The New Me

Here's a radical thought. Maybe I should accept my 34 year old body for what it is. Even more radical--maybe all women should do this. Now, that would be a revolution, my friends.**

I've been thinking a lot about this lately. Especially since it's been 14 months since Ian popped out, and I continue to examine my stomach for signs of going back to normal. Whatever that is. And then it hit me (well, kind of came to me over several months). THIS is the new normal.

I could fight it tooth and nail. I could start running 5 days a week, lifting weights, dieting (heaven forbid). I could spend my copious free time obsessing and worrying and looking in the mirror. I used to do that. Maybe I could do that again.

But I don't want to. It was hard to admit this to myself. That I did not want to strive for physical perfection as I have for most of the last 22 years. Yoga has helped. It has opened up a relationship between me and my body. I actually like her some days. This is progress.

I am just starting to realize that my body is the outward expression of what it has done. What we've accomplished. Birthing two children. Living. Eating. All those lowly, dirty, basic things that human bodies do. I used to hate those things. I used to try to push them down, cage them up.

I hear so many women, mothers or not, continually degrading their bodies. Themselves. Our Bodies, Ourselves. I used to think this was normal. Then I met a few women, here and there, who never talked this way. Who seemed to have so much energy to give to other things in their lives. I was blown away.

So, I've decided to become one of these revolutionary women. Those who eat to be full, eat to enjoy, to share. Who move their bodies for enjoyment and health. Who have stretch marks and flabby abs. Who don't aspire to rock hard, synthetic outer shells. Because if our bodies are the outward expression of living our lives, I want mine to be soft, warm, open. The way my children like it.

** I really hope no one is reading this blog, because if they are, things are about to get kind of personal. Consider yourself warned...

Homing Device

Wake up at 6 AM, tiptoe downstairs for some alone time and coffee = check

Do some stretching so old 34 year old body doesn't seize up after challenging yoga class = check

Tear hair out when toddler wakes up 20 minutes after all this, and NO coffee has actually been drunk = check

When they come out, they're implanted with the homing device, of this I am sure. And the device is specifically designed to sniff out your lame attempts at being alone, without them.

Ugh. Now to get said screaming toddler and maybe have that coffee. After husband has cup. And toddler has milk. And preschooler has tantrum...

Mother's Day is for Fathers

I had a wonderful Mother's Day yesterday, complete with flowers and breakfast in bed. I luxuriously finished a full cup of coffee by myself. It was grand. Reminded me of the time I served my own mother soggy Raisin Bran in bed one Mother's Day -- I was so proud of my culinary aptitude.

This year, I think it was a chance for Christian to let Will in on the secret a little bit. I was slowly (very slowly) making my way downstairs when I overheard Christain explaining Mother's Day to Will.

"Today is the day we thank Mom for everything she does for us, and our family."

I'm sure Will said something like "Why?"

"Because she helps us and takes care of us. She really does a lot."

It was a sweet moment. But more because of how it made my husband just shine with fatherly-ness. Maybe yesterday was really more about fathers, or partners, than just about mothers. Since I don't think I could be who I am to my children without this other--who constantly reflects onto them his views too. Good or bad.

So, a belated Happy Mother's Day, to all the moms and dads out there. We rock. We really do.

Will-isms for the 21st Century

These days we alternate between being really pissed at Will for many things, or falling down laughing when he says something so funny -- or true.

On eating only the frosting off Nina's birthday cupcake:

"I like the cup, but not the cake."

On why Macktiti (Will's imaginary friend; the name is no joke), can't come over to our house to play. I asked if he was sick:

"No Mom, Macktiti's not coming because he's not real...."

At any time of day, whenever the mood strikes him:

"She's real fine, my 409... Vrrooom vroom!"

Correcting me on why the sky is getting dark but it's not nighttime:

"No Mom, the sun is UNDER the cloud, not behind it."

On why our cat Mouse walks around meowing annoyingly for hours. Roosevelt is Mouse's late brother:

"Mouse misses Roosevelt cause he's dead."

At the dinner table:

"Couscous is a form of rice."

In the morning, before we have a chance to take off his overnight diaper and change him into underwear:

"I gotta go potty!!!!! Uh, nope. Just went in my pants."

The intro lines to The Beach Boys' 409. That should be dimes:

"Gonna save my pennies, gonna save my nimes....."

After the first Asanimals yoga class for 2-3 year olds, with Mom:

"Next time I'll come to yoga, and you and Dad can stay home."

When Will wants to do something and Ian keeps getting in the way. The "cage" is the pack n' play:

"Put Ian in his cage, Mom."