Back, and Forward

What do I say after not posting for over 2 months? It's like what you say to a friend you haven't spoken to in months--so much has happened but when you try to boil it down to a few sentences, you just say, Not much has been up with us, same old thing.

But that same old thing--LIFE--was busy and wonderful and stressful and blessed for the last few months of 2013.

I had a blog-life crisis in October. I had a social media crisis then too. In that, I decided I hated them. All of them, all of it, forever and ever, Amen. I hated the seemingly self-serving self-reflection, the narcissism EVERYWHERE, the know-it-all tones. Mostly, I feared that my little baby munch, when he's not so little or so baby, when he's teenage munch or adult munch, will say, why oh why did you feel the need to chronicle every time my snot turned green or I refused to sleep, for all the world to see and judge and comment on?

What if my son is intensely private? What if he's horrified reading my words? I don't think this will happen, but it could. He's a person, and a person has a right to say, don't put that out in the world about me.

I've missed blogging, but not desperately. In October, I quit Facebook FOREVER, hand to God. I cut down on Twitter. And I got less clutter-feeling, and I liked it.

But, I am a writer and I miss this writing. I won't be writing about Munch so much, no no. I won't be chronicling the ways motherhood freaks me out or bears me up. Well, maybe some.

So I'm still having a bit of a blog-crisis, but I've decided I don't care. Write through it, eh? I don't know who my blog-self is. And that is okay.

2013 was a good year, all told. Some highlights, before we turn our eyes to the New Year, one of my most favorite times.

I stayed over night away from Munch 3 times, for a total of 5 nights. This was a huge step for me. (In a few weeks, I will nearly double that time for 2014, yikes.)

I traveled to Pittsburgh, Michigan, Gettysburg, Chincoteague Island and Ocean City, Massanutten in Virginia, and New York City. I traveled with Hubs and with Munch and with family and with dear friends.

I started and finished a cross-stitch, which is an unbelievable feat for me. It took so much time and commitment and it's one of my year's proudest accomplishments.

I cooked, but not as much as I wanted.

I ate at restaurants and take out, far too much than I should have.

I ran and sweated, a bit.

I laid about.

I saved money.

I spent money.

I became an Aunt.

I had our front bushes torn out and our lawn cleaned up for winter.

I ate "clean" for 5 agonizing, brave days.

I supported family and got cheered on by them in my turn.

I supported myself.

I cried and worried.

I laughed and felt joy--joyed, if you will.

2013 was a bit of a hibernation year, when I reflect on what it felt like big picture. Not that we did nothing, oh no. We were as busy as ever. But we lived day-to-day, and it was good.

What I mean is, I didn't hold myself accountable enough, I let myself slip or hold steady. Sometimes you need that. But sometimes you need to push and pull and make yourself stand up.

I know best-laid plans and all, but Hubs and I are looking at 2014 as a Year of Preparation, a Building Year. And preparation and building take work and commitment.

Instead of laying out my typical resolutions, Hubs and I have chosen two words for the year: Frugal and Healthy.

Frugal seems so negative, but what we really mean is SAVE. As in money. We desperately want a new house, a bigger space. And for that to happen, I have to not buy random crap on Amazon. We have to save. Stick to our fun budget, and cut out the chaff.

Healthy, that's a big one. Munch watches everything now, takes it all in. And I want him to see a healthy mom. An active mom. One who values her body and her self and her mind. I've let myself go far too long without losing this weight. I want to lose the weight like I lost it in 2001. I started my 100 pound loss on January 2 that year. Thankfully, I don't have that far to go this time. But it's time to double-down.


So, to focus my healthy efforts, here are my commitments for January, ahead of Hubs and my Big Event in early February:

• Track all my food.
• Work out 5 days a week.
• Get at least 8,000 steps a day.
• Take the stairs.
• Meditate 5 days a week, even for just 5 minutes.
• Floss.

 And, blog. About what, who knows. But I'm glad to be back.

Brown-Eyed Girl

I'm getting my #12ThingsILoveAboutMe post for September in just under the wire!

This month, I'm focusing on my peepers. I love by eye color, which is a rich dark brown.

I haven't always loved my eye color. I'm brown-haired and brown-eyed, as are my dad and my sisters. The dominant genes are strong in this one.

