Another Year Older
I have friends who read my blog who will concur that I used to shave a year off my age whenever someone asked me how old I was. This was my chance to be deliciously naughty and outright lie about how old I was and let me tell you, it was empowering. I didn't feel bad about not being truthful because the truth was I felt younger than I was. But what a ridiculous sham. Why did I think one year made any difference at all in how people perceived me? At the time I was working in publishing and it's such a young business that I felt in order to fit in better I needed to whittle my age down by 365 days. (forehead slap)
 But in all seriousness age is an odd thing. I recently turned 46 (and that's for real) and even with this broken foot of mine and some lower back issues I feel like a thirty-two year old stuck in a 46 year old body. My bad cholesterol is low, my good cholesterol is high, I'm at the optimal weight for my height, my yearly blood work reveals that I have excellent organ function with no signs of heart disease. I do not suffer from diabetes nor have I ever had skin cancer (I dutifully wear my sunscreen and get yearly full body checks). I have never been a smoker, heavy drinker, nor have I ever been addicted to drugs. And I have always been careful about what I eat. My motto is moderation. Eat the good stuff and consume less of the bad stuff. I love my kale smoothies, my famously huge salads with tons of brightly colored veggies and sunflower seeds, hearty grain breads, angel hair pasta dish with extra virgin olive oil, garlic, Roma tomatoes, and fresh basil and grilled salmon filets done on a cedar plank. But if a homemade vanilla cupcake with chocolate butter cream frosting is handed to me I never refuse. Ever. It's all about balance, right? Have a glass or two of red wine rather than consume the entire bottle. Don't starve yourself all day to then binge eat at night. Exercise regularly.
 I used to be very "put off" by the number assigned to me. And now at 46, I realize that this is just a number. And that my 46 years compared to another person's 46 years can be remarkably different. It's not the number. It's how we have cared for our selves all these years that matter. I do think that the hard years of sleep-deprived partying in your 20's, continued on into your 30's because you think you're still in your 20's starts to play catch up real quick in your 40's. I see what all those years of taxing your liver, burning your lungs, consuming large amounts of greasy snacks on a pot high can do to you. No amount of body cleanse is going to wipe away years of being bad to yourself though I admire folks I know who have kicked a bad habit and are getting themselves clean and healthy.
 Age is no excuse to give up on taking care of our bodies. Work is no excuse not to exercise (there's always an extra 15 min. in your day to get outside, walk around the building at a brisk pace and back to your desk before your boss even notices), and being uneducated about healthy food is no excuse for eating a lot of highly processed foods (the internet is a wealth of information - what you need to know is right in front of you if you're curious enough to learn about it).
 So I proudly tell people how old I am now. Sure I've got some crows feet around the eyes (hoping my Olay Regenerist cream will help with that!) and a skunk streak of grey that I have colored regularly. And I'd love a little more youthful baby fat in the face, but I'm happy with how I feel and look and I'm pleased every time my blood work comes back with all the right numbers.
I've gotta be doing something right.

