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N is for No

This would currently be my 2 1/2 year old daughter’s favorite word. And if that wasn’t enough, my husband, tired of the no, taught her other fabulous ways to say it. Nien, Niecht, nu-uh, no way jose, nope. All Ns.

Now while the little one has this down pat, I seem to have trouble saying it. When someone asks me to do something I immediately say sure. It isn’t until I get home and have a panic attack when I input it into my schedule, that I realize I may be a tish overstretched.

Why is it that sometimes we are incapable of saying no? Is it because we want to help and genuinely feel the desire to serve? Or (at least for me) the more likely culprit of not wanting to disappoint someone.

Oddly enough, when someone else offers to do something for me, I don’t hesitate to say no thanks. I suppose I don’t want to be someone’s burden.

Just rambling out loud on the keyboard.

The Long Run: Pride cometh before the fall

This week I had myself a little spark of correction. I had to rearrange my running schedule because my best friend and head of the fat pack, Sarah Michelle, is getting married today. I moved my run to Wednesday. It was a 17 miler. I figured that if I dropped my kiddos off at preschool at 9, I had 3 hours to get the run done. Shouldn’t be a problem.

It was a problem. My legs did not want to cooperate. I kept checking my watch for my pace, sure that it was wrong, but no. I was going slow.

The smart thing to do would have been to go at the pace that I needed to go at to finish the miles without taxing my legs. Did I do that? Of course not. I pushed myself faster and harder to try and make sure I could get the kids picked up on time.

I’ll tell you what happened. I was still late, and now my previously injured hamstring is acting up. Why didn’t I just call my mom to pick up the kids? Because of pride, that’s why. Because I thought I should be able to match my personal best on any given day. I felt like I needed to prove to myself that I was not getting slower.

Stupid Betsy. It’s ok to be slow. It’s ok to be fast. It’s ok to be whatever I am today.
It just took a little spark of correction in my hamstring to remember that.

M is for Mistakes in Motherhood

Not a day goes by without a moment where I think, yup I have scarred my kids for life.

Words sound a whole lot different coming out of my mouth than my five year old’s. Sometimes I can’t tell how harsh something sounds until it’s parroted back at me.

The other night my oldest daughter was playing with her little sister. Apparently a two and half year old does not grasp the finer nuances of whack-a-mole and my preshcooler took issue with that.
“If you can’t play right, you don’t get to play,” she shouted and threw the game across the room.
I took issue with her behavior. My reply was angry and scolding, “If you can’t play nicely, you won’t have any friends and no one will want to play with you.” Then, since it was close to bedtime, I sent her off to her room to chill out and go to sleep early.

Alas she did not go quietly in the night. For the next half hour I could hear her screaming from her bed. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I hate you. I’m going to go find a new family.” A little while later I heard the phrase that broke my heart. “I don’t want to be alone. I need friends.”

Somewhere along the line I had screwed up. I had made a colossal mistake in motherhood and made my daughter feel unloved. It had not been my intent to hurt, just a frustrated attempt at correction. So What was I gonna do about it now?

I felt it would be an even worse mistake to let my child go off to sleep thinking that no one loved her. So I sat down with her, gave her loves and took the 2 minutes to explain why her behavior was unacceptable. Basically what I should have done in the first place. Afterwards I got my kiss goodnight and she was out like a light.

Not so much for me. I sobbed to my husband that I was the worst mother in the whole world. That we should start saving now because my kids would end up having huge therapy bills. He reminded me that kids were pretty darn resilient and my daughter would get over it. And the next time I got angry, I should just love ’em to death.

Sure enough, the next day my daughter gave me oodles of love and hugs. Telling me she loved me, that I was the best mommy ever. What I learned was that everybody makes mistakes. In particular, I will continue to make mistakes. It’s what we do afterwards that defines us as a parent.

I for one am going to apologize to my mother for the time I packed up my stuffed animals and ran away to my best friends house. I don’t remember what she did that made me so angry, but I remember the tears in her eyes when she couldn’t find me. Sure when I was discovered I got grounded, but I also got nearly hugged to death.

Exercise for the Soul: Box Breathing

Here’s an important part of exercise often overlooked…breathing. It’s automatic, so we tend not to think about it, but breathing can be the key to weight loss and fitness success. Proper breathing reduces stress levels, and helps facilitate fat loss. It also provides oxygen to the muscles, allowing them to work harder and get stronger. Some experts claim you can even lose a size just by breathing. I don’t know about that, but I know my mental and physical well being have improved dramatically, just by taking the time to breathe properly.

