Resolutions

This is the most neglected of my blogs so I am hereby resolving to either do away with it completely or make more of an effort. Sadly, it will likely be the former. It will certainly resurrect in some other form in the new year in the form of one catchall blog which has been put on the serious back burner since our relocation to Nashville. Unfortunately, I haven't had the creative time I'd hoped for but I can see that changing slowly and surely.

I don't really believe in resolutions. Not ones for New Year at any rate. I resolve to do loads of things during the year either with distinct and clear intention or in some lofty it-may-happen-one-day fashion. What can I tell you, I've always struggled with a mind that has the energy and interest of 20 but I am 1 and therefore attempt to cut myself some slack. But I feel the need to set some "rules" at least for this year and, as I've told my husband, make recovery and reinvention our number one goals.

Of course reflection would be a better word to toss around in the beginning of any year. If I can't reflect on what I did, what I didn't do, what I hope to be more of, better at, and etc. etc. I will doubtfully get any of things in my 2011 bucket list accomplished. Quite frankly that bucket list hasn't changed much but I feel like we have and are.

Recovery = finally getting back on solid ground post un-and-under-employment. The first few months of unemployment feel sort of like a vacation from reality. Not necessarily in a good way but (when you've worked for the Wicked Witch & her little flying monkey) not necessarily in a bad way. After about six months, things start to get pretty hairy and even now, six months in to gainful employment, we are still in recovery mode.

One thing I am grateful for that unemployment has taught me is how to be careful with our money. So on our path to full financial recovery, I am hoping we pass Debt Free Lane and can get off on it. Save the student loan that has a six year shelf life left on it, perhaps even seven, the forceful redirect of our funds have proven a mighty catalyst for getting things paid off. I like those bumper stickers, "be weird, be debt free." I'm down with that -- on both counts.

On the kid front, we are still holding steady in a pattern of progression, slight regression, then progression again. This is pretty standard fare for atypical kids and while on our worst day it equates a bit of exhaustion for all 3 of us, it is something we are able to handle quite easily now that he's 7 (most days anyway).

I've been doing a lot of research on Sensory Perception Disorder/Sensory Integration Disorder. It sounds so very familiar when I read it, like someone wrote it specifically about my child. But as I reflect over the accomplishments and the struggles we've had this year with the gray area he sometimes falls into, I am resolve to focus more this year on 'this is how he is' vs. 'this is what we are doing to change it.' My kid has a lot of spirit, he's ridiculously funny, incredibly curious, reads like a demon and has musical skills that I cannot really even begin to understand. Screw changing him to try to make him fit. We hold fast to the notion that if an environment cannot roll with our son, we will simply roll him out of that environment. Not always easy, but sometimes necessary.

Recently he wanted to buy a Barbie. Granted, this child spends hours playing video games and is known to be a shameless flirt. But he wanted the Rapunzel Barbie. So I let him buy it. Why did he want it, I asked. Because she's pretty, he said. Makes sense to me. He brushed her hair a few times and doted over her -- and now I'm pretty sure she's being eaten by dust bunnies under the couch. Most couples I know would probably flip the absolute hell out over their son wanting a doll. This year, it's all about embracing the different and whatever that means to him or us.

On the personal front, I'm exhausted. I feel a little bit like a whirling tree that is looking for soft ground to plant its roots in. Not to say that that land isn't somewhere in Nashville, we just haven't located the proper neighborhood yet. With the exhaustion, however, comes a constant spike of excitement. We have so much more opportunity creatively here -- it gets my heart racing just to think of. But like that whirling tree, my brain goes at about 600 miles an hour thinking I can do all of it. So, my other focus this year? Just that --- focus. Fine-tune the crazy. Reel it in and hone it. G-d gave me a certain set of skills and while I'd like to do absolutely everything I think of, I am 36 and it's time to get organized. Reinvention. (I realize most people "organize" in their 20's but I'm not most people and I believe in late blooming. I spent the first part of my 30's organizing my mommy self, now it's time to incorporate the rest.)

One other tender subject I've been want to post about here on Atypical Mother is the fun and enthralling conversation of weight and diet. Have I lost all of that weight yet? No, I haven't. But my stamina kicks ass lately and I'm looking forward to a full schedule of belly dance, ballet and burlesque. Apparently, I'm also looking forward to a half marathon. According to my sister, this is a good goal to have -- ok, it's been on my private to-do list for a year or so but she asked me to sign up and I conceded. I signed up -- doesn't mean its going to happen. This is part of the reinvention plan as well -- reach for that lofty goal of running a half marathon with your sister but don't beat yourself up if you only make the smaller 5k runs you'll no doubt have to run to prep for the big one. The point is to try, right? Yes!

