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.



Humorous Hubris

If it's true what they say-  that opposites attract, then Husband and I are one of the exceptions to that rule. We really aren't all that different from each other.

In the beginning as our long distance friendship budded into a long distance relationship, we spent hours nightly on the phone talking about our similar taste in music, movies, and people in general. We fancied all the same things. More importantly we fancied each other.

 This was it. He was my person. I knew it very early on. He was funny! Better yet, he thought I was funny, which made for a pretty good time. We laughed a LOT. And as I mentioned *here*, when it comes to other people, there are very few characteristics I appreciate more than a ready wit. He was clever and kind and good, and for some reason he wanted me. On top of all of that, he turned out to be possibly my only equal in remembering and appreciating movie quotes. The larger point there, being that he seemed to GET me.

Oh, I loved him almost instantly.  

 

He made grand romantic gestures. He stood outside my bedroom window with a boombox on his shoulder, playing that song- our song. (Thank you John Cusack for the inspiration.)
 After only one month of quickly growing closer despite the miles between us, he packed up his life and moved to Oregon, so we could be close in the geographical sense as well.
 He pursued me. I liked this.  Four months later we were engaged and six months after that we were married.

Clearly we are both amused by something here...although what, I can't be sure.

 Fast forward 10 years and here we are, still in love and still laughing. And now there are two tinies in the mix, which means we are riding that rollercoaster of joy and triumph, heartache and fear, bafflement and wonder. Having children seems to open up chambers of the heart that one never even knew existed.

 

It requires quite a bit of give and take for a marriage to be successful, and in our ten years as Mister and Missus we have become rather familiar with this idea of compromise. In fact, we get along quite well.  But throughout all the years, there seems to be one prevailing theme in our union.

Humorous Hubris.

We both think we are the "funny one" of the couple.
We can agree on where to live, how many children to have, where to eat, what movie to rent, -you name it. But when it comes to our perceived right to the title of "Funniest", neither one of us can seem to acquiesce.

Who cares, you might say? What's the big deal anyway? Can't we both be funny? The answer is yes, of course... just not EQUALLY funny. It completely messes with the natural balance of things! In a world full of chaos, shouldn't we be able to know exactly who we are, at least within our couplings?
I mostly jest, but in all truthfulness, Husband and I both staunchly believe we are slightly funnier than the other.

I often tease him that he's lost his edge. As a financial advisor and investment banker, he spends a good portion of his day sitting across from elderly folk who tend to be very serious when it comes to talk about their money. So it's not his fault, really. It's simply not an atmosphere conducive to an ironic sense of humor.
 Don't get me wrong- he's a big hit with that crowd. They love him. Especially the older gals, who are always telling him what a clever darling he is. (Sorry ladies, he's taken.)
I suppose he could say the same of me- that I've lost my edge, considering my main audience are our 3 and 6 year old children who tend to find my satirical commentary throughout the day...underwhelming to say the least.

The good news is, it keeps us both on our toes. On some level we are still trying to impress each other. We are both people who love to laugh, and who can find the humor in almost any situation, but
I daresay the highest level of satisfaction comes from getting a real and spontaneous laugh out of the other. If I can make HIM laugh, and laugh hard, then that is (insert Andy Samberg's voice impersonating Nicholas Cage) "high praise".

I realize in writing this I risk making us both sound like a couple of big jerks, but I don't think we are?  We may suffer from humorous hubris, or we may just be a good match. Either way, I like him and I'm keeping him.

 



2013: My One Word

Hello my dear compadres! Happy New Year.

I hope 2013 finds you well.
I have been thinking and praying about my goals and hopes for this year and doing a little bit of rearranging of priorities. Pausing for a beat, to reflect on the most important things to me, and if my time spent is a true reflection of that. I spoke last year about my "One Word" (which naturally turned into four words) for the year, and how I wanted to use that one word as a springboard, a filter, a measure, and a goal. Maybe it's a bit corny, but it resonated with me nonetheless. Funny, how I carried on and on about my first two words which were "Content" and "Invested", and it ended up being my other two words ("Hospitable" and "Gracious") that were put to the test in my real everyday life this year. Or, not funny at all? Isn't that how God often works? Making us put our money where our big mouth is?

