Tilting Windmills

Shortly before my 39th birthday, I did two things that seemed crazy\silly depending on my mood.  They were things I had thought about doing before, but never seriously.  But for some reason, in that moment, they made perfect sense.

One thing was putting in an application to be an extra in a movie.  This was, contrary to poplular belief, not because of my crush on Ben Affleck.  It was because at one point in time, I thought I had "it" - that non-tangible something that makes someone a star.  I remember watching Drew Barrymore in "E.T." And thinking, even at that young age "I could have played that part!"  I could memorize an entire script, stage directions and all, for community theater productions.  I was fearless - stage fright was not in my vocabulary.

And then I got to high school.

That is pretty much the end of that story.  But my love for film and theater, both the art and the craft, is abiding.  I feel my soul soar when a movie or stage production hits all the right notes.  I watch the Oscars to like it's my World Series.  So the idea of a long day, at minimum wage, doing the same scene over and over seemed right up my alley.

The other thing I did was register for a 5K.  My sister-in-law is a runner and in previous moments where I really thought I was finally going to get in shape, I have said to her "I want to do a 5K."  But I never really meant it and I was never ready for it and it never happened.

But this year, with my weight loss and my new exercise routine, I thought I was finally ready.  So I signed up to join her in the Pretty in Pink 5K.  If nothing else, I was making a donation in support of a good cause.

I admit, I didn't prepare as well as I should have.  I was nervous.  But when 8 a.m. rolled around this morning, I was there.  And while I didn't run the whole thing or even half, I did run some.  A year ago this was inconceivable.

I was never called for the movie (and I didn't stalk Ben Affleck, but if any of you reading this did and have pictures you'd like to share,I'll be happy to compensate you with cookies for them!)' but it was fun to dream about it again.

And after 48 minutes and 1 second, I crossed the finish line for my first 5K.  But I don't think it will be the last one.

Six

So, Finn turned six this week.  And that, combined with starting school a few weeks ago, seems to suit him. 

His behavior is better.  His language continues to improve.  Heck, the kid even seems to be eating better.  He's growing up and it looks good on him. 

But at the same time, he is still my baby boy.  Last night, he and I fell asleep while watching TV.  When I woke up, he was snuggled against me, like he has done a million times since he was born.  His arm still wraps around my arm, as he has done for comfort since he was old enough to coordinate the motion.  In that moment, he could have been six months old rather than six years old. 

I'm getting better at accepting this growing up stuff.  That doesn't mean I don't long for the days when all I needed to do was cuddle and rock the boys and all would be right with the world (for them and for me).  I know that there are things that will happen in their lives that I won't be able to fix.  For now though, we're in the sweet spot where I can still make a boo boo better by kissing it and giving them some ice cream, but they can help clean up after dinner and dress themselves.  I know this won't last too much longer, so I'm going to enjoy it while I can. 

Once Upon A Time...

There was a little girl who thought she could change the world.

When she was five years old, she told people that she was going to be President.  The grown ups would laugh and say "How cute,"' but she was serious.  She wanted to be the first female president and she saw nothing "cute" about it.

But as she grew older, she found that being the person out in front was not where she felt comfortable.  She realized that maybe her roll in the change she sought, maybe it was on the other side, in the background.  She couldn't give the speeches, but she could help mold the message and plan the strategy.  She loved interpreting polls and creating field plans.  Maybe she was meant to change the world by working to get the right people elected.

So she found her niche and she found work that she loved.  Along the way, she had incredible experiences and met amazing people. She didn't always work on winning campaigns, but she always believed in what she was doing.  One day, because of her work, she met a boy - a smart, handsome, talented boy who saw her passion as an attractive trait, rather than a cute diversion that would pass.

The boy would put up with a lot, knowing that the girl found so much fulfillment and joy in her work.  Even after he got down on one knee and gave her a beautiful ring, even after he stood at the altar and watched her walk down the aisle in a white dress, he gave her the space to chase her dreams.

So she kept going.  But at a point, things turned on the girl.  At the end of her last campaign, she was decimated - and she had to decided if it was wise to keep going.  On the one hand, it was what she knew and it was what she loved.  On the other hand, she had no confidence in her abilities anymore and she harbored a lot of anger and bitterness.

And then there was the boy- his patience had run thin.  It was one thing when the work brought her joy.  He could stand the separation and the distance when he knew she was happy.  But now she wasn't and he wanted to build a home and to do that, he needed the girl.

So the girl went home.  At first, it was hard.  She found work, but it felt like it didn't mean anything.  She tried to move pass the bad feelings, but they remained.  She wondered if changing the world was really for her.

But then, something happened.  Two amazing somethings happened.  The boy and the girl had two little boys of their own.  And the girl started to look at the world differently.  She realized that she was changing the world by bringing these two little people into it.  And she began to see value in the work she did, both at her job and things she did in her community.

The anger and bitterness disapated and she could look back fondly on her past and remember the people and experiences with happiness.  That passion she had was still there - but now she was a spectator to the process.  And she was okay with that.