While all of that sounds great and looks pretty right now, I really can't ignore the number one most abused New Year's resolution known to man: weight loss. Working daily in a health & wellness environment, I can tell you I was somewhat prepared for the onslaught of people at our doors today -- somewhat but not enough. Droves. People came out in droves. Every machine was full, every room was bustling, people signed up left and right for a year's time -- I was...wow. Well, I was ready to run and hide is what I was ready to do. But I can't say they are alone.

I'm starting a weight loss program (never thought I'd say those words) on Jan. 8 because although I have never had a hard time losing when I put my mind to it, I simply cannot seem to shake these last 20 and (I hate to say this) I just don't have enough time in my day to go it alone. Bring in Ideal Protein Weight Loss. It's a 30 year-old program from France that made its way to Canada about 10 years ago and has now finally been available in the US for 2 years. Am I a little freaked out? Yes. Weight loss/gain/struggle/discussion is a very private thing to me.

But this is the way I see it now that I'm 36: if you aren't lucky enough to be a celebrity or have god-like genes, odds are post-childbirth fat did not leave your tummy looking super great. And as I near that fun fourth decade, I have no intention of slowing down. Statistically, adults with dense "belly fat" are more prone to heart disease and diabetes. No thank you to both. This is not about fitting into jeggings for which I do not have the thighs, it's about being proactive now to reduce the risk of complications later. Sure, I'd love to rock a bikini this summer for the first time in 8 years but I'm going to feel a lot better knowing that Buddha belly the obstetrician obviously forgot to remove post-c-section will no longer be wallowing underneath my ticker. The resolution? It's a good time to be more serious about my health. Reinvent.

Depending on how the first week goes, I may chronicle the journey a bit here on Atypical hinging on its survival. Either way, hopefully you'll be "seeing" a bit less of me in the months to come. Until then, here's to a new year, new perspective, new lives, new ideas and the rebirth of old ones, but most importantly new momentum. May 2011 be everything you want it to be -- and more. My only real hope is that we are all happy with who we are.

xoxo,
am

Obsess Much?

This is probably not a question you should ask the mother of a somewhat atypical child because the answer will always be, "why, yes, yes we do." Our current obsession of choice is Super Mario. I have finally lost my child to the horrific video game trance. I tried to avoid it for years but leave it to cousins (or siblings) to clean out the rubbish that is their room and turn up five Nintendo DS or DSi's. The world of Mario has invaded and it is here to stay.

But then I have to wonder....is it so much the "uniqueness" of my child that brings about the ease of fixation or is it, say (for argument's sake) inherited...?? Ok, yes it is. I am a bit of an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to the creative, I admit it. But I will also highlight that I came by it rightly from either side of my collective gene pool. So blame not the tree from which the apple fell.

When I decided to not spend a small fortune on a gluten-free bakery made birthday cake for this weekend's party but rather to bake said cake myself, the obsessive part of my brain didn't hear me. The happy-go-lucky part thought, "oh this'll be easy. I'll bake a round cake and "draw" Mario's face on top and, voila!, there will be happiness! Surely there will be samples of such Baking 101 online; I'll just follow along and be done with it in a snap."

Then I Googled "Mario Cakes" and the obsessive part of my brain finally woke up...and I quickly heard a noise similar to that of an engine shutting down. Awesome.

I don't tend to overindulge in images here on Atypical Mother but, really, this I have to share. Behold...


Notice the number "4" on this cake. 4 PEOPLE!! Someone's 4 year old had a birthday cake that was maybe a hair smaller than my wedding cake!! What kind of expectation are we generating these days?

Um. Ok. You lost me at toadstool.


This is, undoubtedly, someone's actual wedding cake. Which really makes me wonder what kind of relationship did these people have that the bride relinquished creative control of her own cake? Because obviously this is the result of some serious negotiation.


I love the inset photos of the fondant work. It really makes me chuckle, having worked with fondant for his 3rd birthday cake (which was a full-sized pumpkin that took roughly 16 hours to craft). My hope was to make the stem and "some" leaves with the fondant. I made an leaf and that curly pumpkin thing on top. Fondant is for professionals. Or homicidal maniacs, I'm not sure which.


Wow. I mean, really. Wow. Obviously a wedding cake, obviously insane. Obviously I would resort to a hot glue gun which, well, probably isn't edible.

This one doesn't look so terribly complicated. In fact, it looks like maybe it was a bunch of mistakes thrown together and topped off with a giant rice krispie treat in the shape of a six. You know because there are so many rice krispie treats in Super Mario Bros.



