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My daughters’ differences

March 20, 2015

 

As I watch the ladies in my home grow and transition, and bicker and prod, I realize with absolute certainty that my frazzled, thirty-something mind will never comprehend the ancient complexities of how two human beings, created by the same two human beings, can be so completely, drastically different. Hank and I are opposites, no argument there. It is frequently pointed out to me that the older two pull their dominant qualities from the maternal side, but it’s hard to tell with such a sprawling spectrum of genetic attributes in both directions.
JoJo is inquisitive. She worries and ponders and seeks the truth. She cries often, and asks about things that people my age don’t understand or only contemplate when they’re really, really stoned. She has concerns and she likes to direct action and take the lead when she feels comfortable.
Spike is my wild card. She, too, is emotional, but it’s more for dramatic effect and from frustration. She demands to be heard and she doesn’t have much patience for parenting. I don’t worry about Spike when it comes to friends or the pursuit of her dreams. I think all that girl needs is a compass and she’ll be on her way.
While I celebrate these beautiful, mystifying differences between my babies, they are often the culprits for our sibling domestic disputes. The girls are the only players in a tireless game of tug-of-war … the yin and the yang … the opposites that often don’t attract. They would move mountains both to defend each other and to defeat each other. The fights. The crazy, yelling, name-calling, remote-throwing, door-slamming fights. About whose turn it is, or who was telling the story, or who gets the green plate. It’s exhausting, but common. I’ll catch myself tiptoeing toward losing it before I plant my feet, take a beat and remind myself that my actions become their reactions. That sisters fight. That this is life in our house right now, and it looks like this sometimes in ours and all the other houses with little firecrackers running around.
But a shaken soda settles eventually, and bitterness dissolves with distraction. And that’s what I adore. It’s then I like to slow the narrative and commit it to memory. It’s in the moments when, unprompted or pushed, they hug, or tickle or have those amazing conversations when you turn your back and laugh from your heart, out through tiny tears in your eyes. And my soul feels so full and I think,
I love these little humans. And I love that they have each other. They talk about the planet and God and monsters. They solve the day’s problems and only ask for my confirmation at the very end. “Right, Mama?” Sometimes I correct them, and more often I let their little imaginations govern the day. Because, really, wouldn’t we all be a little better off with thoughts of smiling moons and horses named Kiyango at the front door?
I simultaneously dread how quickly the time will pass, and eagerly anticipate the day when Sloppy Joan joins her sisters at the kitchen bar. If my predictions are on point, she will be her father; the calming rhythm that steadies the noise. I’m sometimes wrong about these things, but I see a peace and joy in her little eyes that reminds me of the man I married, and also why I married him. And it’s reason No. 5,986 why I love her so much.
So, this post is dedicated to the slower, happier moments. To dancing to Beyonce’s “Girls” in the basement, and imaginative time playing mermaids in the tub. To saving each other from the top of the slide and falling asleep holding hands. To reuniting after school and smothering hugs. Here’s to my delightfully different, dynamic, amazing girls and the perfectly imperfect sisterhood they share.
Vs.

Spike and Daddy vs. Goose and Maverick

March 16, 2015

They felt the need for speed and Spike felt the need, the need to pee. And we didn’t make it in time so she had to change into a Pull-Up at a rest stop somewhere in the Midwest. But, going by strut alone …

Who has the right stuff?

Spike + Daddy …

or Maverick + Goose?

 

Wellness

Spinning my wheels

March 14, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … survive a spin class.

