Upstairs

Oh no.

I can hear my neighbors.

No, not doing THAT.

Yelling at their kid.

"Lay down!" "Put that down!" "Be quiet!"

Which means I can be heard.

And I've been real short on patience with my kids this week.

And have yelled.

I don't want to be judged on what I've said to my kids the past few days. Because I'm not usually that kind of parent.

Perhaps it is horrible to say that not wanting to be heard is a reason for trying to be a better parent. Perhaps.

But mostly, it's a good reminder that who I am really am is who I want to be around all the time.

Even when I've lost patience....

Nerves

My nerves have got the better of me.

I just brushed my teeth for the 2nd time. In ten minutes. Because I forgot I had already. Then 1/2 way through spitting I remembered.

Leaving the workplace, one where I had a heavy emphasis on staff management, I looked forward to the day when I'd be back in the interview chair.

Having stayed at home now for almost five years has provided me with a better look at my strengths and weaknesses (if you prefer to call them that) as well as time to work on myself. These have geared me up for the discussion of why I'm qualified to return to my professional world someday.

For the first time in a long time I am facing an interview chair. In about forty minutes. I should be packing up my kids. Should be driving to drop them off. But no. My nerves have got me.

See, tonight isn't just any interview. It's not for a job. It's for a volunteer position. One that I've thought about and considered since April. Wanted to make sure I was strong enough for it. Could I face my fear of death and dying straight on? Hold it's hand even?

And what's got me nervous? Religion.

This is a hospital that is founded by a religion and run by a religion. Pictures of Jesus grace the hallways. One of my friends who worked there said one of the best things for him is that he can pray and ask for the spirit to be with him and it's not weird.

But see...for me...it kind of is. Not that what they believe is weird, because it isn't. More that they might think what I believe is weird. They might judge me on the basis of my, um, non-religion. They might reject me for it.

They can ask these questions. They can ask them in job interviews and they can certainly ask them in an interview where someone wants to volunteer to work with people at the end of this earthly journey.

And these are questions I haven't prepped five years for. I know I'm strong enough to do this job. I know that I'd bring a lot to the people I would work with as they make their peace. I don't know if I can fully answer a "What do you believe" question....

I hope I can answer them. With truth for me and validity for them.

A Fall First

I'm getting excited for Fall. I've always loved this season - the change in temperatures, the colors in nature, and the chance to pull out clothes from the closet that have been neglected for 1/2 a year.

As you know, if you know me at all, I'm a function over form kind of girl. I wear clothes that allow me to get down and play during the day..and if I look cute then it's a bonus. In short - I look like a stay-at-home-mom. Sometimes I don't mind...sometimes I do.

Now, I've never been into fashion. In fact, two weeks ago at a Girl's Night Out I won a copies of the latest Vogue and Marie Claire - I picked the stack because it came with Root Beer. I didn't even realize the magazines came with it and wasn't quite sure what to do with them. When someone asked - I readily traded them for a salad bowl and hot chocolate. Function.
Then I surprised myself. I bought a purple shirt. Two of them. Both from the clearance rack. I was thrilled for a little color in the line-up of my normal black, brown, white, and red collection.

And then I got a surprise. I look good in purple. And it's one of the Fall fashion colors - as I was told by the woman who traded her root beer for my fashion mags.

So today, for the very firsts time, I looked up the Pantone Fall 2009 Fashion Colors! Here they are in all their glory:

And do you know why I looked them up? To incorporate some into my wardrobe? To mix-match colors with my new purple shirt?

Oh please. I haven't changed that much. I'm going to used them in my digital design projects :) Function.

Now it's time to look up who these Pantone people are and why they get to pick the colors! What a job!

With great power...

The other day I caught up with an old friend. When it was my turn to talk about the news in my life I found myself speaking mostly about my running and triathlon training. Lately that has died down a bit...though I'm working to pick it back up again.

When I finally finished my ten minute long exclamation about running she said "wow. This has been life changing hasn't it."

Yes.

I have no doubt in ten years when I look back at my life I will include this (along with the births of my children, my wedding, my college years, Will's Celiac diagnosis, and the death of my grandpa) as life-changing.