In the spirit of continuity, I decided to choose one word for 2013 as well. I have hemmed and hawed and thought and prayed and wrestled with choosing my one word. After all, I am not a decisive person. And I am certainly not a person of few words. In all of my soul searching and reflecting, I just kept coming back to this one word, this one thought.

This year I want to be UNHINDERED.

Hebrews 12:1
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us."

I am not exactly sure all that lies on the path marked out for me. I fear I have been meandering along, unwittingly collecting distractions and sometimes losing sight of the "race set before me."
So I am taking a bit of a timeout to rearrange my time spent and my priorities. No existential crisis here, or noble proclamations about striking the perfect balance in my life. I know better than to claim that grandiose of an ideal.
I just want to scale back a tiny bit. Take a timeout. I want to cultivate the relationships and the things in my life that are edifying- and adversely, to recognize those that are not. To shrug off the things that don't serve a purpose in building up my marriage, my family, my faith, or my health.

I think for me this means being less PLUGGED in and more TUNED in. A little less screen time and a little more face time. A little less social networking and a little more real life heart-to-heart networking- with my kids, my husband, my family, my friends. I am a very social person and I rarely go a week without fellowship of some kind, but I would like to cultivate this more in my life. I want to be unhindered and unhurried and less distracted in my daily life, so that I may "run with perseverance the race set before me."

How's that for grandiose?

2012: My Four Words

It's only 11 days into the new year, but I've had a lot on my mind already in regards to forward motion and what that looks like for me, personally in 2012. I suppose a new year is as good of a time as any to take stock, if it were. This year for me that means looking inward more than outward. It's more of an honest glimpse into my heart,  than a look at my outward, tangible life.

I was reading one of my favorite blogs, SheLovesMagazine, which is made of up many different contributors, and each person shared one word as their personal goal for 2012. One word. Keeping things simple- I like that! Words like Repair, Delve, Rest, Fulfillment, etc. Maybe it's cheesy, but it resonated with me. It's deeply personal and honest to just sum things up in one word. That one word can become a balance, a measure, a filter, a springboard for the year. So I've been thinking a lot and praying a little too, and choosing MY one word.

...Then again, consider the source. I couldnt pick JUST ONE word! I mean, come on, let's all be real here. :) I never claimed that I wasn't wordy! I picked 4 words. Deal with it.

(1)

-CONTENT-

1 Timothy 6:6 "But godliness with contentment is great gain."

This year I am making a conscious decision to be content. Because I do think that it often is simply a choice.

I am going to be content with my age and my body.

Sure, I'd like to lose ten pounds, and sure, I wish I had thick gorgeous flowing hair. Being content doesn't mean I must be stagnant. I will work on those ten pounds. But I will not obsess over my physical appearance. It is part of me. But it is not the most important thing.

I will be content with my finances.

 I will not try to keep up with the Jones'. I will not constantly wish for more. I will be thrilled to wake up in my new home and make coffee in my new kitchen every day. I will be happy to drive my car. I will be thankful for how much or how little each month affords us. I will not live beyond our means. I will be stoked for a free vacation to Italy in the spring!!!

I will  be content with my time.

 We all get the same 24 hour allotment. 

I will be content with my children and my husband

. After all, they are my whole heart divided into 3 people. I will appreciate them for who they are.

I will be content with my talents. 

I will be content with my responsibilities.

 They are mine for a reason. Which brings me to my second word:

(2)

-INVESTED-

Many of my responsibilites are close to home. In fact, they have become my home. This does not mean that I lead a small, inconsequential life.  Actually on some days, the gravity of my responsibility scares the doo-doo out of me! Together with my husband, I am raising my two children. No big deal, right? Just ya know, gotta make sure they grow up to be decent humans with good hearts! Yikes.

