Thoughts

Follow the green ribbon

September 15, 2015

I’ve always been a fearful person. I don’t watch scary movies. I don’t go places alone in the dark. I don’t intentionally put myself in any scenario that resembles an opening sequence from SVU. At a very young age, I realized that I would forever be the one who checked to make sure the doors were locked and the garage was closed. I’ve been on a lifelong quest to find what goes bump in the night, much to my parents’ and now husband’s delight.<

If I had to trace my terrors back, there could be one tale that triggered some of it. And, truth be told, I’d forgotten about it until someone mentioned it at work a few months back. Boom! All of my preadolescent anxieties came thundering back. I honestly started sweating.

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I remember it like it was yesterday. We were standing in the bookstore at the mall – back when people went to bookstores and malls – and my mom said each of us could pick out one book. I snatched a small book of stories. I don’t even remember flipping through it. I must have liked the cover.

Once home, I immediately went to my room and started pouring over the pages. And I came to this:

I’m not exaggerating when I say the following: 1) I was so scared that my mom finally tied a string to her finger, ran it down the hallway and tied the other end to my finger so I could tug it if I needed her, and 2) I didn’t watch this video, because I can’t bring myself to do it, so I hope it told the story accurately. I mean … what kind of sick person puts that in a children’s book?

But somehow I’d managed to move on with my life, until it was brought up during a conversation about things that scared the shit out of us as kids. Apparently I was keeping these feelings closer to the surface than I realized.

What’s your Girl with the Green Ribbon?
Mindfulness

Running with fire

September 11, 2015

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You know those nights when it looks like God let the angels finger paint the sky? I got one of those on my run tonight, and I was so thankful.

“Because when you stop and look around, this life is pretty amazing.”

Thoughts

Long days and short years

September 10, 2015

I’ll be honest, today I feel very humbled and human. As a family, we find ourselves in the pits of a chaotic, frenzied new routine, that isn’t quite routine yet. JoJo’s in school, which means waiting for the bus and an extra stop at aftercare. Hank started a new job, which has him out the door with the babies by 7:10 and home after 5:30. My job is still fairly new, which means less flexibility. Between the long hours and homework and half marathon training and hormones, our household is in a bit of an upheaval. The hardest part for me is accepting the normalcy of the unbalance.

It’s hard as a woman who desperately wants to be everything for everyone to admit there are times I come up super short. There are times when all the “yeses” come back to slap me across the face. A quick commitment in passing, always ends up meaning stress in the final hours of a too-short day. And all of my promises have the heaviest impact on the girls. These moments – these precious, delicate moments – I’m missing because of a frantic, hamster wheel agenda make me yearn for peace in passing on other people’s pleas. I feel weak in my resolution to prioritize my little people. I feel like life is running me, rather than me running my life. I am twirling in a tornado of tasks and have lost sight of what makes my soul happy.

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But in the midst of this choking fog, God gives us clearings when it counts. Sensing her mama felt flustered and fatigued, my sweet Sloppy Joan started putting on a show. She’s toying with humor and words and reactions and watching her brought us all together to laugh from a proper perspective. I get it, Big Guy, and thank you for the subtle nudge back to what matters.

I have to get control over my anxieties. These years won’t wait for me; they are dashing past me, only pausing for a second to become a memory. These people are the loves of my life and no commitment is worth sabotaging a single second of attention. It’s time to circle back to meditation and make a conscious effort to slow the pace I’m setting. Any suggestions for balance are welcome.

Tune in Today, Wellness

Collecting dough from DietBet

September 7, 2015

Update: Tune in today to see if she can … take her DietBet to the bank.

The emotional roller coaster that was the game of DietBet ended on Tuesday with a touch-and-go finale. On Monday, I was .8 of a pound over, and by the next morning, I was 1 pound below my goal. I’m sure I dropped the weight by stressing it straight off my body, but that’s neither here nor there.

I received the text with my “code word” on my drive to work, so a sweet coworker brought in her scale so I could hammer down my final number. It felt a little like the start of a super-secret Weight Watchers meeting in a back alley. (I look so short and shiny in this picture. Like a toddler who rubbed coconut oil all over her face. What the …)

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The process is much like a first date. You submit your results pics and then they have to be “accepted” by the DietBet referees or officials or whatever title you give to a bunch of interns who sit around in a room all day evaluating photos of either delighted or defeated human beings standing on scales. Body Shot Surveyors? Anyway, you have to patiently delay gorging on your frozen Snickers in anticipation of their reply. Do they need to see you again? Are they good with what you put out there? It’s an agonizing holding period.

