Category Archives: about me

July 12, 2012 · 10:43 AM

The Missing Bottle of Conditioner

I lost a brand-new bottle of conditioner. I’d gone to Target, picked up the conditioner, and somehow lost it in between the car and the bathroom. I didn’t even realize it was missing until earlier this week. I’d gotten the bath all ready for the girl, she’d gathered all her pony friends, and I’d prepared myself for a half hour of some heavy-duty detangling. But I couldn’t find the conditioner.

“How does someone lose a bottle of conditioner??” I lamented to my husband.

“By misplacing it?”

“No, no. What I mean is, WHO loses a bottle of conditioner? Who does that?”

“You do?”

He’s very helpful in my times of need.

I was able to squeeze out the last few drops from the old bottle, and the immediate crisis was averted. We both enjoyed the bath, the girl’s hair was once again fluffy and tangle-free, and all was right with the world. Except… it wasn’t. Because I lost the conditioner. And that conditioner suddenly represented everything that had been going wrong for the past month and a half. I was that conditioner. Lost.

For the past six weeks, I’ve been sleepwalking. I’ve been discouraged and grumpy and far shorter with the people around me than I’d care to admit. My brain is toast. I’m forgetting things, and losing things, and as scattered as I’ve ever been in my life. The house is running about as smoothly as you’d imagine it’d have to be running for someone to lose a bottle of conditioner. I ran the car out of gas last week, something I haven’t done in probably 20 years. As I’ve no doubt ~~whined~~ stated in previous posts, I don’t do the patient thing very well. I’ve been in constant pain with this shoulder thing (which, as it turns out, is further complicated by 4 discs in my neck with varying degrees of protruding and bulging and stenosis and a bunch of other fancy-sounding doctor words). And I guess I don’t do pain very well either. Or being physically limited in any way. Or being told to rest, some more. The combination of all of the above slid me into a depression before I realized what had happened. All the extra energy I’ve been able to muster – such that it is – has been going to my yoga training. Fortunately, there was a lot of learning and studying and testing that didn’t require me actually *doing* yoga. But there’s been precious little left of me to go around, for the kids, for my husband, for the house… and apparently for keeping track of minor details like what I do with my Target bags when I get back from shopping.

And then I lost the conditioner, and it jolted me from my sleep. There’s only so much I can do about the pain, and only so much I can do about how quickly my body heals. I do have to be patient there. But I don’t have to let it define me, and I don’t have to mentally check out in order to deal with it. I have a lot of choices, and while I can’t do anything about the choices I’ve made over the past six weeks, I don’t have to continue to make them.

The day after tomorrow, I start the 15-day, 12-hour-a-day yoga retreat that will complete my training for my RYT. At the end of the retreat, I will have completed my 250 hours, and will be ready to start teaching. Make no mistake; I’m excited about that. But what I’m most excited about really doesn’t have anything to do with yoga at all, and everything to do with getting refreshed, re-focused, and re-centered. As always, the timing is far, far better than I could have ever planned it myself. I need this retreat right now, and I’m finding myself actually grateful for the injury that is ultimately going to make me appreciate this two weeks so much more than I otherwise would. So. Much. More!

I’m grateful that I lost the conditioner too. I lost the conditioner, but I gained my life. It’s a pretty small price to pay.

6 Comments

Filed under about me, life

July 9, 2012 · 7:56 AM

High School Taught Me I Was a Failure

I got pretty good grades in high school. Sometimes I got really good grades. I was your average A/B student. I took (and did well in) honors and advanced placement classes, and my extracurricular schedule was nicely padded with sports and clubs and all those other things that colleges like to see. I didn’t dislike school, nor did I love it. School was a necessary evil. It was a place to go in between writing and drawing and daydreaming. It was place to be told what to do and how to do it. It was like a game to me, and it was a game that I felt I generally played well.

My teachers didn’t agree.

Read the rest over on Christian Unschooling.

Musings from the sleep-deprived

I’ve been an insomniac on and off for my entire adult life, so not sleeping is a not a new thing for me, but not sleeping because of pain is an entirely different proposition. Before, I’d get up if it was really bad, but I’d otherwise snuggle up in my half-conscious stupor, and get lost in the world of infomercials. (Proactiv or Meaningful Beauty, anyone?)

