This summer is what I like to refer to as "fat summer." I didn't exercise nearly as much as I should have, nor did I really pay attention to what went into my belly, and in turn, onto my butt. I didn't gain much weight. In fact, it's the "only-you-will-notice-it-when-you-are-naked-looking-in-the-mirror-after-you-have-showered" fatness. The shower feeling. The one where you get out, and look at all the pudges, grabbing some portions of what were once finely toned muscle and thinking,
"Hmmmm. That's. Not. Attractive."
We are our own worst critic, and I know that I am far too critical of myself, and probably far too often. Enter life's lesson number I don't know what thousand. "Just do the best you can." Okay. Well. Shoot. Let me put it this way. When I used to work, I got performance evaluations all the time. Areas within which I could excel were pointed out, and weaknesses I had in my job were addressed. I got raises if I did better, or worked harder. Well, my "job" is now Jack. And my performance evaluations? I am the one giving them, and I am the one receiving them. Only I see how I am with the little guy every hour, of every day. It's a fact that Jack enrolled me in the senior capstone of the Parenting BA instead of Parenting 101, but regardless of how difficult he can get, I find myself wondering why I run one direction when I need to slowly move towards a better goal. My performance eval's of late are ranking low. Really low. A part of me knows that it's "just that stage," but another part of me also knows that I am not giving it my best. Sometimes the computer, among other meaningless tasks, takes precedence.
Basically? I am seeing the shower fat that no one else really knows is there.
Well, here's your self-esteem. Take it. Love it. Feed it. Lately? I haven't been feeding mine. I haven't been feeding the most important part of myself. My heart. I take every day in stride, but every day I find myself wondering what I should have done better; how I could have done better. It's true we need to give ourselves credit for the things we do accomplish. We need to be proud of who we are, and where we are. However. It is also true that we need to work on those things that need some fine tuning. That shower fat. Those parts of ourselves that aren't the best that they can be, if for little other reason than our own laziness. In truth? We are doing wonderfully, and we can still be better.
It's a fantastic reality. No matter how well we are doing, there is always room for growth; always shower fat to trim. Some days I feel like moving to Italy, and gorging every desire I ever had in food, thus encouraging, and even increasing the fat I see in the mirror. Sometimes it would be so much easier to give in; to let go. But then where would I be? Well, I can guarantee my shower flub would be quite a bit more noticeable to many besides my bathroom mirror. No. I am better than that. We are better than that. I can be, and need to be, better than I was yesterday. Better than I was today. Every day will bring new challenges. Every day will bring new victories. Every day is a new day to grow. A new day to learn. A new day to change for the better; to be and do more. "Just do the best that you can."
It's true. Just make sure it is, indeed, your best. If it is? Then you are doing wonderfully.
And you can still be better.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Mostly Great
Whoa. I guess I will first apologize for my lack of writing all summer. Sure, there are like, two entries..... Needless to say we have been really busy this summer. This summer? Let me tell you, it was fantastic. Since I was thirteen I cannot remember a summer that I played so much! To begin, we started the summer with a move. The move was supposed to be to Mom and Pop Cooper's, then to PA. Well, those plans changed. We moved to Mom and Pop's over Memorial Day weekend in May. Living there was amazing. It was difficult as much of our things were in storage for four months, but it was fantastic. We lived up the road from a lake, and down a trail from the mountain. Hello swimming, hiking, biking and lounging in nature!
Other things this summer included trips to Moab, Arches, Blanding, Lake Powell, Bear Lake, and Capitol Reef (twice :)), and the little man's big 2 birthday. Like I said. Busy, awesome, summer. Plus! Cole didn't have to go back into "stress out" mode with the start of school. Yay! Now here we are, having moved again; this time to South Ogden. All our things are back out of storage, we are "settled" to a certain degree, and we are all doing great.
Sigh. Okay. Not "great." Mostly great. Don't get me wrong. Life? It's not something that should be "complained" about. We all have frustrations, and setbacks; things we feel the need to talk about, and work through. Whether on our own, or with the help of others. I watched Soul Surfer last night (if you haven't seen it, watch it). It was a very good movie. One of those "here, put your life into perspective" movies. Lately the little one and I have been on boxing terms. He is in one end of the ring ready to duke out his way, and I am in the other nursing bloody noses and scrapes, attempting to duke out my way. Every day holds another relentless battle, and every night I never quite come down from the stress level felt trying to keep up with him. It's life, yes? Part of being a parent, and part of teaching your children whilst learning from them at the same time.
Every life experience I have ever come to have hasn't taught me what Jack has. It never could have. No lesson in patience is as extensive as the kind that comes from a two year old who has learned "No" and utlilizes the use of said word throughout the day. Flipsided, no lesson in clarity can compare to that of a two year old who has discovered how to say "Love You," with these soft, sparkling, brown eyes that penetrate a piece of your soul you didn't know existed until they came into your life. For lack of a better way to say it, Jack frustrates the hell out of me. However, the simplicity of language could never express how much I would do for him, and how deeply I love and appreciate the little lessons in life he gives me.
