And I mean this 'For Real...'

And I went to the gym...

So, I am starting back up at the gym.  Its been a long time coming.  I don't understand why I go long stretches of time between my spurts as a gym goer.  I feel good when I am there.  I feel good, albeit a painful good afterward.  Yet, that first step out the door is the most difficult one.  I want to say its step 638 on the elliptical, but its not.  Its lacing up the shoes and walking out the front door that is the real challenge.

And they all sacked out.

Tonight, a Saturday, by 9:30pm everyone in my house (except me, of course) was asleep. I am usually Queen of letting my kiddos get off schedule on the weekend. I guess so far this weekend they have had too much fun and need some beauty rest. :)

Regardless of my exhaustion level, I cannot physically (and sometimes not even medication induced) go to sleep for the night before 11pm or so, and I say 11pm optimistically, some hellish nights its like 2am. When I have unsuccessfully tried going to bed when my kids do, I end up waking up around midnight with my body wanting a second wind at the day. It is incredibly frustrating.

In talking with other women in a similar position in life (late 20's to mid 30's, married a couple of kids, etc) I am finding that I am not alone. I am glad I am not an anomaly and that other people are sharing a similar misery. But of course, being of I am, it makes me bed the question "why?" Why if we do so much, think so much, manage so much, and have their weight of the world on our shoulders everyday can we not fall down in exhaustion into a blissful slumber the very first moment the opportunity arises? Why are our bodies fighting us?

I think it comes down to the whole being everything to everyone phenomena. Our minds don't shut down. While we have been being everything, and doing everything for everyone all day we haven't had time to think for ourselves (I don't mean opinions, etc. I mean, think about things that only pertain to us as individuals), be ourselves, or just enjoy being who we are. Once we have no one to worry about, I think a euphoric calm rushes over us and our bodies don't want to let that time go.

This is equally frustrating because I can lay down any afternoon of the week (if I have the chance, the opportunity is rare, rare, rare!) and catch a snooze of an hour or two with no problem, regardless of exhaustion level. I just wish I could do that around 9:30pm on the random Tuesday.

The beautiful girl pictured above usually stays up and keeps me company. Not so much luck tonight, she is snoring almost as loud as my hubby by my feet.

And she makes me so proud!

Hannah makes me so proud! She has been taking tumbling since the middle of May and now has her backhandspring! We, or at least I, could take a lesson from this kid. Every time Hannah says she is going to do something she does it. Hannah never doesn't achieve her goals. She isn't an especially charmed kid. She just works incredibly hard. She works and works and works. I am so excited to see what she is going to accomplish in the future. I am sure it will be nothing but great things.

And so it can happen...

I hate that moment more than anything. I have experienced it more times than I care to count. The feeling of powerlessness it washes over me hurts inside in so many ways. I have someone in my life that for as long as I can remember has been able to bait me in a way no one else can. This person can push my buttons, hurt me, taunt me, and more often than not turn my anger into tears. Negative interactions with this person vs. positive interactions are a very screwed up, unhealthy ratio. I am learning with age and expensive therapy that no one controls how I feel, especially about myself. I have struggled for years with wanting something but thinking that either: A. I wasn't capable of it. or B. I didn't deserve it. This is one of the underlying reasons why the first time around in college I didn't apply myself and also why I am nearly 30 years old and finally earning my Bachelor's Degree.

My first time around in college I was distracted. I dreamed about going to college from the time I was about 8 years old. Very few people in my family (no one in my immediate family) went to college. No one graduated. The first time around in college (right out of high school) I felt like I didn't belong. I felt 'out classed' for lack of better term.

I was a Hispanic girl in a white bread town, on scholarship, unable to get a job (unless you count telemarketing in a shady establishment that was later raided by the FBI), pinching my pennies, living off of my saving and minimum wage that I earned on breaks to put myself through school. Looking back now, that should be a source of pride- working hard to achieve your dreams... But I felt ashamed. I felt flat-out ashamed. I had parents at home who could have helped me out financially, even just a little bit, but chose not to. Their take on it was making your own way through the world and you are an adult now- no longer our responsibility, blah blah. In theory this might have been a good idea. I let myself not do well in school because I didn't feel like I could handle the task of financially supporting myself through 4 years of school. For someone who had just turned 18 in the week before moving away to school and no job prospects or guidance in a small town, I felt like I was drowning.

But to me, with my background and past, I felt like if my parent's didn't want to help me through college it was because they didn't think I was worth it. Or would yet that I couldn't hack what I was trying to accomplish. When my roommates would get even $20 or $30 bucks from their parents for groceries I felt a twinge of envy. I was envious of the parents back home who supported them and believed in them. And maybe my parents did, they didn't say and I didn't feel it.

