Gotta Go

It's sort of funny to find this old post about slowing down when I've spent the last almost couple of weeks practically in reverse. And by in reverse I mean trips to the ER, operations, mucho laying around uselessly, gobbling (i.e. following label instructions to the letter) pain meds, and sending Jonathan on his daily trip to the pharmacy. I was so in reverse I didn't even poop for a week, which resulted in two trips to the pharmacy.

I discovered a few things about myself during this hiatus from my so-called "normal" life.

1.) I am not a good patient. I do not like other people doing stuff for me, which probably stems from my whole trust issue baggage. I know I will do it the way I want it done, but can you? Hmmmmm. I'll need to think on that. In the meantime, I'll just do it myself.

2.) Only lifting things that weigh as much or less than a gallon of milk is almost impossible. Try it. Oooppp! Put that down. I'm sure your purse weighs more than that. I know my three year old does. And how the hell do you make him sit in time out without carrying him there? If he were listening then I wouldn't be in that situation in the first place. So I had to cheat.

3.) Every time I use the bathroom I feel grateful. After going to the ER the night after my surgery since I couldn't pee and the aforementioned poo issue I am glad to be able to go on my own, and to be able to go at all. So count as one of your blessings being able to use the potty on your own if you can. Not being able to is a royal pain in the you know what. This was the best example of "you don't know what you've got until it's gone" I've ever had. In my life.

4.) There is humor in even the worst situation. Although I was in the worst pain of my life (including childbirth) the night I went to the ER mere hours after my surgery because I could not manage to urinate (after chugging water all afternoon) I still sort of had to laugh. Imagine me, dying. It's 1:30 AM. We've been at the ER since 10:00 PM. Jonathan is bleary eyed watching something random on hospital satellite TV. Nurse comes to finally put my catheter in. After an embarrassing amount of tries (I really wanted to help) I suggest a that maybe someone else might want to come help. Another nurse comes in. Now I have two women peering curiously at my va-jay-jay. We give it another try or ten. No luck. A third nurse joins the group. Now here I am, dying, with three women bent over me and my delicates. Finally they get the catheter in. I fill a 2200 ml bag in thirty mins. That's around five cups. Hey, I really did have to go!

5.) The whole medical system is flooded with sick people. (duh.) I have never seen so many sick people. Billion dollar business medicating symptoms and not the root of the problem. I could hear the cash register ka-chinging every moment. My first three hours at the emergency room cost over $1300. No fancy tests, just a particularly painful I.V. and a brief chat with the doctor. It took me twenty-five minutes just to check in for my post op check. Of course, that appointment isn't until next Monday, but that's almost beside the point. I am still shaking my head in disbelief and wonder at how many people are at the hospital. We are really the most unhealthy bunch of folks. God Bless America.

6.) I want to take the best care of myself that I can. I do not want to be that grossly overweight woman trying to give blood bruised all over in a wheelchair with oxygen tubes up my nose. I can only hope the things I do help to keep me up and running for a long good time to come. You want inspiration for starting a fitness program? Head to your local hospital. Look at all the people who couldn't run a step if it were their hearts fondest desire. Then go for a damn long walk and breathe in. Eat a vegetable instead of a box of something "easy". I could talk about this forever, but will leave it like that for now. You are worth it.

7.) I am not ready to die. I have loads of unfinished business. (like making a will for gods sake) Plus lots of other things I just want to do. I want to be here to see how it all turns out. I want to see my kiddos get big and grown up. And get old with my husband so we can enjoy grandchildren, or just being on our own again. So, I think I already knew that. But thinking about your own mortality can really make you...think.

Afterword: Almost three weeks after my surgery I'm doing pretty well. Still sore, still not doing much *ahem* any heavy lifting, and contemplating going for a run since my surgeon said it was OK. Maybe tomorrow morning hmmm?

Fast Enough For Me

Isn't it funny how we all think we've got it all under control? I'm running the show here. I'm making all the important decisions. Me, the great commander of all things great and small, from the laundry and the manners and everything in between. I coordinate schedules, remember things like dentist appointments and to give the dogs their flea stuff so we don't have to buy that expensive spray again. The one in control, the boss, the big kahuna? That's me.

Yeah, right.

I really love the way the universe, or God, or what/who ever makes things go round and round and sends out life lessons always makes sure to speak up if I'm not listening. It's such a comfort to me to know that my ego has a conscience. And that I'm not the one in control of that.

I tend to not listen to myself too much. I shove my sense right down and keep on keeping on. It really doesn't matter if it's something inconsequential like having one too many cookies or pretty big like taking on so much I end up with almost- pneumonia. Which is how the universe yelled at me this week, since I clearly wasn't listening even after it spoke up loud and clear with a speeding ticket at the beginning of the week.

