so hard that you dread doing it. Each DVD has multiple levels of difficulty as well- so just when you start to get comfortable (or adequate) she kicks it up a notch.
4. It's cheap!
5. It WORKS. She uses HIIT (high intensity interval training) to help burn fat while building muscle. Double duty. Boom. 

I'm not saying it's magic, and I'm not saying it's the best thing out there. Just another tool to add to the toolbox. Just wanted to share my experience in case any of my comrades out there are looking for something quick and doable.

 I'm finally learning that I can't take any shortcuts. I have to eat clean AND do cardio AND do strength training to get where I want to be. Once I finish losing the weight I think maintaining is a whole different story. But to lose weight I just can't get away with any funny business.(Blurg.)

I still give myself a couple cheats a week, otherwise my head would explode. And my morning coffee with creamer is non-negotiable. Off the table.

 But I've got to say, as much as I miss my pastas and cheeses for now, if it spares me from feeling like a gelatinous busted can of biscuits, maybe it's worth it.



Holly Jolly Chaos

Im doing it again... Just like I did last year.  BLURG.  Im sitting in the same hideous recliner that I did a year ago (incidentally I still refuse to part with it, however much I despise it's lack of aesthetic beauty.) So I'm sitting in my chair, shirking my duties, surrounded by throw pillows, farm animal toys, boxes, books, cold medicines, important documents....all the stuff I keep moving and shuffling and keeping within arms reach for the next 5 to 7 to 10 days until we finally, officially move.

The thing is, I honestly just don't do well with this kind of chaos. I hate it. Haaaaaaaate it. There, I said it!  My home is my space. Its my sanctuary. Its my turf. I like things clean. I like things organized. I like things put away. I like surfaces to shine. I like to cook in my kitchen. I like to put up holly jolly decorations at the proper time in the month of December. All of this has been seriously messed with. Which is seriously messing with ME.

I keep zoning out. Just completely malfunctioning at inopportune moments! I was just rocking little brother to sleep for his nap (something I refuse to give up just yet, as he is my last baby, and Im entirely unprepared to give up those 10 minutes of quiet snuggling). I accidentally sat there for 30 minutes, wasting precious time. Thinking about how I need to organize the junk drawer which morphed into the junk cupboard. (I really don't want to do that one.) I also need to wash all the rugs and blankets before I pack them up. I need to organize the kids' sock drawers because Im sure half of them dont fit, or dont have a match, and why take 23  useless, HALF pairs of socks to the new house? Come to think of it, I need to organize our sock drawers too. And on that note, why dont I just dedicate a shoebox to live on top of the dryer as a little sock coffin for all the socks that meet their demise in the dryer. I mean really, where to they GO?!

I need to dig up the purple flowering plant in the backyard. The ONE plant that I have managed to keep alive for my daughter who loves to garden. Who tragically has a mother that cannot garden. Who CAN NOT keep anything alive. No, we definitely can't leave behind her beloved (and alive!) purple plant. I need to take the goodwill things to the goodwill because they keep tumbling all over the way back of my car. Luckily I have a "way back", so its out of sight, out of mind. That one I can save for later. Oh, I really need to go buy some special cleaner for my shower because there is wierd rust in our water that tints the shower pan orange in the cracks, and I just can't leave that there. I should pack up more of my kitchen, although that feels risky because after all, we do still need to eat for the next 5 to 7 to 10 days. I need to purge the hallway cabinets that store everything from humidifiers to movies, to placemats, to easter baskets, to framed pictures that I never put up at this house because I knew we'd be moving in a year.

A year. Did an entire year really pass by already? Can I somehow slow life down? Press a pause button? No, I suppose I can't. So I may as well learn to stop and smell the roses, even amid the holly jolly chaos that Im currently in.

This makes me sound grouchy, but I don't think I am? I think Im just floundering a little. Just a bit "out of sorts" this holiday season. I definitely am not complaining. I am beyond thrilled to be moving into a brand new home. OUR home! I am even more thrilled that soon I will have my husband back. That soon evenings and weekends will be leisurely again. So what if there's still roughly 47 projects that will still need finishing at the new place. So what if we slap up a charlie brown, helter skelter tree only a few days before christmas! So what.  There is much to be thankful for. I think I just need to get over the chaos. And quit zoning out. And get back to work.

Did I shave my legs for all this? No. Because I honestly dont have a clue where my razor is.

The Thing About Gumption

     The thing about gumption... is that its best to have it in direct proportion to graciousness. I think. Dont you think?

I mean, people can be so different! The world takes all kinds, yes? Different ideas, different ways of communicating, different ways of reacting, different levels of being opinionated. I think Im a pretty average person. Usually somewhere in the middle of the pack. Fairly level-headed, fairly reasonable, usually polite- you know, normal. Haha! As if anyone has the exact same impression of what's "normal". What may seem outlandish to me, might be perfectly alright to the next guy, or vice versa. Which can make daily social life a little tricky to navigate at times.

 But shouldnt there be an underlying theme? An unspoken agreement or sorts? A little of what Aretha might call R-E-S-P-E-C-T? (chuckling) Ok, dont worry, Im not gonna bust out a gospel choir to "mm hmm" and "amen" all my bullet points on decency. Although that does sound like a wildly good idea. (Moms: wouldnt it be awesome if every time we corrected our kids we had a backup choir to really drive home our point? You know, just for emphasis? LOL "Share with your brother" (insert music notes) "Because its the right thing to do"- it'd all just sound so much more fun if a gospel choir sang it)

 Appearantly, even the playground is not much of a safe zone, as I discovered today when some lady got all huffy and rude with me out of nowhere. I literally didnt even see her coming. But all of a sudden, there she was  in my peripheral vision, swooping in and taking a big dump on my nice day.