Right now though, once I’m awake I can’t lay down because the pain makes it impossible. So I sit, upright, at 2 or 4 or whenever it is, get one of the ice packs from its rotation in the freezer, and just… wait. The past week has not been a fun one in many ways, but I think that what’s getting to me the most is the lack of sleep. Lack of sleep – and lack of sleep from pain, no less – makes you feel a little…. crazy.

I had grand plans to get caught up on blogging: I can’t do much else. Oh how much extra time I’ll have on my hands!

Yeah. As it turns out, having a brain that’s in good working order is sort of a prerequisite for any effective blogging. Or writing. Or thinking. I’ve noticed that even my tweets and Facebook statuses have gotten progressively more riddled with errors over the course of the past week. From half-thoughts to misspelled words to leaving words out altogether. At least I haven’t misused an apostrophe. I don’t think. If I do, call my doctor. Surely that can’t be a good sign.

Some thoughts though, that have been rustling around enough to annoy me, but never formed into a complete enough thought for an actual post:

1. I’ve learned who my friends are this past week. Kind of a strange thing really, to realize that it’s taken most of my adult life to totally grasp this, but there’s a reason we get to choose our friends. I have good friends. And – in another lesson that I’m for some reason destined to truly learn only as an adult – I will learn to focus on thankfulness for them, rather than on the people who ..well .. when push comes to shove tend to disappoint me every time.

2. Patience. A virtue I don’t have. Yet. A couple of weeks ago, I chose a name for my future yoga studio. (It will be unveiled with my website, which I’ll work on soon since I have all this new-found time. Ha.) I was inspired by a Hebrew word meaning “wait.” And if that is not the most perfectly appropriate word right now, I don’t know what is. I’m learning a big lesson right now, and the fact that I’m not entirely sure what it is yet is of little importance. Because right now, I wait… which may just be the lesson all by itself.

3. I’m still meant to blog. I was just talking to a fellow blogger a couple of days ago about the love-hate relationship we have with blogging, and whether or not we’re too sensitive to deal with the negative backlash that inevitably always comes with our more widely shared posts. I very often think I’m not cut out for it, and decide that once I’m busy teaching yoga, my blog can just sort of quietly fade away, a digital memento of another time. But then I get a really sweet and encouraging message from a new reader, someone who for some reason liked my words, was touched in some way from my words… and I’m reminded, again, that for better or worse I’m meant to be here. Haters be damned.

4. I am so crazy in love with my kids. No, that’s not a new realization. It’s just that this past week I’ve been forced to slow down and take a step back and watch them in a different way. My interactions with them have had to change a bit, and while that’s had its downfalls (I hate, hate, HATE not being able to pick my daughter up when she wakes up in the morning and wants to be carried out into the other room) it’s had its positives too. New perspectives are always a good thing, and so is watching. And waiting.

Lots of waiting.

2 Comments

Filed under about me, life, random

June 9, 2012 · 1:36 PM

Blessings and Pain

This is me about a month ago, feeling pretty badass for keeping up with all the men-folk on the camping trip. I’d just thrown that little hatchet into the tree – with amazing accuracy I might add – after only my second or third attempt. This was after we chopped wood (or rather, attempted to chop wood in my case) with an 8 pound maul. 8 pounds is not a lot, of course, until it’s lifted overhead and forcefully struck downward again and again and again with, uh, less than proper form. Truthfully, I was happy I escaped with all my limbs and digits. People who tend to trip over flat surfaces probably shouldn’t be wielding heavy, sharp instruments. But I digress. I can’t remember if the wood-chopping and ax-throwing was before or after the mile+ hike down to the lake, from which I carried my tired 45 pound daughter all the way back to the camp, but I do remember my husband saying with a laugh, “Oh you’re going to be sore tomorrow!”

He said a mouthful.

As it turned out, I wasn’t sore the next day. It took a few days. And even then, it was barely more than an annoyance at first …. a “huh, I think I tweaked my shoulder” kind of pain. I kept up my heavy yoga schedule (modifying here and there to work around the discomfort), kept lifting the girl, kept driving all over creation, kept doing all the things moms do. It slowly got worse, and I did my best to ignore it. Until I couldn’t. And then the exchanges began:

“It hurts.”

“Then go to a doctor.”

“I don’t have a doctor.” Because I don’t. (Or, “I don’t like doctors”, or, “I don’t have time for a doctor”, or my favorite: “What’s a doctor going to do??”)

“Then take a pain killer and put some ice on it.”

And then I’d be near tears, and we’d both go off in a huff because we’re stubborn like that.

