Pulling it back.

Have you ever watched an archer send an arrow flying? Have you watched an arrow slide effortlessly into the very center of it’s target?
I suppose, I have watched archers a good deal more than most young women. My grandparents owned an archery shop with an indoor range. I received my first compound bow as a gift at the ripe age of six years old.
If you watch an archer closely, there is so much that goes before letting an arrow fly. They will plant their feet firmly and adjust their hips, just so. Then an arrow set and the bow, raised to the face, will be adjusted with one eye closed so that the whole body is focused, aligned, to send the arrow on it’s path. Once aligned out archer will draw back the string, letting the tension of it bite into the soft flesh of their fingers. Once all is ready they will still themselves, taking a deep breath and holding it there, so as not to make the arrow wobble as they let it fly.

The flight of an arrow is unbelievably brief. Watching an experienced archer, the preparations are quick, some nearly imperceptible, because of the years of practice.

Success in life can be much like success on an archery range. Successful people, seem to succeed with little effort or forethought. People who rarely succeed often throw themselves into something new with little preparation and less tenacity. Failure isn’t caused by lack of natural ability, it is the direct cause of quitting. Success is rarely born from ones nature but often from unending practice.

So, with a little less than a year before me to fulfill my goals, I am taking aim again. Sure, I did start a few weeks ago, loosing my arrow with little preparation. I’ve started again since then, once. Today, though I am getting ready to pull back yet again. I have realigned myself, focused on my goal, and now it is time to set back at it.

Do I lack the ability to get to my goal today? Yes. Yes, I do.
Will I try today? Of course.
Will I try tomorrow? Yes.

I may not naturally be thin, fit, healthy, happy, successful but I know that is what I want, I know I am learning and I have a great deal of tenacity on my side.

a baby or not… loss

It’s been to long since I posted. Life swept me up in a storm of activity, family and general chaos. There were two birthdays, two brothers, an anniversary, a mother, a nephew and two nieces to fill my every moment. There was also a baby on the way, one that we will never meet.

The day before my birthday DaddyBee and I went out for dinner together, just the two of us. I’d been suspecting that I could be in the early part of a pregnancy. After dinner we took a leisurely walk to the store chatting about the future and holding hands. We bought a couple of pregnancy tests and talked about what it would be like to add another little bundle of joy to our family.

The next morning, the day that I turned 29, I got up early, while my family still slept. I had planned to sleep longer, but with new life budding in my womb, bathroom trips has already become more frequent. After depositing my contribution to the test, I set it on the counter. Anxiously, I reminded myself that there was a good chance that it would be negative and I could still be pregnant, being that it was quite early to test. Originally the plan was to leave the cassette on the counter for the three minutes that it can take to give an answer, but as soon as that purple shadow started to move across the window I snatched it up and watched it develop.

Within a few seconds the test line became positive. Part of me didn’t believe that it was real, so I sat there watching closely as the line got darker and darker. It still wasn’t as dark as the control line but the message that it gave was pretty clear. I was PREGNANT.

By this time, DaddyBee and BusyBee were stirring in the bedroom. I came to DaddyBee with the test and his glasses.
Nervously I asked, “I know it’s not all that dark, but am I reading this right?”
DaddyBee fumbled with his glasses for a second, while BusyBee peek-a-booed with me. “Oh, no, that’s definitely positive.”

A few minutes later my mom showed up to run some errands with me. All I could think of all day was tiny squishy pink little babies… and the costs that come with them. DaddyBee and I are digging our way out of debt right now, and will be doing pretty well by this time next year. Having a baby and having to move would have set us so far back. A baby born to a loving family is always such a gift though, so I was also very excited. Knowledge of another life growing in me always makes me giddy; it’s just so magical.

I forgot to take a picture of the test. By the time I thought of photographing it, the test had dried and therefore faded quite a bit. I couldn’t get a good picture. Since we had another test on hand and hormone levels double every 48ish hours in early pregnancy, I decided to wait two days and “take another test” knowing it would be positive, so that I could get a nice dark like for the photograph.