Another Last First

We did it!  We have successfully transitioned to having two school age children!  And it was done with a minimum of crying (that would be me), panic (me again), or just plain crazy (uhm, yeah, I'm the guilty party again.)

I commented to a friend today that maybe I'm growing up too.  It would make sense - those boys won't stay babies no matter what I do, so I will be forced, sometimes kicking and screaming, to grow right along with them.

So, today, we had what I think was our first last where Mommy didn't have a complete breakdown.  We got to experience our very last VERY FIRST day of school with Finn.  There were more smiles than tears, more calm than panic, and more confidence than fear.

Finn loves his teacher, and  if slows down his speech and his motion, he's going to do great.  Elwood barely acknowledged us when we got to the school.  He ran off to see his friends then off to his class, where he is looking forward to learning cursive writing (?!?).

Todd and I walked out of the school, confident in the fact that our kindergartner and our 2nd grader were in good hands and embarking on what hopefully will be an awesome year!

P.M.R.C. - W.T.F?

Tipper Gore influences my parenting.

There, I said it.

I grew up a child of the 80's when Tipper Gore and the Parents Music Research Council decided it was their mission to make sure kids didn't hear anything that they deemed inappropriate or obscene.  They were going to save us from Judas Priest and Twisted Sister and Prince.

My parents weren't big on censoring music.  They played the music of the 60's, which, to be honest, contained one drug reference after the next. I loved all of it.  And I loved the music my cousins introduced me to - everything from Alice Cooper to John Denver.  And I loved the music of my generation.  My parents never objected to what we played.   They asked us to turn our music down when we were up in our rooms, but never to turn it off.  They didn't police our purchases. 

So when these people went to Congress and convinced them that it was worth the time and money to have a Congressional Committee discuss censoring popular music and blocking the sale of some of it to impressionable minors like myself, I took notice.  When they started labeling albums, I sought those albums out.  Owning them became a badge of honor. 

Who the hell were they to decide if I was old enough to own "Ritual de lo Habitual"?  If I wanted to sing "She Bop" at the top of my lungs and my parents weren't going to stop me, then why should the PMRC have the right to?  Why yes Tipper, that is a pledge pin on my uniform!

So now, because I was so sensitive to it in my youth, I don't censor nearly as much as I should.

It doesn't help that music is like oxygen to my husband - all types of music, all appropriateness of music. And my children love music as much as their daddy does. 

We have a video of Elwood at a little over a year old dancing to "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse - we started them young. Finn's current favorite song is so outrageously inappropriate, I won't name it here.  Both boys are big fans of the song of the summer "Blurred Lines".  The list goes on and on. 

There are some things they don't listen to.  We have yet to introduce them to "99 Problems" or an uncensored version of "Gold Digger", but they listen to stuff that we like, which doesn't always translate to family friendly.

This will come back and bite us - I'm pretty sure of that.  But the truth of the matter is, I don't want them to have boundaries when it comes to art and literature.  I want them to decide for themselves what has value and what doesn't.  I want them to see the beauty and creative process in things that other people don't necessarily give a chance.

It's not all inappropriate.  Elwood falls asleep at night to Tchaikovsky.  He has a fine appreciation for The Traveling Wilburys.  Finn likes musicals and has howled along to "Werewolves of London" since he was still in his rear facing carseat.  They have broad musical tastes.  And that, I am proud of. 

 

(For the record, I met Tipper Gore in the late 1990's while Al was Vice President.  She's a lovely woman - a little misguided, but lovely nonetheless.)

Unconscious Eating

My New Year's Resolution seems to have stuck.

Every year, I make the same resolution as millions and millions of people - this year is the year I'm going to loose weight and get healthy.  And every year, I'm lucky if I make it to Valentine's Day before I find myself faced down in a cheesecake (preferably a nice, dense New York style one with sour cherry topping.)

On January 2nd (because diet resolutions have to start after the grease and Coca Cola intake following a really fun New Year's Eve), I swore that girl in the pictures taken on December 31, 2012 would be gone by the time the next New Year rolled around.

Before...

See, that girl was sad.  She didn't like how she felt.  She didn't like how she looked.  She didn't feel pretty and couldn't imagine how her husband could think she was.  She was tired all the time.  She didn't have any energy or any desire to get off the couch.  She was heavier than she had ever been outside of pregnancy and she wasn't being the Mommy she wanted to be.

So I started paying attention.  Paying attention to how much activity I was getting.  Paying attention to how much water I was drinking.  Paying attention to how much I was eating.  Paying attention to what I was eating.

As much as the exercise is important, the biggest thing for me is being aware of what is going on my plate and in my mouth.   I love all kinds of food - healthy and unhealthy.  And to be honest, I haven't changed what I eat as much as how I eat.  I eat one serving at supper now.  If I'm having something high calorie at a restaurant, I'll eat half and save the rest for the next day.  I don't just mindlessly snack - I eat when I'm actually hungry.  I measure my food.  I track my calories.  I am a conscious eater.

Getting there...

