tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92040344012732883602024-03-05T02:10:27.193-07:00The New WorldJoe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.comBlogger668125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-65541427553662885992020-03-23T10:44:00.001-06:002020-03-23T10:44:27.037-06:00CommonI've had a horrible time writing this blog post. The words just weren't coming out. I was writing in circles. But I think I finally figured it out.<br />
<br />
How does my eating disorder detract from me and the life I want?<br />
<br />
I think it can be put into one sentence. My eating disorder has made it feel impossible to hold truth in my mind. It fights so hard whenever anything comes in that tries to shoo it out. It tears down logic and throws out self esteem.<br />
<br />
Take the scale. (And throw it out hah! Just kidding. Not yet. Working towards that. Gotta tackle the OCD first.)<br />
<br />
The number on the scale displays itself on a clock in my mind. Even when I'm not looking at it currently, the clock ticks. The more I try to clear my mind and find peace, the louder the tick becomes. I know, logically, because my care team has told me, that the number on the scale doesn't really mean anything. But, I mean, time doesn't really mean anything either, right? But in our lives it holds great value in order to run and organize our days.<br />
<br />
Gosh this blog post made so much more sense as I was falling asleep last night.<br />
<br />
So that clock on the wall that tells me my weight.<br />
<br />
I eat a handful of nuts and am terrified to see the number jump forward so much. <i>Did that really happen? How could I have lost track of that number for so long so as to let this happen?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I restrict for days, weeks. Fast until I can't move from the couch. And when I look up at the clock, nothing has changed at all. <i>What a horrible feeling, to feel like the hands on that clock have frozen and nothing is moving. Your work is doing nothing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
But when the clock move along in a way that I find pleasing and that I feel is predictable, then oh how productive it makes me feel. Like I can set a schedule. I can set goals. Like by using this abstract measure that doesn't really mean anything, I can become the person I want to be as long as I follow it precisely.<br />
<br />
And we live by clocks every day of our lives. Deadlines to meet. Errands to run. Appointments to make. Time. Matters.<br />
<br />
But have you ever been on a vacation? Where you wake up whenever you want. You have a general idea of things you could do that day, but nothing is set in stone. You can do whatever you want. You follow your feelings and find amazing adventures that you wouldn't have found if you were constantly checking the time. And time doesn't matter. You know at some point it may come up but at this moment it doesn't matter. And it feels like this is the way you want life to be.<br />
<br />
I haven't been on vacation like that.<br />
<br />
Because the number on the wall of my mind is always there. Holding me accountable. Punishing me greatly for not setting some kind of goal, working towards it, and meeting it. Every piece of food is an assignment in some way. Either a way to meet the goal that the scale has set for me, or a way to make others happy.<br />
<br />
And I don't know what I want. I try to find what I want. I try to think of who I want to be. But everything is dictated by the scale. How could I possibly do any of that when I am so fat? When you just hit this number, well, that's the number you have to meet to be able to live the life you want. That future you have imagined. You can't live fully if you are spending your days thinking about diets and weight loss! And the only way to stop thinking about diets and weight loss is to get to THAT. NUMBER. And then you can be a writer. And then you can be the life of a party. And then you can be social and get out of your shell and be the one that others want to be around. But you can't be that right now. I know, I'm so sorry, I wish you could be too, but you can't.<br />
<br />
At its best, this voice is encouraging and rewards me with a high unparalleled. At its worse, it because harsh and ragged, telling me that if I keep it up like this, I will NEVER be anyone. And that I'm weak for even listening to it. What kind of backwards gaslighting manipulative abuse is that?<br />
<br />
But at its normal, day to day, it just ticks away. Loudly, making it impossible to really live in the way I imagine life is supposed to be. Makes it difficult to rest. Makes it difficult to enjoy things.<br />
<br />
Makes me feel like I will never reach that future of what I want life to be. Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-1409594956988518332020-03-01T15:40:00.001-07:002020-03-01T15:40:18.549-07:00SpecialToday my paper is about "Why does your eating disorder make you special."<br />
<br />
Just a little call back to third grade. To maybe make this topic a bit less heavy, if you are here, reader. Which you're probably not. I don't intend to share this one on my social media. But I know some of you wander the interwebs until you found something. So maybe you found this.<br />
<br />
This one is for me. And maybe for my therapist, she asked me to write it.<br />
<br />
I told her that I feel like I can't let this go, this eating disorder. That I know that it hurts me, but that I love it. When asked why I love it, I answered that it makes me feel special.<br />
<br />
And maybe that wasn't the right answer, maybe that's not really what I feel. So let's just talk about how this eating disorder makes me feel on the good days.<br />
<br />
On the good days it applauds me for my discipline. Not everyone can live on 600-800 calories a day. You can. You are something different for that. You don't have to feel the food in your teeth, rotting them away. You don't have to feel it in your stomach, pulling you down to the earth. It doesn't have to fill your time. You are free from the chains that the rest of the world is wrapped in.<br />
<br />
On the good days it gives me hope. Hope that I can be whoever I want to be. If I can carve my body out into the way I want it to be, mold it, shape it, then I can likewise be the soul artist in my own life. That the abstract future can be as easily malleable as my physical existence. And living in a time of life where I truly don't know what I want to be, a thought that scares me, the hope that I could be anything I want is worth gold.<br />
<br />