 I am making the home we live in a safe and happy and nurturing place to be.  I love what I do. I feel that I can say that honestly. Not every moment of every day, but generally speaking I love what I do.

 Although- I think loving what I do is not the only important component. I also have a respect for what I do. Which I'd venture to say is not a popular opinion anymore. Often people view wives and mothers who don't work outside of the home as somehow inferior. As if it must mean they lack the ambition or the skill to do other things. At the risk of sounding grand, lofty, or obnoxious, I will say that at this time in my life, I view motherhood and homemaking as a calling. Does this make me special or more "called" that someone else? No, of course not. Does it mean that I think all women are called to stay home? No, I do not think that at all.  Does this mean that I do nothing but wipe noses and bums, cook meals, clean floors, etc etc etc? GAH!  NO! My life is full of other things and other people. But it does mean that I value my role.

 The less you love something, the more unlovely it becomes. So I am choosing to be INVESTED in my home, my children, and my husband. I will not view the sibling disagreements, the dramatic 4 year old teary displays of emotion, the conversation interruptions, etc. as an obstacle in MY day. Something to move past. I will view it as a chance to give of myself freely. To cheerfully meet the need that is in front of me. Because the more I give of myself, the more I get back. Especially with my tiny tenders! The more I pour into their little hearts, the more they fill mine right back up. And on that note, I think the same theory applies to marriage. The more I give of myself, the more I get back...But that is another thought for another day.

In the end, however low it might rank in other people's opinion of importance, it ranks high in mine. It is important to me. So I will be INVESTED in my home and my family. 

There are two more words I've pondered and chosen as my theme for 2012 but Im going to share them  next time. If you had to choose ONE word, (or four!) what would it be?

Tales From the Trenches: On Staying Home and Staying Positive

Im not going to lie. Im going a little bit crazy. Not to mention stir crazy. Winter has set in, the days are shorter and darker, and Husband has recently been otherwise occupied by the teeny tiny project of a new home, which has often left the kids and I filling our time at home. The weather has turned cold and wet which rules out most outside play. Park days have dwindled, and confession: so have playing-in-the-backyard-days because of Buster's land mines that Husband normally picks up, but now have become my area of responsibility. Along with taking out the trash and raking leaves and other silently agreed upon "man jobs" in our house. And while I officially can (and do!- points there) get these tasks done, lets all be real here. Where Husband would do them bi-weekly, I've done them bi-monthly. Atrocious, I know.

So we've spent many a day indoors. Trying to keep two kids busy and happy and out of trouble. This takes an exorbitant amount of effort some days! Puzzles are ruined by little brother. So are all endeavors to draw, paint, color, or cut/glue. And since Im making a genuine effort to minimize screen time (sidenote: this is a real effort at improvement on my part, because both my kids will happily sit in front of the tv and watch movies together in blissful quiet harmony. While there is nothing wrong with this, and we do it often, I am trying to engage them more.) Be present, right?! Do the work! Make deposits in their little hearts! All the stuff that they dont tell you is the actual hard part of parenting.

SO. Its been interesting. In fact, this very minute, my two pajama clad tinies have gotten into the art cupboard and there are markers, paint brushes, color books, and the like all over my kitchen counter. There have been no altercations, no tears, and no damage to clothing, person, or surface, so Im allowing it to go on unsupervised. For now. I think this has actually been good for me in terms of loosening up. As a person who is perpetually tidying and cleaning I have gotten better at living life and allowing messes. (Kids will do that to you.) Sure! Get out the playhouse! And the barbies and the play food, and the hot wheels, and the baby dolls, and the airplanes, and the books. And ok fine, the toy microphone. And sure! We can play with it all at once! Mix it all up together! Go for it.

