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:

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.

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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.

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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.

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).

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?

Time Keeps on Slippin'

For some reason, I distinctly remember the last day of second grade. I remember being so excited for summer vacation to come - to play softball (and do all the other 100+ summer activities my mom so graciously carted us to each year) - to spend days at the beach - to read my little heart out at the library's Summer Reading Program...and with all of that greatness stretched out before me, when I was 8, the three months of summer seemed like an eternity. Shoot - just that morning of waiting to go to school for the last day of the year felt like forever. Flash forward 24 years, though, and that moment seems like more than a lifetime ago.

While I still have long mornings some days (hello, Tuesdays!), the three months that equal a typical summer break can now slip by before I even realize it, regardless of the time of year. All of a sudden it will occur to me that I haven't had a hair cut in a few months or I'll think that I just pulled out a new season of clothes for the kids to wear when in fact all of RL's pants are too short (OK, just the 18 mo. size, which they should be since she is two for pete's sake!) and HD's all have holes in the knees (no, seriously. the kid has two pairs of pants right now that are both long enough and hole-free - it's insane). Is that a sign of aging? When the days turn to weeks turn to months turn to years so quickly that you can hardly catch your breath, much less feel their enormity the way you once did?

Perhaps it is just my current season of life with so many littles. I realize that one day my world will be just like mom's used to be in the summer - running from here to there and from this to that constantly - so it's not like I expect life to slow down at all, but there's something about the frantic rate at which the children are growing and developing right now that has my head spinning. The new abilities (HD's independent play, RL's talking, LT's army crawling) and the milestones (HD starting the fourth quarter of his second year of preK, RL potty training herself, LT eating more solids) have all come so fast. Wasn't HD just learning to pull himself up on the furniture and RL trying yogurt (and loving it!) for the first time? As a friend asked this morning, didn't I just have Lincoln like a week ago? I realize I sound like a nostalgic ninny right now, but for seriously - how is it the end of March already? How are my babies growing so fast? Where does the ding-dang time GO?

Maybe I'm just distracted by life in general. The weeks really do fly by with teaching and play dates and Ben's meetings after school and yoga (I'm up to three classes a week now!). Every Sunday I load up our white board with menus and schedules for each day of the coming week and every Sunday we look at it and go, Whoa. Hold on to your hats, boys and girls! It's just that busy. So when you add in the insanity of the daily routine of feedings and naps and diaper changes and Angry Birds (on the Kindle, yes, but also throughout our house thanks to the plastic/plush figurines and this crazy game Ben made up where we "launch" the children in the dining room and they run circles through the house - it is fab for busting out pent-up winter energy!), no wonder I don't know where the last few months have gone. There's just been a lot on my plate. And there will continue to be so for forever and ever, amen, I hope, because to be this busy, to be spinning this many plates, means my house and my heart are full. Honestly, I can't think of a better way to spend my precious, fleeting time.

Just Me

Holy C.R.A.P. Today I am enjoying my first day to myself in, um, over five years. That is, my first day without Ben and the kids (and without being pregnant) and all by myself, rolling around town and rambling around the house and yeah. It's just me. And eight whole hours to do whatever I like (plus pumping, of course). Insane!

How did this day of awesome come to be? Well, the big kids are set to come back from the grandparental's today and the great grandparentals wanted to see the baby, so it occurred to me on Tuesday that I could actually make all that happen by letting Lincoln go with Ben while leaving myself at home. Little Dude now takes a bottle just fine, so why not pack some milk and send them on their way? Love my in-laws, yes I do, so it's not that I didn't want to see them and the Greats, but wow - a whole day to myself? Are you kidding me? That never happens (I wasn't kidding when I said five+ years since I have been a person alone w/o a person growing in my tummy for more than an hour or two). So, yes. I asked and Ben agreed and then this morning he left with Mr. Lincoln and will be home later with all three. I do the day in/day out with the munchkins all the time, so I know it's not easy, and I give him mad props for agreeing to this road trip adventure, especially on his first day off from school for the long weekend. In a way, though, this is a good test run for this summer as Ben has also agreed to send me off to Omaha for a month so I can get my yogi on to learn/stretch/grow, repeat, repeat, repeat. One day to wrangle the kids (while traveling) will be good practice for him!

So what, exactly, am I doing with my time? Well, besides enjoying a coffee (hello, caffeine, how I have missed you!) and writing, I went to yoga (new goal pose: wheel. Holy C.R.A.P. some more - tried it for the first time this morning and not entirely sure my back wants to bend that way, but patience and practice and I'll get there [and then I'll post a pic!]) and next I plan to take a nice long epsom salt bath. And then I'm going to read. And that's it. No cleaning. No laundry. Just a book and the sunshine and yes. Yes! Yes! Yes!

Don't get me wrong. I love my kiddos more than anything. They are the reason I do all the things. But to know myself and get some time in my own space and in my own head? I'm calling it the best early birthday present ever. Man, I love March! And yes, I have the best husband. I know this and I think he's awesome. Clearly he likes me, too. ;)

Spring Break

In college, Spring Break means vacations. Exotic, or at least warm, destinations. Partying and whatnot. In real life, Spring Break means you're lucky if you get some help with the kids while there is no school for the majority of the week. As it turns out, I'm lucky.

