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!
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
I was given some great advice tonight from my dear friend Kate when I told her I was feeling downright stuck in my own life. I've given up too many things that make me happy and gotten lazy with all the rest. I've made my kids my world and in the meantime I've completely lost myself. Her advice was simple - don't rush yourself. Take it one step at a time and don't try to change everything at once.
Ah, she knows me so well. As I was sitting in that booth tonight sipping a Cabernet, some of my realistic and far-fetched ideas came tumbling out - I told her I'd like to start a number of different businesses related to new moms, my thoughts on teaching private yoga classes, managing people and their properties, getting paid to write my blog, being a Rodan + Fields consultant, as well as all those hobbies I love but left behind, the book club, yoga classes, trail running, and writing my blog.
Where the hell did I go? And where the heck am I trying to get to? I know better than most after losing my mom that we really don't know how long our life is going to last. So then why aren't I living my life as if each and every day may be my last? And why does it seem that everyone else around me has figured out what they're good at while I'm still trying to figure out how to channel my interests into fulfilling work that brings me ultimate happiness?
I have consciously made a choice to be a stay at home mom and my boys come first but I also know that I use them as an excuse to channel my energies away from myself because I simply still do not know what path I should pursue that will complete me. Make me wake up and say, THIS is it. This is what I should be doing.
So if you'll all bear with me, I thought I'd just start jotting down in a steam of conscious style many of the things I do feel passionate about that if channeled in the right way, could potentially become a gratifying and lucrative career some day: when I write I feel whole, when I'm in the woods I can breathe with no tension, when I cook I heal myself and my family - it's my creative outlet, hearing people's stories of love and pain, hardships and successes especially those shared with me by the elderly, infertility, postpartum depression, new mama issues I could converse on for hours, getting that trail running high, learning about stocks and bonds, being brought to tears by Vivaldi, learning the history of the country I'm visiting, getting carried away by great writing, getting my hands dirty in the soil and eating what I've grown, counseling others when my advice is sought out, easily excited by the small things in life, camping, proselytizing about the importance of moderation and respecting your body, managing another bed & breakfast and oh, this list is endless. And here's a short list of the things I dislike: technology, greed, drugs, boastfulness, laziness, hot, dry weather, living so far away from family, sameness, artificial ingredients and preservatives, fake air kisses and OMG-talking women, over consumption of anything, empty words.
I'll get there. I know I will. I'll start with baby steps. I'll see if my old book club will have me back, I'm going to be more consistent with running, I'll make the call to Littleton Adventist's marketing woman and run my business proposal by her, I'll price out business cards for teaching private yoga classes, and I'll keep reminding myself that right now I'm doing the most important job of my life, raising my boys. But it's that itch I still have in me to do more. Until I can afford to hire a life coach to help me get on the path that's right for me, I'll keep blogging about it, brainstorming ideas and throwing around the ridiculous and the realistic options. I hope Kate's right. That I'll figure out what I want to do. I've got to believe, believe, believe in myself.
Ah, she knows me so well. As I was sitting in that booth tonight sipping a Cabernet, some of my realistic and far-fetched ideas came tumbling out - I told her I'd like to start a number of different businesses related to new moms, my thoughts on teaching private yoga classes, managing people and their properties, getting paid to write my blog, being a Rodan + Fields consultant, as well as all those hobbies I love but left behind, the book club, yoga classes, trail running, and writing my blog.
Where the hell did I go? And where the heck am I trying to get to? I know better than most after losing my mom that we really don't know how long our life is going to last. So then why aren't I living my life as if each and every day may be my last? And why does it seem that everyone else around me has figured out what they're good at while I'm still trying to figure out how to channel my interests into fulfilling work that brings me ultimate happiness?
I have consciously made a choice to be a stay at home mom and my boys come first but I also know that I use them as an excuse to channel my energies away from myself because I simply still do not know what path I should pursue that will complete me. Make me wake up and say, THIS is it. This is what I should be doing.
So if you'll all bear with me, I thought I'd just start jotting down in a steam of conscious style many of the things I do feel passionate about that if channeled in the right way, could potentially become a gratifying and lucrative career some day: when I write I feel whole, when I'm in the woods I can breathe with no tension, when I cook I heal myself and my family - it's my creative outlet, hearing people's stories of love and pain, hardships and successes especially those shared with me by the elderly, infertility, postpartum depression, new mama issues I could converse on for hours, getting that trail running high, learning about stocks and bonds, being brought to tears by Vivaldi, learning the history of the country I'm visiting, getting carried away by great writing, getting my hands dirty in the soil and eating what I've grown, counseling others when my advice is sought out, easily excited by the small things in life, camping, proselytizing about the importance of moderation and respecting your body, managing another bed & breakfast and oh, this list is endless. And here's a short list of the things I dislike: technology, greed, drugs, boastfulness, laziness, hot, dry weather, living so far away from family, sameness, artificial ingredients and preservatives, fake air kisses and OMG-talking women, over consumption of anything, empty words.
I'll get there. I know I will. I'll start with baby steps. I'll see if my old book club will have me back, I'm going to be more consistent with running, I'll make the call to Littleton Adventist's marketing woman and run my business proposal by her, I'll price out business cards for teaching private yoga classes, and I'll keep reminding myself that right now I'm doing the most important job of my life, raising my boys. But it's that itch I still have in me to do more. Until I can afford to hire a life coach to help me get on the path that's right for me, I'll keep blogging about it, brainstorming ideas and throwing around the ridiculous and the realistic options. I hope Kate's right. That I'll figure out what I want to do. I've got to believe, believe, believe in myself.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Oh Daxie. I can't believe you turn four tomorrow. I'm just awash in a flood of memories of when you were born.
