Adulting

I don’t feel like I’ve fully adulted yet. I don’t know I will ever feel like a proper Ah-dult. It’d be worse if there was a state issued license for it, complete with age regulation, like an ID for drinking or getting your driver's license. It’d be all:

In order to begin the approval process as a licensed and certified Adult, one must present signed, notarized, and sealed documentation on all of the following:

A) Owns property and at least one vehicle  

B) Has an accredited degree and job with security 

C) Has contributed to our nation’s population with outstanding, exemplary citizens 

D) Votes 

E) Owns a vehicle and has up-to-date registration and insurance, with no violations  

F) Has health insurance (including Dental and Vision)  

G) Pays taxes 

H) Volunteers and/or contributes (donates) to society 

I) Owns a shelf with a least a dozen accolades and awards 

J) Keep pets and plants alive  

K) Shops responsibly and environmentally friendly and organic 

L) Supports local and small businesses 

M) Is a member of a group or religion and regularly attends 

N) Exercises five days a week, eats a balanced diet, and sleeps a minimum of 8 hours a night

O) Visits the doctor once a year and the dentist twice a year  

P) Maintains a perfect credit score 

Q) Is a part of a long-term relationship with documentation to prove it (i.e. marriage, work-spouse, partner, etc.)  

R) Up-to-date with current local, national, and global events and politics (and pop culture) 

S) Has a current living will and rights documents 

T) Contributes to a 529, a 401k, and has a healthy retirement fund 

U) Stays out of the sun and uses copious amounts of sunscreen 

V) Refrains from smoking, drinking, and drugs 

W) Remembers all friends and family members’ birthdays and anniversaries and sends a card or gift

X) Vacations 1.5 times a year 

Y) Responds to RSVPs immediately 

Z) Works towards reasonable and attainable plans/goals for the future

Yeah… I could probably provide proof for a few of those, but I definitely couldn’t be certified as an Ah-dult. I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, and even smirking a bit just looking at that short list. (Yes, it’s the short list of requirements. I’m sure there’s more I’m forgetting). Truthfully, I probably couldn’t manage all of those requirements simultaneously. (More like occasionally/sparingly). I’d be awarded my Adulthood license on my deathbed. And even then, I’d be given it as a polite honorary award as a graceful way to ease my passing… as if society needed a way to justify my life as meaningful and worthwhile.

I’m okay not being a perfectly certified adult right now. I fully intend on taking my time getting there, the way I intend on letting my kids take their time being kids. I enjoy the occasional childlike enthusiasm over ice cream for dinner, or basking in the sun without sunscreen, or getting my drink on. I’m okay going to the doctor or dentist only if something hurts, if my plants die while away on vacation, wearing cleanish looking clothes, having a college savings fund for only one of my kids (competition is healthy, no?), not hosting perfectly Instagram-worthy dinner parties, and changing my sheets like at least once a month (it’s supposed to be weekly, ya crazy Ahdults).

I’m working on it, and totally okay with the fact that it’ll probably take a lifetime. :)

Wrong

I hate being wrong.
I hate wrongness.
And apparently I hate milk. (My husband told me I vehemently professed my hatred while under anesthesia a few months ago.)

I hate the idea that there is something wrong with me. But there are days that I think a little devil jerk is sitting on my shoulder, and every time I think something is wrong with me, he squeezes an annoying red buzzer that rings loudly in my ear.

Wrongness bugs me about my physical appearance.
Why aren’t I taller? What’s wrong with me that I’m neither short or tall?
Why aren’t I thinner? What’s wrong with me that I’m neither thin nor overweight?
Why don’t I look amazing in everything? Why can’t I wear high heels longer than two minutes? Why can’t I run long distances? Why does my skin react so poorly to heat? Or wool?

Wrongness harasses me about my personality.
Why don’t I like it when strangers talk to me? Why can’t I talk to strangers easily? What is wrong with me that makes it awkward for me to make friends quickly? Why don’t I actually want to? Why don’t I feel like I can open up to people right away? Why am I so quick to judge? Why don’t I enjoy being around people? What is wrong with me that I would almost always rather be alone?

Wrongness picks at my life choices.
Why can’t I be more consistent? Why does committing sometimes freak me out? Why don’t I like kids (yes, I like mine), or want to have anymore of my own? Why do I get bored so fast? Why don’t I go to church anymore? Should I? Why do I constantly desire change? Why can’t I be satisfied with what I have? Why can’t I be content with the everyday routines of life?

The thing is, I’m not wrong. I am perfectly and uniquely designed. I’m only wrong when I compare myself to someone or something else. I will never look like ____. I will never be or act like _____. My life will never resemble _____. I will never be able to fix my past to look like someone else’s. I could try. Actually, I have; it’s exhausting. And fruitless. (Seriously, some people don’t eat fruit. WTH.)

My husband just told me a useful life/work balance exercise he learned from a friend. Basically, you make a list of all the people that are important to you, and next to their name, write down what you’d like them to say at your funeral. And then make a plan on how to go about making that a truth. For instance, if you want your sister to tout your generosity during your eulogy, then you send her money or gifts every paycheck until your demise. Or visit her once a month and help her do or accomplish a task. Or maybe you donate to her favorite charity, or give her the shirt off your back. Whatever you think it’ll take.

Initially, I agreed that this was a cool way of accomplishing your goals and getting the most out of your life. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it wasn’t my style. Perhaps it's a good way to take inventory and do an overall sort of life check-in. But something about the action plan smelled of manipulation to me. What if you do all that, and the only thing your sister thinks is that you were overbearing and annoying? What if it harmed her confidence and made her worry that you thought she couldn’t handle her own life? What if the best case scenario was that she thought you were helpful? Or nice. Or supportive? Would you consider that a success? I suppose you wouldn’t know; but perhaps you’d go to your deathbed feeling good and confident in your efforts. She can tell you all about your funeral in whatever afterlife you believe in. :)

It just seems like a lot of work to me with no absolute guarantee of payoff. Sure, you maybe become a better person in the process. It seems easier to me, to just be my best self, then people will love me for who I am, not for what I forced them or chose for them to believe/feel about me. It’s okay if that’s important to you. But for me, it’s okay if at my funeral, people are like, “I didn’t know her very well; she kept to herself. She seemed to thoroughly enjoy deep conversations and those she chose to spend time with. She listened. She also seemed to enjoy reading and having adventures immensely, loved her family, and loved life. She occasionally shared her passions publicly through singing and writing.

I feel like those are things that come naturally to me. And really, that’s what is important to me: staying true to myself, and who I am. Not blending in and not being someone else; someone I’m not. I have this one life to live, and I don’t want to spend it trying to live someone else’s life. I don’t care what ya say or do at my funeral. It can be as sorrowful or as giddy as you’d like, just let me go in my rainbow Milly gown and with a jar of almond butter and some honeycrisp apples. And my iPad Kindle app (somebody please keep my wifi/cellular account paid, okay?) I’ll be good.

I’ll be me. Which is what is right. I can love my differences. I can appreciate the things that make me unique. I can find joy in my decisions. Appreciate and dwell in the things that set me apart. I am right. I am me.

