Should Be Simple Enough.

I'm thinking tonight about how hard it is for me to get past myself sometimes. How I stand in my own way. How I make one mistake and let it snowball into a day of mistakes.

If I could figure out how to get past, move on, and let go I would be set.

I'll start tomorrow.

Tonight.

I had an emotional break about something I'd rather not put out there into the internet. I almost cried in a bad place to cry. I stopped on my way home at Sprouts to get something to cook for dinner. I threw wine, brownies, and chocolate covered almonds in my cart.

I didn't buy them.

I wanted to check out. To make my husband agree to going out to dinner. To order an appetizer and stop for ice cream on the way home. To drink enough wine to forget that I was supposed to run tonight.

I didn't do it.

I got home. I vented. I got hugs. I cooked healthy 'pizza' for the kids and me while Darrick ate leftovers. I skipped the wine.

I ran.

I finished week 8 tonight, and it was a tough run. My heart wasn't in it and that slip of time between 14 and 21 minutes was out to get me. But I kept running. One foot. Two foot. Feet, feet, feet.

I finished week 8 tonight.

I came home and thought about making Rice Krispie treats. I stared longingly at the circus cookies in the pantry. I imagined hot chocolate spiked with Kahlua.

I had some water and Greek yogurt.

Tonight I gave myself permission to be self-indulgent, but it wasn't with food. I complained. I curled under the world's softest blanket with my Luca and let her tell me about the games she made up in her head for us to play this weekend and who said what at school while I reveled in the peach of her cheeks and the silk of her hair. I took a hammer and chisel to some tile and subflooring. I read a long Dr. Suess book to my kids. I had tunnel-vision tucking in Rohan, lost in his sweet smiling eyes and the way he puts his hands on my cheeks and says, "Oh, you are MY mommy."

I haven't hit my stride in running. I don't love it yet. I am not dropping weight like I expected. Sometimes, I disappoint myself or others. But, at the end of the day, I didn't let myself let myself down.

Snapping Out Of A Funk.

Ever had a moment of clarity that you really didn't want to face? Mine was last week, when one of my biggest professional achievements was married to one of the biggest hits to my ego.

In my line of work, I interact quite a bit with a national group that does a lot of research and public policy issue analysis. They frequently release reports with state or local level data, and last week was no different. They released a report, and I initiated the process of having a press release sent from our agency regarding the local/state impacts noted in the report. It wasn't pretty, and it needed to be shared. The press release got immediate coverage from local radio stations and even local news stations, which chose to interview families impacted by the issue covered.

And then, there was a request from our local PBS station for someone to appear on their evening 'interest' program where current issues, politics, economy, etc. are discussed with a host. We got the email inviting us and my heart sank into my stomach. I can write 100 press releases and talk to radio interviewers, but ask me to be on TV and I am instantly 13 all over again.

I worry about how I will look in general. I wish I'd had more warning so I could do my hair and wear my most flattering outfit. I cross my fingers that someone will do our make-up before we go live. I want to run far, far away. I am afraid of saying the wrong thing, sure. But more than that I am afraid I will look horrible and my voice will sound horrible.

It shames me to write that paragraph, by the way. To admit that instead of feeling proud of this moment I was vainly worried about how I would look. But there was no time for my 13 year old self to get out of going on TV, so within a few hours my boss and I were taping the segment to air that night. We taped at 5:45 and it aired on our local PBS affiliate at 7 p.m. In a way, I was relieved that it happened so quickly because it meant less time to worry and obsess and stress.

I got home just as the show was starting. Knowing we were the final segment, I set my DVR and turned off the TV to have dinner with my husband and play with my kids. An hour later we decided we couldn't wait to watch it any longer, so we hit play and sat back.

"Oh no. OH no no no!" <--- my reaction to the first screen shot of me on TV. I couldn't hear a word I was saying because all I could think about was how my cheeks looked huge and my hair looked awful and my shoulders could easily get me a spot on the high school football team my husband helps coach. The world went into slow motion as I wondered how many people I know had seen it and whether they thought I looked as horrible as I thought I looked. And then I started to cry.

Meanwhile, my husband didn't know what to say to me. Luca had already lost interest and gone in the other room. And just as Darrick tried to convince me that I didn't look as bad as I thought I looked because really I didn't look like that in person anyhow (no, really...he was trying to make me feel better...) Rohan turned to the TV. Smiling, he ran up and put his hands on the screen and said, "That's my mama!".