"Do you know how fast you were going?" she asked through my open window. "Too fast," I answered. And I was going too fast, and I knew it. But I was late, and I had to take Jonathan his phone, and get to work on time, and, and, and.

She gave me a ticket, thankfully with no points on my license. And I've been setting my cruise control ever since. It has surprised me how much pressure this takes off of my trips downtown and back. And how much more relaxed I am because I'm not constantly worried about getting a ticket or planning moves to keep speeding ahead. Sometimes the universe appears as a petite policewoman just doing her job. Just like magic. With flashing lights and everything.

And other times it appears after a tense forty-five minute wait with two antsy children in an examination room as of my kind nurse practitioner, Karen. With a patient smile she asked me, "Why did you wait so long to come in?" "I just thought I'd get better," I  answered honestly. This was after her horrified look at my throat. ("Your tonsils are HUGE!" she exclaimed. Oh. Really?) "You have infection everywhere. Have you ever used an inhaler? Haven't you noticed being short of breath?" Well, I had noticed that I wasn't breathing very deeply, but didn't really think about it. Too much going on, too much to do.

Karen left the room and came back with an inhaler and 8 sample bottles of cough syrup. Informed me if I were still wheezing on Monday that she would send me for chest x-rays. And laughed at me when I told her I had to go to work, but had the next four days off. "Oh, ho ho ho. No work for you."

Oh.

Bronchitis, strep throat, AND a sinus infection. OK, OK. I hear you universe. Definitely yelling "SLOOOW DOWN!!!" now. Easy.

And so I am taking my medicine, and resting, and not doing too much. Look at me- working on my blog even! Putting down all the burdens I took on and remembering to look when it's time to pick up my bags again on Monday. And feeling so sort of delighted that when I need it I can take care of myself. I wish I could explain how happy it makes me that these lessons are out there for me to learn, and that I will always get shown the way. That even universal screaming and yelling can make me feel so comforted and joyful.

moving on

Lord. Here it is, the night before we pack the truck and take our bit of family off onto another place just one state away. We celebrated with all of Jonathans' people from his work and came home to sit on the porch for beers and reflection.

Then Jess came over. And we talked a lot about Jesus, and faith.

Then she left, and we talked mostly about Cummins, and reasons, and then Jonathan sent me out for cigarettes. Because we smoke while we drink, and we were out. And I came home and he had his head on the table, almost sleeping since it's late as hell, and he's been up since five. And so, I suppose it seems like a good idea to log these thoughts, although in hindsight it may just be beer riddled ramblings about change and working for it. But here it is, and I'm not in hindsight yet.

Have you ever done something not smart? Have you ever done something just because you could? Because one night, at the table, it sounded just right? And then you take your job, and you quit, and you think...oh? This house? We can give it up. It sucks the life from us, so does this place, so does this life.

And then you decide to walk away. Then you decide that the loan isn't worth your happiness, that your credit rating doesn't equal happiness. That the home you love will never bring the happiness you believed in six years ago when you were a newlywed, and a new parent. That maybe you HAVE TO walk away to preserve your family. That the big "forclosure" word isn't so dirty, but the cleanest break you can make.

And so that's what we're doing. I mean, really. How can we not?

I haven't kept up with this blog at all. I meant to, but I changed jobs, and got a little lost. Or a lot lost. I lost my running, my yoga, my time with my children. And I chased money. And I lost. I did gain some fine people in the meantime, but my whole self stepped off the edge and is just now coming back around. I cannot say enough that I went after money and LOST.

Now, please don't misunderstand, I made a bunch of money. Four times what I was making before. Every week. And it sucked. It sucked the life out of me, my life, and my time. And I couldn't make a difference, anyway. Because things are the way they are, and they just are.

It's good to know what you can and cannot do. And also good to know when to walk away. And so. We are walking away. From everything. From security, from safety, from the comfort of our own home.

I'll make the rest of this blog about our big change, but until then I sit, content in the knowing that we were brave enough to make the change, and to share that change with you. And so, we walk away. And we grab onto ourselves, and hold on tight. Keep reading, keep loving each other, and run to your dreams. If you don't they will run from you.

Missing

The guys all just took off for Durham to visit my folks- an impromptu trip as a surprise for the 4th. And another surprise is I'm not speeding along beside Jonathan on I-26 because I have to work. And there are so few of us at work that I cannot finagle my way into the weekend off because really, who else could work? (I know, that makes me sound a little self important, but it's kind of pretty much true)

What the real surprise is is how I find myself here in this so so quiet house. An how my breath sucked in a little when I passed Hampton's empty room and my arms literally ached for his little body to hold one more time before they left. How my eyes are full of hanging on tears right now thinking of all of my loves in one speeding along car without me. Gulp. What if something happened? Lord, I cannot even think about it.

