I went off the grid.
My Facebook account is gone. My blog has tumbleweeds bouncing through it. There is no one good reason for this. Mostly I just wanted to check out of the social network and check into my life.
Unfortunately, this has left my peeps from distant lands (read: my home state) feeling a bit disconnected. I do sincerely apologize. I swear it was not my intention.
Firstly, I am enamored with my kids. Watching them build a relationship is the most fascinating thing I have ever seen. Gavin adores Silas, and Silas has grown incredibly fond of Gavin as well. Silas still has the occasional flare-up of jealousy. But now it's balanced with the frequent desire to play with Gavin and make him laugh.
Gavin is Army crawling all over the place, and he's starting to get up on his hands and knees and rock - life is about to get wild. He sits up without support (i.e. good bye stupid carrier in Target). He has said "mama" a couple of times, but mostly he sticks to this beautifully dimpled smile and the sweetest "hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii" you've ever heard.
Silas is moody, which I've read and talked to enough people about to understand that it's mostly his age and his coming to grips with the past year of his life. He's currently full of random and voluntary I love you mom's. These are the weeks I relish. Next week he may be jumping off the couch onto the dog and throwing things at his brother. He certainly keeps life interesting.
A couple of months ago, I added their names to my ever-growing collection of tattoos. My heart's desire was to tattoo their names on my wrists. However, I opted for my ribs in an effort to maintain the ability to cover them and be professional-ish. I'm happy with the way it turned out.
My divorce was final the day after Valentine's Day. It was a grueling nightmare to get to that day, but it has been completely innocuous since then. I have met Michael's girlfriend several times. She's usually around when we do the drop off/pick up thing. Michael has met my boyfriend. There was even an occasion where the four of us wound up at a social gathering together. It didn't go horribly. This is apparently part of acting like an adult. It's not too bad.
My boyfriend is still this really great guy, and I'm still incredibly happy to have him in my life.
I still work at the same place doing the same thing.
I still live at the same place and have the same ridiculous commute.
I think that is about it. You're all caught up!
Monday, May 6, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Weight - what?
You know how I was all crazy overweight but then I lost a bunch of weight?
Right, and now I'm a size 10.
Right, and I have absolutely NO desire to lose anymore weight at all. Sure, I want to tone up, but I do not want to shed anymore pounds because I am most comfortable at a size 10.
Uh huh. Well, today, we had a health screening at work. (It's required if we don't want to pay an arm and a leg for insurance.)
They weighed me, took my height, and informed me that I am overweight. I need to lose 42 pounds.
These numbers affect our ever-rising health insurance costs, and now I'm pissed off.
What I'm being told is that in order to be "healthy," I have to look completely emaciated. Because that is exactly how I would look if I lost 42 more pounds.
There are people who were born to be super thin. Maybe you are one of those people. Maybe you are tiny, and it looks amazing on you. I am not one of those people. I know because I've done it, and it looks all wrong.
My biggest problem is that when I did it, I did it because I was told by someone else that it was right for me. I did it because I was told that that was the only way to be "beautiful."
Well, now I'm 30 years old and have given birth 3 times, and I know that's a load of crap.
The "I have to be a size 2 to be pretty" part of my brain died or fell out or grew up a long time ago. When I look in the mirror, I want to see curves staring back at me. That is what is beautiful to me. If I lost 42 pounds, I'd be skin and bones, and would in no way be anything near what I consider to be healthy looking. I've literally been every size from a 2-18. I'm well acquainted with what looks best on me.
I've been fat, and I can tell you that right now, I'm not fat. I don't feel fat. I don't look fat. I don't feel bad about myself. I don't feel unhealthy. I have no trouble keeping up with my crazy schedule and my two kids. I make good food choices far more often than I make poor ones. I exercise. I drink water. I take my kids outside to play. I cannot even stomach fast food anymore. I strive daily to live a healthy lifestyle.
Still I'm being told that I am unhealthy, and it is not just me. Other people in my office who exercise, eat right, and look great were told the same thing.
I have no doubt in my mind that I could lose 42 pounds if I wanted to do it. But I don't want to do it.