So I am. We are, mostly great. No day goes by without something to "discuss" or some life's lesson to find understanding in. Every day brings immense joy, sometimes frustration and hurt, and sometimes sorrow. Every day we learn together, and we grow together.
No, every day isn't great, but almost every day is mostly great.
And for that?
I am grateful.
Other things this summer included trips to Moab, Arches, Blanding, Lake Powell, Bear Lake, and Capitol Reef (twice :)), and the little man's big 2 birthday. Like I said. Busy, awesome, summer. Plus! Cole didn't have to go back into "stress out" mode with the start of school. Yay! Now here we are, having moved again; this time to South Ogden. All our things are back out of storage, we are "settled" to a certain degree, and we are all doing great.
Sigh. Okay. Not "great." Mostly great. Don't get me wrong. Life? It's not something that should be "complained" about. We all have frustrations, and setbacks; things we feel the need to talk about, and work through. Whether on our own, or with the help of others. I watched Soul Surfer last night (if you haven't seen it, watch it). It was a very good movie. One of those "here, put your life into perspective" movies. Lately the little one and I have been on boxing terms. He is in one end of the ring ready to duke out his way, and I am in the other nursing bloody noses and scrapes, attempting to duke out my way. Every day holds another relentless battle, and every night I never quite come down from the stress level felt trying to keep up with him. It's life, yes? Part of being a parent, and part of teaching your children whilst learning from them at the same time.
Every life experience I have ever come to have hasn't taught me what Jack has. It never could have. No lesson in patience is as extensive as the kind that comes from a two year old who has learned "No" and utlilizes the use of said word throughout the day. Flipsided, no lesson in clarity can compare to that of a two year old who has discovered how to say "Love You," with these soft, sparkling, brown eyes that penetrate a piece of your soul you didn't know existed until they came into your life. For lack of a better way to say it, Jack frustrates the hell out of me. However, the simplicity of language could never express how much I would do for him, and how deeply I love and appreciate the little lessons in life he gives me.
So I am. We are, mostly great. No day goes by without something to "discuss" or some life's lesson to find understanding in. Every day brings immense joy, sometimes frustration and hurt, and sometimes sorrow. Every day we learn together, and we grow together.
No, every day isn't great, but almost every day is mostly great.
And for that?
I am grateful.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Go Live
So. I have been thinking. It happens. Sometimes. Anyway, I have been thinking about dreams. Not the nutty kind that you have about trains, and alligators when you eat something weird, or take a sedative, but the real kind. The tangible kind. The kind that you imgaine when you are little, and hope that somehow they are really going to happen. I am a dreamer. I am, I won't deny it. I get hit with the reality stick a lot when life says, "This is just how it goes Sis, sorry." Ouch. Well, clearly the bruises don't last, because the very next moment I am dreaming again, and wondering how I can make my dreams come true.
Today, for example, I am sitting at my moms kitchen table thinking about the future, and what I want out of it. My mom lives in the country. It's beautiful here. I never knew how much I desired the simple life until I got a taste of what it's like. Now I want the full meal. The house surrounded by trees, and tons of land. The imagination that comes from building pirate ships out of cardboard then floating them down the river in the backyard. Gardening. Baking old fashioned pies and finding the perfect crust on accident; then winning the blue ribbon for best pie in the valley. I don't want much, but what I do want isn't the easiest thing to come by.
I want the simple life. The hard working, simple, life.
Life, I believe, should be easy going. Not fast paced all the time, but not slow. Somehere in the middle with bouts of the extreme degrees every now and again. There is just something alluring to me about the "wild west." The need for stability in adventure, and a calmness that can be found only in nature. Dreams. Lots of dreams. I know exactly how I want that little 'house on the prairie' to look like. I can visualize every tiny detail. Then the reality stick. Cole doesn't have a job. Where will you build it? And oh. With what money? Hmm Jess? Did you think about that?
Of course I did. My little house fund is just that, little, but it's a start, isn't it mister stick? Yes, I do believe it is. Little voices, sometimes big voices, try to silence dreams. Reality does it too. Sometimes reality doesn't just silence the dream though, sometimes our fleeting thoughts of wonderful are simply squashed. Destroyed. And for what? Car payments. Insurance. Blah. Many would argue the lack of following our hearts desires ends in one word; responsibility. Dreams are destroyed by responsibility.
Well, I'm no Cinderalla's godmother, and the flickage of a wand isn't going to bring about any miracles. No, no fluff, no magic, but the truth behind making a dream come true is a very simple one. Not easy, but simple.