As a new gym goer, I am quietly, privately geeking out about all the classes. I love trying new things as it is, but a paid membership and knowledgeable instructor are even greater incentive to jump into a room full of strangers and sweat profusely. But I tend to obsess a bit and get anxious about finding the lay of the land.I really wanted to try a spin class. Because I have no experience and have not, for that matter, had a bike between my legs once in the past two years, I knew I was going to need reinforcements. I lined up both a coworker and my brother to meet me. Why is it so much easier to do new things when someone you know is there? What is that about? Anyway, it doesn’t matter now because both backed out by the end of the work day and I was thinking I would just go row. And then I thought, “You chicken shit. They aren’t going to help you pedal. Be bold and go in the direction of your dreams already!” Not that spinning is my dream, being skinnier and badass is, but I’m getting side tracked …So, I went. Right away people were moving bikes around and panic set in. In these situations, I tend to smile an obnoxiously large, twitchy smile and scan the room for the nicest face. I locked eyes with an older gentleman.“So, I have no clue what to do. Do I just grab any bike?”

“This is like my third class. But I think you want one of the red ones with the RPM reader,” he said.

Oh man … here we go … I don’t know what an RPM reader is and I have no clue how to move this bike. Newness makes me itchy.The instructor helped me adjust my seat height, handlebars and whatever the word is for how far forward your seat sits … fore-something (not skin or play). And then I clicked my toes into the little cages and it was time to start spinning. About 3 (yes, just 3) minutes in I was feeling good, and then she announced it was time to “come out of the saddle” and jog. Now, dear friends, first of all, I used to ride horses and that strip of pleather is not a saddle. No sir. It was at this point I realized two things: 1) I hadn’t been in my target heart rate zone in 18 months, and 2) this was going to kick my ass.
Thoughts that ran through my mind during CycleFit:
Are there special shoes for this, too? What a conspiracy.

There is no way she turned her dial to the right.

I need to stand up, I need to stand up, I need to stand up.
Is the bike moving? Oh my gosh, if this thing tips I am canceling my membership, effective immediately.

I have to sit down, I have to sit down, I have to sit down

If she says, “Here comes the hill,” one more time …

Is that sweat or is my crotch crying?

Can a person’s ass just break in two, right down the middle? I think it’s
happening.


In the end, I survived. And I will go back for sure … after my undercarriage heals, of course.
Wellness

Oil thrill

March 13, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … clear the air and create a healthy, happy utopia using essential oils

I’m a sucker for a good holistic sales pitch. I just am. I think we give too many antibiotics and use too much antibacterial fluid. Things like “superbugs” keep me up at night and I don’t understand the flu shot. Having said all this, our winter was brutal. We had:

 

3 strepped throats

2 rounds of the flu (the last time all 5 of us were invited to the party)

3 sinus infections

1 terrifying case of RSV

And just a general hacky cough and sniffles for going on 5 months

 

I fear there is an evil living somewhere in our home and until we can open some windows and release its devilish hold on our immune systems, we are held hostage to its reign. So when a dear friend emailed about her essential oils party, I didn’t need much convincing. I was at a point where I was willing to try anything.

 

I believe this is the part where, in an effort to maintain some of your respect, I whole-heartedly admit that I have fallen down the rabbit hole. Way down. The smells, and the blends and the promises of lifted spirits and calm, sleepy children. It’s just too much. It’s also extremely overwhelming (and expensive).

 

I like to dabble, so I went with the DoTerra Family Physician’s Kit to start, which includes: Lavender, Lemon, Peppermint, Melaleuca, Oregano, Frankincense, Deep Blue®, Breathe, DigestZen®, On Guard® and Slim & Sassy.

 

Here is an honest report of what I’ve tried to this point and some early feedback.

 

Diffusing – I have put Wild Orange, Lemon, On Guard and Lavender into our atmosphere. They all smell amazing, but I think the trick here is going to be finding the right diffuser-space combination. I ordered a cute one and quickly realized it was more for a whisper next to my bedside than taking down flupocalypse ’15 in my open kitchen area. This is another facet of the hobby that can get pretty pricey; diffusers. I don’t need it to change colors or look like a tulip. I need it to be quiet and push that goodness into as much air as possible.

 

Tootsies – I have been rubbing Lavender on the older girls’ feet before bed. JoJo loves it and has said, at least once, it helped her sleep better. And she did stay in bed, which is a huge victory. The verdict is still out with Spikey.