On the good days it feels like me. I don't worry how my clothes weigh. I don't feel my skin and fat fold on each other, reminding myself that I am there. I feel like my own soul. Where I am a mother, daughter, wife, friend, teacher, neighbor, an active member of my community.... being defined by outward sources makes me feel so fragile. Like the only thing that makes me ME is my relationships to others. So when I lose those relationships, then I lose me. I've moved through life wearing many different faces, to make others like me, to make others comfortable, and even to benefit myself, it became hard to figure out who I really was. I was bold and loud, I was quiet and coy, I was smart and loved reading, I was emotional and composed and boyish and frilly, loving color and sound and fearing attention from new people. I was a lot of contradictions. And now I don't know who I am. I know I've changed drastically since I met my eating disorder. I'm certainly a lot more quiet. Colors give me headaches. I speak strong but mentally slap my hand if I extend my presence too far. My relationship with my friends and family has changed. So really, it really feels like the only thing that's been there the whole time is the eating disorder. Like it is the most consistent thing about me. The most me thing about me.<br />
<br />
And if I let it go, who will I be? Chasing wild, impossible dreams for a few days at a time, launching businesses, writing books, recreating our home every few weeks. I feel like if I let go of this then I start spinning out of control. Like I'll have no chance at being someone important at all. My sister creates gorgeous dresses. My mother is an amazing quilter. I can't be the person that doesn't know who she is.<br />
<br />
So my eating disorder makes me special because I feel that it makes me, me. Intrinsically. Not a definition put on me through my footprint in my world, but because it is inside me, and it knows me. It has always been there. It gave me control through the madness of high school. It gave me consistence through navigating life outside my childhood home for the first time. It gave me power through an abusive relationship, where everything was taken from me. I still had this.<br />
<br />
And really speaking of that. Where my ex told me that he could never be with someone with an eating disorder, someone "broken". Having it now feels like an act of rebellion. Like being my own person and showing him that he has no power over me anymore.<br />
<br />
This is long winded.<br />
<br />
This got off topic.<br />
<br />
This feels very confusing and hard to put down in words, and even harder to understand.<br />
<br />
But this is why it makes me special.Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-52208946299293157842020-01-16T09:24:00.001-07:002020-01-16T09:24:28.813-07:00Who I am without you"It is breaking my code of ethics to continue to treat you when I am not qualified to do so."<br />
<br />
I squeezed Joe's hand.<br />
<br />
My therapist continued to explain that my eating disorder is not going to get better under her care. That all that anxiety and depression... everything is so masked by this eating disorder that nothing really will get better until that's taken care of.<br />
<br />
She turned to Joe.<br />
<br />
"This is something you get better from, or you die from. There is nothing else."<br />
<br />
I waited for her to laugh or say loljk or something. Nothing.<br />
So now I'm on a new journey.<br />
<br />
The eating disorder isn't something I've talked about. Not with my parents, not with Joe, no one. Somehow I got the courage to mention it to my last therapist in the last 3 minutes of our session. When I moved to a new therapist, she passed along notes, which very briefly mentioned eating disorders. She really brought it out and dug into it. Dug hard. It made me realize a lot of things.<br />
<br />
For one, I have an eating disorder. It's an ugly thing. I weigh myself constantly. I care deeply about every 2 oz gained or lost. I look in the mirror and I don't know what I see. I don't know what my own body looks like. I eat a slice or two of toast a day and I hate myself for even eating that. And even as I'm writing this, I know that I'm probably gonna cut back on that today too, because it's time to get down to business. If this eating disorder is going away, then it and I need to have a heckuva time together before it's bye bye.<br />
<br />
And that sounds ridiculous but it feels so true. I've come to truly love this eating disorder. I recognize that it beats me and that if I upset it, I will end up black and blue, maybe in the hospital. But I've been with it for so long SO LONG. Over a decade. That I don't know who I am without it. We've built a life together. We have dreams together, of our future. It has been there for me when I felt alone, or out of control. It empowered me in ways that nothing else could.<br />
<br />
It also convinced me that everything else was the enemy. That my body was stubborn and bitter for holding onto weight. That it really wasn't as abusive to me as others said it would, that it was normal and that it was sorry for hurting me and that it would be better next time. And I forgave it. I forgive it still. Every time. Because even though I know it is slowly taking everything from me, it feels so much a part of me that I would no sooner try to escape than I would cut off my own arm.<br />
<br />
But I see people on the other side and they seem happy. I don't know who I am on the other side so it feels impossible to imagine myself there. I know that it destroys my confidence, and more than I want to be thin, I want to feel confident, I want to love my body and feel like it is worth something, it has a place in this world. Other people pump my mind full of reassurance but it doesn't hold. My mind has been so taken over by this monster that it's full of holes. Logic pours out. Love pours out. All that stays is the eating disorder. The script it reads me that it's not enough, I'm not doing enough, I'm not enough.<br />
<br />
It's loud.<br />
<br />
It beats along like a metronome, and all that doesn't keep time with it, isn't real music.<br />
<br />
When your therapist tells you that it's get better or die, why isn't that a straight forward choice.<br />
<br />
If I knew that I could love myself, if I knew what I could do and be without it, that would be a whole new game plan. But I don't know.<br />
<br />
I contacted the care center last night. I'm waiting for the specialist to get back to me with the results of my initial evaluation.<br />
<br />
I don't want to do this. At all. If I could just lose xx lbs before doing this, oh how easy it would be. Maybe I wouldn't even need to go get care at all, maybe that weight loss would give me the confidence I need to just be done with it!<br />
<br />
And I've told myself that before. It didn't stay true for long. Because the controlling partner that it is won't let me be free without an intervention.<br />
<br />
Which is what I got last night at therapy.<br />
<br />
My therapist wanted me to write about it. To put a very bright light on this secret part of my life so that I could see that it was ugly, that other people would know. That I wouldn't deflect and say "I'm fine I'm fine though!" because that enables me still.<br />
<br />
Ugh.<br />
<br />
This post doesn't have a happy ending because I don't know what it looks like. Right now I feel unhappy. Right now I feel like I'm going to have to walk away from something that has brain washed me into loving it, but regardless, I do love it. It feels like the absolute scariest thing I could do. To possibly end up gaining weight at the end of this. Something that makes me feel physically ill right now, faint.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
