My 6-year-old daughter takes after me in many ways. She's passionate. She's easily distracted. She loves to read. She gets lost in the television show she's watching. She loves to talk. And she can't stop thinking about food.
Sophie asks me for a snack about every 5 minutes throughout the day. She asks me for a snack before breakfast. Mere moments after lunch. Before, at and after snack time each afternoon. She's in the kitchen while dinner is being made, asking what she can eat. I get so frustrated! I tell her to go play, go color, go read, go do anything to get her mind off food. But today she said, "I can't! Can you do something else when your tummy wants food?"
I have struggled with food my whole life. I don't eat unhealthy food (for the most part, at least). It's about portion control for me. Healthy food is healthy, but too much healthy food is still too much! Now I'm watching my daughter walk down the same path. She's a kid, so of course she wants the Easter candy in the cupboard. But she's just as happy to eat an apple or a slice of mango. She loves lots of different veggies or a handful of Pirate's Booty. I'm proud that she likes healthy food. It took me well past the age of six to get there myself. I once told her she could eat some carrots and she took the bag and ate every single one. I buy expensive organic snacks and she will down them in one bite and ask for another. On the one had, I'm thrilled that she picks an apple over a hydrogenated fruit snack, but because the food is expensive it's hard for me to give her more. I see the dollar signs floating out of her mouth as she chews!
And because of my own body issues, I'm hyper aware of everything she eats. I don't want her to struggle with food like I do, but I'm worried that the constant battle between her and I is going to lead to just that. I don't want her to be hungry all the time, but I don't want her to overeat either. If she's like me (and I believe that she is) she doesn't know when she's full, so once she starts eating, stopping takes effort. At six she doesn't understand that. For goodness sake, I'm almost 34 and I can barely stop myself once I've started!
So how do I find the balance? How do I make sure she's getting enough, but not too much? I have tried to rationalize it by declaring that she's a kid and kids like to eat, but her brother isn't like that. He almost never asks for a snack and more often than not he doesn't finish what he gets and hands the rest to Sophie. He will eat as much as he wants and stop. He doesn't seem to have food on his mind all the time. Barely ever, for that matter.
I'm also worried about teaching Sophie it's okay to eat every time she's "hungry." I know that she's hungry when she's truly hungry, but she's also hungry when she's bored. Countless times a day I find myself looking in the cupboard, then the refridgerator, then the cupboard again (as if there's something new since I checked 30 seconds prior). I'm starting to see Sophie do the same thing. She'll walk into the kitchen and just stare into the fridge.
Sophie is beautiful, healthy, active and fit. But I was that way as a young kid, too. I'm so fearful that she will hit her teens, puberty, and everything will change. She'll put on the weight, feel badly about herself, rely on food to feel better, and create that horrible cycle. The cycle that I'm still fighting every day. I want her to grow up with a positive body image, something that I have never had, but I'm terrified that in my efforts to help her avoid repeating my mistakes I'm pushing her head first into starting them.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Watered down
I have made it pretty clear that I don't like commercials. Some of them are funny, or have a catchy tune, but most of them simply make me angry. Nestle Pure Life bottled water is the front-runner right now. Its campaign revolves around the idea that our children are pure, and shouldn't we put something pure into their bodies? Plastic is not "pure" and therefore, unless the water they sell comes floating in the air, they are just plain lying. And my kids aren't that pure, anyway.
You can't argue with the terrible impact that bottled water has on the environment. Not only is the plastic unhealthy for our bodies and eternally lives in the landfills, but it takes energy to make the bottles and fuel to transport them. Those are all givens. Facts.
I could preach about how these discarded bottles are destroying our oceans and the numbers of animals killed from ingesting plastic. I could show picture after picture of the havoc these bottles wreak on our precious environment. I could restate the research that says tap water in our country is safe. Bottled water has no more health benefits than a glass filled at your sink. And if you're still concerned about that, or you don't like the taste of the water in your area, bottled water is not the solution. Buy a water filter. Save money. Save our planet.
It's amazing (and troubling) to me how these facts can mean so much to m
e, have changed the way I live my life and the daily choices that I make, and yet mean nothing to someone else. Do we all not live on the same planet? When I look at this picture I feel sick. How does someone else look at this picture and not feel anything? Denial? Apathy? I don't mean to sound judgmental. My purpose here certainly isn't to shame anyone. (If you want more information, go here.) But some people are informed. And somehow, even knowing what they know, choose to change nothing about the way they treat our Earth.
Frankly Green, a website I found while doing some research for this post, says: "The FDA, who regulates bottled water, states that 'Companies that market bottled water as being safer than tap water are defrauding the American public.'" Once again, as I implied in my Earth Day post, we're being bamboozled! Someone, somewhere came up with the idea of putting water in a bottle and selling it. Genius! the guy (or lady, of course) was thinking, What suckers! Paying good money for something they can get for free! I'll be a millionaire! So once again, huge companies are taking your money unnecessarily. But what breaks my heart is the fact that we're paying money to destroy the Earth.
"But I recycle my bottles." Ok, that's better than throwing them in the ocean or letting them sit in a landfill for the next 10,000 years. Good effort! But what if we didn't have the bottle to recycle in the first place? What if we were able to save the natural gas to make that bottle, and the fuel to drive it to every grocery store in our country. And while recycling is absolutely needed, it takes energy, too. If we can avoid it, shouldn't we? It isn't just the physical bottle that has an effect on our environment, it's the process, both in creating the bottle and in recycling it.
I shouldn't just be ragging on bottled water. Soda bottles are also a huge culprit. But we can get water for free. Unfortunately we can't get Diet Coke from our tap. (Booooo!) However, depending on how dedicated you are, there are ways around soda bottles and cans as well. My husband loves to get his fountain drinks from Kwik Trip (he's a classy guy) and every time he got one he brought home a big plastic cup. We always reuse them several times, but it dawned on me one day that he could just take one of the cups we have stockpiled in our cupboard instead of taking a new one each time. Because he loves me, and the Earth, he's started doing that. No bottles. No cans. No waste!
Protecting our planet and saving money often (almost always!) go hand in hand. It's impossible to never throw anything away. But there are ways, really simple ways, to make an impact. Allowing companies who only want your money to convince (brainwash, really) you into thinking that bottled water is the "better" choice is easy to avoid. Don't believe them. Better for whom? Not better for my kids, your health or the Earth. The way I see it, the only person it's better for is the CEO at Nestle.
You can't argue with the terrible impact that bottled water has on the environment. Not only is the plastic unhealthy for our bodies and eternally lives in the landfills, but it takes energy to make the bottles and fuel to transport them. Those are all givens. Facts.
I could preach about how these discarded bottles are destroying our oceans and the numbers of animals killed from ingesting plastic. I could show picture after picture of the havoc these bottles wreak on our precious environment. I could restate the research that says tap water in our country is safe. Bottled water has no more health benefits than a glass filled at your sink. And if you're still concerned about that, or you don't like the taste of the water in your area, bottled water is not the solution. Buy a water filter. Save money. Save our planet.
It's amazing (and troubling) to me how these facts can mean so much to m
e, have changed the way I live my life and the daily choices that I make, and yet mean nothing to someone else. Do we all not live on the same planet? When I look at this picture I feel sick. How does someone else look at this picture and not feel anything? Denial? Apathy? I don't mean to sound judgmental. My purpose here certainly isn't to shame anyone. (If you want more information, go here.) But some people are informed. And somehow, even knowing what they know, choose to change nothing about the way they treat our Earth.Frankly Green, a website I found while doing some research for this post, says: "The FDA, who regulates bottled water, states that 'Companies that market bottled water as being safer than tap water are defrauding the American public.'" Once again, as I implied in my Earth Day post, we're being bamboozled! Someone, somewhere came up with the idea of putting water in a bottle and selling it. Genius! the guy (or lady, of course) was thinking, What suckers! Paying good money for something they can get for free! I'll be a millionaire! So once again, huge companies are taking your money unnecessarily. But what breaks my heart is the fact that we're paying money to destroy the Earth.
"But I recycle my bottles." Ok, that's better than throwing them in the ocean or letting them sit in a landfill for the next 10,000 years. Good effort! But what if we didn't have the bottle to recycle in the first place? What if we were able to save the natural gas to make that bottle, and the fuel to drive it to every grocery store in our country. And while recycling is absolutely needed, it takes energy, too. If we can avoid it, shouldn't we? It isn't just the physical bottle that has an effect on our environment, it's the process, both in creating the bottle and in recycling it.
