Wednesday, November 19, 2014

A Woman in Her Thirties, the Fourth

Dear Anna,

This week, you are four years old.

Four.

You're a good counter, so let's do some counting:

1.

2.


3.

4.


Crazy, isn't it?  Counting, I mean.

But back to you, and your four-ness.  The past 365 days have been all about figuring out how things work.  From 'Momma, why do the clouds move?' to 'Why do we vote?' to 'Why does Aaron's belly button look funny?'  (you were not referring to his belly button), you have thrown me each and every day with the daunting task of explaining the world.  When I was younger and imagined myself as a mom, my answers to these questions have been both articulate and informative.  Now, though, I bumble through a lot of, 'Uh, well... um... it's... complicated, Bubbie.'


And it is, isn't it?  Life is so darn complicated, at least it is to this woman in her thirties.  But for you, well, I can see how this would not be an acceptable answer.

Buddy is crying?  'Make him feel happy, Momma.'



Daddy is traveling? 'Tell him to come home now, Momma.'


Momma misses her home, momma feels sick, momma is having a hard morning?  'Put on the happy song, Momma. (Eric Hutchinson is your current favorite.) If you sing with us, then you will feel happy.'


I could go on here about your accomplishments.  Piano lessons.  How each and every teacher you've had has raved about what a joy you are.  Your correct pronunciation of the word 'croissant'.  But someday, when I'm old and gray and looking back on the highlights of my life, I will think back to this beautiful, smiling face:


And those won't be the details that come to mind.  What I'll have with me is the memory that this was the year I saw that your inner beauty far surpassed what you look like on the outside.  I won't remember your score on your kindergarten screening test, but I'll remember how many people have described you as a loving and caring friend.  How you worried about the lonely boy at the zoo.  How you patiently taught your brother to play hide and seek.  How, when you saw me shedding a tear a few weeks back, you ran to me and said, 'You're the best momma in the world!"

So happy birthday to my sweet, caring, kind, smart, inquisitive, silly, thoughtful, and yes, beautiful baby girl.  Who you are fills me more more joy than I could ever communicate in words. I am so proud to be your mom.

Love,
Mom

Sunday, November 2, 2014

A Woman in Her Thirties, The Hippie

I've been practicing yoga regularly for a little over four years now.  Notice how I said 'practicing' yoga. That's what the yogis say. They also say things like 'core lock' and 'ujjayi pranayama'.  And other hippie things.

This morning, in my weekly 75-minute sweat-fest, I started thinking about all the ways that yoga has changed my life.  And it made me cry.  You'd think this is an abnormal thing, to cry in the middle of a crazy-hard workout, but yogis do it often.  We're weepy, sentimental warriors, the lot of us.  Even the dudes.

So, since it's November (what?!) and it's time to get grateful, here are all the things yoga has taught me over the years.  And why you should 'practice', too. (Photos by Mimsydotes, obviously.)

1.  I'm a badass

When I first started practicing yoga in earnest, I was pregnant.   But yoga was never harder for me than after Aaron's birth, after seven months of strict no-exercise restrictions followed by an emergency C-Section.  My 'core-lock' was more like Jell-O pudding, and I simply could not engage my abdominal muscles in the same way anymore.  But now, I can rock boat pose like nobody's biz, because I worked really, really hard at it.  I used to be terribly inflexible, and now I'm a toe-touching, king pigeon-ing, Dancing Shiva.  Aka, badass.



2.  Attitude is everything

Yoga is all about the mental/physical balance, which I really didn't understand for a long time.  But you know how there are people who choose to be happy, so therefore they are happy?  And there are people who choose to be miserable, so they are?  It's like that.  If I go into yoga class and say, 'today I'm going to be Poopy McPooperpants and grunt my way through every posture while staring at the clock', then it's guaranteed to be a long workout.  But if I go in and say, 'I'm a goddess and there's never been a more goddessy-goddess than me,' then that's pretty much how it goes.  And also, in life.