So there it is. There's the light on the dark places.Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-62437822747197515562019-12-09T11:49:00.000-07:002019-12-09T12:11:30.325-07:00Mental Illness, Type:Mine<br />
<br />
My therapists have avoided putting labels on things, rightly so. But terms have been thrown around.<br />
<br />
Anxiety <br />
Depression<br />
Eating disorders<br />
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder<br />
<br />
<div>
And all of these terms come with visualizations of what it must be like, but I thought I’d put down in wooooords *how interesting life is with these in the world*<br />
<br />
And really, I mean interesting, because it does add a certain spice to life, even if there’s too much at times and it makes the food of life to spicy to consume.<br />
<br />
So what does this feel like?<br />
<br />
There’s a great picture I relate to of a person talking to a therapist. Their speech bubble is shown as a tangled mess of yarn. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="400" src="https://i.redd.it/dxby2eqi5n321.jpg" width="400" /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And I think that’s pretty accurate in a lot of ways. All of these mental conditions are like balls of yarn, certain colors, certain thread content. But when this ball is tangled up it can look like a lot of different things. And when it’s tangled with different balls of yarn, it gets even more wild. While many components of mental illness are the same, the way they look from person to person can vary. So then the job of the therapist is to untangle the mess. They really know how to do it, too. Have you ever had headphones awfully tangled and the more you try to fix it, the worse it gets? <br />
<br />
Yeah… me too. Well, not really, I can untangle headphones any time, if you need help lemme know.<br />
<br />
But that tangled mess of brain yarn.<br />
<br />
It’s been a looong time that I’ve been trying to untangle that mess on my own. Which lead to me messing it up pretty badly, eventually pulling out a pair of scissors to hack away at it and then trying to tie it back together in a way that made sense... which didn’t help anything. <br />
<br />
So what does this feel like?<br />
<br />
It feels like stepping on a scale before and after every meal. Before taking a shower, after taking a shower. It’s knowing how much certain pairs of jeans weigh, how much shoes weigh, how much a glass of water weighs. And no, throwing away the scale doesn’t work because then every thought is consumed with finding ways to escape to the store to use the scale, followed by a walk around the store, and another visit to the scale. Multiple times a day. It’s feels like being bitten by mosquitoes, all over your body, feeling the sting and knowing how bad it’s going to be, but deciding to sit through it. That’s what it feels like to NOT give into this behavior. It feels like letting the mosquitoes suck me dry. My skin crawls and my brain cries out. So I find ways to measure myself to relieve the itch.<br />
<br />
It feels like driving to Trader Joes and running through your grocery list when a thought pops into your mind, wondering what would happen if you got t-boned in the intersection. What would it look like, what would it sound like, what would it feel like, what the phone call to loved ones would sound like, what the other car would look like, who they’d be. And shaking your head and realizing that a crazy, sad, random thought that had no place in your brain. But it got there anyway.</div>
<div>
It feels like walking into your babies’ room multiple times a night to put your hand on their chest and make sure they’re still breathing. Burying yourself in real life horror stories of the worst thing imaginable happening because you feel like if you know everything there is to know about it, then you’ll be prepared for it if it happens, or maybe knowing it all will stop it from happening. But watching it happen over and over again in your mind’s eye, and you change the channel, but the same show pops up on that channel too and so the only thing you can do is to turn it off. To turn your brain off. To escape your body and feel your soul drift away into a place of emptiness and nothingness because it’s the easiest way to get away. So you sit still on a chair and the world passes you and you don’t hear it or see it. <br />
<br />
It feels like your fingers and toes jumping with energy but the weight on your chest is heavier that day. The thought of doing anything is exhausting. Talking to people would surely drain you. You question every word you’ve ever said to anyone and eventually it’s just easier to not talk at all. To cut off friends and family and neighbors because you don’t have the energy to maintain relationships anymore. </div>
<div>
It feels like needing to be perfect. Those mosquito bites again. You need to prove to others that you are fine, because if they believe it then it’ll be true. So you don’t go out of the house wearing sweatpants even though you want to so bad… because that may make people worry. Your makeup is always on. You’ve got the smile and voice down to a perfect science so no one would ever expect it. But when you start talking about your insides just a little bit… it’s very shocking. Even though you’ve felt like that for herm… over a decade… it’s a shock because no one saw it before. <br />
<br />
It feels like begging to cry. If you could just cry, the rain would cause the dam in your heart to break and everything would flow out and you could feel well again. <br />
<br />
It feels like enduring so much abuse in an ex relationship that you had to learn how to save yourself. And that savior looks like lying, manipulating others, and gaslighting yourself into believing that things didn’t happen. You know you don’t need those tactics anymore but it feels easy and safe when you feel weak and tired. And scared. Because you know you’re safe now. You truly do know that. But after a time in life where you were so scared… that feeling lasts.<br />
<br />
So you sit in your therapist’s office and see it written down on paper that you were truly abused in every way possible for your situation. And it starts to make sense a bit more.<br />
<br />
And I didn’t have time to process and heal then, truly. I thought I did. I was scared out of my eating disorder through the abuse. I thought I had beaten it, but it just was pushed down as I tried to emotionally survive. And the relationship ended so so so abruptly (thank goodness) and I found my best friend and safe place so soon afterwards that I never did process it.<br />
<br />
Those wounds last. They sit there and I try to heal them through cutting that ball of yarn and tying things up until nothing makes sense anymore. And my body and mind feels it is in danger all of the time, so it finds relief through just not feeling much of anything anymore. It’s a light switch where one side is feeling panic and the other side is sitting in darkness.<br />