This one made me twitch. A cake made to look just like the DS? What kind of parent put this out into the proverbial universe to make the rest of us feel inadequate??? Shame on you!


Duff? Duff? Are you there? Duff?

If I'm not mistaken, this toadstool is looking down at me in smug judgment over my lack of cake decorating expertise. What does he know anyway, he's just supporting cast.

That's just a sample of what's out there. Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would find such a catalog of baked Mario options. I would like to take this time and give a most sincere and humble shout out to the Big Man/Woman upstairs for allowing my child's internet interest to not veer outside of the Pink Panther You Tube channel, Thomas the Train, and Roary the Racing Car. Because, Dear Lord, if he discovers google.com/images, I am surely done for.

Now where is that number of that bakery....

And....I'm 36. Woot.

Greetings and salutations from the closer side to 40. As is usual, I'm behind in posts. No, I'm not having a senior moment (yet) I've just been incredibly busy. That kind of busy where you aren't entirely sure you brushed your teeth? Or put on deodorant? Yeah, that kind of busy.

A lot has happened since the last time I wrote -- I started my new job (hoorah!), my child temporarily went of his gfcfsf diet (oops), I started working out like a fiend (most days at any rate), and I turned 36 (awesome).

The job is great; I forgot how fulfilling it can be to a) work with people not in immediate need of psychiatry; b) work with people you can trust; c) have total creative license over your job; and d) with people who trust you to do all of the things (and then some) you were hired to do. It makes getting up at the lovely hour of 6:00 a.m. (to which the unemployed become grossly adjusted to NOT doing), driving down the beautiful Natchez Trace Parkway (and subsequently the somewhat ominous NTP Bridge), and working my butt off (literally I hope) absolutely worth it.

But there's so much more to it than that. My job isn't just a job, it's a connection to an entire communtiy and network of people that believe in supporting each other. In the 3 weeks since I've been there, I've met several people who are sincerely interested in helping us locate resources and provide the best support available to the little man. Bonus: there's a camp and a private school on our campus; camp is going swimmingly (despite the wicked swimmer's ear he's currently suffering from -- though not suffering so completely that he can't play Indiana Jones on his DS for hours on end) and it looks like private school may actually be an option (which is brilliant because they start later in August and as it is, the public school for which we are zoned starts when we are in Ireland -- and it is decidedly uncool to miss your child's first day of school).

Which brings me to his diet. Trying to maintain a gfcfsf diet when you are in the throes of a relocation, a new home, new job, new grocery stores, etc. defies the word challenege. So we got a little lax about it. Ok maybe a little more than a little -- especially with the dairy. Did it make a difference? Well that's kind of what we wanted to know. You see once a child's gut has had the chance to recover from that which ails it, you may be able to add dairy back into their diet.

I can say with a straight face, no crossed fingers and with out a trace of humor that my child is unequivocally, absolutely not that child. So we are back on track -- for the saftey of those around us.

Quite honestly we've gotten quite used to a gfcf life ourselves. I can't completely give up the soy because I just genuinely love (organic) tofu. But once you stop eating so much gluten and dairy (esp. gluten) your, excuse my French, ass feels a little less like a manatee floating in open waters. It's quite liberating really.

As for the other stuff...yes, the dreaded I-was-supposed-to-lose-all-this-weight-before-I-turned-36-thing-and-although-I-workout-a-lot-more-than-I-used-to-I-lost-barely-anything-but-it's-ok-because-I-decided-not-to-sweat-doing-it-on-such-a-strict-timeline-because-dieting-when-you've-just-moved-to-another-state-and-started-a-new-job-is-ever-so-slightly-masochistic thing. Yeah...that thing. I don't know if it's just that my body is in shock at the constant level of activity and therefore hanging on to all these excess fat cells in the event it thinks I'm going to up and stop feeding it and just run it all the time but nothing has moved as of yet.

I will say, however, that at the (tender) age of 36, I feel a hell of a lot better. Everything feels a little tighter although I'm not sure if that's some sort of dementia that is setting in as I get closer to 40, but I'm going with it's not and that I am actually doing something right. I'm trying something new tomorrow which I'm keeping to myself in the event that it doesn't work...but if it does, you'll probably never get me to shut up about it.

As for turning 36...what can I tell you? It actually feels kind of fabulous. 35 rocked my world (mostly because I was in a job that I hated passionately that was sedentary and ridiculous; oh, yeah, then I was unemployed for 8 months -- nothing like a little unemployment to crack the foundation of your self-confidence) but 36 feels kind of, well, like me. Maybe it's due in part to the new environs which are a step closer to what I'm looking for in life; maybe it's the physical activity; or maybe it's just that some feel a little more grounded as they get older -- a little more free to be themselves; a little more certain of who they are; and a little more certain of where they want to go.