I would love to tell you it was a beautiful time but it was far from that. My birth plan went out the window the morning I found out my water had broken three weeks early. I was given two hours to get myself to the hospital to be induced. There was a chance of infection so you had to come out.
Your father was skiing that day and wouldn't answer his moblie. He just assumed I was calling to see what I wanted to do for dinner, or something inane like that. But no, I was calling in a sheer panic, having a hard time catching my breath because I knew an early baby might mean complications.
Pitocin. No pain medications. No epidural. Even my Doula hasn't seen labor pains that intense. Your head crowns for a little too long. I finally deliver you naturally and we hear no cries. You're not breathing. Your daddy and I stare at one another in terror as the nurses rush in to help. Seconds pass and we hear your meek cry. I realize as I let out a long sigh of relief that I had not been breathing either. You are placed on my chest and I first notice your warmth. You are alive and breathing. What a ride it has already been. I look down to see this incredible chunky blond hair, and lots of it, that looks like it has been styled by Bumble & Bumble products. Your skin has a golden hue - as if you'd just gotten back from the beach (we later learn you have a very high Billirubin count and it would require staying in the hospital an entire week past delivery. Pure torture for the worried new parents.) You were this little surfer dude. And with those huge eyes and little sticky legs scrunched up under your belly as you clung to my chest sleeping soundly, you were also our little tree frog. You were our very own Coqui.
It may have been a rough start for you Dax, but my gosh how you have flourished since then. Three word sentences by 10 months. One hundred words by the age of one. And then mama just stopped counting because your vocabulary, comprehension, and ability to reason was beyond what most one year old children could do (that is, grunt and point).
You were biking by the age of 18 months, holding your breath under water at two (with eyes open), playing drum solos for your adoring girlfriends by the age of three and on skis that same year.
You ask a zillion questions because you want to know things, you are athletically gifted and have an ear for music. You love books. And if you had your choice, you'd ride your bike all day long, down staircases, over ramps, accompanied by your loud and quite realistic motorcycle sounds. You are to the core adventurous and brave. You're one special little guy Daxie and we love you for being you. You will go far, that I'm sure of.
But you know what I love most about you? It's how open your heart is. You have an enormous amount of empathy for others. That's rare to see in a four year old. You'll ask our neighbor Kirk if he's having a good day. You'll wipe away my tears and tell me, Oh sweet mama, everything is going to be OK. You watch out for baby Skylar's safety and well being and you tell your parents how much you love them every day. You make us very, very proud.
Happy birthday Daxie Doo.
I would love to tell you it was a beautiful time but it was far from that. My birth plan went out the window the morning I found out my water had broken three weeks early. I was given two hours to get myself to the hospital to be induced. There was a chance of infection so you had to come out.
Your father was skiing that day and wouldn't answer his moblie. He just assumed I was calling to see what I wanted to do for dinner, or something inane like that. But no, I was calling in a sheer panic, having a hard time catching my breath because I knew an early baby might mean complications.
Pitocin. No pain medications. No epidural. Even my Doula hasn't seen labor pains that intense. Your head crowns for a little too long. I finally deliver you naturally and we hear no cries. You're not breathing. Your daddy and I stare at one another in terror as the nurses rush in to help. Seconds pass and we hear your meek cry. I realize as I let out a long sigh of relief that I had not been breathing either. You are placed on my chest and I first notice your warmth. You are alive and breathing. What a ride it has already been. I look down to see this incredible chunky blond hair, and lots of it, that looks like it has been styled by Bumble & Bumble products. Your skin has a golden hue - as if you'd just gotten back from the beach (we later learn you have a very high Billirubin count and it would require staying in the hospital an entire week past delivery. Pure torture for the worried new parents.) You were this little surfer dude. And with those huge eyes and little sticky legs scrunched up under your belly as you clung to my chest sleeping soundly, you were also our little tree frog. You were our very own Coqui.
It may have been a rough start for you Dax, but my gosh how you have flourished since then. Three word sentences by 10 months. One hundred words by the age of one. And then mama just stopped counting because your vocabulary, comprehension, and ability to reason was beyond what most one year old children could do (that is, grunt and point).
You were biking by the age of 18 months, holding your breath under water at two (with eyes open), playing drum solos for your adoring girlfriends by the age of three and on skis that same year.
You ask a zillion questions because you want to know things, you are athletically gifted and have an ear for music. You love books. And if you had your choice, you'd ride your bike all day long, down staircases, over ramps, accompanied by your loud and quite realistic motorcycle sounds. You are to the core adventurous and brave. You're one special little guy Daxie and we love you for being you. You will go far, that I'm sure of.
But you know what I love most about you? It's how open your heart is. You have an enormous amount of empathy for others. That's rare to see in a four year old. You'll ask our neighbor Kirk if he's having a good day. You'll wipe away my tears and tell me, Oh sweet mama, everything is going to be OK. You watch out for baby Skylar's safety and well being and you tell your parents how much you love them every day. You make us very, very proud.
Happy birthday Daxie Doo.
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