on being healthy: one week down.

So.
Healthy.
I put it out there into the great wide interwebs last week, so I figured I'd better do something about it.  Baby steps to the elevator, right?  Right.

Here's what I did last week: not a lot.  Well, that's not true, I did clean the dust and grime and disgusting build up off of the tops of my cabinets in the kitchen.  I almost tossed my cookies it was so gross.  And I used the swiffer to get rid of the cobwebs on my kitchen ceiling (genius idea of my husband).  Do you ever clean something and afterwards think, "Holy shit, I was living in that!"  Yeah, that's pretty much how I felt late Saturday afternoon after I had spent pretty much the entire day knee deep in kitchen funk.

As far as healthy things go, though, I did implement 3 small things that will get us started on this healthy road (and by us I mean me, but my family gets to be promoted to healthy status vicariously through me).

First, I started tracking with MyFitnessPal again.  Helps to know what's going in my mouth.  And I've been using my kitchen scale.  I am always so surprised by what an ounce of cheese actually looks like (hint: it is a lot smaller than I think, but with an apple, I can stretch it as a good snack.  It goes well with wine, but I'm trying to be very stingy with my hooch consumption.  Something about empty calories, blah, blah, blah.).

Second, I brought back The Fruit Bowl.  It's just a huge bowl of cut-up fruit that I leave in the refrigerator; we pull it out for all  meals and it's a go-to snack spot after school for Abby.  I use whatever's on sale or seasonal, so this week's bowl is grapes, pears, oranges, and cantaloupe. It changes week to week. I've learned that bananas are not good to have cut up in the bowl, but I can pull one off the bunch and add it as we need it. Also, berries tend to get soft and mushy fast, so I also don't leave those in the bowl; we cut them up as we go when we have them (it's January in Minnesota - buying berries is not economical). I sometimes get annoyed that we go to the store for fresh fruit every couple of days, but then I remind myself that we're going to the store for fresh fruit.  There could be bigger problems to have.  Today I let Finn portion out his fruit for lunch and I had to put some back because three-quarters of his plate was fruit. Even I will admit that was a little excessive, but I'm glad he likes it, and he ate it all, so fruit bowl for the win.

Finally, I've implemented After Lunch Rest Time.  For everyone.  No computer.  No phones.  No Facebook or Pinterest or Etsy.  Only books for 30 minutes.  I actually really look forward to it...Finn sits at one end of the couch with his stack of books and I sit at the other with my book for 30 solid minutes (sometimes 45, not gonna lie - I stretch rest time).  We share a blanket between us and after the rest time is over, he picks a couple of books and I read out loud to him.  To be honest, rest time can last an hour here, but I think we were both struggling by the end of the day without a little re-charge.

Okay, that's it.  That's all I've done.  It doesn't feel like a lot, but I think these few small changes are a good start.

Oh, and I put this on my refrigerator as a reminder because I get distracted easily:

So.
Healthy.
I put it out there into the great wide interwebs last week, so I figured I'd better do something about it.  Baby steps to the elevator, right?  Right.

Here's what I did last week: not a lot.  Well, that's not true, I did clean the dust and grime and disgusting build up off of the tops of my cabinets in the kitchen.  I almost tossed my cookies it was so gross.  And I used the swiffer to get rid of the cobwebs on my kitchen ceiling (genius idea of my husband).  Do you ever clean something and afterwards think, "Holy shit, I was living in that!"  Yeah, that's pretty much how I felt late Saturday afternoon after I had spent pretty much the entire day knee deep in kitchen funk.

As far as healthy things go, though, I did implement 3 small things that will get us started on this healthy road (and by us I mean me, but my family gets to be promoted to healthy status vicariously through me).

First, I started tracking with MyFitnessPal again.  Helps to know what's going in my mouth.  And I've been using my kitchen scale.  I am always so surprised by what an ounce of cheese actually looks like (hint: it is a lot smaller than I think, but with an apple, I can stretch it as a good snack.  It goes well with wine, but I'm trying to be very stingy with my hooch consumption.  Something about empty calories, blah, blah, blah.).

Second, I brought back The Fruit Bowl.  It's just a huge bowl of cut-up fruit that I leave in the refrigerator; we pull it out for all  meals and it's a go-to snack spot after school for Abby.  I use whatever's on sale or seasonal, so this week's bowl is grapes, pears, oranges, and cantaloupe. It changes week to week. I've learned that bananas are not good to have cut up in the bowl, but I can pull one off the bunch and add it as we need it. Also, berries tend to get soft and mushy fast, so I also don't leave those in the bowl; we cut them up as we go when we have them (it's January in Minnesota - buying berries is not economical). I sometimes get annoyed that we go to the store for fresh fruit every couple of days, but then I remind myself that we're going to the store for fresh fruit.  There could be bigger problems to have.  Today I let Finn portion out his fruit for lunch and I had to put some back because three-quarters of his plate was fruit. Even I will admit that was a little excessive, but I'm glad he likes it, and he ate it all, so fruit bowl for the win.