And apparently, I am a fairy. Shhh! Don’t tell anyone! (Also stated while under anesthesia.)

At This Moment

I picked up one of my favorite magazines, Bella Grace (Issue 7), and it had this writing prompt I wanted to give a shot. Feel free fill in your own list and share!

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One of the best ways to cheer yourself up is to take a trip down memory lane. Record all of the things you’re currently loving and enjoying, and the next time you feel down, refer back to this list.

Currently I’m:

Reading: I just finished quite a few books by Charlie N. Holmeburg (I really enjoyed The Paper Magician Trilogy and Follwed By Frost) and started a book called “La Bella Lingua: My Love Affair with Italian, the World’s Most Enchanting Language” by Diane Hales. We are planning a trip with the kids to Italy in a few months and this book is my way of preparing and getting excited.

Eating: Right now, my staples are: Power Grain waffles with almond butter and sugar free syrup for breakfast every morning (it’s so fast, easy, and yummy), and a protein shake for lunch (I swear replacing lunch foods with smoothies has healed my stomach issues). I have a honeycrisp apple every day... to keep the doctor away and all. Dinner is where I change it up, but it’s typically grilled salmon or chicken with veggies or in a salad. I get more wild on the weekends when we tend to eat out more. Did I mention I hate cooking?

Drinking: Green tea, Ginger tea… And I just started drinking coffee again! It’s taking some getting used to (all the shaking and jitteriness) but my stomach is finally tolerating it once again after a year hiatus. Hurray!

Listening To: A CD that my brilliantly talented choir conductor, Peter Hillard, made for each section of the choir (unedited) to learn their parts for our Spring Concert in May. It’s equal parts helpful, disturbing, and hilarious. My kids are starting to sing along to the Alto parts as if they’re the melody. I’ve been driving with the windows up more often.

Watching: I don’t watch much… I prefer to quietly read! But when I do, it’s usually a new release movie I can rent from iTunes or Amazon, or binge watch episodes of New Girl, The Mindy Project, or Brooklyn 99 while I clean.

Texting: Been trying to text my siblings and family more often. I’m terrible at keeping in touch, and I miss them.

Photographing: The simple, ordinary, beautiful and exciting stuff that is my daily life. I like my perusing my Instagram feed and smiling at how full and happy my life is. I’m a lucky gal. I’ve also been taking pictures of outfits before I head out on a trip. Makes packing way easier.

Loving: I just joined a Cardio Kickboxing gym, and I love it. It’s totally exhilarating to me when I put my everything into a workout, which is easy to do when punching and kicking the crap out of a giant weighted bag. My mind and body are challenged, and I walk out exhausted. I text my husband after every class to remind him how much I love it. Cuz he should know, ya know?

Smelling: Everything. I have a sensitive nose, and more often than not, I find myself wishing people wouldn’t wear perfume or cologne. To me, it’s as rude, inconsiderate, and physically harmful to others as smoking. Unlike other things you can wear that don't physically affect people around you… perfume and cologne are harmful to people like me who get headaches, sinus inflammation, and migraines from strong smells. So, friends, I’m sure if you shower a few times a week, your natural smell is just fine. Better even, than any chemical you choose to spray yourself with. Okay?
<Sigh> Rant over.

Celebrating: My mom’s breast cancer removal and lack of the bad cells. She doesn’t need radiation, and we’ll find out about chemo treatment soon, but I’m celebrating her and the fact that she’ll be enjoying life a lot longer! Woohoo!

Enjoying: My marriage. We just celebrated 8 years! My husband rocks. He’s my best friend. I love who he is and how he thinks, and I enjoy talking to him with all his thoughts and perspectives. I’m also enjoying watching my 4 year old learn to read, write, and count, and watching my 2 year old just grow up to be a big girl.

Trying: To accept my body. It’s hard. I’m a perfectionist. There’s so much awesomeness about it, yet so much I’m not happy with. It’s a constant struggle, but the more (and less!) I try the easier it’s getting. Being around strong women who don’t (seem) to have body issues is helpful. Subjecting myself to less media helps, too. Being grateful for the good parts over the bad. Replacing negative self-talk as soon as it comes up is helping, too!

Feeling: A bit run down, but recovering. I had a busy week last week, and then traveled, and have a busy week next week. I did too much and hurt my lower back (not as bad as I did around this time last year) but I’m taking it easy and slowly getting it back to normal.

Hoping: To see my sister soon. I miss her. And to be in better control and have more awareness of our finances. We’ve been on top of it lately and it feels good!

Considering: Moving. I just toured my dream home (sort of by accident - we were checking out the neighborhood and the realtor walked out and gave us a tour!) and seriously considering it. I’m trying not to fall too hard, especially since it’s the first place I’ve seen, other than looking online. We weren’t planning on moving this year, and the house probably won’t be on the market for that long! We’re trying to pick a good place to settle down and plant some roots, where the kids can go to awesome schools and grow up with neighborhood friends.

Pinning: Cute dresses and outfits (since I have a wedding and a bunch of traveling coming up this summer) and writing inspiration and prompts.

Writing: Blog posts, journaling, and sometimes working on a book or short stories.

“Never let a day pass without looking for the good, feeling the good within you, praising, appreciating, blessing, and being grateful. Make it your life commitment, and you will stand in utter awe of what happens in your life.” - Rhonda Byrne

“We are all pure perfection, desperately trying to be something we already are. Life is not a struggle, life is a song and we were all born to dance.” - Anita Krizzan 

“She had a little rebel in her. A little chaos and a little gentleness. She didn’t say much and sometimes she would doze off. She would drift away, dream with the stars, and that was OK. She had a little fight in her and every time she built enough courage, her voice would echo through the sky. She wasn’t complete, but she had enough. There was a science to her genius, her madness, her beauty, and there was nothing she couldn’t accomplish. She was unstoppable and everything she ever wanted she took, with nothing on but a smile.” - H.W. Drake 

Special Editions

At the airport recently, I grabbed a copy of Glamour magazine, the one with a beautiful, dark haired woman in a flowing red dress on the cover. I didn’t think anything of it, until the cashier said to me, “You know this magazine costs $12.99, right? It’s the Plus-Sized Special Edition.” And I stared at her, and even skeptically squinted my eyes while I considered what she said. Why does this magazine cost more just because there are bigger women on it? It’s not like they needed bigger sheets of paper or more ink to make it. Ridiculous.  

I shook my head incredulously and eventually forced a pleasant reply: "that's fine." (After all, it wasn’t the cashier’s fault.)  As I leafed though the glossy spreads on my 5 hour flight, I noticed all the women in the magazine were plus-sized, not just the cover model. All the ads (which seemed to be just a few companies over and over throughout the magazine, thanks to their new partnership with Lane Bryant), the fashion sections, and articles were geared toward women sizes 12 and up. And despite my not being size 12 or above, I still enjoyed the magazine. Not much was different except for the size of the women in it. I wasn’t staring at an abundance of graceful, tree-like models, who always look inexplicably happy (though perhaps hungry? I kid, I kid) and well-lit. It felt less like a peek at some crazy, unattainable life, and more like the reality I see and interact with everyday. I finished reading it feeling fine about myself, compared to the anxious, I-don’t-have-that, I-don’t-look-like-that feeling I get after I read one of it's other “normal” magazine editions. 

