Being a Mom can be very, very lonely.
Spend all day, not being alone, yet feel lonely.
This statement pretty much sums up parenting for me right now.
I'm so friggin' sick of hearing my name being called (x3), that sometimes I yell.
Just out of sheer frustration, and the fact that I'm lonely, and sad sometimes, and this Mom gig isn't anywhere near as glamorous as any of us thought it would be.
I'm not looking for pity, or someone to offer help.
We don't become Moms for the praise or accolades, (beleeeeeeeee me, there ain't none!) And we can't expect help once we have our children either.
These babes were our doing.
I'm just tired.
Someone is always sick.
We haven't had a full nights sleep in over 6 years, and although we have a fair amount of help, both family and the dayhome, it seems we're always busy, and fizzling out at a rapid pace some days.
We do our best not to schedule activities for anyone during school days. Friday evening and Saturday morning are busy, but in comparison to loads of other families, we're not a super "scheduled" family.
I am an introvert, and I don't like to have a week full of appointments and engagements and play dates and kids activities. I like to stay home. I like to hang out with my own crew.
Sometimes I just need to vent, and unfortunately, little ears aren't very sympathetic to my plight, nor should they be subjected to my stresses, as they have their own tiny anxieties to deal with.
Having two children is difficult, but I've found the transition from two to three the most difficult.
Even when both my husband and I are home, with three, we are outnumbered.
When they're getting along, which is rare, it's kinda wonderful, in a magical, blockbuster movie kinda way.
This long, meandering blog was intended to be a note of gratitude to my Mom.
And it is.
If you read between the lines, of the stresses and perils of my Motherhood journey, you will see that I am the Mom I am, because of the one I had.
I think I am a good Mom. I do the best I can, with the tools I have, in the moment.
We are who we are, because they were who they were.
Resonates.
Speaks to me in a way it never could before I had a family.
My Mom was young. She was 10 years younger than I was when she had her first baby.
I don't remember thinking she was drowning. I can't recall a time when she cried in front of us. Not one of my memories is of her showing any sign of stress of anguish over parenting.
The thing is, though, that she was feeling all of the things I am writing about.
Parenting is so, so hard.
There are no breaks, it doesn't get easier, and there are no rules or guidelines for your children.
Almost everyday has a little bit of ugly, and lots of beauty.
I want to thank my Mom for doing it for us.
Thanks, Mom.
For going through the motions, when you left your 'A' game behind that day, and we didn't have a clue.
For having sh*t happen in your life and tucking it away for the day, because being a Mom can't wait.
For spending the time learning how to parent, when you didn't know how.
For sometimes going without, so we never knew anything was missing.
For making countless breakfasts, lunches, snacks on snacks on snacks...
For years of bathtime and dressings and hair brushings.
For dentist and doctor appointments, hair appointments, specialist appointments, and late night emergency visits.
For sometimes smiling and still being patient and kind, when you were so tired and worn out and wanted to cry.
For being the gentle, but assertive reassurance after a day of being bullied.
Thanks, Mom.
I get it now.
Friday 16 December 2016
Thursday 17 November 2016
A Love Letter to Our House
How many places have you lived?
Now, how many of those places would you truly have considered home?
I've lived in a lot of different houses, apartments, duplexes.
I've only considered two different houses, my home.
This year, I have said goodbye to both homes.
The Fort McMurray fire ate up the house I considered home for more than 20 years.
I am not deeply attached to my belongings, and I would venture to say the my Mom and Dad and my brother and his family were not so much bothered by the loss of their things as they were the loss of their home. Their sanctuary. Their collective soft place to land at the end of each day, together.
The home I live in now has been the place where I have become so many things.
A fiancé, a wife, a Mother.
Literally, my then boyfriend proposed to me on our deck. Literally, we got married in front of our fireplace.
I felt my first contractions of my youngest children in this house.
They all took their first steps here.
We have endured so much in this house and I am grateful beyond measure for the memories we have made here.
I am a homebody and I am deeply, deeply attached to this house.
The bathtub has held bags and bags of ice to easy my aching body after a 30km run. It has silenced false labor several times. It has bathed my filthy children countless times.
Our bedroom has been the gathering place. Where my family will pile into bed and watch movies together.
We have marked up walls with ride-on toys, we have nicked up the floor just in the living we have done here.
I have cried many, many tears in this house and will absolutely be shedding some tomorrow.
This house has seen us become a family of five.
This house has seen us become a family.
At the risk of seeming trivial, I write this post.
This year has had so much loss and heartbreak, and to be so hung up on the "loss" of this house seems melodramatic.
I empathize so very much for all the homes lost to The Beast.
My heart aches still for the sudden and breathtaking destruction that was May 3.
I'm sure our new home will be more than enough to contain a lifetime's worth of memories, but in this moment and I am so sad to leave this place that has been a big part of my "growing up".
Now, how many of those places would you truly have considered home?
I've lived in a lot of different houses, apartments, duplexes.
I've only considered two different houses, my home.
This year, I have said goodbye to both homes.
The Fort McMurray fire ate up the house I considered home for more than 20 years.
I am not deeply attached to my belongings, and I would venture to say the my Mom and Dad and my brother and his family were not so much bothered by the loss of their things as they were the loss of their home. Their sanctuary. Their collective soft place to land at the end of each day, together.
The home I live in now has been the place where I have become so many things.
A fiancé, a wife, a Mother.
Literally, my then boyfriend proposed to me on our deck. Literally, we got married in front of our fireplace.
I felt my first contractions of my youngest children in this house.
They all took their first steps here.
We have endured so much in this house and I am grateful beyond measure for the memories we have made here.
I am a homebody and I am deeply, deeply attached to this house.
The bathtub has held bags and bags of ice to easy my aching body after a 30km run. It has silenced false labor several times. It has bathed my filthy children countless times.
Our bedroom has been the gathering place. Where my family will pile into bed and watch movies together.
We have marked up walls with ride-on toys, we have nicked up the floor just in the living we have done here.
I have cried many, many tears in this house and will absolutely be shedding some tomorrow.
This house has seen us become a family of five.
This house has seen us become a family.
At the risk of seeming trivial, I write this post.
This year has had so much loss and heartbreak, and to be so hung up on the "loss" of this house seems melodramatic.
I empathize so very much for all the homes lost to The Beast.
My heart aches still for the sudden and breathtaking destruction that was May 3.
I'm sure our new home will be more than enough to contain a lifetime's worth of memories, but in this moment and I am so sad to leave this place that has been a big part of my "growing up".
Friday 28 October 2016
Temptation
I had plans for today.
Sleep all night, after my evening shift.
Get up, put biggle on the bus.
Pack middle and little into car and head to the gym for a workout.
I feel like life was just wringing her hands and shaking her head slowly while these plans marinated in my brain.
Instead, it went like this,
Return to hospital at 1140 for call back.
Think, OK, hopefully there's no more of that...
Get called back two more times during the night.
Sleep until 815.
Get up frantically to throw gym gear on and try to get there in time.
Realize the entire family is not in the house.
Call husband to find out that bus was broke down.
He had to drive biggle to school.
Husband meets at Tim Hortons for child swapping.
Head to the gym.
Receive call at 840 that biggle is throwing up in the school office.
Turn around.
Pick up biggle and head home to put everyone's jammies on and watch movies all friggin' day.
Life, some days, you're a huge bit*h.
My thought, as I was driving home from picking up my child,
who at this point has a lovely, barfy aroma about her, was,
Eff. This. Day.
As someone who eats for comfort, that roughly translates to, I'ma eat whatever the hell I want to today.
I've had many, many of these days over the past six months, and not surprisingly, found about 14 extra pounds through the process.
Recently, though, I've found some help, and I've been back to my normal, healthy, good-feeling self.
But today, I'd given myself permission to just, not even.
Except that I knew that if I went home and just made a big protein heavy breakfast, that I'd likely follow up with another, and another healthy choice.
I may eat a donut later today, but I'm already compensating for that.
And at the end of the day, I may not feel like it, which is how I know I'm back.
Donuts are life. That will never change.
You see, temptation is like a wild animal. She's untamed. Always waiting for her chance to break free and, well, eff your day up. If given the opportunity, she can wreak havoc for days, weeks, even months. She's quite easy to appease, because her favorite thing is when you make a lousy food choice, and because of this, it can be difficult to cage her back up.
The bars and security detail on her cage? They're made of satisfaction.
If you eat things you like, and you never have cravings, then those bars are iron clad. That guard is a big, beefy meathead.
If you never think to yourself, "I can't have that", but, rather, "I'm choosing not to eat that", then the strength of the bars grows, as willpower.
Deprivation, however, weakens the armor that's holding that broad in place.
That sneaky traitor will be pulling those bars apart faster than you can stuff those mini chocolate bars into your face, two at a time.
When you're "off the wagon", it can seem like you're never going to get there ever again.
You can even be at peace with that, like, "I can make this McDonalds's work for me. Timbits every day is juuuuuuust fine."
I can justify almost any lousy choice.
I think most of us can. I told you, temptation is a clever gal!
The truth is not in the pudding.
The truth will be found in your clothes.
Because they won't fit.
Sleep all night, after my evening shift.
Get up, put biggle on the bus.
Pack middle and little into car and head to the gym for a workout.
I feel like life was just wringing her hands and shaking her head slowly while these plans marinated in my brain.
Instead, it went like this,
Return to hospital at 1140 for call back.
Think, OK, hopefully there's no more of that...
Get called back two more times during the night.
Sleep until 815.
Get up frantically to throw gym gear on and try to get there in time.
Realize the entire family is not in the house.
Call husband to find out that bus was broke down.
He had to drive biggle to school.
Husband meets at Tim Hortons for child swapping.
Head to the gym.
Receive call at 840 that biggle is throwing up in the school office.
Turn around.
Pick up biggle and head home to put everyone's jammies on and watch movies all friggin' day.
Life, some days, you're a huge bit*h.
My thought, as I was driving home from picking up my child,
who at this point has a lovely, barfy aroma about her, was,
Eff. This. Day.
As someone who eats for comfort, that roughly translates to, I'ma eat whatever the hell I want to today.
I've had many, many of these days over the past six months, and not surprisingly, found about 14 extra pounds through the process.
Recently, though, I've found some help, and I've been back to my normal, healthy, good-feeling self.
But today, I'd given myself permission to just, not even.
Except that I knew that if I went home and just made a big protein heavy breakfast, that I'd likely follow up with another, and another healthy choice.
I may eat a donut later today, but I'm already compensating for that.
And at the end of the day, I may not feel like it, which is how I know I'm back.
Donuts are life. That will never change.
You see, temptation is like a wild animal. She's untamed. Always waiting for her chance to break free and, well, eff your day up. If given the opportunity, she can wreak havoc for days, weeks, even months. She's quite easy to appease, because her favorite thing is when you make a lousy food choice, and because of this, it can be difficult to cage her back up.