Or maybe I'm just happy because I don't have any wrinkles!?!?!?!? (well except those squinty couple on my forehead but they are hidden by hair and so therefore do not count.)

Ok, ok, probably a combination of all of the above. Who knows? Whatever it is, I'm just happy it's here. Each day feels a little more me -- each day I am surrounded by beautiful places, beautiful people, all of the things I love; by music that defined how I thought about the world seems which seems to be following me everywhere that I go as of late; although my child has somewhat had a step back, I am lucky to have new resources, a new support system and lots of renewed hope in the treatment we've chosen for his behavioral/developmental "hiccups"; my husband is as dashing, brilliant and funny as ever; and the things we dream about seem just a little bit closer than they did before...things are quite simply good. Well, with the exception of an unexpected auto repair that cost a fortune, the aforementioned life-altering (he's a bit dramatic) swimmer's ear to which my child told me he was dying from (ahem) and the still recovering from unemployment bank account.

Sometimes you have everything you need and you don't even know it.

So I'll happily take 36; besides, in the words of Gertrude Stein, we are always the same age inside, which would make me 4 some days (dance recitals, tinkerbell and kool and the gang); 17 on others (newly found independence, shedding of the great dork factor of high school days gone by); occassionally 26 (a part of me will forever be overseas); and perpetually 72 (for my love of all things old). Does being 36 make me wiser? No, probably not. I don't feign to believe that age = wisdom or even that academics = wisdom. I think wisdom is based solely on life experiences. Of which I am not yet done having.

On that note, I'll leave you with a toast for my 36th and for your year to come: may those who love us, love us; and those who don't love us, may G-d turn their hearts; and if He doesn't turn their hearts may he turn their ankles so that we will know them by their limping.

Here's to life...L'chaim.
xoxo,
kvlm

"They Sicken of the Calm, Who Knew the Storm"

Perhaps one of my favorite Dorothy Parker quotes of all time. It's stuck in my head today for some odd reason I can't really put my finger on. Maybe it's the doing of things long put off; or the completion of new goals birthed in spontaneity. Whatever the cause, I think it's a good one to remind myself of frequently.

I'm feeling this resurgence and necessity to accomplish a lot these days. Maybe I was sick of the calm. In the past week, I've taught my son how to swim with some assistance from my 10 year old niece; I've written a complete introduction to a story (gasp!); I've become quite acquainted with the treadmill; and I start swimming daily (I forgot how quickly I tan, it's been so many years since I've had the luxury of a club to use -- I am positively brown).

Of course, those first two are certainly the stones in my June Crown. Watching my six-year-old- ever-so-slightly-developmentally-delayed-though-beyond-his-years-brilliant child learn to swim so quickly and, to boot, swim under water today was not unlike the day he took his first steps. Yes, I might have teared up in the pool -- stranger things have happened.

And tonight, as he finished reading "Elwood and the Witch" to me and I turned out his lights, he requested Kind of Blue, making sure to tell me he was playing the "saxophone like Coltrane." The fact that he can not only play Freddie Freeloader through his "nose horn" to scale but the fact that he can actually differentiate Coltrane from Davis on the CD completely turns me inside out. If he picks out Julian "Cannonball" Atterley on alto sax, I'm calling the press. Or in the very least, Columbia Records. He also reminded me of how good he did at the pool; so our days revolve around the sun, the water and jazz. All of which seem to being doing wonders for the lot of us.

These moments, well, they astound me. As a parent, which is quite literally the hardest job I've ever loved, these magical little victories and triumphs where everything seems right in the world are how I realign my focus. Three weeks into our move to Nashville, the demon of transition finally reared its ugly head on my unsuspecting child. I think, honestly, there might have been a moment where he looked at me, turned a side eye and silently asked, "so....we're staying here?"

That's worrisome. But it's normal and we roll with it like we do everything else. We look to the little things to sustain us. Luckily we have the summer to acclimate and a wealth of resources for the hurdles here that we didn't have in Raleigh. For one, I found a biomed doctor today that takes my insurance! (Ok, I should have added that, at the very least, as number 2 of my hoorah list above.) We also have a tour for a private school for kids with unique learning styles tomorrow. Granted, I'd probably have to give up my entire inheritance times ten to pay for it, but that's what financial aid was invented for.