It's funny how you don't miss things until they're gone. And please don't roll your eyes thinking um, hello? Captain Obvious? Because you know what I really mean. Just two hours ago I was longing for quiet time for a nap and maybe a few squares of chocolate without little hands reaching up so we can "share please mommy". (I can be selfish and secretive with chocolate. Sometimes you just have to be. Or someone else wants to eat half of the other half you were already wanting to eat.)

And I'll bet you've been missing my blog, too. And see, you didn't even know you were until I mentioned it and now...Happy Fourth y'all.

The Fullest Plate

You see what time it is. Late, oh, so so late. But after getting home from work I just cannot seem to shut down, to put it all away and just sleep. Possibly because so much of my days aren't just MINE anymore.

I used to go to the Y, hang out all day, bum around just being the pseudo stay-at-home mom I've been for years. Not anymore. Now, don't get me wrong- I adore my new job. The hours, however are throwing me for a loop. After years of getting home around nine or ten I struggle with rolling in around twelve or so. And working days- or doubles. I see Jack for breakfast, then not until the next morning. Only some days, but still.

To be honest, my whole being is just struggling. Struggling with not being able to spend time with anyone in my family- too bad they all don't stay up super late so we can eat snacks and cuddle around midnight.

I suppose life really is about the struggle, the push and pull of change and compromise. Handling it with grace and love and patience (which has never been my strong suit) and embracing the newness of it all. I am not doing any of those. I want to. I have these talks inside my head that tell me "It's OK" and "Just go to bed" but I am selfish, and needy, and stubborn. I am ego at it's finest and cannot right now let go of what was and what it really is.I cannot help loving what I'm doing and feeling regret all at once. I cannot get to a place where I am fine with missing the days and the sleep (oh, the sleep. It's like I'm with a newborn again.)

Things have suffered with my new schedule- my blog, my early morning yoga, my solidness, my happiness.

Not to mention the hernia surgery that I'll have to have in mid July- but only after the restaurant slows down enough for me to take the weeks (JESUS! WEEKS!) off that I have to to recover adequately. I'm not even supposed to be picking Hampton up. And he requires that about twenty-seven times a day.

And my yoga teacher training. Oh, yeah. That's over for this year. I've waited a long damn time for this- an opportunity to do something that was a light for me. A thing that told me what I wanted to do with my life, what I wanted to be. Instead I'll just keep being what I've been for years- a waitress.

Which, when I write that seems pretty appropriate- a waitress. A waiter, someone who waits. Do you ever feel like you've been waiting for that right inspiration, the right thing to come along? That answer that finally, FINALLY shows up after you've just washed your hands of the whole thing and then blam! Here it is! That's the way I felt about my teacher training. Like I'd stopped looking only to have the answer right in my hands so easily. Of course, of course- being a yoga teacher was perfect for me.

Except, maybe not now. Especially when I'm finally making really good money, and enjoying my job more than I have in YEARS. It's so hard to feel so strained and still have a dream and then put it away. It's really hard to shake up my identity and still feel like ME.

I suppose that's the hardest part. Every bit of my reality has changed drastically in the past six weeks. From cutting my hair to turning forty to changing jobs to putting a dream on hold. I wish I could say I'm handling it with grace, but I'm not. I really want to be, but sometimes I want to wish the present away just to sink back into the past. The easy, predictable, known past. I knew who I was then. Now, I sometimes just can't tell.

My plate is really full. And I'm blessed and lucky and busy and tired. And as much as I try to convince myself that I can do this, I am doing it, sometimes I feel so passed by I just should probably sit down.

Perhaps I'm feeling also mortal, and older, and incapable. Sheesh. Thanks for reading.

Schedule: 2. A plan for performing work or achieving an objective, specifying the order and allotted time for each part

I've been trying, I swear, to find time to write a thoughtful blog that pays some homage to my big month of April. Alas, I'm still settling into my new work schedule so this hasn't really happened. (At least not decent enough to be posted.) Or really, instead of that whole "homage" thing, just a blog to keep everyone interested and reading and to keep me from feeling like I abandoned my project altogether. My new for-my-birthday laptop should arrive any day, then I can do this anywhere. (YAY!)

 I'm going to wrangle myself into a new schedule, I swear. For my sanity this should happen soon. Hope everyone is doing just right. Wait until you see the garden! The garden gnomes are selling it growing crack, everything is huge. I hope you all like tomatoes, I fear we may have eighty billion of them....