The bars and security detail on her cage? They're made of satisfaction.
If you eat things you like, and you never have cravings, then those bars are iron clad. That guard is a big, beefy meathead.
If you never think to yourself, "I can't have that", but, rather, "I'm choosing not to eat that", then the strength of the bars grows, as willpower.
Deprivation, however, weakens the armor that's holding that broad in place.
That sneaky traitor will be pulling those bars apart faster than you can stuff those mini chocolate bars into your face, two at a time.
When you're "off the wagon", it can seem like you're never going to get there ever again.
You can even be at peace with that, like, "I can make this McDonalds's work for me. Timbits every day is juuuuuuust fine."
I can justify almost any lousy choice.
I think most of us can. I told you, temptation is a clever gal!
The truth is not in the pudding.
The truth will be found in your clothes.
Because they won't fit.
Wednesday 19 October 2016
Food Fat Fear
"I just eat a normal amount of food, that I wouldn't normally eat."
I said, after having a single beer, and yet feeling quite fuzzy and warm inside my brain.
I'm almost always trying to explain why I'm doing what I'm doing.
I used to give reasons to the cashier at McDonald's, as to why I might be ordering fries.
Seriously.
"I went to the gym this morning."
"Late night study session."
"I just lost a bunch of weight, so, y'know, I can."
So. Weird.
WhyTheHellWouldIDoThat?!?!?!?!
I have had a strange, messed up relationship with food my entire life.
I'm an obese person, at heart. Naturally, I'm large and I gain and carry weight very, very easily.
It's not something you deal with, and it's cured.
It's kind of a lifelong thing.
Like any relationship, really.
And, aren't the relationships most worth having, the most difficult?
Heh! Good one, right?!
I had a hard time even saying the word, food.
Or hungry. Or eat.
Still do, truth be told.
I still find myself putting things back on the shelf at the grocery store for fear of being judged.
I avoid ordering things from the menu that I'm afraid will paint me as being an "unhealthy" person.
I've had many more lightbulb moments in regards to nutrition, than for fitness.
To have the realization on my date with my boyfriend, that it's not something I would normally eat, which makes it a "cheat", was a revelation.
If a "cheat", or, even better than that, a "treat" meal doesn't feel special or taste like absolute freakin' heaven, then it's probably happening too frequently.
Ugh. Harsh, right?
This is a tough concept, and once I realized this, I was able to easily conclude that eating out is not conducive to a healthy lifestyle, for me.
Lots of people can go out for dinner and choose the tossed salad with grilled chicken.
I am terrible at this.
So, I plan carefully when I am going to eat out, so that I don't have to have so many restrictions.
I am not competing, probably never will. I am not trying to be below 30% body fat. All I really want is to stay within 10lbs of my wardrobe. So, my diet isn't too strictly regimented, however, a couple of nights out at a restaurant wreak havoc on my body and more importantly, my mind.
I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I truly believe that everyone's journey to health is different.
If you're following some else's path, without taking the time to figure out your own personal pitfalls and challenges, then, I would go out on a limb to say, that your changes probably won't be long-lasting.
It's undoubtedly the most difficult trek I've been on, but also the absolute best and one that has impacted every single part of my life.
I fall off the wagon, I eat trash, but I never give up. I never think to myself, well this has all been a waste and I might as well eat my way to 200+ again.
I have a houseful of kids who are watching my lifestyle and if nothing else, I want for them to know how to have balance in this part of their lives.
God knows there's not a lot I can control, so I'm putting a helluva lot of effort into this. Having a healthy body is directly related to having a healthy mind.
I want these kids to have positive thoughts, and the idea that kids have anxiety at younger ages than ever is enough to scare a Mom. Healthy Mom = happy Mom = (hopefully) happy, healthy kids.
I said, after having a single beer, and yet feeling quite fuzzy and warm inside my brain.
I'm almost always trying to explain why I'm doing what I'm doing.
I used to give reasons to the cashier at McDonald's, as to why I might be ordering fries.
Seriously.
"I went to the gym this morning."
"Late night study session."
"I just lost a bunch of weight, so, y'know, I can."
So. Weird.
WhyTheHellWouldIDoThat?!?!?!?!
I have had a strange, messed up relationship with food my entire life.
I'm an obese person, at heart. Naturally, I'm large and I gain and carry weight very, very easily.
It's not something you deal with, and it's cured.
It's kind of a lifelong thing.
Like any relationship, really.
And, aren't the relationships most worth having, the most difficult?
Heh! Good one, right?!
I had a hard time even saying the word, food.
Or hungry. Or eat.
Still do, truth be told.
I still find myself putting things back on the shelf at the grocery store for fear of being judged.
I avoid ordering things from the menu that I'm afraid will paint me as being an "unhealthy" person.
I've had many more lightbulb moments in regards to nutrition, than for fitness.
To have the realization on my date with my boyfriend, that it's not something I would normally eat, which makes it a "cheat", was a revelation.
If a "cheat", or, even better than that, a "treat" meal doesn't feel special or taste like absolute freakin' heaven, then it's probably happening too frequently.
Ugh. Harsh, right?
This is a tough concept, and once I realized this, I was able to easily conclude that eating out is not conducive to a healthy lifestyle, for me.
Lots of people can go out for dinner and choose the tossed salad with grilled chicken.
I am terrible at this.
So, I plan carefully when I am going to eat out, so that I don't have to have so many restrictions.
I am not competing, probably never will. I am not trying to be below 30% body fat. All I really want is to stay within 10lbs of my wardrobe. So, my diet isn't too strictly regimented, however, a couple of nights out at a restaurant wreak havoc on my body and more importantly, my mind.
I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but I truly believe that everyone's journey to health is different.
If you're following some else's path, without taking the time to figure out your own personal pitfalls and challenges, then, I would go out on a limb to say, that your changes probably won't be long-lasting.
It's undoubtedly the most difficult trek I've been on, but also the absolute best and one that has impacted every single part of my life.
I fall off the wagon, I eat trash, but I never give up. I never think to myself, well this has all been a waste and I might as well eat my way to 200+ again.
I have a houseful of kids who are watching my lifestyle and if nothing else, I want for them to know how to have balance in this part of their lives.
God knows there's not a lot I can control, so I'm putting a helluva lot of effort into this. Having a healthy body is directly related to having a healthy mind.
I want these kids to have positive thoughts, and the idea that kids have anxiety at younger ages than ever is enough to scare a Mom. Healthy Mom = happy Mom = (hopefully) happy, healthy kids.
Thursday 22 September 2016
Unassisted
Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped.
And I can do them without any assistance.
I can do about five in a row.
For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.
Small victory for some, but for that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.
A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yea', I'm a freakin' beast!
I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!
I am a force to be reckoned with.
This is one of the things I always tell myself.
I am not to be underestimated.
We've been testing out our strength so that we can do a whole buncha' workouts in the coming weeks and test again to see how crazy strong we've become.
We tested our 1 rep max, which is basically the weight that you can pick up one time. Just one.
I've been dying to get to 200lbs on my deadlift, because I know I can do it.
I got it. It was a sumo deadlift, which is a move I've done precisely one other time besides that day, but I did it.
Glistening eyes ensued.
Just a couple of days before, I got a bodyweight backsquat.
I'm in the habit of grabbing some "juuuuuuuustincase" weights for workouts where I think I might need to drop some weight.
I use to switch out for them routinely.
I need to stop taking them.
I've done a handful of workouts at the prescribed weight, which is always the recommended weight to use, which is usually heavy AF.
Just a handful.
But the victory I enjoy after those workouts is immense.
Huge.
I've settled comfortably into a middle-of-the-pack mentality, and I've been quite content to be average.
For someone who's been overweight, even obese for much of her life, believe me when I say, I've dreamed desperately about being average!
Average is a great place to be.
But I want more for me.
I want to be better, stronger, healthier.
I want to light fires in people, in myself. In my kids.
Assisted movements at the gym are in no way failures.
Never once did I ever think I was less because I was using bands for pull ups.
We all start at the beginning and we all need to figure out what to do and how to make the best versions of ourselves.
But to be able to exercises unassisted, unscaled...
There are no words for how that feels.
But my glistening, smiling cheeks speak volumes.
Not strict, but kipped.
And I can do them without any assistance.
I can do about five in a row.
For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.
Small victory for some, but for that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.
A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yea', I'm a freakin' beast!
I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!
I am a force to be reckoned with.
This is one of the things I always tell myself.
I am not to be underestimated.
We've been testing out our strength so that we can do a whole buncha' workouts in the coming weeks and test again to see how crazy strong we've become.
We tested our 1 rep max, which is basically the weight that you can pick up one time. Just one.
I've been dying to get to 200lbs on my deadlift, because I know I can do it.
I got it. It was a sumo deadlift, which is a move I've done precisely one other time besides that day, but I did it.
Glistening eyes ensued.
Just a couple of days before, I got a bodyweight backsquat.
I'm in the habit of grabbing some "juuuuuuuustincase" weights for workouts where I think I might need to drop some weight.
I use to switch out for them routinely.
I need to stop taking them.
I've done a handful of workouts at the prescribed weight, which is always the recommended weight to use, which is usually heavy AF.
Just a handful.
But the victory I enjoy after those workouts is immense.
Huge.
I've settled comfortably into a middle-of-the-pack mentality, and I've been quite content to be average.
For someone who's been overweight, even obese for much of her life, believe me when I say, I've dreamed desperately about being average!
Average is a great place to be.
But I want more for me.
I want to be better, stronger, healthier.
I want to light fires in people, in myself. In my kids.
Assisted movements at the gym are in no way failures.
Never once did I ever think I was less because I was using bands for pull ups.
We all start at the beginning and we all need to figure out what to do and how to make the best versions of ourselves.
But to be able to exercises unassisted, unscaled...
There are no words for how that feels.
But my glistening, smiling cheeks speak volumes.
Thursday 25 August 2016
One Does not Equal One
I want for my efforts to equal my outcomes.
Doesn't everybody?!?!
I want for one great day of wise eating choices to equal one pound lost.
I want for a really great, powerful workout to measure up to lifting heavier the very next time.
This, you may already know, is not the case.
Changing your body, in any way, takes time.
It can seem like 5lbs just found it's way to you over the weekend, but I have some experience in this, and it's probably a little bit of body fat and a whole lotta' water weight. By mid week, you may be only up a true pound.
Sucks, I know.
The same goes for weight loss and muscle gain.
Only it takes a little more time for these outcomes.
Time.
That's it.
We live in a world of instant gratification.
We're bored.
We're bored of being bored.
The world is more connected than ever, and yet we can't even watch a movie, eat snacks and play on our tablets without having our phones in our hands too.
"I've decided that today I'm going to eat well, and tomorrow that damn scale had better reflect my efforts!"
Me.
This was/is totally me.
*Step off scale
*Step on again
*Lean slightly left/right/forward
I used to do this.
Almost every day.