I shouldn't just be ragging on bottled water. Soda bottles are also a huge culprit. But we can get water for free. Unfortunately we can't get Diet Coke from our tap. (Booooo!) However, depending on how dedicated you are, there are ways around soda bottles and cans as well. My husband loves to get his fountain drinks from Kwik Trip (he's a classy guy) and every time he got one he brought home a big plastic cup. We always reuse them several times, but it dawned on me one day that he could just take one of the cups we have stockpiled in our cupboard instead of taking a new one each time. Because he loves me, and the Earth, he's started doing that. No bottles. No cans. No waste!
Protecting our planet and saving money often (almost always!) go hand in hand. It's impossible to never throw anything away. But there are ways, really simple ways, to make an impact. Allowing companies who only want your money to convince (brainwash, really) you into thinking that bottled water is the "better" choice is easy to avoid. Don't believe them. Better for whom? Not better for my kids, your health or the Earth. The way I see it, the only person it's better for is the CEO at Nestle.
Save money. Save Earth. Please stop drinking bottled water.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
All grown up
Right now I'm feeling like an adult, but this has made me realize that I spend most of my time feeling like a kid pretending to be an adult. Playing house, essentially. It's not until I'm in a position to make a huge life-changing decision (i.e. spend a LOT of money) that I feel like I'm grown up...and an inept one, at that.
I remember my friend Jill once saying that she thought our brains all get stuck at the age of twenty-three. We're young, but living on our own, have jobs, grown up bodies and such. As we age, and our bodies get older, our jobs get tiresome, but our brains still think we're twenty-three. I think that's true. I often look around at my house, my kids, my life, really, and think I'm not old enough to be living in my second house, have a 6-year-old child plus two more, a dog who's considered old but I got her when I was 26. But I am old enough, because I do have all these things. And that's scary to me.
I could get into my fears of time passing too quickly, my anxiety about death, but for my own mental health I'm going to avoid that for now. I'm feeling very grown up, however, because we're trying to decide what to do with our house, or if we even stay in this house. And in the midst of the fun of planning for "someday" and my fantasizing about main floor laundry we started actually doing something instead of just talking about it. Contractors have come to the house, given bids, and tonight we're talking to a realtor (eeek!). People who know what they are talking about have been telling is what's realistic, what's do-able, what it will cost. And we're balancing that against finding a house that already has what we want to add to this one. But that means giving up our yard, being further from good friends, losing money on the sale.
I'm not generally afraid of change, as a matter of fact I often look forward to it. But I am afraid of making the wrong decision. And because we're talking about a house and not an expensive dress, I'm not only worried about making the right decision for me, but for future owners of this house. If it were a dress I would only be worried about how my hips look, if it were too shor
t for me. But whether we sell this house in a month or in 30 years, someone else is going to live here someday and I want it to be a house that people walk into and want to buy. I love my house, and I want it's future owners to love it, too.
I watched my parents buying, renovating and building homes all through my childhood. It seemed like such a grown-up thing to do, making decisions about adding windows to the family room or how big the sunroom should be. Rolling out blueprints. Choosing flooring, fixtures and toilets. And now, I'm on the verge of doing all that.
Since we moved into this house 5 years ago we've talking about what we would do to it someday. Someday might not be here just yet, but it's getting awfully close. For these last several years I've been excited to get to this point, could hardly wait! But now that it's almost here I'm realizing it's not fun, it's stressful! It's overwhelming! And I'm not grown-up enough to handle it!
But I am. I want to be. I've been praying that we make the right decision, whatever that may be. Financially. Aesthetically. Keeping in mind what will be best for my family. It just occurred to me; maybe that's what makes me feel like an adult. Maybe putting in the time and thought, weighing the options, taking our time, maybe those are the things that make this feel so grown-up. When I was 23 I had an apartment I couldn't afford and a car payment well beyond my means. I suppose growing up isn't so bad.
I remember my friend Jill once saying that she thought our brains all get stuck at the age of twenty-three. We're young, but living on our own, have jobs, grown up bodies and such. As we age, and our bodies get older, our jobs get tiresome, but our brains still think we're twenty-three. I think that's true. I often look around at my house, my kids, my life, really, and think I'm not old enough to be living in my second house, have a 6-year-old child plus two more, a dog who's considered old but I got her when I was 26. But I am old enough, because I do have all these things. And that's scary to me.
I could get into my fears of time passing too quickly, my anxiety about death, but for my own mental health I'm going to avoid that for now. I'm feeling very grown up, however, because we're trying to decide what to do with our house, or if we even stay in this house. And in the midst of the fun of planning for "someday" and my fantasizing about main floor laundry we started actually doing something instead of just talking about it. Contractors have come to the house, given bids, and tonight we're talking to a realtor (eeek!). People who know what they are talking about have been telling is what's realistic, what's do-able, what it will cost. And we're balancing that against finding a house that already has what we want to add to this one. But that means giving up our yard, being further from good friends, losing money on the sale.
I'm not generally afraid of change, as a matter of fact I often look forward to it. But I am afraid of making the wrong decision. And because we're talking about a house and not an expensive dress, I'm not only worried about making the right decision for me, but for future owners of this house. If it were a dress I would only be worried about how my hips look, if it were too shor
t for me. But whether we sell this house in a month or in 30 years, someone else is going to live here someday and I want it to be a house that people walk into and want to buy. I love my house, and I want it's future owners to love it, too.I watched my parents buying, renovating and building homes all through my childhood. It seemed like such a grown-up thing to do, making decisions about adding windows to the family room or how big the sunroom should be. Rolling out blueprints. Choosing flooring, fixtures and toilets. And now, I'm on the verge of doing all that.
Since we moved into this house 5 years ago we've talking about what we would do to it someday. Someday might not be here just yet, but it's getting awfully close. For these last several years I've been excited to get to this point, could hardly wait! But now that it's almost here I'm realizing it's not fun, it's stressful! It's overwhelming! And I'm not grown-up enough to handle it!
But I am. I want to be. I've been praying that we make the right decision, whatever that may be. Financially. Aesthetically. Keeping in mind what will be best for my family. It just occurred to me; maybe that's what makes me feel like an adult. Maybe putting in the time and thought, weighing the options, taking our time, maybe those are the things that make this feel so grown-up. When I was 23 I had an apartment I couldn't afford and a car payment well beyond my means. I suppose growing up isn't so bad.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
For the Love
Once upon a time, a friend of mine, after going on many first dates but few second ones, said to me, "I'm just not being swept off my feet." I'd been married for 5 years at this point and my response, much to her dismay, was something along the lines of "there is no knight in shining armor."
Fairy tales have always bothered me, and not just because they make women seem weak (a topic for another day), but because they make love seem easy. Sleeping Beauty is singing in the woods when her prince comes along. And after that magical kiss they live happily every after. The slipper fits Cinderella, and they live happily ever after. Snow White is the fairest of them all, and.. you get the picture. I'm not saying I don't believe in "happily ever after," but I certainly don't think it's quite that easy.
Like my girlfriend, I think most women grew up believing that they will be whisked away by the man of their dreams. That once you meet "the one" and have the fairy tale wedding with the princess dress, it's, well, happily ever after. But personally, I think the wedding and the path leading up to it are the easy part. It's fun. It's exciting. It's romantic. And that doesn't need to go away after the wedding, but it's harder to maintain with bills, busy schedules, babies and sleepless nights.
The other day a friend confided in me that his wife left him. She told him she had fallen out of love. It happened recently and there's still hope that their marriage will work out, but listening to him talk about it got me thinking. I don't believe in falling in or out of love. Love is not something that happens to you. Love is a choice. And love is hard work.
I'm not knocking the butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling you get when you "fall" for someone. It's a wonderful feeling and one of the most exciting parts of a relationship. But that's not love. That over-the-moon feeling is infatuation, and while it's fun and definitely means there's attraction and chemistry, I don't think it's a sure sign that love will follow. Love comes after the butterflies have flown away. Love comes into play when life gets difficult and yet, you choose to stand by that person.