A few days later, I stood in the bathroom brushing my hair as my two and four year old daughters watched and commented. “You’re beautiful, Mommy,” the oldest said. The two year old parroted. I turned to them and instead of thanking them for their thoughts, I stopped and looked into their eyes. “I know! And since I’m beautiful, you are too, because you are my daughters. You are like me because I made you,” I strongly stated with a serious face (eyebrows raised and all) and continued, “and a little bit of Daddy, ‘cause he made you, too.” They listened wide-eyed, and then burst into giggles and ran out of the room. 

I wondered what it was going to be like for my daughters when they reach that self-aware age. Are they going to feel like they don’t belong or fit in because they don’t look like the women in magazines? Are they not going to be able to pick up the asian magazines or the white people magazines because they aren’t simply one or the other? I know I’m not alone with these type of thoughts; my concerns aren’t anything new to parenting. I’d love to live in - and have my kids grow up in - a society of acceptance. And if we can’t manage that in the midst of vast diversity, then I’d at least like them to be able to hold their own and have a strong sense of self-worth and self-acceptance. Perhaps that’s where the change begins. Perhaps that’s where it began for all the women and people who fought for rights and equality. 

I’m working on it - on acceptance of self and others - and hopefully passing it on to my kids and everyone else who deserves their own Special Editions. I’m glad our society is working on it, and that it’s slowly getting better. I just wish it cost less. :) 

Quarterly Quench

I’ve often questioned my inability to stick to things for any length of time. I’ve tried sticking to a meal plan, a budget, a new habit, a new activity, a job, or a new hair style, and they’ve all had the life span of a fruit fly.

Follow-through friendly people who make a plan and stick to it are revered. We attach attributes like "successful" and "worthy" to them and place them high on a pedestal. We look at these people and secretly wish that we, too, possessed the wherewithal to save money and invest wisely, lose all the weight and run marathons, or become an expert at a skill. We tout quotes like “Those who fail to plan, plan to fail” and plaster motivational posters like that dumb kitten falling from the tree branch one that says “Hang in There” on our walls. 

But what about when you "stick with it" and nothing happens? Are you less successful or less worthy? Where are the motivational slogans inspiring you to give up? Where are the articles, classes, and sage advice for what to do when you actually need to give the F up and try something else? 

Aside from bad habits, let's agree that there are just some things we shouldn’t stick with. Things that work for some, just don’t work for others. Not all kids learn the same way. Not everyone likes healthy food. Not everyone was meant for running, or for math equations, care-taking, building, or for painting. At what point are we choosing to feed our stubbornness and fear, rather than our adaptability and growth?

The past few months, I've been challenging myself with growth and acceptance, and tightly embracing my personality. In practicing self-forgiveness, I’ve let go of the negatives vibes I’ve forever directed at myself for my occasional lack of follow-through. I've struggled with commitment, especially if it's something I've lost interest in, and it's only gotten harder with having kids. I abhor the idea of saying I will do something and then not, so I've learned to forgive myself (especially when it's out of my control) and to carefully choose my commitments.  I’m done with wondering what’s wrong with me and embraced what’s right. I’ve replaced giving up with change. And I’ve delightfully discovered a pattern:

I have a 3 month attention span. My curiosity is so vicious, it hungrily drives me to search for the next thing to discover, explore, and devour. Generally around the 3 month mark, I find myself satisfied. I feel I’ve conquered the challenge, and thus, I find myself apathetic, indifferent, and honestly disinterested. The emblazoned flame of excitement has smoldered to a barely there flicker. My curiosity has waned, and is already searching for the next ignition switch: the next spark of new, clean, sparkly, scary, wild, thrilling, addicting, silly, or challenging. 

In spite of my constant curiosity, I've discovered there are 4 things that have always stuck around. I’m confident that I'll never give up on these, because I've realized I can just cleverly change them up when I get bored:

1. Exercise: Racquetball and Spinning have become the staples I do once a week that keep me excited about taking care of my body. When I get bored, I change it up… like a new class at the gym, weight lifting, swimming, skiing, playing a sport, walking outside, hiking, running, or yoga. Up next on my list to try: Cardio kickboxing, boxing, and mountain biking. 

2. Writing: I’ll work on writing a book for a while, then maybe some essays, or short story writing. Whatever strikes my fancy. Or perhaps, I’ll work on blog posts, or maybe it will be more reflective writing in a journal. 

3. Reading: I’ll go for a while reading only fantasy books, and then I’ll need a break and change it up by reading some basic fiction, chick lit, or a classic. Sometimes I’ll even stop for a week and binge watch TV to catch up all I’ve missed while I was happily lost in a fantasy world of magic. 

4. Music: My passion for music brightly burns. I quell it by listening to new stations on Spotify, singing along to oldies-but-goodies at the top of my lungs (alone in the car), joining choirs, leading worship or singing solos at church, going to concerts, practicing the harp, or working on my sight reading at the piano.  

I'm not a quitter. I'm a changer. I don't give up, I change it up. So, if you find yourself to be a fellow changer too, here are a few fantastic quotes you can tout to naysayers, or just plaster to your walls:

“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore."  – Andre Gide 

“In a chronically leaking boat, energy devoted to changing vessels is more productive than energy devoted to patching leaks.” – Warren Buffett

“By changing nothing, nothing changes.” - Tony Robbins  

“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.”– Andy Warhol 

“Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don’t resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like.” – Lao Tzu

“To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.” – Winston Churchill

“You’re always you, and that don’t change, and you’re always changing, and there’s nothing you can do about it.” – Neil Gaiman 

“Certain things, they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone.” – J.D. Salinger

Happy Quarter Quell!

(It's a reference to The Hunger Games trilogy, mom)

Adjust Your Grip

Monday:

I bent over and locked my too-big-for-me rented ski boots into the clamps on my rented snowboard. I stood up and immediately cringed. My legs did not want to be permanently stuck this far apart and at these awkward angles. Not even for a second.

I clenched my jaw while my husband and I followed our snowboarding instructor, Chris, out into the snow. We spent half an hour getting to know our snowboards and how it felt to slide down a teeny hill without being able to move our feet. Eventually, we graduated to the bunny hills (not even the bunny slopes... there was no way in hell I’d get on those lifts with a snowboard) where standing on a slow moving conveyor belt took us to the top. Chris would demonstrate different skills to slowly maneuver down the mountain for us, then would come back and hold our hands as we awkwardly tried it ourselves.

After just an hour, I was exhausted. I thought I was pretty fit, but that idea was smashed like my butt in the snow. My whole body was against snowboarding, especially my feet and calves, and screamed it out loud every time I fell, moved, or even stood still. All that started to change, however, the minute Chris reminded me to center myself and said, “You gotta just relax. Take it easy. Relax yourself, you’re doing great.” He let go of his grip on my hands and moved away. I took a deep breath, and was about to let him have it - and tell him to relax (WTF is up with people telling me to relax!) - when I realized how tense I actually was. Admittedly, I was just a wee bit scared of free falling down a slippery mountain with a heavy board stuck to my now totally useless feet. And my fear was hindering my ability to actually snowboard down the mountain, which is um, like kinda the point.