 Its good for me and its good for them. The 2 year old is learning to play and use his imagination and share and get along. The 4 year old is learning that if you're big enough to get it out, you're big enough to clean it all up. She's also learning patience with the 2 year old because he reeks havoc on all of her best laid plans. She's learning to lead by example and do the right thing even when its not always "fair". 

 I'M learning that I have a lot to learn. Some days I finish with a sense of pride and joy and fullness.  For the quality time spent reading books and snuggling. For getting down on the floor with them and pretending. For diffusing arguments and drawing the right responses out of them.  For being Fun Mommy! Which, if Im being totally honest, is usually Daddy's area of expertise. (I say this fondly and begrudgingly at the same time.) I love that Husband comes home, changes out of his work clothes and then wrestles on the floor with the kids while I cook dinner. I love that they squeal with delight when they hear the garage door open. It only makes me a little bit sad that Im not the first one they run to, to be silly with. But really, that's my own doing. Some days Im pleased with myself for turning off the tv, and turning on the music and dancing around the living room with the kids- AND managing to be productive at the same time. In the way that it really counts, and in the practical, getting-the-floors-mopped kind of way.

 And then some days I feel utterly defeated. Some days I forget to play and have fun because Im too busy taking care of life. Some days the kids have fought, the house is a mess, and I have lost my patience (after the 17th time little brother has climbed on the counter and emptied the entire contents of my purse, then ruined his sister's art project and thrown every single crayon in every single direction.) Some days big sister has been excessively whiny and contrary. Some days I have a hard time controlling THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE! Its true. Go ahead and judge. Some days I let them watch too much tv. (Cringe) Eeek. I know.

But we are living life. Life is messy and complicated and full of mistakes. But God is faithful. Lessons have been learned. Important lessons. Like, positive reinforcement and encouragement and praise are every bit as important as discipline. Like, if I want my kids to practice  kindness, gentleness, patience, self control, etc.- then I ought to be practicing them myself. Like, thankfulness for simplicity. Sometimes when raising small children, its easy to get swallowed up in the minutiae of the day. But the day is made up of hundreds of moments. Busy, loud, hectic,  moments of rushing our the door or getting dinner on the table. Quiet, still, midnight moments spent rocking, feeding, and comforting. Precious bedtime prayer moments where you are touched and surprised by the peek into your 4 year old's heart and concerns. Moments of mundane, vitally important opportunities to teach and mold and love and grow. And those moments are SIMPLE. They are easy to miss.  It's taken me two babies to learn to appreciate THOSE moments. They're what I end up remembering. They're what I end up cherishing. A tiny sweaty head with cherub cheeks and curly lashes, nestled on my chest in the rocking chair when I can hardly keep my eyes open and I feel like the only person in the dark universe who is awake. Giggles and squeals in the bathtub. Hurdles of pride and tears followed by hugs and forgiviness. It can be a lot of work but it's still SIMPLE. And it fills my heart with a simple kind of joy. Kids are funny like that. Like I always say, they completely fill you up and completely empty you at the same time.

So, I am putting this on an index card -

 Galations 5:22-23 "But the fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self control; against such things, there is no law."

Then Im going to put it on the fridge as a reminder to my tiny tenders... And I'll put it on my bathroom mirror as a reminder to myself.  And then Im going to pray a lot. :)

Dont Fight the Funk... Just Kick it in the Shins and Move On

A year ago when I turned 29 I started contemplating the inexorable shift from my 20's into my 30's. I had only one year left to enjoy my twenties and I decided it was time to put on my big girl panties, take a good honest look at myself, and make peace with the whole package. I even made an actual list of things I'd never be great at (Don't Fight the Funk post.) I do love my lists! Even if they are self deprecating and slightly neurotic. I admitted that I'll probably never be great at doing my own hair and makeup, relaxing in an unkempt house or making snap decisions.  I even owned up to being a blurter and an open book. But I left out how I can't dance and how impatient I am and well...lots and lots of other things. It was more of a rough draft, really, than an all inclusive list.