 I took Bigger One to meet a little freind for a playdate and did the whole bit where you try to carry on a coversation with the other parent, while keeping a hawkeye on Big One and Little One at the same time. Especially Little One, who is a daredevil toddler and likes to give me little mini heart attacks by jumping off of things all the time. This involves lots of unfinished sentences, darting back and forth, and apologizing for always looking over the other parent's shoulder while you talk to them, but its what ya gotta do. Its understood. Its better than him falling to a terrible death from the jungle gym because I wasnt watching. (Confession: I live in fear of this. Im literally waiting for the first broken bone, or trip to the ER because he has jumped off something he should have never been on in the first place. He likes to test this out. His noggin is surprisingly risilient though. Its already been through a lot in his short life.)

I stood about 5 feet from Little One and had my eye trained on him the whole time he played, and he was having the time of his life. Great. Wonderful. Another sunny day at the park. Then he started to cry and call for me, so naturally I ran to him. (Incidentally, he was fine. Just hot and sweaty and thirsty) But appearantly the ten seconds it took for me to get to him was enough time to make him look like some poor rosy cheeked abandoned child who's mother doesnt take care of him. Because that's all it took for some lady to swoop in with her eagle talons and verbally claw my face off. Okay, not really. Im not even sure that translates. But I did get the unsettling feeling that she wasnt above a good clawing.

This total stranger, this person I dont even know, was all judgements and disapproving looks, hissing and shouting to me across the playground to me that he's crying, when Im visibly on my way to him already. Shaking her head and loudly lamenting for all to hear that the poor boy just needs his mother. The poor boy was having a grand time. And being well behaved. And the poor boy's mother was watching him the entire time.Then she was right there next to me, still carrying on. Im not even sure I heard all of her words. They were ugly words anyway.  In the moment, I scooped up my son, gave the slightest of nods in acknowledgement to Eagle Talons and walked away. Its my usual MO. Be nice and get the heck outta there. I hate confrontation. No part of me enjoys it. Im a peacekeeper of sorts. But then as I stood there, feeling her eyes burn into me, it sort of made me... angry. Then it made my blood boil. Where do people get off?! I mean, really?

Maybe Im too far across the other side of the line. Maybe I avoid confrontation to a fault. This is something to consider. (Later, when I have time) I've mentioned before the goal I set-  That if I must err, to err on the side of graciousness. But I have to say, in the last ten years as my 20's slowly slip into my 30's, I've learned a lot about who I actually am.  Being gracious will always be a goal, but I've realized that there is something to be said for some good old fashioned gumption as well. Its a fantastic quality to have. In fact, I'd like more of it.

Oh to be a person who shoots straight! Who says what they mean and means what they say. Who is sure of their convictions. Who is gutsy. Who is honest. Who never sinks to being passive aggressive. I think you can still be all of those things and still be kind and humble?  Its all in the delivery. When there is  a problem with someone, speak the truth to them in love. It works wonders! 1 Corinthians 16:14 "Do everything in love." To the point. I like it.

Conflict doesnt ever go away. It starts on the playground and it finds its way into most places Im afraid. But Id gamble to say that a little bit of grace and a little bit of gumption can go a long way in life.

The B Word

     Budget.

     This is generally when people flinch and suck air through their teeth, practicaly hissing and turning away in a distasteful manner. As if to shake it off. At least that's how I reacted when Husband dropped the B word on me a few months ago. There's an undeniable stigma attached to the B word.  Not only because finances are something of such a deeply personal nature that it verges on taboo to discuss, but also because the word itself almost carries a negative connotation. BUDGET. Blech.
     For me, it conjured up visions of raggedy children with dirt smudged cheeks, and a doggedly tired husband who doles out an allowance to old wifey at the end of the day- you know, for toilet paper and milk and terribly boring yet necessary things of that nature. That's awful, I know. But its really what hovers in the back of my mind upon mention of the B word. Or did, rather.
     But I suppose a budget is whatever you make it. And its whatever you make OF it, if you get right down to brass tacks. It's taken me a few months but Im actually making freinds with our budget. Playing nice. Almost even embracing it.  In fact, now that we have "budgeted" our lives, I daresay we may never turn back! The bit I've found pleasantly surprising is the freedom in a budget. There are no guilty purchases, no chunks of money "slipping through the cracks" so to speak, with no guess as to where it wound up or what it went towards. Which,(sidetrip warning!) now that I think about it, is probably why I have grown to enjoy budgeting. If for no other reason than the organizational element! Its all there, laid out and compartmentalized. And if there's one thing that I thrive on, its being neat and tidy. Sounds pretty lame, huh? But as one of my girlfriends once told me "Ya know what?! I like the fact that your face blushes and that I could eat off of your kitchen floor!". We are who we are, yes? No sense fussing over the things that will never change.- But back to the B word. Where were we?  Oh yes, the freedom! I rather enjoy it! If I know we have set aside X amount of money for groceries, bills, dining out, clothes shopping, birthday presents, etc etc etc- its a more tranquil feeling when I throw down the card or swipe it through the machine at the end of a transaction. I can swipe away with total peace of mind. Ha, in your face, budget!

    At the same token,  I have found it to be tricky at times. I can't lie. It was an adjustment. Husband and I sat down at the beginning of the year and set some goals. Some lofty, some smaller scale. We decided that it was time to get proactive and intentional about our finances- particularly saving. Maybe it comes with the territory when you're married to a financial advisor, but I have to say, Husband was right. We were spending money where sometimes we shouldnt. Not in a frivolous way, but more of a ...neglectful (for lack of a better word) way? We just werent always paying attention. Ok FINE.  Mostly me.
And time is sort of a relentless buggar, so month after month passes without much notice and its easy not to reach our financial goals. Whatever they may be. Save. Pay off debts. Buy a home. Put away for the kids. Save more. LOL.My list could be a mile long. There never seems to be a shortage of uses for money, right? Just a shortage OF it sometimes.

