There were moments today, many moments, that had me questioning my sanity, the sanity of my children, and the phase of the moon. Many, many moments. But there was also a whole lotta awesome that happened this morning which is what I'm focusing on in this post.
Today was Family/Fun Swim at HD's preschool. They do this at the end of each year but last year I was sick (damn April) and couldn't go. I would say "Somehow, my sweet boy with the memory of an elephant" remembers that, but there's no "somehow" about it. The sweet boy has the memory of an elephant, so of course he remembers that I missed last year. Since the end of March, when we got the April calendar and he saw when Family/Fun Swim was scheduled, he's been asking me, "Mama? Can you go swimming with me? Will you not be sick this time?" Note: Ben went in my place last year so it's not like we deprived the kid of Family or Fun, but apparently this is just one of those things where he wanted me. Truth? I am not complaining about being wanted!
As you may remember, swim lessons have caused Harrison some anxiety in the past. Last fall we came up with a solution for his nerves: I painted his toes so he could have a visual reminder of us when he was at school and worried about being in the pool. All he had to do was look down and poof! Instant reminder of Mama and how brave I think he is. The coolest part? It totally worked. The very first time we sent him to school with painted toes, he told me on the way home that he was so brave at swimming lessons and that he had fun. It is amazing how much good a little bottle of cheap polish can do!
On and off throughout the year, I have continued to paint his toes the weeks of swim lessons. Not every time, but most. He likes his two favorite colors, red and blue, but I also got him some "piggy" green that we debuted last month. It's been a while since we last did a new coat, though, so yesterday I asked him, "Hey, Buddy. Do you want me to paint your toes for swimming tomorrow?" I was surprised to hear him say, "No, thanks." But even better? When I asked him why not, he smiled and said, "Because you're going swimming with me."
Well. Melt. My. Heart. How freaking sweet is that?!
And really? He totally meant it. He was so excited to see me in the hall when his class headed for the pool this morning and once we got in our waiting spot beside the water to listen to his teacher's instructions, he didn't let go of me for one second. He was either holding my hand or climbing in my lap or leaning on my shoulder the entire time. As I said, it was a whole lotta awesome and I am so glad I could be there to have that experience with him. And even though he was, in Harrison terms, fairly timid in the water still, he said swimming was the best part of his day today when we played Happy/Sad after dinner. I know the days of having Mom around being Super Cool are numbered, so how super cool that we both got to enjoy this one (or at least moments of it) so very much.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
A Tale of Two Toddlers
It is the best of times, it is the worst of times. It is Life with a Two-Going-on-Two-and-a-Half.
The Best of Times
* The days when I go up to get her from her afternoon nap and she's either still asleep (sleeping babies steal my heart every.dang.time) or just waking up and is all warm and snuggly. "Me still sleepy, Mama" she tells me and then melts into my lap and onto my shoulder as we snuggle in the rocking chair before going to find the boys downstairs. Best!Ever!Moments!
* Watching her attend to her little brother. If he's upset, she tells him, "Hey, Buddy! Hey, Buddy! I'm here. It's OK!" and when it's time to put him down for a nap, she'll grab a baby doll or a stuffed animal (or both) and cart them around the room in the dark as I do the same with LT and we both sing "Fwinkle, Fwinkle, Fwinkle Star" to our babies. She's also good about the post-nap follow up question: "How your sleep, Linky?"
* Littles with Allergy Nose aren't much fun, but the influx of runny clear stuff from her face has also meant an influx in her requests for a "cwean necklace" to wipe her snot. That might just be my favorite Toddlerism of all time.
* Also fun in the lingo world? Menk-goose for Music has morphed to good old Mucus (again with the snot - sorry) and boy, does she love Mucus. And boy do I love to watch her dance!
* "I do yoga!" as she flips into down dog or brings her knee up and strikes tree pose at the most random of times (the best being when she and her big brother decided to yoga on their chairs during lunch which of course led me to say that while you can be a chair in yoga, you cannot do yoga on your chair while you eat!).
The Worst of Times
* The furrowed eyebrows glaring at me through hair that she refuses to let me pull up out of her face (even if I get a pony in, it never stays there for long) as she tells me oh-so-emphatically, "NO!" even when I've just told her that she's getting her way about something. No, really. Tonight she told me at dinner that she wanted a bath and when I said, "Yes! You get a bath tonight!" she responded with righteous indignation and, again, grumpy eyebrows.