Know When to Fold 'Em.

"If you must play, decide upon three things at the start: the rules of the game, the stakes, and the quitting time."  ~Chinese Proverb

Working at the same place for a long time, you're bound to get bugged by some stuff. Likewise, you probably bug other people with some of your stuff. And so, (dun dun dahhhh) there was trouble at work. I know, know- that I am a good employee. I show up, I show up on time, I work hard, I stay until the end. I'm a waitress, this should not be hard. And for me, it isn't. It sounds almost laughable to say I quit my job over some bread and a tray. 


I did.


 As much as I would love to spin a tale of woe and of being misunderstood, to point fingers and rant and rail at the unfairness of it all...well. Shit. Life ain't fair. It just really isn't. Or, maybe when it's not being fair to me, it's being more fair to someone else. Life is suffering. Sometimes. That's what makes it balance. After all, if everything were rainbows and kitties all the time- well, you get the picture.


 By now I've had some time to get used to the fact that I quit a job I'd had for over four years. The signals have been there from the beginning, but I just wasn't listening. Over the years, over and over, I would question my reasons for staying. Finally after the last incident, after three days of agonizing, hand wringing, crying, and not sleeping- I had this flash of brilliance. (sometimes signs have to be way more obvious because you just aren't getting it.) Wait! Who has the power here? Whose life is this anyway? Why am I torturing myself when I know, know- that I did nothing wrong?


 I got myself together. I decided I was quitting. I deserved better. The reason I could quit without guilt was right there in front of me this whole time. I deserve better. I am better. I trust myself to do what it takes to provide my share for my family. And that share isn't just about money. That share is about integrity, and confidence, and self-worth. About showing my husband and my children that I know that I am important and I should be treated that way.


Sometimes I think we forget that we have such a huge say in the way other people treat us. 


Sometimes I think we forget that we have such a huge say in the way we treat ourselves.


I was really nice to myself. I had some wine, I ate some ice cream. (2 oreo cones in one day.) I got up and did yoga. I gave myself time to think without making it all anxious. I talked to myself like I was my own mama. I asked for help in the wee hours of the morning and tried hard not to force the answer. I sat in the sauna after spin class and talked to the older ladies when they came in to warm up after water aerobics. (this was one of the helpful-est things.) I told myself it was okay. I made my inner bully go away- far away. 

I got my resume together. I went to an interview. I called my old boss. He said, "Come back." 


I  listened. 


In addition to leaving a job I didn't like (the people, on the other hand- some were very hard to leave.) I got the added bonus of finding something I do really like. My courage. I learned that if I take the time to listen to myself I really only have my own best interests at heart. And that sometimes a little wine, some ice cream, sweat, and patience can make even the worst situations seem better. That things that are sooooo big today get smaller tomorrow. That few days of perspective is all I really needed. I learned that when I say, "Help me" in my own shy tremble-y voice there are people near and far who are glad to hold my hand and give comfort. 


Now I'll listen more closely when it seems like time to fold 'em. I knew long ago it was time to walk away. I'm just glad I was ready when it was time to run.

Big Trouble

Jack got in trouble at school Monday. With an official three copies colored sheet to bring home for us to sign. He's been rough to deal with at best for the past week. Whining, saying, "_____ is boring" and "ah, man" after everything you say to him. I didn't sign up for Swiper from Dora (cringe) as my kid.

It's so hard to know how to punish him. How hard to punish him. How to say what I mean to say and then stop talking like I can talk him out of misbehaving forever if I just ramble on for 5 more minutes about growing up being hard and listen to me and I had to grow up and I love you and please stop acting like an asshole. All this talking makes him crazy I'm sure. He says things like, "Moooommm" and "I know, I know" in a quiet exasperated voice. Isn't he supposed to be thirteen before he rolls his eyes at me and is bored with my advice already?

We grounded him for the first time over the weekend. Took away the Wii because he was being such a pain. Is that being too hard on a six year old? I have these visions of him bone thin in dirty jeans coming to borrow money for drugs because I didn't discipline him enough, or too much. I'm the softie. I want him to be happy, it's hard for me to disappoint him, to make him do what he should. In my mind I know that letting him off easy just makes it harder for him, but my parents were hard on me and I'm not sure how much it helped. So I often let things slide, try not to make too much out of small things. But at this age, they are all small things. And so who am I helping by easing up when I should be harder, tougher, more mom-like, less pleasing.