So, no, absolutely not to your "ideal weight." I'm the one who has to live in this body, so I'll be the one deciding how it should look.
I feel good, and I'm happy. Brand me "unhealthy" if you want.
Right, and now I'm a size 10.
Right, and I have absolutely NO desire to lose anymore weight at all. Sure, I want to tone up, but I do not want to shed anymore pounds because I am most comfortable at a size 10.
Uh huh. Well, today, we had a health screening at work. (It's required if we don't want to pay an arm and a leg for insurance.)
They weighed me, took my height, and informed me that I am overweight. I need to lose 42 pounds.
These numbers affect our ever-rising health insurance costs, and now I'm pissed off.
What I'm being told is that in order to be "healthy," I have to look completely emaciated. Because that is exactly how I would look if I lost 42 more pounds.
There are people who were born to be super thin. Maybe you are one of those people. Maybe you are tiny, and it looks amazing on you. I am not one of those people. I know because I've done it, and it looks all wrong.
My biggest problem is that when I did it, I did it because I was told by someone else that it was right for me. I did it because I was told that that was the only way to be "beautiful."
Well, now I'm 30 years old and have given birth 3 times, and I know that's a load of crap.
The "I have to be a size 2 to be pretty" part of my brain died or fell out or grew up a long time ago. When I look in the mirror, I want to see curves staring back at me. That is what is beautiful to me. If I lost 42 pounds, I'd be skin and bones, and would in no way be anything near what I consider to be healthy looking. I've literally been every size from a 2-18. I'm well acquainted with what looks best on me.
I've been fat, and I can tell you that right now, I'm not fat. I don't feel fat. I don't look fat. I don't feel bad about myself. I don't feel unhealthy. I have no trouble keeping up with my crazy schedule and my two kids. I make good food choices far more often than I make poor ones. I exercise. I drink water. I take my kids outside to play. I cannot even stomach fast food anymore. I strive daily to live a healthy lifestyle.
Still I'm being told that I am unhealthy, and it is not just me. Other people in my office who exercise, eat right, and look great were told the same thing.
I have no doubt in my mind that I could lose 42 pounds if I wanted to do it. But I don't want to do it.
So, no, absolutely not to your "ideal weight." I'm the one who has to live in this body, so I'll be the one deciding how it should look.
I feel good, and I'm happy. Brand me "unhealthy" if you want.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
It's work, y'all
I'm not sure if you remember how badly I suck at mornings. Suffice it to say: if there was an award for sucking at mornings, I would win it every year, hands down.
There used to be just two of us, and one of us had basically given up on looking presentable in public. Ponytail? check. Ill-fitting garments? check. Ugly black flats? check. Zero makeup? check. And I still could not get us out the door in time.
That brings me to the present where there are now three of us to get ready.
One of us is quite unpredictable about when he wants to eat. However, once he decides it is time, you damn well better drop everything you are doing and make it happen NOW or there will be consequences. He'll projectile vomit all over your work clothes and then laugh at you. He ain't scared.
Then there is Silas. My sweet angel baby three year old boy who hates everything about waking up before 10 am - at the very earliest. There is always snot involved and tears and turning into a limp noodle and falling out in the floor. Now throw in his collar bone injury, and the world is coming to an end with every change of every shirt.
Did I mention I still have two dogs? They're assholes, my dogs. They skipped the meeting where the packet on how to be "man's best friend" was handed out. They were no doubt off somewhere barking their fool heads off at a cat or a kid on a bike or a leaf blowing in the wind. Perhaps tearing up the trash and dragging it all over the kitchen floor? No telling, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.
And me. I'm trying y'all. I'm trying hard to not drag into work looking a hot mess every day. I'm trying hard to wear clothes that fit and cute high heels and to flat iron my hair and slap some makeup on my face. It's so much freaking work.
And once we're all ready? Then comes the part where I have to find everyone's crap and place it in everyone's respective bags and give everyone whatever medicine they need. I have not once made it out of the house without forgetting something since I started back to work. Not one time.
After I finally manage to make it down the steps and into the car with both of my children and all of our bags and buckle everyone in, I have to sit in the driver's seat and take a minute to collect myself.