Last weekend, the whole “to doctor or not to doctor” decision was taken out of my hands when a flip was suddenly switched, and the pain went from bad to blinding. No longer confined to my shoulder, it shot down my back, into my neck, and down the entire length of my arm. A pain so bad I couldn’t sit, couldn’t stand, couldn’t lay down, couldn’t sleep… couldn’t do anything but, well, basically rock pathetically back and forth and cry. Off to my friendly neighborhood ER… the same familiar place that ~~lovingly~~ matter-of-factly saw me through my emergency endoscopy and subsequent cholecystectomy when my gall bladder had called, “when.” The same place that had placed a kidney stent when I had hydronephrosis a year after that. The same place that diagnosed a ruptured ovarian cyst, and the same place that had seen me through my very first, very scary, allergic reaction.

(I’m a healthy person normally, honest!)

Now, a word about emergency rooms, if I may. They have their shortcomings when it comes to specific medical care to be sure. And it turned out that I got some incorrect, and even dangerous, advice for this particular condition. But. One thing that they’re really really good at is making pain go away. They didn’t do a single x-ray that morning. Not an ultrasound, not an MRI, no imaging whatsoever. But they did give me some pretty fine drugs. Pumped full of morphine (among other things) I went home and actually SLEPT all afternoon, something I hadn’t done for days. The next morning I went to a doctor’s office that specializes in sports medicine and physiatry, and returned the next day for an ultrasound, a diagnosis (a significantly torn rotator cuff AND bursitis, because I don’t do these things half-way) and a shot of cortisone.

So now I heal.

The blessing? I’m sure there are many, but at the moment I see two really big ones.

#1. It’ll make me a better yoga teacher. When I heard the ultrasound tech say, in that too-cheery, matter-of-fact manner that ultrasound techs are required to use, “Oh look at that tear!”, what I really heard her say was, “You’re done with yoga training.” I was devastated. Thankfully, my devastation lasted less than 24 hours. The next day I got a return phone call from my instructor – and one of my newest favorite people on the planet – who assured me that it’d be fine. That I’d take these next weeks to rest and heal and work on my book-work and do what I needed to do, and that when I came to the studio for my contact hours in five weeks that they would absolutely work around the injury… whether it means simply taking it super easy, modifying the asanas, or sitting some out altogether. I can still continue on with the rest of the class, and I can still earn my RYT by the end of July. AND, now I’ll have a whole first-hand frame of reference and extra education about helping my students safely work around pain and/or injuries (something by the way, that is a huge factor for sending many people to yoga in the first place. And one of the most common complaints? Rotator cuff issues!) My education will suddenly be deeper, richer, and a heck of a lot more personal. That’s a blessing.

And, #2. It’s a lesson that for some reason I seem destined to learn over and over (and over and over and over) until I really get it, but this is forcing me to rest, and to learn to be okay with it! I don’t like being told not to do yoga. Not to do housework. Not to pick up my daughter. Not to do anything really physical for the next two weeks. I don’t like it at all. But. I. Need. It. My doctor tells me I need it. My body tells me I need it. So I rest. I learn to let others do for me. I learn to stop running around. I learn to honor my body and my injury. I learn to brush my teeth with my left hand instead of my right. In two weeks I get to start physical therapy (progress!), but for now, I just… heal. I rest. And rest is a blessing, too.

I’m still in a lot of pain. As it turns out, ice and anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxants only do so much when you let an injury get as bad as mine did. I’m fairly grumpy and frustrated about it all, I’m only sleeping a few hours a night, and Netflix instant streaming is my new best friend. But right now, today, I’ll focus on the blessings.

And then I’ll take another Valium.

4 Comments

Filed under about me, life, perspective

April 30, 2012 · 8:09 AM

Walking On Egg Shells

I hate the internet. I mean, I love the internet. But sometimes… I really hate it. That has never been more true than it has the past couple of weeks. I guess maybe I shouldn’t admit that, being a blogger, but there it is. And it’s kind of the crux of my whole point today: The things I shouldn’t say.

A few days ago, I saw a video going around Facebook. It was a home video of a dad and his three kids singing Bohemian Rhapsody in their car. We’re big Queen fans around here so I thought it was cute. I was about to share to it, when I started skimming through some of the negative comments. First there was horror that one of the little girls was sitting in the front seat. Then there was something about the toddlers strap on his car seat. That was all followed up with “What an inappropriate song to be singing with your kids!” I thought about my own page, and how I’ve seen the same kind of comments on even the most innocuous seeming posts. I didn’t really feel like getting into a lengthy and exhausting “thing” over a silly video.