Finally, I've implemented After Lunch Rest Time.  For everyone.  No computer.  No phones.  No Facebook or Pinterest or Etsy.  Only books for 30 minutes.  I actually really look forward to it...Finn sits at one end of the couch with his stack of books and I sit at the other with my book for 30 solid minutes (sometimes 45, not gonna lie - I stretch rest time).  We share a blanket between us and after the rest time is over, he picks a couple of books and I read out loud to him.  To be honest, rest time can last an hour here, but I think we were both struggling by the end of the day without a little re-charge.

Okay, that's it.  That's all I've done.  It doesn't feel like a lot, but I think these few small changes are a good start.

Oh, and I put this on my refrigerator as a reminder because I get distracted easily:

Resolutions. And also, deadbeat moms. Thoughts?

I've been thinking about a New Year's Resolution for about, oh, 8 or 9 days now.  I know...procrastinate much? The answer is yes, I do.  But I always make a big, glorious resolution and it lasts for a big, glorious month and then I loose steam and energy and motivation and am left for the rest of the year with a big, glorious anger toward my un-realized resolution.  Oh, and my resolution always, always involves losing a gazillion pounds and finds me looking svelte and chic in a time frame that is not advisable (usually around 1 month.  Okay, I give myself 6 months...usually I have it all planned out for bathing suit season, which I don't believe is an actual "season" where I live.).

Not this year.  This year is different.  This year I bit off an amount I can actually chew.  This year there isn't really a "resolution," per se, it's mostly just a word: healthy.  I want to be healthy and I am not attaching a number to it.  I don't even really have a plan as to how I'm going to get to that healthy point other than taking it one day at a time, tracking my calories in and calories out.  I figure I'm just going to stop feeling unhealthy and I'm going to start feeling healthy. One. Day. At. A. Time.

Seems simple enough, don't you think?

Here's a story: last night we got dressed up to go to Uriah's work Christmas party (I almost typed program like it was going to be a bunch of chef-type people and hotel-type people and corporate-type people getting together and singing songs and doing a little dance number for the audience.  It was a party.  There were drink tickets and dinner and allegedly some entertainment that we didn't stick around for because we have kids and a 30 minute drive back up the shore.).  Anyway, so it was a party, which means we got to get dressed up.  And I got this cute new shirt (that I didn't try on, but it was $7 on clearance at Old Navy so I figured, what the hell, it'll work fine), and I got a cute new necklace to go with my cute new shirt (I paid full price for the necklace.  I can't even type the price because it was shocking.  More than I ever spend on jewelry and I usually spend $0 on jewelry because the only jewelry I wear with any consistency is my wedding ring, but I figured its price balanced my clearance priced shirt.).  I squeezed my buns into some dress pants and shoved my feet into some heels.  All in all, I thought it was good.  Until I looked in the mirror.  I had some doubts about the cuteness factor of the shirt...it was a little shapeless and when your body is rather - shall we just go with curvy here? - okay, curvy it is...when you have a curvy top half, shapeless is not a good look.  Actually, shapeless is not a good look for anyone, but as the time was tick-tocking and we had to drive into the big city, I figured my new haircut and some makeup would take the attention off of my shirt and I hustled downstairs.

Matronly.  A word worse than shapeless is matronly and that's how my husband said I looked.  My face must have relayed my inner shock and disbelief because he quickly started back-peddling and telling me that I just looked like a mom who was dressed up to go out for the night.

Not. Any. Better.

I went upstairs as quick as my matronly mom-legs could take me and proceeded to rip through my closet looking for something, anything that didn't make me look old and frumpy.  Because I read between the lines and that's what I heard my husband saying: I was a 34 year old frumpy mom who was trying too hard to get dressed up and go out to dinner.  I'm sure he probably meant that I was looking good, since anything is a step above yoga pants.  And I'd actually taken the time to dry and flat iron my hair and I was wearing full-on make-up (not just mascara...I had eye shadow and lip gloss and everything.  It was a big deal!).  But I was devastated.  And of course nothing he said made me feel better and nothing in my closet was appropriate and nothing in my screwed-up brain was positive.  I tried on 17 different shirts before I realized that if we didn't leave 10 minutes ago we were going to be late.  I put on the original matron-shirt and we left.

I had 30 minutes to calm myself down a little bit and I didn't cry because...make-up, remember?  I didn't have the time or energy to repair that shit.  And Uriah tried to bring me out of my funk.  And I texted my gal, Bees and she, of course, had helpful, lovely things to say that boosted my spirits.

But really...this whole bag of matronly melt-down are my own issues rearing their fat heads again.  It's my own mind and my own lack of ambition and will-power and resolution to be better, to be healthier - eat more healthfully, exercise consistently, think positive thoughts and let the yuck slide off my back.  So last night in the car as we drove towards a ballroom full of people I didn't really know, I stopped caring what they were going to think of my shapeless shirt.  In fact, I stopped thinking about it all together.  I wrapped the word healthy into my head and I vowed to do better.  One day at a time, I will do better.  Because at the end of the day, my husband will still kiss me and tell me I'm pretty like a post card - and I usually don't even have make-up on when he says that, so I know he means it.  He makes thoughtless comments, but then so do I, I suppose.  At least we know enough to apologize for our thoughtless comments.  And at least I know enough to start on the inside and work my way out.

