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...