Here’s an exercise called boxed breathing:

Step 1: Sit up straight, making sure your lungs are not constricted by poor posture.

Step 2: Close your eyes and clear your mind

Step 3 Close your mouth (unless you have hayfever) and breahte in deeply through the nose for 4 counts.

Step 4 Hold breathe inside for 4 counts, allowing it to fill your body.

Step 5 Exhale for 4 counts.

Step 6 Complete the box by holding breath again for 4 counts.

Repeat at least 5 times for a calmer more focused you 🙂

L is for Lullaby

My favorite part of the day when my girls were little, was bedtime. Not only because the little beasts were going to sleep, but because of our lullaby ritual.

I would swaddle my baby and sit in the rocking chair and sing a song or two until there little eyes were nice and droopy. Sometimes I would sing Twinkle Twinkle, or Rock a Bye Baby. But I had a favorite lullaby for each girl that is a little… different. I figured, hey they don’t know what the heck I’m saying. As long as it’s low and soothing I could sing the phonebook.

So for my oldest, my favorite tune was Death Cab for Cutie’s I”ll follow you into the dark.

For my little one is was the Smith’s Sing me to sleep.

To this day I get misty eyed when I hear those songs on the radio. They remind me of a time that was precious, crazy, and worth every minute.

What did you sing to your little ones?

K is for Kokomo

This was my mother’s favorite song when I was a kid. My friends all thought I was a little weird when I picked the Beach boy song to lip sync to in 6th grade instead of U2 or Depeche Mode. Yep, branded a dork for life.

Eventually, my mom homeschooled me for the rest of 6th grade. We watched South Pacific, Carousel, and Camelot. I developed a love for the Beach boys as well as musicals. Though my tweeny counterparts may have disagreed, this made me a well rounded individual.

So thanks mom, for making me a dork. I love you. And I still sing Kokomo in the Shower.

Aruba, Jamaica, oohh I wanna take ya…

Potpourri: Obesity by tax bracket

I recently read a study whose findings indicated that women in a lower tax brackets are more likely to be obese than their wealthier counterparts.

To this I say a big fat “duh”. Unless you’re starving yourself, if you got no money, you eat off the dollar menu, or ramen. Cheeseburger and fries do not exactly help the waistline.

It’s very easy to say, “Well If I had money for a personal chef and trainer, I’d be skinny too.” That’s true, but I know I still need to be making better choices. I can’t afford a trainer or a fancy gym, but I can take community classes. Or run for free.

Food is still a problem though. Why is it that Cheap food is unhealthy, and healthy food is uncheap? Buying fresh fruits and veggies can kill a budget in a week. Try a farmer’s market, a co-op, or growing your own. Or do what I do, beg your neighbors for leftovers from their gardens.

J is for Jarom

Jarom is my husband and my favorite person in the world…most of the time. We just celebrated our 12th anniversary.

My book is autobiographical, so my husband is a big part of it. In reading it, he was a little confused of my portrayal of him. He thought I made him out to be Superman. But isn’t that what your spouse should do? See the piece of greatness that is hidden from yourself.

So this is my love letter to my husband. He champions my strengths, supports me through my weakness, and is the mirror in which only the best of myself is reflected.

I challenge you to write a love letter to your favorite someone: Mother, husband, father, child

Dress for Success: Lose the baggy

My friend has lost around 18-20 pounds. She is still wearing the exact same sweats we worked out in a year ago. They are just baggier now. Problem is, she has trouble remembering what they looked like 20 pounds ago. So when she looks in the mirror, she can’t see any change.

It’s tempting to say, “But I want to lose more weight, so I don’t want to buy new clothes”. Money is always an issue, I know. But sometimes, your eyes will lie to you and you’ll see yourself in those same XL sweats and think you are still XL. Uh uh, oh no. Be proud of your changing shape, bite the bullet, and get something that fits well. It’s easier to see the improvements when they are not hiding under the same clothes you felt fat it.

A word of warning: I’m not talking about doubling up on spandex for the gym either. If it feels like sausage casing, it probably looks that way too.

I is for Invent

in·vent

[in-vent]

verb (used with object)

to originate or create as a product of one’s own ingenuity,experimentation, or contrivance: to invent the telegraph.

to produce or create with the imagination: to invent a story.

to make up or fabricate (something fictitious or false): to invent excuses.

If you are a writer, you should add inventor to your list of titles. Dictionary.com says so. Look at definition number 2. That is also the definition of what an author does. We are inventors of story, of worlds, of characters.

With the right words we can change the world.