Thursday, July 12, 2018

A New Size

Today I went shopping. I got a babysitter and went by myself. While that sounds like a treat, it wasn't. I HAD to go shopping. Yesterday is when I realized it. I wore a pair of shorts that use to fit me. I squeezed myself into them and was completely uncomfortable all day long. My knee fat kept crawling out of the bottom of the shorts begging my constant tug.

The once cute coral shorts were riding up my crotch and the top button was working overtime. After the shorts mocked and harassed me all day long I decided to call it what it is and buy a few new things. I thought it would make me feel better. I tried to talk myself down. Okay I tried to lie to myself. Hey, sizing is different throughout various brands and styles. Maybe an evil villain sized those shorts and perhaps I would just need to size up one puny pant number. Perhaps I'm that far off from the size I use to be. 

I went to mall. I hate the mall, mostly because of the pushy twenty something sales ladies always acting as if they want to get to know me.

"What we shopping for today? Anything special?" She'll inquire, cheerfully.

"Um just looking" I'll say. Which really means, back off bitch.

Then they'll rattle on about there special specials and how If I spend one billion dollars and I can get 30 percent off the next billion.

I think, girl.... you really don't want to get to know me. Underneath these long mom shorts is an angry woman that came here for stretchy fabrics and a bit of silence.

I went around the store picking up one size bigger than whatever the former Lindy was. With each clothing selection I tugged it, making sure it had a little give, or a lot of give. I needed these shorts to stretch from here to kingdom come.

"Can I get a dressing room started for ya?" Asked the twenty something sales clerk.

I handed over the items as she asked my name and wrote it on the cute metal board hanging on the dressing room door. I thought if she dots the "I" with a heart I'm outa here.

I tugged and hoisted a few on and realized, Wow! I've changed more that I thought I had. I settled on some stretchy long mom shorts in a larger size than I have ever worn before. I tossed in a couple forgiving T- shirts and decided my summer wardrobe had been updated, or more appropriately, up-scaled.

As I was checking out the nosy, all too chatty, twenty something sales person asked me, "You buyin clothes for a special Occassion, a trip or something?"

I tapped my credit card on the counter and said, "Honestly, I've gained a bit of weight and I'm tired of being uncomfortable everyday."

She paused, and then smiled and said, "Well, you still look great to me."

I get it. Honesty stuns people sometimes. And I mean really it's not her fault. I know that.

Accepting where we're at in the moment can be difficult. The older I get the more I realize that life is a teeter totter of adjusting expectations. I suppose it's in rejoicing in the highs, even if it's not as high as we anticipated and accepting or God willing, embracing the lows.

So what the hell! I'm going raise my glass to a new size. Cheers.



The Stories our Bodies Tell

Last night I attended my daughter's dance recital. She takes modern dance. The thing I love most about modern dance is the stories that are told through movement. The dancers told the story of, Pricilla the Pink. Each class had a portion of the story they told through movement, props and color.

Her dance studio also hosts adult classes, they also told a number of stories with the movement of their bodies. The production was a beautiful and emotionally driven collaboration of stories told through movement.

By the end of the night I saw a painting completed through movement of the body, a memoir on pain, anguish and anxiety, and a display of carefree happiness. Some had a narrative, some did not. The dances I saw stuck with me.

I was out for a run the next day and I thought, I wonder what would happen if I took a dance class? Could my body bend with the same grace theirs did? I then thought, Aren't we all telling stories with our bodies?

If my body told you its story it would tell of a girl who's body has accomplished a lot. A body that has, in a sense, been to hell and back. I bet yours has too.

A body that was short and strong as a gymnast.
A body that rounded bases faster than anyone else on the team.
A body that lost a lot of swim meets, but one that still loves to swim because it feels good to float.
A body that has ran too many races to count.
A body that bikes more miles in a day than some will drive.
A body that has been injured because it's owner just wouldn't listen when it begged her to stop.
A body, after all its hard work and achievements, was criticized because it wasn't thin enough.
A body that was deprived of well earned calories.
A body that was fed junk and then forced to throw it all up.
A body that miraculously housed and birthed and nourished three children.
A body who was whipped back into shape after childbirth well before it was ready.
A body that never failed me when I continually failed it.
A body who deserves a huge apology for what I've put it through.