I don't anymore, because as long as my clothes fit, I'm not really interested in a brief moment on the scale setting the tone for the rest of my day.
But for most of my life, I've expected immediate and, obviously, lasting results.
This time though, I've accepted that there will be setbacks. Failures. Bad days. Maybe several bad days in a row, that by the end have my jeans stretching out a liiiiiiiiiittle bit past their recommended stretchiness.
I've accepted this.
The majority of the days are pretty good. Mindful eating. Calculated choices. A good workout and then a decent bedtime.
And over time, my choices have amounted to some fairly staggering changes in my physique and more importantly in my abilities.
I know it can be hard when a plateau shows up.
For a few weeks, or maybe even months.
I know it can be so very frustrating when you're tracking foods, getting in workouts and nothing is changing.
I truly do know.
A hundred Monday start overs, I know.
Trust the process and be patient.
There isn't a person in the world who's been successful at weight loss or muscle gain or in any major change to their body, who hasn't experienced the exact same frustrations that you might be facing right this very second.
I guarantee that.
I remember when I was a newer runner.
I would get out a few times a week for a 5km run, and each time it was difficult.
I may have gotten faster, or maybe the hill didn't seem quite so daunting, but nevertheless, it was difficult.
Then I would see another runner out, and think to myself, why does it look easy for them?
I've been a regular exerciser (exerciser? One who exercises? No idea...) for my entire adult life and throughout most of my teen years too, and in all that time, I can honestly say that exercise has never really gotten easier.
I have most definitely become stronger and more efficient, but it isn't easier.
If it's easy, is it worth it?
So that person I saw running, who was making it look easy?
Those folks I see at the gym who can make enormous weights seemingly fly up over head?
It wasn't easy for them.
They just maybe had been at it for a longer time.
Doesn't everybody?!?!
I want for one great day of wise eating choices to equal one pound lost.
I want for a really great, powerful workout to measure up to lifting heavier the very next time.
This, you may already know, is not the case.
Changing your body, in any way, takes time.
It can seem like 5lbs just found it's way to you over the weekend, but I have some experience in this, and it's probably a little bit of body fat and a whole lotta' water weight. By mid week, you may be only up a true pound.
Sucks, I know.
The same goes for weight loss and muscle gain.
Only it takes a little more time for these outcomes.
Time.
That's it.
We live in a world of instant gratification.
We're bored.
We're bored of being bored.
The world is more connected than ever, and yet we can't even watch a movie, eat snacks and play on our tablets without having our phones in our hands too.
"I've decided that today I'm going to eat well, and tomorrow that damn scale had better reflect my efforts!"
Me.
This was/is totally me.
*Step off scale
*Step on again
*Lean slightly left/right/forward
I used to do this.
Almost every day.
I don't anymore, because as long as my clothes fit, I'm not really interested in a brief moment on the scale setting the tone for the rest of my day.
But for most of my life, I've expected immediate and, obviously, lasting results.
This time though, I've accepted that there will be setbacks. Failures. Bad days. Maybe several bad days in a row, that by the end have my jeans stretching out a liiiiiiiiiittle bit past their recommended stretchiness.
I've accepted this.
The majority of the days are pretty good. Mindful eating. Calculated choices. A good workout and then a decent bedtime.
And over time, my choices have amounted to some fairly staggering changes in my physique and more importantly in my abilities.
I know it can be hard when a plateau shows up.
For a few weeks, or maybe even months.
I know it can be so very frustrating when you're tracking foods, getting in workouts and nothing is changing.
I truly do know.
A hundred Monday start overs, I know.
Trust the process and be patient.
There isn't a person in the world who's been successful at weight loss or muscle gain or in any major change to their body, who hasn't experienced the exact same frustrations that you might be facing right this very second.
I guarantee that.
I remember when I was a newer runner.
I would get out a few times a week for a 5km run, and each time it was difficult.
I may have gotten faster, or maybe the hill didn't seem quite so daunting, but nevertheless, it was difficult.
Then I would see another runner out, and think to myself, why does it look easy for them?
I've been a regular exerciser (exerciser? One who exercises? No idea...) for my entire adult life and throughout most of my teen years too, and in all that time, I can honestly say that exercise has never really gotten easier.
I have most definitely become stronger and more efficient, but it isn't easier.
If it's easy, is it worth it?
So that person I saw running, who was making it look easy?
Those folks I see at the gym who can make enormous weights seemingly fly up over head?
It wasn't easy for them.
They just maybe had been at it for a longer time.
Monday 25 July 2016
Some Other Kind of Blues
I'm sitting at the computer, eating cottage cheese right out of the container.
Mostly because the alternative is to eat the roll of cookie dough that's in the fridge.
The baby blues are a common and accepted reality for many Moms.
I was good and prepared to have some kind of post partum depression after each one of my babies, but I never suffered from it.
What I feel might deserve a name, though, is the toddler blues. The grade-school blues. The I-have-three-kids-and-some-days-I'm-drowning blues.
Somehow I feel that once we've "made it" through the sleepless nights and completely dependent baby stage, that us Moms must be alright now.
"You've muddled through those tough first months, and now you're good, so go forth and be excellent".
But lots, and lots (I mean lots) of days are far from excellent.
Some days I just want to be alone.
Many days I would do anything for them to not whine MOMMY even once.
You can ask for me, call for me even, but the constant screaming and/or crying MOMMY is enough to drive me to drink.
(If you are getting through all of this without drinking, then you are a certified hero. Seriously.)
I've been really stressed since the fire.
I feel like once we become Moms there's a low level of stress that simply comes along with the gig.
That's OK.
That's normal and I can deal with that because it's been there since the beginning.
This additional stuff, though, has been heavy.
My IHaveTos are feeling really, really heavy lately.
Weighing me down. Making me sad.
And I can admit that.
I'm struggling.
I'm asking for help and my white knights are showing up.
Grateful doesn't come close to the feeling I have when Grandma shows up to whisk one of the heathens away.
I did not suffer from PPD or baby blues, but I think maybe I am suffering from some other kind of Mom-induced blues and I'm comfortable enough to ask for help, and then to go take care of myself. Depression can be debilitating and all-consuming, but I'm hoping that some early actions will keep me in the game, because these little people need me and I'm more than willing to model good mental health, which sometimes means that assistance is required.
Now excuse me, please, while I first don my own air mask...
Mostly because the alternative is to eat the roll of cookie dough that's in the fridge.
The baby blues are a common and accepted reality for many Moms.
I was good and prepared to have some kind of post partum depression after each one of my babies, but I never suffered from it.
What I feel might deserve a name, though, is the toddler blues. The grade-school blues. The I-have-three-kids-and-some-days-I'm-drowning blues.
Somehow I feel that once we've "made it" through the sleepless nights and completely dependent baby stage, that us Moms must be alright now.
"You've muddled through those tough first months, and now you're good, so go forth and be excellent".
But lots, and lots (I mean lots) of days are far from excellent.
Some days I just want to be alone.
Many days I would do anything for them to not whine MOMMY even once.
You can ask for me, call for me even, but the constant screaming and/or crying MOMMY is enough to drive me to drink.
(If you are getting through all of this without drinking, then you are a certified hero. Seriously.)
I've been really stressed since the fire.
I feel like once we become Moms there's a low level of stress that simply comes along with the gig.
That's OK.
That's normal and I can deal with that because it's been there since the beginning.
This additional stuff, though, has been heavy.
My IHaveTos are feeling really, really heavy lately.
Weighing me down. Making me sad.
And I can admit that.
I'm struggling.
I'm asking for help and my white knights are showing up.
Grateful doesn't come close to the feeling I have when Grandma shows up to whisk one of the heathens away.
I did not suffer from PPD or baby blues, but I think maybe I am suffering from some other kind of Mom-induced blues and I'm comfortable enough to ask for help, and then to go take care of myself. Depression can be debilitating and all-consuming, but I'm hoping that some early actions will keep me in the game, because these little people need me and I'm more than willing to model good mental health, which sometimes means that assistance is required.
Now excuse me, please, while I first don my own air mask...
Friday 24 June 2016
Have a Little Faith
Trust the process.
Trust. The. Process.
Most of the time I have to just have blind faith that the changes I'm making are having an impact on my body.
Sometimes though, the changes are measurable and visible, and that's when all of the sacrifice and hard work pays off.
Measurements can come in the form of clothing, which is really friggin' cool! Or, they can come as a PR, or personal record.
Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped, which just means I use momentum to help swing my body up.
And I can do them without any assistance.
I can do about five in a row.
For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.
Small victory for some, but during that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.
Again.
A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yeah, I'm a freakin' beast!
I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!
I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am not to be underestimated.
I lose sight, I lose faith and sometimes I fall far, far away from my goals.
Sometimes my clothes that fit just one month ago are pleading with me to put the timbits down.
Sometimes life is very, very stressful and I stuff junk in my face to try to feel better.
Old habits die hard, and to be honest, I don't really see stress eating ever going away entirely.
I just try to keep the monster quiet for the most part with alternative remedies that don't involve food.
It's been a sad couple of months for me, and my emotions are speaking loudly - telling me that some carbs will make it all feel better.
Truthfully, sometimes the carbs DO make me feel better.
I don't always resist, and I don't always feel bad about giving in.
I'm finding the balance, and I'm learning not to beat myself up, because it is so very pointless.
I've been getting to the gym a lot lately.
It's stress relief during this trying time, and it's one of my happiest places.
I'm noticing that almost weekly I'm lifting heavier than I've ever lifted before - and not just for one rep, but for many, many reps!
I'm pushing over 100lbs above my head on a regular basis - which for me, is a huge accomplishment!
Much more than my skinny jeans looking bangin', I LIVE for PRs.
I get so excited and emotional every single time I lift heavier than before.
Losing weight has been the most amazing side effect of the heavy lifting, but I will never again focus on my scale because it is relatively unimportant in the grand scheme.
My butt is growing (in the good way, right V?!), and I did not take a compliment recently about it, but instead dove into the self-deprecating shit that comes naturally to me.
That is something I need to get better at - still.
Having faith that significant changes take time - sometimes a very long time - is one of the greatest challenges I've encountered.
If I put in the work, then changes will happen.
If there's one guarantee in life, that just might be it.
Nothing else is a given, really.
So, self, have a little faith in me.
Trust. The. Process.
Most of the time I have to just have blind faith that the changes I'm making are having an impact on my body.
Sometimes though, the changes are measurable and visible, and that's when all of the sacrifice and hard work pays off.
Measurements can come in the form of clothing, which is really friggin' cool! Or, they can come as a PR, or personal record.
Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped, which just means I use momentum to help swing my body up.
And I can do them without any assistance.
I can do about five in a row.
For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.
Small victory for some, but during that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.
Again.
A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yeah, I'm a freakin' beast!
I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!
I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am not to be underestimated.
I lose sight, I lose faith and sometimes I fall far, far away from my goals.