I took another deep breath, reached my arms out to balance, and pretended like I knew what I was doing. While I wondered what it would feel like if I could actually do this on my own... voila! I did it!
(We still opted out of returning after lunch for our afternoon lesson. Sadly, Chris was beside himself and we had to give him the ol' "it's not you, it's me" talk - you know, that sort of thing.)

The next day:

I plopped down and bounced a few times onto the squishy leather seat. With super thick snow gloves, I raised the kill switch, pushed the ignition button, and squeezed the accelerator handle. My snowmobile lurched forward an inch and stopped immediately, whiplashing my body forward and back. With two fingers hovered over the left brake grip, I slowly squeezed the right handle grip again. I just as slowly moved my machine through the snow… then abruptly stopped. Again. Embarrassingly, this went on a few more times before I finally got a feel for the grip.

I spent the first 20 minutes of our ride freaked out like an elderly car driver living on their brakes. What if my snowmobile hit a weird bump and went flying down the side of the (freshly snowed and groomed) mountain pass? My runny nose, blue lips, and red chin balked at the chilly air, and then either adjusted to the temperature or became so numb I couldn’t feel them anymore. Despite the nifty warming feature on the handle, my hands and wrist were numb, too. My shoulders were sore from being tense and tightly gripping the handles.

Our guides led us to a snow covered frozen lake (a bit larger than a football field), where we were given free reign to ride around and get used to our snowmobiles. That helped quite a bit, but then (after enjoying a stunning viewpoint of Lake Tahoe) we began to head back.

The descent was a bit more treacherous; the snow was softer, deeper, and not quite as groomed the higher we were on the mountain. It required a lot more arm strength to maneuver the snowmobile and stay a good distance behind the person in front of me. My arms started to shake and tire. My wrists and hands started to ache. My neck was stiff from being so alert. To be honest, while it was beautiful, thrilling, and exciting, I’ve have to say, it was mostly… scary.    

After a while of this, going 30 miles an hour down a slippery mountain, I took a deep breath, and chose to forcibly relax my body. I pulled my shoulders down and away from my ears. I took a deep breath and adjusted my grip on the handles. I squeezed the snowmobile with my thighs and finally felt in control of the beastly hunk of metal. It was exhilarating. I felt less like a passive rider getting tossed about, and more like an active one. It took a little while, but I finally felt in control, and excited to ride faster and be more daring when hitting all the bumps, jumps, and turns. It was awesome, and I found myself wanting to do it again!

Later that day:

I got some awful news; a biopsy confirmed that my mom has stage 2 ductal breast cancer. (Thankfully it was caught early and we are optimistic.) After an exhilarating morning, I sat on the bed that afternoon devastated. My body tensed up again. I found myself scared for the third time during this trip. But after having quite a bit of practice being scared, I took a few deep breaths, and tried to relax. I was still scared, but knew it was time to “adjust my grip” again. Being tense and upset hadn’t worked for me snowboarding down a hill or snowmobiling down a mountain. But relaxing and adapting had, so I tried my best to put that into practice.

I can’t control everything that happens; I wish I could. I wish I could order my snowboard to do what I say, perfectly control my snowmobile, force the snow to oblige, and command the cancer cells to disappear. I can’t.Thankfully, though, there is something I can do: change the way I react. I can be passive and tense, and let things overwhelm, scare, or control me. Which will lead to nothing. Nothing will happen, other than my body and mind getting injured or hurt, (and as we have seen from a few of my previous posts, my body responds to my mental angst and it’s not pleasant, to say the least) which accomplishes… More nothing.

Instead, I’m learning I can be active, and choose my reactions. I can trust my instincts, change my attitude, be aware of how I’m feeling and what’s actually happening, and adapt accordingly. I can remove myself from the situation, talk about it, or adjust some other way. If I’m sad, I can cry. If I’m happy, I can smile and dance. If I’m scared, I can take a deep breath, and relax.

No matter what fears and uncontrollable things come my way, I can always adjust my grip.

I Spoke Up

It was a series of empowering decisions that led me to allow 4 strange women into my home.

It wasn't easy.
I struggled for a long time with feelings of guilt and unworthiness.
I felt like my needs were insignificant. Unreasonable even.

But slowly, I came around. I started to realize how legitimate my needs and wants were. As I began to speak them aloud, I became aware of the burden of just having them, and I shoved them deep down to a place just as insignificant as I thought they deserved. I discovered that there is actually no place in your mind or heart that is insignificant at all. It's all extremely important, and interconnected, and delicately interwoven. The body is a well oiled machine that needs every single tiny screw, bolt, or spring. There is no room to shove or hide anything. That's not how the machine works. It was well designed. Extremely efficient. Every part and piece intentional and purposeful.

Anyways... back to the four women and why I let them in my home:

1. Once I had babies, I realized taking care of something's every need, 24/7, was not fun and magical at all for me. I found it exhausting and draining to my introverted self. It’s hard. Relentless. Yes, joyful, but still the toughest thing I've ever had to do. I realized I wasn't designed to do it alone. I got to a point where I knew the mommy guilt was no longer working for me. I got to that yucky, desperate place where the need for change is so overwhelming, I couldn’t function without it happening. My mind would be totally lost and shut down if it didn't get it's quiet time to rest and process in it's own slow, quiet way. So, I finally spoke up. I realized how significant my feelings and needs were. And here's what happened:

A) We moved closer to family.
B) Twice a week I hired a babysitter, then eventually put the kids in a day school to socialize and catch colds, and not feel pressured to do play dates (I have a very extroverted toddler).
C) I enjoy weekends without them and even short vacations. I struggled with a lot of guilt at first, but realized this is what I, Emily, needed… to be a good mom. I am my own idea of what a mom is, and I get to choose what that looks like.

2. For years, I struggled with fear and anxiety every time my husband left on a work trip. After we had kids it got worse, since now (should disaster strike) I was not only responsible for myself, but for two little humans, too. On occasion, I'd sleep with a knife under my pillow and my car keys next to my head. Other than asking him not to go (which wasn't always possible - gotta get that $$$ ya'll!) I didn't think my feelings were a big enough deal to do anything about. But then, I began to get anxiety and panic attacks when I traveled, which I had never had before. I was frustrated. I got to that desperate point again. Clearly, it was time. I finally spoke up, and:

A) We got a security alarm system.
B) I enlisted a therapist to help address and figure out my anxiety with some good ol’ CBT techniques and support. 

3. With two toddlers, even in day school a couple times a week, I still felt like I didn't have any time to myself. I chose to be a stay at home mom, and be responsible for all affairs of the household, and children (and sometimes the husband). It is no easy task for one person to manage, especially when you have a ton of square footage of old house, half of which is your husband’s studio where guests, friends, and clients visit often, and interns work every day. So, finally, I spoke up, and:

A) I let go of the need for perfection, and really, my idea of what a Mom is, what a Mom "should be,” or what a Mom does. The image of a Mom's role somehow got stuck in my head, and it was totally wrong for me. (*I like to blame society and social media for this, while simultaneously thanking them that the role of Moms from the 40s and 50s are no longer around). I am not solely a Mom. I am way more than that. I started creating my own ideas of who I am and what my life looks like that works best for me and my family.
B) I hired a cleaning service. 