Of course, there is a wide spectrum of "difficult." My life gets difficult when my husband wraps his black socks in his white t-shirts before throwing them in the hamper. Or when he falls asleep in his chair but won't give me the remote. When he chomps his gum. Or when he takes the road with three stop lights instead of the road with one. Oh oh...or how about when he purposely sneezes extra loudly just to annoy me. Even though I don't particularly like him in these moments, I still choose to love him (I promise to write a whole entry on how wonderful you are to make up for this one, sweetie!). I do realize that these are very minor issues and they are all things I easily overlook because of all the other really great stuff about him and our marriage.
Both of us have some baggage from previous relationships that can get in the way at times. He shuts down when he's angry. I'm too blunt and need to talk everything to death. But overall I know I have it pretty easy compared to many other couples. There are some serious issues that threaten marriages everyday; addictions, unfaithfulness, illness, differences in priorities.... Or what about when something changes, like one partner loses his or her job or is offered a promotion in another state. How about intruding in-laws or jealous exes? All of these are reasons why someone might choose to leave a relationship. Or they are opportunities to show each other you have chosen love. I believe that making the conscious effort to love your partner can get you through anything. But both parties need to be totally committed. That's the tricky thing; trusting that your partner will choose to love you in return.
Of course, I am not talking about abusive relationships. Abusers have usually mastered the art of putting butterflies in the stomachs of their victims, creating the illusion of love. It's manipulative and confusing, but I know from past experience that those particular butterflies are about control. And control is not love.
I hope that Prince Charming still loves Cinderella after her feet are swollen from pregnancy. I hope the man my girlfriend married is her knight in shining armor. And I truly hope that my friend's wife realizes the mistake she has made. Big issues or small, I still think that love is a choice. My friend Michelle Trombetta put it perfectly. She said, "Every day I wake up and choose to love my husband." I honestly think it's that simple.
Fairy tales have always bothered me, and not just because they make women seem weak (a topic for another day), but because they make love seem easy. Sleeping Beauty is singing in the woods when her prince comes along. And after that magical kiss they live happily every after. The slipper fits Cinderella, and they live happily ever after. Snow White is the fairest of them all, and.. you get the picture. I'm not saying I don't believe in "happily ever after," but I certainly don't think it's quite that easy.
Like my girlfriend, I think most women grew up believing that they will be whisked away by the man of their dreams. That once you meet "the one" and have the fairy tale wedding with the princess dress, it's, well, happily ever after. But personally, I think the wedding and the path leading up to it are the easy part. It's fun. It's exciting. It's romantic. And that doesn't need to go away after the wedding, but it's harder to maintain with bills, busy schedules, babies and sleepless nights.
The other day a friend confided in me that his wife left him. She told him she had fallen out of love. It happened recently and there's still hope that their marriage will work out, but listening to him talk about it got me thinking. I don't believe in falling in or out of love. Love is not something that happens to you. Love is a choice. And love is hard work.
I'm not knocking the butterflies-in-your-stomach feeling you get when you "fall" for someone. It's a wonderful feeling and one of the most exciting parts of a relationship. But that's not love. That over-the-moon feeling is infatuation, and while it's fun and definitely means there's attraction and chemistry, I don't think it's a sure sign that love will follow. Love comes after the butterflies have flown away. Love comes into play when life gets difficult and yet, you choose to stand by that person.
Of course, there is a wide spectrum of "difficult." My life gets difficult when my husband wraps his black socks in his white t-shirts before throwing them in the hamper. Or when he falls asleep in his chair but won't give me the remote. When he chomps his gum. Or when he takes the road with three stop lights instead of the road with one. Oh oh...or how about when he purposely sneezes extra loudly just to annoy me. Even though I don't particularly like him in these moments, I still choose to love him (I promise to write a whole entry on how wonderful you are to make up for this one, sweetie!). I do realize that these are very minor issues and they are all things I easily overlook because of all the other really great stuff about him and our marriage.
Both of us have some baggage from previous relationships that can get in the way at times. He shuts down when he's angry. I'm too blunt and need to talk everything to death. But overall I know I have it pretty easy compared to many other couples. There are some serious issues that threaten marriages everyday; addictions, unfaithfulness, illness, differences in priorities.... Or what about when something changes, like one partner loses his or her job or is offered a promotion in another state. How about intruding in-laws or jealous exes? All of these are reasons why someone might choose to leave a relationship. Or they are opportunities to show each other you have chosen love. I believe that making the conscious effort to love your partner can get you through anything. But both parties need to be totally committed. That's the tricky thing; trusting that your partner will choose to love you in return.
Of course, I am not talking about abusive relationships. Abusers have usually mastered the art of putting butterflies in the stomachs of their victims, creating the illusion of love. It's manipulative and confusing, but I know from past experience that those particular butterflies are about control. And control is not love.
I hope that Prince Charming still loves Cinderella after her feet are swollen from pregnancy. I hope the man my girlfriend married is her knight in shining armor. And I truly hope that my friend's wife realizes the mistake she has made. Big issues or small, I still think that love is a choice. My friend Michelle Trombetta put it perfectly. She said, "Every day I wake up and choose to love my husband." I honestly think it's that simple.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wasted
I used to love Clorox wipes. I used them on everything! I bought them in bulk. I told everyone I knew about how great, easy, clean they were. And then, about five years ago, I was driving with a friend of mine, coming home from a women's retreat. I don't remember exactly what we were talking about, but she mentioned that her sister-in-law used a Clorox wipe to clean her bathroom counter and sink every day. I was about to say "Oh my goodness! That's a great idea!" but she said, "It's just so wasteful. Why couldn't she just use a rag?"
Today I consider myself to be pretty "green." I recycle, and make an effort to use products that come in recyclable containers. I reuse whatever I can (once I took a gift bag out of the garbage at my in-laws. My MIL thought I was insane). I don't buy products that over use packaging (individually wrapped prunes? Seriously?). A few years ago my mother-in-law made me cloth grocery bags and I almost always remember to bring them into the store with me. When I forget I will only take paper bags. And I give the evil eye to anyone who asks for a bag when they could easily carry their purchase without one. I use cloth diapers. I buy milk in reusable glass bottles. And I haven't used or bought a Clorox wipe since that conversation with my friend.
I joke that I'm saving the world, but in truth that is my goal. At times it seems like an overwhelming job, saving the world. And my beliefs are constantly at odds with huge companies who come up with wasteful ideas, but advertise them as necessary. Disposable mop heads or cleaning pads. Disposable plates, cups and napkins. Disposable dusters. Disposable hand towels? That commercial actually makes my heart ache. I know, I know, "Your hands are only as clean as the towel you use to dry them." So buy more actual hand towels and wash your them regularly. Use a broom. Get some cute cloth napkins. Buy a feather duster.
Here's the kicker: Those big companies who come up with all these disposable ideas, they just want your money! They don't actually care about your convenience. They know that when you run out of Swiffer cleaning pads, you have to buy more. Ka-ching! When the paper napkins are gone, you're off to the store to get another package. Ka-ching! When your over-sized hand-shaped dusting glove is dirty, you throw it away and buy a new one. Ka-ching. When your designer disposable hand towel box is empty (and your garbage can is full) you have to go. buy. more. Ka-ching!
I found this quote on the European Environment Agency website: "We're using an increasing number of one-use products such as plastic razors, cups, paper towels, wipes, nappies, plastic bags, paper napkins and even disposable cameras to name a few. Not only do they usually cost more in the long-run, they involve the consumption of more resources and energy than their reusable alternatives."
I don't watch commercials very often (love my DVR!) but when I do, I watch them with a skeptical eye. If there's a way that I can reuse the product, several times, then I may consider it. But anything that is one-use is out. In my opinion it's sole purpose is to take up space in a land-fill and I will have no part of it.
A box of sixty Kleenex Disposable Cottony-soft Hand Towels cost $22.00. I can go to Target and get an actual hand towel for $3.50. That means, for $24.50 I can have a clean hand towel in my bathroom each day of the week. And at the end of the week I can wash them and use them again. And again. And again. And again... You see where this is going? Even a cheap Target towel is going to get hundreds of uses before it's in the trash. Math is not my strength, but I know for sure that that is less expensive than paying $.36 every time I wash my hands.
I realize that cloth diapers and glass milk bottles may seem extreme to some. This was a process for me, for my family. And we still have a long way to go (I'd love any ideas you have, by the way). I don't expect everyone to do everything I do, although it would be super good for the Earth. But, realistically, I just want people to think about how much waste they create in a day. A week. A month. A year. Multiply that times the other households in your neighborhood, town, city, state, country. It's overwhelming (at least to me) and it's getting worse with every new disposable product created (a one-use toothbrush? Ack!), bought and then immediately thrown away.