Sometimes my clothes that fit just one month ago are pleading with me to put the timbits down.
Sometimes life is very, very stressful and I stuff junk in my face to try to feel better.
Old habits die hard, and to be honest, I don't really see stress eating ever going away entirely.
I just try to keep the monster quiet for the most part with alternative remedies that don't involve food.
It's been a sad couple of months for me, and my emotions are speaking loudly - telling me that some carbs will make it all feel better.
Truthfully, sometimes the carbs DO make me feel better.
I don't always resist, and I don't always feel bad about giving in.
I'm finding the balance, and I'm learning not to beat myself up, because it is so very pointless.
I've been getting to the gym a lot lately.
It's stress relief during this trying time, and it's one of my happiest places.
I'm noticing that almost weekly I'm lifting heavier than I've ever lifted before - and not just for one rep, but for many, many reps!
I'm pushing over 100lbs above my head on a regular basis - which for me, is a huge accomplishment!
Much more than my skinny jeans looking bangin', I LIVE for PRs.
I get so excited and emotional every single time I lift heavier than before.
Losing weight has been the most amazing side effect of the heavy lifting, but I will never again focus on my scale because it is relatively unimportant in the grand scheme.
My butt is growing (in the good way, right V?!), and I did not take a compliment recently about it, but instead dove into the self-deprecating shit that comes naturally to me.
That is something I need to get better at - still.
Having faith that significant changes take time - sometimes a very long time - is one of the greatest challenges I've encountered.
If I put in the work, then changes will happen.
If there's one guarantee in life, that just might be it.
Nothing else is a given, really.
So, self, have a little faith in me.
Have a Little Faith
Trust the process.
Trusting anything can be so difficult!
Most of the time I have to just have blind faith that the changes I'm making are having an impact on my body.
Sometimes though, the changes are measurable and visible, and that's when all of the sacrifice and hard work pays off!
Measurements can come in the form of clothing, which is really friggin' cool! Or, they can come as a PR, or personal record.
Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped.
And I can do them without any assistance.
I can do about five in a row.
For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.
Small victory for some, but during that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.
A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yeah, I'm a freakin' beast!
I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!
I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am not to be underestimated.
I lose sight, I lose faith and sometimes I fall far, far away from my goals.
It's been a sad couple of months and my emotions are speaking loudly - telling me that some carbs will make it all feel better.
I don't always resist, and I don't always feel about bad about giving in.
I'm finding the balance, and I'm learning not to beat myself up, because it is so very pointless.
I've been getting to the gym a lot lately.
It's stress relief during this trying time, and it's one of my happiest places.
I'm noticing that almost weekly I'm lifting heavier than I've ever lifted before - and not just for one rep, but for many, many reps!
I'm pushing over 100lbs above my head on a regular basis - which for me, is a huge accomplishment!
Much more than my skinny jeans looking bangin', I LIVE for PRs.
I get so excited and emotional every single time I lift heavier than before.
Losing weight has been the most amazing side effect of the heavy lifting, but I will never again focus on my scale because that is so far in second place that it might as well be 50th.
My butt is growing (in the good way, right V?!), and I did not take a compliment last week about it, but instead dove into the self-deprecating shit that comes naturally to me.
That is something I need to get better at - still.
Having faith that significant changes take time - sometimes a very long time - is one of the greatest challenges I've encountered.
If I put in the work, then changes will happen.
If there's one guarantee in life, that just might be it.
Nothing else is a given, really.
Trusting anything can be so difficult!
Most of the time I have to just have blind faith that the changes I'm making are having an impact on my body.
Sometimes though, the changes are measurable and visible, and that's when all of the sacrifice and hard work pays off!
Measurements can come in the form of clothing, which is really friggin' cool! Or, they can come as a PR, or personal record.
Pull ups.
Not strict, but kipped.
And I can do them without any assistance.
I can do about five in a row.
For me, this was a big deal.
This was a momentous day.
Small victory for some, but during that hour long class, it was enough to bring me to tears.
A young man behind me in class today told me I was a beast.
Hell yeah, I'm a freakin' beast!
I'm getting better, I'm pushing myself, and if in that process I look like a beast, then I'm definitely doing it right!
I am a force to be reckoned with.
I am not to be underestimated.
I lose sight, I lose faith and sometimes I fall far, far away from my goals.
It's been a sad couple of months and my emotions are speaking loudly - telling me that some carbs will make it all feel better.
I don't always resist, and I don't always feel about bad about giving in.
I'm finding the balance, and I'm learning not to beat myself up, because it is so very pointless.
I've been getting to the gym a lot lately.
It's stress relief during this trying time, and it's one of my happiest places.
I'm noticing that almost weekly I'm lifting heavier than I've ever lifted before - and not just for one rep, but for many, many reps!
I'm pushing over 100lbs above my head on a regular basis - which for me, is a huge accomplishment!
Much more than my skinny jeans looking bangin', I LIVE for PRs.
I get so excited and emotional every single time I lift heavier than before.
Losing weight has been the most amazing side effect of the heavy lifting, but I will never again focus on my scale because that is so far in second place that it might as well be 50th.
My butt is growing (in the good way, right V?!), and I did not take a compliment last week about it, but instead dove into the self-deprecating shit that comes naturally to me.
That is something I need to get better at - still.
Having faith that significant changes take time - sometimes a very long time - is one of the greatest challenges I've encountered.
If I put in the work, then changes will happen.
If there's one guarantee in life, that just might be it.
Nothing else is a given, really.
Saturday 4 June 2016
On your Fourth Birthday, Lady Ellie
I sat in the room with my enormous belly underneath my folded hands.
The other Mom's from my midwife group had brought their new little babies, some as old as three weeks already.
I had to hold back tears, and pronounce that, "it's easier to be pregnant, than have a new baby to look after".
I hated waiting for the arrival.
One day over due, then two, then six.
Then my brother married the most wonderful girl, and still, a week overdue and celebrating in Jasper, no baby.
I gained a lot of weight. I was friggin' huge.
I really didn't want to be pregnant anymore, and I just wanted to meet you.
You had your own plan then, and still do.
The day you were born was both the most hectic day of my life, and in complete contrast, your birth was my most calm, and relaxed.
This is you.
Wild and unbridled, and yet, you can be so, so sweet.
So kind and generous.
And in the very next breath, you are breathing fire.
My second born girl, you have grown into a beautiful, strong, unapologetically independent kid.
Not my baby anymore.
You're growing tall and losing your adorable baby chub, and your strength and grace is starting to shine bright.
It's impossible for you to be turning four, as I remember vividly your birth day as if it were moments ago.
You made your own plans to arrive and although your Nana, sister and I spent the entire day killing phone batteries while timing regular contractions walking around West Edmonton Mall, it was less than one hour of discomfort before you made your grand and magnificent entrance.
We were going to call you Grace.
I still adore that name, but it was evident almost momentarily that you were meant to be an Ellie.
Spunky and radiant.
Your smile is sometimes all I need.
Your imagination is like none other and when you lean on the window sill at the front of our house, I can only dream of what you might be thinking.
Your Dad and I, and I'm sure your brother and sister, want you to know, on your fourth birthday, that we love you bigger than Texas and that life without you would be un-glittered and utterly boring without the glamour and charm you bring every day.
Happy birthday Ellie!
The other Mom's from my midwife group had brought their new little babies, some as old as three weeks already.
I had to hold back tears, and pronounce that, "it's easier to be pregnant, than have a new baby to look after".
I hated waiting for the arrival.
One day over due, then two, then six.
Then my brother married the most wonderful girl, and still, a week overdue and celebrating in Jasper, no baby.
I gained a lot of weight. I was friggin' huge.
I really didn't want to be pregnant anymore, and I just wanted to meet you.
You had your own plan then, and still do.
The day you were born was both the most hectic day of my life, and in complete contrast, your birth was my most calm, and relaxed.
This is you.
Wild and unbridled, and yet, you can be so, so sweet.
So kind and generous.
And in the very next breath, you are breathing fire.
My second born girl, you have grown into a beautiful, strong, unapologetically independent kid.
Not my baby anymore.
You're growing tall and losing your adorable baby chub, and your strength and grace is starting to shine bright.
It's impossible for you to be turning four, as I remember vividly your birth day as if it were moments ago.
You made your own plans to arrive and although your Nana, sister and I spent the entire day killing phone batteries while timing regular contractions walking around West Edmonton Mall, it was less than one hour of discomfort before you made your grand and magnificent entrance.
We were going to call you Grace.
I still adore that name, but it was evident almost momentarily that you were meant to be an Ellie.
Spunky and radiant.
Your smile is sometimes all I need.
Your imagination is like none other and when you lean on the window sill at the front of our house, I can only dream of what you might be thinking.
Your Dad and I, and I'm sure your brother and sister, want you to know, on your fourth birthday, that we love you bigger than Texas and that life without you would be un-glittered and utterly boring without the glamour and charm you bring every day.
Happy birthday Ellie!
Wednesday 11 May 2016
Fork McMurray
Before I could properly say "Fort", it was Fork McMurray.
This is the same way my three year old says it now.
I wasn't born in Fort McMurray.
We moved there when I was four months old.
It's the only hometown I've ever known, and in my lifetime I've seen it change from a virtually unknown city of 35,000 to a bustling and easily recognizable metropolis of more than 80,000.
I left to go to University, and aside from a couple of boomerang stays of no more than a few months at a time, I haven't had a permanent residence there since I was 18.
Even still, I've never felt more like I'm "home" than when I'm rounding the corner from Highway 63 onto Beacon Hill Drive.
We moved into the house on Beaverglen Close when I was barely 6. It was the summer before I started in Miss Cox's grade one class.
My first night, I remember looking at the pink patterned wall paper and seeing Laura scribbled on a bit of wall where the wallpaper had been peeled up.
Laura Tees, who lived there with her family before us.
I remember my brother and I exploring the neighborhood and finding a park with a tire castle and zip line and some immediate friends.
It was a large neighborhood. One of the largest in the community of Beacon Hill.
When I was a little older, I wanted to paint my room white. We put hand prints in different colours of pastel paint all over the bottom half. Any time a friend came to play, they were to provide a semi-permanent mark of themselves on the wall.
We renovated that house many times over, making it more and more our own.
Added a deck, then later removed it, and built a new deck.
Dad and I built the entire garage one summer, with only a little bit of help.
It is still one of my greatest accomplishments.
We discovered our lifelong passion for running, and ran around Beacon Hill countless times.
Garth, Dad and I would occasionally go out together, but more often than not it was just Dad and I, and maybe the big yellow dog, Belle.
I discovered I had been accepted to my chosen University program, standing in the kitchen one morning.
I felt the most intense heartbreak of my life in the house.
Went through some very difficult years of bullying and mean girl bullsh*t.
I remember having my shoulder accidentally dislocated by Andrew in the basement, when I was in grade school.
Dad shook a bottle of salsa one day and it went all over the roof because the lid hadn't been put back on quite right.