Hurting All Over

After going silent for, um, two years or so (now how did that happen?) I am back to blogging. However what brought me back to the blank page is a matter of unfortunate circumstance. Do you want the dirt? OK, OK. I'll share with you my misfortunes and then you can smirk (don't worry I won't see you doing it) and whisper under your breath, "Thank god that didn't happen to ME." Come on it's human nature to feel a little better about your own life when you hear that someone else is worse off. I'm not judging you. We all do it. So just admit this blog post is going to lift your spirits. And I'll take the credit, thank you.
 Right, the mishap. I was half way through a 17-day road trip to California when I broke my left foot in a biking accident. I was on my new cruiser bike eager to see the gorgeous beach at Islay Campground just outside of San Luis Obispo and to catch up with Tim and the boys. I had a huge smile on my face as I breathed in the salty air. It was so good to be seaside again. I grabbed a beach towel and draped it around my neck and hopped onto my cushy saddle. I had been wanting a bike that I didn't need to clip silly shoes into, that generously cushioned my juicy caboose, and was simple in design and use. As I was coasting down the campground's main road I noticed four women linked arm-in-arm stretched across the entire width of the road. They showed no signs of moving out of my way so I gently swerved onto the grass but as I cut back to the road I hadn't noticed that the swaying hippie chicks off in la-la land had a teenage cyclist behind them. My re-entry onto the road put me in a head-on collision with the girl. I freaked out and over-corrected, swerving out of her way which threw me over my handle bars and into a heap of painful agony on the ground below.
 A doc at a local urgent care took x-rays and told me what I already guessed - a broken foot. My foot looked like a puffer fish and it was a nice eggplant hue. And god did it hurt. I was tempted to hobble on the Urgent Care's crutches with a broken foot for the next week. Let the swelling come down and then once home have specialists look at it. But as I lay that night in our pop-up trailer with my throbbing foot elevated on pillows and a Ziploc ice pack melting so quickly it - as well as a flood of tears - was soaking the bedding under my beat up body I knew my vacation had come to an end. What if the break was really bad and needed immediate attention? How was I going to hobble down the beach in San Diego, our next stop, as my crutches sank into the fine sand? Hike the Arizona desert (the stop after San Diego)? How was I going to be a bolster and not a burden to Tim with the set up and break down of camp not to mention helping with our two raucous young boys? How do I do this vacation ON ONE FOOT!?
  Suddenly what had been a glorious vacation filled with luxe accomodations in Park City and Lake Tahoe (thanks to Timmy's media connections) with friends (camping in the Redwoods together), tastings at amazingly good breweries, a stunning drive along Hwy. 1 through Monterey (Monterey Bay Acquarium visit was top notch) and Carmel-by-the-Sea to our breathtaking campsites along Big Sur (sightings of elephant seals and sea otters) it was now coming to an end and I was simply overwhelmed by loss. Missing out of the rest of my family's vacation (my body had been craving the ocean and now I was not going to have the chance to swim in it), the loss of work - lots and lots of work - as a yoga instructor and as a server in a fine dining restaurant and the loss of function of my foot temporarily and perhaps with arthritic pain for the rest of my life. Bam. My life changed.
 I boarded a plane a day and a half later and met my dad in Denver who whisked me off to my first appointment to an orthopedic surgeon at the University of Colorado Hospital. The break is bad and will require surgery this coming Wednesday. I'll be in a non-weight bearing cast for a minimum of eight weeks.
 But just when you might want to start feeling sorry for me, I'm telling you don't. I cried enough for all of us. I had not one but a few pity parties I threw for myself. I didn't invite anyone because I like to be the only guest at events like these. I'm sure you understand. And then I made a vow to myself that I would make something out of this crappy place I was in. To find value in the vacuous void I was teetering above.
 First and foremost, value has come from the kindness of others. It started with my dad's offer to pay for my flight home so I could get the care I needed so desperately. And the care he has provided since I've been back. I couldn't have done this without him. It was the help I got from an elderly and prominent lobbyist on my shuttle ride from the Disneyland Hotel to LAX who happened to be sitting across from me and wanted to know what happened to my foot. Even in his limited range of motion he was able to flag down someone with a wheelchair at the airport and make sure me and my luggage made it to my flight. His stories of his 58-year marriage to his college sweetheart, his passion for his work in D.C., his friendship with Walt Disney himself lifted my spirits and kept me from crying that hour to the airport. To my dear friends Alicia and Kate for bringing me homemade food to nourish myself with. And listening to an old CD that Corny gave me years ago that talks about moving from scarcity to prosperity - something that really resounds with me now that I've lost work for a bit. I'm not much for reading "lists" on how to improve my life but I was desperate and in my search I found one on advancedlifeskills.com entitled 10 Ways to Cope When Bad Things Happen. It is my guiding light right now and it is helping me to stay positive and strong.
 And finally the writing part. For me, there has always been so much value in writing. It is therapy for the mind and for the soul. I hope in some way others can have a cathartic experience by reliving my experiences with me.
 As the website I mentioned above states, "If something in your life falls apart, turn it to your advantage . . .
turn the setback into progress. So, the end result will put you ahead of where you were." I immediately thought, I need to write more and I need to take my yoga instruction to another level where I guide through words more than I demonstrate the pose. This can be done on-line as well and I'm excited to figure out how to post my classes on-line and to make my blog a one stop shop for everything healthy - 15-minute mini-Vini's (Vinyasa classes), postings of my favorite healthy recipes, my musings about keeping things in balance, links to fantastic yoga retreats, etc. Stay tuned. I think good things are heading everyone's way.