And I cried some more.

The next day I went to work and couldn't remember anything I'd said on the show the night before. Within an hour of getting to work, I had over a dozen emails from people with whom I work, applauding the show and our success in covering such an important topic. And while I should have been basking in the glory of all the accolades, I just kept thinking of how all these people had seen me on TV looking like THAT. I cringed when I realized the link had been sent to our entire Board of Directors and posted on Facebook.

I made self-depriciating jokes. Because it's better to be the one to make the first crack than to be blindsided by others, I made fun of myself. My favorite joke below the link on Facebook when my sister posted it:

"Do not be alarmed, friends! It only LOOKS like I am planning on eating Ted. No hosts were consumed or otherwise harmed during filming."

My sister deleted the link. Apologized for not asking me if it was ok to share first. And it finally hit me: Shut. The fuck. Up.

My boss has been in her position for over 8 years, and this was her first appearance on this show. And she was there because of my press release inspiration and my knowledge. The host? He interviews everyone from politicians to leaders in business to non-profit executives. And he didn't once doubt that I belonged there, right beside them. And when I dared listen to the audio without watching the video I had to confess: I kicked some major ass. I was knowledgeable. Fast on my feet. On message and on point and a pretty awesome advocate for people who normally don't have a voice. Hell, I didn't even sound OR look nervous.

And then a text from a good friend sealed the deal. She knew about my insecurity and she said just the right thing to remind me of what's important. And most of all, this friend who I admire and look up to so much said she was proud of me.

So why couldn't I just be proud of myself????

It took me a few days to move past that visceral reaction to seeing myself on camera. Honestly? The me on TV must have 30 pounds on the me I see when I look in the mirror. It was a wake-up call, but at first I didn't take it as such. At first? I was defeated. I've lost nearly 20 pounds. I eat well. I work out 4 days a week. I see THAT girl in the mirror. On TV, I saw the girl 20 pounds and years of couch-potato-ness past. So I gave up a little. I couldn't seem to get off the couch or step away from unhealthy snacks. I let myself wallow for a few days.

Then I thought of my daughter. My son. Myself. I thought of what it said to them that I couldn't stop focusing on how I looked for long enough to celebrate this professional victory. I thought of what it said to ME that I was letting my perceived shortcomings overshadow what was not ONLY a professional but also a personal victory. So I didn't look thin and gorgeous! I sat my butt in front of a camera with my boss and held my own on TV. I knew my shit and I knew it well.

I had to make a decision, and though it was a struggle I decided to use this experience as inspiration, rather than letting it derail me entirely. I got back on track and back on the wagon with my healthy eating and exercise. I promised myself there WILL be a 'next time' I'm on that show, and that I'll be proud of how I look AND what I have to say that time. I even shared the link with a few people and tried not to do the self-depriciating jokes and cringing.

I'm a work in progress. If I've learned one thing through the years, it's to try to be as kind to myself as I would be to a friend. And that's often the hardest lesson. Patience isn't always my forte and neither is kindness to myself.

No Perfect Mothers.

I can't even remember the catalyst now, but I suppose it's not even important. What is important is that one night, a few weeks ago, I lost my patience and responded to an epic 3-year-old-tantrum by saying, "Do you want me to spank your butt?"

And then crying.

I don't believe in spanking. Never say never, I suppose? But I'm saying it anyhow: I never believed in spanking and I never have spanked and I never plan to spank. That's not to say my kids (amazing though I think they are) will never piss me off so much that I will have to leave the room in order to avoid spanking them. But I know that would be out of frustration, not out of true conviction that spanking them is the right reaction in the situation. And I don't plan on allowing myself to make parenting choices based in frustration.

I was spanked as a child. We all were. My husband remembers being spanked several times as a child, and even being slapped across the cheek or being victim of one of those upper arm pinches from hell as a teenager. In my mother-in-law's defense, she was essentially a single mom to 3 boys until she got married for the second time, to my father-in-law. My father-in-law who had 2 boys as well. At any given time, there were 5 boys aged 12, 13, 14, 15, and 16 under one roof with two parents who were working their asses off just to make ends meet and survive. And none of those 5 boys was perfect by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, the stories I've heard of their troublemaking have made me scared for years about having sons.