Dreams come true with dedication, with work, and with utilizing our very own talents and skills. Aka? Being responsible. The same word we use when referring to why our dreams can't come true is the very way to bring them to fruition; even Disney would agree with me there. The greatest things are built from an idea, a desire, and an imagination. Dreams come true if we want them to.
If you can dream it, you can do it. So go. Dream. Do.
"Don't tell me what I can't do."
Today, for example, I am sitting at my moms kitchen table thinking about the future, and what I want out of it. My mom lives in the country. It's beautiful here. I never knew how much I desired the simple life until I got a taste of what it's like. Now I want the full meal. The house surrounded by trees, and tons of land. The imagination that comes from building pirate ships out of cardboard then floating them down the river in the backyard. Gardening. Baking old fashioned pies and finding the perfect crust on accident; then winning the blue ribbon for best pie in the valley. I don't want much, but what I do want isn't the easiest thing to come by.
I want the simple life. The hard working, simple, life.
Life, I believe, should be easy going. Not fast paced all the time, but not slow. Somehere in the middle with bouts of the extreme degrees every now and again. There is just something alluring to me about the "wild west." The need for stability in adventure, and a calmness that can be found only in nature. Dreams. Lots of dreams. I know exactly how I want that little 'house on the prairie' to look like. I can visualize every tiny detail. Then the reality stick. Cole doesn't have a job. Where will you build it? And oh. With what money? Hmm Jess? Did you think about that?
Of course I did. My little house fund is just that, little, but it's a start, isn't it mister stick? Yes, I do believe it is. Little voices, sometimes big voices, try to silence dreams. Reality does it too. Sometimes reality doesn't just silence the dream though, sometimes our fleeting thoughts of wonderful are simply squashed. Destroyed. And for what? Car payments. Insurance. Blah. Many would argue the lack of following our hearts desires ends in one word; responsibility. Dreams are destroyed by responsibility.
Well, I'm no Cinderalla's godmother, and the flickage of a wand isn't going to bring about any miracles. No, no fluff, no magic, but the truth behind making a dream come true is a very simple one. Not easy, but simple.
Dreams come true with dedication, with work, and with utilizing our very own talents and skills. Aka? Being responsible. The same word we use when referring to why our dreams can't come true is the very way to bring them to fruition; even Disney would agree with me there. The greatest things are built from an idea, a desire, and an imagination. Dreams come true if we want them to.
If you can dream it, you can do it. So go. Dream. Do.
"Don't tell me what I can't do."
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Be Best; You
Every day brings with it different frustrations. Personally, I have made a discovery. Nearly every frustration I have felt in the past year and 10 months tends to encompass a single word; Jack. I never imagined that my life could be so focused on a single thing. Every day is dedicated to him. From the moment I wake up, to the moment he goes to bed, I am usually with him. My life revolves around that one little word. That one little person. Jack.
I never knew the conditions of motherhood. I thought I did. Watching my mom, and other moms, one would think that an educated perspective in raising a child, and in turn being a mother, could be obtained through observation alone.
Clearly not so.
This last weekend Cole and I ran RAGNAR. It was fun, but I will never do it again. A? Anyone that pays money to run a race through the night, thus giving up sleep willingly, should be classified clinically insane. B? I got really tired of power bars and gatorade. And C? I missed Jack, and I missed him a lot. It's funny how when you get too much of something, you want little else but to do something else. Likewise, when you get too little of something, all you want is to do what you are getting little of. Aka? I was getting too little of my little man, and I wanted lots of him. I am his mother, so I am partial to liking him, even if he is approaching the terrible two's and my patience with his tantrums runs rather thin, rather quickly.
Ragardless of his little faults, which in truth are just a part of growing up, I can't help but melt. Last night was an example of my mushiness. I went into his room to put him back in his bed (since he got his toddler bed, he tends to fall asleep next to the door as compared to his bed most of the time.) Anyway, as I went to lay him back in his bed, I instead decided to sit on the little couch in his room and just hold him. To be still, and in that stillness, hold him. I sat in his room with him cuddled up in his blanket in my arms, and watched him sleep. I can't tell you how many thoughts and emotions ran through my heart and mind within the span of five minutes, but I can tell you I was reminded why I wanted to be a mother so much. Little else matters, I can tell you that.
Every day brings with it thoughts of inadequacy. We wonder if what we are doing is right, if how we are doing it is right, and if where we are going, and who we are being, is right. We are constantly putting ourselves in check within our own lives. It is said that we are our own worst critic, and for better or worse, that's all too true. We all have a calling in life. Something we know we will be really, really fantastic at with the help of a higher power. I forget mine a lot; too much in fact. But last night? Last night I was reminded of a very sincere, very humbling, and very wonderful truth.
My calling? I am a mother, and I am a dang good one.
One day I know I will wonder where all the time went, and how I let it slip by so quickly. One day I will watch Jack as a grown man, and wish I could hold him in his room while he slept just one more time. Well. That's one day.