 

 I've been on this $20 buck kick. Goal: to give some of the rooms in my house a decisively fresh, new look for, well, you got it, $20 bucks. And so far, I've had success.
 It started at a nearby estate sale around Memorial Day weekend. It was a house I had always had my eye on because I loved the feel and look of the grand front porch, the cedar siding, the in-law house above the garage, and the built-in wine cellar. I knew of some of the home's details because Tim and I had looked at it on line when it was on the market a year ago. And now, just a year later, the current owner was selling.
 This was my chance to go inside and better yet, to shop! All I had on me was a $20 bill so I knew I had to shop carefully. My exciting find for the living room was a bamboo spiraled vase with tall dried grasses and lotus pods priced at $7, a perfect compliment to my beautifully constructed orange and black table where it now sits and greets folks as they walk in the door. It fills that empty space between the table and my prized Austrian prints above. That day I also got a bohemian skirt, a ceramic bread pan, a pair of heels, an antique wooden toy truck, beauty products, and tons of kids books. It felt great not to break the bank and now the first room you see when you enter the house had been given a more finished, refined look.
 Now on to the upstairs. I was in Target the other day with no intention of giving the master bath an upgrade when I spotted a fabric shower curtain with an antique print of blue gray birds and green foliage (http://luxurylinensetc.ecrater.com/p/12520541/target-home-botanical-bird-fabric). It reminded me of being in Gannie's basement where she kept woven baskets full of tossed out printed poplin cotton shirts, and aprons, and all things feminine for me and my sister and cousins to dress ourselves in when we visited her. I had to have this shower curtain. You got it - it was $19.99. I retired my beloved beige one embroidered with Queen Anne's Lace and I'm thrilled because the blue in the curtain picks up the blue in the tiles, the foliage is a nice compliment to my live hanging fern, and now my bathroom has a whole new feel for very little money.
 And this morning as I was drinking an amazing cup of French Roast coffee made by my amazing husband, I was perusing the IKEA flyer when I spotted a queen duvet cover and pillow cases for, yup, $19.99! It's called Emmie Land - check it out - http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/80216628/. The scene on the duvet transported me back to Delft, Holland with its pastoral scenes in that same Delft Blue hue. I will now retire my beloved and nearly threadbare Anthropologie duvet in the upstairs guest room that I've used off and on since 2002. Think it's time for a new look? Yes, me too. The blues in the cover will go so well with an old Japanese watercolor of two herons against a dusky sky that hangs above the bed.
 With that I will say goodnight. I can't sit here any longer. I'm too excited to put the new duvet on the bed!

 A friend of the family recently pointed out to Tim and me that we apologize for things we don't need to be apologizing for. This was not the first time someone has called us on this. Maybe it was his tone of voice or the seriousness in which he delivered the observation but it gave us both pause.
  Since that uncomfortable realization I've made it my intention to not say  "I'm sorry" when I think I've let someone down. I've stopped saying I'm sorry every time I think I "should have" done something differently - answered an email faster, picked up my house better, returned a friend's call quicker, bought a more expensive gift, run that 5K fundraiser. What it comes down to for me is realizing I don't need to live my life according to someone's else's "shoulds".  If one chooses to judge me their judgement is no reflection on whether I'm living my life accordingly. I have to keep reminding myself that those who harshly criticize others are extremely critical of themselves. I'm as guilty of this as the next.
 What's making me think about all this right now is Dax. Lately, he's been talking about how sad it makes him when a kid he doesn't even know won't play with him at the Rec Center day care. Or when his own brother pushes him away because he just needs his own space.
 Dax is intense and he doesn't get why others aren't always up for being intense with him. Hey, I say. Buck up. Some will love you and others will not. Dax looks up at me with his big sea foam green eyes and says, "Why mama?" And I say, "Well, do you like all the kids at school?" "Noooooo," he says. And then he rattles off the personality traits of those that annoy him. One has an ugly laugh, another breathes through his nose funny, one kid eats chocolate pudding every day and that's bad for your body, he adds.
 See Dax, not everyone is on your best buddy list. And for whatever reason, you're not on theirs. But instead of pouting about it, be cool. Go surround yourself with people who appreciate your zest for life. Your insatiable curiosity and gazillon questions. Be a little more thick skinned. "What does THAT mean mama?" I tell him, don't show them that you care so much. The next time the boy at the Rec Center says, "Leave me ALONE," walk away and leave him alone. And don't be too sad about it because there will be a kid a few minutes later that would love to join you in a leap from the top of the Little Tykes slide and make loud fire truck sounds.
 Be thick skinned. I'm giving advice to my son I should be giving myself. No more wussy apologies. No more feelings of guilt for just living my life the way I want to live my life. And not caring so much if I happen to not be at the top of someone's best buddy list.