Exercise my brain muscle first...everything else will fall into place.

In addition to my matronly mom issues, I've been stewing on deadbeat mom issues all day long.  Stewing, for me, requires researching.  Did you even know this was an issue?  It is.  It totally, sadly is.  Some studies say that the percentage of deadbeat moms is actually higher than that of deadbeat dads.  I am a mom (obviously) and right now it is completely beyond my realm of comprehension, but I am trying to educate myself so that I can speak thoughtfully on a subject that blows my mind.  I wish so many things of our society, but the one I wish the most is that men and women were treated equally - and that includes areas of custodial and non-custodial parenting rights and responsibilities.  The research part of my brain encourages me to look at all of the facts, weigh all of the statistics and theories.  The mom/wife part of me wants to rage, and rage loudly, at the unfairness of it all.

Part of being healthy this year is going to be letting go of things that I have no control over.  It may also be a healthy throat punch to stupid people.  Maybe.  Possibly.

2014 - healthy mind, healthy body, one day at a time.



Oh, and I'm thinking of getting a dog, but that might be too big of  a commitment for 2014; I think my plate might be full.  Maybe 2015 will be the year of the dog...

I've been thinking about a New Year's Resolution for about, oh, 8 or 9 days now.  I know...procrastinate much? The answer is yes, I do.  But I always make a big, glorious resolution and it lasts for a big, glorious month and then I loose steam and energy and motivation and am left for the rest of the year with a big, glorious anger toward my un-realized resolution.  Oh, and my resolution always, always involves losing a gazillion pounds and finds me looking svelte and chic in a time frame that is not advisable (usually around 1 month.  Okay, I give myself 6 months...usually I have it all planned out for bathing suit season, which I don't believe is an actual "season" where I live.).

Not this year.  This year is different.  This year I bit off an amount I can actually chew.  This year there isn't really a "resolution," per se, it's mostly just a word: healthy.  I want to be healthy and I am not attaching a number to it.  I don't even really have a plan as to how I'm going to get to that healthy point other than taking it one day at a time, tracking my calories in and calories out.  I figure I'm just going to stop feeling unhealthy and I'm going to start feeling healthy. One. Day. At. A. Time.

Seems simple enough, don't you think?

Here's a story: last night we got dressed up to go to Uriah's work Christmas party (I almost typed program like it was going to be a bunch of chef-type people and hotel-type people and corporate-type people getting together and singing songs and doing a little dance number for the audience.  It was a party.  There were drink tickets and dinner and allegedly some entertainment that we didn't stick around for because we have kids and a 30 minute drive back up the shore.).  Anyway, so it was a party, which means we got to get dressed up.  And I got this cute new shirt (that I didn't try on, but it was $7 on clearance at Old Navy so I figured, what the hell, it'll work fine), and I got a cute new necklace to go with my cute new shirt (I paid full price for the necklace.  I can't even type the price because it was shocking.  More than I ever spend on jewelry and I usually spend $0 on jewelry because the only jewelry I wear with any consistency is my wedding ring, but I figured its price balanced my clearance priced shirt.).  I squeezed my buns into some dress pants and shoved my feet into some heels.  All in all, I thought it was good.  Until I looked in the mirror.  I had some doubts about the cuteness factor of the shirt...it was a little shapeless and when your body is rather - shall we just go with curvy here? - okay, curvy it is...when you have a curvy top half, shapeless is not a good look.  Actually, shapeless is not a good look for anyone, but as the time was tick-tocking and we had to drive into the big city, I figured my new haircut and some makeup would take the attention off of my shirt and I hustled downstairs.

Matronly.  A word worse than shapeless is matronly and that's how my husband said I looked.  My face must have relayed my inner shock and disbelief because he quickly started back-peddling and telling me that I just looked like a mom who was dressed up to go out for the night.

Not. Any. Better.

I went upstairs as quick as my matronly mom-legs could take me and proceeded to rip through my closet looking for something, anything that didn't make me look old and frumpy.  Because I read between the lines and that's what I heard my husband saying: I was a 34 year old frumpy mom who was trying too hard to get dressed up and go out to dinner.  I'm sure he probably meant that I was looking good, since anything is a step above yoga pants.  And I'd actually taken the time to dry and flat iron my hair and I was wearing full-on make-up (not just mascara...I had eye shadow and lip gloss and everything.  It was a big deal!).  But I was devastated.  And of course nothing he said made me feel better and nothing in my closet was appropriate and nothing in my screwed-up brain was positive.  I tried on 17 different shirts before I realized that if we didn't leave 10 minutes ago we were going to be late.  I put on the original matron-shirt and we left.