So now a whole year has passed since these musings and that inexorable shift has happened. Its here. I've been 30 for four entire days now. Which basically makes me an expert. (Sarcasm here should be implicit. And if it's not, y'all are reading the wrong blog)

So I've had a whole year to get on board with this turning 30 business, and I've done an acceptable job of it I guess. I understand it's the end of an era. I can appreciate that. On the whole, Im content with my twenties. I entered them with a better figure and fewer wrinkles but I left them with a husband and two tiny tenders that have captured my heart and run away with it. It may have taken the better part of a decade, but I've gained a truer knowledge of who I am,  a clearer understanding of what Im about, and a closer relationship with my God. I'm more comfortable in my own skin. I care less what other people think. I listen more to my gut and my conscience. I appreciate more.

Ok. Not too shabby.

Except...

There's this whole gaggle of things I still desperately want to change! I want to have more gumption. I want to be more fearless. I want to be more positive. I want to speak less and listen more. I want to show more grace, even when it goes against the grain. Good Lord, I want to worry less! I want to get this uncooperative 30 year old body right and tight again. I want to have more fun with my kids. I want to loosen up. And good grief,  I want to learn how to do my hair and makeup already!

So Im thinking maybe there's some holy grail of a middle ground here? Not striving or fussing over the things that you can never change, while making a genuine effort to work on the things you can?
I guess I have the next decade to find out. Then at 40 I can re-evaluate and go ahead and have a mid-life crisis if I need to.

In the meantime, I HAVE branched out a little bit. I bought a curling iron and some eyeshadow, locked myself in the bathroom, and decided I wasnt coming out until I learned a thing or two. I emerged 3 hours later with a kink in my neck, a few burn marks, and slightly sweaty and highly irritable-  but all in all I'd say it was a success. I've learned how to do a smokey eye and sufficiently wield a curling wand...and on some days its even kind to me.

Husband and I even went dancing! I curled my hair, fumbled with some makeup, and even put on a little black dress. We were going out on the town! I used to be able to dance. Years ago. But somewhere along the line I became convinced I'd lost my mojo. But ya know what? I had so much fun! Mojo shmojo. See? Dont we look like we're having fun?

So after turning 30 and taking stock I'm sticking with "Be Who You Are and Own It!" And Im landing somewhere between "Dont Fight The Funk", and "Just Kick it in the Shins and Move On."
 Oh yes, its a real place.

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.

A Little Something I Like to Call "Terrific Lady Day"

Stop the presses. Husband has chosen (of his own free will) to forego playing basketball with the guys today and go shopping with me. Lets pause here for a minute and appreciate the gravity of that statement. This is no small sacrifice for him, as he was just saying to me last week how he was craving some basketball time with the boys. AND considering that its shopping he's agreed to. As in, walking around a mall, looking at clothes, trying things on- for like, HOURS. This has not happened since the early days. The dating and early-marriage days when he would happily oblige my desires to mosey around a mall or department store. Then it slowly changed from happily obliging me to humoring me every so often by tagging along. And then it ultimately graduated to "woman, have you lost your mind?". (He doesnt actually refer to me as "woman", but you get my drift).
And its okay, really. Its not his cup of tea. He'd rather be fishing or hunting or playing golf or doing something active out in nature. And we all know being active isnt exactly MY cup of tea. So for 8 years we've done what all married couples do, and balanced (or tried to balance) the usual give and take that's required in a marriage. Sometimes trading off doing the things we actually enjoy for doing the things every now and again that really, if we're honest, would make us prefer to stick dull toothpicks in our eyes, but we do them regardless because it makes the other person happy. Not that we dont enjoy some of the same things- we do, but we dont do everything together. I mean, lets all be real here. Ya gotta know when to cut and run. Which for me, is usually when he goes fishing. I tried it a few times. My dad had a boat growing up and that suited me fine. I could sit and enjoy th scenery,  and they could fish. That I can enjoy. Its the standing-on-the-riverbank business I dont care for. I think the last time I tagged along was about 5 years ago when I was pregnant with our daughter. Husband took me to some rocky cliff over the river, perched me on about 1 square foot of rock space that he deemed "perfectly safe", where I teetered for the next hour in a chair that, lets all face it, was no match for my heaving pregnant self. It didnt collapse, but I doubt that flimsy little camping chair has ever worked so hard. And that's where I sat working up a sweat and slowly cooking like a dumpling in the sun for the next hour and a half. But it made him happy.