For the first time since before Christmas, the Bigs are off to Grandma's again for a few days. And true to form, life with just Lincoln reminds me of why having one is as humbling as having seven. Thankfully, his sleep has not been as erratic as last time, but I swear, there are some real obvious changes in the atmosphere here when we're down to just one babe in the house.

For one, I seem to hear more of the fussies. Is that because LT misses the entertainment and distraction of HD and RL? Probably. It seems like on a normal day, I can set him on the floor and walk away just fine. Sure he might fuss for a second, but then he starts playing with a nearby toy or watches the Bigs playing with toys and calms down pretty quickly. But when it's just the two of us in the house? Apparently Little Man gets lonely, because if I try to step away for a second to - heaven forbid! - use the bathroom by myself, he gets so upset! I can totally tell he is thinking: Where are the all of the faces and what happened to all of the noise?! It is too quiet, so fussies must commence! 

Maybe it's just me. Maybe my head is spinning less when I'm not trying to juggle the schedules and napping and bathroom and eating habits of three Littles all day long, so I just think there are more fussies when I'm down to just one. Could that be? Some of The Best Advice a friend gave me when Lincoln was born (she'd just had her third earlier that summer) was that it was OK for there to be more. More crying. More TV. More whatever works for dinner. Totally, totally OK. And I think of those sage words almost every day when it does seem like I'm just spinning from one task to the next. More fussies are OK because more love is happening all the time, too. Being here, spinning my plates in the Great Mama Circus is more love than I have ever known. And if a few fussies have to be had occasionally, so be it, because thankfully I'm aware of all the good happening right now, too.

Good like having a beautiful March day of mid-70s yesterday and getting to spend time outside with Harrison before he and Raegan left. Good like having him crawl into my lap numerous times as I sat on the ground soaking up glorious sunshine and telling me that he was going to miss me while he was gone. Good like watching Raegan be a little mama to Lincoln, telling him "It's OK! It's OK! I hear you, Buddy. I'm here Little Buddy!" while he was crying (See! He does fuss when they are here!). Good like getting to bask in the sun yet again after Lincoln's second nap and watch his eyes light up with wonder as the breeze blew in his hair and his fingers found the trying-to-turn-green-again-hallelujah! grass. I mean, seriously. Look at this face. I think anyone can forgive a few fussies when you get grins like this:

Making it Happen

A few months ago, I mentioned in a blog post that I wanted to become a yoga instructor by the time I turned 42 (i.e. ten+ years from now). Remember that? It was a generous time span in which I could do All The Things and eventually find a way to share something I love with others. Well, apparently there's this thing about the universe that when you put your intentions out there, the stars sometimes align sooner than you expect. And as a result of such alignment, it looks like I might be making it happen while I'm 32 instead. So at the hope/risk of making those stars really come into being, let me tell you more.

It looks like I might be able to do my 200 hour yoga certification this summer. As in, by August 1, I would have the bulk of my work done and would be thisclose to being able to teach.

Even though my family and friends have been so supportive of this yoga journey of mine, I had no intention of making certification happen so soon. But then, in January I learned that The Lotus House of Yoga in Omaha offers seven month courses and one month intensive trainings, too, where you spend four weeks doing classes, etc. M-F, all day to get it all done. When I investigated further, I learned that their summer intensive this year just so happens to align perfectly to fall between my summer session of teaching at CCC and when Ben goes back to school in August. I can even make my mama goal of nursing LT for the full first year (and then I'll take my pump with me and hope on a wing and a prayer that I can keep bringing milk back every weekend during this wild and crazy adventure). And so it all just seems quite perfect. Quite meant to be.

Truth? I'm not sure I'm ready. Real truth? I don't think I'm ready. I feel like I should deepen my own practice more. Try more styles. Perfect more poses. Then I should become an instructor. But that's the beauty of yoga (and this precious whirlwind known as life) - there is no perfect. There is only your practice, and for some yogis, doing a 200 hour program is simply a way to deepen their practice. So the beauty of this experience will be that even if I don't feel quite ready to teach, I will be accomplishing both - growing in my own way on the mat and being one step closer to reaching others on the mat, too. Also, my very wise husband pointed out that life is never going to get less busy, so if the opportunity has presented itself to make it happen now, and not in ten years when our kids are involved with every activity under the sun, why not give it a go?

I am so, so grateful to my local studio for inspiring this leap. Avani has created such an amazing light in this community and in me. Every time I attend a class, I learn something new - about myself, about yoga, or about both. Without their help and guidance, I would not even be considering this possibility right now, but again, sometimes you put an idea out there and you get the feedback you need to make it happen. So I think it's awesome that I will get to train at the same place they did. And that I have a husband who is willing to fly solo with the kids for the better part of four weeks. And friends who helped me assuage the mommy-guilt about being gone, are willing to house me while I'm away, and will help my hubby entertain the munchkins in my absence. And family who are willing to help me pull off two birthdays in July, to boot. And all of you who will follow along, will keep me accountable and will keep me going, too! Seriously. I am surrounded by amazing people. And because of all of you, I get to do amazing things.

So while the 13-yr-old in me hems and haws and wonders if I can make it all happen, the 31-going-on-32-yr-old thinks, Hot Dang. I am making it happen!