     As I said, it has been an adjustment, but surprisingly, not a hard one. I have actually gotten much more cost-effective in my grocery shopping. I FINALLY starting making some sort of a meal plan for the week before I went to the grocery store, which I never used to do. I'd just mosey along the aisles and, with a basic knowledge of my usual necessities, I'd pretty much grab whatever struck my fancy. This usually resulted in a pantry stocked with 27 cans of olives (not that you can ever have too many black olives if you ask me though), 10 jars of marinara, innumerable amounts of chicken broth and white wine for cooking, enough pasta in every shape to feed a small army, and an odd assortment of ethnic foods "just in case Im in the mood for thai".  Yet somehow if I was looking for garbanzo beans or chili paste or something more specific I never seemed to have it.  Being armed with a plan has not only cleaned up my pantry, but taken the panic out of the daily decision of what to make for dinner.

     Like I said, a budget really is whatever you make it. Its personalized. Every family has different needs, goals, and spending habits. Our has been a little different each month because of holidays, moves, trips, and the like. We still eat out and shop(although not as much as I used to) and go to the movies and do fun stuff with the kids. We have made small sacrifices (i.e. gym membership. Awe, shucks!) and changed some habits, but we have also lived life normally and still had fun and not felt deprived or stifled by our budget. More importantly, we have made strides in meeting our goals. We have saved! Next stop, dream house? How's that for lofty? :)

     Cheers to the B word.

For Realsies

  Well, there's nothing like a little incentive to get a lady dragging her butt out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5:45 am to sweat and pseudo-curse her way through another one of Tony Horton's stupid dumb P90X workouts. And by "stupid dumb" I mean "effective and necessary". It works. It does work. But oh, I hate it. I REALLY hate it the first week. By week 3 I've usually found my stride and actually look forward to my workouts as a little golden nugget of alone time. Ah, the life of a mom, yes? Always mutlitasking. As if its not a complete oxymoron to count the 1.25 hours I spend leaving blood, sweat, and tears on my living room floor (ok fine, not blood) as my sacred "peace and quiet" time as well, then I dont know what is.

  But its the way it goes. I have tried doing the workouts at different points in the day, all to no avail. Both of my children find it much too fascinating to watch me crucify myself trying to keep up with these...these FREAKS OF NATURE on the dvd's, to mind their own business. Bigger One tries to do it with me (and corrects my form more than I'd prefer) while Littler One sits on me or throws his football at my face while I try to do sit ups. They are all innocence and good intentions, but needless to say, there are a lot of distractions and not a lot of floor space. So that leaves me with naptime. The only problem there, is that Bigger One's naps have gotten shorter and shorter and are nigh on extinction these days. Im trying to milk one more year out of naptime. Plus I like to grab that 30-45 minutes to read a little of my favorite book (Outlander series, since you ask. Read it. Do it. Think danger+history+love+war+sex+ suspence+ James Fraser. Nuff said) Ah, but I digress. Oh yes. Or I use that time to start cooking dinner, or to pick up, or to just sit in a quiet room all by myself. Which is lovely to do every once in a while.

  So there have been bumps in the road. I have missed workouts, or abandoned workouts halfway through because there is just too much going on in the house. I have been sick again and missed two whole weeks altogether.I have been stressed. And to add insult to injury, I tend to gain weight when I am stressed out. I have eaten a lot of....well...everything. I am a person to loves good food. I love to cook it and I love to eat it. I am the type who works out to eat. Its not the sort of thing you're supposed to admit, but its true. If I work out, I can ALMOST eat whatever I want. Within reason. If I dont work out, well...there's always that trusty old 5-7 (or in this case more) pounds that likes to take up residence on my hindquarters.

  Its time to call a spade, a spade. I let the ball drop. Blurg. I've been half-assing my workouts and making bad food choices- a combo I can no longer get away with. So this morning I decided it was time to scare myself straight on the scale. I stepped on (always before breakfast and naked, mind. As if that really helps), and gingerly opened one eye with trepidation to look down at the number. And then I jumped off of it like it was covered in burning coals. Step back on. Try again. Its that same obnoxious number. "WHAT THE WHAT?! How did this happen so fast?" Its bad, people. Its real bad. Its worse than I thought. I have gained a whopping ten pounds. This sucks. All the nice people in the world will say that muscle weighs more than fat and working out could account for that. I say- hogwash. I know its not all muscle. Its not ten pounds of new, sinewy, lean muscle. Its maybe 4 pounds of muscle (if Im being generous. And I am.) and 6 pounds of fat. That's like a sack of potatoes! The number on the scale this morning (of which we will never speak of) was a proverbial smack in the face. A wake up call. Consider me scared straight.

  I dont even normally write about this kind of stuff because I generally subscribe to the idea that most people dont really care, and even if they do, they maybe dont want to hear about it- it tends to sound obnoxious. And I DEFINITELY dont know why I only write about it when Im sucking at it. But for the sake of comraderie, the intent of getting back on track, and in the hopes of a little encouragement, Im calling myself out on the carpet. Literally.

  I mentioned incentive earlier. I do have that! In four months, I will be relaxing on the beach in the Bahamas with Husband, and I want to FEEL GOOD. Not chubby. So if it means I have to stock up on things like quinoa, fruit & veggies, egg whites, those silly little paper thin sandwich "rolls" (Pshaw! Rolls. Hardly.)  and enough salad to choke a horse, so be it. If I have to take it easy on the pasta for a month or two I could maybe even agree to that. I could EVEN workout early in the morning or late at night. Because its worth it to feel fit. As I've said before (here), it just does something for your mojo. I know what it feels like to be happy and comfortable in my own skin, and I know what it feels like to be pitifully off my game. I much prefer happy and comfortable.  So Im not going to make any outlandish proclamations about losing all ten pounds in five minutes. Im not going to cut corners. Im just going to get right back on track. And Im really going to try to stay positive and not assume its a drag to eat healthy. So if any of you have any fabulous healthy recipes, do share. Here goes. For realsies.

I Think Seth and Amy Put it Best When They Said "REALLY?!"

Its like we went from feeling like Rocky at the top of the stairs to....to...Gollum without the ring. We were THIS close. Even closer than THIS close. We had it! We had it in the bag! I could almost see the cobblestone streets of Italy, almost smell the breeze over the riviera, almost taste all the wine and chocolate. I dont know what happened!