So yes, four strange women are in my home right now, cleaning. I feel vulnerable, judged, and uncomfortable. But more importantly, I feel relieved. Like a heavy burden that I’ve been carrying around has just disappeared. And fortuneately, I know that those feelings of vulnerability, judgement, and uncomfortableness will pass. They always do over time, and I know this for sure, because:

Every time I speak up, it gets easier. I feel lighter. And stronger. Empowered. And I reach that exhilarating point where I can take care of myself and my needs, take care of my family’s needs, and still have something left to give to others. 

Gotta Glow

While out enjoying a fantastic day shopping with my husband, we overheard a few young girls walking behind us. One told the other: "You just gotta glow. Just glow." To which her friend frustratingly replied: "Girl, I just wanna cross the street." So today, I just wanna glow. I want some positive vibes and happy thoughts and rainbows to head my way, so I decided to make it happen by creating a list of 25 Things I Really Enjoy:

1. Stretching.
2. My husband's smile, and his laugh (the kind where he can barely breathe and doubles over).
3. When my kids make a discovery or learn something new. The look on their faces is priceless. 
4. The Sun: A) Eating watermelon under it while enjoying a cool breeze on a perfect day, B) the way it filters through the leafy canopy of trees and magically makes world seem to twinkle and sparkle, and C) the way it peeks through a cloudy day and warms my face.
5. When my spirit is moved by a song. 
6. A book I get so sucked into I can’t eat or sleep till I finish it. 
7. Warm, scrumptious comfort food, like homemade gnocchi or risotto.
8. How wearing gym clothes allows my body to move the way it was designed.
9. A worn in pair of flip flops.
10. The feeling of fabulous luxury cotton clothes, especially summer dresses against my skin.
11. Getting cozy on the couch with a book and a pot of tea within reach on a gray, rainy day.
12. Giggling with my little girls. 
13. The few moments when my little girls wake up and are all disheveled and snuggly. 
14. The bubbly feeling of elation when reaching my goals or feeling proud. 
15. The way my body feels when I’ve tested it: surfing, playing racquetball, running, swimming, biking, cycling, yoga-ing, weight lifting, long walks, skiing, stuffed with food, relaxed in a hot tub or steam room, sex, and even having babies. I love knowing and feeling what it’s capable of, especially since it helps me love it more. 
16. Seeing my family, and seeing them happy and loving life. 
17. Digging my toes into the sand and listening to ocean waves crash.
18. Floating on my back in the ocean and staring at the sky.
19. Floating on my stomach in the ocean and searching for treasure.
20. The excitement and butterflies in my stomach of exploring a new place. 
21. Watching animals at the zoo.
22. The way I lose track of time when I write. Or read. 
23. The randomness of tree branches.
24. Bright, happy colors.
25. My life. 

What are some things you really enjoy? I hope just thinking about them puts a smile on your face. You just gotta glow. :) 

Stepping Over Waffles

I noticed a two-day old, rock hard Eggo waffle on the floor of my kitchen. I didn't bend over and pick it up. I didn't grab a broom and sweep it. My first instinct was to kick it under the table, but I knew if I did that, it'd live on the floor even longer than if it stayed in its current spot. So I acknowledged it, took a picture of it, and stepped over it.

That’s what me embracing chaos looks like. Yes, it would’ve been easy to pick up, much like the other millions of little things scattered across the floors of my house. One can only bend over so many times before one simply cannot. 

That's also what me actively practicing acceptance looks like. I'm accepting the mess that comes with managing a household with little kids. I'm going to bed at night being okay with a sink full of dishes, food left out on the table, mountains of laundry covering my couch, hand prints marking my mirrors and windows, and Barbies, baby dolls, and crayons covering every surface. Beds rarely get made, because they get a lot of use. My kids might be unbathed and reusing last night’s pajamas, but their bellies and hearts are full, because we’re too busy having fun.

I fought the chaos for too long. I thought that having a clean house meant that I was a kick ass woman who was doing her job and taking care of her family. At least my house being clean was something I could control when life felt chaotic (which, with little kids, is like 100% of the time). But trying to reach unachievable goals was not only affecting me, but my relationships. I found myself questioning if maintaining order was the best use of my time. It’s relentless, exhausting, unfulfilling, thankless, annoying, frustrating, awful, unending, and at times, ridiculous (why are the dirty clothes right in front of the hamper and not actually in the hamper?). And I realized, my job isn’t to be a housekeeper, maid, or to be perfect, it’s to be a woman who takes care of her family while maintaining her sanity and sense of self. And that in itself is gonna be messy.

Staring at the cemented waffle, I surrendered to orderliness (but not to the germs, those jerks still need to be wiped-out). I don’t want to be remembered as a woman who's greatest success was keeping her house and family clean: I don’t want a trophy for that, I don’t want people in my life who expect it, and I most certainly don’t want it as my epitaph. 

Thanks to an article by Tim Challies, I'm doing a better job rationalizing the constant mess: 

“According to the wisest man who ever lived… messes are not proof of a wasted life, but of a productive one.
Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox” (Proverbs 14:4). According to this explanation, the proverb is about the messiness of a life well-lived. Tremper Longman says the moral is that “a productive life is a messy life.” Longman says, “One desires a neat and tidy life, just as the ideal stall would be clean. However, a clean stall by the nature of things would mean an empty stall since oxen do not have to be in a stall long before it is messy. However, without oxen there is no productivity.”
Derek Kidner says, that “Orderliness can reach the point of sterility. This proverb is [a plea for] the readiness to accept upheaval, and a mess to clear up, as the price of growth.” 

I figure for now, I'll leggo my need for order, and enjoy the growth of what is becoming the most productive life ever. And if I am invited into your messy home (that I probably won't even notice), I promise to congratulate or comment on your wonderfully productive life. 

Thanks for the perspective, little waffle. 

9 Ways To Make It Happen

I’m on Day 11 of my writing challenge. Instead of writing 31 blog posts, I’ve spent the last few days adding 500 more words every night to the rough, messy first draft of my book. I’m working on getting over the idea that it needs to be perfect in order to be written, that I have to have the plot, structure, story arch, characters, geography, etc. all figured out before I start writing. According to great writers, I don’t. Which is strange. It’s like walking somewhere with out really knowing where you’re going or how to get there. A map would help. But either way, you definitely want to walk. It’s good for you. You have to just get started.

This 31 day challenge has been awesome. Here’s how I’m kicking ass and making it happen:

1. Writing. 

Luckily, writing or knowing what to write isn’t the challenging part for me. I could do this all day. I could write until my fingers were numb, and my husband would have to force me to stop and remind me to eat, and that I have kids. 