For so long, I saw brown as drab, unexciting, the opposite of the quintessential all-American beauty, blond and blue. (Even Kate Hudson once got photoshopped--she's a green-eyed blond beauty and a magazine cover made her eyes the more acceptable blue.)

For so long, I thought brown = boring.

My husband, he's got the exciting combo of rr genes: Red hair, GREEN eyes. And I love this about him.

But I have come to love my brown eyes.

I still feel a secret thrill when I hear a song immortalizing a brown-eyed girl. Of course there's the iconic Van Morrison tune, but there's also the more recent "Pretty Brown Eyes."

It seems to me that it's easy to sing about honey-colored hair and sapphire eyes. It takes a deeper, more thoughtful look to sing about the brown-eyed beauties among us.

A Case of the "Shoulds"

So today I've read two wonderful articles on parenting and both of them included the idea of letting go of self-blame. This one from the Today Show included a piece of advice that I completely agree with and actually made me tear up a bit:

For Stephanie Decker, a mom of two who famously used her body to shield her kids while a tornado destroyed their Indiana home in 2012, playing with kids is a key to parenting, even when the kids are tiny babies.

“Kids don’t care if the house is perfect or if the laundry is done; they care if mom will have time to sit, play and cuddle with them. At the end of the day, all our kids want is to be loved and cherished.”

This has me thinking about my own tendency to hear the "shoulds" in the back of my mind as I go through my day. I've gotten loads better at shutting off this voice, but there are some things that often run through my mind, mostly on weeknights, after work and while I'm enjoying the few hours I have with Munch and Hubs.

When I get Munch home from daycare, our first activity is often to veg on the couch. I snuggle him as he drinks his bottle (one of the biggest shoulds in my mind: "I should stop him from using a bottle"), and we sometimes watch his favorite Disney shows, but other times it's just quiet. It is our wind-down time. After 8 hours apart, these moments are precious to me, some of my favorites of ever.

But that doesn't stop the shoulds from creeping in.

"I should clean the kitchen."

"I should pack up Munch's old clothes."

"I should dust instead of just sitting here."

"I should get dinner going." 

"I should clip Munch's nails."

"I should clip the cats' nails."

"I should clip my own nails."

And even less productive shoulds, but more personal ones:

"I've seen this episode of Sophia 60 times, I should read while we sit here."

"I should write my grandma a letter."

"I should stay off Twitter while I'm with Munch."

All the "shoulds" go toward telling myself that what I'm doing at that moment--sitting quietly with my son, or even playing with my son--is wrong somehow, not ENOUGH somehow, lacking somehow.

And that is both sad and full-on crap.

I agree with Stephanie Decker--I believe that the biggest gift we can give our kids is our time, our attention, our support, our smiles, our kisses, our arms, our snuggles. No, I don't think it's okay to let trash pile up in the corners or flies to buzz around dirty dishes in the sink. But I think snuggling on the couch is 1000% more important to my parenting than folding a pile of laundry and making sure every bit of dust is off the shelves.

As a working parent, something's got to freaking give. It can't be work. I refuse to let it be my time with Munch. So, it's the housework, by and large.

Besides this, as Munch grows up, I find he's a kid who likes companionship while he plays. A couple of friends have kids about Munch's age who seem much more independent than Munch in that they go to their rooms, alone, and play. One of these kids goes to daycare every day, the other is home with Mom; one is a second child, the other a first. So I don't know if it's an environmental thing. I think it's a temperament thing.

And I think: "Should Munch be playing on his own?"

He will turn to me as he plays and pat the floor and say, "Mommy, sit down."

And 10 times out of 10, no matter what I'm doing, I sit. I ask you, what "should" I do? Tell him, "Play by yourself"? Is that the right answer?

But then I shake myself and say--There is no right answer. There is only what is right for me, and what is right for Munch, and only I as his mother and Hubs as his father can answer that.

And, for me, sitting with him, playing with him, is what I want to do. Munch has to play independently at daycare all day, every day. For him, for my child, playing with Mommy and Daddy in the evenings is important to him. And it's important to me too.