For today? For today I get to handle tantrums, messes, and a little boy who is discovering the world around him. For today, I am a mother. Tomorrow, I am a mother. I am, and will always be, mom.
And I love it.
I never knew the conditions of motherhood. I thought I did. Watching my mom, and other moms, one would think that an educated perspective in raising a child, and in turn being a mother, could be obtained through observation alone.
Clearly not so.
This last weekend Cole and I ran RAGNAR. It was fun, but I will never do it again. A? Anyone that pays money to run a race through the night, thus giving up sleep willingly, should be classified clinically insane. B? I got really tired of power bars and gatorade. And C? I missed Jack, and I missed him a lot. It's funny how when you get too much of something, you want little else but to do something else. Likewise, when you get too little of something, all you want is to do what you are getting little of. Aka? I was getting too little of my little man, and I wanted lots of him. I am his mother, so I am partial to liking him, even if he is approaching the terrible two's and my patience with his tantrums runs rather thin, rather quickly.
Ragardless of his little faults, which in truth are just a part of growing up, I can't help but melt. Last night was an example of my mushiness. I went into his room to put him back in his bed (since he got his toddler bed, he tends to fall asleep next to the door as compared to his bed most of the time.) Anyway, as I went to lay him back in his bed, I instead decided to sit on the little couch in his room and just hold him. To be still, and in that stillness, hold him. I sat in his room with him cuddled up in his blanket in my arms, and watched him sleep. I can't tell you how many thoughts and emotions ran through my heart and mind within the span of five minutes, but I can tell you I was reminded why I wanted to be a mother so much. Little else matters, I can tell you that.
Every day brings with it thoughts of inadequacy. We wonder if what we are doing is right, if how we are doing it is right, and if where we are going, and who we are being, is right. We are constantly putting ourselves in check within our own lives. It is said that we are our own worst critic, and for better or worse, that's all too true. We all have a calling in life. Something we know we will be really, really fantastic at with the help of a higher power. I forget mine a lot; too much in fact. But last night? Last night I was reminded of a very sincere, very humbling, and very wonderful truth.
My calling? I am a mother, and I am a dang good one.
One day I know I will wonder where all the time went, and how I let it slip by so quickly. One day I will watch Jack as a grown man, and wish I could hold him in his room while he slept just one more time. Well. That's one day.
For today? For today I get to handle tantrums, messes, and a little boy who is discovering the world around him. For today, I am a mother. Tomorrow, I am a mother. I am, and will always be, mom.
And I love it.
Monday, May 23, 2011
La Revedere
Today I have no wisdom, in fact, I have few thoughts. I feel very drained. Drained and numb to a degree that I have not felt in a while. Or I guess not not felt in awhile since by definition numbness is without feeling. This week, like last week and the week before, Cole is working up north while I stay here at the apartment. Here, with Jack, and all of our moving boxes and bins. Moving is exhausting, and that is all I have to say. In truth, I am numb because I am choosing to be numb. I hate goodbyes, as previous posts would attest to. I don't handle them well; at all. Because I don't handle them well, some people might think I am cold, or I don't care. This is very far from the truth. The truth is if I were to allow the dam that holds all of my emotions and feelings at bay to break, I might break. Change is a wonderful, beautiful, and adventurous thing. Life, likewise, is much the same.
Change is a constant in life as life is ever changing, and so the cycle continues.
A very dear friend of mine once said, "If you hold too much to the past, or wish the present remained always, when your future comes you will be blind to its beauty." We live life, and we go about each day doing the best that we can. We come to love people, and to be loved in return. We come to trust people, and thus become a trustworthy person ourselves. I, as I am sure many do, get comfortable. I get comfortable with my zone, with my people and my little trust circles. Then, as the past has shown, when my future comes knocking I hide in the bathroom. I pray for the future, I want it to come, but the second it arrives on my doorstep I want it to go away and come back another time. It's not so much moving on, and forward that I hate. I love looking forward to the future; moving forward for the future. It's what gets left behind; it's who I leave behind. I do. I hate goodbyes.
Maybe one day I will be better at the tearful I love you's, we'll keep in touch always, don't forget to write or call moments. Maybe not. Maybe I will always have little holes in my heart when I am not in the presence of those that I love, and care about. Maybe not. All I know is that life is very precious. Moments are very precious. I learned long ago not to dwell on regrets. Have I shown how much I truly cherish every friendship I have ever come to have? No. Do I take time out of my "busy schedule" to say I love you to every single person that I love? Also. No. I just hope they somehow know; that somehow they will always know.
Well, here I am, sitting on a moving box, thinking of all the past "don't forget to call and write" moments I have had, and typing this. Typing what I can't ever seem to fully express. I hope you know who you are. If you are reading this you are likely one such individual; someone that holds a part of me. I hope you know that I love you, and even if I am horrible at showing it, or saying it, I hope you know. I hope you will always know, regardless of what change happens to come through life, I hope you will always know.