2. Space. 

I made a garret for myself (less of an attic and more like a small corner desk space in my husband’s studio in the basement of our house). I marked my territory. It garishly reeks of me. I tricked it out with rainbows and sparkles, polka dot pencils, pink flowers, vibrant sticky notes and notecards, gold and silver shiny things (lamps, push pins, candles), inspiring quotes, complete with a plethora of exotic hot teas at my disposal. This is where the magic is gonna happen, folks.

3. Sacrifice. 

I gave up wearing make up everyday. Well, sort of. The toughest part of this challenge so far has been finding time to write. Making it a priority is difficult, when there are so many other priorities scrambling and scratching at each other to be at the top of my list. Between my very extroverted 4 year old’s endless curious questions, and my wiggly 2 year old’s need for me to not sit down for more than 10 seconds at a time, it’s a bit of a struggle. But not impossible. Something has to be sacrificed. And for the record, I don’t spend hours putting on makeup.. it’s just one more thing that's not making the cut on my priority list (Ask any mom with an infant about her non-existent makeup routine. Not. Even. Worth. It. It is more of a luxury at this point.) Along with going to bed early, and showering every day. You know, things I can do when I’m dead.  

4. Time. 

I write from 8-9pm. It’s my writing sweet spot, for now. Unfortunately, it's not when I’m at my most creative; it’s more like when I’m just finished giving all I have for the day and need to zone out. So eventually, I’d like the time to change. However, I like having the time blocked out, so if I don’t get to it during the day, at least I can dedicate an hour to it later and not feel overburdened. 

5. Childcare. 

I added a fourth day of school for my lil ones. The oldest will be starting Kindergarten in the fall, and I figure now is as good a time as any to start adjusting to five days a week. I’m still struggling with this decision, but I am totally giving myself permission to revoke it if it doesn’t feel right. It gives me more consistent time to recover from the hectic weekends (where I try to take “off” as much as possible) and time to write! 

6. Reading. 

I’ve been researching the hell outta how to write a book. It could be as easy as just sitting down and writing everyday, and it could be as difficult as planning, outlining, researching, interviewing, learning, getting more education, etc. I’m reading Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, and absorbing any knowledge from reputable authors and publishers that I can. I’ve developed new habits: scouring books at the bookstore, noticing author’s names and their publishers, and reading the synopsis on the back of the books, praying none of them will be similar to mine. I’m reading, and reading, and reading, hoping that new ideas will jump off the pages and that I can steal them and twist them till their unrecognizable. I’m noticing the way authors describe their location, or their main character, or battle scenes. I’m having a blast, and while I wish I had done it earlier in life, I realize that I’m at a better (different?) place now.

7. Talking. 

I started a book club… with strangers. And it’s a blast. I know, I’m one wild introvert. I’ll get to writing about my extroverted introvert-y-ness (‘cause who isn’t writing about that crap these days?) and my addiction to trying new things… but I digress. I’m gettin’ down with my sci-fi/fantasy nerd side and sharing it with others. And it’s so fun. And uncomfortable at times. But fun. I don’t think I could have such an in-depth conversation with an attorney about Frank Hubert’s classic science fiction book, Dune, in any other circumstance. Not at a play date, or ladies book club, or dinner out with friends. I’m loving that this is my thing right now and I’m letting my freak flag fly. 

8. Note-taking. 

I have a ba-freakin’-jillion blank notebooks that I’ve collected and continue to collect like a hoarder. As if they’re suddenly going to stop being made like cassette tapes. I carry one with me everywhere now in case A) I get a sudden idea for my book or something I want to pontificate on. Or,  B) I’m feeling strongly or emotional about something, so I’ll write. And it helps me get it out of my head (where I live like, 90% of the time ‘cause it’s fun there) and organize what I’m feeling or experiencing. Mostly I use the Notes app on my iPhone, because it’s quick, and I like how it’s right there on my laptop the next time I open it.

9. Smiling. 

I remind myself why I’m doing this. For me. Not for you, dear reader (though I think of you fondly), not for money or fame, but for little ol’ me. To find my voice, and to feel all the alive tingles doing something that brings me joy. 

Day 11: 1,065 words down. 8,772 words to go. (But really, 20 days to go.) 

Mornings

I am incapable of sleeping in. On the rare occasions that I sleep later than 7am, it's usually because I’m incredibly jet-lagged and forced my body to pick what time it is out of a hat. Despite it being my morning to sleep in, or that I stayed up till 6am, I wake up. I force a Dexilant and Claritin pill down my dry throat with stale water from two days ago, and snuggle back under the covers. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and hope that the elusive Sleep Fairy will return. But she doesn’t visit. She’s all, nah girl, you’re body is ready to go! It’s hungry. It’s gotta vacate unwanted waste. It needs some sun-freakin-light. So rise and shine, darling. Up and at ‘em! In her place, she hired my 4 year old to wake me up with, “Mom, I want waffles.” 

My ideal morning is one where I gently wake up to the silent sun slowly sliding and sneaking up to my face. It caresses my cheeks like an infatuated lover, as I take a few deep breaths and open my eyes to it’s brilliant blazing beams. I inhale the cup of fragrant green tea delicately steaming the air on my bedside table. I close my eyes again and choose some specific thoughts to help me focus on my day ahead as the sun kisses my eyelids. I am grateful for all the things I have and get to do today. I’m excited about my day ahead and look forward to spending the day taking care of myself and my family. 

I eat a breakfast of deliciously warm, nut grain waffles with almond butter and maple syrup, and finish my cup of tea in the quiet solitude. I savor every moment and every bite like it’s my last. As I sit, I read a book, and never have to get up from the table once, for anything or anyone. I watch the birds outside my window, excitedly twitter about the morning as they flit to and fro on the branches. I marvel at how awake and energetic they are, and wonder if maybe I should eat more seeds, too.  

Before the kids wake up: I have already emptied the dishwasher, and read a whole book. I have exercised, showered, made some phone calls, and taken a nap. I went grocery shopping and cooked them a breakfast feast: a smorgasbord of carb-filled items and fruits to keep their stomachs filled and all hunger-related tantrums at bay till lunchtime. I have had enough caffeine take over my body in order to be in charge of theirs. My house has been swept, mopped, dusted, and organized. Every puzzle piece has been zip locked together and every baby, Barbie, and Elmo doll are sitting perfectly on a shelf. The kids’ outfits for the day have been laid out, itinerary pre-planned, and snacks perfectly packed and ready to go. They run into the kitchen already dressed in beautifully coordinated, clean outfits. Their teeth have been brushed, hair combed, and matching socks and shoes are already on their feet. 

“Mom, can I have a waffle, please?”

Alas, I dream the impossible. But I bed you, dear Sleep Fairy,  please give me that dream again tomorrow night, thank you. 

(Day 4: 552 words down. 12, 837 to go)

Permission Slips

I've forged quite a few permission slips in my time. For the record, it wasn’t that my parents wouldn't have, it was mainly my procrastination or forgetfulness in getting them to sign it. Thus began my last-minute-we're-about-to-get-on-the-bus forgery. It really bugs me that Harry Potter couldn’t magically forge a permission slip to go to Hogsmeade that one time. I mean, seriously? What is the point of magic then? I feel like he missed out on some adolescent rite of passage (and a trip to Hogsmeade, poor kid). I would've broken that wand across my knee and been like, I'm out.