Feeling it is what is essential. And back from that long winded tangent and to my point. I interacted with that person this week. The one who can bait me and 'cause' my emotions to spiral out of control. The one who can take my happiness and reduce it to tears on a dime.

I am proud to say that I had an interaction this week where I did not let it happen. I did not let them bait me. I did not let anything they said reduce me to tears. The feeling was one of a power I have never felt before. This person can no longer control how I feel. I realized that I do. I can't change the way they treat me. I can't change the way they talk to me. I have tried on both counts and it is fruitless. I cannot change the way they perceive me or their feelings about/towards me. What I can change is how I react to this person.

I know it sounds so simple. Obviously, you can change how you react to a person. To most people this is kindergarten behavior expectations. No one else controls your reactions but you. It has taken me nearly 30 years to feel like *I* control my emotions. It has taken me this long to realize that no one 'makes' me cry or feel bad about who I am. This realization has given me a new sense of self-empowerment and self-control.

The people I love the most may hurt me and hurt me deeply, and sometimes they may even do it intentionally, but I control what I do with it. I control how deep it goes. I control the reaction they get from me. They may throw the hurt out there, but I control if it sticks.

And this is what happens when you ask your kids to be dishonest....

This is precisely what you get when you ask your kids to be dishonest. Yes, that is a plate of alfalfa sprouts and only alfalfa sprouts. Last night we went to Brick Oven Pizza for dinner. Now, let me clarify in addition to plates of sprouts Brick Oven has to die for pizza and an unparalleled salad bar. Their salad bar has the perfect variety of toppings without being overwhelming. The toppings are always fresh and you never see sad lettuce or mushrooms that look past their prime. That is just not how Brick Oven rolls. However, there is one slight issue I have with Brick Oven.

Their pizza is simply ah-mazing! You have to get their pizza and their salad bar or the trip to Brick Oven is wasted. The issue lies in the fact that a one-trip salad bar is $4.19! Yes, $4.19. Not only is one trip $4.19, but the plate is small. It is an appetizer plate. However, they can charge $4.19 and customers don't balk at the idea (at least not directly) because the salad bar is that great. Herein lies the caveat, when I eat salad from a salad bar I must have seafood salad with a couple of club crackers. I just must. However, when challenged with amazing and fresh toppings and only one appetizer plate, one must get creative or pay $8.99 for multiple trips to the salad bar.

Now, here is the beauty of having kids. Hannah ordered the kids all-you-care-to-eat Market Room Buffet- which is where the amazing salad bar is located. I thought my problem was solved. I asked Hannah to go and get me some seafood salad on a plate on one of her many salad bar trips. At first she complained, but when she realized how insistent I was and that she wasn't going to win, she succumbed and went to retrieve my seafood salad. She returned with the plate of alfalfa spouts. I gave her a puzzled look. "Isn't that seafood salad?" she asked. She genuinely thought that was my sought after seafood salad. I explained to her what it actually is and she still looked confused. Chris got up and accompanied her to the salad bar, pointed out the seafood salad, which she dished up one spoonful on an appetizer plate and walked it back to me at the table. And that spoonful seafood salad, was delicious!

For asking Hannah (who is ethical to a fault) to bend the rules, I deserved a plate of alfalfa sprouts. Or Brick Oven needs to offer a standard sized plate for $4.19. You decide.

And we battle...

We stop checking for monsters underneath our beds, when we realize they are inside of us. I think there is a critical point in our development, for some it may happen in childhood, for lucky others not until adolescence when we realize we are their own demon.

You've heard it before and you will hear it again, "We are our own worst enemy." No statement ever rung more true. We cut ourselves down. We compare ourselves to others. We criticize. We self-sabotage. We set unrealistic standards. We berate ourselves. We are unforgiving. We are our biggest roadblock.

My therapist (yes, I have a therapist) calls it "The Voice." The dialogue in your head that you just can't squelch. Its the running commentary in your mind telling you that you look fat in those jeans, that your colleague doesn't want to go to lunch with you so don't ask, your spouse 'has' to compliment you, and at times goes as far as telling you that 'everyone else' is better/happier/skinnier/more accomplished that you are or ever will be. It is the voice that regularly reminds us that we are not everything to everyone (but we should be), we are not celebrity skinny (but we should be), we are not as good (at anything) as the next guy/gal (and never will be) and we aren't as smart as we could be (and eveyone else is, of course).