I dont know what made him decide to go with me today, but Im not going to ask any questions. Maybe all the stars and planets aligned, or maybe he's undergone some fundamental change and he actually likes shopping now...or maybe he's suffered some major blow to the head. All I know is that aside from annual holiday shopping,  this only happens about once every couple of years and so I intend to enjoy it thoroughly. A whole day of leisurely shopping with Husband, maybe lunch, or break it up a little with a movie- After all, I AM human, I DO have a soul, and dont intend on torchuring him all the live long day. He's even promised not to drop the usual ten glum paces behind me  (a strange phenomenon that happens upon walking into any store regardless of its nature) pouting the whole time! Its looking up ladies. Long live Terrific Lady Day!

"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?

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?

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...

Great Expectations

No. Expectations are the devil! ...Well, ok, I retract that statement. Its a blanket statement, and those are almost never a good idea. Overly high or unfair expectations are the devil.
In retrospect, it all starts with me. Overthinking things. As usual. dont you just hate 'retrospect'? The way it lays things out so clearly, almost taunting you with its obviousness? Its a double edged sword, retrospect. The way it can (much to your own chagrin) cut so clearly to the heart of a matter when you choose to look honestly into it. The way it can make you feel so utterly silly sometimes. But at the same token, it serves an invaluable purpose. You live, you learn, as they say.

It is at best unwise, and at worst dangerous ground, when you let expectations dictate your actions. In marriage, in work, in freindships, in nearly anything. "I'll do this for you, if (or because) you do that for me." "I'll work hard at this, only because it might get me that." "I expect you to be A, B, and C to me, and if you aren't, you are letting me down. You are the bad guy". Dangerous lines of thinking!

Obviously, expectations on some level are healthy and necessary elements of any relationship. Obviously. Im not saying 'lower your expectations, roll over and take whatever you can get and live with it". That's just sad.
I guess the thing Im pondering, is, well, selfishness. Inwardly, Im wincing. Im not loving what Im seeing. I confess (appearantly I have much to confess these days?), that I often let selfishness lay the groundwork for expectations, which in turn lays the groundwork for disappointment, resentment, or hurt.

Take date night, for example. Oh dear, I cannot believe I am going to expose myself like this, but whatever, here goes. My husband always tells me that I hold date nights with such a high regard, such a lofty expectation, that I darn near expect it to be some magical, mystical experience. Im chuckling as I write this, because he is totally right. I do. Its a recipe for disaster! How often, I wonder, has he walked unawares into a booby trap that I have unwittingly set?

 At the movie: for 8 years, without fail, as the popcorn and hot dogs stop singing and dancing and the lights dim, I"ll lean over and say "make it a date" and he kisses me, thus commencing the "date". One, maybe two times he forgets or I forget and my stomach lurches as I realize with horror, 'what we've become'. LOL. So dramatic, right? We sit at dinner and eat our food and chit chat and instead of relaxing into what could be a lovely, comfortable silence, I let the inner monologue begin. "Oh my gosh. So eight years huh? Eight years is how long it takes? To be that couple that just sits across from each other at the restaraunt with nothing to say? With just dead air between us?!"  Its silly, but oh, its real. I am expecting him to wow me with sparkling conversation, to make me feel twitterpated, to essentially do and say all the right things. How exhausting. How foolish. If I would only relax and forget about all my expectations of him and of the night. If I would silence my inner monologue and enjoy him, enjoly US for what we are- 2 people who know each other, who love each other, who fit together. If I would see it as it truly is, I'd save us both a lot of grief!