* Public defiance. And so it begins. Instead of just tagging along as we run here and there, she is now on her own mission which often includes wanting to enter/exit the van a certain way (which typically means through my door that she will shut herself, thankyouverymuch) and possibly not wearing her shoes (they come off in all manners of places at all manners of time). All of this lollygagging means more prep time for me to get out the door to go say, anywhere, but it spells disaster when it involves getting to preK pickup to collect Harrison and she's just not feeling it. A friend watched a full on pick-her-up-in-one-arm-while-carrying-the-baby-(and her shoes)-in-the-other moment when we tried to leave the Adventure Challenge play area at the Y last week because Little Miss just wasn't ready to go. Why must the leaving be so, so hard?!
* Perhaps this is redundant after the first two points, but holy mother of tears. The tears! And shrieks! They can come in an instant and are instantly ear splitting. And then they're gone. And repeat, repeat, repeat. It's a good thing toddlers are bendy and resilient because with all the flinging to the floor they do with their bodies, it's amazing they don't hurt themselves more (although she does enough face plants and wipe outs these days that I'm thinking a crash helmet might be in order).
And there you have it. Dickens, The Days of our Lives and Growing Pains, all in one (huh? Did I really just lump classic Lit, soaps, and sitcoms, all in one? whoa.). Love her spunky spirit, though, and the fact that her pants are often on backwards and her shoes on the wrong feet (if they are on at all). She is finding her way in the world and I am honored to have a front row seat for the show.
The Best of Times
* The days when I go up to get her from her afternoon nap and she's either still asleep (sleeping babies steal my heart every.dang.time) or just waking up and is all warm and snuggly. "Me still sleepy, Mama" she tells me and then melts into my lap and onto my shoulder as we snuggle in the rocking chair before going to find the boys downstairs. Best!Ever!Moments!
* Watching her attend to her little brother. If he's upset, she tells him, "Hey, Buddy! Hey, Buddy! I'm here. It's OK!" and when it's time to put him down for a nap, she'll grab a baby doll or a stuffed animal (or both) and cart them around the room in the dark as I do the same with LT and we both sing "Fwinkle, Fwinkle, Fwinkle Star" to our babies. She's also good about the post-nap follow up question: "How your sleep, Linky?"
* Littles with Allergy Nose aren't much fun, but the influx of runny clear stuff from her face has also meant an influx in her requests for a "cwean necklace" to wipe her snot. That might just be my favorite Toddlerism of all time.
* Also fun in the lingo world? Menk-goose for Music has morphed to good old Mucus (again with the snot - sorry) and boy, does she love Mucus. And boy do I love to watch her dance!
* "I do yoga!" as she flips into down dog or brings her knee up and strikes tree pose at the most random of times (the best being when she and her big brother decided to yoga on their chairs during lunch which of course led me to say that while you can be a chair in yoga, you cannot do yoga on your chair while you eat!).
The Worst of Times
* The furrowed eyebrows glaring at me through hair that she refuses to let me pull up out of her face (even if I get a pony in, it never stays there for long) as she tells me oh-so-emphatically, "NO!" even when I've just told her that she's getting her way about something. No, really. Tonight she told me at dinner that she wanted a bath and when I said, "Yes! You get a bath tonight!" she responded with righteous indignation and, again, grumpy eyebrows.
* Public defiance. And so it begins. Instead of just tagging along as we run here and there, she is now on her own mission which often includes wanting to enter/exit the van a certain way (which typically means through my door that she will shut herself, thankyouverymuch) and possibly not wearing her shoes (they come off in all manners of places at all manners of time). All of this lollygagging means more prep time for me to get out the door to go say, anywhere, but it spells disaster when it involves getting to preK pickup to collect Harrison and she's just not feeling it. A friend watched a full on pick-her-up-in-one-arm-while-carrying-the-baby-(and her shoes)-in-the-other moment when we tried to leave the Adventure Challenge play area at the Y last week because Little Miss just wasn't ready to go. Why must the leaving be so, so hard?!
* Perhaps this is redundant after the first two points, but holy mother of tears. The tears! And shrieks! They can come in an instant and are instantly ear splitting. And then they're gone. And repeat, repeat, repeat. It's a good thing toddlers are bendy and resilient because with all the flinging to the floor they do with their bodies, it's amazing they don't hurt themselves more (although she does enough face plants and wipe outs these days that I'm thinking a crash helmet might be in order).