It's still very fresh and raw, and it's not even "my" house anymore.
I'm not even the one dealing with this unimaginable loss.
I can't even begin to think that I have any idea how my parents, my brother and sister-in-law and 1600 other families, feel right now.
I don't know how you all feel, but I do know that everyone will grieve this loss differently and I will, without question, support you in whichever way you need.
The house is gone.
Reduced to a pile of ash and rubble.
The memories of that house, I will put to paper, so that they will never die, and so that my children and their children can read about the wonderful things that happened in Beacon Hill, and not just the enormous tragedy of May 3,2016.
I'm posting this so that's it's current, but like many of my blog, or journal entries, I plan to return and add memories and thoughts.
Four people grew up in that house.
My parents were just 25 when we moved in, so they themselves were coming of age, and I'm sure have their own memories, separate from mine.
I know my brother would have his own set to think on and smile about.
I'm not sure how I'll feel when I go to see the place where our neighborhood once was, and I'm not sure I even want to go see it.
What I'm certain of, is that the fire didn't take away any of the important stuff.
I love you guys all so very much and I'm so, so sorry that this happened to you and to all the people of Beacon Hill, and the other communities in Fort McMurray that were devastated by the fire.
This is the same way my three year old says it now.
I wasn't born in Fort McMurray.
We moved there when I was four months old.
It's the only hometown I've ever known, and in my lifetime I've seen it change from a virtually unknown city of 35,000 to a bustling and easily recognizable metropolis of more than 80,000.
I left to go to University, and aside from a couple of boomerang stays of no more than a few months at a time, I haven't had a permanent residence there since I was 18.
Even still, I've never felt more like I'm "home" than when I'm rounding the corner from Highway 63 onto Beacon Hill Drive.
We moved into the house on Beaverglen Close when I was barely 6. It was the summer before I started in Miss Cox's grade one class.
My first night, I remember looking at the pink patterned wall paper and seeing Laura scribbled on a bit of wall where the wallpaper had been peeled up.
Laura Tees, who lived there with her family before us.
I remember my brother and I exploring the neighborhood and finding a park with a tire castle and zip line and some immediate friends.
It was a large neighborhood. One of the largest in the community of Beacon Hill.
When I was a little older, I wanted to paint my room white. We put hand prints in different colours of pastel paint all over the bottom half. Any time a friend came to play, they were to provide a semi-permanent mark of themselves on the wall.
We renovated that house many times over, making it more and more our own.
Added a deck, then later removed it, and built a new deck.
Dad and I built the entire garage one summer, with only a little bit of help.
It is still one of my greatest accomplishments.
We discovered our lifelong passion for running, and ran around Beacon Hill countless times.
Garth, Dad and I would occasionally go out together, but more often than not it was just Dad and I, and maybe the big yellow dog, Belle.
I discovered I had been accepted to my chosen University program, standing in the kitchen one morning.
I felt the most intense heartbreak of my life in the house.
Went through some very difficult years of bullying and mean girl bullsh*t.
I remember having my shoulder accidentally dislocated by Andrew in the basement, when I was in grade school.
Dad shook a bottle of salsa one day and it went all over the roof because the lid hadn't been put back on quite right.
It's still very fresh and raw, and it's not even "my" house anymore.
I'm not even the one dealing with this unimaginable loss.
I can't even begin to think that I have any idea how my parents, my brother and sister-in-law and 1600 other families, feel right now.
I don't know how you all feel, but I do know that everyone will grieve this loss differently and I will, without question, support you in whichever way you need.
The house is gone.
Reduced to a pile of ash and rubble.
The memories of that house, I will put to paper, so that they will never die, and so that my children and their children can read about the wonderful things that happened in Beacon Hill, and not just the enormous tragedy of May 3,2016.
I'm posting this so that's it's current, but like many of my blog, or journal entries, I plan to return and add memories and thoughts.
Four people grew up in that house.
My parents were just 25 when we moved in, so they themselves were coming of age, and I'm sure have their own memories, separate from mine.
I know my brother would have his own set to think on and smile about.
I'm not sure how I'll feel when I go to see the place where our neighborhood once was, and I'm not sure I even want to go see it.
What I'm certain of, is that the fire didn't take away any of the important stuff.
I love you guys all so very much and I'm so, so sorry that this happened to you and to all the people of Beacon Hill, and the other communities in Fort McMurray that were devastated by the fire.
Sunday 1 May 2016
The Time of Our Life
My littlest guy needs clothes.
He's growing like a bad weed.
The heel of his socks hits midfoot, so therefore they tend to come off half way through the day.
I don't like shopping at the best of times, so while I was at Costco the other day, I decided to zip into the clothing tables to look for some jammies for him.
Then I started crying.
The table that holds sleepers for 3m-24m is no longer a table I will ever shop at for my kids again.
Ever.
Not sobbing, just a few tears.
Enough that my middle said, "Why you cryin', mama?"
*Exhale
Exhale to stop from falling into an ugly cry because there are no more babies at your house and your daughter is the sweetest damn thing on the planet right now.
Post-shopping, I decided to take my littles to an indoor playground called Café O Play.
Super fun for the under 5 crowd, and jam friggin' packed with pregnant ladies.
I don't really hover when my kids are at an indoor playground, because, well, I brought them there to run rampant so I could read my book.
I know what their cries sound like and I go make sure they aren't flushing toys down the toilet or hitting some else's kid periodically, but for the most part I'm what some might call, a "free-range" parent.
(Please don't call Social Services. They aren't actually feral children, and they always wear pants when we leave the house.)
While I was sitting back watching some of thechaos playing, I realized that many of the conversations around me were between pregnant Mom's.
No lie, I bet 50% of the women there were knocked up!
And when you're pregnant, your world revolves around your pregnancy. (Guilty!)
It's kind of a big deal.
Now that I'm a veteran Mom, though my experience can be applied only to my own littles, I realize that the act of being pregnant is so, so brief.
It feels like a huge life event, and at the time it is, but you grow your babies for not even a year. Then, they're born in another seemingly huge life event, again, only fleeting, for them to begin growing at an alarming rate.
So alarming, that six years later, your oldest is reading chapter books and two more have joined the herd.
They say that the nights are long but the years are short.
Or something like that.
The nights are long.
They're STILL long, six years later, but I get it now.
They grow up so fast.
So. Fast.
My husband and I disagree sometimes.
(Shocking, I know!)
We tend to chock it up to little sleep and the fact that we're just trying to get through these trying years when the kids are so needy and dependent and we're not sleeping.
But this is it.
This is the time we will look back on as the best years of our lives, and I don't want to remember that we clung to our helmets, headed into thebattle day, and hoped for the best.
I want to remember the memories we're making, and not the fact that creating the memories was stressful.
I don't want to say to my husband, "Phew! Glad we survived that!"
I hope that one day, when all the kids have left home, we can high five each other, because, we nailed it.
And also, by then, we'll be alone again.
And I don't want to wish for the kids to move out and for us to be alone, but it will be nice to have the guy all to myself again!
He's growing like a bad weed.
The heel of his socks hits midfoot, so therefore they tend to come off half way through the day.
I don't like shopping at the best of times, so while I was at Costco the other day, I decided to zip into the clothing tables to look for some jammies for him.
Then I started crying.
The table that holds sleepers for 3m-24m is no longer a table I will ever shop at for my kids again.
Ever.
Not sobbing, just a few tears.
Enough that my middle said, "Why you cryin', mama?"
*Exhale
Exhale to stop from falling into an ugly cry because there are no more babies at your house and your daughter is the sweetest damn thing on the planet right now.
Post-shopping, I decided to take my littles to an indoor playground called Café O Play.
Super fun for the under 5 crowd, and jam friggin' packed with pregnant ladies.
I don't really hover when my kids are at an indoor playground, because, well, I brought them there to run rampant so I could read my book.
I know what their cries sound like and I go make sure they aren't flushing toys down the toilet or hitting some else's kid periodically, but for the most part I'm what some might call, a "free-range" parent.
(Please don't call Social Services. They aren't actually feral children, and they always wear pants when we leave the house.)
While I was sitting back watching some of the
No lie, I bet 50% of the women there were knocked up!
And when you're pregnant, your world revolves around your pregnancy. (Guilty!)
It's kind of a big deal.
Now that I'm a veteran Mom, though my experience can be applied only to my own littles, I realize that the act of being pregnant is so, so brief.
It feels like a huge life event, and at the time it is, but you grow your babies for not even a year. Then, they're born in another seemingly huge life event, again, only fleeting, for them to begin growing at an alarming rate.
So alarming, that six years later, your oldest is reading chapter books and two more have joined the herd.
They say that the nights are long but the years are short.
Or something like that.
The nights are long.
They're STILL long, six years later, but I get it now.
They grow up so fast.
So. Fast.
My husband and I disagree sometimes.
(Shocking, I know!)
We tend to chock it up to little sleep and the fact that we're just trying to get through these trying years when the kids are so needy and dependent and we're not sleeping.
But this is it.
This is the time we will look back on as the best years of our lives, and I don't want to remember that we clung to our helmets, headed into the
I want to remember the memories we're making, and not the fact that creating the memories was stressful.
I don't want to say to my husband, "Phew! Glad we survived that!"
I hope that one day, when all the kids have left home, we can high five each other, because, we nailed it.
And also, by then, we'll be alone again.
And I don't want to wish for the kids to move out and for us to be alone, but it will be nice to have the guy all to myself again!
Wednesday 6 April 2016
Group Fitness
Group fitness.
If you read that word and envisioned Jane Fonda in a leotard and body suit counting down in an aerobics video, then this here, it's for you.
I'm going to change your idea of group fitness.
And, I hope, maybe encourage you to check it out.
I have belonged to two families of group fitness that have, without exaggeration, changed my life.
I started out at BMS Bootcamps out of Leduc.
If you're brand new and nervous about walking into a group of people you don't know?
This place is for you. Take a friend, even!
If you'd like to learn how to properly do exercises so you don't get injured?
If you want to be held accountable, and be able to just, simply show up, but still get a serious arse-kickin' workout?
Then head over to BMS Bootcamps. You can try it for a whole week for free!
http://www.bmsbootcamps.com
Group fitness is for everyone.
I am an introvert.
I don't typically like people, in general.
I don't like to have plans, or to commit to anything, really.
I should be the type of person that likes to just get my gym membership and go do my own thing, alone, at the gym.
But being an introvert does not in any way, make me a self motivator.
I know myself well enough to know that investing in gym equipment for our house would be the same as taking fistfuls of my cash and burning it.
I won't use it.
I need to have someone pushing me to challenge myself.
Even more than that? I need to have an extremely hard working group of people motivating me to grab the heavier weights, or pick up the damn pace!
(Still struggle with this, even with the coaching!)
Group fitness is for everyone.
If you're scared of being judged, then lemme tell ya', going to the gym is not where you want to be.