Cheers – I’ve been putting a few drops of Lemon or Slim & Sassy in my water. The Lemon is supposed to help with stress and immunity, and the Slim & Sassy … I’m not really sure, but the name implies good things. They taste wonderful (it only takes a few drops) and it makes me drink more water (a Superwoman goal for sure). Also, when the flu bug set up shop in our cramping stomachs, I, who volunteered as oil tribute, seemed to have it the shortest amount of time.

Face ­– Just last night I put a few drops of Frankincense around my eyes before applying my moisturizer. My consultant does it and her skin glows like a lily on a dewy spring morning. I’m buyin what she’s sellin. I do think you need to dilute it in some lotion or oil though. It’s intense.I hear myself becoming that girl. While still a bit of a skeptic, I suggested peppermint oil for a coworker suffering from vertigo and I was wishing for a Happy Blend at a particularly low point in the day.

Here are a few things I want to try next:
Back Pain – Hank has a terrible back. The dude is crooked, no joke. So, when he stops thinking I’m crazy, I want to try Deep Blue to see if it offers any relief. Then I’m going to make him return the favor (wink, wink).
Cold Combatting – I picked up some Eucalyptus to try, and I also have the Breathe Blend, for the next time a sinus infection comes calling. I’m so eager to see if it works, I keep touching handles in public spaces but so far, nothing’s got me.
Flu Bomb or Bombs of any kind – I am all about this right here. Adults can take it like a shot, and kids can have it cut with oil and rubbed on their feet. Would have really loved this like 10 days ago, but all eyes forward.

Sleepy time – I ordered Vetiver for my nightstand diffuser and I think my dreams are going to be of me and Cheryl Strayed chatting as we stroll the PCT.

Follow my That’s the Rub board on Pinterest to see what you can mix up.
(Disclaimer: I’ve been learning about oils for like a week now, and my friend, Nurse Jackie, insists that there is much to educate yourself about here. So play with caution.)
Pages, Uncategorized

Falling hard for Amy Poehler

March 12, 2015

First, a Superwoman hack. I have a longer-than-I’d-like commute to work. In the beginning, I would drag myself out of the house, often before the sun hit the horizon. As my tires carried me down the highway they know so well, I’d have my daily internal dialogue about focusing, as my mind grazed on the mental chewing gum that is morning Dj banter and the lackluster loop of Top 40 hits. Something had to change.

I began checking audiobooks out of the library. Not only am I finally getting to my long-neglected reading wish list, I’m also making use of 50 minutes of my day that I used to dread. I believe I could even be so bold as to move this hour into the “me time” column. I always felt like, as a writer, I should be reading. But, like all good intentions, it became a daunting to-do. Listening is a treat … a luxury even. On top of that, it’s free and keeps me more alert. I banged my hands on the steering wheel at the end of Gone Girl and sat up straight in anticipation as I concluded Born to Run. I’ve lived these amazing stories, all from my car, traveling the same 20 miles.

But I digress. I was on the waiting list for Amy Poehler’s Yes, Please! for some time. I’d read similar memoirs from my comedic crushes, Mindy Kaling’s Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) likely being my favorite, but you never know if the humor you adore on screen will translate to the page. This is where I think the audiobook bridges a gap. Had I read Amy’s book, as opposed to having her read it to me, I might not have fallen so hard.

You guys, I am so in love with this book. I couldn’t believe how thoughtful it was, and as many times as I laughed – in particular at this story she tells about Ashton Kutcher’s SNL afterparty – I also gave a thoughtful smile and thought, “Oh my gosh, yes.” She talked about finding and owning your currency, which is essentially self-acceptance and empowerment. She had beautifully moving passages about her boys. Don’t get me wrong, there was some funny ass shit in there, but there were also some wise little nuggets that caught me off guard and shook me up a little. I picked them up and put them in my pocket.

Some of my favorite quotes …
[On getting caught up in what doesn’t matter.]

[on putting it out there.]