The changes I have made may not be making much of a difference, but every little bit helps. Baby steps. If you don't recycle, start. If you buy packages of toilet paper that come with each roll individually wrapped, buy the ones that aren't (they're cheaper!). And if you are already doing things to help (Yay!!), keep your eyes open for other steps you could be taking.
Today I consider myself to be pretty "green." I recycle, and make an effort to use products that come in recyclable containers. I reuse whatever I can (once I took a gift bag out of the garbage at my in-laws. My MIL thought I was insane). I don't buy products that over use packaging (individually wrapped prunes? Seriously?). A few years ago my mother-in-law made me cloth grocery bags and I almost always remember to bring them into the store with me. When I forget I will only take paper bags. And I give the evil eye to anyone who asks for a bag when they could easily carry their purchase without one. I use cloth diapers. I buy milk in reusable glass bottles. And I haven't used or bought a Clorox wipe since that conversation with my friend.
I joke that I'm saving the world, but in truth that is my goal. At times it seems like an overwhelming job, saving the world. And my beliefs are constantly at odds with huge companies who come up with wasteful ideas, but advertise them as necessary. Disposable mop heads or cleaning pads. Disposable plates, cups and napkins. Disposable dusters. Disposable hand towels? That commercial actually makes my heart ache. I know, I know, "Your hands are only as clean as the towel you use to dry them." So buy more actual hand towels and wash your them regularly. Use a broom. Get some cute cloth napkins. Buy a feather duster.
Here's the kicker: Those big companies who come up with all these disposable ideas, they just want your money! They don't actually care about your convenience. They know that when you run out of Swiffer cleaning pads, you have to buy more. Ka-ching! When the paper napkins are gone, you're off to the store to get another package. Ka-ching! When your over-sized hand-shaped dusting glove is dirty, you throw it away and buy a new one. Ka-ching. When your designer disposable hand towel box is empty (and your garbage can is full) you have to go. buy. more. Ka-ching!
I found this quote on the European Environment Agency website: "We're using an increasing number of one-use products such as plastic razors, cups, paper towels, wipes, nappies, plastic bags, paper napkins and even disposable cameras to name a few. Not only do they usually cost more in the long-run, they involve the consumption of more resources and energy than their reusable alternatives."
I don't watch commercials very often (love my DVR!) but when I do, I watch them with a skeptical eye. If there's a way that I can reuse the product, several times, then I may consider it. But anything that is one-use is out. In my opinion it's sole purpose is to take up space in a land-fill and I will have no part of it.
A box of sixty Kleenex Disposable Cottony-soft Hand Towels cost $22.00. I can go to Target and get an actual hand towel for $3.50. That means, for $24.50 I can have a clean hand towel in my bathroom each day of the week. And at the end of the week I can wash them and use them again. And again. And again. And again... You see where this is going? Even a cheap Target towel is going to get hundreds of uses before it's in the trash. Math is not my strength, but I know for sure that that is less expensive than paying $.36 every time I wash my hands.
I realize that cloth diapers and glass milk bottles may seem extreme to some. This was a process for me, for my family. And we still have a long way to go (I'd love any ideas you have, by the way). I don't expect everyone to do everything I do, although it would be super good for the Earth. But, realistically, I just want people to think about how much waste they create in a day. A week. A month. A year. Multiply that times the other households in your neighborhood, town, city, state, country. It's overwhelming (at least to me) and it's getting worse with every new disposable product created (a one-use toothbrush? Ack!), bought and then immediately thrown away.
The changes I have made may not be making much of a difference, but every little bit helps. Baby steps. If you don't recycle, start. If you buy packages of toilet paper that come with each roll individually wrapped, buy the ones that aren't (they're cheaper!). And if you are already doing things to help (Yay!!), keep your eyes open for other steps you could be taking.
"The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it." (Genesis 2:15)
Happy Earth Day!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The Good Life
At my son's preschool the parents drive up to the door and the kids are brought right to the car (best idea ever - I don't even have to get out of my seat!). As I pull up, Max walks from the school to his car door, holding the hand of the volunteer parent helping out that day. He's got his baseball cap on and his huge Cars backpack bouncing behind him. Each time I see him walking towards the car I forget about the tantrums, the hitting his sister, the dirt dragged through my kitchen and I think Oh my goodness! That's my little boy! I get to have him as my little boy!
I have moments like that with my daughters and my husband, too. Wade and I will tag-team grocery shopping with the kids and as I turn a corner and see him looking at string cheese I'll realize that I'm married to him; I get to spend the rest of my life with that guy. Sophie, at her
first track meet, came in last for every event but with the biggest smile on her face. I was so proud that she is my daughter. And when I get Lily from her crib in the morning and she smiles up at me, my heart melts.
But all too often I'm feeling sorry for myself for one silly reason or another. My life is ruined because Young and the Restless is bumped for Wimbledon or the State of the Union Address. I'm devastated because Wade ate the leftovers I was going to have for lunch. Or because the vacuum cord gets tangled. Or because the light turns red. Or because, heaven help me, my coffee maker stops working.
Am I the only one who gets so over-dramatic? Honestly, the track playing in my head as I feel the tug of the tangled cord on my Kirby, or I see the green light turn red, is so tragic. Why is this happening to me? This always happens to me. I can't believe I have to deal with this on top of everything else! Why? Sometimes I actually stop and laugh at myself in the midst of my pity party. I get so caught up in the frustration and drama and then it dawns on me how ridiculous I sound.
Every day on the news are families that have lost their homes or kids that have been kidnapped. Innocent children caught in the crossfire of a drive-by shooting. Parents arrested for neglect and abuse. That's not to mention people all over the world who don't have food or shelter and whose stomachs are bloated from malnutrition. Whole countries living in fear of their government or mother nature.
And I don't need to look that far from my home (and I thank God that I have one). I know several people who have had miscarriages, infertility, high risk pregnancies, and babies born prematurely who spend weeks or months in the hospital. I have friends who have been been laid off, or who's spouse has been sent to Iraq or Afghanistan. Friends who have lost a parent who was far too young to die. Friends who have fought cancer, and thankfully survived.
I am so blessed. And when I take the time to notice my healthy family and my comfortable home I am able to see that. Then I have to ask myself why, but that's a post for another day. I suppose anyone standing outside of my life looking in would think I have it pretty good. And they would be right. I just forget sometimes.
I have moments like that with my daughters and my husband, too. Wade and I will tag-team grocery shopping with the kids and as I turn a corner and see him looking at string cheese I'll realize that I'm married to him; I get to spend the rest of my life with that guy. Sophie, at her
first track meet, came in last for every event but with the biggest smile on her face. I was so proud that she is my daughter. And when I get Lily from her crib in the morning and she smiles up at me, my heart melts.But all too often I'm feeling sorry for myself for one silly reason or another. My life is ruined because Young and the Restless is bumped for Wimbledon or the State of the Union Address. I'm devastated because Wade ate the leftovers I was going to have for lunch. Or because the vacuum cord gets tangled. Or because the light turns red. Or because, heaven help me, my coffee maker stops working.
Am I the only one who gets so over-dramatic? Honestly, the track playing in my head as I feel the tug of the tangled cord on my Kirby, or I see the green light turn red, is so tragic. Why is this happening to me? This always happens to me. I can't believe I have to deal with this on top of everything else! Why? Sometimes I actually stop and laugh at myself in the midst of my pity party. I get so caught up in the frustration and drama and then it dawns on me how ridiculous I sound.
Every day on the news are families that have lost their homes or kids that have been kidnapped. Innocent children caught in the crossfire of a drive-by shooting. Parents arrested for neglect and abuse. That's not to mention people all over the world who don't have food or shelter and whose stomachs are bloated from malnutrition. Whole countries living in fear of their government or mother nature.
And I don't need to look that far from my home (and I thank God that I have one). I know several people who have had miscarriages, infertility, high risk pregnancies, and babies born prematurely who spend weeks or months in the hospital. I have friends who have been been laid off, or who's spouse has been sent to Iraq or Afghanistan. Friends who have lost a parent who was far too young to die. Friends who have fought cancer, and thankfully survived.