Finally, the response:

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The next stage was one of extremely exaggerated and unrealistic speculation. How much was I going to take from the pot? A “splurge” would indicate something of great value … like treating myself to a new dress, or fancy dinner with friends, or a car. I mean, what if I won like $20,000, you guys?! This is both a testament to my ability to sensationalize mediocre events and also my grossly disappointing mathematical intelligence.

On Friday, this one came:

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Which, as my husband so Hankly put it, makes sense when you figure about 50% of the contestants made their Bet. Math is stupid.

Final thoughts … I’d do it again. Sure I would. It was fun and my pants were slightly baggier by the end and these days, I count that as something to celebrate. I did it by maintaining my workout regimen and tracking calories. I then toasted both my victory and my buns with a sloppy butterburger that blew the whole point of the competition right out of the water. Maintain, Courtney … Main-freaking-tain.

Thoughts from the peanut gallery:

“Originally, I thought it was hugely motivating, because hello, money. but then I thought that the small amount of weight would come off easily after having a baby and I kind of forgot about it. Plus you don’t know how much money you’re going to get, what if you just get your $30 back and that’s it? Fast forward to the end of the challenge, I still have a pound to go and I’m spending the entire morning peeing and pumping milk so I can hit my weight. I would do it again, but only when I’m really ready to overhaul the diet and exercise regimen.” – Nissa

“Fuck. That. Shit. I say this because I just wasn’t ready. Looking for one to start on Tuesday. I like beer.” – Kathy
(Editor’s note: In addition to beer, Kathy, like Shazzer from Bridget Jones’ Diary, likes to say fuck a lot.)

Until next time … 

Wellness

Pinned and pumped

September 1, 2015

I’ve openly embraced my blog addiction (that’s the first step to recovery, right?), and now it’s time to discuss the perks of my Pinterest one as well. I have thousands of recipes – paleo, Whole30, greasy, sweet, primal – you name it, but my pride and joy is the Work out, already board.

There’s some great stuff on there. And when I can’t make a class, and it’s not a run day and I’m not feeling a yoga flow, it’s fun to dip into my pins for a fresh option.

A quick synopsis of my faves you need to follow:

1. 
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I am somewhat obsessed with Pumps & Iron. The workouts are easy to understand, pretty and pinnable, and juuuuust tough enough. I did this one last night and I gotta be honest, when it was over I felt like a big guy at a Vegas buffet; 100 percent satisfied. I might be so bold as to declare her my reigning fitness Pinterest princess.

2.
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Hollie and I have history. Our husbands were fraternity brothers, we’ve bonded over beers in smalltown bars and I’m truly proud of what she’s putting out there. Her Cardio Sculpt circuits are great for the days you don’t have a lot of time and you want to feel beautifully badass.

3.

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The thing that makes Karena and Katrina so attractive – aside from their obvious asssssssets – is their quirky, endearing banter. It truly feels like you’re getting your ass handed to you by a couple of girlfriends. And you can buy into their whole beachy keen lifestyle. The handsome fiances, muscle tightening as the tide rolls in, hard-earned cocktails in their freshly manicured grasps. They have their Instagram, blog, email and Pinterest game on point, and I so love swinging through this Kettleball video.

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I’m going to tell you flat out that POPSUGAR has perfected the art of the attention-grabbing blog title. Lose your love handles … beat bra bulge … drop weight without even trying … it’s a master class is hooking the reader. All that and the videos are dang good. I have a million on my board, of all different lengths and styles. It’s a mixed bag of brutal options, and for that reason, I’m super sweet on POPSUGAR.

Kids

Plant the seed

August 29, 2015

It’s overcast and breezy in the Midwest; autumn is certainly snarking at us from around the corner. Not to mention the ripple of sickness has spread from JoJo, onto Spikey, and then to Sloppy Joan. The coughing and raspy whispers and low-grade fevers have me missing the sterilizing steam of summer already.

So, there couldn’t have been a better day for me to come across this group of shots from the late spring evening we planted our garden. We’ve never had a smaller yield, thanks to a minor flood in our backyard a few short weeks after the last seeds went in. But it’s a good exercise nonetheless.