So I didn’t share it.

And the more I thought about it, the more ticked off (at myself!) I felt. I was really irritated that I wouldn’t post something that I liked, on my page, just because I knew there’d be negative reactions. But the truth is, I’ve grown tired.

Lately there has been a barrage of videos, articles, and other posts about discipline that I’ve strongly disagreed with. I have to really weigh whether I want to opine on them though, because doing so always gets me called judgemental. And critical. And hypocritical. And why can’t I just “support other parents no matter how they do things?” That goes doubly for when I talk about spanking. Or crying it out. Or dads shooting their daughter’s laptops.

I can’t express my opinions about schools either, because apparently that’s not fair to teachers (and the fact that I’ve never had a disparaging thing to say about teachers is of little consequence)

I have to be careful about writing too many happy, good-day stories about the kids, because those always invite the snarky, “Oh it must be so nice to have such a perfect life” comments.

I can’t write too many downer posts either, because those bring the admonishments to get over myself and Just Focus On The Positive.

When Kirk Cameron made his remarks about homosexuality recently, I was shushed before I even began to give an opinion. (I disagreed with him, for whatever it’s worth) I couldn’t say it though, without getting screamed at about how unfair I was being, and how mean it was, and how he was being unnecessarily bullied. Besides, I was told, it was too controversial of a topic anyway. It would alienate too many readers. I should stick to writing about parenting (as long as I’m not being judgemental) or homeschooling (as long as I don’t mention school) or stories about my kids (as long as they’re not too happy. Or too sad.)

I don’t like walking on egg shells. Or writing on them, as it were. I can’t write my blog to please other people. I learned a long time ago that living your life to try to please others is a painful lesson in futility anyway. I don’t want this space to become some watered down version of itself simply because it’s more comfortable. I ultimately started it for myself, and while I’m very thankful that a few people seemed to read it and pay attention, at the end of the day I’d rather have a blog that’s authentic and read by 10 than a blog that’s “safe” and read by 10,000.

I was recently unfriended and subsequently blocked by a longtime Facebook friend. I don’t know why. I’m not welcome or able to contact her to tell her this, but I have to thank her in all sincerity. Getting dumped as a friend – again – painful though it was, served as an impetus to once again renew my conviction to just be me. I can’t do anything else. How people respond to me, to my blog, to the things I share…. that’s their business, not mine. I will fully admit that I haven’t gotten this blogging thing all figured out yet. Or this parenting thing. Or this life thing. But I can also tell you – promise you even – that what you see here will be real… the good, the bad, the ugly; whether you agree, disagree, or just don’t care. It’ll be messy. That’s real life. And that’s me.

And to prove it, here’s that Queen video that I convinced myself not to post. Enjoy it, or not. 🙂

57 Comments

Filed under about me, blogging, Facebook, life, rant, writing

April 27, 2012 · 8:02 AM

Where I Need to Be

“Life goes by pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” ~ Ferris Bueller

One week ago today, we were packing up our hotel room in Chicago. Saying goodbye to our little four-day getaway, and getting ready to board a plane back to Phoenix.

It was a perfect excursion, one that I hadn’t realized how much I needed. From the nightly Happy Hours, to the wonderful restaurants, to the walking and touring of the beautiful city… it was a literal breath of fresh air. Everyone’s asked me what I did every day when Mike was at his conference, and the fact is, I just was. I walked. I nursed a huge cup of coffee at Starbucks while I watched all the passers-by. I did yoga. I took myself to the movies. I sat(!) I took a nap (if like me, you’re unfamiliar with that term, it means to lay down and voluntarily sleep. On purpose. In the middle of the day.) It was an introvert’s dream vacation. The best part though, was that both when I was alone and when I was with Mike, time just stood still. There was no where to be, nothing to do, no one who needed us. For four days, time stood still.

Now that we’re home, there’s no easing back into real life. As if a switch has been flipped, it’s once again full-speed ahead. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. It’s basketball practices and gymnastics classes and park days and cub scouts and physical therapy appointments. It’s life. And I’m reminding myself – again – to breathe. God’s got this. I’m finding myself having to trust, more than I ever have before, that no matter where I am… whether it’s driving to another appointment, sitting in the bleachers, racing the four year old across the park, running an errand, or swirling around in the housework that just. doesn’t. end… I’m exactly where I need to be. Right there, in that place, in that moment, in that point in time.