3.  If I don't practice at least once a week, I'm a terrible person

After practicing so long, I don't understand how every woman in her thirties doesn't take yoga.  Everything hurts if I don't go to yoga-- from my fingers to my knees to my back to my shoulders-- EVERYTHING.  When I hurt, I am grumpy.  When I'm grumpy, I'm mean.  And now that I'm a mom, when I'm grumpy and mean then my kids are learning to be grumpy and mean, too.  So yeah, yoga.




4.  Yoga is a way to give thanks

This morning, while holding dolphin pose for an ungodly amount of time, I went to a dark place in my head. It was the night of June 21, 2012, the night Aaron was born.  I don't know why I thought of it, but I remembered that I'd called my mom from the ambulance.  'I love you,' I said to her.  'Pray for me.' Because I really thought I was saying goodbye.



See why the tears?

But it occurred to me that by practicing yoga I have been giving thanks for that evening, that all turned out well.  I'm healthy, Aaron is healthy, we're all so flippin' lucky to be on this planet at this moment, and life is so unbelievably beautiful.  Even when it's really hard.  But then again, isn't it the hard that makes us appreciate the beauty?  I went on and on in my head about this, my good fortune and all the blessings I have, that I didn't even notice that the teacher had said we could release the pose.  I've never gotten that from kickboxing, people.

So there you have it.  A woman in her thirties is a certified yoga hippie.  Namaste, people.  And all that stuff.

Monday, October 20, 2014

A Woman in her Thirties in the Fall*

*Please note that the 'w' word (winter) will not be mentioned in this post.  Yes, I know what's coming.  But I think it's why I appreciate the fall more.

L's travel has picked up quite a bit lately, and by picked up I mean to say that I'm not 100% sure we still live together.  It's bad, guys.  Bad.  But 'it is what it is', to use the most annoying phrase ever coined.

That said, I'm fairly sure that the Universe looked down on me in the last six weeks and decided to give me a break in the way of weather.  And we're in for another perfect week this week.

So... a woman in her thirties appreciates.  And takes full advantage:

Apple picking

Pumpkin patching

Train riding


Bench-chillin

Kiss-sneaking

Lots more photos coming soon!

Thursday, October 2, 2014

A Woman in her Thirties Joins a CSA

I have wanted to join a CSA for years, but have always talked myself out of it.  So much food!  So expensive!  What if it's gross?  That kind of thing.

This year, however, a fellow woman in her thirties and I decided to give it a go together.  It was so much fun, and I'm so glad I did it.  Joining a CSA busted many of the myths I had about it all these years.  Here are a few:

MYTH:  You get a jillion tons of food and there's no way you can eat all of it.



Realty:  Splitting the share was plenty for us this summer.  Not too much, not too little.  There were a few items that went to waste, particularly the potatoes (we never eat potatoes) and the beets (I want to like beets, I really do.  But I don't.)  But for the most part, we eat each box up every week.

MYTH:  Getting eggs in the CSA is scary because they might be... well... not edible.


Reality:  The fresh eggs were my favorite part of the CSA every week.  We got a dozen every Wednesday and were ready for more by each weekend.  No issues, and a better source of morning protein than Cheerios.

MYTH:  Trying to use up all the produce takes a lot of planning and cooking time. 


Reality:  This was one of my biggest fears, considering cooking is one of those things, like beets, that I wish I enjoyed more.  In reality, I just added more veggies to the things I normally make (every vegetable made it into stir fry at some point), and instead of buying jarred salsa I made mine in the blender every week with all the salsa-ish ingredients (bell peppers in salsa! The best!).  So good.  

MYTH:  The kids won't eat any of it.