I am so blessed. And when I take the time to notice my healthy family and my comfortable home I am able to see that. Then I have to ask myself why, but that's a post for another day. I suppose anyone standing outside of my life looking in would think I have it pretty good. And they would be right. I just forget sometimes.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Baby Talk
My baby started crawling today. This makes me sad for several reasons. Of course there's the obvious reasons, she's getting bigger, growing so fast...blah blah blah. But it also means she's going to be getting into everything!
I've had it pretty easy these last couple of years. Both of my older two are well past the baby gate stage, know the rules of the house and the consequences for breaking them. They can play out in the backyard without my having to watch them every minute. We haven't had any episodes of drawing on the wall in ages. But this past week, as I watched Lily get closer and closer to coordinating her chubby little arms and legs, I saw my future.
When Wade and I were in discussion as to whether we should have another baby or not, one of the arguments in his con list was the "step backwards" to sleepless nights, baby gates, and diapers. My counter point was that in the grand scheme of someone's life that couple of years is such a small part of it. "Don't let that be the reason we don't have another baby."
I'm the oldest of three. At one point, after meeting my brother and sister for the first time, Wade said he wanted to have three kids. He liked the dynamic that we had. At that time I thought he was nuts. But then, as we started our family, I started thinking that two wasn't enough for me. After having both Sophie and Max, I felt quite strongly that I wanted to be pregnant again, that I wanted to nurse one more baby. But Wade was happy with what (who) we had. Every time I mentioned having another baby, his response was that babies grow up into kids. They don't stay small and cuddly. Of course I knew that, and I was excited for more than the baby part. I had watched my older two go through amazing stages, and they still have more to come. I wanted that again, with someone new. I wanted to know it was the last time so I could absorb every moment of it. I had been too busy pushing the older ones on to the next stage, too excited to see what came next. This time I wanted to savor every moment.
Wade wasn't sure. He is an only child. He struggled with how to give enough attention to the two kids we had, throwing another into the mix might be more than he could handle. And he grew up in a relatively calm household. Sophie and Max had reached the age of conflict, and fighting for no apparent reason. Wade would look at me while the two of them yelled at each other or tumbled to the ground pulling hair and kicking. "What do we do?" he would ask. "Just give them a minute," I would respond, remembering this from my brother and sister growing up, and sure enough within a few seconds they are back to playing nicely. There's a different energy level in a house that has more than one child. Wade wasn't used to that. However, at one point he did concede that even with a third, it couldn't possibly get any louder in our house. And of course, as the more financial minded of the two of us, he took into account how much a third would cost.
We mostly talked about all of this in little snippets. Or our points would be made in off-handed, snarky comments. When the kids were fighting Wade would say that the obvious solution was to "have another kid." I liked to point out how big the kids were getting and how cute their baby pictures were. After months, and really more like a couple of years, of not really talking about it, everything came to a head. I reached a point where if we were going to have another, I didn't want to wait any longer. And Wade, who I had told could just tell me if and when he was ever ready, started feeling the pressure to make a decision. So, we finally talked about it. Loudly. And for the first time we talked about the reasons we should or shouldn't have another baby. But really, what it came down to was the question: was our family complete?
Obviously, Wade lost the battle and Lily is here. He's totally on board now (and dancing around the kitchen like a lunatic trying to get her to smile -- bet you wish I had a video of that!). Neither one of us can imagine not having Lily in our family. But the road to that decision was a long one.
With Sophie in school every morning and Max in school three a week, I've been able to spend quite a bit time with just Lily. It's been amazing to watch her change from a sleepy newborn into a smiling, playful 8 month old. She's already covered a few milestones; rolling over, sitting on her own, first tooth. And now, the first sign of independence, she's crawling. I've been able to really enjoy her babyhood. But even so, it's going too fast.
I've had it pretty easy these last couple of years. Both of my older two are well past the baby gate stage, know the rules of the house and the consequences for breaking them. They can play out in the backyard without my having to watch them every minute. We haven't had any episodes of drawing on the wall in ages. But this past week, as I watched Lily get closer and closer to coordinating her chubby little arms and legs, I saw my future.
When Wade and I were in discussion as to whether we should have another baby or not, one of the arguments in his con list was the "step backwards" to sleepless nights, baby gates, and diapers. My counter point was that in the grand scheme of someone's life that couple of years is such a small part of it. "Don't let that be the reason we don't have another baby."
I'm the oldest of three. At one point, after meeting my brother and sister for the first time, Wade said he wanted to have three kids. He liked the dynamic that we had. At that time I thought he was nuts. But then, as we started our family, I started thinking that two wasn't enough for me. After having both Sophie and Max, I felt quite strongly that I wanted to be pregnant again, that I wanted to nurse one more baby. But Wade was happy with what (who) we had. Every time I mentioned having another baby, his response was that babies grow up into kids. They don't stay small and cuddly. Of course I knew that, and I was excited for more than the baby part. I had watched my older two go through amazing stages, and they still have more to come. I wanted that again, with someone new. I wanted to know it was the last time so I could absorb every moment of it. I had been too busy pushing the older ones on to the next stage, too excited to see what came next. This time I wanted to savor every moment.
Wade wasn't sure. He is an only child. He struggled with how to give enough attention to the two kids we had, throwing another into the mix might be more than he could handle. And he grew up in a relatively calm household. Sophie and Max had reached the age of conflict, and fighting for no apparent reason. Wade would look at me while the two of them yelled at each other or tumbled to the ground pulling hair and kicking. "What do we do?" he would ask. "Just give them a minute," I would respond, remembering this from my brother and sister growing up, and sure enough within a few seconds they are back to playing nicely. There's a different energy level in a house that has more than one child. Wade wasn't used to that. However, at one point he did concede that even with a third, it couldn't possibly get any louder in our house. And of course, as the more financial minded of the two of us, he took into account how much a third would cost.
We mostly talked about all of this in little snippets. Or our points would be made in off-handed, snarky comments. When the kids were fighting Wade would say that the obvious solution was to "have another kid." I liked to point out how big the kids were getting and how cute their baby pictures were. After months, and really more like a couple of years, of not really talking about it, everything came to a head. I reached a point where if we were going to have another, I didn't want to wait any longer. And Wade, who I had told could just tell me if and when he was ever ready, started feeling the pressure to make a decision. So, we finally talked about it. Loudly. And for the first time we talked about the reasons we should or shouldn't have another baby. But really, what it came down to was the question: was our family complete?
Obviously, Wade lost the battle and Lily is here. He's totally on board now (and dancing around the kitchen like a lunatic trying to get her to smile -- bet you wish I had a video of that!). Neither one of us can imagine not having Lily in our family. But the road to that decision was a long one.
With Sophie in school every morning and Max in school three a week, I've been able to spend quite a bit time with just Lily. It's been amazing to watch her change from a sleepy newborn into a smiling, playful 8 month old. She's already covered a few milestones; rolling over, sitting on her own, first tooth. And now, the first sign of independence, she's crawling. I've been able to really enjoy her babyhood. But even so, it's going too fast.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
So Trashy
One recent evening as I was stopped at a red light just before turning into my neighborhood, I happened to see a guy in the car ahead of me toss a soda bottle out of his car window. He TOSSED A BOTTLE OUT OF HIS CAR WINDOW! Who does that?
Apparently, quite a lot of people. As I turned and drove down the street I noticed garbage everywhere. Bottles, cans, french fry containers, candy bar wrappers. Of course I've seen this all before, I drive on that street almost every day. And it's not just my street, it's every street. Every highway. I suppose I've always seen it without really seeing it. And I think somewhere in my naive brain I assumed it must all come from garbage cans that had been accidentally tipped over by drivers who backed up and drove away, unknowing of the mess they left behind on windy days. Because, I can't fathom that anyone would purposely treat our world as a trash can.
Does this guy walk around his house and toss garbage on the floor? Is his yard littered with Twinkie wrappers and empty cans of Red Bull? That corner may not be my house, but it's where I live. This planet is where I live and excuse me if I don't want your crap all over the place. Oh my...I'm getting all worked up again just thinking about it. At the time, when I saw the bottle fly out of his window, tumble onto the curb and roll into the grass, I wished I was a different person, a braver person, who would have gotten out of my car, picked up the bottle and handed it back to him saying "I think you dropped this."
But my look of horror and disgust in his rear-view mirror will have to do.