And? Don't forget to call, and write.
Or email. Let's be honest, who write's letters anymore?
Change is a constant in life as life is ever changing, and so the cycle continues.
A very dear friend of mine once said, "If you hold too much to the past, or wish the present remained always, when your future comes you will be blind to its beauty." We live life, and we go about each day doing the best that we can. We come to love people, and to be loved in return. We come to trust people, and thus become a trustworthy person ourselves. I, as I am sure many do, get comfortable. I get comfortable with my zone, with my people and my little trust circles. Then, as the past has shown, when my future comes knocking I hide in the bathroom. I pray for the future, I want it to come, but the second it arrives on my doorstep I want it to go away and come back another time. It's not so much moving on, and forward that I hate. I love looking forward to the future; moving forward for the future. It's what gets left behind; it's who I leave behind. I do. I hate goodbyes.
Maybe one day I will be better at the tearful I love you's, we'll keep in touch always, don't forget to write or call moments. Maybe not. Maybe I will always have little holes in my heart when I am not in the presence of those that I love, and care about. Maybe not. All I know is that life is very precious. Moments are very precious. I learned long ago not to dwell on regrets. Have I shown how much I truly cherish every friendship I have ever come to have? No. Do I take time out of my "busy schedule" to say I love you to every single person that I love? Also. No. I just hope they somehow know; that somehow they will always know.
Well, here I am, sitting on a moving box, thinking of all the past "don't forget to call and write" moments I have had, and typing this. Typing what I can't ever seem to fully express. I hope you know who you are. If you are reading this you are likely one such individual; someone that holds a part of me. I hope you know that I love you, and even if I am horrible at showing it, or saying it, I hope you know. I hope you will always know, regardless of what change happens to come through life, I hope you will always know.
And? Don't forget to call, and write.
Or email. Let's be honest, who write's letters anymore?
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Oh, #%@$
It happened. It finally, happened. As a mother, your primary goal is to teach your children. Not to simply teach them, however, but to teach them well. Countless hours are spent reading, having one-sided conversations, flash cards, and looking through picture books in high hopes that your growing bundle of joy will speak. Mom, dad, hi, up, down, please, thank you, go, and dog, among others, are usually the first words. So cute. They speak and you think, "Whoa! You have a voice!" They repeat what you say to them, and eventually learn how to use the word in context. Well, today? Today, I heard a very clear repetition of something that I will not forget anytime soon.
The day was relatively normal. I got up to go to the gym, came home, ate breakfast with Jack, and then we commenced on our learning journey for the morning. Read some books, play with toys, dance to music, chase each other around while giggling and so on. I then realized that I needed to make a deposit to the bank. So, I said, "Jack, please go get your shoes, we need to go somewhere." Now, my little man doesn't really say much just yet (his first, and really only, word is uh-oh, which is fitting), but he certainly understands what I say to him. He got his shoes, stood on his tippie toes to reach his jacket, and brought both to me. He then sat down while I put his shoes on, and he helped to put his jacket on. Out we went to the car. Again, as usual, I put him into his car seat, gave him scout and proceeded to shut the door. At the last second, I realized the car keys were in the back seat, and tried a superhuman move to get them before I shut the door. I don't know what I was thinking, it just happened. I slammed the door on my own hand, and the first word I said was "[insert offending swear word here]." Okay, without a censor?
I said shit.
I don't swear very much, but when I do it's usually because I have just done something stupid that resulted in pain. Door slam on hand was one such moment. Flood back memories of countless hours of repetition on please, thank you, dad, mom, go, dog, cat.....what was that? A very small voice came from the backseat of the car. "Sthit." I looked at Jack, and realized just how much he does understand. I couldn't say "Jack! Don't say that word!" How hypocritical would that be? Instead? I started laughing. Hysterically. Talk about encouraging a bad habit, but I couldn't stop myself. Jack continued. "Sthit." Maybe I should stop him... "Jack? Mommy made a mistake. I did. I made a mistake. That's not a good word to say, and I shouldn't have said it. Don't say that word buddy, okay?" "Sthit." Oh, dear.
Well, lesson learned. Children are sponges. Smart ones at that, as well. Jack is stubborn when it comes to speaking, but the words he chooses to use fit a variety of situations. "[Swear word]" is obviously one of them. Hopefully it won't stick and maybe I shouldn't laugh, but honestly?
An 18 month old swearing with a slight lisp is downright hilarious.