As for the writing...it's nice to do something other than blog. Not to say that I don't enjoy sitting here late at night, Karen Elson singing in the background, the quiet of suburbia screaming from the sidewalk, and me pouring out my thoughts from the day on to a blank screen, but there's something quite vacant about it at times. Vacant in that I'm not writing a great poem, a passionate song, or the beginnings of an intriguing story, screenplay, or novel -- you know, all of those things I swore 100 times on my Shakespeare Norton Reader I would do. So when something comes to me, like this gothic intro I've got, the overpowering need to read and write comes out of the shadows.

Removing myself from the complacency of a monotone life certainly has sparked some inspiration and for that I am ridiculously thankful. So I hope to have more than just brain fodder to put out into the dear universe some time within the next year. Not a challenge, just a hope.

For everything, lots and lots of hope.
kvlm

Hippie Dippy Rerun

For all my inner punk-rockstar-glamour-girl-40's-movie-starlet-urban-goddess-mother-of-oddness-ness-ism-ish, etc., in (some) of the words of Marguerite Duras, at "the heart of my essential uncertainty" I'm really just a hippie. My husband reminds me of this often. What can I tell you, my first love was a man who touted peace like breathing. G-d bless you, Mr. Lennon.

In this pursuit of getting healthy and shedding the "extra me," I have to go back to what I was raised on -- hello, Vegetarianism Revisited 7.0. Yeah, yeah, yeah I was going back to this like six months ago but chicken is so good. No, no it's not. Chickens eat each other's poop. I was really beginning to feel that "me no like" gag sensation at the consumption of chicken anyway so this should be no biggie. Just keep me away from any sort of Mexican dish with chicken in it and we are good. Beef? -- gave up months and months ago. That one was easy but oddly, this is going in reverse. I gave up chicken first when I was a die-hard vegetarian in my 20's but I often had momentary lapses of reason that involved a Cook-Out burger or a full on meat lover's pizza somewhere around 2:00 a.m. after many glasses of whatever. I'm not proud but I'll admit it. (Anyway if I don't, any number of friends or relatives will admit it for me.)

Being pregnant with Jude brought out the ravenous carnivore in me. Truly. I could have eaten the head off of..well anything. My theory is that your body wants whatever you haven't been giving it up to the point of conception. And then all hell breaks loose. I'm tempted to get pregnant again just to reverse the order.

Luckily for me, our recent move to Nashville offers a lot of options for vegetarianism and general hippie dippyness. There's a slew of restaurants (including a fully vegetarian Indian restaurant) and more than a dozen farmer's markets, organic farms, and a groovy little grocery store we discovered today in the East End called The Turnip Truck. You literally pull up to an organic garden. Yea!

Today I finally picked up the Daiya Vegan Cheese that I couldn't find anywhere in North Carolina (except for at one restaurant). It's actually available at both Whole Foods here and the Turnip plus it's served at all the Mellow Mushroom locations with a gluten-free pie option. Sadly, my very much in need of a gfcf diet child requests only the hummus when we go to the Mushroom but maybe I can bring him over.

Anyway, I substituted regular pasta and cheese in mac 'n cheese tonight with quinoa pasta and Daiya cheddar to much aplomb from both child and husband. Oh hoorah! I can finally give my child mac again without worry. Holla for the hippies that brought us this cheese!

Unfortunately, I couldn't quite get past the pungent smell of it nor did I trust it not to disrupt my terribly cheese-or-cheese-like sensitive tummy. I opted instead for Sunshine Burgers BBQ flavor in a wrap with fresh, organic red onions and organic green leaf lettuce, all from the Turnip Truck. Sunshine Burgers are a little more pricey there but you can usually get them at Harris Teeter for under $4. I think they are the only mass-produced veggie burgers that are GMO free. They are also vegan and gluten-free. AND they are made from sunflower seeds -- topped with pineapple salsa, they are delicious. I highly recommend them, whether you are a hippie or not.

I also fell in love with scrambled egg whites mixed with salsa today. Maybe it had just been years since I'd had salsa in my eggs or maybe it was just having them at the legendary Pancake Pantry by Vanderbilt. I'm not sure, but this will certainly become a regular in my quest for weight loss and healthy eating.

Tomorrow, I'm frying okra in brown rice flour and trading out our white sugar for real maple syrup. My husband will most likely find his way down to the Breadbasket and devour a burger when I'm not looking. My child will be with him. And they will ignore my okra and beg for a trip to Sweet CeCe's, which is essentially a buffet of frozen yogurt and a plethora of topping choices...ie. crack. But that's ok, because this clarity, hopefully, isn't going anywhere any time soon.