You probably don't know this but Jack got kicked out of the first school he went to. A small local "montessori" school. Our experience there was not good. They used to send him home (at two and a half) because he couldn't get "control". He was miserable, so were we. It was not the kumbaya experience we were led to believe it was going to be. For us this school is a scar that still gets rubbed from time to time. Jack speaks quite clearly about that time, how he felt, what was happening. I should have stood up for him, taken him out of that school, realized it wasn't working out- for any of us.

Instead we signed up for another year. (what was I thinking?) Luckily, the directress of the school called me one day and told me Jack was not invited back. Not just for the next year, but for the rest of that year too. Over the phone she told me about how some children need therapy- physical therapy, speech therapy, and that Jack probably needed mental help. Over the phone. I didn't know what to say, so I dutifully took down the numbers she offered and numbly agreed. I should have known a professional would never have severed our relationship this way. When I told her I'd come get Jack's things she told me that she'd just leave them on the porch- I could come pick them up after four. (when everyone was going to be gone.) Oh.

I've wanted to punch that woman in her big fat face more times than I can count.

But, I didn't. For a month I felt like the biggest mom-failure in the world. Then I saw how Jack cheered up, started behaving, stopped being so edgy all the time. He still was over the top dramatic at times- but typical. Typical for a three year old. Typical. The weight started to lift. I started feeling okay again. I stopped imagining him shuffled from one mental institution to another while barely able to hold a job, make friends... get along in the world.

Then things like this happen and I'm right back there again: on the phone while two men manhandle our new dishwasher into place. Mouth slack, heart heavy, wanting to explain about how magical Jack is; how funny, and kind. How he comes up out of the blue and takes your hand, or pats your back and says in his raspy little boy voice "I love you, Mom." How you have to be gentle with him, and wait to confront him about things because he's not listening when he knows he's messed up but if you give him ten minutes he'll come apologize and then his eyes well and overflow and he reaches out for a hug. How it's my fault he's so dramatic- me too. I gave him my freckles and my temperamental patience. Me, two.

The worry I carry as a mother, as caretaker of these small souls- in charge of getting them ready for the world can be such a puzzling burden. Just behave. How hard is that? How hard is that? "Life will be so much easier if you just behave!" I want to scream at him, make him write it a thousand times until he gets it. Please stop fucking up on purpose- you know better. You know better.

Then I remember how I never stop messing up- and how sometimes I do it on purpose. How even though I know better, I don't always do better. And I try to be patient with myself, to not make the mistake of saying to myself "bad, bad mom" and "you should've done better" over and over in my head. Because he will always mess up. And I will too. Sometimes I will have the grace to learn my lessons while he's learning his. Because I'm not a bad mom. I know better.

In the Garden Part Two

We got some luscious dirt and compost from the charming (really, it is) nursery right next door, Stack's. They are so helpful there, and patient with all my questions. My dear friend Jess brought over her husband's tough truck  to help us get all four and a half tons of it to our garden. And my dear husband Jonathan shoveled most of it into our frames.

We got most of our plants yesterday. Now I just need to get out there in between bouts of rain and get them in the ground. Jack and I were going to plant yesterday afternoon, but as we were walking out it started raining, then thundered a bit. We took it as a sign and came back inside to play Monopoly Jr. Did you know there's a game called "Farm-opoly"? (apparently there are lots of "opoly's"- even "Rodeo-opoly" and my new favorite- "Bean-opoloy".)

Garden should be in by the weekend. Funny how it hasn't rained in ages, and now it's rainy like crazy. I keep worrying about our plants out there in the rain and the cold. (I know. Um, hell-oooo. They're supposed to be out there.) For some reason I feel like if the plants are in the ground then they're OK, they're safe. But in the meantime, they're huddled together, waiting.

In the Garden

A big part of this year is growing our very own garden. This is something we've tried and failed; some years more miserably than others. But this year we've done it right. In a lots of sun spot, awesome soil & compost from the folks at Stack's Nursery right next door, research, planning. Planning! No willy nilly dash to Home Depot for a load of plants to toss in the ground and ignore after a week. This year it's for real. I mean it this time. I'm much better at keeping promises to myself than I used to be. 

We're going to grow tomatoes, cucumbers, okra, basil, several different kinds of peppers, parsley, strawberries, and maybe a wild watermelon in a container. Rumor has it that watermelons are like little Hitlers- they just wanna take over everything. Jack really wants that one thing, so of course we'll have one. Mostly because he will not be talked out of it.

Two more to go!

.

Day Five- Still Alive!

So, here we are in the middle of day five with no sugar. Aside from the PMS everything is just great. I mean... no one ever craves sugary crunchy danish-y cookie-y chocolate-y treats when their hormones start doing their monthly boogie, do they? Oh, right. YES THEY DO. Really do.