I don't manage to do well everyday and there are still times that after I have eaten something I don't know why I did it,  but my good days outnumber my bad days and my progress has been steady.  Because of that, I'm in the home stretch now.  I'm down to the last few pounds to reach my goal.  And when I get there, I might go a little lower - but not because some chart or article says I should be a certain weight.  If I do, it will be because I like the girl I see in the picture now (although I still can't figure out how to take a picture without that double chin!).

City Mouse, Country Mouse

I was born a city girl - no two ways about it.

While I don't remember my first home in upstate New York, I know that it was an apartment in what had once been a bustling center of industry.

My next home was on a main thoroughfare through Springfield, MA.  There was traffic running through all day and all night.  The neighborhood was a melting pot of different immigrants - Puerto Rican, Greek, Italian.   And once a year, the Shriners parade went right by our house!   It was a city neighborhood and I loved it!

When I was 10, we moved to Missouri and if the shock of being in the Midwest wasn't enough, imagine suddenly being thrust into the suburbs!   My brother Patrick and I had trouble sleeping at night those first few months because it was so quiet in our new neighborhood.  There were trees and a big back yard and park within walking distance that we could go to on our own because there weren't any big streets to cross.

But just 20 minutes away was St. Louis - not as big as New York (which I adored), but big enough to satisfy my need for noise and bustle and big new things. In high school, I was an Explorer Scout in a troop sponsored by Anheuser Busch and got to spend a couple nights a month at the brewery downtown.  I loved going to The Arena for Blues games.  After a slight misfire my first year of college, I went to St.  Louis University right in the heart of the city.  I interned at KMOX.  The city never intimidated me - it exhilarated me!  It had life that the suburbs didn't.

I always intended to live in a city - be it New York when I went through my acting or journalism phases or D.C. when it was politics running my life or even St. Louis, where the Soulard neighborhood called to me.  But then something happened that changed all of that.

I fell in love with a country boy.

And now I'm raising two little country boys in a house across the street from a cornfield (and sometimes cows).

And while I still love the city life and sometimes long for the variety and convenience that living 15 minutes away from everything and anything brings,  there is something to be said for sitting in the yard while the kids play over at the neighbors and type this entry with nothing but the sounds of the birds and an occasional pick up driving by.  Sure, I'm now more familiar with septic systems, water wells, ditch drainage and the assorted wildlife out here - not to mention the weird obsession with sheds (that, let's be honest, are big man caves).  But when the sky is clear at night down here and you look up and can see every star in the sky, it beats any big city fireworks display.

I'll never truly be a country girl - I just don't get the appeal of a pick up truck or overalls - but I certainly don't mind being a transplant.

Log Jam on Doubt Toast

I have started 3 different posts since last week.  Three different posts that for three different reasons I abandoned midway through. 

Whether it was because I thought it sounded trite or whiny or just plain crazy, I decided against them. 

But they all were somehow related to the fact that in two and a half weeks, I will have a Kindergartner and a Second Grader.  And for a myriad of reasons, I am freaking out (quietly, most of the time, but occasionally, the crazy seeps out.)

One post was about not having dinner ready in a timely manner and how was that going to effect our new schedule once school starts that will include homework, bath time, story time, and a strict bed time, now times 2!

Another was about trying to give the boys a little freedom and let them roam a little farther away from us, while being completely terrified at that prospect.

And a third was about the fact that we haven't really censored music for the boys and that's going to come back and bite us in the ass in the near future I think.  Probably with Finn.  In Kindergarten.  Singing "Bottoms Up".  During snack time.

Truth is, I don't know what to think right now.  Elwood is growing up so fast - I can't keep up.  And Finn - who at this very moment is leaping from couch to couch like a spider monkey - is right there behind him.  They have their moments when they need us, but more and more things are things they can handle on their own.  But I can't handle them being independent - not yet at least. 

Curing the Crankies

I've been suffering from a serious case of the "crankies" the last few days.  I can't quite put my finger on what the cause is, but I've tried everything to cure it and so far, nothing has seemed to work. 

Chocolate - nope!
Shopping - nope!
Exercise - nope!
Eating junk food - nope!
Alcohol - nope!
Long hot shower - nope!
Good night's sleep - nope!  (Although, Elwood is going through a "Sleep is BAD!" phase, so this hasn't happened recently.)

All the usual cures have just not worked.  So, I thought I would try using my words.

Recently, I've had two people ask me about writing.  I put it aside for the last 18 months, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought "I really should blog about this" or that I've drafted ideas for a post.  But it just never came about.  Or, by the time I got to a computer, I'd completely forgotten what had inspired me earlier.

I blame Facebook for that.  Facebook doesn't require a draft (although I admit to occasionally editing my status updates).  Facebook doesn't require a theme.  Facebook doesn't require much thought, to be honest.  It pops into your head - you jot it down - hit send - it's out in the ether for eternity. 

But here, I have to think of how my words connect, one to the next, to give a cohesive story, argument or observation. 

So maybe, if I think about all the words and thoughts rumbling around this cranky head of mine and put them into some sort of order, maybe I can make sense of things and shake off these cranky pants!   Everyone feels better pants-less, right?