One week from tomorrow, I’ll add another giant helping to my plate when my yoga teacher training starts. Right now though, I’ll breathe. I’ll sit.

The house is quiet. The birds are singing. I’m exactly where I need to be.

2 Comments

Filed under about me, being happy with what is, life, not sweating the small stuff, perspective, vacation

April 24, 2012 · 9:06 AM

Dreads at 3 Months: Redefining Beauty

My dreads are three months old. Which means for ninety something days now, I’ve been carrying around these ropy, tangly, matted knots, instead of the long, thick wavy hair that partially defined me for all of my previous 38 years. And they look, well… they’re a huge mess. Their current appearance does not do much to help the opinions of ~~my mom~~ all the people who think that dreadlocks are unkempt or unwashed. Despite my tender loving care, some days they look a little bit – or a lot – of both. I feel this overwhelming need to say that out loud, because I can feel the looks. I can feel the wordless stares. Not necessarily because I have dreadlocks, but because I have crazy, messy, rebellious teenage dreadlocks. They’re a mess. I’m aware.

They are filled with crazy loops and twists and lumps and bumps. All of which are a normal progression in the journey of dreadlocks (and actually a good sign that they are doing what they are supposed to do), but somehow very different in reality than they were when they were merely hypothetical. There are things to do to “tame” the loops a little quicker… there are techniques that involve basically poking and threading with big needles, and/or I could always find a salon that does dread maintenance.

BUT. And it’s a big but. I’ve decided to embrace the chaos.

Some of the “maintenance” recommended by certain websites and schools of thought can actually cause a lot of damage. And the last thing I want is to commit to a long-term hairstyle, only to have them thin and fall out because I didn’t treat them properly! More than that though, is this linear idea that neat, perfect and uniform = beautiful. Did I decide to take this drastic and bold step with my hair, only to make it look like everyone else’s? If I’d wanted that, I could have gotten perfectly round extensions. No, what I signed up for was a journey. I’m surely not done with my own journey of growth, so why should my hair be any different? I have bad days and bumpy days and setbacks… but I am learning to trust that there is beauty, not just in the end, but in the process.

I didn’t like what I’d started to see in myself over the past several weeks as my hair changed. Me, forever proud not to be overly attached to things like make-up, hairstyles, and fashion… I was mourning my old hair. I’d be fine for a few days, hiding it all under a buff or bandana, and then I’d take a good look in the mirror, wanting to look nice for church or dinner or just a day out. On one shoulder would be the confidence. “You can own this! You’re awesome!” And on the other, would be that insecure teenager again. “But. But. It’s not pretty.”

I am so much more than my hair.

At the same time, my hair’s become an outward symbol of an inward process, more so than I ever could have imagined when I started this journey three months ago. I look forward to having mature, beautiful dreads in a couple of years. I do. But now, I look forward to the journey even more… loops, bumps, and all.

Once a little boy was playing outdoors and found a fascinating caterpillar. He carefully picked it up and took it home to show his mother. He asked his mother if he could keep it, and she said he could if he would take good care of it.

The little boy got a large jar from his mother and put plants to eat, and a stick to climb on, in the jar. Every day he watched the caterpillar and brought it new plants to eat.

One day the caterpillar climbed up the stick and started acting strangely. The boy worriedly called his mother who came and understood that the caterpillar was creating a cocoon. The mother explained to the boy how the caterpillar was going to go through a metamorphosis and become a butterfly.

The little boy was thrilled to hear about the changes his caterpillar would go through. He watched every day, waiting for the butterfly to emerge. One day it happened, a small hole appeared in the cocoon and the butterfly started to struggle to come out.

At first the boy was excited, but soon he became concerned. The butterfly was struggling so hard to get out! It looked like it couldn’t break free! It looked desperate! It looked like it was making no progress!

The boy was so concerned he decided to help. He ran to get scissors, and then walked back (because he had learned not to run with scissors…). He snipped the cocoon to make the hole bigger and the butterfly quickly emerged!

As the butterfly came out the boy was surprised. It had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. He continued to watch the butterfly expecting that, at any moment, the wings would dry out, enlarge and expand to support the swollen body. He knew that in time the body would shrink and the butterfly’s wings would expand.

But neither happened!

The butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings.