 I'm usually quite private when it comes to my marriage but with it being Father's Day tomorrow I felt compelled to share with you some of the amazing qualities Tim possess as a daddy.
 He has told me this more than once but right now it's more important to him to spend time with his boys than to sell is soul to a company that demands he be there 50 or 60 hours a week. He's not gunning for management because that would mean less time with Dax and Skylar and it's not worth the extra income. Right now, he can see his boys at lunch almost every day. He's home by 5pm and he's not disappearing on weekends to put in overtime. I love this quality about him and I'm behind him 100 percent.
 When he's home, he's fully on as dad. Wrestling around with them on the floor, making bow and arrows for Daxie out of rubber bands and pencils, setting up the tent in the back yard to play and sleep in, and creating the most imaginary, fantastical stories for them as they curl up with him in bed.
 When I have to work in the evenings, it's rare Tim is sitting around with our little guys. They are on the go and they are exploring - whether he's driving up to Denver with them to play in Wash Park with friends, taking them swimming at the Rec Center, or to the skate park, they're always doing something fun together. So many dads would not make that effort. He does.
 Tim, you're kind, and loving, and the boys think you're really cool.
 We love you.

 I thought you all should know that about a month ago, I, gulp, became a   . . . texter. Yes, that's right, I caved in and I'm now available for you to send emotionless, shorthand notes saying, "Talk tomorrow?" Where I will respond, "Yes, LOL. B4N." Not.
 I'm already feeling a little nostalgic for leaving the mobile world of comforting, familiar voices to reading staccato-written notes that say little at all. How have I survived this long without texting?
Easy. Placing a call doesn't feel like an imposition. I like the banter, the back and forth, the give and take that a spoken conversation naturally takes.
 Sure, it's not as convenient and it was honestly starting to annoy close friends of mine. And there are pluses to texting. I like the fact that I won't be exposing my brain to as much radiation. It's quick. It's direct. It's speedy. Oh, and it's isolating. I guess I never wanted to join that busy bandwagon of folks who are so caught up by their hectic lives that they can't reach out to another with a warm, voicy hug. How and when did we become so damn busy? (Secretly, I think busy is just a euphemism for "important". When you're crazy busy juggling a full time career, a freelance job, a couple of kids and a very ignored husband, you've made it but to make it, you must. stay. busy. OK, back to the topic at hand.)
Here are a few anecdotes that may shed some light on why I've resisted joining the masses in their Smartphone, iPad, text-till-your-thumbs-callous over madness:
 A few months ago while sitting at the Rec Center pool watching Daxie cannon ball it into the water, I overheard one mom say to another while simultaneously texting into the ethernet and talking to her friend that her iPhone, encased in pink of course, made her a better mom.
Breathe. Ki. Breathe.
 I gave Dax a thumbs up for breaching like a Humpback whale but inside I was fuming. Did this mother just utter these words? I looked over at her sleeping newborn, oblivious to his mother's outlandish statement and  happy to be catching a snooze in that warm, humid air. I reached for my two-year-old cracked LG flip phone (well since finishing writing this post I upgraded, are you sitting down, to a sleek LG Cosmos slider!) in my pocket that did nothing but place calls and take calls. I sat there and thought, "Well how the heck have I been able to raise two amazing little boys with this outdated technology?" I thought, I haven't texted in the last four years, I don't surf the web, I don't download apps, play games or search for restaurant reviews. This phone is just a phone. And nothing more. I had to bite my tongue. I wanted to turn to her and say, "Wow, what's the name of the app that helps you change diapers and wash puke out of crib sheets?"
 Again, an outsider looking in. I was sitting in the chapel of my son's pre-school waiting for the Mother's Day program to begin and I looked around and there were five moms, speedily zipping off texts and emails. Why are we so in need of reaching out and being reached every single second of the day? And instead of furiously zipping off notes to people elsewhere, why not turn to speak to the other women in the room? Bewildering.
  One afternoon at Dax's swim class a mom whose daughter was getting a swim lesson turned on her iPad and proceeded to not speak a word to her son who sat next to her playing video games on his Smartphone. I wanted to get up and tap her on the shoulder and say, "Um, excuse me. This is the perfect 30-minute opportunity to GET TO KNOW HIM BETTER. He'll be moved out of the house and off to college before you know it."
 Lastly, and I've shared this story with many of my friends but every time I think of this it pains me. One night last winter at the Augustine Grill I waited on a family of four. As I approached the table I noticed all four heads were bent down toward their lit screens and not a word was being spoken. It was a school night. The silence was only mildly interrupted by their annoying tat-tat-tats on the keyboards. When I introduced myself I almost burst out laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
 Here was another perfect opportunity to check in with their teenage kids, see how school and sports were going for them, find out how they were feeling about life. I am not exaggerating. The only time they did speak was to place their orders with me. It was eery. It was unnerving. It was wrong.
 What has happened to us? We've become these sterile robots who would rather share their desires and dreams with countless acquaintances on Facebook but we can't look our loved ones in the eye and be human and compassionate and real.
 I will keep on sending text messages because I know I have to keep up with the times to some degree but I'm not psyched about it. I will make no apologies when I decide to place a call to any one of you rather than send a generic text message.
 You very well may hear my voice and not read my words and I hope you'll be comforted by that human act.