What is it about quitting something that makes that something appear, unbidden, constantly? At work this week there has been extra dessert out the wazoo. A giant box filled with chocolate cake. Key lime pie. More cake. A whole bag of Starburst jelly beans hiding unnoticed on top of the shelf in the kitchen. I almost caved yesterday in the baked goods section of Whole Foods- flaky chocolate croissant anyone? ME!!!! Pick ME!!!!

I got these wheat free fig things that are not chocolate chip cookies. (chocolate. chip. cookie. mmmmm.) They're helping. A lot. Some. Also a smoothie in the afternoon has been a tasty treat- banana, spinach, dark berries, hemp protein, hemp milk. (I don't eat dairy either- but another time/blog for that.) Some coconut milk is yummy in there too. This is helping me not be crazy. That and some blended strawberries and banana that I froze sort of like ice cream. (mmmmmm. ice cream...)

I felt great for the first three days, then yesterday got an all day mild headache, which has continued into today.  I'm optimisitc that by this time next week the mood swings will be less- it's hard to tell if I'm irritable due to lack of sugar or gearing up for my monthly bill. I should have never said "give up sugar" out loud where my ovaries could hear. Here comes the weekend. Hopefully Monday morning there won't be a sign in the front yard: "For Sale. One sugar-free wife and mother. $25.00 FREE."

Damn Sugar

I didn't think I had much of a sweet tooth before I abandoned booze. ( and by abandoned, I mean pretty much altogether, unless we're out to dinner and it's too fun to swirl that glass of red. Or we visit friends and must have a margarita and cold beers by the toasty outdoor fireplace.) But, the actual giving up of booze isn't the real subject here, it's sugar. Oh, honey honey.

Sugar is my very hardest thing to give up. Because once I answer the knock on the door, sugar shoves me out of the way, busts on in, props its' boots on the table, and will not leave. Just like I cannot have just one (how do y'all do it?) glass of wine, I can't have just one cookie. I shovel four in before I've even tasted the first one. I'm certain I'm an emotional eater. And if cake didn't make me feel kind of sick after a whole piece I would have more. Pie? Yes, please. More, please. A pint of ice cream? Sure. Ack. Now I feel nauseous and guilty. Boo, hiss.

The problem is I know what sugar does when it comes over. It's that bad relationship you just keep making excuses for. "Oh, I know. Sugar wrecks me for days. But I really like it. And it said it would never do it again." or "I know I don't need eight Samoas. But I'm hormonal. And I had a bad morning. And I yelled and slammed a meat hammer on the counter to make a point. I deserve eight Samoas. Really. And I don't care." (to clarify for those of you wondering about the meat hammer; it's just a meat tenderizing mallet that Jack uses to crush up granola bars into cereal. I was making a point about finding your own shoes. I know, overkill. But yeesh, sometimes I cannot be mother of the year, sugar.)

The problem is. Well, my problem is: this doesn't happen daily. Or even what I would call all the time. Just as soon as I get all the yuck out of my system and my face starts stopping sprouting a new zit or 4 every day it's like a signal. A call of the wild. Yodle-lay-hee-hoo!!!! Like the old boyfriend/girlfriend that just won't go away. Just when I think it's safe and I'm fine, I don't need you I don't even miss you and I say those magic words..."I can't remember the last time I had sugar..." Whapow!!!! I'm in. Face first into the leftover Valentine's candy. Is this really just self sabotage? Am I afraid of success, or accomplishing an actual goal? I'm afraid I can already answer that with a yes, I'm pretty sure that's mostly all true.

What the real problem is is this: I cannot say no. I don't say it loud enough. Or with enough umph. So I can really hear myself.  I can't have just one piece of chocolate, one cookie, because I'm a people pleaser. And sometimes those people is me. So I've decided that today, March 21st, starts a month long hiatus from sugar. Holy fucking shit. March 21st seems like a good day to start something- it's the first day of spring, my dad's birthday, the vernal equinox (all about balance here) and lord, I'll be forty in exactly one month. Holy fucking shit.

Those monumental front number changing birthdays make you want to do something big. Remarkable. Different than that same old you you've been for the past ten years. Just the thought of turning forty has changed me immensely somewhat. You know how you just know, know that it's time to give something up? You think about it, the idea just nags and nags you, you cannot stop thinking about it. You get sick of yourself thinking about it. This is me and giving up sugar.