And there you have it. Dickens, The Days of our Lives and Growing Pains, all in one (huh? Did I really just lump classic Lit, soaps, and sitcoms, all in one? whoa.). Love her spunky spirit, though, and the fact that her pants are often on backwards and her shoes on the wrong feet (if they are on at all). She is finding her way in the world and I am honored to have a front row seat for the show.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
Chocolate Hangover?
Oy, me. (Um, I sense a trend here of starting my posts with *sigh* sounds. I blame April.) Why must the excitement of one day lead to the fallout of the next?
Yesterday was HD's Easter Celebration at preK which included an egg hunt and a visit from the Easter Bunny. And, duh, goodies in plastic eggs. Each kid was asked to bring enough eggs for the class and then they hide those and somehow the teachers work their magic so everyone comes home with the same number of eggs. It doesn't matter what you put in them and I have seen anything from band-aids (we totally copied that for his Valentines this year) to bouncy balls to balloons (Smart! and so copying that one next year) to the standard chocolate or jelly beans. Harrison got to pick his egg stuffer this year and went for Hershey's chocolate eggs - a boy after his mama's heart, I guess. Plenty of other kiddos must be after my heart, too, because his basket came home loaded with sugar yesterday.
I've taken different approaches to The World of Sugar with my kids, but for the most part my philosophy for food is all things in moderation. We don't exclude much but we don't go overboard with much either (except all things bread and dough - again, HD is just like his mama when it comes to this). Yesterday, though, I decided to get the Sugar Coma over in one big rush. Because he's awesome, Harrison shared his goodies with his sister and with me and we opened every single egg; we ate all but two (there are only 15 kids in his class, so please don't think I let my kids eat 50 lbs. of sweets in one sitting). And actually? The kids weren't too bad after that. We had to listen to the Animal Actions songs about 100x so they could dance and run it all off, but I figured that was a small price to pay for not prolonging the whining for candy. I was, of course, wrong.
Why must there be a fallout? It's the same when we go on a trip or they go to spend a few days with the grandparents - the return home and re-acclimation is always rough. And apparently going to town on Easter candy is no exception. This morning wasn't pretty. No one finished even one bowl of cereal (HD usually has two or three and RL can have as many as five or six on any given day) and HD spent most of breakfast crying because he wanted the last two remaining eggs but I wouldn't let him have them unless he finished his cereal. And I mean, crying (and wailing and tears) the. whole. meal. And of course RL chimed in with, "Me want sucker! Me want suckerrrrrrrrr!" and her own little whiny tears. For the love of Pete, children. How many times do I have to tell them whining does not help their case?
Apparently forever times because they just kept going to the point that HD had to take a break in the action to go calm down by himself. Even though it was a bit of A Morning, I had to smile when RL followed him to his time out spot where he asked her, through sobs, "Raegan! How am I ever going to calm down?!?!" and she started singing Daniel Tiger's line "take a deep breath, and count to four!" to him. At least PBS and their yoga-lovin' mama are teaching them something, eh?
Of course I'm sure you've realized the real lesson learned here, right? Eat ALL the flippin' eggs the first time.
Yesterday was HD's Easter Celebration at preK which included an egg hunt and a visit from the Easter Bunny. And, duh, goodies in plastic eggs. Each kid was asked to bring enough eggs for the class and then they hide those and somehow the teachers work their magic so everyone comes home with the same number of eggs. It doesn't matter what you put in them and I have seen anything from band-aids (we totally copied that for his Valentines this year) to bouncy balls to balloons (Smart! and so copying that one next year) to the standard chocolate or jelly beans. Harrison got to pick his egg stuffer this year and went for Hershey's chocolate eggs - a boy after his mama's heart, I guess. Plenty of other kiddos must be after my heart, too, because his basket came home loaded with sugar yesterday.
I've taken different approaches to The World of Sugar with my kids, but for the most part my philosophy for food is all things in moderation. We don't exclude much but we don't go overboard with much either (except all things bread and dough - again, HD is just like his mama when it comes to this). Yesterday, though, I decided to get the Sugar Coma over in one big rush. Because he's awesome, Harrison shared his goodies with his sister and with me and we opened every single egg; we ate all but two (there are only 15 kids in his class, so please don't think I let my kids eat 50 lbs. of sweets in one sitting). And actually? The kids weren't too bad after that. We had to listen to the Animal Actions songs about 100x so they could dance and run it all off, but I figured that was a small price to pay for not prolonging the whining for candy. I was, of course, wrong.