Yesterday I saw the last of my out of town family off, and turned in toward my own little family, looking to plan our future. A future, complete with every member of our family.
Last night I restricted my water, so that my pee wouldn’t be too diluted. I stayed in bed for nine hours to give my body a long time to get a good concentration of the hormone in my pee.
Finally, I rolled out of bed, when I couldn’t wait another minute. Everything was set up for me in the bathroom. I took the test and set it on the counter to develop. I wasn’t that anxious for the results, so I just set it aside without much though.
Seeing the test when I picked it up, though, made my stomach sink. I hate that hollow sinking feeling. A huge, heavy, emptiness settled in my belly. Grasping at straws I tried to imagine any logical explanation. In desperation, I shined a flashlight through the test, trying to see if there was a light shadow of a line that wasn’t visible under regular light. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing there.

I ran a hot bath. I washed myself, as if washing away all of the dreams that I had, ever so briefly, for the next year. I focused on the plans we made before the positive test. I thought I was okay. I told DaddyBee and told him I was okay.

Moments later, I got in a huge fight with him. “Stop,” he told me, “you are lashing out because you are upset about the negative test.”
“No, I’m not! I’m actually relieved!” I shouted back. Part of me is, you know, relieved. We really can’t afford a baby now. Part of me is heart broken though, I just hadn’t realized it yet, or at least I hadn’t admitted it to myself.
I have since dived into a tub of cheese puffs, that my mother left here, and consumed a ton of them. I told the few people that knew I was pregnant that, once again, I’m not pregnant anymore. I’m drinking too much coffee with too much cream. I’m thinking of doing lots of rather dramatic things, life changing things. I’m back to this place where I don’t want to recognize myself in the mirror.

Now, only just now, hours and hours later am I starting to cry and I don’t know if I’ll ever stop.

Blackberries!!!

 

 

Today DaddyBee and I picked nearly a half gallon of blackberries while BusyBee slept. It was cool so the bumble bees left us mostly alone though the spiders were as offended as always, at our very presence. I didn’t just and scream at all!

I even chided DaddyBee for cutting down the webs of spiders that weren’t overly in our way. We don’t kill the spiders, after all we are in their space. We do however remove their webs when they are directly in our path.
After enjoying a handful of berries fresh from the vine, I’m dreaming of the delectable ways to use them. I’m looking for some summer inspiration!

 

What are your favorite ways to enjoy blackberries?

What grows wild, where you live?

Do you have special recipes you use for local produce every year?

Beauty in Begginings

Daily Prompt: Moved to Tears

by michelle w. on August 10, 2013

Describe the last time you were moved to tears by something beautiful.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us BEAUTY.

How often is it that your day starts out in such an exquisitely beautiful manner, that you are compelled to write about it right now? How much more rare is it that you go to write this post that came together organically and it fits perfectly into the daily prompt?

I am taking this as a sign from The Universe. Today is meant to be filled with things that fit so well, that just fall into place in a manner that is almost painful in it’s perfection.

Last night, BusyBee fell asleep on the couch, nursing while we watched Shark Week reruns as a family. When transferred to his bed, BusyBee stayed asleep. That meant time and space for DaddyBee and I to make love. It’s been a long week, BusyBee hasn’t slept through a night or gone to bed easily or played quietly all week, DaddyBee and I really needed that time. Afterwards we collapsed legs still tangled together and fell into a deep sleep. This morning I woke at 9:30 to discover that BusyBee had slept through the night in his own bed, which feel pretty miraculous. Our family breakfasted together on eggs and fresh watermelon and hot coffee, before DaddyBee and BusyBee headed out on an adventure together.

This is my alone time for the week. With more hot coffee in hand, I sat down to enjoy the silence and see what was happening out the world today.

In honor of International Breastfeeding Week, my local moms group has been full of pictures of the sweetest nursing babies. I sat here swooning over the babies. Oh, how I love sweet chubby little babies with the roundest of cheeks and dimply little butts, thick rolls on their thighs and bracelets of fat on their wrists. I had a baby like that, though now he is slimming down at an amazing rate as he becomes an active and very muscular tot. I can feel the thickness in the back of my throat with the bittersweet beauty of my child who is no longer an infant.

Then there was the news of several births in town last night. I could feel myself starting to choke up a bit more as I read about these labors and births. Warrior mama stories, of women roaring their sweet babes into the world, always get me. There is such beauty in new life joining the world, now matter what the way. A new life in that moment of first breaths and first meetings.