It was such a cliffhanger to begin with.  All month, waiting on baited breath to see if we'd qualify for a vacation. After all, it is no small thing, and not easy to do.  Its actually part of the compensation for Husband's job. (Turns out being a desk jockey as a financial advisor really does have its perks!) Every six months you have an opportunity to qualify for an all expense paid vacation. Its all rather complicated and boring, but it has to do with $ earned, and categories met. (You have to fill 4 out of 8 categories). If you qualify, you get to choose out of a booklet of about 20 or so trips. Amazing trips. All over the world! Ireland, Spain, Italy, Paris, Japan, Carribean, Egypt,Bora Bora, New Zealand, cruises, and then there are always a few random lame (by comparison anyways. No vacation is lame in my eyes) trips to like Tuscon, or Boston, or Napa Valley. I suppose some people really would choose that, but personally, I see no contest. We've earned one trip before (Riviera Maya), and it was glorious. (On hectic days, I still close my eyes and pretend to be back on the white bed on the beach. It almost works.  Almost.)

Anyway, March was our last qualifying month for this section of trips, and the odds were stacked against us. We needed a big amount of $ earned in a short amount of time, as well as missing useful days in the office to travel for corporate stuff in Az. And yes, Im sticking with the phrase "corporate stuff". Trust me, its all really boring. I will risk sounding like an ignoramous to spare you the details. Your welcome.  It was quite the cliffhanger all month, but he did it! Husband, in all his studliness and perserverance, pulled out all the stops, and met all the requirements to earn a trip. By the hair of his chinny chin chin, too. It was the last possible day of the last possible month that he qualified. Just had to make sure all the I's were dotted and the T's were crossed. Ah. There. Right there. So that's what it'll be then? A tiny, minor, hardly noticeable detail that would derail our chances? YES. Blurg does not even begin to put it into words. Double Blurg doesnt even cover it. As (bad) luck would have it, there was some small snaffoo, and a wrong box was checked, a small computer glitch happened, $ was accredited to the wrong category, some teeny tiny error that just HAPPENED, as those things do happen. So a category that we, in reality, exceeded by hundreds of dollars, appeared to fall short by 70 dollars. SEVENTY dollars. Out of thousands. I feel like Im in a "REALLY?!" by Seth and Amy sketch! (Meyers and Poehler. But I assume that's understood?) "REALLY?! Seventy dollars? Out of thousands? REALLY?!"


But, there is still a shred of hope. The selling month is over, but the ship has not yet left the docks.  The mistake that was made was not quite Husband's, and not quite corporate's, but mostly just one of those things that slips through the cracks. These things are somewhat common as it turns out, and there is a board that reviews these exact kind of situations and can approve or deny vacations as they see fit. Only problem is that the board doesnt meet until a month from now, and the trips are all filled on a first-come/ first-serve basis. Those who qualify earliest, get to pick their trip first and so on down the line. The last group of qualifiers pick their trip in two weeks. So maybe we will still get a vacation. And MAYBE there will still be some cool destinations available. And MAYBE, we wont get stuck with Tuscon or Huntington Beach or  worse, nothing at all.

Ah, it is what it is, yes? There are always more trips. I am still proud of all of Husbands valiant and impressive efforts. He killed it last month! Whatever will be, will be, as they say. Italy will always be there, right? To borrow a quote from an earlier post (Vay. Cay. Shun.), "Its good to have something to look forward to. But its also good, even when you dont, to realize your life is still blessed."
And my life is still good. Italy, or no.

Fingers crossed!

"We've Got a Bleeder!"

Its my ears. Are they bleeding? Is there actual blood dripping out of them yet? The problem is that Husband has been gone for three days and so I've suffered the brunt of it alone. All alone. The mind-numbing barrage of words. The sheer relentlessnes of the rapid-fire questions, one after another after another with hardly a pause for breath, seering into my brain like intruding bullets.

The car is the hardest. Its like you're trapped. Yesterday I was in the car with the kids for about 2 hours altogether. 7 minutes of that time was quiet. I am not exaggerating. I've tried turning on music but that doesnt work. My ipod is no match for her. She just talks over it.

"Do I have to take a nap when I get home?" "If I do have to take a nap, can I watch a half of a cartoon first?" "Can you put Jaxon asleep before me?" "Why do I have to take a nap?" "Can I sleep on my princess couch instead of my bed?" "Why not?" "Im hungry, I think I need a snack first" "Can I have a chococlate granola bar?" "Why not?!" "Is it healthy?" "If I dont have a granola bar, what can I have?" "Can I have gum?" "Are coyotes mean?" "Do they bite?" "I think bears and coyotes and lions and sharks and turkeys are all mean and they bite but dogs and cats are nice." (2 seconds to catch breath) "Actually some dogs and cats are not nice?" "We always be careful about dogs and cats that we dont know because they might be mean." "How do you know if they're mean?" "Remember Grannie Annie's cat?" "What was his name?" "I fed him a treat and he was nice." "But Aunt Cyndee's cat was not nice. Rango. No, wait, Ringo."(Incidentally Aunt Cyndee does not have a cat named Ringo or Rango. Im sure someone we know does. Aunt Cyndee has a dog. Named Blue. But that's all besides the point- much like her whole train of thought) "So mommy, how is your day?" "Where are we going?" "I dont think you're going the right way." "Do we need gas?" "Can a car pop if you put too much gas in it?" "What if the guy just kept putting more and more and more gas in and the whole car literry (literally) just popped?" "Has that ever happened to you when you were little mom?" "Was I in your tummy when I was 2?" "Remember when I was a baby and I used to eat baby food?" "Remember that?" (half a second to catch breath) "Do pandas live in China or Africa?" "Do the kids in Africa not even have new toys mommy?" "When you were little did you go to the North Pole?" "Do ocutopus' sting?"
All of that literally takes only about 75 seconds for her to say. I can hardly keep up. While she is just finding her rythm, Im starting to go crosseyed!  I have learned to pick and choose my answers carefully because often one simple answer leads into 79 more questions, about half of which I will have a good answer for.