Working out and swimming every day are great motivators for healthy living but there's more to it than that -- it's just an energy that Nashville has. Not that this is some super healthy mecca in the likeness of LA, though I'm sure there's plenty of that. There's just a lot of energy period. And that is somewhat intoxicating. I kind of feel my shell cracking.

peace,
kvlm

p.s. in other hippie dippyness of greatness obsessions, I've been trying to lower the toxicity level in our house for over a year now. Today, I found this great website...check it out: Mighty Nest.

Clarity

Well, hi there! Long time, no...type? I feel like this blog constantly calls for a screeching apology from its caretaker who sadly neglects it on a regular basis. Said caretaker always has valid excuses, however, and is pretty certain that moving to a new state warrants a break from all things web-related.


We are official Nashvillians. After many years of talk about living in Music City, we (I) finally made it. It's a relief to now enjoy the doing rather than the talking. But this wasn't just a move to satisfy an urge, it was one of necessity. Thankfully losing my job in Raleigh and its slow, albeit decaying, job market landed me exactly where I wanted to be. And luckily my new gig doesn't start for a month so I've got days and weeks to explore and figure out, well, where the hell everything is.


Unfortunately, for now (well at least for tonight), I'm couching it. In the midst of this mad move (which was decided upon on a Tuesday and executed the following Sunday), I contracted some horrid Hunta type Ebola plague from the child's school. Between the packing, the driving, the unloading and the enveloping southern heat, I've had just a little too much "fun" and my Friday night excitement looks like it will be with a bottle of Omnicef and not a bottle of Malbec.


Normally, I'm a person who likes to have the entire house arranged, unpacked, decorated and magazine worthy in less than 48 hours after a move. So you can imagine how frustrated I would be given the circumstances. But something rather significant happened as I rolled endlessly over hills and through apocalyptic thunderstorms this past week: self-revelation. I'll try not to Hallmark this moment too much as I am no stickler for the sentimental but bear with me.


Self-revelation #1: When you realize you've stopped growing, you must reroot yourself.

Now there are those people who would think moving from an otherwise adequate if not sustained and mostly fulfilling situation to be futile. Well, I needed a job. But it's not just that. We all needed a new perspective, a fresh shake, a different angle and an awakened synergy.

Having both (husband and I) been raised with a significant infestation of the "travel bug" and also moved around quite a bit as children, I think we both recognized our very real need to, well, "move around." That is not to say that we don't see ourselves planting roots but we are more of the mindset of it's not where you are, but who you are with. As long as the 3 of us are together, whatever place that may be on the map, we are home.


Raleigh had become rather impervious professionaly, socially, creatively, and mentally for both of us. Not to say that Raleigh is not a wonderful place with a lot to offer but when you've roamed its streets for a decade and change, searching and searching for that moment of discovery, never to find it, you know its time to move on. That moment had evaded both of us for quite some time. What that meant for him was leaving for China. What that meant for me was developing a horrid case of anxiety. Which brings me to...


Self-Revelation #2: It's not really textbook anxiety, so park your meds, advice and self-help books, please. I got this.


As I was driving through a thunderstorm that made all things around me completely invisible including the transfer truck in front of me, my husband's moving truck behind me, and the guardrails beside me (vomit), my immediate thought was not "oh no, something's going to happen to me" it was "oh no, something's going to happen to my child (who is sitting in the back seat telling me 'mommy, rainy days happen' like zero visibility is nothing to freak out about) because I don't trust myself enough to get out of this situation." And like that, as if 100 lightbulbs went off over my head in a single moment, I figured it out. All these post-partum years of fighting off anxiety I thought was linked directly to so many things was really only linked to this one thought: I didn't really trust myself to, well, parent. And protect. And provide. Even though I'd been doing and am doing it now. Wonderfully intriguing, how the mind works.


Even writing this now, I feel an enormous sense of relief and a little bit of "well duh" to boot. I could pinpoint exactly when and where this thought process came into play and I could easily justify to and remind myself of the fact that my child is ridiculously happy, has jumped 100 hurdles, and adores his mother to no end. And then I just kind of laughed. Oddly, all seemed right with the world.


I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but thank G-d for that horrendous downpour on the highway.


Self-revelation #3: What makes me tick.

Let's combine #1 and #2 and get to what makes me tick. Going makes me tick. Sure, I hate the leaving and the being left. That's never a good time for anybody. But the going? Boy, sign me up! I don't do well sitting still, staying in one place, being stagnant, turning in circles, running into old walls, or playing it safe. Playing it safe has just not ever really been a part of my vocabulary (please note before you get lecture-y that safe and responsible do not mean the same thing in this scenario). In this way, my husband and I are very much the same -- and also wind up being very much misunderstood. Luckily, once you hit your mid-30's, you become way less concerned with being misunderstood. Or in the very least doing anything to become understood.