Why must there be a fallout? It's the same when we go on a trip or they go to spend a few days with the grandparents - the return home and re-acclimation is always rough. And apparently going to town on Easter candy is no exception. This morning wasn't pretty. No one finished even one bowl of cereal (HD usually has two or three and RL can have as many as five or six on any given day) and HD spent most of breakfast crying because he wanted the last two remaining eggs but I wouldn't let him have them unless he finished his cereal. And I mean, crying (and wailing and tears) the. whole. meal. And of course RL chimed in with, "Me want sucker! Me want suckerrrrrrrrr!" and her own little whiny tears. For the love of Pete, children. How many times do I have to tell them whining does not help their case?
Apparently forever times because they just kept going to the point that HD had to take a break in the action to go calm down by himself. Even though it was a bit of A Morning, I had to smile when RL followed him to his time out spot where he asked her, through sobs, "Raegan! How am I ever going to calm down?!?!" and she started singing Daniel Tiger's line "take a deep breath, and count to four!" to him. At least PBS and their yoga-lovin' mama are teaching them something, eh?
Of course I'm sure you've realized the real lesson learned here, right? Eat ALL the flippin' eggs the first time.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Out of Words?
Oof. So it's been a slow month of posting but an intense one all the same. If I thought April's first post showed a little beneath my armor, the second one certainly did. Part of what prompted me to post last week was that I felt a little stuck; like I was having a hard time writing because I just wanted to put my story out there so I could continue making new stories. But now a whole week has gone by and I haven't written a darn thing, so today I started to wonder if I've run out of things to say.
Now, my sweet father must be chuckling and shaking his head as he reads this; in college I would call the poor man, freaking out about the length or word count of a paper I was trying to write and I would lament into the phone, "But I don't think I have enough to say! How will I ever make it long enough?!" and his response was always the same: a short laugh and, "Sweetie. You always have enough to say." As I thought of him today and how many times he must have said that to me, I realized it's not a lack of words that's been after me in the last week. It is simply a matter of time.
While every week seems crazy busy (hello?! how is it mid-April 2014 already, thank you very much?!), the last week has been its own particular breed of loony. Ben and I have been tag-team parenting since last Tuesday with him doing most of the tagging out and me doing most of the parenting. Not that I am criticizing him; it just so happened that EVERY possible event seemed to happen on consecutive days, making our only day all together as a family on Sunday, the day of the oh-so-lovely-mid-April-NE-blizzard (on which, the morning of, we took a whole family trip to the grocery store because apparently we really did lose our minds somewhere in the midst of the last week). So although bedtime is not normally my thing (not at all; that's is Ben's domain and he is great at it), since last Thursday, and including today, I've had to do the whole day solo plus supper plus bedtime three times. Again. Not criticizing and not complaining. Simply stating that there might just be a reason as to why I've had no time to think much less sit down and put those thoughts into words.
Thankfully the children treated me quite well as the Bedtime Substitute (totally making that a proper noun because it's totally a legitimate job title). On Thursday they didn't even sense that I had lined up a babysitter to appear after they were already sound asleep in their beds so I could sneak off to yoga; it was brilliant! And while Friday resulted in some shenanigans, today went quite well (thank goodness since I'm going on four hours sleep and two coffees today). And while I really have nothing profound to say, I'm at least here to say Hooray! My head has not spun off my shoulders. At least not yet.
By the sound of it, my children will never be short of words (or at least not sounds) either:
Now, my sweet father must be chuckling and shaking his head as he reads this; in college I would call the poor man, freaking out about the length or word count of a paper I was trying to write and I would lament into the phone, "But I don't think I have enough to say! How will I ever make it long enough?!" and his response was always the same: a short laugh and, "Sweetie. You always have enough to say." As I thought of him today and how many times he must have said that to me, I realized it's not a lack of words that's been after me in the last week. It is simply a matter of time.
While every week seems crazy busy (hello?! how is it mid-April 2014 already, thank you very much?!), the last week has been its own particular breed of loony. Ben and I have been tag-team parenting since last Tuesday with him doing most of the tagging out and me doing most of the parenting. Not that I am criticizing him; it just so happened that EVERY possible event seemed to happen on consecutive days, making our only day all together as a family on Sunday, the day of the oh-so-lovely-mid-April-NE-blizzard (on which, the morning of, we took a whole family trip to the grocery store because apparently we really did lose our minds somewhere in the midst of the last week). So although bedtime is not normally my thing (not at all; that's is Ben's domain and he is great at it), since last Thursday, and including today, I've had to do the whole day solo plus supper plus bedtime three times. Again. Not criticizing and not complaining. Simply stating that there might just be a reason as to why I've had no time to think much less sit down and put those thoughts into words.