<br />
Woof.<br />
<br />
This feels like a lot.</div>
<div>
I don’t know why I thought to write it all down. There’s so much more to it than this. Last night I scrolled through articles, looking for someone who could explain how I feel, someone who could put it down in words. Nothing touched it quite right. I’ve got a jumbled mess of genetics and history that puts me into a sticky tar pit in California that is tough to move in and pretty gross.</div>
<div>
This isn’t to cause concern though, truly.<br />
<br />
I laugh with my babies. We roll around on the ground playing and laughing until our sides split and tears are running down our faces. I love my husband so deeply that it’s just become a part of me that I don’t even have to question. Such a place of profound security. I look forward to family visits and I get excited about cooking and I sit down and read a book and truly soak it in. I sit in my backyard in silence, under the Arizona sun, feeling my skin drink it in while the wind brushes my face and I take in the world with a mind silent from all of the confusion. I lay down and listen to music and feel my heartbeat change to match the pulse of the song.</div>
<div>
But the wounds are there. If exercise could have worked the turmoil out of me, it would have. If the hours spent on my knees in prayer could have cured me, it would have. If blocking out everything that caused me undue stress or the reverse, taking it all on and learning how to manage it could have helped… it would have by now.</div>
<div>
Sometimes these things are just more complex than that. And sometimes you need a true professional to take the balls of yarn as you feed it to them, so they can roll it up nicely and untangle the mess.<br />
<br />
The truth is I can’t just magically walk away from it all. Eating disorders will probably be a part of my mind forever. The memories of abuse won’t go away. But having those parts of me rolled up tightly makes it easier for me to put them into a box and fill my mind and my life with the present, which is so wonderful. Medication has helped the process move along quicker, and finding a therapist who knows what they're doing, and who I truly felt guided to through a series of such fortunate encounters has been a saving grace. I don't ask family and friends to cure me or solve me or carry this for me. I'm at a place now where I don't need advice unsolicited. I've found a beat that works for me and I'll walk it until it stops working.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
And all of these, I don’t consider them to be weaknesses despite the way they make me feel. At least, I wouldn’t call anyone weak for battling them. There are strengths to be found in the mess. I’m perceptive of my environment and dangers that may be there. I am constantly ready with escape routes from any situation that may grow dark. I can relate keenly and empathise deeply. I’ve learned to look for light in new ways.<br />
<br />
I’m getting better, I truly am. It’s exciting to see the small changes adding up and to feel the knots inside me undoing. </div>
<div>
And to everyone reading this. Thank you for your unfailing support and patience. I’ve got a memory that won’t quit (literally) and I will never forget things that you may have brushed off as being easy nothings, but that meant the world to me. All I ask of people is to continue what you’re doing. <br />
<br />
And to anyone else who needs a support system, I fancy myself a good listener, and my work hours are crazy enough that I’ll probably be available whenever you need it. You’re not alone, and there is help and happiness ahead. You’ve got this.</div>
Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-11877497838128811752019-08-21T15:00:00.001-06:002019-08-21T15:00:16.720-06:00The SmallI've been slowly starting to refine my interests. Emphasis on the word slowly. One day I'm certain that I want to do xyz and the next day, that sounds like torture. It's slow progress, but I feel confident I will get to wherever I'm going. The potential of the unknown is gradually becoming less terrifying and foreboding, and more interesting and inviting. At least today it is. Tomorrow it will probably be back to the scary parts.<br />
<br />
I stopped writing for a while. Why is that. Well. I think I stopped writing because I didn't know what to write about. You know those image compilations (I can think of a certain sea sponge themed show with such a compilation) of a person going through their day, not moving, as the scenes flash behind them showing the same thing over and over and over again. That's me.<br />
<br />
It's this tricky sort of relationship, though. You see, I think I like routine. Routine holds me accountable. I love a good healthy, to do list. I love writing the list, and I love it to be full, and the satisfaction of crossing it off. But being a SAHM, your list starts to dwindle down as your tasks become things like "Change the kitty litter" "Air out the rooms" "Vacuum" and so on. I mean, there's lots of other important things on there, too, of course. I have my "boy" time where we sit, with nothing to do, nothing to distract us too much, and we talk. Maybe we find a magazine to flip through. Maybe they drive cars all over me. That's meaningful work, the connection. But running a house while your husband is at work is made of a lot of non-connection. For a person that craves meaningful connection, who suffers greatly from social anxiety and has a hard time creating those meaningful connections, and who is stuck in a monotonous routine... life starts to lose meaning. And when life has no meaning, then there's nothing more to write.<br />
<br />
And to be fair, I'm not innocent in this. As certain mental health challenges have risen up, I've definitely sacrificed parts of myself to feed the illness in the name of "self care" which wound up to be ways that didn't particularly serve myself, and may have done more harm in driving me further into a ditch than anything. Figuring out how to round out those areas that have deflated will be a challenge in and of itself, but hey, there are definitely pockets of meaning tucked away in there.<br />
<br />
But while I'm here, I might as well look for the inspiration. I suppose no greater way to scratch the itch of creation than looking for inspiration when it's difficult to find it.<br />
<br />
So here are some things that inspire me.<br />
<br />
I love watching Minus eat. I love how methodical he is in the process. He licks off his fingers and slowly presses his fingers along the corners of his dishes to find the last bits of food. He holds his sandwich like an adult and chews slowly, looking at the food as he eats it, to learn what it tastes like, what it smells like, and what it looks like. Meanwhile Didik smashes up his bread into a little ball and picks it into tiny crumbs until it's all over the floor, and none of it is in his mouth.<br />
<br />
I'm calling them by the names they called each other, starting out, by the way. I didn't actually name my children Didik and Minus.<br />