 *Pause*

...I get it....I am not the first person to ever have a child that talks them into a tailspin. Am I complaining? No, not really. I can appreciate it for what it is and see the cuteness factor in it. I suppose I find it to be equal parts endearing and exasperating. And Im glad I have a daughter with an ever-inquisitive, precocious mind. Really. But SOME DAYS, the dull ache behind my eyes starts even before I've brushed my teeth in the morning. Do I wish she was anything other than who she is? No, of course not. Do I wish I had more patience? More resiliance? More answers? YES! It makes me chuckle, because she's always been this way. She was talking well before she was 1, and talking WELL by the time she was 2. In fact, even in the delivery room and during our whole stay in the hospital there was no peace, no quiet. Spitfire from birth. Ah, I suppose its only fitting. In this very blog (Dont Fight The Funk post) I have said that I, myself, often worry that I've said too much. That Im a blurter.That I will never be one of those peripheral people who quietly take it all in and never let it out. I did say all that, didnt I. Oh dear.

 So it's a fine line I walk every day (and sometimes zigzag back and forth across)- trying to cultivate her little mind, and engage her in coversation, trying to make her feel heard and not disregarded. All the while trying to reign it in and guide it, otherwise, whatever the conversation, she's going to take that bull by the horns and steer it in whatever direction she fancies! Knowing when to really listen and when to shoosh (because lets all be real here, shooshing is fully necessary sometimes)  Its like she's a derailed caboose and we have to keep circling back around and re-attaching her to the train of thought. (pun intended) (And by the way, when is pun ever NOT intended? Whenever people say "no pun intended" there most definitely IS almost always "pun intended")
 We're trying to teach her not to interrupt, or to talk over people. Thats a big one we're working on at the moment. She's figured out that if she just talks louder that she can still get it all out regardless of whomever else might be attempting to get a word in edgewise. Moment of Honesty?: I keep catching myself getting in these climactic conversations with her where she is talking louder, then Im talking louder trying to be heard, then she's a notch higher trying to be heard, and then next thing I know Im practically shrieking "PLEASE TALK QUIETER OR YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE UP THE BABY!"...Right. Oops. I forgot to mention aside from the amount of talking, she has one volume. And its loud.

 Then I  have one of those smacking-your-palm-to-your-forehead moments, and remember that I am the boss. This small little person is 4 and I am 29. And granted, she may be a force to be reckoned with, but I do not need to get sucked into a 20 minute volley of words that leaves me in frenzied state! She's good at it too, because its not usually direct defiance, or even ornoriness in general, but more like a subtle sidestepping of the point (my point). She is quite old enough to grasp the concept of being quiet when need be. Of listening to me when I am talking. Of simply doing what I ask of her without voicing and re-voicing multiple opinions about it. Ah, getting tricky now, isnt it? Balancing the requirement  of obedience and respect (WITH a good attitude! minor yet huge clause), while nurturing and guiding, AND teaching? What is the best way to let them be who they are and yet mold them into what they should be?- (civilized and polite human beings) Because really, isnt that basically our whole job as parents?  I do think a kid is allowed to be a kid- and sometimes that means they are loud, and sometimes they cause a ruckus, and sometimes they have lots of questions. And that's okay!
But My Lanta! What's a lady gotta do to get some peace and quiet?

I Think Ace Ventura Put it Best When He Said "Find a Happy Place!"

Its all fun and games until one of them starts flinging poo. Oh yes. Welcome to my day. Come join me. Bask with me in the mayhem. "Give in to the power of the tea" if you will. (bonus points for readers who can name that movie). (Actually, double bonus points. Because Name That Movie is my favorite game ever. Second only to "Remember When...")

I think I felt it coming before I even opened my eyes this morning. Trouble. As if the only word I could clearly see forming on the foggy horizon of my brain was already going to be "BLURG".  Do you ever wake up so early that you feel nauseous? Like your body is so tired its literally rejecting wakefulness? Happens to me all the time. I think this might be part of why I hate breakfast so much. Its the only time of day you will catch me wishing for sleep over food.

I think I had a bad dream too. I've been reading a lot lately and both the books Im reading melded into one bizarre dream involving a heap of dead wolves with yellow eyes, (shudder), a rugged Scotsman (yes please),  and a troubling impression that I was grinding my teeth into gravel inside my own head (I actually do grind my teeth so this wasnt too far off). Suffice it to say, that I had a furrow in my brow before I even made it off of my pillow this morning. Both of my little darlings seemed to wake up on the wrong side of the bed as well, because before breakfast was over, there were two altercations between siblings,  one spill, followed by tears, followed by whining, followed by me snapping at my daughter over her highly dramatic display. Dangit. Not even 8:00 yet and I've already lost my cool. Deep breath. Apologize for being snappy, while trying to simultaneously squeeze in a lesson about attitudes of the heart. Only semi succesful in getting point across. She was pretty busy with her Cinnamon Toast Crunch and he just grins blankly at me every time I talk anyways, regardless of what Im saying. (which I secretly love).

And so it went for the next few hours. Rushing to get us all showered, dressed, fed, teeth brushed, hair combed, and out the door.(With no lack of battles over each one of those things)  Drop off at school, run errands, pick up from school, try to keep 1 year old happy and quiet as I try to be productive... Fail. Decide its a good idea to bundle up and head outside in the backyard for some good old fashioned fun. Enjoy approximately 4.5 minutes of delight, playing with my children, blowing and popping bubbles until Littler One spills Bigger One's bubbles. While I console Bigger One over the loss of her new bubbles and remind her to be gracious and forgiving with Littler One, and grab a towel to start mopping up  the sticky mess, I turn around just in time to see it. Littler One. Holding a poop. My dog's poop. Oh dear God.