By the time I drop them off and make it to work, I feel relieved. Yes, I probably forgot something. Yes, I probably lost my patience. Yes, I probably found myself on the verge of tears.
But I get to see those two beautiful faces when I get off work, and we get to do the hectic night routine, and I get to wake up tomorrow morning and hug those perfect gifts from God and do it all again.
I assure you: they are worth every bit of the work it takes to get us through the days, and I would not change a single thing.
There used to be just two of us, and one of us had basically given up on looking presentable in public. Ponytail? check. Ill-fitting garments? check. Ugly black flats? check. Zero makeup? check. And I still could not get us out the door in time.
That brings me to the present where there are now three of us to get ready.
One of us is quite unpredictable about when he wants to eat. However, once he decides it is time, you damn well better drop everything you are doing and make it happen NOW or there will be consequences. He'll projectile vomit all over your work clothes and then laugh at you. He ain't scared.
Then there is Silas. My sweet angel baby three year old boy who hates everything about waking up before 10 am - at the very earliest. There is always snot involved and tears and turning into a limp noodle and falling out in the floor. Now throw in his collar bone injury, and the world is coming to an end with every change of every shirt.
Did I mention I still have two dogs? They're assholes, my dogs. They skipped the meeting where the packet on how to be "man's best friend" was handed out. They were no doubt off somewhere barking their fool heads off at a cat or a kid on a bike or a leaf blowing in the wind. Perhaps tearing up the trash and dragging it all over the kitchen floor? No telling, but whatever it was, it wasn't good.
And me. I'm trying y'all. I'm trying hard to not drag into work looking a hot mess every day. I'm trying hard to wear clothes that fit and cute high heels and to flat iron my hair and slap some makeup on my face. It's so much freaking work.
And once we're all ready? Then comes the part where I have to find everyone's crap and place it in everyone's respective bags and give everyone whatever medicine they need. I have not once made it out of the house without forgetting something since I started back to work. Not one time.
After I finally manage to make it down the steps and into the car with both of my children and all of our bags and buckle everyone in, I have to sit in the driver's seat and take a minute to collect myself.
By the time I drop them off and make it to work, I feel relieved. Yes, I probably forgot something. Yes, I probably lost my patience. Yes, I probably found myself on the verge of tears.
But I get to see those two beautiful faces when I get off work, and we get to do the hectic night routine, and I get to wake up tomorrow morning and hug those perfect gifts from God and do it all again.
I assure you: they are worth every bit of the work it takes to get us through the days, and I would not change a single thing.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
A long overdue update
You missed me, right?
Blogging from an iPad with a baby in one arm and a toddler in the other is hard. And I'm lazy. So, I gave up for a while.
Now I'm back to work. So, you are free to come read my blather once more.
Gavin is huge. He's got a definite Elmer Fudd thing going on. He's such a happy little baby. The smiling and cooing and babbling have started, and it's delicious. I could just eat him up! He makes my heart swell with joy every time I lay eyes on him - even at 4 a.m. I cannot imagine my life without him.
Silas is getting so very grown up. He's still sweet-natured and bull-headed. He's still stingy with the kisses and hugs, but he's actually gotten very generous with the "I love you's" and "I miss you's." We're working on getting back on a schedule. He's been spending more time with his dad, and I think it is helping him. He doesn't get upset when I pick him up from Michael anymore. I think he's finally realized that his dad is still part of his life.
As far as me: I've lost a lot of weight (60ish pounds). I'm wearing pants in a size that I haven't seen since before I got pregnant with Silas. A size I honestly never thought I'd see again. It feels really good.
I've met someone. Someone kind, honest, loyal, respectful. Someone who constantly makes me laugh. Someone who treats me well and goes out of his way to keep a smile on my face. Someone who genuinely cares about me and wants me to succeed. Someone who can actually see me as a person instead of just looking at me and seeing "baggage" (can you hear all the bitterness in the last word of that sentence? because there is SO. MUCH. THERE.)