 Sugar does bad things to me. It makes me even more impatient than I naturally am. It makes me go up and down, up and down, happy and sad and mad and beating myself up while chomping on another cookie. Ugh. It makes me bloated and makes my skin grumpy. It gives me headaches and anxiety. But *tra laaaaaaa!!!* I love it. And when I'm sinking my teeth into some soft sugary concoction I do not care about all the consequences.

Oh, but I do. Inside my heart of hearts I really, really do. I cry a little on the inside and feel disappointed with myself (oh, how sucky) and wish I could go back and channel Nancy Reagan.

So, goodbye sweet friend. I'm sure your leaving will make me cranky and sad and make my face break out even more, but goodbye. Time to pack your things and go. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

I Give Up.

When I wake up in the morning the negatives start marching in. "Oh, God. It's too early. I'm tired. It's a school day. What am I going to make for breakfast?" You know, that never ending narration of your day that threads through everything you do, even if it's just laying in bed contemplating the day. I want to know when I stopped waking up with a bit of joie de vivre- that whoo hoo it's a new day. Probably around 4th or 5th grade when school became work and not just where I spent 5 days a week playing with friends, singing songs, and eating rectangular pizza. (man, that stuff was really delicious.)

Yesterday was the start of Lent. You know, when people who celebrate Ash Wednesday get ashed, and people who don't wonder why all these people have dirt on their foreheads. 'Tis the season of giving something up, a sacrifice to God. I was doing some reading about Lent yesterday and I truly didn't know that Lent was about sacrifice, I thought it was just about religious folk giving something up since they were going to be chowing a bunch of Easter candy. Suffer for your sins. But sacrifice? Well.

I had this moment yesterday when I realized that sacrifice and honor could be best friends, maybe even family. And they don't have to be a negative. They can be something you do just for you, something you do to honor yourself and/or God. If you give up wine for Lent, when you go to pour that glass thinking about disappointing God can be a pretty good deterrent. We all need someone besides ourselves to be afraid of disappointing.

Giving up. I've been doing a lot of thinking about giving up, what to give up? Especially since I've already given up booze, and dairy, and meat. (Dairy and meat for the most part. I don't say never again (yet) but I'm not going to turn down a cookie just because there's an egg in it.) Then I started wondering...what if I get something, but it's really giving something up? Like giving up a negative habit instead of trying to make a positive one?

Lent is like a group effort to stop having things that make you feel bad. It's nice to think of everyone else suffering in the kitchen after dinner with the death grip on the box of Tagalongs. And for 40 days? (Really 46, apparently you get Sundays off. I didn't know. Here's a link to an awesome page I found: http://www.wilstar.com/holidays/lent.htm  ) Kind of like a kick start for New Years Resolutions. Oh, you forgot you promised to get healthier for New Years? Welp, no worries! Here's Lent! Try it for 40 days, maybe a whole year is a bit much. Pat, pat. It's OK. Even quitting something for a week is hard.

Which brings me back to that negative narrative my brain seems to love. That's what I'm giving up for Lent. Being so damn hard on myself and my day. For these 40 (46) days I'm not going to beat myself up so much. I'll stop trying so hard to be mother of the year, running faster, fitting in books and yardwork and taking up knitting and keeping the car clean...AHHHHH! For this one season I'm going to be gentle with myself and offer kind words of encouragement. "You look so pretty today" instead of "Gee, your hair looks like shit again today. And that zit is really huge. And ugly." Or, "Your butt looks OK in those jeans" instead of "God, I need to lose 10 pounds. My ass is huge."

So, I give up. I'm pretty sure I'll still be hard on myself. This habit will take more than 40 days to change- it's been almost 40 years in the making. Sacrificing the cranky inner dialogue to honor who I really am, who I really want to be. But I'm thinking my inner mean girls might just need a hug and a kind word. And maybe some chocolate.

The Elephant is in the Room

Three things happened this week that made me put myself "out there"- opportunities for fresh starts, new beginnings. Choices. Path changers. The first is signing up for yoga teacher training. The second is getting another dog. (more on this later, puppies are so interesting) And the third is an email I received from an old college friend asking me about running. A new beginning. It's trying to start new things.

My friend Jess and I had a long conversation Friday about why we can't manage to put our gorgeous, creative selves out there- why it's sooooo hard to say, decoupage a flower pot rather than take a 2 hour nap. Why we try to escape the creative goddess rather than run up, grab her pretty hand and run away into the golden fields of artistic glory.

I'll tell you why. I'm lazy. Lazy, lazy, capital L A Z Y lazy. I don't want to always (read ever) have to feel so obligated to fulfill my dreams. I mean, sheesh, I have been up since 6 AM, and I'm tired. BUT (it was coming) I really want to decoupage a pot, or start this blog, or rake the yard- anything to avoid escaping into the comfortable no-zone 2 hour nap afternoon. But...