I’m a firm believer that our food-of-convenience lifestyles are killing us. I love a greasy butterburger and bag of powdered cheese Cheetos even more than the next guy, but as I age, the chemical-laden buns and 50-letter-long, science-lab ingredients make each bite just a little less enticing. I don’t think I can completely change the way my babies see food, but I can sure as kale try.

The garden is a great way to get them interested. They love picking the plants, digging into the dirt and plucking the vibrant fruits from the vine. By the time the season’s a wrap, I’d estimate they consume an extra cucumber here and a bite of bell pepper there, but the real win is the knowledge that things don’t just show up wrapped in cellophane and bundled with rubber bands. Real food is imperfect, tastes a little like earth and contains superwoman properties. Real food is real good and really worth the effort.

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Tune in Today

DietBet: The end is near

August 27, 2015

Tune in today to see if she can … drop enough weight to win that DietBet.

As you might recall, a few weeks back, drunk on optimism and grasping at baby weight straws, I signed up for a Chris Powell DietBet. Thirty dollars in, drop 4 percent of my body weight … bing! bang! boom! I get my $30 back and split the rest of the pot with all the other lucky suckers.

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Except, losing 6 pounds is kind of hard. I have been on an emotional roller coaster with dips and peaks and plummets. I’m up, I’m down, I’m bloated, I’m starving. I’ve been within 2 pounds of declaring victory, and within 6 pounds of blowing the whole thing.

I have to track calories and I have to work my ass off; that’s the long and the short of it. But if I’m being real with myself, I’m feeling seriously cheated. Do you know I ran 9 miles the other day? I, who have only run 4 miles max in my prior life, ran that 4 miles, then did it again, then tacked on 1 more mile just to show off. (It was actually part of the training plan and I thought I was going to suffocate mid stride.) Now, in my mind, that equals at least a 10-pound weight loss … no? What’s a girl gotta do to drop some LBs, man?

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The clock is dwindling down and I have less than a week. So, if you have any drop-a-handful-of-pounds-without-hurting-your-body pointers, I’m all ears. Please and thank you.

Help me, before next time … 

Thoughts

Making a case for Girls Day

August 25, 2015

Some of the dearest blessings in my life are my girlfriends. From adolescence through college and certainly my career, I have moved through each day surrounded by some of the most amazing women, and picked up new gems to treasure along the journey.

I’m attracted to friends who speak honestly, but with care. Who inspire me both with their strengths and vulnerability. Who trust me, don’t expect too much out of me and can hold their own. I fight hard for loyalty and except the same on the other end. I find the vast differences among my closest girlfriends fascinating; The fact that there is no one combination of traits, or absolute formula, that makes two people a match. My group of high school girlfriends (a few of which have been in my life far longer than that) are the fiercest example of diverse, strong ladies who’ve formed  bold, unbreakable bonds.

Every summer, we secure childcare, pick calorie-wasted tried-and-true Pinterest dishes, embrace clear, unforgiving liquor and head north for our Annual Girls’ Day at the Lake. It’s not just about the break – although that is part of it – it’s about the connections and the reminder that, before we were wives, mothers, employees, we were a really good time. And, hell, we’ve still got it.

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more than moms
Let’s be honest, women are, more often than not, the responsibility pack mules of a household. We’re the ones who make sure there are Apple-Nana GoGo Squeezes for their lunches rather than Apple-Strawberry, which we know she won’t eat. We notice the rings in the toilets, the clutter on the counter and whatever the hell that is caked on the bottom of the refrigerator drawers. Somewhere in the cluttered lines of our to-do lists, we often forget to pencil in fun and pampering and quiet. We replace it, rather, with some menial task that resolves some minor flaw in our home.

But on this one day, which typically doesn’t even span a full 24 hours, we aren’t “Mom”. It’s not that we don’t embrace and cherish that dimension of our lives, it’s that a free pass from fueling that functionality is refreshing every once in awhile. Allowing ourselves to be tipsy and stupid and listen to music with curse words and dance like the fools we used to be all the time is invigorating. The fact that we hang our grownup hats at the door and trade them for something a little less mature doesn’t make us bad mothers. It just makes us human.

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circle of trust
There’s a sisterhood that comes with shared experiences. While no two of our lives are identical, we have a wealth of shared memories and shared scars. We’ve faced divorce, loss, marital strains. We’ve welcomed spouses, children and careers. Some have moved, some have returned. It’s funny, while we always have this history to come back to, it’s who we are now, at the end of all of it, that makes those ties so tight.