Reality:  I would give anything-- anything-- to have my kids be less picky eaters.  Alas, it is not to be.  They both are terrible, awful, horrible about trying new things.  (Even sweet things! They won't even eat a stupid gummy vitamin!)  This was a legitimate concern for me in getting a CSA box every week.  So instead of fighting them to PLEASE TAKE A BITE OF CORN YOU WILL LIKE IT (and we did this one night-- backfire), I just blended the veggies into whatever I made for them and they never knew the difference.  Above, they are eating Black Bean Brownies (which I blended with Swiss Chard), and here is the recipe for a mostly-spinach pesto from the White Grass Cafe that also took on kale, broccoli, and anything else green:


Our last farm box for the season came last week.... boo... but instead of being sad it's over I'm focusing on how glad I am I gave it a shot.  The CSA changed the way we eat (no more cereal in the morning!) and made me aware of the importance of buying foods that are in season, for taste if no other reason.  

Yay for the CSA!

Thursday, September 18, 2014

A Woman in her Thirties Gets Gut-Punched (in the best possible way)

My to-do list for today is huge.  Huge!  But I can't get to a single thing on it because I got a little blindsided this morning by this video, which a former student posted to my Facebook wall:

http://vimeo.com/tegvideos/review/57681077/ed499e0bf7

The short story is that the year I came back from China I was asked to be video taped teaching, so the video could be shown to teachers in training in California.  This sounds much, MUCH more exciting than it actually is.  I wasn't necessarily chosen because I am some sort of teaching god, more because I was a willing participant and didn't care if credential students nit-picked my work.

The people in charge promised to send me the video so I'd have it for my portfolio, and they never did.  I asked several times since moving for the video, all with no results. I'd pretty much forgotten about it, until this student posted it on my wall because a friend of his had to watch it in his teacher credentialing class.

So I watched it this morning, while the monkeys ate breakfast.

(Not eating breakfast, sorry.  This was a couple weeks ago.)

And I cried and cried.  Big, fat, ugly tears. For so many things.  How much I miss the classroom (I do, I do!), how much I miss these kids in particular (they were AWESOME), the state of my hair (wha?!). But mostly for the woman in that video who is so, so young to me, not because she's all that much younger but because she doesn't know Anna and Aaron yet, she doesn't know that in less than a year she will call Minnesota home, she thinks she knows blessings and happiness but she doesn't.  She really doesn't.

But here's the real story, people.  All of that is good, all those wonderful teacher emotions you can't put a price tag on, all the pride I got from my career... seeing the video was a reminder of who I was (still am), and all that teacher-y stuff is great, so great.

However, if you look at that video closely, you'll notice something.  Stooped posture because... pooched-out belly that I thought my shirt hid pretty well... tired, tired eyes.  I was pregnant in that video, or at least I thought I was, despite all the doctors who kept looking at me with serious eyes and saying things like, 'Hmm.  Let's check again in a week.  Be hopeful.'  This video was taken during a yucky, yucky time, and this woman in her thirties has a serious talent for blocking out yucky times.

Seeing it and going back to that moment this morning was like a punch in the gut. Memories, before and after, so many tears, so much secrecy... am I the only one who senses a tug in my voice?  A strain? I have almost no pictures of that time, and for good reason.  But now I have video, plain as can be.  That is me, teacher.  It is also me, woman.  Aching for so many reasons.

Still, I am beyond grateful that this video has surfaced.  That group of kids was-- I'm not kidding-- a saving grace for me.  Despite the bad memories, there are so many good ones.  That classroom was inspiration for The Take Back of Lincoln Junior High.  I made great friends teaching at that school, many of whom I'm still in contact with.  It was during that time that L showed me the man and father he was capable of being, and here we are.  Happy.  Blessed.


People often talk about the importance of letting go of the past, and I think that's mostly true.  Today, however, I'm glad that it's crept back upon me.  When given a chance, it's okay for a woman in her thirties to take a moment to acknowledge the past. All she's been through, all she's done.  Even all that might have been.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

A Woman in her Thirties has a Great- Really Great- Summer

Anna and Aaron had their school open house today, which can only mean one thing:  summer is almost over.  It is with a heavy heart that I write that sentence, because this summer has been the best in this woman in her thirties' recent memory.  Here's why:

1.  We slept.


Let me tell you a little something about this sweet face.  Aaron turned two on June 21, and on that day he decided he was going to start sleeping like a normal human being.  That's right-- two solid years of sleep deprivation over here.  Sure, we had our occasional breaks (one lasted FOUR WHOLE DAYS!) but for the most part, this stink pot was up 2-3 times a night, and I was definitely going crazy.  That is not to mention this other stink pot:


For whom nightmares have plagued us for the last year or so.  But this summer, by a miraculous act of God, we have slept.  And I haven't taken a single night of it for granted.