The day was relatively normal. I got up to go to the gym, came home, ate breakfast with Jack, and then we commenced on our learning journey for the morning. Read some books, play with toys, dance to music, chase each other around while giggling and so on. I then realized that I needed to make a deposit to the bank. So, I said, "Jack, please go get your shoes, we need to go somewhere." Now, my little man doesn't really say much just yet (his first, and really only, word is uh-oh, which is fitting), but he certainly understands what I say to him. He got his shoes, stood on his tippie toes to reach his jacket, and brought both to me. He then sat down while I put his shoes on, and he helped to put his jacket on. Out we went to the car. Again, as usual, I put him into his car seat, gave him scout and proceeded to shut the door. At the last second, I realized the car keys were in the back seat, and tried a superhuman move to get them before I shut the door. I don't know what I was thinking, it just happened. I slammed the door on my own hand, and the first word I said was "[insert offending swear word here]." Okay, without a censor?
I said shit.
I don't swear very much, but when I do it's usually because I have just done something stupid that resulted in pain. Door slam on hand was one such moment. Flood back memories of countless hours of repetition on please, thank you, dad, mom, go, dog, cat.....what was that? A very small voice came from the backseat of the car. "Sthit." I looked at Jack, and realized just how much he does understand. I couldn't say "Jack! Don't say that word!" How hypocritical would that be? Instead? I started laughing. Hysterically. Talk about encouraging a bad habit, but I couldn't stop myself. Jack continued. "Sthit." Maybe I should stop him... "Jack? Mommy made a mistake. I did. I made a mistake. That's not a good word to say, and I shouldn't have said it. Don't say that word buddy, okay?" "Sthit." Oh, dear.
Well, lesson learned. Children are sponges. Smart ones at that, as well. Jack is stubborn when it comes to speaking, but the words he chooses to use fit a variety of situations. "[Swear word]" is obviously one of them. Hopefully it won't stick and maybe I shouldn't laugh, but honestly?
An 18 month old swearing with a slight lisp is downright hilarious.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Shriggle
It's simple. There is a moment, a moment where you softly giggle to yourself while shaking your head and shrugging. Why? Well, you shake your head and shrug out of confusion, shock, or disbelief, and you giggle because of the same. The shriggle. You may be doing it now, reading this post. Smiling to yourself, laughing softly and shrugging because although what I just said really does make sense, it's silly. It's a reaction, and a simple one. Body language, baby. Your body speaks without saying a single word.
So the shriggle. Someone comes up to you and says "Hey hottie, wanna dance?" This particular individual is, to be delicate, without the physical attributes that typically interest you. Confused? Bluntly, they are not good looking. Ugly. Most will politely say "no, thank you." Some might say yes out of pity. Either way, when the said not-so-hottie is gone, you will likely look to your friends, or whoever you are with, and shriggle. Shake your head, shrug your shoulders, and giggle. Did not-so-hottie really think they had a shot? Shriggle...
You did it. I know you did. I've done it. When I have been working outside all day, then realize I need something for dinner, I often leave the house without my wedding ring. I shriggle at people that use frozen food as a means to flirt. "Whoa, that pizza is really good, do you like pizza?" Why yes, I do, and so does my husband.
Now, I am not saying that you shriggle simply when it comes to relationships. The shriggle comes in many forms. It comes out of nowhere, and often without warning. The giggle might be one of total amazement as some old lady goes racing by you on the freeway, then cuts you off whilst giving the finger (it's happened.) "What the?!" "Did you see..." Mouth open, half laugh, shake the head; shriggle. Crazy old lady.
Or this shriggle. The one that comes when someone you know, and love, does something really funny, but really dumb. "Hey sis! Watch me jump off this two story roof, but fall into that bush instead of my intended target." Famous words big brother. Famous.
It comes every day in one way or another. We laugh at things, and somehow lose the ability to find any words to define what we are thinking. So when such a moment arises, because it will, and with children it comes daily (sometimes even hourly) remember the shriggle. The moment where you find yourself laughing, and shaking your head, or shrugging those shoulders; just go with it.
Um? Jack? Where are your pants?......Ah...the toilet. That's new. Yes, they were dirty, but this is the worst place to wash them, okay?
...Shriggle
So the shriggle. Someone comes up to you and says "Hey hottie, wanna dance?" This particular individual is, to be delicate, without the physical attributes that typically interest you. Confused? Bluntly, they are not good looking. Ugly. Most will politely say "no, thank you." Some might say yes out of pity. Either way, when the said not-so-hottie is gone, you will likely look to your friends, or whoever you are with, and shriggle. Shake your head, shrug your shoulders, and giggle. Did not-so-hottie really think they had a shot? Shriggle...
You did it. I know you did. I've done it. When I have been working outside all day, then realize I need something for dinner, I often leave the house without my wedding ring. I shriggle at people that use frozen food as a means to flirt. "Whoa, that pizza is really good, do you like pizza?" Why yes, I do, and so does my husband.
Now, I am not saying that you shriggle simply when it comes to relationships. The shriggle comes in many forms. It comes out of nowhere, and often without warning. The giggle might be one of total amazement as some old lady goes racing by you on the freeway, then cuts you off whilst giving the finger (it's happened.) "What the?!" "Did you see..." Mouth open, half laugh, shake the head; shriggle. Crazy old lady.