My own  parents had 4 kids in just under 5 years. They both worked hard and still struggled at times to make ends meet. And while my siblings and I were absolute angels compared to my husband and his 4 brothers, we certainly tested their limits. And they yelled. Grounded. Had family meetings. And sometimes, spanked.

It wasn't effective, though. When I was young, it just made me scared to tell the truth when I messed up, and when I was older it just proved to me that they had lost control of us and all they had left was that. I was smug, even, over how they had done it all wrong and lost control and how I Would Never when I was a mom.

And so far, I haven't. But I've felt frustrated enough to. And I've come to understand why parents do. It's not because they are not perfect parents. It's because there are no perfect mothers. The kind of parent we envision being is not always the kind of parenting we embody. We lose our patience, our balance, and our ability to remember why certain things were so important to us in the first place. We say and do things that make us feel embarassed or contrite, and sometimes the embarassment comes from saying or doing that thing we said 'never' to and not feeling bad about it after all.

My husband doesn't feel how I do about spanking. It is not an absolute for him, but a gray area with a lot of room for interpretation. He doesn't think being spanked made him behave better when he was growing up, but he also doesn't think it made any permanent emotional scars. This is one of many (MANY) areas of parenting where one of us has agreed to compromise our more neutral feelings out of respect to the strong feelings of the other.

And on that night those words came from my mouth, I was ashamed and embarassed. I worried that Luca would remember those words and be afraid of what would happen if I got mad. I took her up to bed that night, tucked her in safe and warm, and sat beside her to talk. I told her I was sorry and that I should never have said those words, that I didn't mean them and I promised never to hurt her out of anger or frustration. I apologized, and told her it's important that we say we're sorry when we say unkind things and use our words to scare people.

She looked at me with those big green eyes and said, "It's ok mama. You love me." And I told her I do, and I always will. And sometimes, I'll say things I don't mean just like we all do. We kissed and I rubbed her back and she said sorry for making me mad. And then I left her to go to sleep, hoping she still felt safe and trusted me, her mom, not to hurt her because I'd run out of ways to deal with my frustrations.

I went back downstairs to where Darrick was lying on the couch watching TV. I was embarassed in front of him as well, not sure if he was judging me in his head or angry at me for holding myself to a different standard than the one I'd held him to all along. I told him I felt horrible. He listened to me and then smiled. "There are no perfect parents." he told me. "But you're an amazing mom."

He was right. We know there is no such thing as a perfect child. We expect them to learn and grow. We expect them to make mistakes and we take those opportunities to help them become better people. And just as they must grow as people, we must grow as their parents. I am not perfect, as a person, a wife, a woman, or a mother. Parenting is a craft we practice every day, with tests we pass and those we fail. We will make mistakes, and sometimes those mistakes will far eclipse any our children make themselves. But the beauty of it all is that they don't want us to be perfect mothers; they simply expect us to love them unconditionally.

Ego Momiac

I'm sitting in my office talking to my co-worker, who's a mom of 4 kids. And I'm telling her a story about Luca, and I say, "I mean, I can't be the only mom thinking it, but still, I always find myself thinking that my kid is the cutest and smartest kid ever!" Silence. Blink. "Right? I mean EVERY mom thinks that about their own kid, I'm sure, but when I think it I'm positive I am the only mom who is actually correct!"

"Hm," she answers, "I don't remember ever thinking that about my kids."

And this is how I know: I am an Ego Momiac.

Hope and Butterfly Trees.

I started this year with so much hope. And then, in the first 2 weeks it seemed like the damn world was crumbling around me, on my feet and on my head. I have always been sensitive, and sometimes the dark mysteries of the world break me into pieces and I feel hopeless.

What I know is this: bad things happen.

I also know this: life is so beautiful and even when the water's up to your chest threatening to choke you, there is the sun coming from behind the clouds.

I also know: I am cheesy. And I am SO ok with that. I am thankful that I feel pain for things I can't control because it also means I feel deep joy for the good that swirls around me, lifting me from the water's swells.

I feel like I've found some footing. I feel like a new year was carried in on cold January nights and has settled into my bones with the balmy 70 degree days. I feel hope.