I had 30 minutes to calm myself down a little bit and I didn't cry because...make-up, remember?  I didn't have the time or energy to repair that shit.  And Uriah tried to bring me out of my funk.  And I texted my gal, Bees and she, of course, had helpful, lovely things to say that boosted my spirits.

But really...this whole bag of matronly melt-down are my own issues rearing their fat heads again.  It's my own mind and my own lack of ambition and will-power and resolution to be better, to be healthier - eat more healthfully, exercise consistently, think positive thoughts and let the yuck slide off my back.  So last night in the car as we drove towards a ballroom full of people I didn't really know, I stopped caring what they were going to think of my shapeless shirt.  In fact, I stopped thinking about it all together.  I wrapped the word healthy into my head and I vowed to do better.  One day at a time, I will do better.  Because at the end of the day, my husband will still kiss me and tell me I'm pretty like a post card - and I usually don't even have make-up on when he says that, so I know he means it.  He makes thoughtless comments, but then so do I, I suppose.  At least we know enough to apologize for our thoughtless comments.  And at least I know enough to start on the inside and work my way out.

Exercise my brain muscle first...everything else will fall into place.

In addition to my matronly mom issues, I've been stewing on deadbeat mom issues all day long.  Stewing, for me, requires researching.  Did you even know this was an issue?  It is.  It totally, sadly is.  Some studies say that the percentage of deadbeat moms is actually higher than that of deadbeat dads.  I am a mom (obviously) and right now it is completely beyond my realm of comprehension, but I am trying to educate myself so that I can speak thoughtfully on a subject that blows my mind.  I wish so many things of our society, but the one I wish the most is that men and women were treated equally - and that includes areas of custodial and non-custodial parenting rights and responsibilities.  The research part of my brain encourages me to look at all of the facts, weigh all of the statistics and theories.  The mom/wife part of me wants to rage, and rage loudly, at the unfairness of it all.

Part of being healthy this year is going to be letting go of things that I have no control over.  It may also be a healthy throat punch to stupid people.  Maybe.  Possibly.

2014 - healthy mind, healthy body, one day at a time.



Oh, and I'm thinking of getting a dog, but that might be too big of  a commitment for 2014; I think my plate might be full.  Maybe 2015 will be the year of the dog...

About writing. Or not writing.

Usually Uriah and I spend our evenings discussing the intricacies of his job and I'm fine with that because, you know, he brings home the paycheck and all; I just cash it and spend it.  I'm a trophy wife like that. I'm happy to be supportive and pass judgement and tell him how to do his job because I don't actually have to do his job (although I could.  How hard can it be to cook for a bunch of people?  Actually, don't answer that.  We got in a huge argument over that statement one night.  I guess it's harder than I give him credit for. Allegedly.).

Last night, however, we talked about my job.  Or lack there of.  Or dreams of.  Or whatever.  I don't really have a job.  Raising kids is a job, yes, I know.  But I don't get a paycheck or my 15 minute break.  I don't accumulate vacation time and I sure as shit can't take any sick days. On the plus side...1:30pm and I'm still in my jammies. Without a bra. I guess that's what one would call a fringe benefit. Anyway, I told him that once again I felt unfunny, that life has dealt some nasty blows lately and I can't seem to find the humor in my days, even though I know it's there. I felt that nothing I had to say had merit; that when I sat down to write, there was a big, fat blank screen staring at me.  If it had a voice, it would be British and it would probably heckle me.  Also, it would look like my sister-in-law's cat while it heckled me because I think that cat does, in fact, hate me. It probably doesn't help that I whisper to him every time I see him that he'd make a great pair of fluffy slippers.

But back to last night...I told Uriah that my kids are annoying.  Abby is lazy and Finn can't clean up his own messes without a major meltdown.  I hate it when he takes all of the cushions off of the couch and jumps on them, regardless of how many times I tell him not to.  I don't really care about the cushions, we need a new sofa, anyway, but it's wrong to send the message that jumping on furniture - no matter how crappy - is okay.  So I tell him to put the cushions back up and then he cries and flails his arms and bemoans how nobody likes him. When I suggest things for either of them to do, I get eye rolls and angry huffs of air, and "Seriously? Why is your cure for boredom cleaning?" and "But I don't want to do that!"  You can guess which kid says what, but that's actually a trick question because their responses are interchangeable .  And really, who wants to read about someone's annoying kids?  I mean...I like to read about people's annoying kids because it makes me feel less alone, but maybe I'm the minority on that one. And for the record, my kids aren't always annoying.  Sometimes they're funny and delightful and precious. And that time is bedtime. Just kidding.  But not really.