What's up with comfort? And why are we so driven to seek it- even when the comfort isn't even really comforting, more like just hurting ourselves out of habit? Like why, as I sit here am I fighting the urge to GET UP and quit writing because it feels so kind of good and also like I may be accomplishing something I really want to do? What IS comfort anyway? Is it feeling safe? Is it escape? Is it hiding? Is it 6 chocolate chip cookies, or a whole bottle of wine just for lil' ol' me?

Comfort is one of those things that's just so hard to define. But discomfort? We all know what that feels like. Discomfort socially, digestively, physically. It's just so hard to put yourself out there. Or to stop when you've had a full meal because the cake is soooo good. Or when you're tired, drained, life has taken it all out of you and you've got nothing left to give, dammit. So why do we seem to revel in that discomfort?

Writing is something I've always loved. Which is why I never, ever do it. Well, unless you count my clever Facebook status updates, then I do that at least once a day. I have always, in the back of my head, in the place where dreams live, wanted to be a writer. And then blogging came along and I thought to myself that here was a way to take all the pressure of writing a book out of the way and just writing. No need for character development, or chapters, or cover designs. Just slice of life memoir-like posts that hopefully someone out there relates to, who has some friends that relate, too- and so on.

But writing is hard, much less finding time to write without kiddos interrupting, or I need to fold laundry, or organize my closet, or- or any other excuse I could use. I mean, I could get up at 4 AM and have a few hours to myself to do some yoga, make some tea, clear out the cobwebs, and write. BUT, the bed is comfy, no normal people get up at that hour just for pleasure (OK, OK- some people do. Brown chicken, brown cow. Perfectly normal.)

I'm wondering why we talk ourselves out of things we really want to do. What makes us resist when our inside people speak up, ahem, and nudge us into the right idea. They never yell, damn them, or get too pushy. It's always more like, "Hey. I have an idea. Get up early, make some tea, do some yoga, and write before anyone else is awake. That would be sooooo nice." whisper, whisper whisper. Then I answer, "NO WAY I COULD DO THAT!" Without even trying. Then those inside people whisper at 4 AM when I cannot go back to sleep- "Try it. Just get up. You know you want to." In a gentle little voice that implies "Hey, no pressure. Only if you want to."

Isn't starting something new so exciting, too? I mean, sure there's the scary part, but then there's also that delicious anticipation, that good feeling of rightness when it's going well, and you're thinking "Oh, am I smart or what. This is going great!" Now that's a good feeling.

Starting something new. I signed up for yoga teacher training today. I was soo nervous- What if she says, "Oh, no. You (with disgust) couldn't be a yoga teacher." But, she didn't. She said nice things like "I can't wait to see you" and "Welcome". Oh. Thank you.

Putting yourself out there can be pretty uncomfortable. And that's what starting new things is all about, really. Breaking out of that little cozy mold you've made, your little Gaga egg, and stretching your fuzzy breakable wings. But I highly recommend it. The inner celebration is worth it- even if, even if- it doesn't turn out the way you'd hoped. Taking chances builds confidence. And confidence makes taking those chances seem even more worth it. You know, one of those full circle sorts of things.

So, I guess by getting up at 3:30 AM, sitting my butt down at the computer and working on this blog I'm starting something else new. And maybe I will run into that elephant on the path. But, if you look closely at the bottom of that picture it says, "Together we can make a difference." I didn't notice that until after I'd chosen it for the picture representing the hardest path. I thought the grassy one looked lovely and easy, and a rocky one- well, you get it. But now, I think that elephant might just help block all the obstacles that stand in the way of me starting something new. Or at least help me not study them so closely. The elephant in the room just might not be a secret, but obvious as he should be. And elephants are big, so I'd be willing to bet he'd help you, too. And so I'm going to keep trying to start new things. Spring seems like just the right time to do it.

Sell the Goat

This is the story behind the title of my blog.


A villager lived in a tiny house with his wife, 6 children, mother-in-law, a cow, and some chickens. It was making him crazy. So he went to the village rabbi and asked for help. The rabbi said he could solve the problem: he told the man to buy a goat. Thrilled, the man immediately went out and bought a goat. Now he had a wife, 6 children, a mother-in-law, a cow, some chickens, and a goat. The house was even more chaotic than before. The villager went back to the rabbi and told of the even crazier chaos. Again, the rabbi said he could solve the problem. "Sell the goat." The man went immediately and sold the goat. Suddenly, all he had was a wife, 6 children, a mother-in-law, a cow, and some chickens.Things were much more peaceful without that goat.