It's been a long time since I've shared tips on favorite foods and products as well as sundry other little insidery tidbits. Please proceed.

Snacks for the little ones:
There's no reason to jack up my little June bugs with tons of sugar but I want to hydrate them with a little juice every day (mostly the boys drink water and whole milk) so I buy organic HONEST TEAS FOR KIDS - only 10 grams of sugar per 6.75 fl. oz. That's about half the sugar found in most other juice boxes.
Kirkland Organic Animal Crackers (Winnie the Pooh) from Costco - comes in a huge container and the cookies stay crisp and fresh for quite some time. This snack tends to spark a conversation with Dax about life in the Hundred Acre Wood.
Dax and Skylar love making smoothies with me. We wing the measurements but here's what we put into the Ninja: Greek whole plain yogurt, one kids' organic strawberry yogurt tube, frozen and fresh strawberries, frozen blueberries (or raspberries), wheat germ, OJ fortified with calcium, honey, and some ice. Yum.
No kidding. My kids love sardines. The good ones with EVOO. Brain food. I say keep on eatin' it boys.
Chunks of ripened Hass avocados.
Two timeless Ritz crackers stuck together with creamy all-natural peanut butter. I stay away from the pre-made ones. Those are full of stuff I can't pronounce. 

Best mom tip passed on to me recently: 
  Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons - Siegfried Engelmann;

I just ordered this from Amazon and I'm excited to try it with Daxie and later with Sky. Not sure if Dax is ready to start reading but he's showing an interest so I thought it was worth checking out.

My new favorite products:
Gillette Fusion razor - it has five flippin' blades. I never, ever nick myself anymore.
Neutrogena Rainbath Refreshing Shower & Bath Gel - the scent seeps right into my brain and wakes me up with a happy hello. The heavenly scent is even masculine enough for Tim.
Essie nail polish in "watermelon" - gives even the palest foot that summery glow (other Essie red hues had too much orange or brown but I'm very happy with this selection.)
Motif hand soap in Olive Leaf and Coriander - you can find this antique-looking bottle (the print looks like something right off of my Gannie's apron) with all the other bathroom hand soaps at Target. Got it for $2.50 on sale but usually priced around $2.99 for 8 fl. oz.
Pssst: The generic Target brand teeth whitening strips work better than the name-brand Crest strips. They're thicker so they stay in place longer.

My mom tips of the day:
Don't spend a lot of money on new toys. Scan your local Craigslist first for the items you're looking for. I found an awesome search and rescue helicopter and search and rescue hover craft as well as two garbage trucks for $15. All in perfect condition from a preppy mom in Castle Pines. I've hidden the toys and dole them out when Dax fills in another column on his sticker chart or kicks butt in swim class. I feel better about adding less to the landfill and besides the boys can't tell the difference between new and slightly used.

For a lightweight summer T-shirt, I bought a five-pack of white Hanes Toddler Boys' Crew Undershirts  from Target for $8. White goes with everything, keeps Dax cool, and I can bleach them when they get grungy. I tire of graphic tees so this is a nice alternative to busy lettering.