Thankfully the children treated me quite well as the Bedtime Substitute (totally making that a proper noun because it's totally a legitimate job title). On Thursday they didn't even sense that I had lined up a babysitter to appear after they were already sound asleep in their beds so I could sneak off to yoga; it was brilliant! And while Friday resulted in some shenanigans, today went quite well (thank goodness since I'm going on four hours sleep and two coffees today). And while I really have nothing profound to say, I'm at least here to say Hooray! My head has not spun off my shoulders. At least not yet.
By the sound of it, my children will never be short of words (or at least not sounds) either:
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Don't Stay - My Messy Beautiful
I listen to a lot of music. I listen to music a lot. Both statements are true. Now that the stereo in the van is up and running again, I'm back to cruising around town with the radio on all the time. While NPR is still my No.1 (literally - my first preset), I do a lot of pop music in the car because it is either that or Country (because, let's face it, I don't always want my kids hearing the world news and I get sick of kid CDs after so long). Lately there is this song, apparently by Cash Cash, called "Take Me Home" that I keep hearing and it is driving me nuts. Truth? This post has very little to do with music. What it really centers on is what jogs through my brain when I hear this song (that has a beat and a chorus line clearly intended for a club or a dance floor, the thought of which makes me cringe). The second verse and the chorus are as follows: Round in circles/Here we go/With the highest highs/And the lowest lows/But no one shakes me like you do/My best mistake was you/You're my sweet affliction/Cause you hurt me right/But you do it nice/Round in circles/Here we go/Oh Yeah/But I still stay cause your the only thing I know/So won't you take, oh, won't you take me home/Take me home, home, home.
So here is where I start dissecting and explaining what this post is really about. It's about reaching out. It's about being open. It's about sharing my darkest spots in hopes of helping others heal their own. It's about how I hope these lyrics are no one's reality; that no one stays because it's "the only thing [you] know."
Fortunately, for me, only parts of these lyrics hit close to home with my past. Let me clarify: my association and bad vibe from this song have nothing to do with my husband. He's the sunshine and roses at the end of this story; he's the happy ending. But there was a relationship in my past that did send me around in circles, from high to low. And while I didn't stay long, I stayed long enough to get really hurt and violated, which I'll say more about in a bit. Before I do, I want to clarify also that I do not look back on this relationship with any sweetness or fond memories. I would never call it my best mistake and I would certainly never agree with the idea that someone could "hurt me right." The ways in which I was hurt by this person were damaging. So damaging that it took me years to come to terms with what happened. To put the correct words and labels to my experience. To begin the healing process. But now I see both my experience and my reaction to it for what they were - not my fault and the only way I knew to keep going.
Despite countless hours and emails and chats that allowed this male (calling him a man seems too gracious) to know me and my values, he took advantage of me. He crossed the line. He chose to sexually assault me. I was sexually assaulted. If those words are hard for you to read, imagine how shocking it was to me to say it to myself for the first time after I spent close to a decade telling myself I was responsible for what happened. That I put myself in proximity to him and was therefore at least partially to blame. But I've learned a thing or two about intentions since returning to my yoga practice and there is no doubt in my mind that I did not intend what happened. That was his choice. And now sexual assault is part of my story.
But my story is also that I am a survivor. I did not stay with him. I did not pick another someone like him to marry. In fact, I picked the exact opposite of him for my forever. My husband is an amazing man who respects me and strives every day to be an honest and equal partner in this marriage. I know he will work tirelessly to help me raise boys who will not think it is OK to do to a girl what was done to me. And I know he will be an example to our daughter of what a good man is, so she will not get stuck in a relationship that violates her or compromises her values. My own dad is such a man and I am thankful for the example he provided me; I was able to keep going, even through Hell, until I found someone worthy of me and my love.
Thanks to the great love I have in my life, in my marriage and from my family and friends, I am coming to terms with my past. I am learning that even though this is a part of me, it does not define me. The reason I am talking about it, and why that damn song annoys me so much, is that I want to encourage others to seek the help they need to face their own demons. I don't care what ugly thing it is - a relationship, a secret, a trauma, a whatever. Find someone you trust who will listen, who will help. Find a good therapist (trust me; I've got a great one). Please don't stay in your hurt just because it is the only thing you know. You deserve better. You can find better. You can get better. For me, part of the getting better is giving my experience a voice. By keeping quiet, I felt like I was letting the shame win. But sexual assault is real and it is awful and it is confusing, which is why it needs a voice. Not all attacks occur in dark alleys and not all attackers are strangers. Don't stay with someone who violates you. Don't stay with someone who doesn't honor you. You have nothing to be ashamed of and neither do I. Even if your pieces and peace feel broken, you can find your center again. I am a survivor. You are, too.