I suppose my painting, my dance, my story as seen through my body would be one of beauty and pain. Loyalty and betrayal. A story of deprivation and indulgence. And like all great stories I hope it ends with happiness, appreciation and gratitude.

So today, dearest body may I offer you a heartfelt apology? By amending the wrong and seeking the right? May I for once tell you how much I love you and that my life and all the beautiful gifts, talents, experiences and people that are present in it are from you? And if I spend the rest of my days making these wrongs into rights will you do one more thing for me? That is, to do what you've always done. To carry me through this life as I live it to the fullest.

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Gwen

My Gwen girl is nine months and last night I laid awake in my bed and tried to think of why and how it is that someone who does not speak, has no real opinions, interests or hobbies and who demands constant attention can somehow, miraculously bring an entire family so much joy.

I mean it when I say Gwen has brought joy to our home. As I laid awake in my insomniac state trying to figure out this phenomenon I thought perhaps it is her essence, her presence that is so sweet, innocent and pure and that maybe on a minuscule scale those traits still exist within us and they are exasperated by a baby. So when we look at a baby, and when I look at my sweet Gwen I feel good. I feel happy. I feel joy.

It's funny when my first was a baby I would journal her monthly milestones and snap pictures of every little moment. When our second came along the journaling and the pictures tapered. Now, with my darling Gwen this is the first mention of her and she is nine months. In a mommy state of thinking  I should feel bad about this, but you know what I don't. I have enjoyed Gwen instead of obsessing  over milestones. I nursed Gwen without stress for as long as both she and I felt fit and I didn't have to explain it to anyone. I have kissed Gwen one trillion times on every inch of her body because eating her is frowned upon. This experience with Gwen has been wonderfully different and for that I wouldn't trade a journal entry or a picture.

Gwen's smiles with her whole mouth. She has a soft sweet and plump body. She is healthy. I have never had to wonder if she's eating enough. She is a fantastic sleeper. It is like all the worry that can be associated with having a new baby simply doesn't exist. I don't know how that's possible, but it is and it's glorious.

I'm posting a newborn photo because it is gorgeous and sweet and this blog is so out of date I figure anything goes.

Friday, October 16, 2015

Book Review: The Devil in the White City

I've been doing a lot of reading lately. And I can thank this third pregnancy for that. I have been inordinately lazy this time around and I'm afraid it's eating away at my soul. Yes, people, my soul! Some people sell their soul to the devil and I sold mine to motherhood.

More on that later.


This book was SO GOOD. It's non-fiction but you'd never guess by the style it's written in. I can't imagine churning such a large amount of research into a story that reads as if it's fiction. An amazing feat. A huge applause for Erik Larson.
This book follows the facts and events leading up to the World's Fair in 1893 while simultaneously following the story of the first ever detected serial killer of the United States. Both stories true, both fascinating. I loved learning about this portion of American history while being completely entertained. You need to pick up this book so we can chat about the World's Fair and annoyingly talk about it among others who, most likely, will know nothing about it, that way we can act more educated and thus better than everyone else. Isn't learning fun?
Whenever I mentioned the premise of this book I found people would shudder when I mentioned the serial killer thing. And to those of you who shuddered, you guys are wimps. But, if you really need me to stroke your hair and tell you it's going to be okay I will say, the serial thing does not get graphic or descriptive. I mean, one could more offended watching Sesame Street, or at least the Sesame Street featuring Katy Perry. You know the one.
Happy Reading!

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Book Review: The Rosie Project

I loved this book, so much more than I thought I would. I would describe it as a quirky love story. You'll fall in love with the characters. I found I laughed out loud a few times.

The main character of the book is all set to find a wife. He realizes he is weird and is aware of the some of the reasons behind his inability to find a mate. It's clear he has asperger's syndrome. Yet the book explores this syndrome in an accessible and entertaining way. The main character holds the narrative so it feels as though you are inside his head.

Rosie, who becomes his love interest is a little rough around the edges and like everyone she has as story that is not obvious in the beginning. I loved the exploration of the two characters as individuals and then as lovers. It is a feel good, hilarious read that will leave you feeling like there is someone for everyone.