Or this shriggle. The one that comes when someone you know, and love, does something really funny, but really dumb. "Hey sis! Watch me jump off this two story roof, but fall into that bush instead of my intended target." Famous words big brother. Famous.
It comes every day in one way or another. We laugh at things, and somehow lose the ability to find any words to define what we are thinking. So when such a moment arises, because it will, and with children it comes daily (sometimes even hourly) remember the shriggle. The moment where you find yourself laughing, and shaking your head, or shrugging those shoulders; just go with it.
Um? Jack? Where are your pants?......Ah...the toilet. That's new. Yes, they were dirty, but this is the worst place to wash them, okay?
...Shriggle
Monday, January 24, 2011
Confessions
Dear God,
I was just sitting here, at the kitchen table, thinking. I was thinking about life in general, and the process of it. The process of decision making, then wondering if what I think is best is also what you think is best. I watched as my son played with his toys, then wondered if you feel the same way I do as you watch me here on earth. I know some people don't believe in you, some are angry with you, others are searching for you, some have found you, and others cling to you.
Which am I? Which of those people am I? Well, most of them I suppose. I don't question your existence anymore, though there was a time I did. I have been angry with you because I felt it was your fault I felt the way I did at times. I search for you a lot, and in everything. I have found pieces of you, bits of you. I know you are there as a whole, but I know I will spend the rest of my life discovering who you are.
Then there are days like today. Days where I cling to you. Days where I need you. I couldn't tell you why, or what exactly roots these emotions I feel, I just know I need you right now. You are God. You are my God. You are the Father. You are my Father. I need you right now. I need you always; though I forget that at times. Sometimes I ignore you, or I think I can figure things out on my own. Sometimes I turn my back on you, and sometimes I let you go. Sometimes? Sometimes I forget about you. Granted, you are always somewhere in my mind and heart, but you get hidden as I go about the day to day routine.
My son is talking to me right now. Well, he doesn't really talk yet, he just kind of babbles. I love it when he talks to me; when he babbles to me. But I also love it when he sits with me, and we just are. You created me, so it's only logical that you are the same. That you love it when I babble on about my life to you, or if I just sit and think about you, and we just are. This right now? This is me babbling; going on and on about the seemingly trivial things I feel are important.
Things that matter, if to no one else but me.
Simply put I am scared; scared to take that step forward. I don't know what is ahead, and every lesson in faith tells me to step forward knowing you will catch me; knowing everything will be alright. I have faith; I know it will all work out as it should. I know, but I wonder if what I know is enough.
Maybe I just need to sit; maybe I just need to be. Maybe the faith that I have is enough, and who I am is enough. I am hard on myself, it's true, but who isn't? Reminders of assurance are good things to have, and perhaps that's what today is. Reassurance that though I make mistakes, and I do not babble to you enough, you still love me. You always love me....
I am just going to sit now. I am going to sit and imagine you sitting next to me. Nothing needs to be said; nothing needs to be done. You are here. You are with me, and that's all that matters.
I was just sitting here, at the kitchen table, thinking. I was thinking about life in general, and the process of it. The process of decision making, then wondering if what I think is best is also what you think is best. I watched as my son played with his toys, then wondered if you feel the same way I do as you watch me here on earth. I know some people don't believe in you, some are angry with you, others are searching for you, some have found you, and others cling to you.
Which am I? Which of those people am I? Well, most of them I suppose. I don't question your existence anymore, though there was a time I did. I have been angry with you because I felt it was your fault I felt the way I did at times. I search for you a lot, and in everything. I have found pieces of you, bits of you. I know you are there as a whole, but I know I will spend the rest of my life discovering who you are.
Then there are days like today. Days where I cling to you. Days where I need you. I couldn't tell you why, or what exactly roots these emotions I feel, I just know I need you right now. You are God. You are my God. You are the Father. You are my Father. I need you right now. I need you always; though I forget that at times. Sometimes I ignore you, or I think I can figure things out on my own. Sometimes I turn my back on you, and sometimes I let you go. Sometimes? Sometimes I forget about you. Granted, you are always somewhere in my mind and heart, but you get hidden as I go about the day to day routine.
My son is talking to me right now. Well, he doesn't really talk yet, he just kind of babbles. I love it when he talks to me; when he babbles to me. But I also love it when he sits with me, and we just are. You created me, so it's only logical that you are the same. That you love it when I babble on about my life to you, or if I just sit and think about you, and we just are. This right now? This is me babbling; going on and on about the seemingly trivial things I feel are important.
Things that matter, if to no one else but me.
Simply put I am scared; scared to take that step forward. I don't know what is ahead, and every lesson in faith tells me to step forward knowing you will catch me; knowing everything will be alright. I have faith; I know it will all work out as it should. I know, but I wonder if what I know is enough.