It never was able to fly…

As the boy tried to figure out what had gone wrong his mother took him to talk to a scientist from a local college. He learned that the butterfly was SUPPOSED to struggle. In fact, the butterfly’s struggle to push its way through the tiny opening of the cocoon pushes the fluid out of its body and into its wings. Without the struggle, the butterfly would never, ever fly. The boy’s good intentions hurt the butterfly.

Struggling is an important part of any growth experience. In fact, it is the struggle that causes you to develop your ability to fly.

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Filed under about me, acceptance, being happy with what is, dreadlocks, life, self image

February 28, 2012 · 8:39 AM

One thing at a time

I’m a slow learner.

For the past year (at least) a big running theme on my blog has been the art of not sweating the small stuff. Living in the moment. Appreciating the calm amidst the chaos. Letting go.

And I get it, and I understand it, and I feel it…. but I still find myself having to re-learn it. Over and over and over again.

I have spent most of February MAJORLY sweating the small stuff (and the big stuff and everything in between) I have been overwhelmed and stressed out and so, SO tired. I was coming off one of the worst and longest stretches of insomnia I’d ever had – one that started well before the new year – and that coupled with the sudden onslaught of doctor appointments, Cub Scout activities, basketball, gymnastics, church events, writing projects, park days and birthdays and parties and… and and and…. it was all sending me over the edge. I was unraveling. It got to where I felt like I couldn’t do anything, so immobilized I was even at the idea of choosing a place to start. Every time I heard that little “dink dink dink” on my phone, telling me I had another email, I ~~cried~~ winced. Another place to be. Another thing to attend to. Another commitment to put on the calendar.

I was burnt out. The house was out of control, I couldn’t seem to meet all four kids’ needs at the same time, and my own personal pursuits had become a thing of the distant past. Leaving the house didn’t help, because I was so exhausted that I couldn’t enjoy it; and staying home didn’t help either, because at home I was buried under the weight of the 7425 things that needed my attention, not to the mention the growing inadequacy I was feeling as a mother (let alone as a wife. As stressed I was, and as hectic as we were, we were lucky if we said hello when we passed each other as we ran one of the kids to their next engagement. I think I still know what he looks like.)

I few days ago, I posted on Facebook about my feelings of overwhelm. One wise friend told me:

“One thing at a time, finish it, move to the next.”

And it irritated the ^$@^%* out of me. Well, I know that already. You think I don’t know that? It’s not that easy. How do you do one thing at a time when you have a million things that need to be finished RIGHT NOW? How do you do one thing at a time when you have so many things to do that there’s no single place to start?

I grumped at the mere suggestion for a good part of the morning. “One thing at a time”… pffffft.

Then you know what I did?

I did one thing. I finished it. I took a ~~big gasping gulp of air~~ breath. I moved on to the next. By the time I got to the fourth or fifth thing on the list, I was breathing for real. I wasn’t so overwhelmed. I wasn’t so stressed about what remained undone, instead focusing on the productivity and the reality and the beauty of the moment. I realized – AGAIN – that it really is about baby steps. Not sweating the small stuff. Living in the moment. Having faith. Trusting. Breathing.

I was able to enjoy a fun go-cart riding birthday party for Spencer, and just a few days later threw a lovely little party for Tegan as well. We watched Everett score in his last basketball game of the season, and accept his trophy in the awards ceremony. We went to church yesterday, and we shopped for the supplies to make up the care packages we’ve been wanting to put in our cars for the homeless. I got 99% of March on the calendar, and I breathed a sigh of relief that the bulk of February’s craziness was complete.

Now we’re about to head into another month, and another season, that is so far scheduled to be even busier than February. And I’m realizing something else… also not for the first time:

I can’t do it all. I especially can’t do it all at the same time.

Right now, I have to focus on my kids first. They suffer when I’m stressed/not sleeping/burnt out, and that’s not fair to them. So my first order of business is more pancake breakfasts. More bubble blowing. More chalk murals on the driveway. More reading. More singing. More talking about Minecraft and legoes and Wonder Pets.

On a more personal note, I have a few different writing projects I’m working on for the month of March… all of which I’ll be sure to share if and when they come to fruition.

In April, I begin the marathon of yoga training that will only conclude with the 180 hours (crammed into two weeks!) of studio time in July.