However, parenthood requires that you calm the hell down for a minute, doesn't it? And in that lies the HUGE adjustment. It's not really adjusting to the new child, that part is easy, it's adjusting to the new you. And it can be kind of annoying.


Then they turn six. And require adventure. Long for experience. Look for you to lead them. Embody all that excitement you put in park when you strapped yourself down to that desk and 401(k). It's quite invigorating, this age, and I dare say it is my favorite age thus far (ok, well except when he was a chubby, curly haired baby who only had eyes for his mama). Not only am I inspired by it, I'm reminded of who he gets it from: me. It's like a little mirror -- on steroids.

Sure I had to change things around inside myself a bit to maintain as a single parent, but there are so many parts bursting to get out from the onset of parental repression. Sounds like a mid-life crisis doesn't it? Yeah it probably does but I don't really care. I am just one of those who has to go, go, go. Not always meaning move, move, move. The journey is now ours -- not just mine -- and that is thrilling. The wanderlust is still in tact and all the hours spent on a therapist sofa could not make it more simple than that.

Self-Revelation #4: You seriously need to rework your challenges. And not everything has to be one.

What does that mean exactly? Well I'll tell you. The real challenges are the ones you encounter every day. Making sure my son understands things, teaching him right and wrong, making sure he brushes his teeth properly, uses his words, remembers his manners, respects people, animals and the earth. Making sure I am fulfilling those things we as a family need to sustain and function every day because, let's not kid ourselves, if mom/wife doesn't function, nothing does. Maybe not giving myself such a hard time because obviously I'm not perfect but there's quite a list of things I do well and I should really focus on them and -- wait for it -- limit the time suckage that is the internet.

In this I am reminded of the "oh shit, I'm turning 36" challenge. It's still on for sure, especially considering I've got about 7 personal trainers at my fingers' tips now, but I think I've reevaluated this whole "must be done by xxxx" to it "just must be done." For the record, I've only managed to shed 5 pounds but I'm still hopeful for another 15 by July 14. If it does not happen, though, I will not don a hair shirt or whip myself with a horse's tail or talk/complain about it incessantly to those around me (quel bore). Life is just too short.

By the end of self-revelation #4, I was within Nashville city limits and bordering the brink of delirium. Another 20 minutes passed and we were rolling slowly down the main street of Franklin which is quite like taking a step back in time. We went to the bank where everyone greeted us in a deep southern twang. We found our house which, while temporary, is a great "docking" spot for us until we determine our next step. Within 48 hours, we found the guitar shop, the thrift store, all of Nashville's finest vintage spots, everything "child," our new peditrician's office, our favorite cafe, all the local ghost stories, every historic site and so much more. I kind of stopped and took a deep breath of our new town and reveled in the richness that is a slower pace, a kinder smile, and, well, fields and fields of greener grass -- literally.

Obviously, though, what's most important is that the 3 of us function as we always have -- a team. That's really how we see it. Right now, the leaders of the team are dragging and very much in need of a home cooked meal loaded with veggies. The child, however, is thrilled. He's excited, he's happy, he's talking A LOT, and he's sleeping with no issue -- a great sign after a huge move. I dare say this experience, already, has been great for him. (Get back to me when we start school.)

At the end of the day, what does it all mean? Basically that sometimes you have to put yourself out there. And sometimes you have to not think too much and just do. I plan on making both of these my new mantras. I'll let you know what I turn up -- or where.

xoxo,
kvlm

I Have Bright Red Fingernails Therefore I Am

Have you ever wanted to maim your exercise instructor? I suppose that's the sign of a good workout but ouch. I hurt. In places I didn't know I could really hurt.

We are in week two of Operation 30 -- or 20 -- for 36. Yesterday was not a good day. Today, is better. Yesterday I met with the face of disappointment -- disappointment that the scale hadn't budged an inch in 12 days. I don't think it's fair to hurt this bad and not lose one bloody pound. Of course, I welcome the pain as a friendly reminder of the ballet poster I think hung in every studio in America in the '80's that proclaimed,"No Pain, No Gain!" Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear you, evil Russian pointe teacher, I hear you to this day.

I did myself no favors by indulging in a couple of rounds out this weekend. The part of regularly working out that triggers your appetite kicked in full throttle. Most of my choices were good ones but yesterday, I just didn't like myself. Why do we do this to ourselves I wondered? And then I started thinking of how I got here in the first place, how it affects my psyche and what on earth to do about it.