*****************************
Also, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. To learn more about how to find your voice or help others find theirs, visit this website. By talking about sexual assault, we can work together to change the stigmas and stereotypes associated with it.
If you have questions about what constitutes consent, watch this.
If you need help in talking to someone who has been sexually assaulted, read here.
*****************************
As a way of adding my voice to an even larger conversation, I am participating in the Messy, Beautiful Warriors Project via Momastery. Glennon is a huge inspiration to me and I thought of her when I thought about posting my story. How fitting that she is encouraging writers and mamas (and warriors) to do exactly that this month. You can follow this image back to her blog to read the stories of other brave souls finding their way through this Messy Beautiful world.
So here is where I start dissecting and explaining what this post is really about. It's about reaching out. It's about being open. It's about sharing my darkest spots in hopes of helping others heal their own. It's about how I hope these lyrics are no one's reality; that no one stays because it's "the only thing [you] know."
Fortunately, for me, only parts of these lyrics hit close to home with my past. Let me clarify: my association and bad vibe from this song have nothing to do with my husband. He's the sunshine and roses at the end of this story; he's the happy ending. But there was a relationship in my past that did send me around in circles, from high to low. And while I didn't stay long, I stayed long enough to get really hurt and violated, which I'll say more about in a bit. Before I do, I want to clarify also that I do not look back on this relationship with any sweetness or fond memories. I would never call it my best mistake and I would certainly never agree with the idea that someone could "hurt me right." The ways in which I was hurt by this person were damaging. So damaging that it took me years to come to terms with what happened. To put the correct words and labels to my experience. To begin the healing process. But now I see both my experience and my reaction to it for what they were - not my fault and the only way I knew to keep going.
Despite countless hours and emails and chats that allowed this male (calling him a man seems too gracious) to know me and my values, he took advantage of me. He crossed the line. He chose to sexually assault me. I was sexually assaulted. If those words are hard for you to read, imagine how shocking it was to me to say it to myself for the first time after I spent close to a decade telling myself I was responsible for what happened. That I put myself in proximity to him and was therefore at least partially to blame. But I've learned a thing or two about intentions since returning to my yoga practice and there is no doubt in my mind that I did not intend what happened. That was his choice. And now sexual assault is part of my story.
But my story is also that I am a survivor. I did not stay with him. I did not pick another someone like him to marry. In fact, I picked the exact opposite of him for my forever. My husband is an amazing man who respects me and strives every day to be an honest and equal partner in this marriage. I know he will work tirelessly to help me raise boys who will not think it is OK to do to a girl what was done to me. And I know he will be an example to our daughter of what a good man is, so she will not get stuck in a relationship that violates her or compromises her values. My own dad is such a man and I am thankful for the example he provided me; I was able to keep going, even through Hell, until I found someone worthy of me and my love.
Thanks to the great love I have in my life, in my marriage and from my family and friends, I am coming to terms with my past. I am learning that even though this is a part of me, it does not define me. The reason I am talking about it, and why that damn song annoys me so much, is that I want to encourage others to seek the help they need to face their own demons. I don't care what ugly thing it is - a relationship, a secret, a trauma, a whatever. Find someone you trust who will listen, who will help. Find a good therapist (trust me; I've got a great one). Please don't stay in your hurt just because it is the only thing you know. You deserve better. You can find better. You can get better. For me, part of the getting better is giving my experience a voice. By keeping quiet, I felt like I was letting the shame win. But sexual assault is real and it is awful and it is confusing, which is why it needs a voice. Not all attacks occur in dark alleys and not all attackers are strangers. Don't stay with someone who violates you. Don't stay with someone who doesn't honor you. You have nothing to be ashamed of and neither do I. Even if your pieces and peace feel broken, you can find your center again. I am a survivor. You are, too.
*****************************
Also, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. To learn more about how to find your voice or help others find theirs, visit this website. By talking about sexual assault, we can work together to change the stigmas and stereotypes associated with it.
If you have questions about what constitutes consent, watch this.
If you need help in talking to someone who has been sexually assaulted, read here.