I've never felt so much staring and eye-judging as when I've gone to the gym.
Am I doing this move right?
Does it look like I have any clue whatsoever what I'm doing?
Do I even belong here?
Ugh. I am not good at going to the gym. The conventional gym.
My current home is Spark gym.
That's where my heart belongs.
http://www.sparkgym.com
Spark Sport Conditioning.
Sounds pretty badass, dontcha think?
Me too.
I really love this place.
I'm not even sure I could put into words how much I love this place. F'reals. It gets me all verklempt because of the difference in my life this place has made.
With both groups I've belonged to, anytime there has ever been a newbie show up, they have been welcomed with immediate openness and encouragement.
We don't leave anyone behind.
Everyone is new at one point, and if you just keep coming, and grindin' it out, you will gain two things:
1)Hella' muscle
2)Friendship
And when I say friendship, I actually mean your fitness family.
These people will give you the extra pep when you're dragging butt. They will push you beyond any comfortable place you've ever known. They will make sure that you know that THEY know you haven't been showing up.
They will notice and congratulate you on the changes that will happen to your body.
They will notice and congratulate you on the incredible improvements you've made in your strength/power/speed/agility...
Group fitness is not about showing up and having an instructor "teach" you a fitness lesson.
It can be, because the truth is, it's whatever you need it to be.
It is a coach guiding you through a very difficult workout.
I often tell people that both gyms I've belonged to were like having a personal trainer at a deep, deep discount.
If you want to really challenge yourself, the coaches at both BMS and Spark will have you working way outside your comfort zone, which, really, is where the beautiful changes happen.
I've included links to both of my fave group fitness organizations, but you don't really need to click on the links.
You just need to go.
And if you're nervous, message me and I'll go with you!
Let's go get schweaty together!
If you read that word and envisioned Jane Fonda in a leotard and body suit counting down in an aerobics video, then this here, it's for you.
I'm going to change your idea of group fitness.
And, I hope, maybe encourage you to check it out.
I have belonged to two families of group fitness that have, without exaggeration, changed my life.
I started out at BMS Bootcamps out of Leduc.
If you're brand new and nervous about walking into a group of people you don't know?
This place is for you. Take a friend, even!
If you'd like to learn how to properly do exercises so you don't get injured?
If you want to be held accountable, and be able to just, simply show up, but still get a serious arse-kickin' workout?
Then head over to BMS Bootcamps. You can try it for a whole week for free!
http://www.bmsbootcamps.com
Group fitness is for everyone.
I am an introvert.
I don't typically like people, in general.
I don't like to have plans, or to commit to anything, really.
I should be the type of person that likes to just get my gym membership and go do my own thing, alone, at the gym.
But being an introvert does not in any way, make me a self motivator.
I know myself well enough to know that investing in gym equipment for our house would be the same as taking fistfuls of my cash and burning it.
I won't use it.
I need to have someone pushing me to challenge myself.
Even more than that? I need to have an extremely hard working group of people motivating me to grab the heavier weights, or pick up the damn pace!
(Still struggle with this, even with the coaching!)
Group fitness is for everyone.
If you're scared of being judged, then lemme tell ya', going to the gym is not where you want to be.
I've never felt so much staring and eye-judging as when I've gone to the gym.
Am I doing this move right?
Does it look like I have any clue whatsoever what I'm doing?
Do I even belong here?
Ugh. I am not good at going to the gym. The conventional gym.
My current home is Spark gym.
That's where my heart belongs.
http://www.sparkgym.com
Spark Sport Conditioning.
Sounds pretty badass, dontcha think?
Me too.
I really love this place.
I'm not even sure I could put into words how much I love this place. F'reals. It gets me all verklempt because of the difference in my life this place has made.
With both groups I've belonged to, anytime there has ever been a newbie show up, they have been welcomed with immediate openness and encouragement.
We don't leave anyone behind.
Everyone is new at one point, and if you just keep coming, and grindin' it out, you will gain two things:
1)Hella' muscle
2)Friendship
And when I say friendship, I actually mean your fitness family.
These people will give you the extra pep when you're dragging butt. They will push you beyond any comfortable place you've ever known. They will make sure that you know that THEY know you haven't been showing up.
They will notice and congratulate you on the changes that will happen to your body.
They will notice and congratulate you on the incredible improvements you've made in your strength/power/speed/agility...
Group fitness is not about showing up and having an instructor "teach" you a fitness lesson.
It can be, because the truth is, it's whatever you need it to be.
It is a coach guiding you through a very difficult workout.
I often tell people that both gyms I've belonged to were like having a personal trainer at a deep, deep discount.
If you want to really challenge yourself, the coaches at both BMS and Spark will have you working way outside your comfort zone, which, really, is where the beautiful changes happen.
I've included links to both of my fave group fitness organizations, but you don't really need to click on the links.
You just need to go.
And if you're nervous, message me and I'll go with you!
Let's go get schweaty together!
Saturday 5 March 2016
Eff Your Willpower! (And Mine, for That Matter!)
I'm going to let y'all into my honesty bubble for a minute.
My hubby was at a council meeting one evening, and my two big gals were at Grandma and Grandpa's for a sleepover. So it was just me and the little guy for the night.
I worked out that morning, so that box had been checked, but then I thought to myself, "Self? Y'know what we could do tonight? Just you and me and the munchkin? We could order pizza!"
So, I sat down at the computer and pulled up the online, safe-behind-my-screen-so-I-can-order-whatever-I-want, BP's menu.
Then I thought, man, I don't get an evening with just one kid, where the weather is gorgeous, I haven't run in a gazillion years (or so it feels), and I could totally test out this stupid, bitchin' ankle injury because it doesn't feel too horrendous.
What. A. Conundrum.
Do I order pizza, or go for a run?
I did NOT rely on my shitty willpower.
I do not have any.
Instead, I dug deep down and remembered my why.
Why am I doing all of this?
What are my goals?
My success this time around has very, very little to do with willpower.
Trust me. I have none. Zippo.
It has everything to do with facing every temptation with, why.
Imma' use one of my favorite snacks as an example, because, I don't buy these little gems, unless I would be OK with the consequences of eating the entire box.
See? Eff the willpower!
Oreos.
I'd like to eat two oreos.
Alright, since you're already in the bubble, two more oreos!
Because, well, they're oreos and I worked out.
And I deserve to eat two more goddamn oreos.
Stop. And just think for one second.
Why are you doing this?
Will this choice, this little, not so long lasting struggle, get me to my goals?
It isn't reaffirming every day, why you are doing this.
It's reaffirming at every crossroad choice.
Every choice during the day that challenges you, and that isn't a healthy one.
You will have LOADS of these decisions in the beginning of the journey because the lousy behaviors are more natural than the healthier ones, but the difficult choices will become fewer and fewer until there might only be a few a day, but then again there might be an entire day's worth for several days.
You must face, head on, each difficult decision, with the question;
Why?
And you may have to do this over, and over, and over again.
And, truthfully, some days the lousy choices will be made.
It's OK.
Learning to accept that there will be failure, is, in fact, success!
It's kinda' like teaching your kids, well, pretty much anything.
You will have to repeat the lesson again, and again, and again...
I'm at about a year of weight maintenance.
For one whole year, I have consistently worn the same clothes.
The same size clothes.
I'm unsure if I have ever done this before.
Ever.
In fact, I feel like I can say with a fair amount of certainty, that I've never done this.
I still reach for my jeans and think, shit, these babies aren't going to fit today, and yet, for an entire year, they have! Some days they're a little snugger than others, but never so snug that I can't still wear them.
(Bless you loose, flowy tops for just such days!)
After a year, do I feel like I've got everything figured out? No. Nope. HAHAHAHA!
No.
I still struggle.
I still feel like I could so easily fall back into old habits and end up where I was.
And I could.
I will forever have to remind myself, why.
Because I am an addict.
Not only have I maintained for a year, but I haven't stepped on a scale in months.
MONTHS!!!
I used to be a slave to that lying bitch!
The last time I stepped on it, I was 10lbs heavier than 6 months before.
But those jeans? They still fit.
The fact that I'd swapped my 40+km weekly mileage in favor of more heavy weightlifting, might have something to do with that.
So more than my weight remaining largely the same for the past year, I'm way more proud of the fact that I'm listening to my body and trying to fuel it and remember how it feels when I fuel it with garbage, so my motivation stays, why.
So, why am I going to forego those two oreos?
Because my love for oreos will never wane, but I know there will be another chance, another day for a couple of oreos.
But today, right this minute, my goals are more important.
My hubby was at a council meeting one evening, and my two big gals were at Grandma and Grandpa's for a sleepover. So it was just me and the little guy for the night.
I worked out that morning, so that box had been checked, but then I thought to myself, "Self? Y'know what we could do tonight? Just you and me and the munchkin? We could order pizza!"
So, I sat down at the computer and pulled up the online, safe-behind-my-screen-so-I-can-order-whatever-I-want, BP's menu.
Then I thought, man, I don't get an evening with just one kid, where the weather is gorgeous, I haven't run in a gazillion years (or so it feels), and I could totally test out this stupid, bitchin' ankle injury because it doesn't feel too horrendous.
What. A. Conundrum.
Do I order pizza, or go for a run?
I did NOT rely on my shitty willpower.
I do not have any.
Instead, I dug deep down and remembered my why.
Why am I doing all of this?
What are my goals?
My success this time around has very, very little to do with willpower.
Trust me. I have none. Zippo.
It has everything to do with facing every temptation with, why.
Imma' use one of my favorite snacks as an example, because, I don't buy these little gems, unless I would be OK with the consequences of eating the entire box.
See? Eff the willpower!
Oreos.
I'd like to eat two oreos.
Alright, since you're already in the bubble, two more oreos!
Because, well, they're oreos and I worked out.
And I deserve to eat two more goddamn oreos.
Stop. And just think for one second.
Why are you doing this?
Will this choice, this little, not so long lasting struggle, get me to my goals?
It isn't reaffirming every day, why you are doing this.
It's reaffirming at every crossroad choice.
Every choice during the day that challenges you, and that isn't a healthy one.
You will have LOADS of these decisions in the beginning of the journey because the lousy behaviors are more natural than the healthier ones, but the difficult choices will become fewer and fewer until there might only be a few a day, but then again there might be an entire day's worth for several days.
You must face, head on, each difficult decision, with the question;
Why?
And you may have to do this over, and over, and over again.
And, truthfully, some days the lousy choices will be made.
It's OK.
Learning to accept that there will be failure, is, in fact, success!
It's kinda' like teaching your kids, well, pretty much anything.
You will have to repeat the lesson again, and again, and again...
I'm at about a year of weight maintenance.
For one whole year, I have consistently worn the same clothes.
The same size clothes.
I'm unsure if I have ever done this before.
Ever.
In fact, I feel like I can say with a fair amount of certainty, that I've never done this.