Finally, I came across a story I have read many times before. It’s not a local story, but one of the most beautifully raw and honest stories I have ever read. A mother speaking openly about the pain and fear, followed by acceptance and abundant love, when things didn’t go as planned. Every time I see it, I read it. Every time I read it I weep at the beauty that is motherhood and the love that is intrinsic to it.

One of the other mamas in our group shared that this lovely mother recently gave birth again and shared yet another beautiful story. Of course, I had to go immediately and read this birth story as well. I went from crying to sobbing. There is such beauty in the rawness and transparency with which she writes.

Unspeakable beauty lives in that moment when you meet your child for the first time. Every birth story that I read reminds me of the feeling of finally laying eyes on the little person who I shared my body with for 9 months. I felt as though I knew him so deeply and that moment when I first laid eyes on my sweet tiny BusyBee my heart felt as though it would explode from all the love. Holding that moment in my heart and mind, brings tears to my eyes yet again.

Mama Bear bares her teeth

This is something I shared with a group of other mamas after getting some really rude replies to a video I posted on my personal facebook page. I won’t be posting the video here, because BusyBee is clearly shown in it (it’s a video of him) but I’ll give you an idea.

It’s a 34ish second video. BusyBee, is looking extra cute in a clean green tee shirt, grey leggins, matching socks and Spiderman high tops. The comments were not made because he looked unkempt or anything like that. He is laying and then kneeling on our kitchen floor, which happens to be covered in dry old fashioned rolled oats.
It starts with him laying in them, and as soon as he sees the light on the camera, he comes up and kneels down in front of me, still playing in the oats.
I ask, “What is that *BusyBee*? Is that oatmeal?”
He continues to play in it for a couple of second then looks up at me and smiles, “Yep!”
He starts picking it off of his clothes and eating it.
“Did you dump oats all over Mommy’s clean floor?” I chide him a bit, but no shaming, because that’s just not how we roll around here.
He doesn’t respond, then about 10 seconds later he babbles something to me. I laugh and say, “Yep, that’s our baby.”
That’s the whole thing.

The negative feed back about our parenting choices was astounding. I’m not one for public confrontation or arguing with people who don’t care what I have to say, so I finally wrote out my response to share with other people currently parenting small children… just to vent. What I say has merit, though, and I think this is an excellent place to share it, as well.

“In the last few days people have started referring to the “terrible twos” all the time, as well as unnecessary comments about the video. The annoying part? They often do it in the same conversation as telling me how sweet and cute and blah, blah blah “good” stuff he is. If I so much as mention that *I* am having a rough week they start talking about the “terrible twos” and how much worse 3 is, as if I can’t have a bad week that isn’t his fault, as if it should be his fault. (*GAG* I’m bipolar, I have bad weeks, I had more before my baby, honestly.) I get so mad that I can’t even calmly reply. I pretty much just end the conversation and walk away so I’m not super rude. But I’ve been stewing over the responses I would LOVE to be calm enough to give, if I thought it would do any good.
1.) HE’S NOT TWO. You know that he is 19 months, I know you do because you just asked and I told you. In case you can’t count (which I know you can) that’s pretty darn close to exactly 1.5, which developmentally a million miles from 2. (In case you forgot in the 10-30 years that it’s been since you had a toddler.
2.) TWO YEAR OLD CHILDREN ARE ABSOLUTELY NOT TERRIBLE. They are two. They are doing what they are SUPPOSED to do. Sure, they can be super challenging, but they are supposed to be figuring out the limits of what is acceptable behavior and asserting their independence and individuality. If you think they are terrible as a whole, there’s a good chance you have unrealistic expectations for them.
3.) If YOU LIKE MY KID SO MUCH, WHY CAN’T YOU ACCEPT THAT OUR PARENTING *MIGHT* HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT? So, I parent differently than you did? So what? My parenting choices are not meant as an insult to the way you parent(ed) your children. I probably don’t even think you were a crappy parent. That doesn’t meant that I have to do things your way to be a good parent. I research my choices and tailor them to my child’s specific personality and developmental stage.
4.) MY CHILD DOES NOT RUN MY HOUSE AND I DON’T THINK I NEED TO START FIGHTS WITH HIM TO SHOW HIM WHO IS BOSS. The fact that we chose to make our house a 95% yes space doesn’t mean that he’s in charge. Just because we only have a few real rules (I will not let him unplug and replug the the fan in for fun, it’s too dangerous) that we enforce does not mean that he isn’t being given any limits. This is his home, too. We choose to let his home be a happy and safe place for him to be the age he is and we will continue to do so. We are not going to draw a bunch of “lines in the sand” about stuff that isn’t dangerous or a problem, just so I can tell him “NO!” as many times a day as possible, we choose positive communication as often as possible.
5.) WHEN YOU ASKED IF I EVER “GET MAD AT HIM” AND THEN WENT ON TO TELL ME THAT I SHOULD SO THAT HE WILL LEARN WHAT HE SHOULDN’T DO, I WANTED TO PUNCH YOU… BE GLAD HE GIVES THE CHANCES TO PRACTICE DEEP BREATHING AND ACTING CALMLY AND KINDLY. I will never choose to yell at, smack, spank or otherwise act out of anger toward my child. Sure, I’ll slip sometimes, but I will never do it as a way to teach him. When I act harshly toward him I will apologize. In our home EVERYONE is afforded equal rights to be treated with respect, no matter their size, age or gender. Dr. Seuss had it right, “A person’s a person no matter how small.”
6.) THE OATMEAL INCIDENT WAS MY FAULT. He has had access to the kitchen for less than a week, he’s still learning what is and isn’t okay. Also, I left the bucket of oatmeal on the counter (within his reach AND it’s one of his favorite foods) and then forgot it was there, then I proceeded to let him play in there unsupervised. Has anyone EVER made it through the toddler years without a single spill?”