I was personally offended by what he did. He may as well have gotten out of his car and approached my window saying, "You're ugly." His actions said that he cares nothing for my neighborhood, my home, or me. I'm completely at a loss as to how he, or anyone who litters, decides that throwing their trash on the ground is a better choice than throwing it in a garbage can. At least there's some sport to getting the object in a can. Among other things, littering is totally unsportsman-like.
I know that I'm more sensitive regarding this subject than others may be. I use cloth diapers, for crying out loud (and don't get me started on recycling -- you have so much to look forward to in this blog). But really, is there anyone out there that can explain to me how or why littering is ever an acceptable choice? Last I heard we are stewards of this Earth, and I'm pretty sure that doesn't mean we should trash it.
I'm guessing that the guy in that car will never read this post, but I hope that he did happen to see my face in his rear-view mirror. That he saw the surprise, hurt and complete disapproval in my eyes, and that he'll remember it the next time he finishes a refreshing beverage and is about to toss it out of his car. And if that's not the case, I hope it's a windy day and the bottle blows back in the window and whacks him in the face.
Apparently, quite a lot of people. As I turned and drove down the street I noticed garbage everywhere. Bottles, cans, french fry containers, candy bar wrappers. Of course I've seen this all before, I drive on that street almost every day. And it's not just my street, it's every street. Every highway. I suppose I've always seen it without really seeing it. And I think somewhere in my naive brain I assumed it must all come from garbage cans that had been accidentally tipped over by drivers who backed up and drove away, unknowing of the mess they left behind on windy days. Because, I can't fathom that anyone would purposely treat our world as a trash can.
Does this guy walk around his house and toss garbage on the floor? Is his yard littered with Twinkie wrappers and empty cans of Red Bull? That corner may not be my house, but it's where I live. This planet is where I live and excuse me if I don't want your crap all over the place. Oh my...I'm getting all worked up again just thinking about it. At the time, when I saw the bottle fly out of his window, tumble onto the curb and roll into the grass, I wished I was a different person, a braver person, who would have gotten out of my car, picked up the bottle and handed it back to him saying "I think you dropped this."
But my look of horror and disgust in his rear-view mirror will have to do.
I was personally offended by what he did. He may as well have gotten out of his car and approached my window saying, "You're ugly." His actions said that he cares nothing for my neighborhood, my home, or me. I'm completely at a loss as to how he, or anyone who litters, decides that throwing their trash on the ground is a better choice than throwing it in a garbage can. At least there's some sport to getting the object in a can. Among other things, littering is totally unsportsman-like.
I know that I'm more sensitive regarding this subject than others may be. I use cloth diapers, for crying out loud (and don't get me started on recycling -- you have so much to look forward to in this blog). But really, is there anyone out there that can explain to me how or why littering is ever an acceptable choice? Last I heard we are stewards of this Earth, and I'm pretty sure that doesn't mean we should trash it.
I'm guessing that the guy in that car will never read this post, but I hope that he did happen to see my face in his rear-view mirror. That he saw the surprise, hurt and complete disapproval in my eyes, and that he'll remember it the next time he finishes a refreshing beverage and is about to toss it out of his car. And if that's not the case, I hope it's a windy day and the bottle blows back in the window and whacks him in the face.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Clean slate
I just walked in the door to a spotless house. I think this may be the happiest I've ever been.
For the last few years I have gone back and forth between wanting to hire someone to clean my house and, of course, doing it myself. I've called several companies for estimates, but when it came down to it, it just seemed like such a waste of money. I can do this myself, I would think. I'm a stay-at-home-mom. Isn't that what stay-at-home-moms are supposed to do? Spend their day cleaning? So, I would call the cleaning person and tell them I didn't need their services. There, I would tell myself, I just saved myself a bunch of money.
Here's the thing: I never quite get around to cleaning it myself. As much as I believe that I should have the time and energy to clean my house, the fact of the matter is that I don't. Between getting kids up in the morning, fed, dressed, and to school on time, my morning is pretty much shot. That's also when I usually get to the Y, and I'm not going to give up my workout so that I can scrub my kitchen floor. I'm done exercising in time to pick up my son and get back before the bus brings my daughter home from kindergarten. Then it's making lunch, feeding the baby, cleaning up after lunch and we're usually off and running again to play group, a play date or running errands. There just isn't much "staying-at-home" for this stay-at-home-mom.
On the days when we do spend the afternoon at home I can't clean until I deal with the piles of laundry that seem to have overtaken every surface of my house. And having clean underwear is suddenly more of a priority than clean light fixtures. With five people and one in cloth diapers (more posts to come on this topic!) I spend most of my free time sorting, washing, and folding laundry.
I haven't even mentioned the time I spend wiping faces, picking up toys, getting snacks, finding Lego pieces, kissing boo-boos, brushing American Girl Doll hair, pushing on the swing, and of course, changing diapers!
I'm not
complaining about what I do. I love being a mom and I love all that it entails. But while having a clean house is a priority, what I've come to realize is taking the time to get it clean isn't. At least taking the time to get it as clean as it should be. I vacuum and dust. I clean my toilets. But I never take the time, or have the time, to clean my whole house well. I truly have every intention of doing it, but each time I seem to get it surface clean and tell myself I'll do it better next time. It dawned on me recently that "next time" wasn't going to arrive. I suppose I could clean after my kids are in bed, but, I'm just being honest here, that's not going to happen. Sure, I could be cleaning instead of writing this post, but this is the first time I've sat down all day and I'm going to take these precious few minutes to do something I want to do (plus, that would be silly...right now my house is totally clean!). So, instead of feeling badly about the state of my house, I decided to do something about it.
Today I came home to a spotless house, and it feels really good.
For the last few years I have gone back and forth between wanting to hire someone to clean my house and, of course, doing it myself. I've called several companies for estimates, but when it came down to it, it just seemed like such a waste of money. I can do this myself, I would think. I'm a stay-at-home-mom. Isn't that what stay-at-home-moms are supposed to do? Spend their day cleaning? So, I would call the cleaning person and tell them I didn't need their services. There, I would tell myself, I just saved myself a bunch of money.
Here's the thing: I never quite get around to cleaning it myself. As much as I believe that I should have the time and energy to clean my house, the fact of the matter is that I don't. Between getting kids up in the morning, fed, dressed, and to school on time, my morning is pretty much shot. That's also when I usually get to the Y, and I'm not going to give up my workout so that I can scrub my kitchen floor. I'm done exercising in time to pick up my son and get back before the bus brings my daughter home from kindergarten. Then it's making lunch, feeding the baby, cleaning up after lunch and we're usually off and running again to play group, a play date or running errands. There just isn't much "staying-at-home" for this stay-at-home-mom.
On the days when we do spend the afternoon at home I can't clean until I deal with the piles of laundry that seem to have overtaken every surface of my house. And having clean underwear is suddenly more of a priority than clean light fixtures. With five people and one in cloth diapers (more posts to come on this topic!) I spend most of my free time sorting, washing, and folding laundry.
I haven't even mentioned the time I spend wiping faces, picking up toys, getting snacks, finding Lego pieces, kissing boo-boos, brushing American Girl Doll hair, pushing on the swing, and of course, changing diapers!
I'm not
complaining about what I do. I love being a mom and I love all that it entails. But while having a clean house is a priority, what I've come to realize is taking the time to get it clean isn't. At least taking the time to get it as clean as it should be. I vacuum and dust. I clean my toilets. But I never take the time, or have the time, to clean my whole house well. I truly have every intention of doing it, but each time I seem to get it surface clean and tell myself I'll do it better next time. It dawned on me recently that "next time" wasn't going to arrive. I suppose I could clean after my kids are in bed, but, I'm just being honest here, that's not going to happen. Sure, I could be cleaning instead of writing this post, but this is the first time I've sat down all day and I'm going to take these precious few minutes to do something I want to do (plus, that would be silly...right now my house is totally clean!). So, instead of feeling badly about the state of my house, I decided to do something about it.Today I came home to a spotless house, and it feels really good.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Mind over Fatter
I had a baby 8 months ago. Well, almost 8 months ago. During my pregnancy I gained just over 40 pounds. Within a week of delivering my precious 8 lb, 5 oz. bundle I had lost about 12 of those pounds. And then...nothing. I worked out every day. No change. I counted the Weight Watchers (nursing) Points. Nada. Over Christmas and New Years I didn't work out and ate my weight in cookies and lefse. The number on the scale stayed the same. At this point I realized it made no difference what I did, the weight wasn't coming off.