<br />
I love watching Didik when he's still (which is rare) and happy (which is common). His eyes turn into little moons. It's the best way I can think to describe it. Crescents turned on their sides. I suppose calling them rainbows would be a more practical way to create the image, but calling them moons feels more accurate. They're dark, but they shine. He looks like a cartoon character, perfectly arched eyes that shoot happiness out of them. It's so beautiful.<br />
<br />
I love listening to Minus's voice. Oh how he loves the sound of his own voice. He was born loving it. I love listening to him babble and sing different pitches. He speaks in complete sentences, but when the words run out (because trust me, when you talk as much as he does, the words run out) he resorts to just "ah" and "duh" and "boo", sung at different volumes, and different pitches, experimenting with how it feels and sounds.<br />
<br />
I love my relationship with Didik. He is so critical of me, and I don't know where he got that from. He will not hesitate to tell me when I do wrong. He has no shortage of attitude there. "Mom, I told you already..." "Mom, I'm just saying..." He's three. And he's not like this with everyone, just me. Almost annoyance, though I know it's feigned when he crawls onto my lap and curls up and runs his hands through my hair. I feel lucky that he's so comfortable around me that he doesn't hesitate to call me out when he thinks I'm wrong. Sometimes he's right. But only sometimes.<br />
<br />
I spoke with my therapist this week about selfishness. I feel very selfish in some areas. I feel they are quite big areas of life, though. I don't really want to get into it. She pointed out that I'm quick to compromise in many areas, though. At the core of it, what I perceive as selfish is simply me trying to preserve the parts of me that I feel are important.<br />
<br />
But maybe I am selfish. I'm very selfish in claiming the three boys in my life (four, if you include the cat) as mine. I feel so fortunate to have them as mine. I selfishly love being the queen of the house, with all the rights, royalties, inclusions and exclusions that come with it.<br />
<br />
I think today is a good day. Maybe I'll have to tell my mood tracker that. Today is a pretty good day.Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-86058511847440312842019-08-14T10:06:00.000-06:002019-08-14T10:06:08.649-06:00Back At It Again; Alt: Who Am IWell hello there.<br />
<br />
It's been about two years.<br />
<br />
I stopped for a while. I do this thing where I try to get "famous" and it ruins everything for me. I need to stop trying to be famous. It takes the joy out of it. And what is the point of doing anything unnecessary if there is no joy in it?<br />
<br />
But lately I've been at a stand still. I've been going through a huge life change. It's like a mid life crisis except I'm 27. I'm realizing a lot of things about myself that I didn't know before. I'm realizing a lot of things about myself that I thought were true, are false, and a lot of things I thought were false, are true. These narratives I've told myself. And it's good. But after kids and marriage and working from home for 3 years, I feel I need to figure out who I am. And it makes my husband laugh because he knows who I am, but hey, if he could just tell me, then we wouldn't be here.<br />
<br />
The one thing I've realized is that I need to write more. I need to write and I need to read and I need to learn and consume art and information that serves me.<br />
<br />
A lot of this "who am I" is oriented around what I want to do with my life. I used to be a very busy person. In high school, some nights I'd sleep in a chair in the auditorium because extracurricular activities were stranding me there. This was a rare occurrence, but it did happen. I thrived in that environment. In college I took 22 credit hour semesters, and flourished. And now my time is filled with sweeping, mopping, laundry, throwing away broken toys, and a lot of thinking. It's not all bad. But it doesn't feel like my prime. And I refuse to accept that my prime is over, at the age of 27. So after all of the crumbs have been swept, what will I do?<br />
<br />
Here are my thoughts lately.<br />
<br />
In no particular order.<br />
<br />
I could be a therapist? I've been interested in the way the mind works for some time. My best friend is a phenomenal therapist, and I look up to her and aspire to be like her. My own therapist is so big in my life, and I would love to be that for someone. I'd love to help sort out other's thoughts and while doing so, maybe sort out my own. It would involve more school, which I'm not opposed to, re:I love school. It would involve hours and hours of certification, which may not be ideal. And there's a big unknown of where would I work? Could I find a job? Would it be one that made me satisfied?<br />
And I'm not really a fan of the unknown.<br />
<br />
I could be an organizer? Not a cleaning lady. The kind of lady that instagram famous ladies and rich old ladies pay to come in and organize their pantries and closets. I guess there's not the fulfilling aspect here of changing a person's life in the way that therapy or teaching does, but there is the satisfaction of putting someone's home in order, and by doing so, restoring a little more order to a world that really needs it. It's a passion around my house, and I think I'd be good at it. But there is a whole lot of unknown there, and a huge potential of business failure, which comes with the sacrifice of a lot of money and even more time.<br />
<br />
I could be a secretary? This one made my husband laugh in shock. I don't mean the kind of secretary in Monster's Inc. I mean the kind of secretary in I Feel Pretty. I literally want the chick flick life secretary job. Joseph said he never imagined me as wanting that kind of job, sitting at a desk and taking calls. And it's not that, that's not what I want to do. I suppose it's just in those movies, they start in that job -- "And they then become owners of the company?" No, Joseph. Sometimes they do. And sometimes they do something else. But the job is the point that they start at, and after the course of 2 hours, they figure out who they are. So being a secretary would help me figure out who I am. I guess maybe real life secretary jobs aren't like that.<br />
<br />
Listen, Joe, I don't want to be a secretary at Honeywell (Joe's job)<br />
I want to be a secretary in a big building with glass walls, lots of light, and I can wear lots of suits.<br />
Ah. I see. You want to be a secretary from a chick flick.<br />
<br />
Yes. Is that too much to ask?<br />
<br />
I could be a gardener? I love plants. I love taking care of them and feeling the soil between my fingers and smelling their leaves. It grounds me. I love walking around under the sun with a watering can and a tiny shovel for pulling leaves. I love talking to people and teaching them that they can indeed be a plant person too, it's just a matter of finding the right plant. You don't walk into a dog shelter and pick out any old dog, you pick out the one that is your other half. And it's the same with plants. I think I'd be quite good at that. But I guess I don't know what all entails working at a garden shop. Maybe it's not all pulling weeds. What else could it be? Anyone else work at a garden shop?<br />