How do you handle people who just want to cut you down or tell you to parent in a way that is completely contrary to your beliefs? Especially if they are people who already like your kids, the way the way they are now?

Aching for my own

 

Daily Prompt: Smell You Later

by michelle w. on August 9, 2013

Humans have very strong scent memory. Tell us about a smell that transports you.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us TRANSPORTED.

 

I’m laying in bed and nursing 19 month old BusyBee to sleep. He has finally dosed off and his hair is damp with baby sweat. I nuzzle my nose into the soft sticky hair atop his head and huff that sweet and salty sweaty scent that belongs only to sleeping toddlers.

It’s like tumbling back through time.

 

Our house is dark. It’s the middle of the night and the only light is from the stars twinkling through the kitchen sky light. I’ve been awake for hours cuddling these two little girls. They belong to my older sister, who is getting a rare night off. I’m just a teen but I am the one that rocks them and sleeps with them and kisses boo-boos when they are visiting us.

One is four and sprawled wildly over 1/2 of the futon I share with them. She is an energetic and determined child. I say child because she defies the traditional gender perceptions and currently wishes to be a boy. Her days at our house are filled with dusty knees and climbing trees. Feisty little A never wants to wear a shirt out in the heat and wants her hair cut short.

Sweet little J is just two and curled tightly into my side, her tiny knees poking me in the ribs and her little head laying on my shoulder making my arm go numb. She is as different from her sister as can be. She is a girly girl and will sit still for hours if you will curl her long hair and paint her tiny nails. She likes to play with cheerleader and princess. A quiet child by nature, she sticks close to the grown ups, showing no interest in her sister’s adventures.

I smell their sweet little sleepy heads. There is a mix of baby shampoo and sweet salty toddler sweat. The scent fills my nostrils as my heart swells up, aching for the day when I will have my own child to hold close.

Now, 12 years later, A and J are in high school. Both stunning young women. Miss A is as determined as ever about life and hoping to join the military upon completion of high school. She’s come into her femininity on her own and has been in a committed relationship with her boyfriend for nearly two years. Little J is now growing up quickly as well. She is just as sweet as when she was little, sticking close to a tight knit group of friends at school. She still takes time out to chat with her auntie, and even confides in me when a boy has broken her tender heart.

Finally, it is my turn to be the mother to a small child with the adorable, wild, little BusyBee.

What bores me?

Daily Prompt: ( YAWN )

by michelle w. on August 8, 2013

What bores you?