As the date rolls around each year, it seems one of the girls is in need of support. There are typically tears, which I attribute to release. We all want to be heard. We all need someone to place their hand on our shoulder, at some point. But life can get pretty freaking noisy. After we have our fun, it’s the conversations before bed that make our hearts and minds a little lighter.

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laughing is good for the soul
Things happen at Girls Day. One-person kayaks, we’ve discovered, tip when two tenants try to pick up the paddle. Pontoons die unexpectedly, and can not be towed by the aforementioned kayak, but have to be pulled by out-of-shape swimmers. Power naps have been tested and approved. Everything is better with club soda and when all else fails, a fall will make some mother of two pee her pants every dang time. There’s laughing and then there’s those gut-clenching, silent laughs that follow something so stupid it brings tears to your eyes and knocks the wind out of your lungs. Those are the kind with aftershocks. Weeks from now you’ll be sitting in a dry meeting about something semi-vital and it will replay, unprompted, through your mind, causing an embarrassing fit of teary giggles.

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I know these women. I’ve known them since we were girls. While the tides have turned certain characteristics and dulled sharp edges, our group maintains its cast. The nurturer still looks on me with those empathetic eyes. The social chair is still the glue that holds our ties together when the strains of the weeks wear cruelly on them. The sensible one is my most familiar voice of reason. The tough one is still the object of my awe for her strength and resilience. The dreamer is off, catching all her stars. The winds change directions, they pick up or calm, but the strengths in these ladies stand so true at their surface and feel so accessible to me, like the smell of your mother’s kitchen and how it brings calm and happiness.

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Do you have a tradition with your girlfriends? Don’t wait for things to calm down. Hop over to Facebook, start a group message and get something on the calendar.

Thoughts

10 things Papyrophobics totally get

August 21, 2015

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For as long as I can remember, I have loathed paper. It’s smooth, but sometimes grainy, and it just feels dreadful and sickening when you drag your bare arm across it. Strange, for someone who became a writer, I know. Strange, also, just for a human being, but it’s very disruptive and, since it has an official name, very real.

I don’t know if mine is a full fledged fear – Papyrophobia is the term – or merely a severe dislike, but there are certain instances that make my insides shrink to raisins, my arm hairs rise and the tiny whisplets of baby hairs around my face stand up. Any time any paper comes into direct contact with dry, scratchy markers or dull, catchy pencil lead the situation escalates to a point where I have to excuse myself. Certain stock or flat finishes are my kryptonite. Now, if it’s worn, recycled or glossy, I’m good. In fact, when I was in college, I used to take a fresh sheet of paper, wad it up, crumple it real good, spread it back out and use that to write notes. (This, my friends, is called owning my weird.)

Here’s the shortlist of situations related to my self-diagnosed mild Papyrophobia that reduce me to a shrieking, shuddering pile of goosebumps.

1.Hell, for me, is a room full of cardboard boxes, 3 semi-dried-out Sharpies and a directive to label.

2.The only thing worse than being forced to write a 20-page essay on printer paper using a dull pencil while wearing a short sleeve shirt, is doing all that on warm printer paper fresh out of the machine.

3.Whenever someone walks over to show me something on a document, I say a silent prayer that they won’t drag their fingernail across the page to reiterate the phrase they’re trying to highlight.

4.The best thing to come from the digital revolution was the decline of newspaper.

5.Magazine publishers who choose that thick paper stock that feels like it’s tarred and feathered in sawdust for their cover are just showing off …and also, trying to ruin my life.

6.When I get my People magazine every weekend, the very first order of business is to go through, remove the inserts and throw them directly into the recycling. Even if Jennifer Aniston is on the cover.

7.Everyone thinks I don’t send Thank You notes because of my chaotic life and endearing forgetfulness, but it’s really those crisp, disgusting white envelopes. Let me take this opportunity to thank everyone who ever gave us anything or did anything thoughtful for anyone who lives in this home, with its Papyrophobia-riddled matriarch.

8.Handling a new manilla folder is the paper equivalent of a shot in the butt with a footlong needle.

9.The charm of a good library book is the worn, wonderful, soft pages. There’s nothing worse than a tightly bound novel fresh off the press. Reason 387 why I also adore a good audio book.

10.If anyone ever wants to break me, forget the water boarding, skip the starvation, and just wrap me like a burrito in one of those giant reams of construction paper they roll around in elementary schools and put a paper coffee cup in my hand. I will wilt before you.