<br />
I could be a librarian? My personality tests really pushed this one. A literally quiet job, with a lot of learning. I mean, doesn't everyone want to be a librarian in some way. Burying yourself in walls of books, losing yourself in hallways of stories. Shushing people. Shushing so many people. Anxiety creeps in though. Libraries seem to be places where all kinds of people end up at some point or another, including some of society's worst. I may just have to hire a body guard. And the whole practical aspect of it requiring a master's degree (which isn't the worst) and the jobs are low in number, and prospecting librarians are high in number (which is the worst.)<br />
<br />
And then we come back to teaching. Something draws me to it, at the same time that it pushes it away. I feel sort of like maybe teaching is an abusive lover. Or maybe I'm the abusive lover? But we can't stay away from each other, but maybe we're not the best for one another. I crave contact, changing lives, changing the world. But there's no time for such things, as a teacher, anymore. It doesn't help that all elementary school teachers I know are counting down the days to summer from the second the bell rings on the first day of school. And sure there are a lot of moments where it all makes sense. Sprinkled among testing, difficult students, difficult parents, difficult administration, difficult rules. If I could have a one room schoolhouse, in the olden days, that would be great. I'd love my own classroom. Truly my own classroom.<br />
<br />
Ah the days of yore.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />I guess that's all. In all of this, I think I need to write more. I think writing really helped me through college in guiding me, and I think it could help me a lot now. So what do you say?Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-53357730896507773742018-01-23T07:17:00.002-07:002018-01-23T07:17:34.252-07:00That Time When I Went Instagram FamousJoe changed his blogger name, so he's not Martha Stewart. And yes, I'm logged in and blogging from his account, but I assure you this is me, Lara. I can prove it by telling you that I scootered a lot in college, and that's what 90% of my blog is about, my scootering days in college. I'm just too lazy to log into my account, and not entirely sure I know how to, either.<br />
<br />
But here you go, mom, I'm blogging. I've been missing from the blogosphere (I feel like there's a word like that, but I'm not sure what it is.) This blog post might give some insight as to why that is.<br />
<br />
A preface... this post is not looking for pity or kudos. If I was looking for people to verbally boost me up, trust me, I would have written this a long time ago. The only reason I'm writing it now is because I've gotten over that, and now I'm writing it for me.<br />
<br />
A couple of months ago I got hit with the urge I'm sure everyone is hit with. And that was to become iNsTaGrAm FaMoUs. Specifically Instagram. Because the facts are these folks (as she puts on a fedora and pulls out a candy cigar) Instagram is a young person's game, yeh see? And if you want to stay cool, Instagram is where it is, yeh see? Facebook just isn't gonna pay the bills, yeh see? *End bad mobster scene*<br />
<br />
I dunno what it is. I was doing a yoga challenge on Instagram for fun, I started getting likes, I wondered what it would be like to get more likes, I wondered if I could get free stuff on Instagram, so I decided to learn more about that. I read articles about SEO and "influencing" and all that you've got to do to become famous. This isn't going to be a blog about what it takes, because honestly I think that stuff is as dull as nails. And maybe that's why I'm not Instagram famous, because I consider all that boring.<br />
<br />
But I took the step. Decided to dedicate a large portion of my life to this new hobby, and career of sorts, because it IS time consuming. The first step was making my account public. Which isn't that bad, actually. I don't post many pics of my kids faces on my Instagram, I don't post their names, and I screen every account that passes through mine and block them if I get a bad vibe.<br />
<br />
A strange thing happened, when I did that, though. It wasn't the fact that my account wasn't private anymore... it was just the knowledge that I was moving forward with this plan to get ***famous***... but a part of me mourned. It was really strange. I remember the day, remember where I was sitting, remember embarking on this aMaZiNg JoUrNeY all Bachelor style and feeling like I wish I could go back, already.<br />
<br />
I did all that stuff. I created a page in my planner where I'd track my progress. I'd use all the hash tags, I'd look for other accounts and follow and engage with them. I'd learn what hashtags were trending. I tried to stylize my feed.<br />
<br />
What the crap is all that about? Stylizing your feed? Making sure the pictures you take match the pictures you took before? UGH. That was probably the worst part for me. I mean, I like a certain look in my photos, I like them to be warm and colorful and stuff, but heaven help me if I post two yoga pictures in a row, or take a break from the yoga photos and post a picture of the beach. But it disrupts the entire aesthetic.<br />
<br />
Pathetic.<br />
<br />
That's mean. And I don't really mean that.<br />
<br />
But in a way, it is. I've battled my whole life with finding a balance between recording and living, because the two don't seem to mix together any better than oil and vinegar do. In the end, you may come out with a nice salad dressing but it's going to be fighting to separate the entire time.<br />
<br />
Do I witness life with my own eyes? (Or through my contact lenses... because... I didn't listen when my mom told me to stop reading books in the dark. I've got a rebellious streak like a bad girl, obviously.) Or do I witness life through my phone camera, or professional camera? Do I take in moments and enjoy them in my soul without thinking about how I'm going to portray it on my blog? Do I pursue adventures for the sake of enjoying my family and my life, which, at the ripe old age of 25 already feels like it's moving too fast, or do I take adventures as an opportunity to write and photograph, not for myself, not for my kids, but for my doting fans?<br />
<br />
I didn't want that life. And that's what I felt die inside me. I felt my brain start to analyze the pictures I took of my kids. "Are these candids really that good? Are they too blurry? Are my kids looking perfect enough here? How long can I get them to sit still in this position or recreate this moment over so I can take a couple hundred more, where 99 of them won't be good enough and only 1 will be worth sharing?" I started picking apart my yoga photos, and with it, my home, and my body. "Ugh, I wish I had a brighter paint color to make these photos pop more. And maybe I need hair extensions and what is that fold of skin doing on my hip, ugh."<br />