 

I am not an easily bored person. I love learning new things. I love quiet hours that stretch before me, open for me to make what I will of them. I don’t mind repetition, in music, entertainment or literature.

Food, though? I despise repetition in flavors, in food. I become bored with flavors within a matter of days. If I were isolated with only one dish or even a few similar dishes, I would waste away. Within days of eating something similar, I would rather go hungry. There is no joy and enjoyment anymore. It could be my favorite thing and I would become so bored, so wholly disenchanted that I would rather go hungry than bother myself to eat that thing again.
Once, when I was a child and my mother was very ill we ate the same dinner almost every night for nearly a year. Slice chicken breasts, cooked in a tablespoon of water, topped with Mrs Dash seasoning, served alongside a scoop of rice (occasionally boxed stuffing if we were lucky enough to be granted some variation) and a pile of California Blend frozen vegetables steamed in the rice cooker.

There is nothing in the world quite as boring to me as that meal. 

Never Again

 

Daily Prompt: Never Again

by michelle w. on August 7, 2013

Have you ever gone to a new place or tried a new experience and thought to yourself, “I’m never doing that again!” Tell us about it.

 

At first I couldn’t figure out what I would never do again. I mean, sure, there is a long list of things I shouldn’t do again, but I  couldn’t think of one thing to call out, on thing to really pin down.

But? There is a style of decision making that I will never, ever, ever, ever repeat. The way that I made those choices is the very reason my list of things I wouldn’t repeat is so long.

I will never make a decision based on what someone other than me thinks is best for me, or what they think I should do, or to rectify a situation the disapprove of. I will never again make a life changing decision based off of another person’s belief system.

When I was fourteen I decided to get baptized. I didn’t agree with the church I was attending. I knew I would leave the church later but my peers were all doing it and my mother wanted me to. So, I stood up in front of hundreds of people and “devoted myself to God” knowing full well that it wasn’t what I wanted. Leaving the church after my baptism (once I was an adult) cost me every person who I’d ever loved that wasn’t a family member and even some family members.

When I was twenty-one I decided to marry a man because I was “fat” and should take any love thrown my way. I had also gotten pregnant, so it was the right thing to do. When he became violent, and I found out he was already cheating weeks before our wedding, just after I lost the baby, I decided not to call of the wedding. What would people think? They would think I was worthless, I couldn’t even satisfy one man. When my family showed up for the wedding, I nearly begged to leave with them. He was the best I could do because I was to fat. So, instead I pasted on a smile and signed a contract that would bind me to a violent, selfish man for years to come, based on the beliefs of other people.

When I was 24, I subjected myself to nearly a year of public shaming. My family would support me financially while I got back on my feet if I was going through the process to rejoin the church. I was publicly reproved for things that had happened months and even years previous, twice. I was made to jump through hoops and shamed until I cried for them. I was told that I would be “happier” and I would “get better” and “live a fulfilling life” if I set things right with their god. Know what? It made things worse, I was miserable. I tried and tried because my family thought it was the “right thing” for me to do. It cost me a year of my life. I started cutting myself again and my eating disorder came back. It nearly even cost me my life. It did cost me two friends who had been like family since we were babies.

 

I will never, ever, ever, ever make decisions for my life based on another person’s beliefs about what is best for me. I will follow my heart and trust my own spirituality and beliefs about the universe when I make life altering decisions.

Certainly, I will still make mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. I will however make my own mistakes and have no one to resent when the effects of a decision slice deeply into the tender places of my heart. I am in a deeper place of peace with myself than I ever was before, not that I don’t struggle, but I have come far.

I live with no regrets. Each and every decision, the wonderful and the piss poor, plays into who I am today, into where I am today. If I changed one little thing I would likely not have my beautiful son and partner in my life. I wouldn’t give them up for all the second chances in the world but I most certainly don’t intend to keep repeating old, painful mistakes.

Initiation of a Pacific Nortwest Family

It’s that time of year in the B-town, again. It’s blackberry season! Last year BusyBee was too small to learn what summer really tastes like for a PNW child. So, although neither of us were feeling top notch, we wandered out into the front yard.

BusyBee, lounged in his stroller while I took a quart size tub out and stepped gingerly up to the bushes. I surveyed the area. There were lots of branches heavy with juicy berries… and spiders.