So I sit down to write and...I don't write. I do anything but write. Like right now, I feel like sweeping and dusting the stairs and the banister and all of the baseboards and woodwork in our whole house because they are so amazingly disgusting.  I notice that kind of stuff when I'm sitting here, staring off into space. And when I was on Pinterest, I pinned a "towel refresh recipe" whereby you use hot water and vinegar and then an extra rinse and voila!  Suddenly your towels are back to their original fluffiness and are not filmy and gross. You can go here to get it. You're welcome. The thing is, though, I didn't really notice that my towels were filmy and gross, but now I think they are and now I think I should take all of my towels out of every closet and drawer and refresh them.  Even though I just washed a load of towels on Saturday.

That's the kind of stuff I do when I'm writing but not writing.

My New Year's resolution is to try not to care so much.  Uriah hit the nail on the head last night when he said that I care too much about what people think about what I feel I have to say, even though people probably are giving my writing less thought than I think they are. (Holy crap that was a very long, run-on sentence that might not make the point I wanted it to.  But I'll leave it anyway.) He also said that once Abby figured out that I write, and sometimes about her, I immediately censored all the things that I write.  That is a fact. And I'm having a hard time with that, because let me tell you...teenagers are hard to raise - and raise well - and sometimes a lovely vent in the form of a haiku about annoying teenagers is in order.  But then my conscience kicks in and I think: Will she be offended?  Will she understand the undercurrent of sarcasm in this post? And so I stop writing about what it was I was going to write about.

The fact is, I could write a million little posts about how not to teach a tween to shave her legs, how not to react when your kid tells you her friends are "engaged," and especially the right and wrong ways to tell your husband that aforementioned kid's friends are going on birth control. Father's tend to have strong feelings about daughters and boyfriends and shit like that and when sharing news that could potentially be upsetting, approach with caution. Do not, under any circumstances, share startling news via text message. Anyway...all that to say I think I need to refresh my blog because this one has gotten old and a little stale.  Sort of like my towels.  It needs to be rinsed back to its original fluffiness.  And by fluffiness, I mean, funny, cheeky stories about our somewhat boring and irreverent life.

The thing is...our kids say and do funny stuff. Uriah and I say funny stuff to each other all the time.  We are constantly making each other laugh. Last summer I told him that I would be commandeering our neighbor's yard because I didn't think they'd last very long during the zombie apocalypse and I obviously would need a spot close by for my horses (I'm certain when the zombie apocalypse happens, there won't be cars anymore and I will need a mode of transportation: hence, the horses).  He was appalled, not because of the demise of our neighbors - he agreed with my assessment, actually - but because he didn't think I'd know how to take care of horses.  To which I responded, it's probably a lot like cooking...how hard can it be?

We dream of having a radio show, but it would have to be satellite radio because I don't think our penchant for using cuss words, sarcasm and strong Minnesota accents would be appropriate for most audiences.   So, in lieu of an uncensored radio show where I read the local DNR report in my best Minnesota voice...more of that weird uncensored blog stuff that makes up our life coming soon. Or maybe a vlog (that's a blog video, in case you were uninformed) of me reading the news...oh, the possibilities...

Usually Uriah and I spend our evenings discussing the intricacies of his job and I'm fine with that because, you know, he brings home the paycheck and all; I just cash it and spend it.  I'm a trophy wife like that. I'm happy to be supportive and pass judgement and tell him how to do his job because I don't actually have to do his job (although I could.  How hard can it be to cook for a bunch of people?  Actually, don't answer that.  We got in a huge argument over that statement one night.  I guess it's harder than I give him credit for. Allegedly.).

Last night, however, we talked about my job.  Or lack there of.  Or dreams of.  Or whatever.  I don't really have a job.  Raising kids is a job, yes, I know.  But I don't get a paycheck or my 15 minute break.  I don't accumulate vacation time and I sure as shit can't take any sick days. On the plus side...1:30pm and I'm still in my jammies. Without a bra. I guess that's what one would call a fringe benefit. Anyway, I told him that once again I felt unfunny, that life has dealt some nasty blows lately and I can't seem to find the humor in my days, even though I know it's there. I felt that nothing I had to say had merit; that when I sat down to write, there was a big, fat blank screen staring at me.  If it had a voice, it would be British and it would probably heckle me.  Also, it would look like my sister-in-law's cat while it heckled me because I think that cat does, in fact, hate me. It probably doesn't help that I whisper to him every time I see him that he'd make a great pair of fluffy slippers.

But back to last night...I told Uriah that my kids are annoying.  Abby is lazy and Finn can't clean up his own messes without a major meltdown.  I hate it when he takes all of the cushions off of the couch and jumps on them, regardless of how many times I tell him not to.  I don't really care about the cushions, we need a new sofa, anyway, but it's wrong to send the message that jumping on furniture - no matter how crappy - is okay.  So I tell him to put the cushions back up and then he cries and flails his arms and bemoans how nobody likes him. When I suggest things for either of them to do, I get eye rolls and angry huffs of air, and "Seriously? Why is your cure for boredom cleaning?" and "But I don't want to do that!"  You can guess which kid says what, but that's actually a trick question because their responses are interchangeable .  And really, who wants to read about someone's annoying kids?  I mean...I like to read about people's annoying kids because it makes me feel less alone, but maybe I'm the minority on that one. And for the record, my kids aren't always annoying.  Sometimes they're funny and delightful and precious. And that time is bedtime. Just kidding.  But not really.