*****************************
As a way of adding my voice to an even larger conversation, I am participating in the Messy, Beautiful Warriors Project via Momastery. Glennon is a huge inspiration to me and I thought of her when I thought about posting my story. How fitting that she is encouraging writers and mamas (and warriors) to do exactly that this month. You can follow this image back to her blog to read the stories of other brave souls finding their way through this Messy Beautiful world.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Twenty Questions
It occurred to me when RL was a babe that I read (or try to read parts of) far too many parenting books. Since then I have backed off from such ventures, and starting last year, I renewed my love affair with books and novels in particular. I also now keep track of all the books I read and by the end of Month 3 of this year, I'm at 17 books read - whoohoo!
One of the other reading breaks I've given myself is from parenting magazines, as well. While I still get Parents mag for now, I'm also getting O (and soon, thanks to the quick, money-saving eyes of a friend who found me a steal of a subscription, Yoga Journal!). This last month's Oprah Mag, featured a big headline that intrigued me: "20 Questions Every Woman Should Ask Herself Today!" Toted as "some big, some small...some easy, some hard" the list is rather fascinating. As a ponderer and a writer, I decided I might tackle it. While I probably won't put every single answer up on the blog, there are definitely some I can highlight (and maybe combine).
One of the other reading breaks I've given myself is from parenting magazines, as well. While I still get Parents mag for now, I'm also getting O (and soon, thanks to the quick, money-saving eyes of a friend who found me a steal of a subscription, Yoga Journal!). This last month's Oprah Mag, featured a big headline that intrigued me: "20 Questions Every Woman Should Ask Herself Today!" Toted as "some big, some small...some easy, some hard" the list is rather fascinating. As a ponderer and a writer, I decided I might tackle it. While I probably won't put every single answer up on the blog, there are definitely some I can highlight (and maybe combine).
Here are the 20 Questions:
1. Do I examine my life enough?
2. Do I care too much about what people think?
3. Am I with the right person?
4. What's your deal breaker?
5. What do I really want to do all day?
6. How do I want to be remembered?
7. Do I say yes enough?
8. Do I know how to say no?
9. Am I helpless?
10. Am I helpful?
11. What am I afraid of?
12. Am I paying enough attention to the incredible things around me?
13. Have I accepted my body?
14. Am I strong enough?
15. Have I forgiven my parents?
16. Do I want children?
17. Does what I wear reflect who I am?
18. What am I missing out on?
19. Do I let myself fail enough?
20. Why are we here?
(See why I might skip some of them? Pretty sure y'all know my answer to #16 - see any of my bazillion posts about my babies if you don't, and same goes for #3 - see my anniversary post, here.)
To begin, I'm taking on #5, #14, and #13, as I feel my answers for each all come back to the same core answer - yoga.
When I think about what I want to do all day, I'm already doing it. I am home, raising my active little brood. For the last four years I've also been throwing in a little teaching on the side and as of last year, yoga to boot. After this summer, I may be able to combine my two extracurriculars into one as I'll be spending the month of July earning my yoga teaching certification. While I'll be away from my Littles for the longest chunks of time ever in the history of our family for that month, I'll be spending all day doing what I love so I can learn how to share it with others, including my kids. Crazy as it may sound, the whole plan seems like a win/win to me. And once I have my basic certification, I can move on to other goals like prenatal and even children's yoga certs. If I can make all that happen - ahem, when I make all that happen, I really will be combining all of my lives and all of my loves.
Considering where I was four years ago with my back, however, the thought of an intensive month of yoga is a little daunting. I wonder what the physicality will be like and if I can really keep up. I've noticed a stark change in my body since entering my thirties, and while I am currently stronger than I have been since B.C., there are still aches and pains that weren't there back in my younger athletic days (hello, sore right knee!). But if yoga has taught me anything, it is that I am strong enough. I can meet myself exactly where I am and I am exactly where I need to be. And it is OK if each and every day is different. Real strength, I'm learning, comes from continuing to show up day after day, to step on the mat (or up to the plate, if you prefer a baseball metaphor). And just because I can't do a particular pose or flow today doesn't mean I won't be able to do it tomorrow or next week or maybe six months from now. As a Recovering Type A-er, the patience and practice required by yoga are so beneficial for me; I will forever be a work in progress which I find totally awesome. If I'm constantly working, learning, and growing, I'm never getting bored and I'm never taking the easy way out; that is strength.