Here is why:

I find myself saying no to things I haven't had strength to before. Like Diet Coke. Like negative thoughts in my head. Like staying in grungy clothes all day.

I find myself saying yes to things I haven't had strength to do before. Like 5ks and triathlons. Like being in pictures. Like talking to strangers without worrying about how I look. Like volunteering at a hospital with people who are dying.

Finding a power I didn't think I have has helped me find power in everything else.

And it's not that I'm power hungry...it's something other than that. It's wanting to take this strength and spread it around.

It's dying to allow myself to live slow. To ride my bike more with the kids strapped in the back. To craft the things I want for the people I love. To spend time, not money.

It's wanting to be strong enough to say "no" to all the little purchases and paying off the god-awful debt so money can go further, later.

It's wanting to be brave enough to saying "yes" to my Mom's offer to join her in Kenya next year for a humanitarian project even though I know once I go there, I won't be able to turn back to life as I know it now.

It's easy...

It's easy to look at what I don't have. Or what I could be. Or what I should be.

I injured my foot running last week. And it spurred up this tornado of emotions. Realizing that I'd have to take time off makes me think about how else to burn my calories which makes me think about the weight I have NOT lost, which makes me think of my clothes, which makes me think of the crappy running shoes I have, which makes me think.....

And yet, in the last few days as I've found myself drifting to that place little reminders (of how wonderful life is, of how much I do have, of what I am, and of who I'm striving to be) keep popping up.

It's always easy to be part of the tornado. To get swept up in the emotions and taken over by them.

So I'm stopping. I've planted my feet back firmly on the ground.

I'm grateful for that. For being able to stop

For reminders like THIS to stop. And reminders like THIS to keep going.

For days with just Walker. Playing cars on the carpet. Listening to his language, watching his hands. Oh, how he grows.

For evenings of solitude that occur without request.

For random YouTube videos that make me laugh or dance or both.

For cool tap water.

For realizing that I can walk or swim or bike even if I cannot run.

For new friends...something I have longed for and am finally allowing.

For me. In all my versions.

It is easy.

Wash, rinse, repeat...

There are moments when the monotony of my life frustrates the hell out of me. I've hesitated to post this because, like most things when written, they feel either (a) more overwhelming or (b) not such a big deal. Or both. And this is both.

Rise early, by myself.
Empty dishwasher.
Work. Usually a self created project.
Internet. Facebook. Perez. Online banking. Blogs.
Drop off spouse (who is most likely running late).
Breakfast. For the kids, homemade. For me, in a cup.
Make the beds. Dishes.
Clothes. For the kids. Me, maybe.
Make lunch. Prep for school.
Clean up toys.
Drop one boy off at school.
Errands, tasks, maybe an "adventure" to the library, or Costco, or some other place I where I can turn an errand into an adventure. The whole time trying to placate the other boy who cannot be happy without a new toy, or chocolate milk, or something else that I seem to always refuse.
Eat lunch.
Wonder if I'm a slacker since I don't post on my blogs...
Pick up the first boy. Try to placate him now too as we pass places I won't stop daily.
Read stories. Try to be a good mom. Try to put the boys first.
Make dinner
Pick up the spouse.
Eat dinner. Mostly together.
Dishes.
Clean-up.
Homework
Baths.
Bedtime for boys.
Run for me. Run for the spouse.
Clean-up.
Tire.
Push myself to stay up doing things I think I should do (email) and things I want to do (The Daily Show).
Bed. Read two pages of an intriguing book.
Sleep.

Wake, stretch, repeat.

The truth is that my life is full of things I love. My spouse. My kids. Running. Reading. New friends. Movies in the park. Bike rides with kids.

And while no one day is exactly the same, there is so much that is true from day to day to day. Some days, it just grates.

Even now, I have a child glued to my side, asking for things, grabbing at my iPod, the computer. "Mom, feed me." "Mom, listen to me." "Mom, he's bugging me." "Mom I need three Band-Aids." Anything. Everything.

Notes on old.

Old.  It's my new four-letter word.  Sure it's only got three letters, but if you say it in my direction you might as well be an f-bomb dropping sailor.