I still reach for my jeans and think, shit, these babies aren't going to fit today, and yet, for an entire year, they have! Some days they're a little snugger than others, but never so snug that I can't still wear them.
(Bless you loose, flowy tops for just such days!)
After a year, do I feel like I've got everything figured out? No. Nope. HAHAHAHA!
No.
I still struggle.
I still feel like I could so easily fall back into old habits and end up where I was.
And I could.
I will forever have to remind myself, why.
Because I am an addict.
Not only have I maintained for a year, but I haven't stepped on a scale in months.
MONTHS!!!
I used to be a slave to that lying bitch!
The last time I stepped on it, I was 10lbs heavier than 6 months before.
But those jeans? They still fit.
The fact that I'd swapped my 40+km weekly mileage in favor of more heavy weightlifting, might have something to do with that.
So more than my weight remaining largely the same for the past year, I'm way more proud of the fact that I'm listening to my body and trying to fuel it and remember how it feels when I fuel it with garbage, so my motivation stays, why.
So, why am I going to forego those two oreos?
Because my love for oreos will never wane, but I know there will be another chance, another day for a couple of oreos.
But today, right this minute, my goals are more important.
Monday 8 February 2016
Ouch! Right in the Self-Esteem
I went to the gym the other day, and as I was packing up to race out the door and grab MrS, a woman stopped me and asked about an exercise I was doing.
As in, asked me for advice.
WHA?!?!?!
She asked what it was called, and of course I had to consult my notebook because I couldn't remember if it was a bulgarian or romanian move...
Why aren't there any Canadian moves? Pick up your socks North 'Merica, we're falling behind in the world of weightlifting move naming!
I told her its good for the muscle under your bum and that it can help define the line between your legs and bum.
Because I'm a not a personal trainer and I literally have no idea the difference between lats, traps and delts, or abductors and adductors...or the names of any muscles, really...
So, after I was finished doling out some real primo advice, she says, "I bet you don't have any cellulite, though."
And before I burst out laughing, hard, loud, uncontrollable laughing, I softly sang to her, we are gonna be the beeeeeeeest of friends.
Not really.
The singing part.
All the other parts are true!
But, really, isn't a compliment the absolute best thing? Since I've lost a bit of weight, and my body has changed, I've received lots of compliments.
I still struggle to accept them with grace, and not self-deprecate with some joke about the chubby bits that remain, or how I only do cardio so I can eat donuts...which is actually a true statement.
I have fallen head over heels with lifting weights.
Some people's body's are built for certain activities.
I am not built for, say, ballet, or any sport that requires a light, nimble, lithe body.
I am bulky, and big and I hold weight in the middle.
Not to say that lifting is only for bigger people!
Nothing could be further from the truth!
Weight lifting is for everyone!
I can't wait for the old school mentality of, "lift light weights and do a whole bunch'a reps if you wanna get toned, and lift heavy weights for only a few reps to get bulky."
Ya, no.
I know plenty of gals (and guys!) who lift heavy a** weights, and look nothing but fit.
That being said, having muscle does give a "lumpy, bumpy" appearance.
As a long time runner, I have lots of running friends.
A common conversation amongst runners, goes something like this:
"What races are you training for?"
"Oh, a winter half in February/March, then two or three halfs this summer and probably a run-cation in the fall"
I'm not doing any races this summer.
(Which likely won't actually happen, as I have no control and will definitely give in and do something!)
So, when a very kind, runner co-worker asked me this question, I told her I was going to focus on lifting because I've always had to scale according to my long runs and I want to see what I can do with no limitations.
She said, again, kindly, "oh, so you want to be lumpy and bumpy."
Well, actually, hell yes, I DO!
I'm sure it wasn't meant to be hurtful, but I really had never thought about it before.
I completely understand that each individual person wants to look a certain way.
I get that.
But I would never say to someone, "oh, you want to be skinny-fat and have weak, noodly arms?"
I don't actually care how you want to look!!
Why should you care how I look?!?!
I am trying, and struggling, to simply do me, and not worry about what others think of me, but it's hard to face the ugly judgement, and especially so, when it's not meant to be hurtful.
I need to grow thicker skin...
Until then, I'm just going to be over here, becoming the best version of me that ever was.
As in, asked me for advice.
WHA?!?!?!
She asked what it was called, and of course I had to consult my notebook because I couldn't remember if it was a bulgarian or romanian move...
Why aren't there any Canadian moves? Pick up your socks North 'Merica, we're falling behind in the world of weightlifting move naming!
I told her its good for the muscle under your bum and that it can help define the line between your legs and bum.
Because I'm a not a personal trainer and I literally have no idea the difference between lats, traps and delts, or abductors and adductors...or the names of any muscles, really...
So, after I was finished doling out some real primo advice, she says, "I bet you don't have any cellulite, though."
And before I burst out laughing, hard, loud, uncontrollable laughing, I softly sang to her, we are gonna be the beeeeeeeest of friends.
Not really.
The singing part.
All the other parts are true!
But, really, isn't a compliment the absolute best thing? Since I've lost a bit of weight, and my body has changed, I've received lots of compliments.
I still struggle to accept them with grace, and not self-deprecate with some joke about the chubby bits that remain, or how I only do cardio so I can eat donuts...which is actually a true statement.
I have fallen head over heels with lifting weights.
Some people's body's are built for certain activities.
I am not built for, say, ballet, or any sport that requires a light, nimble, lithe body.
I am bulky, and big and I hold weight in the middle.
Not to say that lifting is only for bigger people!
Nothing could be further from the truth!
Weight lifting is for everyone!
I can't wait for the old school mentality of, "lift light weights and do a whole bunch'a reps if you wanna get toned, and lift heavy weights for only a few reps to get bulky."
Ya, no.
I know plenty of gals (and guys!) who lift heavy a** weights, and look nothing but fit.
That being said, having muscle does give a "lumpy, bumpy" appearance.
As a long time runner, I have lots of running friends.
A common conversation amongst runners, goes something like this:
"What races are you training for?"
"Oh, a winter half in February/March, then two or three halfs this summer and probably a run-cation in the fall"
I'm not doing any races this summer.
(Which likely won't actually happen, as I have no control and will definitely give in and do something!)
So, when a very kind, runner co-worker asked me this question, I told her I was going to focus on lifting because I've always had to scale according to my long runs and I want to see what I can do with no limitations.
She said, again, kindly, "oh, so you want to be lumpy and bumpy."
Well, actually, hell yes, I DO!
I'm sure it wasn't meant to be hurtful, but I really had never thought about it before.
I completely understand that each individual person wants to look a certain way.
I get that.
But I would never say to someone, "oh, you want to be skinny-fat and have weak, noodly arms?"
I don't actually care how you want to look!!
Why should you care how I look?!?!
I am trying, and struggling, to simply do me, and not worry about what others think of me, but it's hard to face the ugly judgement, and especially so, when it's not meant to be hurtful.
I need to grow thicker skin...
Until then, I'm just going to be over here, becoming the best version of me that ever was.
Wednesday 13 January 2016
Nice to be Nice
We live in a world where more than ever, we are connected as friends, neighbors.
But in our real,day to day lives, more than ever, we live in a cutthroat, winner takes all world, where, really, no one is your friend.
We're not even nice in the most basic way to each other anymore.
We carefully sculpt beautiful, gleaming virtual lives on the world wide web, where, in real life, this world has become so angry.
I struggle to teach my children empathy, because the concept is so foreign.
"Why should I have to do anything for anyone else, when they're not doing anything for me?"
I'm trying to teach them that even though people are going to be mean to you, that sometimes you still need to be nice. That we don't wait for someone to be kind first, because that may never happen.
I'm also trying to teach them that even though people might not be kind to you, or help you, that doesn't mean they're trying to hurt your feelings or take advantage of you. They're simply trying to take care of themselves.
I'm finding this to be the most challenging thing about parenting. Raising kids in a heavily virtual world, when in real life, self-destruction is happening all around them.
For this reason, I need them to rise even taller.
I need them to be kinder, softer, gentler than me.
I need them to understand that being nice is just that.
Being nice.
Not because you'll get something in return.
Not because you need to be better than anyone else.
Not because you're trying to accumulate some sort of mythical "point" to cash in on some other occasion.
Simply for the reason, that it's nice to be nice.
If I myself let in the bad, then my day can reflect the ugly stuff real, real quick.
Unfortunately, when I display that nasty meanness, my kids will bounce it right back to me.
It takes no damn time at all for every single person in our house to be upset.
And that sucks cojones.
It's very difficult to teach my children these difficult lessons when I myself have to fight so hard to maintain niceness.
I want to scream and shout and tell that sh*tty person that they're sh*tty.
The life lessons I struggle with most, are probably the most important for me to teach my kids.
The ones that come easy to me, will likely come easier to them.
If I can emulate good qualities, with ease, I can hope that one day, my kids will too.
It's these habits and traits that are so heavily influenced by the new ultra-connected world, that I need to work harder to instill in them.
Life is not fair.
It's so difficult to teach a tough lesson like that.
And even though life isn't fair, we need to be nice people anyways.
To everyone.
Especially the ones who are unkind to us.
Sometimes they're the ones who need it most.
But in our real,day to day lives, more than ever, we live in a cutthroat, winner takes all world, where, really, no one is your friend.
We're not even nice in the most basic way to each other anymore.
We carefully sculpt beautiful, gleaming virtual lives on the world wide web, where, in real life, this world has become so angry.
I struggle to teach my children empathy, because the concept is so foreign.
"Why should I have to do anything for anyone else, when they're not doing anything for me?"
I'm trying to teach them that even though people are going to be mean to you, that sometimes you still need to be nice. That we don't wait for someone to be kind first, because that may never happen.
I'm also trying to teach them that even though people might not be kind to you, or help you, that doesn't mean they're trying to hurt your feelings or take advantage of you. They're simply trying to take care of themselves.
I'm finding this to be the most challenging thing about parenting. Raising kids in a heavily virtual world, when in real life, self-destruction is happening all around them.
For this reason, I need them to rise even taller.
I need them to be kinder, softer, gentler than me.
I need them to understand that being nice is just that.
Being nice.
Not because you'll get something in return.
Not because you need to be better than anyone else.
Not because you're trying to accumulate some sort of mythical "point" to cash in on some other occasion.
Simply for the reason, that it's nice to be nice.
If I myself let in the bad, then my day can reflect the ugly stuff real, real quick.
Unfortunately, when I display that nasty meanness, my kids will bounce it right back to me.
It takes no damn time at all for every single person in our house to be upset.
And that sucks cojones.
It's very difficult to teach my children these difficult lessons when I myself have to fight so hard to maintain niceness.
I want to scream and shout and tell that sh*tty person that they're sh*tty.
The life lessons I struggle with most, are probably the most important for me to teach my kids.
The ones that come easy to me, will likely come easier to them.
If I can emulate good qualities, with ease, I can hope that one day, my kids will too.