After I shrieked, scolded Buster the dog (not that it was his fault. Hey, everybody poops), disinfected, scoured, and scrubbed up my son, called it quits with the bubbles, tried to make dinner amid seventeen interruptions regarding snacks, barbie shoes, a half eaten chapstick, and a completely emptied trash can on my kitchen floor, - after  that I decided to give it up.  It was one of those days where everything was harder than I thought it should have been. You know those days you have, as a parent, where you honestly get tired of hearing your own voice? I decided to abandon my efforts (however valiant they may be!) to force my day into something it wasnt going to be. So  I opened a diet Dr. Pepper, allowed myself one hearty eye-roll before I shooshed the "What the what?!" train of thought I felt forming in the back of my head, had a good chuckle, and  acquiesced to the funk. Sometimes ya gotta just let it be. So I took my remaining shreds of peace of mind and my diet Dr. Pepper into my daughters playhouse and let her pretend to be my mommy while Jaxon banged toy pots over my head for 20 minutes. And I daresay that 20 minutes was the highlight of the day for all three of us.

Further Confessions

 5 Things.- Scratch that- 6 Things. Unabridged, self-deprecating things at that. Im not proud, but it is what it is.

- I do not know how to roller skate, ice skate, do a cartwheel (in high school, when I tried out for cheerleading I literally had to do a sommersault with spirit fingers for my 'tumbling'. It was a low point. Miraculously, I still made the team). Nor can I whistle by blowing out. Only in. And it sounds like a cat dying. You can only suck in so much air til you get lightheaded!

- SPOILER ALERT! This one is of a, um, *cough* personal nature. -I cannot hear Robin Thicke on the radio without practically wanting to throw my panties at the stereo. I do not know the actual lyrics to his songs, because all I hear is "sexy sex sex sexy sexiness" in that lovely falsetto.  Same goes for Justin Timberlake singing "Hallelujah". Chills. I get chills. Also among my musical confessions: One of my favorite songs is "The Way I Are" by Timbaland. Haha! What a gangster...

-Im not saying its super powers or anything, but my sister and I have a few random skills. She knows all the lyrics to all songs, ever. Of all time. If you are ever stumped, ask her. She will know all the words. Its mindblowing. I, on the other hand, have a rubberface. I can mimic almost any facial expression. I have one dear freind, who's favorite pastime is to choose facial expressions at random from a magazine or a movie and watch me copy them on command. Im not saying we're making the world a better place, or that we even 'use our powers for good and not evil.' (joking, Im joking! Of course we use them for good) But we might be fun to have around if you are ever bored out of your mind. I also have an... well Im just going to say it-  an impressive repertoire of movie quotes. This sounds like bragging, but I dont think it is.  

-I cannot dance. The shame! I despise this about myself. I think maybe a long time ago I could?  But I lost it. I lost my mojo. My husband is a much better dancer than I am. He loooooves to remind me of this. He knows exactly how many drinks it would take in any given situation to get me on the dance floor. Luckily I rarely drink alcohol or am near a dance floor. When I do, and I am? Stand back. Its not pretty.

-I do not know all the rules to even the most major sports. In high school I was on the bowling and cheerleading teams. I wasnt exactly Sporty Spice. I mean, Im not a complete ninny- I understand the basics of what's going on, but it ends there. For all I know, too much eye contact could be a foul, or a tickle fight could be allowed in the middle of a volleyball match... No?... Akward?

- I am not prone to doing things slowly. Vacuuming, shaving my legs, brushing my teeth, driving, talking... Even worse is when I get to doing these things rather quickly, I tend to overly focus on that one thing while the rest of my limbs start to have a mind of their own. Wierded out? Haha, I guess that one requires an explanation. When I brush my teeth, I do it so quickly and vigorously (sad news for my gums I might add), that while my right hand is hard at work, my left hand gnarls up into this arthritic little ball and suddenly I've got a claw for a left hand. Not cute. Appearantly its just too much for my body to concentrate on and I malfunction. It took me years- literally years, to train myself to shave slowly. My family called me Zorro all through high school because of the many self inflicted gaping wounds from my shaving mishaps. The very worst of which, I did on the morning of a cheearleading competition, a school dance, and a wedding, all of which I was participating in on the same day. I mean this one was a bloody massacre. I had to wear a huge bandage on my shin to all three events. It looked like a crime scene on my right leg! In short, I am a person prone to misadventures...Ah,  Bless my heart.

Bless her heart too. Looks like she inherited a little bit more than my ankles and my penchant for comedy... Her left hand is showing that she's "4". The right hand? Not so sure.

The Weight of Worry

In my recent post "An Anchor for the soul ", I shared a bit of how I've been struggling with fear. Fear of something terrible. Fear of the unknown. Fear of, I dont even know what! As if I dont have enough legitimate concerns to deal with in a day, I'm now conjuring up newly invented, undefinable concerns as well. Perfect. At least Im thorough.

While I recognize the existance of this inner struggle as of late, I feel that I have not exactly conquered it yet. Or if I have, its been only rarely and briefly. Fear is a beast! A vicious beast with its finger on my pulse, and a chokehold on my neck. (Figuratively, of course.) Its with a smirk, and a tongue-in-cheek attitude that I speak so dramatically in reference to something that actually is a bit dramatic for me. Its how I cope. So bear with me.

It just so happens that Im one week deep into a two week wait to find out if I have skin cancer. On the whole, I know that Im young and there's a good chance that I dont have melanoma. I also know there's a good chance that I do. My mom has had skin cancer more than once, and more recently, my sister was diagnosed with melanoma.  We were not blessed with porcelain skin. Its more like alabaster. The color of blue iced milk. I accepted my inability to be tan long ago, but the smattering of freckles and moles I get instead is hardly a consolation prize. So I've had a bad gut feeling about a couple of moles for over a year now, but have put off going to the dermatologist on the flimsy basis of not having the time, or not wanting to spend the money, but truthfully its been because Im just too chicken. But after my sister was diagnosed with melanoma, my cage was sufficiently rattled. It was time to quit mucking about and just grow a pair (again, figuratively, of course) and go get on a doctor's radar. So I rallied my courage and went.