As adults, we think we don’t need permission slips. 

Oh, but we do. 

I got my first adult permission slips* when I became a mom. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was home alone all day, far from my family in a tiny Brooklyn apartment with this tiny alien-to-me creature. I struggled with getting my infant to nap without being attached to me. It was severely stressful, heightened by the fact neither of us were sleeping well. My first adult permission came when a veteran mom said to me, “Let her cry for a few minutes. She is old enough to know you love her. You’re a good Mom. She is getting all her needs met. Give her a kiss, set a timer, and see how it goes.” 

Yes, it’s basically the controversial “cry it out” method. It was against everything I had read pre-baby. But this wasn’t me buying into a method, it was a simple solution to a simple problem that I allowed to get bigger than me. What would the neighbors think if I let my kid cry for 5 minutes? Will she have attachment or abandonment issues for the rest of her life, and send me her therapy bills in her 20s? Will she explode? Will I explode if something doesn’t change?

The exact moment change happens, is in the desperation, when the mere thought of your situation staying the same is supremely more horrendous than any alternative you can imagine. 

My second kid-related permission slip happened on my first visit to my Brooklyn pediatrician, where he told me to enjoy a glass of wine in the evenings once or twice a week. 

Wait, what? 

Not only had my religious upbringing deemed alcohol taboo, but every paranoid thing I’ve read about a breastfeeding mom having a drink had my red flags up and flappin'. But, like he said, “New moms are anxious. A relaxed mom is a happy mom, and a happy and relaxed mom means a happy and relaxed baby.” Holla! Where do I sign? I'd frame that permission slip like a first paycheck if I could. 

I needed permission. I was too fearful of doing something wrong or messing something up. I needed someone to be willing to take the heat if something went wrong, like trusted friends and professionals. People willing to take the blame. Fearful thoughts get trapped in the spin cycle of: “I’m not supposed to do ____ . I can’t do ______. I don’t even think I’m allowed to ____.” “I couldn’t ___.” Or, “What will people think if I _____.” 

Sometimes to overcome your fears, you need a permission slip to try something different. 

I may not be a trusted friend or professional of yours, but as a fellow human being who genuinely wants you to have a great life, I give you permission to:

• Fail
• Fall in love
• Question everything
• Wear white in the winter
• Try a new hobby
• Say “no” to your kid even if he cries
• Go back to school 
• Cry
• Be happy
• Skip instead of walk 
• Say how you actually feel
• Wear the same thing everyday
• Eat cake for breakfast
• (See me after class if your desire didn't make the list)

Go for it. Get your permission slip signed. (Or forge it.)


*You might be relieved to know, both authorized activities worked. I can confidently say that me and my kids are healthy, happy, and doing just fine. And we sleep like champs.

(Day 3: 671 words down. 13,389 to go.)

I Am A Hero.

I’ve started reading Elizabeth Sims' book, You’ve Got A Book In You. And like, three chapters in I have this revelation: I am a hero. Sims suggests that writing a book is heroic, and she says that heroes do 3 things:

1. Heroes take drastic risks. 

2. Heroes sacrifice themselves. 

3. Heroes push themselves. 

Let me break my heroism down so that you can write about it for the front page of a newspaper:

1. I take drastic risks all the time. Like the other day, I ate some chicken from the fridge that was questionable. I licked a piece of brown something off the back of my hand. I went out shopping with the kids without a extra set of clothing and diapers. I didn’t shower. I didn’t shave my armpits. I popped a pimple. I slept in for a bit while the kids roamed the house without supervision and played with iPads. I mixed colors and whites in the washing machine. I wore capris in 12 degree weather. I paid my bills a day late. I didn’t put gas in the car until the light came on and said I had like, 5 miles left. Okay, so I didn’t do this all in the same day, but you get the idea. I’m as risky as Tom Cruise dancing in sunglasses and his underwear.                                                                                                                                                                                 
2. I sacrifice my dinner pretty much every night. The kids would rather eat my boring chicken soup and toast over their Kraft Mac ’n Cheese and broccoli dinner. I sacrifice my sleep when they wake up in the middle of the night. I sacrifice my cleanliness on the days they are sick and need to be held all day. I sacrifice my privacy every time I use the bathroom. I not only sacrificed my body to have kids, but I sacrificed a clean house. I sacrifice my time. I sacrifice quiet.                                                                                                                                                 
3. I push myself every morning that I wake up to go to the gym instead of sleeping. I push myself to write everyday, and post to my blog on Tuesdays. I push myself to clean the house every night its been ransacked, to cook, and to go grocery shopping instead of reading a book or watching movies all day. I push myself to stop eating the whole pizza/cake/bag of candy/*insert any sort of delicious food here*. I push myself to beat my husband at racquetball, even though a lot of the time that doesn’t happen. I push myself to be kind to others, when I really would rather yell or give them a lovely piece of my mind. I push myself to have positive thoughts, when being negative and miserable is SO MUCH EASIER. 

The definition of a hero says that it's a distinguished man (seriously 2016? A MAN?) who possesses such attributes as: bravery, courage, noble qualities and deeds, or who is regarded as a model or ideal. 

Regardless of not being a man, I triumphantly tell the husband that I’m a hero. He squints his eyes skeptically at me, and turns back to his computer. I read him Sims' prerequisites to being a hero, and he turns to me and says, “You’re missing a few. You don’t have cucumbers, or feta cheese, and you aren’t of mediterranean descent.” 

I am definitely not a Gyro. 

(Day 2: 553 words down. 14,060 to go.)  

31 days, 15,500 words: Day 1.

I came across Jeff Goins's post "The Secret To Develop a Regular Writing Habit: 500 Words Per Day," on Medium that changed my way of thinking about writing. I've always approached writing as a hobby, and Goins suggests that to be a good writer, writing must be a habit, not a hobby.

31 days is a pretty reasonable commitment. So... I'm in! I joined the Facebook group, I posted my blog, and I'm ready to get started with the writing prompts he shares on his site.

Here we go: Day 1.

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Bathtime

Dan is leaving on a business trip this week, and I'm anxious. It's not that I can't handle life without him for a few days, it's just that it's a lot of (overtime?) work. I marvel at how parents do it alone. Preemptively, Dan takes on a bit more parenting a few days leading up to his departure to give me a little calm before the storm. 

He takes on bath time before he heads out to band practice this evening. I try to relax on the couch, and end up listening to him give the girls a bath. 

"Char, look up. Look up!" he says as he washes her hair. Water splashes. I hear Sidda sing a made-up-on-the-spot song. "Look up, Sid," he gently interrupts. "Thanks girls, very helpful." 
  "Dad, pretend you were a mermaid, and you met this mermaid for the first time, and you said, 'Hi mermaid!" Sidda asks. "Okay," Dan says, and then after a brief pause, "Hi mermaid!""

A few minutes later, he walks out to the living room and huffs a deep, headachy breath, and grabs his iPad. He heads back to the bathroom while calling his mom. "Look! Look!" shouts Charlie from the tub. "I seeee," he says to Charlie. Laughter and giggles follow. "You girls wanna go to Grandmas house tomorrow?" I don't hear any direct answers, just shouts and loud noises of approval. 