Maybe I just need to sit; maybe I just need to be. Maybe the faith that I have is enough, and who I am is enough. I am hard on myself, it's true, but who isn't? Reminders of assurance are good things to have, and perhaps that's what today is. Reassurance that though I make mistakes, and I do not babble to you enough, you still love me. You always love me....
I am just going to sit now. I am going to sit and imagine you sitting next to me. Nothing needs to be said; nothing needs to be done. You are here. You are with me, and that's all that matters.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Roll With It
When I was pregnant, my doctors constantly gave me tips on how to ward off water weight. With that, they also gave me tips on staying active, and exercising, eating right etc etc. Once Jack was born, I got advice on how to get rid of the "baby fat." Breast feeding, among other things, was a huge help in dropping off those rolls. Now that the holidays are over, and I have sufficiently gorged myself with goodies, I found myself looking at rolls again in the mirror. Don't get me wrong, I am quite happy with who I am, fit or not. I like to be fit, who doesn't, you feel pretty darn good about yourself when you are.
Anyway, while I was staring at my little inner tube I thought "well, I know I like cookies, and I really should exercise more, it's true." Then the kicker. When? I received all this advice, and help throughout pregnancy and through about year one, but what about now. What about the "toddler fat?" The fat that comes because of many reasons; a husband in school, who also works, and trying to put both him and the little guy first often leaves little time for you know who. You. Or me. The self.
Well, today I discovered a few reasons why I find it difficult to exercise. One? It's cold and running outside is for nutties (even though I did it tonight out of desperation. ) Two? Money. It's kind of essential for gym memberships, or exercise stuff, or zumba, p90x etc etc etc. The lack thereof leaves you with a 23 lb toddler to use as weights, and a 700 sq ft apartment to run around in. Isn't staying fit fun?
Then? Then there is that little person. That little person you give all of your time and energy to in hopes that when the day comes for him to go out on his own, you know he will be okay because you did your best. Whatever that best entails, you gave it. Today, I wondered where my best went as, upon entering Jack's room to get him up from his nap, he was naked. Totally, and completely, naked. The pants, the shirt, and yes the diaper, had all somehow found a way off of him. He was wet, the bed was wet, and both were wet for the exact reason you are thinking. Oh the joys of being a mother, and a stay at home one to boot. Like I said; toddler weight.
I think I am going to go and eat some cookie dough now, and watch something mindless because I can. I can go with the flow, and take in the silence; rolls and all.
Bedtime is beautiful, and so is my inner tube :)
Monday, January 3, 2011
Peace In Parting
Once in awhile, a light comes amidst the darkness of life. Illuminating the path it travels, this light continually covers its surroundings with hope, with peace, and ultimately, with joy. The laughter in moments shared, tears for time passed, and love for the memories locked within the soul. Moments and memories are essentially what becomes of each life. As the time passes, as the laughter is remembered, we come to understand that individually we are all meant to become that light within life. To shine in corners of darkness, to change the winters to spring, and illuminate the good within others...
There is little to be written of death that is not already present in poetry, books, and musical lyrics. Many have felt the sting that is death; that emptiness associated with parting. I didn't understand the depth that is passing on until I was older; until experience taught me about the gift that is life. Growing up, I always knew about Grandpa Jack; I heard stories. A father of 7 children. A loving husband. My son Jack is named after this man. He died suddenly when my own mother was 8 years old. What I know of him is felt in presence from the love that others portray for him. He was a good man. A loving man.
There are others who have parted with this life; others known now only in memory. I know of many. Many who touched lives in ways no other mortal could. Others that are missed. Those whose company we ever long to be in again. Death is experienced as a part of life. The cyclical rounds that are mortality are inevitable. We are born, we grow through adulthood, and into old age. Some don't make it that far. Some don't make it very far at all. I often look at Jack, my Jack, and find my throat swollen with emotion at the thought of losing him. Losing any loved ones. We move on, it's true. We eventually find peace, and learn to cope without. We pass through the stages of grief, pick ourselves up, and move forward. Eventually....
I can recall countless images of knees falling to the earth in front of tombstones, or hands on caskets, and tears beyond count; my own included. Our physical strength is lost as we fall, and the only words we can utter are "I miss you." I miss you.
Life is precious. So precious. The holidays are often a time of remembrance. A time to stop and think; to think on how blessed we are. Well, the holidays are gone now. It's a new year. Another year. Do you ever wonder if this year will be your last? This day. Next week. Or if it will be another's last? Countless emails are forwarded to remind us to say I love you, and to be kind. They tell stories of hope, sometimes of regret, as loved ones pass on. No one can know ahead of time when that goodbye will be. No one can know.
All we know is what we can do now. We can live, and we can love. We can laugh, and we can remember. We can exist in such a way so that any moment lived will be a moment worth remembering.
"Live, laugh, love."
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