I never used to even think twice about these silly things. Its been a phase. And Im closing the book on it. Maybe its the change that comes with having kids. Maybe its all the million outside stresses of work and money and responsibility that creep in to our happy, intimate little bubble. Maybe that's why, when the rare date night, or the even more rare vacation together happens, I put so much pressure on these events to be something fantastical. (yes, Im sticking with the word fantastical).

 Maybe its just growing pains. Ah, but growth is a good thing! So there you have it. The real truth, the crux of the matter, is that what we share is GOOD. Its familiar and comforting and easy. Its even still romantic and twitterpating. Maybe not on a daily basis or all the time, but its there when it needs to be there. Its right. Its enjoyable. Its a gift, even.

In my vows I promised  "To always trust, To always forgive, To always cherish him as my most precious gift, and To always walk beside him- no matter what this life brings." So I will do just that. I will trust in what we share and in how far its come. I will appreciate the changes that have refined it. I will forgive when hurts or disappointments happen. I will be thankful for the gift of marriage. I will relax and enjoy it for what it is!
And as for unfair expectations, I must recognize them and shake them off.  And focus more on being unselfish rather than selfish. Easy, right? LOL. I'll let ya know how the next date night goes. :)

So What, if it is!

In the vein of my last post, and embracing who I really am, I have decided to listen to many of my freinds prodding, and go ahead and start a blog. Disclaimer: I do not read, follow, or even pretend to know anything about blogs. Im an amateur. Im also doing this in spite of my husbands endless ribbing and teasing me about it. He says its nerdy.  I dont agree (obviously) But ya know what? So what if it is!
I could have relative things to say! Relative to what...well, it just depends. This blog will not be about any one thing in particular. It will not just be about motherhood.  Because, while that takes up an insurmountable chunk of my time, my heart, and my mind,  its not the ONLY thing about me. It will not just be tidbits I learn here or there. Or even just funny tidbits in general. It will not be about travel, because while I would love to travel with all my heart, I have not had much opportunity to do so quite yet. It will not be about marriage. It will not be a list of gripes. It will HOPEFULLY not be boring. It will just be...well...ME.  Thus the title. In my mind, its an ironic, satirical, (always laced with humor) look at my life as a stay at home mom . To someone who doesnt know me, it may sound like the "this" in my title makes me sound like some jaded, despondent, desperate houswife with nothing but time and a keyboard. Which genuinely could not be further from the truth. Could not. Just so we clear that up.
So here I go, putting myself out there, for all to see. Please be nice to me. ;)