Dan ends the call with his mom, and plays soft music. And the girls quiet. Then, I hear Charlie release a high pitched squeal of delight, while Sidda mischievously laughs, egging her on. "Girls!" He says sternly. "Dad, look. Do you like her having a ponytail like this?" asks Sidda. "Yeah," he says, "Char, come here!"

Charlie escapes into the living room and climbs up on the couch next to me. She gives me a triumphant grin. Her hair is dripping and down her neck, and she's got her "rough" (puppy dog) pajamas on. Dan peeks out into the living room, sees Charlie with me, and says "we've got a defector." He runs back into the bathroom to Sidda. 

Charlie cheeses at him, and follows him back into the bathroom. Dan starts singing along with the praise music he needs to learn for band practice tonight. Charlie runs back out and straight into the kitchen. After a few minutes of chairs scrapping the floor, Charlie heads over to me and plops a clementine in my lap. "Peash?" she says with a pink pacifier lodged between her teeth. At 2 and some change, she's still teething. 

As I peel the clementine, I can hear Sidda trying her best to sing along with the worship music. Her words are intelligible. "Don't put that up there" Dan says to her. "I can't do it!" she huffs. "Move it over a little bit," he responds, then starts singing along with the music too, in a high falsetto harmony. "Can you start draining the water now, Sidda? One minute till we're done. But if you stay in, you'll be cold. Ready to get out?" 

Giggles. Splashes, bumps, thuds. They must be cleaning up the toys. Char has been hanging out with them, but returns yet again, with a "Moooomyyy!" and pantomimes how Sidda was coughing, but then started laughing. "More awwange," she says as she runs to the kitchen to retrieve another clementine. I start to peel it, but she snatches it and disappears back to the bathroom. 

Sidda skips out of the bathroom. "Hi mom! Do you need company?" Dan comes out whistling, but it turns into another heavy sigh. Sidda jumps up and down on the couch, showing off her clean socks. Charlie follows closely behind them, sits on my dangling foot, and cries "Horsie! Horsie! Horsie!" while I finish peeling the clementine she handed me.

The girls gorge themselves on oranges and clementines before bed. Dan sighs again, and palms his forehead. "I might not be able to go tonight," he says. "Hmm," I respond.

He sits on the couch and eats his sushi that just arrived. The girls stop eating their oranges, and turn wide-eyed to his clear carton of steamed edamame. They can't pop the beans out of the shell fast enough. "Are these pea pods, Dad?" Sidda asks. 

"They're similar," he tells her. 

"What does similar mean?"

"Similar means close to the same, but not exactly the same..." 

"Dad! Charlie beat boxed!" A beat box lesson ensues. 

"All right. Eating is helping a little bit," he declares, as he heads into the kitchen and pops some Advil. He walks back into the room making a snapping sound with his hands, and jumps into the girls' conversation about "furry" pea pods. He's definitely going to band practice tonight. 

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(887 words down. 14, 613 to go.)

Resolving 2015

My New Year’s Resolution of 2015 was to live life to the fullest. When I made that resolution, I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly. I figured I’d start with being intentional, and to try to create as many occasions to "experience" as I could. I talked to the husband, and together we agreed to say yes to any speaking or traveling opportunities that came our way. We figured at worst, if we hated it, we wouldn’t do it the next year in 2016. 

So here’s how that went:

January: I said goodbye to my Auntie Gabe as we ceremoniously spread her ashes over the turquoise waters of Coral Bay in St. John, USVI. We celebrated her life onboard the 110ft ship named Silver Cloud. Though the trip was peaceful and serene, there was a snow storm back home, and most flights to the East Coast got cancelled. The flight home was one of the bumpiest and sweatiest rides I’ve ever been on.   

February: I surprised the husband with a 30th birthday trip to New Orleans where we got our fortunes read, ate beignets while watching street performers, had a gospel brunch at the House of Blues, and walked the hauntingly beautiful city that is Downtown New Orleans. I already can’t wait to go back and spend more time there.  

March: We took the kids to see Dan speak at a conference in Atlanta, and met a Beluga whale, and watched my youngest, Charlotte learn to walk.  

April: The husband and I celebrated our 7th anniversary in Paris, France under the Eiffel Tower, as we watched its spectacular twinkling lights and devoured sweet pillows from heaven (aka Merveilleux). We loved our first time dining at a 3 Michelin-starred restaurant, explored the Louvre, waved to the Mona Lisa, and ate melt-in-your-mouth croissants from street-side cafes. We took the train to London, where the husband spoke at a conference, and then we explored the crazy fun Harry Potter movie studios.  

May: We were scheduled to hang in Montana and Seattle for a bit, but I became severely ill and we had to cancel our plans. Gotta say, not my favorite month, and I’m still recovering from it.  

June: All four of us spent a week in San Diego with family, and visited the San Diego Zoo that I’ve wanted to go to since I was a little girl. We watched the dolphins and whales do tricks at Sea World, we rode the Winnie the Pooh ride at Disneyland twice, and enjoyed the sunny California weather.  

July: We flew into San Fransisco for two days for a friend’s gorgeous backyard wedding. I never understood the powers of jet lag until this short trip.  

October: The husband and I learned to surf from professional surfers and took a no-doors helicopter ride on the North Shore in Hawaii. I even got my first tattoos in Hawaii! We spent our mornings and evenings attending an (anti)conference that Dan was a part of called Epicurrence. We hung out at the Billabong house nestled against the famous Banzai Pipeline beach waves. We listened to professional surfers talk about almost dying, and smart people in the web industry get vulnerable and talk about their concerns. We drank out of coconuts, checked out the Polynesian center, and got drunk on the sunsets of Hawaii.  

November: The husband and I went to Amsterdam. We took a semi-private canal tour of the city, and learned a ton about it’s history (and bicycles). We spent 5 hours eating at a 2 Michelin-starred restaurant, and also explored the city’s flower market and shopping district while eating sugared waffles.  

December: We took the girls to LA to be a part of a family member’s wedding. We had a blast just being present with our girls and enjoying what excellent little jetsetters they are. We ate at yummy diners and restaurants, and took in the the gorgeous mountain views of the West Coast. 

Overall, I’ve learned that for me, “experiencing life to the fullest” means being present during the good and bad parts. It means mourning the loss of a loved one. It means clapping and dancing with a toddler when she takes her first steps. It means experiencing physical pain, and choosing to rise above it when it gets overwhelming. It means attending eight weddings in one year, eating lots of cake, and celebrating with friends and family as they choose love and commitment. And having TONS of photo booth pictures to prove it. 

I can confidently say that I lived my life to the fullest in 2015. I laughed and cried with friends family. I faced fears. I had epic adventures; I explored the world with the love of my life. I read a TON of books, I gained and lost weight, I tried way more things than I’d normally be comfortable with, and I found some freedom and peace… and I loved it. 

I declare 2015 a success! Achievement unlocked! Resolution resolved! 

Can’t wait to see 2016 brings.