"You'll lose it when you're nursing," is a lie. At least for me, it's a lie. At first, as I came to the realization that as long as I was nursing the weight was going to stay, I was upset. I wanted my body back. Not this jiggly balloon version of my body, but the sleeker, firmer version that fit into my jeans. But, I made the decision to nurse until my baby was six months old and then... I realized the freedom that came with that choice. I could eat. I could eat whatever I wanted and it made no difference! Pregnancy had been a free-for-all for me and now I had bought myself a few more months. And once I stopped worrying about it and stopped weighing myself everyday, something amazing started to happen. I stopped hating my body.
Never in my post-puberty life had I not hated my body. Even at my thinnest I had lists of things I would change if I could and I always, always, always had more weight I thought I could lose. But once I realized I couldn't nurse and lose weight, I guess I let go of all the hate. I started thinking about how amazing it was that this body, my body, was feeding my baby. It's really quite miraculous. And as I marveled at that, I began to not just not hate my body, but actually think this ol' bod wasn't so bad. It carried and nursed (for varying lengths of time) three babies. And then, even more amazing, really, is how it's somehow able to keep up with all of them each crazy, hectic day. All that stretching, pulling, pushing, tugging, hefting, bending over, picking up, it's no wonder there's a bit of wear and tear.
Don't get me wrong, I'm done nursing now and I'm all about getting myself back in shape. And that hate has started to creep back in. My well-meaning husband hid the scale so I can't weigh myself everyday. Because I don't know how much I weigh I had started allowing myself to feel better about my body. On the other hand, I tried on my jeans and realized that I still have a loooong way to go. I got up early every morning for a week and did pilates. Feeling better. But when I measured my thigh I had only lost 1/4 of an inch. Hate hate hate.
So, the lesson that I've learned is the more I know about sizes, inches and numbers on scales, the more unhappy I am no matter the progress I have made. But when I don't know my body's stats, I'm able to focus on eating healthy and enjoying my workouts. I've spent so much of my life worried about my weight, but I guess ignorance really is bliss.
"You'll lose it when you're nursing," is a lie. At least for me, it's a lie. At first, as I came to the realization that as long as I was nursing the weight was going to stay, I was upset. I wanted my body back. Not this jiggly balloon version of my body, but the sleeker, firmer version that fit into my jeans. But, I made the decision to nurse until my baby was six months old and then... I realized the freedom that came with that choice. I could eat. I could eat whatever I wanted and it made no difference! Pregnancy had been a free-for-all for me and now I had bought myself a few more months. And once I stopped worrying about it and stopped weighing myself everyday, something amazing started to happen. I stopped hating my body.
Never in my post-puberty life had I not hated my body. Even at my thinnest I had lists of things I would change if I could and I always, always, always had more weight I thought I could lose. But once I realized I couldn't nurse and lose weight, I guess I let go of all the hate. I started thinking about how amazing it was that this body, my body, was feeding my baby. It's really quite miraculous. And as I marveled at that, I began to not just not hate my body, but actually think this ol' bod wasn't so bad. It carried and nursed (for varying lengths of time) three babies. And then, even more amazing, really, is how it's somehow able to keep up with all of them each crazy, hectic day. All that stretching, pulling, pushing, tugging, hefting, bending over, picking up, it's no wonder there's a bit of wear and tear.
Don't get me wrong, I'm done nursing now and I'm all about getting myself back in shape. And that hate has started to creep back in. My well-meaning husband hid the scale so I can't weigh myself everyday. Because I don't know how much I weigh I had started allowing myself to feel better about my body. On the other hand, I tried on my jeans and realized that I still have a loooong way to go. I got up early every morning for a week and did pilates. Feeling better. But when I measured my thigh I had only lost 1/4 of an inch. Hate hate hate.
So, the lesson that I've learned is the more I know about sizes, inches and numbers on scales, the more unhappy I am no matter the progress I have made. But when I don't know my body's stats, I'm able to focus on eating healthy and enjoying my workouts. I've spent so much of my life worried about my weight, but I guess ignorance really is bliss.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Inked
I always wanted a tattoo. I think there's something sexy about them. When I see someone with a tattoo I wish to be like that: to be that bold. Do something that permanent. I want to be the kind of person who doesn't care what other people think about me, or about my choices. I thought I could be that kind of person. So, I got a tattoo. And as soon as the last drip of ink was in place, I realized I'm not that kind of person!
This wasn't a drunken, blurred decision. I had put months of thought into what I wanted and where I wanted it. I knew I wanted it to be my kids' initials, something that would mean something to me forever. And I figured if I'm going to get a tattoo, why put it someplace hidden like my back or my navel? My sister had mentioned my wrist and, at the time, that seemed like the perfect place: delicate and visible, like a bracelet. So, last October, while visiting my sister in New York City, we went to a tattoo parlor and suddenly I was going through with it
!
It didn't hurt nearly as badly as I was expecting and all while he was working on it I kept thinking this is so cool! I can't believe I'm doing this! I had this feeling of exhilaration, like I was free and finally doing something for me, just for me. And when he was done, and it was all shiny and new, I took my first look at it and froze. What had a I done?
Unfortunately, I spent the rest of that visit with my sister lost in my own head. I was paralyzed with fear that I had made a drastic (and very permanent) mistake. Molly kept assuring me that it was beautiful, and that I just needed to give myself some time to get used to it. Walking through the airport for my flight home I challenged myself by pulling up the sleeve of my sweater. I was sure everyone was looking at me, at it...and judging.
For a while, through the winter, I was better. With sweaters and coats whole days would go by where I never saw it. But then, at night, there it was. Nights were hard. I could see it and then just lie there, thinking, worrying, what-if-ing. And now, with spring here and summer right around the corner, the idea of short sleeves all day, every day sends me into a full panic.
Every once in a while I see someone noticing it. Until recently, though, no one, no stranger, had every said anything about it. And friends have only ever given me positive feedback. But, they are my friends and are supposed to say nice things, to try to make me feel better. I was sure that everyone was walking around thinking about it. About what I mistake I had made. Wondering how, at my age, I could have done such a stupid thing. But the other day a random person asked about it. She asked to get a closer look and then said, in a off-handed way as if the world didn't depend upon it, "That's really pretty." It caught me off guard. Is that what people really think? Is it that simple?
I'm not writing this hoping for a rush of comments trying to convince me how great my tattoo is. I'm getting there on my own, slowly. And really, for me, that's what this whole tattoo thing was about, right? Not worrying about what other people think. That being said, I think I'll get the next one on my back. (Just kidding, Mom!)
This wasn't a drunken, blurred decision. I had put months of thought into what I wanted and where I wanted it. I knew I wanted it to be my kids' initials, something that would mean something to me forever. And I figured if I'm going to get a tattoo, why put it someplace hidden like my back or my navel? My sister had mentioned my wrist and, at the time, that seemed like the perfect place: delicate and visible, like a bracelet. So, last October, while visiting my sister in New York City, we went to a tattoo parlor and suddenly I was going through with it
!It didn't hurt nearly as badly as I was expecting and all while he was working on it I kept thinking this is so cool! I can't believe I'm doing this! I had this feeling of exhilaration, like I was free and finally doing something for me, just for me. And when he was done, and it was all shiny and new, I took my first look at it and froze. What had a I done?
Unfortunately, I spent the rest of that visit with my sister lost in my own head. I was paralyzed with fear that I had made a drastic (and very permanent) mistake. Molly kept assuring me that it was beautiful, and that I just needed to give myself some time to get used to it. Walking through the airport for my flight home I challenged myself by pulling up the sleeve of my sweater. I was sure everyone was looking at me, at it...and judging.
For a while, through the winter, I was better. With sweaters and coats whole days would go by where I never saw it. But then, at night, there it was. Nights were hard. I could see it and then just lie there, thinking, worrying, what-if-ing. And now, with spring here and summer right around the corner, the idea of short sleeves all day, every day sends me into a full panic.
Every once in a while I see someone noticing it. Until recently, though, no one, no stranger, had every said anything about it. And friends have only ever given me positive feedback. But, they are my friends and are supposed to say nice things, to try to make me feel better. I was sure that everyone was walking around thinking about it. About what I mistake I had made. Wondering how, at my age, I could have done such a stupid thing. But the other day a random person asked about it. She asked to get a closer look and then said, in a off-handed way as if the world didn't depend upon it, "That's really pretty." It caught me off guard. Is that what people really think? Is it that simple?