The mantras I hear over and over again at class have helped me cultivate this determination and fortitude I carry with me both on and off the mat. So often the instructors remind us to take steady breaths (helpful in parenting, too!), that it is OK if you fall (you're close to the ground, anyway), and to listen to our bodies. While all of those (and the others they repeat) are helpful, the last one is key for me. Listening to my body and accepting what my body can (or can't yet) do are so important because I haven't always been able to do that.
Body image has been something I have struggled with since college. While I've never taken my diet or lifestyle to the far extremes, I have lived under the Never Good Enough rule for far too long. If I worked hard and got one part of my body in the condition I desired, I would instantly zero in on another flaw or failure and focus on that instead. Again - never good enough. Never small enough. And then came babies. Three babies in under five years, and let me tell you, Baby No. 3 threw a real wrench in things. Whereas in the past I was able to fit into certain "transition" jeans relatively soon after pregnancy, my body took a different path after Lincoln's arrival. I'm just now in those transition pants and have no idea when or if I'll ever make it back to the "regular" ones. That's been hard to swallow, especially because I'm not doing anything different post-this-baby than any of the others. But this was my first birth post-30 and my sleep is worse than it's been um, ever, so I know those things don't help. Add on some super levels of stress and I guess you get what you get. But thanks to yoga, I am able to see that I am getting strength back. I have some awesome muscles in places that haven't been toned in years. I can hold plank and side plank longer and longer with each week that I continue to practice. So what I am getting is me and that's a good thing. So old jeans be damned; I decided buying new pants that fit and feel good and look good are better than wasting time worrying about when I'll ever get in the old ones. Maybe I will, maybe I won't; either way I see that acknowledgment as a step in the right direction of accepting my body. I'm not there 100% but again, to be a work in progress is better than being stuck, so I'll take it.
What about you? Which of the 20 questions do you want to answer?
Considering where I was four years ago with my back, however, the thought of an intensive month of yoga is a little daunting. I wonder what the physicality will be like and if I can really keep up. I've noticed a stark change in my body since entering my thirties, and while I am currently stronger than I have been since B.C., there are still aches and pains that weren't there back in my younger athletic days (hello, sore right knee!). But if yoga has taught me anything, it is that I am strong enough. I can meet myself exactly where I am and I am exactly where I need to be. And it is OK if each and every day is different. Real strength, I'm learning, comes from continuing to show up day after day, to step on the mat (or up to the plate, if you prefer a baseball metaphor). And just because I can't do a particular pose or flow today doesn't mean I won't be able to do it tomorrow or next week or maybe six months from now. As a Recovering Type A-er, the patience and practice required by yoga are so beneficial for me; I will forever be a work in progress which I find totally awesome. If I'm constantly working, learning, and growing, I'm never getting bored and I'm never taking the easy way out; that is strength.
The mantras I hear over and over again at class have helped me cultivate this determination and fortitude I carry with me both on and off the mat. So often the instructors remind us to take steady breaths (helpful in parenting, too!), that it is OK if you fall (you're close to the ground, anyway), and to listen to our bodies. While all of those (and the others they repeat) are helpful, the last one is key for me. Listening to my body and accepting what my body can (or can't yet) do are so important because I haven't always been able to do that.
Body image has been something I have struggled with since college. While I've never taken my diet or lifestyle to the far extremes, I have lived under the Never Good Enough rule for far too long. If I worked hard and got one part of my body in the condition I desired, I would instantly zero in on another flaw or failure and focus on that instead. Again - never good enough. Never small enough. And then came babies. Three babies in under five years, and let me tell you, Baby No. 3 threw a real wrench in things. Whereas in the past I was able to fit into certain "transition" jeans relatively soon after pregnancy, my body took a different path after Lincoln's arrival. I'm just now in those transition pants and have no idea when or if I'll ever make it back to the "regular" ones. That's been hard to swallow, especially because I'm not doing anything different post-this-baby than any of the others. But this was my first birth post-30 and my sleep is worse than it's been um, ever, so I know those things don't help. Add on some super levels of stress and I guess you get what you get. But thanks to yoga, I am able to see that I am getting strength back. I have some awesome muscles in places that haven't been toned in years. I can hold plank and side plank longer and longer with each week that I continue to practice. So what I am getting is me and that's a good thing. So old jeans be damned; I decided buying new pants that fit and feel good and look good are better than wasting time worrying about when I'll ever get in the old ones. Maybe I will, maybe I won't; either way I see that acknowledgment as a step in the right direction of accepting my body. I'm not there 100% but again, to be a work in progress is better than being stuck, so I'll take it.
What about you? Which of the 20 questions do you want to answer?
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