In keeping with my new adage of “one thing at a time”, I’m not sure what’s coming after that. There’s the personal trainer exam I’ve been wanting to prepare for for the past year. The herbalist portion of the Holistic Health degree I started when I completed the Nutrition certification program. All the big ideas I had for my blog. I don’t know.

I’m giving myself permission not to stress out about it, and not to feel like I have to do everything right now. Which means that for the moment, blogging is going to be taking a backseat and squarely landing on my “when I have time” list…. along with jewelry making, practicing the piano, henna tattooes, and finally putting my vacation pictures (from last July) into an album.

I’m not going anywhere. I’ll still be around. It’s just that I’ve had to make the decision – one I feel good about – that this isn’t the time for devoting tons of hours to blogging. Someday it will be, but not right now.

Right now I need to do one thing at a time.

6 Comments

Filed under about me, breathing, learning, life, not sweating the small stuff, plans, simplifying

February 21, 2012 · 9:43 AM

Dreadlocks: How, When, and WHY

As most of you know, a few days after my 38th birthday, I decided that I was going to fulfill a very long-held wish and dread my hair. A faithful friend came over and spent six hours carefully sectioning, backcombing, and keeping me company while we watched three whole chick flicks in a row.

Unfortunately, we weren’t quite as aggressive as we should have been with the backcombing. Less than a week – and one washing – later, they’d all fallen out. I was determined though (I am nothing if not determined), so over the course of the next few days, I re-did them, using a method known as the “twist and rip” method. It simply means taking the section of hair in two pieces, giving it a twist, then pulling it apart again, separating it in a new place each time. It. took. forever. especially since I was doing it myself. But it worked.

That was one month ago today, and I still have dreads! There’s a way to tuck the ends all in to make them all blunt and neat and tidy, but so far I like them free and wispy. They’re just babies, so most days they’re a big fuzzy mess, especially when I wash them (yes, people with dreadlocks wash their hair. I just use an organic, non-residue shampoo) Some are tight and some are loose. I have stray hairs and grey hairs everywhere. They bend all crazy, and they have odd loops and strange turns and random bumps.

I can’t wait to watch them grow and change and mature.

And in the meantime, I’m enjoying experimenting with them.

On the good days, when they’re not looking too ridiculous, I like wearing them with just a headband or a bandana.

So why did I do it?

(From least to most important)

3. I think they’re cool. Mature dreadlocks are just a striking, beautiful look to me, and it’s one I’ve been in awe of for years.

2. I’m lazy. Or more accurately, I prefer to spend the least amount of time as possible on my physical appearance. I’ve never been one to want to spend ~~more than 30 seconds~~ hours doing my hair and/or makeup, and the more kids I had, the more true that became. I barely wear makeup. I don’t straighten my hair. I can’t remember the last time I used a hair dryer. For the last several years, I’ve been a hair-in-a-ponytail 8 days out of 7 kind of girl. So you can imagine how attractive and freeing I find the idea of a hairstyle that I can literally just wash and wear and be ready to step out the door.

1. I wanted what I looked like on the outside to match what I felt like on the inside. My whole life, I’ve felt “different.” I’ve never been one to fit in with the crowd (any crowd), instead identifying most strongly with those on the outside. And rather than running from that truth, I want to embrace it. I want to embrace anything that helps me to feel more comfortable in my own skin, that helps me feel even more free from constraints, more free to relate to others, more free to be me. A couple of days ago in church, the lesson was in part about judging people by their hearts rather than by their physical appearance. People – whether they openly admit it or not – often tend to do the latter, while God looks strictly at the heart. At one point the pastor started listing things off: “God looks at your heart… not your tattoos, or your piercings, or your mohawk, or your purple hair, or your ‘tramp stamp’…” Mike and I looked at each other and just laughed, because you can find all of the above in our household. And while people may judge us for any or all of those things, God does not. God wants us to be free.

So while in many ways it’s just a small thing (it’s only hair after all), in a symbolic way, it is a huge thing. An outward reflection of an inner decision to reject being spoon-fed, to challenge the status quo, and to whole-heartedly embrace the search for truth and authenticity.

And over the next several months and years, as my dreads change and grow and mature…. so will I.

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Filed under about me, acceptance, dreadlocks, life

February 17, 2012 · 7:40 PM

Where my book begins

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten ~Natasha Bedingfield

So Dan of Single Dad Laughing has done it again. Every so often, he writes something that I can relate to so deeply that it almost physically hurts. His recent post, Whose Life is it Anyway? now tops that list. In it, he writes about his learning to live life on his own terms, rather than for someone else. He tells of the process of finding his own voice, and ultimately leaving a church, a marriage, and a job on his path to happiness.