After spending 30-some-odd minutes sitting alone in a room with my anxious thoughts and working up a nice cold sweat in my paper gown, the doctor didnt have much to say to ease my mind. I heard lots of  "Hmmm"s and "Tsk"s and "I dont like the look of that"s. Ultimately she cut out 3 moles to send to the lab and told me to come back in ten days to get stitches out and hold tight for two weeks until we know the results. Right. Hold tight. This is highly inconvenient to a person who's two chief weaknesses are impatience and worry.
I left the doctors office, started my car, and tried very hard to ignore the panic that I felt rising in my chest. Or at least keep it at bay. My first thought was, "Who can love my kids as fiercely as I do if I die?" I don't want to be a drama queen. I'm not a hypochondriac. Im fairly confident that the rational side of my brain in still in tact. But I do think God has a knack for pinpointing these weaknesses/fears in our hearts and drawing them to the surface every now and then. Like bile, rising up, whether you like it or not. Yet however uncomfortable it feels, and however much it makes me squirm and want to plug my ears like a little kid who actually thinks that works in warding off unpleasant news, I do believe these fears being brought to the surface and dealt with is ultimately for my own greater good.
I keep using the word "fears" in a vague sense. I suppose it boils down to a fundamental fear that something bad will happen to my children. Or that some terrible, unforseen accident will befall my husband and I, and how this will ultimately affect my tiny tenders. The thought alone makes my chest tighten, my vision blur with tears, and gives me a mild urge to dry heave.  Ironically enough though, I've found that the most theraputic way to deal with this fear is to face it head on rather than run screaming for the hills. I've thought a lot this week about what would happen if my biopsy came back positive for cancer. Odds are they'd go back in, cut it all out, stitch me up, and I'd carry on perfectly fine with only another scar to add to my collection. But what if that werent the case? What if I actually died? (hey, I warned you to bear with me!) What if I actually died of skin cancer? What then? Do I still believe that God is good? Do I still believe that He loves me and has a more perfect plan for my life? A plan that trumps my own? Do I believe that He loves my husband and each of my children infinitely more than I even could? Well,yes... I guess I do. I couldnt abandon any of those beliefs even if I wanted to. "I just know in my knower"(as my mom used to say), that He does. So whaddayagonnado? Im still "in it". I dont have a nicely packaged little antecdote to come out the other side of my head trip with. I do know one thing though: Fear is a beast I need not wrestle with. Because if I truly trust in my God, if I have a big enough measure of faith, then I can have a real peace that passes understanding. I heard once that the single most repeated instruction from God in the bible is "Fear not." 2 Timothy 1:7 "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind". God is never the source of my inner turbulence. We are imperfect people living in an imperfect world. His grace and peace are intensified not in spite of, but because of my personal trials. Every verse I've read in the past week has said things like "Take courage", "Be still, be calm" "Dont be afraid" "Find solitude" and "Recognize my hand in this"...

I read about David and Goliath. David slew the lion and the bear, and having thus developed courage, he moved unflinchingly to confront the giant Philistine. It was in this area of courage that he was above his fellows. Quiet faith had its moment of open revelation. Building faith in the lesser challenges will be a delivering angel in the most calamitous moment.
SO. Skin cancer or no skin cancer, I'll be okay.  The weight of worry can rob me of peace and joy just as easily as any hardship I may face. So why bother with it, really?

The Thing with Dinner...

Moms out there: What IS IT with dinner?
Breakfast is smooth. I make the food, they eat the food. Easy, done. Lunch is pleasant. What is it about dinner in particular that something always seems to go awry? It's like the witching hour! Does this happen to you guys out there?

I enjoy cooking and maybe I even take it a bit ...well, personally. I put my heart into cooking for my family. (Okay, fine, not every SINGLE night. But most nights) Im not playing the martyr here, like I slave over the stove for hours a day at a thankless, drudgery-filled job. That's not my plight. My husband almost always says thank you after eating dinner and I actually cook because I enjoy it. Its just that after I've spent a considerable amount of time and effort in the kitchen making a meal, I have high hopes and possibly misplaced expections of the dinner hour itself. Its not actually even an hour, it takes anywhere for 30-60 minutes to make the food, but the actual eating takes only about 15 or 20 minutes. And while visions fill my head of my smiling family scooting up to the table, eating and enjoying the food, meanwhile engaging in pleasant, harmonious conversation- the breakdown of what really happens during that 15 or 20 minutes is a far cry. A far cry, people! Something is lost in translation from my ideals and my reality.

Every single night at dinner at least 3 of these 5 things will happen:
1) I will announce dinner is ready and proceed to call everyone to the table...about 5 times. This, I will confess is a total pet peeve. So much lollygagging! Does no one want the food to still be hot?
2) By the time we get both kids' food cut up, any hidden tomatos, onions, or other suspicious looking veg removed and sit down to eat ourselves, my 1 year old son has already finished everything on his tray, is now bored, and proceeds to either smash or throw any remnants of food anywhere he can reach. This is usually accompanied by lots of yelling and grunting.
3) And this one is always a guarantee- my 4 year old daughter is devastated by whatever happens to land on her plate that night. She simply cannot be bothered by food. She would survive on air and saliva if I allowed it. So this of course necessitates a whole lot of coaxing, enforcing, disciplining, etc. Shute, I'd do cartwheels across the table if it would get her to eat of her own free will.
4) All conversations, trains of thought, and unfinshed sentences are abandoned somewhere around mid-meal. Its either eat your own food while its still somewhat warm, or try and remember "what was it we were saying again?"
5) The 1 year old in the highchair has long been done, bored, and pacified beyond what he is in the mood for, and is now trying to make his great escape by jumping out of his highchair. Thank God he's never been successful in this yet, but it almost gives me a heart attack every time he tries.
By the time all is said and done, messes cleaned, dishes cleared, and the dust settles, Im pooped! It feels like a 3 ring circus some nights! Now I will say this: there are lots of great moments too. Bella usually says something offbeat and funny at least once. It may be less than peaceful at times, but we are all still seated together at the table having a family dinner, and that's a good thing. Jaxon is a rowdy little guy, but he is easily pleased and will eat anything I put in front of him. This thrills me.
I know it has much to do with the ages my kids are at, and it wont always feel like so much work. I was pondering this tonight as we ran (literally ran) Jaxon straight from the highchair to the bathtub. I was watching the two of them play and squeal while I soaped up their hair and their rosy cherub cheeks and pot bellies.  I dont want to wish these stages away. It can be a lot more work when they're this little, but its still simple. They need me (and I need them). They are still eager to please and to snuggle and they dont have a care in the world. They infuse my life with laughter and joy. The purest kind of joy. Like when my daughter touches my cheek and tells me Im the best mommy and she loves me "all the way to the moon and back down to the dirt and the flowers". Or when my son laughs his raspy little belly laugh. You just cant beat that. One day they'll be moody teenagers and granted, they'll be a tad more civilized at the dinner table, but it'll be a whole new ballgame by then.
I have learned a few helpful tricks along the way for in the meantime. Such as, BE PREPARED! As long as I have little pieces of food to keep shoveling onto his tray, my son is happy. This also goes for restaraunts.  A little snack, a little coloring book, a game of "I Spy"- they go a long way. And a timer has worked wonders in our household in getting my daughter to eat. If she really isnt eating at all, we put a timer on for 15 minutes. She is so mortified by the mere idea of the timer, that she instantly starts to eat. Victory!
Someday maybe we'll reach that holy grail of all eating while our food is still hot, with no battles, while bonding over a bowl of pasta. Until then, I'll just be happy that we're still bonding. So what if there's spaghetti on the ceiling.