Have you ever watched an arachnophobe pick berries? If you ask BusyBee he would tell you it’s a hoot, if he could talk. Instead he just laughed maniacally as I jumped around and screeched.

If you hate spiders and love blackberries, picking in front of your children will either be a wonderful way to practice your self control (if you wish not to swear in front of your children) or else a wonderful way for them to learn how to curse in context. Let’s just say that if I don’t learn to reign in the spider-hate my son will soon be quite efficient at cussing. Whoops!

Well, after a good ten minutes of hilarity I had collected about a cup and half of sweet juicy berries and BusyBee was beginning to fuss. Even my craziness no longer held enough draw for him to be okay with reigning in his busy ways. I couldn’t let him loose or I wouldn’t be able to pick so much as one more berry. (When he runs free in the yard, I spend the entire time running behind him, redirecting him away from the busy avenue, the dumpsters, the neighbor’s flowers and broccoli plants, etc.)

He’s a picky eater these days but I hoped that a sweet, bumpy little berry might, at least, be tempting enough to try. I held the bucket forward and prompted him to pick a berry. He pulled one out and felt it. He held it up and looked at it, poked at it with his other hand.

“Yummy!” I tried to look excited, hoping he would just try it.

He looked skeptical but licked it. He raised and eyebrow at me, in doubt and put it in gingerly into his mouth. His whole face scrunched up in disgust and he plucked it back out without ever biting into it.

For those of you who have never looked closely at a freshly picked blackberry, they have little hairy things on them. BusyBee looked a little horrified.

“Yummy.” I repeated, a little more firmly as I squashed a berry between my fingers, letting the magenta juices stain my fingertips. Quick as a flash, I popped one of my newly sticky fingers into his mouth. “Yummy!” Again, I tried to sound excited.

There was a pause, a delay, before he screwed his face up. NEW FLAVOR his little face said. Then, he softened a bit and looked quizzically at the smushed bit of berry in my hand. Then he leaned forward a bit, still unsure but ready to try again, as open mouthed as a baby bird. Naturally, I obliged, dropping the juicy bit of blackberry onto his tongue.

He burst into a smile and grabbed my bucket.

I stood and smiled as I watched the world come full circle once again. The evening sun was sending golden beams through the trees as my son gobbled up blackberries, fresh of the bush, for the first time. It is amazing how parenthood can change the way you view the world. Twenty eight summers ago, not an hour away, my mother was the one occupying a tiny version of me with a bucket of juicy blackberries, while she went about foraging nature’s bounty for her family.

Grabbing a different bucket, I went back to picking berries. I got more daring, taking a stick to remove the spider webs (if their occupants were nowhere in sight) and lifting leaves and branches to check for spiders that could be lurking in the shade.

I reflected, and chuckled to myself, about the stories my mother used to tell about the first summer that my older brother went berry picking with her, as I filled my bucket. She had been cloth diapering him and was surprised to find all of his diapers turning bright pink. (Mental note… call Mom about how she got those stains out!) Memories of being sent out with my older brother and a couple of buckets, to pick blackberries, warmed my chest. At the time I’d assumed my mother wanted to eat cobbler as much as us, now I know she most likely wanted quiet even more than she wanted sweets.

It didn’t take me long to pick five more cups of berries. While I picked BusyBee ate and squished and painted (in regular toddler form) with all of the first bucket of black berries and a few more that I shared. I laughed and he laughed (and clapped) with me as I assessed the damage he had done.

His face was covered with streaks of pink and dark bits of berries. His hands were fuchsia, his arms streaked and covered in pink hand prints. His diaper cover was deep purple from being saturated with so much juice. Dribbles and smears of juice made his belly look festive. Then, there were his feet. His sweet little Flinstone feet were coated in berries. He had spent extra time smashing a whole berry (or three?) into the toes of his left foot.

There it was, this new memory forming as I caught hold of the little nuances of the moment, in my heart and mind: an evening formed of salty ocean air, warm buttery sunbeams, and a baby sated with sweet blackberries. As I ran the bath, to soak the layers of purple and pink off of my sleepy toddler, I reflected on how strange it was that I was the mother in this story now.