*insert flashback sequence music here*

If I remember correctly, the great gain started when I broke my foot. While I was pregnant. Six months to be exact. Technically, I gained 70 pounds while pregnant. Oink. Honestly, those last couple of months were pretty bad as I tried to waddle on crutches around a little one bedroom apartment and take care of myself. Sadly, I became really good friends with the following chain delivery boys: Papapjohn's and Steak Out. It was easier than trying to cook a meal while on crutches and fat as a house in a galley kitchen.

I was alone 99% of the time and I didn't really cook. My diet up to that point consisted of a lot of fruit, vegetarian cuisine and fish. Sadly, fish made me sick while pregnant as did most of the vegetables I had lived off of pre-gestation. I was at a culinary loss.

The broken foot didn't take too long to heal and by the next summer, I was back in 4" heels...much to the dismay of my doctor. What can I say, I'm hell bent when I want to do something. I am not a girl for comfortable shoes, I'm just not. Around this time, I became a single parent. A single, not very financially sound, parent. Dinner usually consisted of the child's non-eaten mac 'n cheese or Cheerios. Oh, yes, Cheerios and I had a tight relationship for many months and I dropped about 35 pounds without much effort at all.

Intermingled in this very frugal lifestyle I had to maintain was a very real and often debilitating issue that came on just after the Post Partum Depression had departed -- PTSD. In my case, the post traumatic stress would emotionally displace itself onto a food allergy (of which I have one -- shellfish) anxiety. I essentially became afraid to eat. No, it wasn't what I was really afraid of but it was tangible and I could justify to others a lot more easily. I dropped about another ten pounds.

Somewhere along the way, I got back to about what I weighed in high school (mind you, I was still a solid 10 in high school). Then I found love. And happiness. And security. And someone who understood my brain's very real need to attach itself to anxiety triggers that were deep rooted in some very real fears. So I ate. They don't call it fat and happy for nothin', folks.

More importantly than fat and happy, I'd like to point out the real health issue here. I was no longer afraid to eat (ok, well I still have moments if say there are only seafood restaurants available). I can't begin to explain to you the release of pressure knowing that I was "safe" once again. It was enormous (and in case I didn't thank you already for my husband, G-d, let me do it now. Tenfold.).

With all this happiness and frolicking in the tulips (as if), I gained about a total of 14 pounds -- 4 of which I lost, so we are looking at a total of 10 over what I was in high school with the all around goal being -20 to get me where I was post-study abroad.

Getting back to yesterday. Yes, I beat myself up. Why? I am a naturally/normally super confident person without the annoyance of having a huge ego (at least I think so; keep your comments to yourself). I was raised by two very confident people, I am educated and intelligent, I find beauty in everything not just in the standard, and I value people for who they are, not what they look like. So why the hair shirt?

Oh there are many reasons, I'm sure, but one is so very recent it shines like a recently polished silver setting. I was immersed in a very unhealthy situation with a group of people who were albeit controlled by the sick neuroses of one individual. At the onset, I thought to myself, "oh, this will never get to me. I am entirely too strong!" Given what I'd just been through as a single parent I really thought I was tough as nails.

And I am. But negativity breeds contempt breeds self-doubt breeds ill will breeds...hell for lack of better terms. Amazing that this environment I put myself in, which had a borderline illegal sizeist attitude and was every thing sick and sad as far as how women treat each other and fall prey to pathetic stereotypes, still has an impact on me. But it does. And admitting to that is a step closer to getting away from it.

I looked that disappointment in the face and I Yoga Booty Balleted myself into a frenzy (I can't bend today, so I'm just hoping I don't drop anything on the floor). I ate well, I moved around, I shook off this ugly and sometimes ferocious memory of a sad individual who had nothing better to do with their day than to chip away at the sanity of others hoping it would provide her with some in the end.

Today is another day. Yes, I hurt, but it's worth it. Eventually I will get to where I want to be and that memory, with others, will drift away and matter no more. I got up this morning, I had apples and oatmeal, took my child to school, and painted my nails bright red. Now is not the time to succumb to other people's thoughts, other people's hang ups, other people period. The reason there are so many successful and confident women in the world is because they believe in themselves, the way that they are, with the skills and gifts that G-d gave them. Not because some whooha told them they were pretty or skinny. Rally on, girls, rally on!

xoxo,
kvlm

p.s. for my GFCF readers: we finally tried Almond Breeze milk this morning and he loved it! Yea!