<br />
And yeah, I do wish I had a brighter paint color because I love the light... but why did it have anything at all to do with my Instagram feed?<br />
<br />
This isn't to take a jab at those who are "Instagram Famous." I applaud you. I recognize how much work it takes. It really is a job. And many of you are inspiring to others.<br />
<br />
And that's what I thought I could do, perhaps I could get to a point where my words would move masses and I could share powerful truths and give a voice that maybe wasn't there before. I do have platforms I care about. Eating disorders. Body acceptance. The gospel of Jesus Christ. The importance of education and children and those who have less than...<br />
<br />
But at what cost. Do I set aside what matters most to me... my family, my children, my own *self* and craft a world that, while powerful and influential, is not authentic.<br />
<br />
Or do I put down my camera for a while. Do I take a break from writing. To focus and be present. To take in life at that moment. With my own eyes. Own hands. Own lungs. For me, and for no one else in that moment but me... Because being there in my own skin is the best thing I can do for my family.<br />
<br />
So I did.<br />
<br />
And now I post whatever the crap I want on Instagram. Which is not that much, actually. Because that experiment of becoming famous really did a number on my relationship with social media, and I'm still working out those kinks. I still do hashtags, too, because it helps me connect to a really interesting and fun yoga community.<br />
<br />
But this blog post isn't for the famous. Because who among them is going to read it, honestly.<br />
<br />
This blog post is for the ones out there like me. Who don't get many likes. Who have a junky phone camera and a fancy point and shoot. (RIP DSRL camera....)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcw_l_Ya5gnEA-LsSuqLMg0rdaip4Ws29X-yvjkym1UgQ2YosT64OknWPfWKSD-h0wjwnhyDmAloXhCPdns1WHgf4u4i3027acTXcPrzohofC2NzJe3SWVY83nSrDbD5bRAHp2-7Y2J6E/s1600/18527411_10213228675540820_1955865583411161270_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcw_l_Ya5gnEA-LsSuqLMg0rdaip4Ws29X-yvjkym1UgQ2YosT64OknWPfWKSD-h0wjwnhyDmAloXhCPdns1WHgf4u4i3027acTXcPrzohofC2NzJe3SWVY83nSrDbD5bRAHp2-7Y2J6E/s640/18527411_10213228675540820_1955865583411161270_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My life is better when my photos are hurried and blurred. When hairs are astray. When I post a picture of a beautiful, memorable and hilarious moment that gets only 5 likes rather than 500. My relationships are happier when they're not only not posed, but also not analyzed in the candid to make sure there are no flaws. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'd honestly recommend this experiment to anyone, though. It's rough. But it will open your eyes up a lot more. Since doing it, I've cut back my social media usage from 3-6 hrs a day (that's disgusting and embarrassing to admit) to 30 minutes a day. With my spare time I've picked up books, taken walks, gone on bike rides, cleaned, changed diapers, raced, sang nursery rhymes, hiked, laughed, and yes, cried a lot, because I'm me and I'm not gonna be able to get through life without the crying hahah.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When I look to the people I truly admire the very most in life, the people I want to emulate, the people who inspire me beyond description... my parents, my family, my husband, my children, my friends... it has so little to do with their presence online and so much to do with our personal connection, and my connection to their own lens of life. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have a bad habit of not knowing how to end blog posts... but I guess... maybe.... if you're worried about this stuff, it's not bad to give it a try. Maybe you'll be wildly successful at it. But maybe you'll notice how much you missed the before. And maybe it will give you an opportunity to go back and do the before again, but with a new found appreciation and respect. </div>
<br />
And now you can't say "So no one told me life was gonna be this way..." because I did. So there.Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-64644807602930532142017-09-08T13:12:00.000-06:002017-09-08T13:43:03.576-06:00Married, Not Ready For KidsCheck it.<br />
<br />
Today I'm blogging as Martha Stewart. This glitch catches me off guard every time.<br />
<br />
Ok so you know when you're on Facebook, and Facebook is like "Look at these groups! Join these groups!"<br />
<br />
I get those a lot. I tried to Kon Marie a lot of facebook stuff (Kon Marie: The art of getting rid of stuff you don't need or want) But I'm still in a lot of groups, and facebook thinks I must like groups, so I get a lot of suggestions.<br />
<br />
Like a LOT of Lipsense suggestions. None of which I join, sorry friends...<br />
<br />
A lot of area suggestions, weirdly specific ones, like "Mesa/Gilbert young adult skydiving fishers group!" That one doesn't exist yet, but if I did either of those things, I'd start that group.<br />
<br />
One makes me laugh though.<br />
<br />
<b>Married, Not Ready For Kids.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Ok laugh might not be the right word. It makes me feel a lot of things. It makes me miss the days of just Joe and I. It makes me remember that time of life.<br />
<br />
But it really makes me laugh because it so aptly describes me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hello. I'm Lara. I'm not ready for kids.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And here's the kicker. I've got two of them.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Joe and I did a lot to prepare for kids, we really did. We waited until we were done with school, had our savings built up, and were well on our way in our careers. We were married about 3 years before our first was born, and had a lot of time to do the young married couple stuff. We got that "Are you newlyweds?" question a lot and did the cutesy giggle type thing when we said "Hehehhee kinda!" </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Are you nauseated yet?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