The "shoulds" whisper in our ears as parents because of the huge responsibility we hold. We think, or we fear, that every decision we make will affect our children forever. Some decisions of course will have a huge impact. But my sitting to play with my kid who happily goes off to daycare each morning does not mean he will become a clingy kid who refuses to leave my side. When kids are around, he already leaves my side, screaming "Kids!" He tells me to stay away as he climbs ladders to the slides. He has an independent streak; but he also has the "sit with me" streak.

So, self, let go of the shoulds. Snuggle and play. Munch is only young once.

What Beautiful Hair I Have

I'm not vain, not really. I'm usually the opposite of vain when it comes to physical attributes. But one thing I've always loved is my hair.

It's brown with reddish highlights, usually at least to my shoulders, shiny, soft, and, to my eye, gorgeous.

Once, a teacher in high school was demonstrating some tool, I have no idea what it was called, that measured things as tiny as a strand of hair and he used mine as an example and said, "You have very fine hair." So science backs me up. haha.

Here's a nice example of a good hair day (wasn't Nathaniel Hawthorne a hottie?

)

As with most things, my hair has become even more beloved to me since becoming a mother, because Munch is a hair-toucher. He strokes his own hair when he's tired or relaxing, and he loves to stroke mine as well. I don't blame him!

This is not the post for negativity, but I'm sad to say that I am getting a LOT of grays. This devastates me. I've been getting noticeable grays since I was in my early 20s and they've multiplied exponentially in the past 2 years (did anything stressful happen to me in that time period? Hmmm...) I think it's genetic, though, because my maternal grandma was pure white in her 30s. EEK!

I'm trying to be a woman who embraces the change with dignity.

But I mostly fail, as I stand at the mirror and pick out gray after gray or take the opportunity at a red light to fish some out.

I only dyed my hair one time and let it grow out immediately.

I don't want to dye it because I love, as I said, the color and the texture, and dyeing changes both of those things.

But they're both changing naturally anyway.

What to do, what to do.

In the meantime, continue loving my God-given hair!

What gorgeous hair that bride has!

 What do you love about yourself? Tweet it using the hashtag #12ThingsILoveAboutMe

Loving Myself: Look at Those Calves!

When I heard about the idea Kendra over at My Full-Thyme Life had about choosing one part of ourselves that we love each month and celebrating it, I knew I had to participate. With Operation Beautiful also backing the effort, I think it can really make a difference to a lot of women who have a negative voice going through their minds on, like me, sometimes a near constant loop.

Like Kendra, I've always been self-deprecating. There was never any REASON or moment that it started, it always just has BEEN. It's all linked to self-esteem and my very deep lack of it. I don't take compliments well. Review time at work is always an anxious time for me--and not because I'm worried about getting a bad review, but because I always get a good one--Almost all 5/5 ratings and I have to listen to what a good job I do ... My thought automatically is, "Everyone must be this good." And "I'm not THAT good--I've got them fooled." And "Oh God, now I have to live up to this."

Add to that an overweight childhood and overeating and trouble with impulse control and you have a recipe for someone who talks down about herself inside. When someone loves me, like my wonderful, sweet husband, I feel deep, deep gratitude--not, "Hell yes, he does. Who wouldn't?"

But I'm working to change that.

And the impetus is becoming a mother. Being a mother has made me stop and look at myself through my son's eyes.

When you have a kid, I think that's when you truly understand feeling unconditional love for someone--and you feel it reciprocated back at you. With Munch, he loves me for ME, for my silliness and my tendency to be goofy and my laughter and my softness and my very large capacity to love him. I don't overwhelm him, when one of my biggest fears has always been that I am overwhelming. Too much. And yet, still, somehow not enough.

For Munch, I am perfect. I am his mommy, his only mommy. Irreplaceable.

And when he looks at me, that's all he sees--Mommy. He doesn't look at me and think, Hm, she's fine enough, but a little thick around the middle and in desperate need of some triceps toning.

He sees love. And that's what I should see too.

So, this month, I'm celebrating my legs below the knee--I've always had tremendous calves. They're toned and powerful. I've had comments from friends, family, and random people throughout my life. My ankles are also nice, and, this may be weird, but I love how the tendons on the top of my feet look. Truth. I look awesome in heels.

What do you love about yourself? Tweet it with the hashtag #12ThingsILoveAboutMe.