Ok So I Lied!

But not intentionally! A while back  (now, now, there's no need to document HOW FAR back) I said I was going to re-start P90X... Turns out I lied.
Ewe. I hate how this already is shaping up to sound like one big procrastinating "fail"! I ..."WAS going to..." "RE-start"?... Gag. I swear Im not this person. I will say this, in my defense: I had good reasons! Legitimate reasons! Health reasons. Holiday reasons. Packing and moving reasons. This is starting to sound like a lot of reasons.
So now we are moved, settled, healthy, and I am fresh out of good reasons to put it off any longer. So its really true. (Drumroll please!) On Monday, THIS Monday, I am re-starting P90X. There, I've said it. Now I have to do it. The very same reason why I avoid new years resolutions. All that accountability, the public scrutiny, the misplaced pressure! But this time Im embracing it, which is actually quite contrary to my usual habit. Historically speaking, its a telling sign if I've quit TALKING about doing something, because that is about the exact time that I actually DO the thing. Especially in the health and fitness department. "Im going to eat healthier", "Im going to run ten miles", "Im going to quit drinking soda", "blah blah blah". No one cares! No one really ever wants to hear any of this nonsense. Except maybe a sister or a best freind or someone of that nature. Other than that, Im guessing that its better to just shut up and do it already and quit carrying on about it. So I will, and I am, and I'll let you know how it goes.
I do have a small ammendment to make: I am not entirely against New Year's Resolutions. Im all for reflecting, taking stock, and setting personal goals. I actually have a lot of goals. I want to have more GUMPTION! More courage, more spunk, more GUTS. I want to be more GRACIOUS. And those are just the G's!  Back during the holiday frenzy, I had made it my "December personal goal" that if I must err, to always err on the side of graciousness. I've decided that was a good one, and Im going to keep it at the top of the list for-  well, for forever.  I think its more the element of choosing January 1st to be a Refresh button that doesnt jive with me. If I really wanted to do something, or not do something, or make some emphatic change, I would just do it, regardless of the date on the calendar. But I suppose its as good of a time as any-  and hey, who am I to talk anyway? Here I am,  implementing my big P90X plan on January 24th. LOL. Maybe I just resist January 1st because I really am a procrastinator? Hmm.  Im sure I can trust you to put that one in the vault...

BLURG

To borrow a term from my fictional, tv character- kindred spirit Liz Lemon, my feelings can best be summed up in one word. BLURG.
Or maybe Hmphf. Or Phrrrt! No, dear readers, I have not lost my marbles. Yet. I am currently sitting in my most favorite, ugly-as-sin lazy-boy recliner (that is far too comfortable to part with, however contradicting it may be to my style preferences), which is in the middle of what used to resemble my home, but that is recently in such a state of unrecognizable disarray, that I see no other option than to shrug my duties and blog. Gasp. Who am I, even?! What has become of me?!

For the past few weeks we have been packing, organizing, purging, -doing our darndest to prepare for the big move this weekend. Essentially, editing and disassembling our entire lives. Or at least its felt that way.  Between all of that, and dealing with multiple (albeit minor) health issues in our household, I will candidly say Im feeling a tad bit overwhelmed. Just a teense! A scoch. Okay fine. Totally, completely overwhelmed!

There's always a silver lining: It does feel good to simplify. Trim the excess, clean out all the drawers and closets and spaces that go neglected. The plan is to move, save, and then move, once again, into our forever house. The elusive Forever House. Is there such a thing? Ha! My husband and I counted it up the other day and were shocked to realize this will be our 7th address in 8 years! Sick! We should be professionals by now. So why am I finding this move in particular to be so stressful? Probably because we are downsizing a bit. A lot. Eeek. Probably because while this house is cute, and I know I will make it homey, it is also a transition house. An interim, a means to an end. For some reason this time it feels a little bit sad to be packing everything up once again, emptying it all out, and saying goodbye to another home we've made memories in with our kids. This is the house I brought my son home from the hospital to. Its where he took his first steps. Its where my daughter has put on her tutu and danced in front of the fireplace (the only spot where she can see her reflection!) almost every single morning. Its where we've entertained freinds and played games and had a lot of good times. There's been laughs and there's tears within these walls. I guess thats all just regular life stuff though.

All this editing and disassembling of our 'entire lives' has made me realize that that's not it at all, actually. Its just a house of wood and rooms filled with things. I need not identify with it, be sad to leave it behind, or assume it affects the quality of my life. On to the next house! Where we'll fill it up will all the same craziness. Its a new year, a new home, and a new chapter! I love new chapters!
Now, about all this packing shenanigans....5 more minutes. I just need 5 more minutes of relaxing! I swear....