So I sit down to write and...I don't write. I do anything but write. Like right now, I feel like sweeping and dusting the stairs and the banister and all of the baseboards and woodwork in our whole house because they are so amazingly disgusting.  I notice that kind of stuff when I'm sitting here, staring off into space. And when I was on Pinterest, I pinned a "towel refresh recipe" whereby you use hot water and vinegar and then an extra rinse and voila!  Suddenly your towels are back to their original fluffiness and are not filmy and gross. You can go here to get it. You're welcome. The thing is, though, I didn't really notice that my towels were filmy and gross, but now I think they are and now I think I should take all of my towels out of every closet and drawer and refresh them.  Even though I just washed a load of towels on Saturday.

That's the kind of stuff I do when I'm writing but not writing.

My New Year's resolution is to try not to care so much.  Uriah hit the nail on the head last night when he said that I care too much about what people think about what I feel I have to say, even though people probably are giving my writing less thought than I think they are. (Holy crap that was a very long, run-on sentence that might not make the point I wanted it to.  But I'll leave it anyway.) He also said that once Abby figured out that I write, and sometimes about her, I immediately censored all the things that I write.  That is a fact. And I'm having a hard time with that, because let me tell you...teenagers are hard to raise - and raise well - and sometimes a lovely vent in the form of a haiku about annoying teenagers is in order.  But then my conscience kicks in and I think: Will she be offended?  Will she understand the undercurrent of sarcasm in this post? And so I stop writing about what it was I was going to write about.

The fact is, I could write a million little posts about how not to teach a tween to shave her legs, how not to react when your kid tells you her friends are "engaged," and especially the right and wrong ways to tell your husband that aforementioned kid's friends are going on birth control. Father's tend to have strong feelings about daughters and boyfriends and shit like that and when sharing news that could potentially be upsetting, approach with caution. Do not, under any circumstances, share startling news via text message. Anyway...all that to say I think I need to refresh my blog because this one has gotten old and a little stale.  Sort of like my towels.  It needs to be rinsed back to its original fluffiness.  And by fluffiness, I mean, funny, cheeky stories about our somewhat boring and irreverent life.

The thing is...our kids say and do funny stuff. Uriah and I say funny stuff to each other all the time.  We are constantly making each other laugh. Last summer I told him that I would be commandeering our neighbor's yard because I didn't think they'd last very long during the zombie apocalypse and I obviously would need a spot close by for my horses (I'm certain when the zombie apocalypse happens, there won't be cars anymore and I will need a mode of transportation: hence, the horses).  He was appalled, not because of the demise of our neighbors - he agreed with my assessment, actually - but because he didn't think I'd know how to take care of horses.  To which I responded, it's probably a lot like cooking...how hard can it be?

We dream of having a radio show, but it would have to be satellite radio because I don't think our penchant for using cuss words, sarcasm and strong Minnesota accents would be appropriate for most audiences.   So, in lieu of an uncensored radio show where I read the local DNR report in my best Minnesota voice...more of that weird uncensored blog stuff that makes up our life coming soon. Or maybe a vlog (that's a blog video, in case you were uninformed) of me reading the news...oh, the possibilities...

Why isn't every day a special occasion?

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I got up this morning with my regular sloth-like energy (I really am not a morning person).  Finn managed to sleep in his own bed until 6:30 (praise the Lord) and then he snuggled into "our" bed and proceeded to sleep for another 45 minutes or so.  By 7:15 he  was wiggly, by 7:30 he was all: "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Let's go downstairs and have some breakfast together!"  

I need to change the delay time on my coffee maker.  To earlier.  I tried to convince Finn that we couldn't go downstairs until we smelled the coffee (it's set for 7:50).  He insisted he could smell the coffee (it was 7:32).  The day had begun.

We ate breakfast, two bowls of cereal for him, an egg supplemented mostly by coffee for me, and then we headed back upstairs to get dressed and face the day.  I've started to let Finn pick out his own outfit in the morning (pants and shirt, socks and underwear) in an effort to make getting dressed go a little quicker and smoother. The boy would lounge around in just his undies all day long if I let him (some days I do). But it's cold here, so I try to get him dressed quickly. Today I let him lounge a bit. He read stories and played cars and by the time his feet felt like little toe-sickles, I decided it was time to get dressed. Which meant me, too.

As I was standing in my closet, debating between another day of leggings and a sweatshirt, or yoga pants and a sweatshirt, it occurred to me that I really haven't dressed in anything but the above two options for weeks. Maybe (probably) longer.  When I do leave the house it either to a) pick up Abby from school- no one sees me. b) run to the grocery store - hat, mittens, big puffy jacket. c) walk to the library - hat, mittens, big puffy jacket.  If my hair is in a pony 12 days in a row, I'm not really bothered because, well - nobody sees it.