Dont Fight the Funk

October 25, 2010

So Im getting dangerously close to 30. And while I don't bemoan parting with my 20's- I do confess to feeling a little defiant about the fact.  In your 20's you're 'young'. You're vivacious and lively and carefree and maybe even a little bit foolish. But it's allowed.
So here I sit, on the brink of my very last year my twenties. My lovely twenties. I've decided (determined) that my 30's will be good. In your 30's you earn that self-possessed, self- assured, comfortable-in-your-own-skin air about you. And on that note, I've decided, its time to put on my big girl panties (the proverbial kind, not actual, grandma panties. After all, 30's is hardly the same as 70's) and face facts about myself. There are just certain things, that no matter how you look at it, I will most certainly never be 'great' at. And so I am going to accept each one and move on. So here's a shorthand list of what I've got so far.
1) I will never be great at doing my own hair or makeup. Its not that I dont care, exactly. Its more like Im a minimalist, but not by choice. I just lack the skills, and the genetic make-up to look fantastically put together without trying. You know the type. Every time I see one of these women, I really do want to pull them aside for a little pow-wow and ask them how they managed this. "Really! I genuinely want to know! Is there a secret? Some trick I did not learn yet? I'll keep it in the vault, I swear! Just tell me!".
Ah, I guess I will stick with my blown out hair and and mascara and blush and blend in with the rest of the world. At least I know my place.
2) I will never be great at keeping that joke, comment, random thought to myself. I blurt. Im a blurter. Im also very animated and I tend to be...(cringing as I even type this)...excitable. Which tends to make me louder. Sigh. Its true. But its who I am! So there. At least Im copping to it and owning it (I think). Im not, nor will I ever be, one of those peripheral people who quietly takes it all in, and doesn't let it all out. Which brings me to my number 3). I will never be great at hiding my feelings. Im such a bad liar. Generally whatever Im thinking, feeling, wondering is written ALL over my face. Not very handy. One of these days I'll learn to be more guarded. But for now, I'll go ahead being an open book. Its not such a bad thing.
4) I will never be great at relaxing in an unkempt house. There is no wiggle room on this one, either. I've tried. I'll feel irritable or slightly chaotic and I won't exactly know why. But voila! As soon as my house is clean and the smell of pinesol and comet wafts through the air, its like the sun suddenly shines out of my butt. It makes me happy. Not giddy happy, but the nice, pleasant, peaceful brand of happy.
5) I will never be great at making snap decisions. I hem and haw. I ask for input. I vascillate. But this one I I'd rather change than make peace with.
There are a lot of things that I AM. But that is a blog for another day. And there are a lot more things that I will never be great at. But these are the only ones I've made peace with just yet. So its, as I always say, "Dont fight the funk, eh?!" (I really do always say that). Cheers to one more year to soak it all up and figure it all out.

Confessions of an Honest Mom

October 9, 2010

Ok. Moms out there: have we all been in that situation where you're having pleasant, small-talk-y conversation with another mom-acquaintance (which generally means talk about your kids. Story swapping, anticdote sharing, general inadvertant gushing)...and said mom keeps slipping in comments about how she "really just can't believe what a wonderful personality little Billy has". Or, "how truly, truly lucky she feels, and SO honored" to be little Suzy's mother. And you feel yourself smile and graciously agree, saying something along the lines of "Yes, they really are so charming, and yes you really should feel lucky". - When inwardly you stifle a hearty eye-roll. I mean, seriously? Let's all be real here. Dont ALL moms EVERYWHERE feel this way? Don't we all, deep in our hearts, feel that our kids are somehow spectacular?
Now,...(pause)...I get it. Im treading lightly here. I am not some cold, cynical, eye-rolling monster who doesn't wanna hear about your cute kid. On the contrary, I think its important to share the positive sentiments as much or probably more than sharing the negative ones. After all, its a mixed bag, is it not? I do, however, have a low tolerance for that subtle, passive-aggressive-my-life-is-ever-so-slightly-better-than-yours-THING that women can be so good at. There. I said it.
Does anyone know what Im talking about? That shift, however subterranean it might be, that feels like these pleasantries have suddenly taken on an ugly, slightly competitive edge? ...WHY?! What's the point?
I consider myself lucky to have a close circle of family and freinds, -moms themselves- who I can say this is not ever the case with. We all know and love each other and our subsequent children, and we can just go ahead and be real with each other. How refreshing! To be able to just come right out and admit that we, (or one of our little darlings) are having an 'off'day.  A bad day. A naughty day, even. (Gasp) It happens. Its true. No judgements. No clicking tongues or raised eyebrows. Because, as parents, aren't we ALL climbing that same, daily, uphill battle?
Now, at the risk of sounding like a negative nellie- I will ammend that I do not mean to sound, nor do I feel, that parenting is a drag. Not at all. As I've said before, there is nothing else I'd rather be doing. Nothing that can empty you, yet gloriously fill you up at the same time, quite like parenting. So let's all be chums, eh? Comrades. Let's all be real here.