2.  I "worked".

If you can call hanging out with super fun and motivated kids and helping them write creatively "work".  Teaching this summer was a joy on a million levels, and I loved every minute of it. I blogged about it here.


3.  We played.  

In the last three years of at-home momhood, I've felt fairly chained to the house for naps, meals, and various other anxiety-ridden baby activities.  Not this summer.  Here are some of my favorite outings:

The splash pad.  Whoever thought of this concept is a genius.  

The community pool.  This was the first year I've been able to go and actually enjoy myself.  Not in a relax-with-a-book kind of way, but in a my-kids-are-so-much-more-independant kind of way.

Lake Harriet.  Aaron's favorite summer activity is throwing rocks into bodies of water.  He's quite talented at it.  

Bike riding.

Playgrounds.  Lots of playgrounds. Hardly any rocks were consumed.

4.  I joined a CSA.

I have wanted to join a CSA for years, but this year I finally gave it a shot and shared with a friend. Best decision ever!  I'll blog more about this later.

Fresh eggs!  Every week!

5.  We vacationed.

I already talked about our Dirty Dancing vacation, which was awesome.  But last weekend we went to SoCal for my beautiful, wonderful cousin's wedding.  Here we are, investigating the Pacific Ocean (which Anna kept calling Lake Harriet):



Anna reaped the benefits of her first pinata:


And throughout all the chaos of the weekend, I was so grateful for a chance to catch up with family I all-too-rarely see.  

Mommy :)

Grateful, grateful, grateful for a great summer!

Sunday, August 17, 2014

A Woman in her Thirties Goes on Vacation

You know those families who take vacations all the time?  The ones who, despite crazy hectic lives and unpredictable children are always off doing something fun? Since having kids, I have harbored a secret jealousy of these brave people. I see their Facebook posts of their smiling toddlers exploring a new place and think, 'I wish I was a cool mom, like that.'

Earlier this year (probably during the polar vortex) I told L that it was time to start taking vacations.  At least once a year.  Sure, we've gone on trips since the kids have been born, but we still have PTSD from a couple of those.  I'm talking pack-up-the-family-with-the-intent-to-make-memories kind of vacation. Anna is three and a half, and Aaron is two.  It's time.


A couple years ago we met another couple here, J and J.  Well, L met J first. The way I tell the story when people ask how we met is by saying that they fell in love, because it's mostly true.  L liked J so much that I was actually nervous to meet his wife because I wanted so much to like her (and her me) the same way our husbands liked each other.  Well, we did.  And we now have combined our last names and are looking at building a compound so we can live together for always.

J and J suggested we all go to a place called Grandview Lodge, which apparently every single person in the Midwest has heard of and gone to before, except L and me.  We rented a huge cabin, had most meals included, and went on all kinds of adventures.  (This is GLAMping, people.  This woman in her thirties doesn't camp.)  Here are a few highlights:

(Our first of many chaotic meals.)

(Our first of many ice cream cones.)


(The captain and his first mates.)



(Had to stop and take a picture of this on our bike ride on the Paul Bunyan trail.  All those signs point to people's cabins.  So Minnesota.)


(Aaron's first s'more)

(Turtle races in downtown Nisswa.)

(Yes, we had shirts made for the trip. Deal.)

(We had a babysitter one night and went out for a nice dinner.  We shut the place down and may or may not have sung along to Richard Marx, Toto, and most of the Dirty Dancing soundtrack that was playing over the speakers.  Good, good times.)


The looks on my kids' faces in this last photo pretty much sums up how we all felt about leaving. A wonderful week with wonderful people, and we are so very grateful for all of it.