I'm sure you have an opinion on that subject. I've heard everything from "I'm so happy for you" to "it's too soon." All I can say is: I'm happy, and my kids are happy. Trying to make the whole world (or even everyone I know) agree with my decisions is futile. So, I will just continue to live my life being concerned about making the people who live under my roof happy. Things are simpler that way.
Last year taught me a great deal about who I am and what I want and what is important. My focus for 2013 is to invest in quality people because 2012 showed me just how many of those people I have in my life. I thank God for every one of them every day.
Blogging from an iPad with a baby in one arm and a toddler in the other is hard. And I'm lazy. So, I gave up for a while.
Now I'm back to work. So, you are free to come read my blather once more.
Gavin is huge. He's got a definite Elmer Fudd thing going on. He's such a happy little baby. The smiling and cooing and babbling have started, and it's delicious. I could just eat him up! He makes my heart swell with joy every time I lay eyes on him - even at 4 a.m. I cannot imagine my life without him.
Silas is getting so very grown up. He's still sweet-natured and bull-headed. He's still stingy with the kisses and hugs, but he's actually gotten very generous with the "I love you's" and "I miss you's." We're working on getting back on a schedule. He's been spending more time with his dad, and I think it is helping him. He doesn't get upset when I pick him up from Michael anymore. I think he's finally realized that his dad is still part of his life.
As far as me: I've lost a lot of weight (60ish pounds). I'm wearing pants in a size that I haven't seen since before I got pregnant with Silas. A size I honestly never thought I'd see again. It feels really good.
I've met someone. Someone kind, honest, loyal, respectful. Someone who constantly makes me laugh. Someone who treats me well and goes out of his way to keep a smile on my face. Someone who genuinely cares about me and wants me to succeed. Someone who can actually see me as a person instead of just looking at me and seeing "baggage" (can you hear all the bitterness in the last word of that sentence? because there is SO. MUCH. THERE.)
I'm sure you have an opinion on that subject. I've heard everything from "I'm so happy for you" to "it's too soon." All I can say is: I'm happy, and my kids are happy. Trying to make the whole world (or even everyone I know) agree with my decisions is futile. So, I will just continue to live my life being concerned about making the people who live under my roof happy. Things are simpler that way.
Last year taught me a great deal about who I am and what I want and what is important. My focus for 2013 is to invest in quality people because 2012 showed me just how many of those people I have in my life. I thank God for every one of them every day.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
A little advice
Both of my kids fell asleep on the way home from the most exasperating trip to Target ever, so I am sitting in my Jeep savoring the silence.
Thing is, I've got stuff to do, and it won't always wait until the two weeks (or more) passes between Michael taking the kids.
So, sometimes I have to suck it up and load them up and haul my entourage to Target. And, gasp!, being 3 and 0 years old, sometimes they act a fool.
What I have noticed is that the reaction I get when I'm clearly exasperated, sleep deprived, covered in spit-up trying to console my wailing infant while my toddler throws things out of the cart is dirty looks from the general public. Moms even.
My question is, why? Does it make people feel good to judge a woman who's doing the best she can but (OMG!) sometimes not being perfect?
Maybe next time just give her an encouraging smile so that she might not go to her Jeep and dissolve into tears.
Thing is, I've got stuff to do, and it won't always wait until the two weeks (or more) passes between Michael taking the kids.
So, sometimes I have to suck it up and load them up and haul my entourage to Target. And, gasp!, being 3 and 0 years old, sometimes they act a fool.
What I have noticed is that the reaction I get when I'm clearly exasperated, sleep deprived, covered in spit-up trying to console my wailing infant while my toddler throws things out of the cart is dirty looks from the general public. Moms even.
My question is, why? Does it make people feel good to judge a woman who's doing the best she can but (OMG!) sometimes not being perfect?
Maybe next time just give her an encouraging smile so that she might not go to her Jeep and dissolve into tears.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Wait, what?
This morning I joked that Gavin wants to be my favorite because he sleeps for such long stretches at night.
Before I had more than one child, I always wondered whether parents really do have a favorite.