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Three is a rough year, for me as well as for her. For all of us really. Three brings tantrums and willfullness that frustrate, and yet I flip the coin and see a reflection of myself. It's there, in her. My proudest moment this year so far was the one where my Grandmother looked wistfully from my daughter's face to mine, and proudly proclaimed, "She is little Katie all over again." The world sees Luca through a lens of pretty girl, blonde hair and green eyes like her father, delicate and wise and well-mannered. My Grandma, though, she sees who Luca is. She sees the spirit in those old-soul eyes and she sees me. And nothing could make my chest puff with pride more than the thought that this girl who I love so deeply it sometimes hurts makes my Grandma think of me.

But the food battles and the clothing battles and the bedtime struggle as my brain and mouth speak in unison to tell her, "You need to sleep in your own bed." while my heart and my arms scream a silent protest of, "You belong near me."? Those are killer. I battle the two mothers inside of me and usually listen to the one who feels like she's right. Advice and Shoulds be damned.

Last night she cried and then her wise little mind kicked into overdrive and supplied her with 101 excuses and reasons why she needed to be next to me to sleep. And inside my heart was cracking, but on this night she needed to sleep in her bed and I in mine. And suddenly I realized I was going head-to-head with her and that didn't feel right either.

"Lu, I have the answer," I offered, and she took my bait.
(sniffling) "What, mama?"
"We can sleep in separate spaces but meet in our dreams."

And so together we spun a dream, where we both would be butterflies with pink and purple wings. Over a rainbow we would travel separately, coming together at a big green tree to meet in our dreams. She sprinkled the tree with flowers of purple and pink (you might notice a theme?) and then she stopped and looked sad. When I asked why, she asked how Daddy and Rohan could join us. I suggested they appear in many forms (bees and bears and honeybirds) but none of those would do. In the end, they were gifted wings of flight like ours, butterflies with pink and green and black wings. And so it was decided, that we would meet and she would know it was me because I would bring her a gift.

"Mommy?" she smiled at me. "I want to bring something to you too. And something to Rohan-butterfly and Daddy-butterfly."

"That would be so nice, Luca. We would all be happy."

"But mommy, can I see Piggy there?"

"You can see anyone or anything you want to see, buddy."

"I think Piggy will be there. And that girl. The one who the mean man killed. But they aren't butterflies, Mommy. They are a girl and Piggy, but Piggy can go live with her now."

Choking back hot tears, I asked for more of the story. I guess I wanted to know why she thought that could happen. I guess I still didn't think she could possibly understand.

"They aren't here anymore, but where the butterfly tree is, they can be together. I want Piggy to be with her."

My girl. If she reminds anyone of me, that is the biggest honor I could wish for.

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I know that 2010 was a test for many. I know 2011 started off on perhaps the wrong foot. I also know without needing a sure sign that 2011 will be good.

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I stepped on the scale today, expecting to be where I was last week after a weekend of carbs and sweets and ass-sitting in a car. I was happily surprised to see I was down 1.5 pounds. It's a small step toward where I want to be, but I am grateful for small steps. I am grateful for daughters with wise old souls and sons with infectious smiles. I am grateful for friends and for challenging work and for love. I am grateful to be married to a man I still call my best friend after nearly 14 years.

January 1 Looms.

Last year I made myself two solemn swears, and then I didn't fulfill either. But that's neither here nor there because a new year is coming and I'm an eternal optimist. Plus, I was raised Catholic so nothing makes me feel more complete than setting myself up for the guilt of not following through. I'm clearing up some karmic space in my world by making some goals this year that I hope will improve our lives.

Three Goals for 2011:

1. Financial Stability. We're on a real, live budget for the first time ever, with plans of moving to cash from debit cards as of January. We'll have auto pay for our bills and cash for most expenses. Debit cards aren't being frozen or anything, but they are going to get some rest this year. I've been wanting to do this for awhile, but honestly we needed to get to a place where we were ready. In addition to a budget and cash living, we're working on getting rid of the credit card debt, and I'm develping a payoff plan for that. I need this. I am sick of worrying about money.

2. Health. Darrick and I have both made a commitment to losing weight, but it's not just about dieting. It's about diet. Healthy foods, less going out to eat (meshes well with the $ goals) and more outdoor fun. I have a goal in mind for year end, but I'm not going to put it out there. I AM going to work on making some healthy changes and hope those bring me closer to that goal as the months go by.