It's these habits and traits that are so heavily influenced by the new ultra-connected world, that I need to work harder to instill in them.
Life is not fair.
It's so difficult to teach a tough lesson like that.
And even though life isn't fair, we need to be nice people anyways.
To everyone.
Especially the ones who are unkind to us.
Sometimes they're the ones who need it most.
Friday 8 January 2016
One Year Ago
This time last year, I was resting to prep for the Goofy Race.
I remember sitting on the edge of the fountain in the lobby
of the Coronado Springs hotel.
It was 3:30am and I was waiting for my Dad to show up in his
costume, which I had yet to see.
I remember thinking that this was all a dream, and that this had been the loftiest goal I’d ever dreamed up.
How could it already be race morning?I remember thinking that this was all a dream, and that this had been the loftiest goal I’d ever dreamed up.
 |
| Listening to Some Disney tunes... |
To say that the weekend was a dream come true would be a
huge, huge understatement.
I dreamt up the goal more than a year before, but found myself
unexpectedly pregnant instead, so when the time came to re-register for the
following year, I was fully aware of the time it would take to train and the
fact that the new baby would be just shy of 8 months old.
I am not a detail-oriented person, however, I am stubborn as
a bull, and when I decide I’d like to pursue a goal, come hell or high water, I
will accomplish it.
(Unless it involves giving up donuts. I won't do that. Nope.)
I am a grown-ass woman.
I am a grown-ass woman with three kids and a husband, which I think gives me a few cred points in the game of attempting to adult.
Big Hero 6 is a fleeting movie. It will likely fade into my childrens’
memories, like many of their current obsessions do. It was not so much the
character, but what it meant to me in that moment.
 |
| I was very, very emotional at the finish line. |
3:33am. January 10,
2015.
 |
| We look like a Disney Race poster, no? |
My Dad comes into the lobby of the hotel wearing a Prince
Charming costume that’s been combined with regular running gear to create,
complete with white gloves, a beautiful and amazing costume.
On that day, as we rode the shuttle to the start line,
waited in long ques for porta potties, where just steps away there were dozens
of empty ones, and then made the long, long, very long, trek to our corral, my Dad
got many shout outs for his costume.
I, in my very original Anna costume, got few.
To have a goal, an aspiration, and then to have your family
stand alongside you, not only encouraging you, but even participating, has been
something I’ve spent a year trying to put into words.
 |
| Best. Running partner. Ever. |
And, yet, last year, I flew to Florida and then California,
to run a half marathon in Disneyworld, and then Disneyland, with my Mom and
Dad.
And it will forever be one of the most memorable years of my life.
How in the hell did I ever get so lucky, as to deserve all of this?
When resolution time rolls around, for many, many years, I
had the same ones every year.
I want to lose weight.
*sits back, puts hands behind back and waits for this
magical thing to just “occur”*
But for the first time ever, and with no relation to New
Years whatsoever, I set out to run injury free, which I knew meant losing weight, because my body was
suffering, having to carry 50 extra pounds, each time I set out to hit the
pavement in my runners.
I want my kids to be proud.
I want them to say, for their whole lives, that their Mom is a
runner. An athlete. An inspiration.
I want my husband to smile when he thinks of the obstacles I’ve
faced, and be proud of the fact that none of the goals I set would be possible
without him.
I want my Mom and Dad to be proud of me, and I know they are, because they’ll fly
five timezones to be with me over the biggest running weekend I’ve ever
embarked upon.
And most importantly, I want to make sure that I’m proud of
me.
I want for New Years to come and go, and to make small, silly goals, because what I’m really thinking, is, how can I possibly top THAT
year?!?!
I want to come upon every January 1, and have not one regret
for the year I lived before that.
It’s been around 18 months since I truly took control of my
health, and to say that I only felt like I was living my life fully from then
on would not be an exaggeration.
I remember getting dressed in my Mrs.Incredible costume on
the morning of the marathon. I felt very
unsure of myself, and my feet were tired and beginning to blister, so I
was already feeling a little bit defeated. I was
emotional. I was fragile. I was on the verge of crying during that
entire, 5:00:12 race. I DID cry. Several times. But more than that, and more than ever, I felt strong, invincible
and capable of any-damn-thing.
I will forever cherish the memory of coming around the corner
to see the giant inflatable Baymax character, and bursting into full,
hyperventilating, ugly sobs.
It was around mile 20, which is when I truly find my
grit during the marathon. It gets
hard. And there’s many miles still to
go. But I'd already run so many.
 |
Part one of two, and only 1/3 of the distance was complete.
Yikes.
|
 |
So, so many tears. Thank GOD for
fake lashes!
|
My little girl, who had just turned five, was waiting for me
at the finish line. My little girl, as
well as her adoring little sister and their baby brother, who all have been the
greatest motivators of my life. Who have
inspired me to be the best me I can be, were in love with this giant white
character, and as if on cue, the corresponding song came on my iPod. In that single moment, I was able to dig
deep. To dig beyond my most
uncomfortable place, and carry through, strong through the finish line.
I was a warrior that day.
I am not an elite athlete.
I am just clinging to the back of the “mid pack”.
But my kids. They
think I’m a real life friggin’ super hero.
Friday 1 January 2016
Only Kinda' Sorta' About Resolutions
Women's Health magazine has recently announced that it will no longer feature the words "bikini body", "drop two sizes" and other such phrases on their covers. Not from print in the entire magazine, but from the cover, which is OK, because a small step in the right direction, is still a step.
For much of my life, I never dreamed of, or even had the desire to wear a bikini.
I had to stop for a minute last week, as I said to my Mom, "do you know where my black bikini is? It's my favorite one?"
Not only have I started to buy and wear bikinis, but I have so many that I have a favorite one.
I do not, by any means have a perfect body, but I do have a bikini body.
As in, I put bikinis on my body.
I have two daughters and I cannot tell them to wear whatever they like, because they're beautiful, and then turn around and not wear what I like because I'm self conscious.
Actions speak louder, friends.
I am going to tell you something that will make you uncomfortable.
Do you want to have a bikini body?
Well, guess what, you already do!
If you have a body, then you have a bikini body.
We recently spent a week on vacation in Mexico and I wore a bikini every. Single. Day.
In a not-so-distant past, I would have written a self-deprecating sentence about having, by no uncertain means, a bikini body.
But I do. I can wear a bikini. I can freaking ROCK a bikini.
But it wasn't easy.
It was so difficult to do.
The first day.
After that, it actually wasn't difficult at all.
The first day I felt incredibly self conscious and I was certain everyone was judging me.
They were.
Then I had a few cocktails, and accepted the fact that I was being judged, (and, really, had I been wearing a one piece suit, I'd have been judged for that too, so...), and just embraced the fact that I was wearing a two piece swimsuit, alongside my girls, so they can know that the nicest thing a woman can wear is any-friggin'-thing she wants with a huge side o' self-confidence.
So, the uncomfortable bit? If you feel your body isn't "worthy" of wearing something, you really should resolve to get over that.
I wear long pants and at minimum a t shirt to the gym. My legs and arms shouldn't be seen.
But. truthfully, they look just fine, and I feel badass when I wear a tank to the gym.
However, this year, starting tomorrow, when I purge my workout gear of shitty superstore t shirts that are too big and hold onto sweat like sponges, I am going to wear workout gear that keeps me a)dry, b)mobile and, honestly, c)looks cute.
I've worked very hard for this body I live in, and although I want to take it somewhere different this year, right now, right this very second, it's worthy of any damn thing I want to put on it.
I know that the New Year can really rev our engines, and give us a bit of pep, but this second, any one of you who are reading this can and absolutely should be confident and proud. If you want to change your bod this year, I support you wholly, BUT, your current one is pretty amaze-balls too, capiche?!
"I'm not going to go on vacation/join the gym/do anything new or challenging, until I've lost ___ lbs." That shit's bonkers, so seriously, know that you're worthy of anything you want. Right now.
And, in my humble experience, of purchasing my first bikini last summer, and following up with a serious addiction, to the point where I now have a favorite 'kini, I can tell you, that if you put on the bikini, you will feel exposed, and uncomfortable. But do it again. And again. And be confident AF, because if you do that, then that's all anyone will notice.
For much of my life, I never dreamed of, or even had the desire to wear a bikini.
I had to stop for a minute last week, as I said to my Mom, "do you know where my black bikini is? It's my favorite one?"
Not only have I started to buy and wear bikinis, but I have so many that I have a favorite one.
I do not, by any means have a perfect body, but I do have a bikini body.
As in, I put bikinis on my body.
I have two daughters and I cannot tell them to wear whatever they like, because they're beautiful, and then turn around and not wear what I like because I'm self conscious.
Actions speak louder, friends.
I am going to tell you something that will make you uncomfortable.
Do you want to have a bikini body?
Well, guess what, you already do!
If you have a body, then you have a bikini body.
We recently spent a week on vacation in Mexico and I wore a bikini every. Single. Day.
In a not-so-distant past, I would have written a self-deprecating sentence about having, by no uncertain means, a bikini body.
But I do. I can wear a bikini. I can freaking ROCK a bikini.
But it wasn't easy.
It was so difficult to do.
The first day.
After that, it actually wasn't difficult at all.
The first day I felt incredibly self conscious and I was certain everyone was judging me.
They were.
Then I had a few cocktails, and accepted the fact that I was being judged, (and, really, had I been wearing a one piece suit, I'd have been judged for that too, so...), and just embraced the fact that I was wearing a two piece swimsuit, alongside my girls, so they can know that the nicest thing a woman can wear is any-friggin'-thing she wants with a huge side o' self-confidence.
So, the uncomfortable bit? If you feel your body isn't "worthy" of wearing something, you really should resolve to get over that.
I wear long pants and at minimum a t shirt to the gym. My legs and arms shouldn't be seen.
But. truthfully, they look just fine, and I feel badass when I wear a tank to the gym.
However, this year, starting tomorrow, when I purge my workout gear of shitty superstore t shirts that are too big and hold onto sweat like sponges, I am going to wear workout gear that keeps me a)dry, b)mobile and, honestly, c)looks cute.
I've worked very hard for this body I live in, and although I want to take it somewhere different this year, right now, right this very second, it's worthy of any damn thing I want to put on it.
I know that the New Year can really rev our engines, and give us a bit of pep, but this second, any one of you who are reading this can and absolutely should be confident and proud. If you want to change your bod this year, I support you wholly, BUT, your current one is pretty amaze-balls too, capiche?!
"I'm not going to go on vacation/join the gym/do anything new or challenging, until I've lost ___ lbs." That shit's bonkers, so seriously, know that you're worthy of anything you want. Right now.
And, in my humble experience, of purchasing my first bikini last summer, and following up with a serious addiction, to the point where I now have a favorite 'kini, I can tell you, that if you put on the bikini, you will feel exposed, and uncomfortable. But do it again. And again. And be confident AF, because if you do that, then that's all anyone will notice.
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