Will BusyBee ever be a DaddyBee in his own right? Will he let his own toddler sate themselves on juicy berries, staining everything they touch? I find myself wondering more and more about what BusyBee will be like as a man and what the world will be like when he gets there.

For tonight, I will take comfort in the traditions carried forward as I eat my fresh Blackberry Watermelon Sorbet. Fresh, simple, homemade, homegrown food is so very delicious.

Setting A Course

I live in a sweet little Pacific Northwest town that shall hence forth be known a B-town.

If my family were to get into the car and just start of down the road headed to go see NYC, without a plan, a budget or a map, what do you think the chances are that we would get there? I’m willing to wager that our journey would be fraught with difficulty and take a great deal longer than anticipated, if we didn’t give up entirely.

When I have approached grand life changes before, I have approached them that way. I had a goal. I knew where I wanted to end up and sometimes I had a general idea of how I would get there (lets head East!) but I never set off with a specific plan in mind. With the significant changes that my family plans to implement over the next year, we need a plan in place.

I also want to note that people are more successful in life changes if they take them ones step at a time, so we need to break our “trip” down into small pieces (how far do we plan to travel today?) to make it more manageable.

This morning, between breakfast and DaddyBee heading out the door for work, we sat down and jotted down a daily schedule. Does that sound super rigid? Yeah, DaddyBee gets a bit nervous about the idea but we both function better when routine is involved and the “schedule” will affect me and BusyBee (who thrives on routine) more than DaddyBee since he is away at work most of the day.

Within that schedule we made room for changes that we need to make to get us to our destination. Here are a few things that our schedule makes room for.

• In the area of weight and fitness, we both want to be stronger and firmer at the end of the year. So, our schedule allows 30 minutes of strength and flexibility training together each day. DaddyBee gets a bike ride every evening, so his cardio is already taken care of. An hour of time each day is now scheduled for BusyBee and I to go for a walk, a bike ride (he loves his bike trailer) or to get our dance on together.
• I want to feel as though I am fulfilling my need for creative outlet and positive output. For me this means scheduling daily time to write! What better time that when BusyBee is down for a nap and the quite is only broken my the tapping of my keyboard? I now have an hour a day for just this purpose.
• By the time I turn 30 (in a year and two weeks) I plan to have mastered house keeping. Does that sound ridiculous? I’m not sure which part is worse, the fact that it is a goal of mine or the fact that I’m almost 30 and haven’t figured it out yet. I now have a full hour of quiet time when BusyBee is either playing with DaddyBee or sleeping that will be devoted to specific chores (on a rotating schedule) as well as an hour between putting BusyBee to bed and having DaddyBee come home that will be used for daily maintenance. Are you aware of how much it takes to maintain a tiny home when you have an extremely busy toddler? It boggles the mind, truthfully.
• I plan to lose about 80 pounds this year. Yep. WHOA, eighty pounds? While increasing our families activity is a grand idea for toning and upping our calorie burning potential, I still need to put in just as much work in the kitchen. So, I have allowed up to an hour a day for dinner prep. We eat mostly whole foods, we eat gluten free and almost dairy free for BusyBee so food prep can take a while. Dinner left overs also function as lunches for us the next day, which helps with budget as well as eating healthy foods during the day. We also set up our dining room this past weekend. All food consumed in our home (coffee isn’t food, right?) will happen at the dining table, to help eliminate mindless eating and (ewww) floor food for BusyBee.
• Save the best for last? I certainly think so! We want to have a thriving sex life. When you rarely have sex, it is normal to fall into a pattern of doing “what works” because it’s easy and (duh?) you know it’s gonna get you where you need to go. The problem with that is that it gets so very boring after a while… which in the long run makes you want it even less often. Well, as BusyBee is finally getting onto a good schedule, we will have 10 or more hours a day where he is fast asleep. We only need 7.5 to 8 hours of sleep. That mean more time for us to be sexy with each other. More time to be sexy means feeling sexier, which means more sex, which means we get to be creative again. Brown chicken brown cow.

This month we are going to focus solely on adjusting to the new routine. Do you set new goals for yourself on your birthdays? I never really did much with New Years resolutions, but birthday resolutions are where it’s at for me. I’d love to hear what some goals you have for your next year are.