Monday, May 4, 2015

Book Review: Dad Is Fat

Dad is Fat is a humorous autobiography written by Comedian, Jim Gaffigan. I'm a fan of his stand up and when this book was recommend to me by a friend it didn't take long until I picked it up. Well picked it up is the wrong term. I actually read this one through audio. My husband and I spent our eight year anniversary in St. George and I thought a book would be the perfect way to kill a long car ride. I downloaded it right before we left because I knew it would be a book we could both enjoy. A husband and wife both enjoying the same book. Rare.

His book is all about his experience raising five young kids in a two bedroom New York apartment. His observations of his children are funny and if you are a parent, they will ring in painfully true, which I believe is the heart of true humor.

A couple of things I enjoy about his humor is his ability to keep things clean while still being creative. I have to imagine that this is hard to do as it seems most comedians resort to crude and sexual humor. The other thing is, while he makes fun of his kids and his wife, his love for them gleams through the pages with a brightness that is so refreshing.

It made me feel better as a parent. It made me feel like we are all in this mess together, that none of us knows what we are doing. We are all just making it up as we go along. Making rules that momentarily work in our favor and usually ruin us in the long term.

I loved this way he spoke up about his wife. He sang her praises and we just don't hear enough of this kind of positive talk in our culture today.

I'm giving this book five stars. It's a relaxing laughable read. A perfect vacation book.

Tuesday, April 28, 2015

An Awful Dinner

Today was fine, until dinner. I try so hard. I honestly do. When I make a grocery list I look through my fridge and add items to the list that we are in need of. Then I look through my cook books and my pinterest board to determine the upcoming meals for the week. I try new meals and most of the dinners I cook are fairly healthy and also include at least a fruit or veggie on the side. As you can see planning, shopping and cooking meals is a big part of my job. To have my kids not touch their dinner is discouraging to say the least. But tonight was more than discouraging. This dinner was disgusting! Even to me, and I have labeled myself as the world's least pickiest eater. I mean, you guys, I love food, I love all food, I love all flavors and I even consider myself an adventurous eater. I actually think it's one of my better traits.

After I literally could not choke down my broccoli stuffed tillapia I began to question everything I was doing in my life. Thoughts started flooding my brain.  I'm not a good cook! Why do I try do hard? Was the fish even cooked all the way through? Aw shit I'm going to give my whole family food poisoning! What am I doing with my life? I'm not a good mother! What business do I have raising kids? Should I go back to work? Maybe the nanny could cook dinner? And to think I borrowed an egg for this god awful meal!  I f****ing HATE pinterest!

And now I know bad thoughts proceed bad actions. My daughter threw a fit because after I had given her a popsicle and then offered her another popsicle she instead wanted a chocolate Hostess cupcake. Admittedly she was probably starving. I know I was. I told her no. She threw a tantrum I told her to go to her room. She did not and then all hell broke loose. She escalated her fit and I began to yell. I absolutely hate this about myself. I grew up in a yelling kind of house and when I'm at the end of my rope, I yell. I lose it and I yell. It's awful. I felt horrible.

I left her in her room to scream and yell and went to the freezer retrieved the Hostess cupcake left over from when I had to bring soccer treats, and went into my closed garage and ate the coveted cupcake. I figure at this point you can't be all that surprised. I'm a bad tillapia cooking, yelling piece of shit. Did you really think I wasn't going to eat the cupcake she was crying over? If you did, then you have too much faith in me, and it is now time that I disappoint you.

So there I was crying in the garage and eating a cupcake. A low point for sure. My days at home with the kids are not easy and most of the time I question if this is what I should be doing. Especially on a day like today when it seems like I've done more harm to my family than good. I've heard a lot of women say they always knew they wanted to stay home with their kids. I, however, have always been open-minded about the idea of working or not working. But I fear this open-mindedness has somehow turned into constant doubt. I wish I could embrace the chaos more than I'm able to and march confidently through motherhood. But for now I'm going to eat some oatmeal in my messy kitchen that reeks of fish, because I'm starving. Here's to hoping for a better tomorrow.