3. Thrifty. It's something we've been slowly progressing toward for awhile, but we made a pact this year: second hand is the way to go. Other than the obvious (gifts, food, toiletries and diapers for example) we're going second hand or going bust. We already make an effort to buy clothes for our kids, home decor, etc at second hand stores. Even my husband will happily shop Goodwill for work clothes and shoes (like the $350 pair of size 15s he got for $14.99 at our local Goodwill last week...I shit you not.). This is where I confess I'm the one who doesn't shop second hand for myself. It's NOT because I am a snob or think I am above it. For many years the majority of my wardrobe was from thrift stores and I had much more style back then! It's more that I don't like my body right now so clothes shopping becomes a drain emotionally (see goal #2) and the idea of sifting through rack after rack searching for treasures like you must do when shopping second hand compounds the misery. But no more excuses: this year, I'm going thrift or going home! I'm going to tally up (as best as I can guess) what we spent in 2010 on brand new items we could have purchased second-hand, and compare that to what we spend in 2011. I bet this helps with Goal #1, too. Bonus!

So, there they are. My nebulous and exciting goals for 2011. We're going to live like we have less than we do in order to gain more, and care for ourselves a little better. I'm actually looking forward to making these changes, suffering a bit and giving up some of the convenience and comforts we've taken for granted.

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Forgiveness.

Have you ever felt like there are just these issues out there, hangning over your head and making your heart feel a little sad? Things you need to air and then forgive, in order to move on with a happy heart?

And what if those things you needed to forgive...were things for which you needed to forgive YOURSELF?

I've made mistakes in my life. I have made decisions that have complicated things for me, and decisions that have been downright idiotic or ill-concieved. And I have also made an honest effort sometimes to be the best, 'best' being defined as the person I dream myself to be when I am feeling very self-righteous and fabulous in my own mind (I forgive myself, by the way, for self-righteous, but fabulous is something for which I will never ask forgiveness).

And so, in the spirit of Christmas coming soon and worries that have been plaguing me and things I just haven't managed to let go, I want to forgive myself so that I can move forward with a free heart.

For spending the first few months of Luca's life worrying about her small size and not trusting my Mama Gut, which told me it was all ok and it's just who she was. For not being able to enjoy that time like I wanted to, and for crying more tears than necessary.

For doubting myself when my parenting decisions came under fire.

For not using cloth diapers exclusively for Luca, and for not really using them at all with Rohan. OH, how I wanted to be a cloth diaper Mama (even back before it was the hipster thing to do), but with a husband who was resistant and a full time job it never worked out the way I hoped.

For not being financially able to be a stay at home mom, even when my heart broke every time I had to leave my babies for work, travel out of town, miss a bed time, supplement becuase I couldn't pump enough milk, miss a milestone, or miss kissing a skinned knee or a sleepy, honey sweet cheek.

For losing my temper with my husband and my kids, which doesn't happen too often, but still feels ugly every time it does.

For gaining too much weight while pregnant and not losing it.

For not producing enough milk with Luca despite every effort under the sun and for not making every effort under the sun with Rohan because I knew the heartbreak and stress it had caused the first time and didn't want to repeat it. For not being able to be the breastfeeding goddess I assumed I would naturally be.

For feeding my kids and myself McDonald's breakfast now and then.

For giving in on circumcision.

For despairing instead of hoping when Rohan was diagnosed with Masto, and for letting that cloud my days and overshadow my joy. For worrying about him being 'normal' or 'accepted' or 'having a disease' and feeling powerless.

For forgetting that the journey with Rohan's diagnosis made us all stronger.

For not saving more money before having kids.

For not saving any money after having kids.

For buying a house when we should have just rented for a year and waited out the falling market to get more house for less money.

For not being good with budgets.

For not listening to my husband with a more open mind.

For jealousy when it inspires ugliness (though not for the jealousy that makes you strive to be a better person).

For never sending out those thank you cards.

For always rushing and doing things last minute.

For credit card debt it feels like we will forever be 'working on paying off'.

For not being able to afford to really go after my calling at this point in my life.

For not shutting my mouth when I really should have.

For not being the super crunchy earth mama I so WANT to be sometimes, because life takes over and convenience wins over conviction.

For not forgiving myself sooner.

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Forgiveness is choosing to love. It is the first skill of self-giving love. --Mahatma Gandhi