I’ve never left a marriage (in fact I consider myself very blessed – and lucky – that after having married at 19 with no earthly idea of who we were, that we were able to come into our own beside each other) But I’ve left a church. I’ve left a job. And six years ago, I left New Hampshire. I left New England. I left the entire east coast.

When I look back on old pictures, even of times that were happy, I will often feel a strange disconnect. Sometimes I even feel a profound sadness. I don’t know that person in those photos. She’s a person who made choices not based on what she wanted (and honestly, she wouldn’t know what she wanted even if you asked her) but based on everyone else around her. A person whose entire life… from the colleges she went to, to what she studied, to the kind of wedding she had, to what city she lived in, to what house she lived in… was decided, at least in part, by someone else. She lived her life in a box. And don’t get me wrong. It was a nice box, a lovely box. But it was a box all the same, and it wasn’t a box of her choosing.

I’m here to tell you that you can only live in a box for so long before the walls start closing in. Before you start gasping for breath. Before you start suffocating.

When people ask why we moved to Phoenix, I’m often left grasping for words. It was a big decision, and there were many factors. It was a joint decision too, so I can’t fairly speak for my husband. But I can say out loud for the very first time – and without hesitation – that for me, the biggest reason was clear:

I was suffocating.

I was 32 years old, and I had no idea who I was. I’d never made a decision on my own. I’d never stopped trying to please everyone around me. I’d never given more than a cursory thought to what it was that I wanted, so focused I was on what my family wanted, what society wanted, what the church wanted.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

So six years ago, I started living life on my own terms (and by the way, when I say “my” terms, I mean my terms within the larger framework of God’s terms. Which, ironically – or not – is a concept I hadn’t even begun to grasp until I’d left the church I grew up in.) It was the start of an adventure, to be sure, and a journey that is in turns exhilarating and terrifying and exhausting and just plain awe-inspiring. For the first time in my entire life I’m getting to know and listening to ME. Not society’s version of me, or my parent’s version of me, or even my husband’s version of me. Just ME, the me I was individually created to be.

And it feels so good.

One of the greatest things about it though? Once I started being true to myself, I realized that that respect, that authenticity, that truth that I was living started spilling out into the rest of my relationships as well. It’s made me a better wife. It’s made me a better mother. Which makes sense when you think about it, because how can you really give of yourself if you don’t even know who “yourself” is? How can you expect to have an authentic relationship with anyone if you can’t first be authentic with yourself? I have heard it said over and over that people who are hurting hurt others. So wouldn’t the opposite be true? That those who show love to themselves are then able to love others?

I spent three decades being partially immobilized by fear, anxiety, insecurity, and “what ifs.” Moving across the country was the catalyst that began to change all of that. It made me feel brave. It made me feel like if I could do that, I could do anything. And do anything I will!

I’m not suggesting that a 1800 mile cross-country move is the answer for everyone. But you know what, maybe it is. Or maybe it’s leaving that job. Or that church. Or that unhealthy relationship. Maybe it’s taking that pottery class, or belly dancing lesson, or volunteering in that soup kitchen. Maybe it’s the haircut you’ve always been too scared to get, or the tattoo you were afraid your dad would disapprove of, or the hobby your friends think is silly.

Two days ago, I sent in my enrollment paperwork for yoga teacher training, something I have been wanting to do – and putting off for various reasons – for years now. When I woke up the next morning, I felt more excited than I’ve felt in years. And it wasn’t just about the yoga. I was excited about life. I’m excited about all of it. I’m excited about the yoga; I’m excited about new friends; I’m excited about the shiny, colorful rings that I’ll transform into lovely chain maille jewelry; I’m excited about the mess on my head that will one day be beautiful and mature dreadlocks; I’m excited to know that I won’t be afraid to just chop it all off if I change my mind; I’m excited to get another tattoo; I’m excited to get better with my camera; I’m excited about cupcakes; I’m excited to write and to read and to learn and to grow; I’m excited for road trips and park days and singing loudly with my children and having drinks with my girlfriends; I’m excited about new adventures with the kids and new experiences with my husband.

I’m excited, for the first time in my life, to be REAL.

This. This is where my book begins. And it. is. awesome.

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Filed under about me, adventures, Arizona, learning, life, passions, random

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