I'm not writing this hoping for a rush of comments trying to convince me how great my tattoo is. I'm getting there on my own, slowly. And really, for me, that's what this whole tattoo thing was about, right? Not worrying about what other people think. That being said, I think I'll get the next one on my back. (Just kidding, Mom!)
Friday, April 9, 2010
Slow Down
The other day, as I instructed the car ahead of me to get out of my way, my 6-year old daughter asked me why I'm always talking to the people driving other cars. My polite answer was, "I'm helping them drive better." She thought about that for a minute and then replied, "But how can you be helping them when they can't hear you."
I definitely have a bit (ahem) of road rage. But I'm in a hurry and other people are in my way. What I have noticed, however, is how often I seem to be hurrying...even when I have no particular reason. For instance, I'll tell the kids to get their shoes on and get ready to go to Target. Suddenly it's like I can't get them in the car fast enough. I'm yelling to "pick up the pace," "we need to get going", "I don't have all day." Funny thing is, sometimes I do.
Granted, there are many days, the majority of our days, when we have to be somewhere (school, church, playdates, practices) at a certain time. And most, if not all of those days, I'm hurrying out the door, sure that I'm going to be late. Yelling at the kids, swearing under my breath as I forget my purse or the car keys. Is the dog in her kennel? Did you remember your backpack? We're finally on the road... and usually early.
So, what about those precious days when we don't have any plans? When the only thing on the schedule is a trip to the park or some grocery shopping? They should be relaxing. Slower paced. But I can't seem to turn the dial to a slower setting. I'm still going going going.
My goal fo
r this summer is to slow down. I hear so many other moms talking about what they are going to have their kids do this summer, but when they ask me I think my answer is going to be "slow down." Sophie and Max each want to play a sport, and I'm all for that, but I'm leaning against the day camps and other classes. Our family seems so busy lately, and summers go by so fast (especially here in MN). I don't want to spend it running around, dropping one kid here and another one there. I want to walk to the park, watch them play in the yard, read books on rainy days.
So, if you see me out on the roads this summer, hopefully I'll have a smile on my face and give you a wave hello. If not, it's probably best if you just get out of my way.
I definitely have a bit (ahem) of road rage. But I'm in a hurry and other people are in my way. What I have noticed, however, is how often I seem to be hurrying...even when I have no particular reason. For instance, I'll tell the kids to get their shoes on and get ready to go to Target. Suddenly it's like I can't get them in the car fast enough. I'm yelling to "pick up the pace," "we need to get going", "I don't have all day." Funny thing is, sometimes I do.
Granted, there are many days, the majority of our days, when we have to be somewhere (school, church, playdates, practices) at a certain time. And most, if not all of those days, I'm hurrying out the door, sure that I'm going to be late. Yelling at the kids, swearing under my breath as I forget my purse or the car keys. Is the dog in her kennel? Did you remember your backpack? We're finally on the road... and usually early.
So, what about those precious days when we don't have any plans? When the only thing on the schedule is a trip to the park or some grocery shopping? They should be relaxing. Slower paced. But I can't seem to turn the dial to a slower setting. I'm still going going going.
My goal fo
r this summer is to slow down. I hear so many other moms talking about what they are going to have their kids do this summer, but when they ask me I think my answer is going to be "slow down." Sophie and Max each want to play a sport, and I'm all for that, but I'm leaning against the day camps and other classes. Our family seems so busy lately, and summers go by so fast (especially here in MN). I don't want to spend it running around, dropping one kid here and another one there. I want to walk to the park, watch them play in the yard, read books on rainy days.So, if you see me out on the roads this summer, hopefully I'll have a smile on my face and give you a wave hello. If not, it's probably best if you just get out of my way.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Taking life one sip at a time...
Around 10:00pm most evenings it dawns on me that in approximately eight hours I get to have my first sip of coffee. That's how strong my love of coffee is; it's the last thing I think of as I'm falling asleep and the first thing I think of when I wake up (Sorry, Wade). I love the smell as it's percolating. I love the sound as I pour it into my cup. I love how it mixes with my creamer to create the perfect color of delicious silk. And I love the first sip. The first sip is my favorite...
But that first sip is my favorite for more reasons than just the taste (ohhhh, that sweet, smooth, glorious taste). That sip wakes me up. And while I love coffee, I love many other things as well. Of course, I love my husband and my kids (who wouldn't?) and after my first sip (alright, my first cup) I'm ready to happily (ok, fine...) greet them all as they enter the kitchen each morning. I also love hanging out at the bus stop with the other parents, going to the Y for my workout, walking in and around my neighborhood, going to Valley (my grocery store) or wandering around Target allowing myself to be tempted by all the unnecessary items. I'm perfectly content to watch my kids at their sporting events or meet a friend for dinner (or, of course, coffee!!). I don't love cleaning my house, but I do love when it's clean. I love texting. I love my job, volunteering at church or school, reading stories to my kids or walking to the park. I love reading a good book and then chatting about it with my book group and a glass of wine. I love to knit. I love going for boat rides at Rabbit Lake or sitting at the kitchen table with my in-laws.
As I've entered my 30's I've realized that I spent most of my life nodding in agreement with what other people said, even if I didn't necessarily agree. I don't want to be that person anymore. I have thoughts and opinions and I'm finally ready to start sharing them, apparently publicly and on the internet. I don't consider myself to be an offensive person. Or someone who will try to start an argument just for the sake of arguing. But I have realized that there is nothing wrong with sharing my opinion and it's also just fine if not everyone agrees. I'm a mom, but I don't define myself as a mother. I'm also a wife, sister, daughter(-in-law), Christian, volunteer, vice-president, tutor, friend and now, hopefully, somewhat of a writer. This blog is going to be about all of that. I don't want it to revolve around my kids, but they are a huge part of my life and so they will probably play a large role in my writing. However, this is also an escape for me. And chance for me to explore my beliefs and challenge myself to step outside of my comfort zone.
That's what I want this blog to be about, not just coffee. I want to write, and I want to write about my life, my ideas and perspectives. This blog is for me, but you're welcome to follow me on my journey. And it all starts with that first delicious, eye-opening sip of coffee.
But that first sip is my favorite for more reasons than just the taste (ohhhh, that sweet, smooth, glorious taste). That sip wakes me up. And while I love coffee, I love many other things as well. Of course, I love my husband and my kids (who wouldn't?) and after my first sip (alright, my first cup) I'm ready to happily (ok, fine...) greet them all as they enter the kitchen each morning. I also love hanging out at the bus stop with the other parents, going to the Y for my workout, walking in and around my neighborhood, going to Valley (my grocery store) or wandering around Target allowing myself to be tempted by all the unnecessary items. I'm perfectly content to watch my kids at their sporting events or meet a friend for dinner (or, of course, coffee!!). I don't love cleaning my house, but I do love when it's clean. I love texting. I love my job, volunteering at church or school, reading stories to my kids or walking to the park. I love reading a good book and then chatting about it with my book group and a glass of wine. I love to knit. I love going for boat rides at Rabbit Lake or sitting at the kitchen table with my in-laws.
As I've entered my 30's I've realized that I spent most of my life nodding in agreement with what other people said, even if I didn't necessarily agree. I don't want to be that person anymore. I have thoughts and opinions and I'm finally ready to start sharing them, apparently publicly and on the internet. I don't consider myself to be an offensive person. Or someone who will try to start an argument just for the sake of arguing. But I have realized that there is nothing wrong with sharing my opinion and it's also just fine if not everyone agrees. I'm a mom, but I don't define myself as a mother. I'm also a wife, sister, daughter(-in-law), Christian, volunteer, vice-president, tutor, friend and now, hopefully, somewhat of a writer. This blog is going to be about all of that. I don't want it to revolve around my kids, but they are a huge part of my life and so they will probably play a large role in my writing. However, this is also an escape for me. And chance for me to explore my beliefs and challenge myself to step outside of my comfort zone.
That's what I want this blog to be about, not just coffee. I want to write, and I want to write about my life, my ideas and perspectives. This blog is for me, but you're welcome to follow me on my journey. And it all starts with that first delicious, eye-opening sip of coffee.
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