My fledgling opinion on the subject has so far developed into a "no." I don't actually have a favorite child. The truth is that after 3.5 weeks of being a mother of two (although I could have said this after 60 seconds), I would wither up and die inside if one of them was suddenly gone. Nothing makes any sense to me at all if I don't have them both.
There are moments throughout every day that each of them grips my heart so tightly in his tiny fist that it stops my breathing.
Silas is fierce and funny and so full of sweetness and love. He's a ball of energy with so much intelligence that he consistently catches me by surprise. He makes every day bright and challenging and fun.
Gavin exudes calm and love and peace. He still has that angelic newborn presence. He is laid back and patient. On those occasions when his eyes fix on my face or lock with mine, it's as if I'm catching a glimpse of Heaven.
And now I wonder (if you read my blog immediately after Silas was born, you might want to sit down), will there be another tiny footprint on my heart in the future?
It's silly to think about when I don't even have a boyfriend (or the possibility of a boyfriend lurking anywhere in my immediate future), but here I am thinking about it.
Before I got pregnant with Gavin, I didn't even know whether I wanted one more child. After I got pregnant with him, I wanted my tubes tied. Then fate intervened and stopped me from doing that. Now I wonder if the boys will have more siblings.
If I never have another child, I will still feel like the most incredibly fortunate woman in the world to be able to raise Silas and Gavin. I feel whole. I feel like that family I have always wanted is truly mine now, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude daily.
But if that perfect storm of events (and holy hell that is A LOT of events) happens to collide and bring me one more little life to love, I certainly won't complain (ok, I'll totally complain for the entire pregnancy, but I'll keep the complaints to a minimum after that).
Before I had more than one child, I always wondered whether parents really do have a favorite.
My fledgling opinion on the subject has so far developed into a "no." I don't actually have a favorite child. The truth is that after 3.5 weeks of being a mother of two (although I could have said this after 60 seconds), I would wither up and die inside if one of them was suddenly gone. Nothing makes any sense to me at all if I don't have them both.
There are moments throughout every day that each of them grips my heart so tightly in his tiny fist that it stops my breathing.
Silas is fierce and funny and so full of sweetness and love. He's a ball of energy with so much intelligence that he consistently catches me by surprise. He makes every day bright and challenging and fun.
Gavin exudes calm and love and peace. He still has that angelic newborn presence. He is laid back and patient. On those occasions when his eyes fix on my face or lock with mine, it's as if I'm catching a glimpse of Heaven.
And now I wonder (if you read my blog immediately after Silas was born, you might want to sit down), will there be another tiny footprint on my heart in the future?
It's silly to think about when I don't even have a boyfriend (or the possibility of a boyfriend lurking anywhere in my immediate future), but here I am thinking about it.
Before I got pregnant with Gavin, I didn't even know whether I wanted one more child. After I got pregnant with him, I wanted my tubes tied. Then fate intervened and stopped me from doing that. Now I wonder if the boys will have more siblings.
If I never have another child, I will still feel like the most incredibly fortunate woman in the world to be able to raise Silas and Gavin. I feel whole. I feel like that family I have always wanted is truly mine now, and I am overwhelmed with gratitude daily.
But if that perfect storm of events (and holy hell that is A LOT of events) happens to collide and bring me one more little life to love, I certainly won't complain (ok, I'll totally complain for the entire pregnancy, but I'll keep the complaints to a minimum after that).
Monday, November 19, 2012
How's life?
The boys? They are perfect. I'd heard the second time was basically a breeze compared to the boot camp that is being a first time mom. That is true. Gavin is just the sweetest, easiest baby I've ever seen, and Silas is taking it all in stride. I love them more than I ever thought I could love anyone.
Me? I'm healed. As of Friday, I was down 40 pounds. As of Saturday, my divorce hearing is set for next week. As of last night, a really cute guy who says I'm beautiful wants to go to dinner with me. So, you could say I'm great.
This year tried hard to break me, and it failed. Miserably.
Me? I'm healed. As of Friday, I was down 40 pounds. As of Saturday, my divorce hearing is set for next week. As of last night, a really cute guy who says I'm beautiful wants to go to dinner with me. So, you could say I'm great.
This year tried hard to break me, and it failed. Miserably.
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