But this morning, as I debated my wardrobe options, it dawned on me that people do see me - important people. Those 3 people see me every single day and I wondered, aren't they worth getting dressed up for? Isn't it just as important to look put together and alive, ready to tackle whatever the day may throw at us, even if the only thing the day is going to throw at us is trains and playdough? Besides that, I'm pretty sure my husband would like to see me in something other than black yogas or black leggings or sweatshirts. Loungey and lazy is ok once in awhile, but I do have hair that doesn't require a 24/7 pony, I do own mascara and I have clothes that are not completely made of stretchy cotton.

So this morning I showered, I shaved my legs, I put on a dress and I curled my hair. I am wearing make-up. I put on my fancy perfume and some jewelry. It is Tuesday and we are going nowhere. My husband is working late and my dinner dates are 13 and 2. We are going to eat off of the wedding china tonight and I will warm up a plate for Uriah when he gets home. Today is special, it doesn't need a grand occasion to give it reason, purpose, or substance. Today. Is. Special.

This year I plan to make more of our ordinary days a special occasion.

{ source }

I got up this morning with my regular sloth-like energy (I really am not a morning person).  Finn managed to sleep in his own bed until 6:30 (praise the Lord) and then he snuggled into "our" bed and proceeded to sleep for another 45 minutes or so.  By 7:15 he  was wiggly, by 7:30 he was all: "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Let's go downstairs and have some breakfast together!"  

I need to change the delay time on my coffee maker.  To earlier.  I tried to convince Finn that we couldn't go downstairs until we smelled the coffee (it's set for 7:50).  He insisted he could smell the coffee (it was 7:32).  The day had begun.

We ate breakfast, two bowls of cereal for him, an egg supplemented mostly by coffee for me, and then we headed back upstairs to get dressed and face the day.  I've started to let Finn pick out his own outfit in the morning (pants and shirt, socks and underwear) in an effort to make getting dressed go a little quicker and smoother. The boy would lounge around in just his undies all day long if I let him (some days I do). But it's cold here, so I try to get him dressed quickly. Today I let him lounge a bit. He read stories and played cars and by the time his feet felt like little toe-sickles, I decided it was time to get dressed. Which meant me, too.

As I was standing in my closet, debating between another day of leggings and a sweatshirt, or yoga pants and a sweatshirt, it occurred to me that I really haven't dressed in anything but the above two options for weeks. Maybe (probably) longer.  When I do leave the house it either to a) pick up Abby from school- no one sees me. b) run to the grocery store - hat, mittens, big puffy jacket. c) walk to the library - hat, mittens, big puffy jacket.  If my hair is in a pony 12 days in a row, I'm not really bothered because, well - nobody sees it.

But this morning, as I debated my wardrobe options, it dawned on me that people do see me - important people. Those 3 people see me every single day and I wondered, aren't they worth getting dressed up for? Isn't it just as important to look put together and alive, ready to tackle whatever the day may throw at us, even if the only thing the day is going to throw at us is trains and playdough? Besides that, I'm pretty sure my husband would like to see me in something other than black yogas or black leggings or sweatshirts. Loungey and lazy is ok once in awhile, but I do have hair that doesn't require a 24/7 pony, I do own mascara and I have clothes that are not completely made of stretchy cotton.

So this morning I showered, I shaved my legs, I put on a dress and I curled my hair. I am wearing make-up. I put on my fancy perfume and some jewelry. It is Tuesday and we are going nowhere. My husband is working late and my dinner dates are 13 and 2. We are going to eat off of the wedding china tonight and I will warm up a plate for Uriah when he gets home. Today is special, it doesn't need a grand occasion to give it reason, purpose, or substance. Today. Is. Special.

This year I plan to make more of our ordinary days a special occasion.

Today I will make better choices.

Around Thanksgiving, as I was bitching about being fat, being out of breath, having flabby arms and a jiggly bum, too many chins and obese earlobes - and probably making a batch Extra Chocolaty Chocolate Chip Cookies while I was doing it - Uriah finally got fed up and told me to "shit or get off the pot."  We have an open relationship like that, so I didn't throw the mixing bowl of cookie dough at his head and run into another room crying.  Instead, I listened to what he had to say, and if we're being honest, what he'd been saying for awhile: I could either do something about my weight or I could just shut-up about it.  Because talking, talking, talking - and I'm very good at talking - was getting me nowhere.

I find it sort of amusing that I use pictures to track how big Finn is getting because I don't really realize how much he changes until I put two pictures side by side.  The same could be said of me - I didn't realize how big I was getting until I put two pictures side by side.  Some day, I'll show you a picture of me right before we moved from Kansas City, when I was at my heaviest, and a current picture.  When I work up the nerve.  It's not pretty and it's causing me to dig deeper into why I eat.  I can't blame my weight on being "big boned" or being "ill-proportioned."  There are clearly other reasons.  So when we came back from Thanksgiving I started to control my portions, I eat off of a small plate whenever possible, I eat more salads and most importantly,  I track what I eat.  Every. Single. Thing.  And let me tell you, all those Christmas cookies that I baked did not get eaten by me because I didn't want to write down: Lunch: 5 sugar cookies, 2 gingerbread men and 3 chocolate drops.  Did I have a couple of Christmas cookies this year?  Of course, just not as a meal and not every day.  Is this tracking working for me?  Slowly, but the scale goes down every week, so something must be going right.