Here are the reasons why:

The Tipper and I

It was in the car when I was first confronted with my growing chronological marker.  I was groovin' to KISS FM when a new song came on.  Always in a quest for a good running tune I was drawn to it's beat and turned up the radio.  I couldn't really hear all the lyrics so I made a note to myself to look it up on iTunes and listen before I bought.  And then, the chorus came on.  "Shush girl, shut your lips, do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips".  Do they even know who Helen Keller was? Ugh - I am so offended by this song!  And it's not the shut your lips use your hips part - I've listened to songs much worse than that and liked them.  It's the "Do the Helen Keller" line.  What?  I mean really - what?And you see, herein lies the problem, I am offended by a pop song!  What?  

Age Spots

In one week I injured my knee, gained some water weight, plucked two gray hairs and got a rash.  Maybe each of these, if separated by time, would not be a big deal.  But together it was enough for me to both cry in the shower AND vow that no husband of mine will ever be changing my diaper.  I'll have Dr. Death on my speed dial.

Senator Boxer* 

The use of the word Ma'am in my direction is becoming a daily occurrence.  If store really wanted to make a return buyer out of me they'd tell their staff to call anyone who looks less than 40 "Miss".  (*click here if you don't get that reference - and yeah, don't get me started on that!)

3.0

On that same note, maybe I do look older than thirty.  My cute Japanese brother told me yesterday, when he was told I was the big 3-0, said "You don't look 30" and for a moment I worried he'd say he thought I was older.

Tick, tock, THUMP, POUND:

My biological clock is pounding.  Nope, not ticking.  Pounding.   Neither of my two children were created because my bio clock told me it was time.  I wanted a baby - but there was no sudden URGE to have one.  There were alternative factors at (or not at) work.  But now  I see babies everywhere, except with me.  Everyone's having them, everyone's doin' it.  They're the new fall accessory and my retail store is closed!  Not to mention that in my youth making the decision to have a baby was as easy as flipping a coin.  Whether or not it should have been this easy is another conversation.  Now, as a wizened 30 year-old I cannot just say "because it feels right".  

Five and Four:

Nothing makes you feel older than noting the age of your children.  I'm sure my mother would agree.  Will starts Kindergarten in one month.  Kindergarten.  Will.  Me with a Kindergartner.  3rd grade, 6th grade, 12th grade - they'll all be here before I know it and I'll be sitting at this blog (if I remember my password then) crabbing about their age.  Not to mention that my baby, my BABY will be four in two months.  Four.  It doesn't seem like much when I type it, but when I hold him and feel his oh-so-not-a-baby body, my heart sinks.  It's going too fast.

Generation Gap Close:

Icons from my generation have started to die.  I hate to say it, it's only gonna get worse.  MJ dying was a real eye-opener for me this week and not just because of the reaction noted worldwide.  Parts of my childhood are set to the tune of his genius.  Parts of my ascension to adulthood are chronicled by his regression back to childhood. Thanks MJ, for the good, and the Bad.

There is no such thing...

There is no such thing as a stupid question.

Oh wait.  Yes there is.  One.  

"Are you pregnant?"

Actually most of the time it comes out as a statement, not a question.  As in the one my neighbor made to me tonight as I was walking, totally exhausted, carrying a sleeping child, while wearing my bathing suit.

She said "Oh, so you're pregnant."

We stopped to talk about her move (to the apartment above us) and the curiousness that stems from a move.   She stole a quick look at my belly and attempted to confirm her suspicion.

I guess my possible pregnancy has been the topic of conversation, along with my upcoming triathlon and whether or not I should do one while pregnant, between she and my other neighbor.

I like both of these ladies...but please.  COME ON!  I can think of so many other ways of figuring out if someone is pregnant or not without asking directly.  Like:  "So, you ever think of having more kids?"  or "Two boys, wanna have another and see if you can get a girl?"

Or, just don't ask.

But, if you do.  Do not, under any circumstances follow it up with the statement of "Oh, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean anything by it."

Yes you do.  You mean I look pregnant.  You mean that the six to nine miles a week I am running (not to mention the biking and swimming) aren't doing squat for the belly I acquired from two babies in two years, a year (or two) of less than stellar eating, and, let's face it, genetics.  I already know that.  Trust me, I already know it.  

It's ok that you thought it.  It's not ok that you asked it.  Keep the stupid questions to yourself.