Since putting a name to it ("The Voice"), I wonder why we can't just tell it to shut the hell up and be done with it. Why is it more complicated than that? In my interpretation, the voice is a cumulative compilation of everything we have ever been told. The good things are a whisper, whereas the bad things are a shout. The amount of whispers may outnumber the amount of shouts, say tenfold or even twentyfold (that may or may not be a word), but one shout can drown out ten whispers as if they were never spoken. One shout can zap those whispers and draw the attention of all. All that remains is the echo of the shouting.

We would all be productive, ideal, stable, genuinely happy and make perfect sense- if it were simple enough to just tell the voice to shut the hell up and occassionally have to give it a quick reminder when it started to stir again. But, we are human and alas nothing is ever that simple. We have our demons; battle, battle and battle yet again, and rarely win the game.

We are our own monsters. Our adult minds are our childhood boogie man.

And the frenzy begins...

Here is is the second week of November and the holiday frenzy is already beginning. I noticed a local Christmas Tree vendor is already setting up their stand. Last night I was driving Hannah home from dance class. It was 6ish on a Thursday night and the traffic as I passed by the retailers in our town was noticably heavier. Our wait at the few stoplights we encountered we much longer. I looked over to the parking lot of the two big box store complexes we passed and the lots were full. Parking was scarce. It was unsettling and a bit ridiculous. I am pretty close to just opting out of the madness. If it weren't for Amazon and the goodness that is Amazon Prime I would be more than pretty close; I would be over the edge.

What is most daunting to me is the post Christmas morning clean-up. It is the moment when you look at your living room, strewn with wrapping paper and new treasures. I am going to go out on a limb that most won't venture and say the look on my child's face when they open present after present isn't worth it. My girls are 4 and 7. Socks! A hoodie! Jeans! Organizing Bins! Underoos! The things people buy their kid's for Christmas because their kids 'need' them, just aren't that exciting to kids. I have adopted a new philosophy. Rather, than 'wait' for Christmas, I am buying my girls the things they need and or want as it is warranted.

For example, Hannah's pants are looking a bit too much like she is heeding a flood warning. This weekend I am going to buy her new pants. Typically, one may say "Well, Christmas is only six weeks away. The pants can wait for Christmas." But, why? The kid could use pants now. It just seems silly to buy them, store them, wrap them; all so she can have another present to open on that anticipated morning. Damnit, the kid needs pants now, as her mother I will provide them for her now and not partake in the silliness of holding her trousers hostage in the name of Christmas!

My new plan is to surprise my girls with a couple of items they REALLY want. By couple, I mean 2 or 3. I may go to 4 if I am feeling really out of control! I don't care if my tree looks bare underneath and there is not an abundance of socks, underoos, and 'filler' presents underneath. Come Christmas morning, I am going to have less mess to clean up, my house won't look like a Christmas bomb went off, and my girls will really and truly love each gift from my husband and I. Santa may succumb and have to rely and "fillers" for stockings. However, if I come up for a way for Santa to not have to... Believe, me- he won't.

I am taking a lesson from my 7-year old. Her Christmas list for Santa said, she would really like an iPad, but she knew they were $500 and that is a lot of money. If she doesn't get one that is okay because Christmas is really about being able to see all her family and spend time with them.

How is it that as adults we lose sight of that so easily? We are easily wooed and swayed by the promise of 'amazing' deals, bombardment of advertisement, and (gasp!) discounted electronics. Yet, a child can keep it all in perspective.

And so it goes...

Out of control. I am at my desk at work with tears streaming down my face and I wish I could coherently explain why. I just got a call from J's daycare/preschool. She is complaining that her back hurts. And who can blame the kid, she just had major back surgery 10 days ago. My baby is hurting and I can't be with her because I am here. Shortly after that, I login to Facebook. A friend of mine posted a video of her daughter being suprised at school by her dad who had been deployed to Iraq for the last year.
More tears, but this time for a different reason. These were happy tears for my friend and her family for surviving a journey that too many people are going through, for reasons that just aren't good enough.When did being an adult become so damn hard? Why does it hurt so much to be a parent? One of the greatest rewards in the universe comes with a seering pain that creeps up more often than I would like.
It kills me that I can't take the pain away from my baby. Depiste being attentive, conscientous, and loving that she is still in pain from something the doctors nor I can control or predict. I hate that she can't just sit through a preschool lesson on letters and counting without the throbbing pain reminding that her back is hurting. She is in pain. And she has gone through an ordeal more times than is fair, eduring more than I ever have had to.
I keep telling myself it will get better, but it hasn't. It is hard to remain positive and looking on the bright side when we don't end up on the bright side, we end up going down the same road again and unfortunately, it is a bumpy one.