Today, I made some not so great food choices; what I thought was a decent breakfast turned out to be a death-trap in disguise.  I logged what I ate and it started back at me in huge bold letters: POOR CHOICE, HEATHER.  My heart beat a little faster, my palms were a little sweaty and I thought about quitting.  Tossing in the towel and saying, "Mother eff it.  I'm done.  Cause that breakfast was delicious!"

But I didn't.

Instead, I looked at the choices that I'd made and thought about what I can do different next time.  And that's key for me; that's a big step.  I didn't focus on what I should have done differently, because I'd already made those choices and I know that I can't go back and undo them.  But I can learn from them and I can make better choices next time.

And then I showed myself a little grace.  We all stumble sometimes.  The question is, are we going to lay in the middle of the road and continue to let cars run over us?  Or are we going to pick ourselves up, brush off the dust and continue forward?  I chose to move forward 4 miles with Finn in the stroller and by the time I got back home, I'd forgiven myself an indulgent morning and vowed to do better at dinner.

With that in mind, I really only have 3 New Year's Resolutions for 2012:

1. Make good choices, be it food, exercise, or words; but be kind to myself if I teeter a little (as I surely will). 
2. Loose weight.  Not necessarily to get to a magic number, although I do have one, but more to get to a magic feeling.
3. Run a 5k.

Do you make New Years Resolutions?  I'd love to hear what your goals are for the coming year.

Here's to tomorrow...a new day to start fresh.  

Around Thanksgiving, as I was bitching about being fat, being out of breath, having flabby arms and a jiggly bum, too many chins and obese earlobes - and probably making a batch Extra Chocolaty Chocolate Chip Cookies while I was doing it - Uriah finally got fed up and told me to "shit or get off the pot."  We have an open relationship like that, so I didn't throw the mixing bowl of cookie dough at his head and run into another room crying.  Instead, I listened to what he had to say, and if we're being honest, what he'd been saying for awhile: I could either do something about my weight or I could just shut-up about it.  Because talking, talking, talking - and I'm very good at talking - was getting me nowhere.

I find it sort of amusing that I use pictures to track how big Finn is getting because I don't really realize how much he changes until I put two pictures side by side.  The same could be said of me - I didn't realize how big I was getting until I put two pictures side by side.  Some day, I'll show you a picture of me right before we moved from Kansas City, when I was at my heaviest, and a current picture.  When I work up the nerve.  It's not pretty and it's causing me to dig deeper into why I eat.  I can't blame my weight on being "big boned" or being "ill-proportioned."  There are clearly other reasons.  So when we came back from Thanksgiving I started to control my portions, I eat off of a small plate whenever possible, I eat more salads and most importantly,  I track what I eat.  Every. Single. Thing.  And let me tell you, all those Christmas cookies that I baked did not get eaten by me because I didn't want to write down: Lunch: 5 sugar cookies, 2 gingerbread men and 3 chocolate drops.  Did I have a couple of Christmas cookies this year?  Of course, just not as a meal and not every day.  Is this tracking working for me?  Slowly, but the scale goes down every week, so something must be going right.

Today, I made some not so great food choices; what I thought was a decent breakfast turned out to be a death-trap in disguise.  I logged what I ate and it started back at me in huge bold letters: POOR CHOICE, HEATHER.  My heart beat a little faster, my palms were a little sweaty and I thought about quitting.  Tossing in the towel and saying, "Mother eff it.  I'm done.  Cause that breakfast was delicious!"

But I didn't.

Instead, I looked at the choices that I'd made and thought about what I can do different next time.  And that's key for me; that's a big step.  I didn't focus on what I should have done differently, because I'd already made those choices and I know that I can't go back and undo them.  But I can learn from them and I can make better choices next time.

And then I showed myself a little grace.  We all stumble sometimes.  The question is, are we going to lay in the middle of the road and continue to let cars run over us?  Or are we going to pick ourselves up, brush off the dust and continue forward?  I chose to move forward 4 miles with Finn in the stroller and by the time I got back home, I'd forgiven myself an indulgent morning and vowed to do better at dinner.

With that in mind, I really only have 3 New Year's Resolutions for 2012:

1. Make good choices, be it food, exercise, or words; but be kind to myself if I teeter a little (as I surely will). 
2. Loose weight.  Not necessarily to get to a magic number, although I do have one, but more to get to a magic feeling.
3. Run a 5k.

Do you make New Years Resolutions?  I'd love to hear what your goals are for the coming year.

Here's to tomorrow...a new day to start fresh.