[on having kids.]
Now go get this (audio)book!
Thoughts

The real (good) reasons I can’t quit the Bachelor

March 11, 2015

There are very few “mommy shows” I can’t put off until my weekend Hulu session. I spend my Saturdays during naptime folding laundry with Olivia Pope and Mindy Lahiri. Of course Rayna James will stop by. But, the Bachelor is different. I must know, in real time, who’s crying, who’s sucking face and who has a red, red rose in their hot little hands.

I used to feel embarrassed or apologetic about my Monday-night obsession. No more. I think it was after the 54th time I saw Jake save his ship Bucky in Neverland that I decided to check my guilt at my bedroom door as I shut it, put on my sweatpants and settled in with a bunch of sassy, sinful singles and their weekly shenanigans.There’s such pageantry and ceremonial rhythm to the show. The trotting out of the fillies on the first night, where you pick your favorites and tally annoying traits. The roses. The two-on-ones. The roses. The hometowns, with the obligatory jump-up-and-wrap-your-legs-around-him reception. The roses. The Women Tell All (a cocktail that’s one part confrontation and equal parts awkward silence). And then, the final rose. We see them drink coffee in their room, stare out the window, stroke their dress, put on earrings and then ride in the limo (sometimes helicopter). It’s all tedious, torturous foreplay, really. Then the door opens and producers reveal just the bottom of their gown. But what does it mean that she arrived first? They’ve done it before; where he proposed to the first one, you tell yourself.

Whether I pick the right pony or not, one of my favorite things is After the Final Rose. I love watching these people who just went through a terribly abnormal thing try to act completely normal – No, I didn’t mind that he bumped uglies with her two weeks before proposing to me. All this leads up to the announcement of the next bachelor or bachelorette and the onset of the ceremony starting all over. (Sidenote: I will not spend 12 weeks with Britt’s winged eyeliner. Kaitlyn forever!)
Like any relationship, we’ve had highs and lows. There were seasons we just didn’t click. Juan Puablo’s comes to mind, although it did give us Clare, which led to her being on Bachelor in Paradise, which led to my all time favorite moment from the franchise.
But generally speaking, it is my soap opera drug of choice. It’s my dirty little not-so secret. The thing I watch between TED talks. I take a shot in my mind every time someone says, “connection” and I think about, at least once per episode, how Chris Harrison has, hands down, the sweetest job of anyone, ever. I have a soft spot in my heart for the drunk girls who, let’s face it, remind us of that one time, at that one party when we drank jungle juice …At the heart of the Bachelor is the idea that the heart wants what it wants, particularly when condensed into 6 secluded weeks of heart-stopping backdrops and princess dates.My Top 10 Bachelor(ette) Moments*
1. After Andi picked Josh, a heartbroken Nick told all of America how she hit it and quit it. And a universal jaw drop was heard.
2. When Ed couldn’t “perform” in the fantasy suite with Jillian.
3. Crazy Ashley and the zombie hunt. Much love, Mesa Verde!
4. When Emily Maynard said, “I want to go West Virginia hood rat backwoods on his ass.”
5. Three words to live in Bachelor infamy: Ashley. Kelsey. Badlands.
6. Clare and Juan Pablo feeling the motion of the ocean and then the shaming that followed. Reason No. 2,092 that dude was a douche bag. (Also when she lost her shit on him at the final rose ceremony. Clare is just a gem overall.)
7. Emily and Brad’s After the Final Rose where she basically told America he was a dick.
8. Remember when Melissa jumped, in her gown, into a pool with Jason and his son, and then like 5 minutes later he told his future baby mama he wanted her instead? Good times.
9. When Brooks left Des in some sort of paradise place. She did not see that coming.
10. The Carly and Chris sex guru date. Parts of my body I didn’t know I had were cringing.Honorable mention: Every time a black bar was used to censor something or someone fell down.*This list excludes Clare Bear and the coon because I already mentioned it above. Easily smashes the top five though.