No but I'm all for that. I respect people who are not ready for kids. I know it's not for everyone, but I respect people who wait a while until they're financially/emotionally/mentally ready for kids. That's a good thing! I will be the last to convince you to have kids if you're not ready. Kids need ready parents.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We did that.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I wound up where I am today, two kids, still not ready.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93SlMeb0fHUdlebZJ3f4s-lNMpweTyvrMX1tibmSYnngzrAEKhXP_MwC9DFmwfH17gBtSryHMayEtr0E51GP88n7SB1kiK8N1caTxMU_l6uh9gK3gNXqqh8PNnYzbZT5bRmvf72wHNbs/s1600/20993924_10214169103730937_802524476720743597_n+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="366" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93SlMeb0fHUdlebZJ3f4s-lNMpweTyvrMX1tibmSYnngzrAEKhXP_MwC9DFmwfH17gBtSryHMayEtr0E51GP88n7SB1kiK8N1caTxMU_l6uh9gK3gNXqqh8PNnYzbZT5bRmvf72wHNbs/s640/20993924_10214169103730937_802524476720743597_n+%25281%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids </i>I thought, a few nights before our first was born, and I realized our late night food runs were probably nearing an end. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>I thought, watching the oldest sleep, as a newborn, while holding my breath and waiting for him to take his. It's crazy how long that half a second seems, waiting to see if they're still breathing. It's an agonizing eternity. And it happens a lot.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>I thought, as I pulled out handfuls of hair. That wonderful thing people don't tell you about. Pregnancy treats your hair great. Post partum does not. And it doesn't help that little babies have grabby hands that crave your hair, especially if it's long. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>I thought, as I changed the billions of diapers, and wiped poo off the ground, and ran like a mad woman just now as my oldest is running around diaper free, post bath, while I blog... and he just started saying "Uh oh... poo..." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
How many diapers? </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/1nK02G3YROw/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/1nK02G3YROw?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>I thought, as I realized how hard it is to make friends now, and I wondered when the last time I went out was, and I wondered if I ever would have good, close friends again. I do. That still happened. Don't worry, women, there is hope. You can still have friends. But it may sometimes feel bleak.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i> I thought, as I cleaned the kitchen after cleaning the living room, and before cleaning the SAME living room again, because my oldest was tearing it apart.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i> I thought, as my throat swelled up when I saw two pink lines for the second time around, and my oldest was just a baby. <i>I'm not ready for kids, </i><i>I'm not ready for kids, </i><i>I'm not ready for kids, </i><i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>as I held the oldest and cried and wondered how in the world we were going to handle this new unexpected family member. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>I thought, as I watched that oldest child get bullied for the first time, 15 months old. Because it's not like I can MAKE other kids play with him. And I don't want to be fighting his battles. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i> I thought, as I watched my body morph into something unrecognizable, and something that was and is difficult for me to love. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>I thought, as I closed out the news website on my phone and wondered how in the world I'm supposed to protect my kids in this world and said a silent prayer that my kids wouldn't be the ones that others would need protection from. As I then questioned every parenting choice I've ever made, ever.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids, </i>I thought, as the tears came.<br />
<br />
His tears. Because he wanted juice. Because he wanted my phone. Because he wanted to go outside when it was 120. Because he wanted to run through the entire Story Bots show for the 3rd time that day. Or from the youngest, because he wanted his brother to play with him but his brother was over it.<br />
<br />
Or my tears...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The tears from fear, of the unknown. Are they going to be the people I want them to be? Are they going to be happy? </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The tears from worry. Is it ok that he just drank a bottle of nail polish? Is it ok that he keeps spitting up? Is it ok that his diaper looks like that? Is it ok if he eats that? Is it ok if he shoves chips in his 2 week old brother's mouth? IS IT OK IS IT GOING TO BE OK IS EVERYONE OK?!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The tears of laughter, when he ran around the corner and Joe jumped at him and he threw up his hands and screamed. When he looked utterly horrified at the prospect of going to Sudan on his mission. When our youngest gave us his first laughs, and kept laughing, and kept smiling, and didn't stop. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The tears of pride, when the littlest, at 3 months old, comforted his older brother. When the oldest took his own binky out of his mouth, the binky that he relied on for EVERYTHING, and he gave it to his brother. When he reached out his hand to pet a dog, overcoming his crippling fear of dogs. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The tears, when he came and gave me a hug around my neck when I sat down and cried because <i>I'm not ready for kids, </i><i>I'm not ready for kids, </i><i>I'm not ready for kids....</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So here I am. Two kids later.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>I'm not ready for kids. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I may never be. I don't know what is coming up. Despite dedicating my life to working for and learning about children... I have no clue what is on this map of parenthood. It is uncharted territory. And <i>I'm not ready for kids. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But it's ok. I think we'll work through it together. The good and the bad. Today I accept the fact that <i>I'm not ready for kids.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-71221315791082691182017-08-24T14:29:00.001-06:002017-08-24T14:29:23.460-06:00The One About YogaGet it? Because it's a reference to Friends. Making me the most basic woman alive.<br />
Watches friends<br />
Does yoga<br />
Drinks herbal tea<br />
Talks about "Kon Marie" stuff<br />
Has fancy pens and tape<br />
<br />
I'm just not gonna call myself wifey. You can't make me do it. I am a wife. Not a wifey.<br />
<br />
Unless you wanna tease me, but watch yourself, because I can bite back.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9a0YsSVTR2UEnw9Ln7_E6jTs3NRQDr2Idinp5oJ7veSoNNL3l2Nmh_JkcdMhs-wgYH7cWOwQ9f9IBVYDH7cy0O1F0NMyu9-Lmowq-wWGbTq-VADysxP6kdsZ3AZZYiV4nX9roJc4Yiw/s1600/bs.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="950" data-original-width="641" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9a0YsSVTR2UEnw9Ln7_E6jTs3NRQDr2Idinp5oJ7veSoNNL3l2Nmh_JkcdMhs-wgYH7cWOwQ9f9IBVYDH7cy0O1F0NMyu9-Lmowq-wWGbTq-VADysxP6kdsZ3AZZYiV4nX9roJc4Yiw/s400/bs.png" width="268" /></a></div>
Ok perhaps the most common questions I get are...<br />
<br />
"How are you?"<br />
"What's your name?" (with work...)<br />
"How old are you?" (also with work. Not rude if it's cute lil Chinese babies asking you for your age.)<br />
"What's for dinner?"<br />
"Mmmm?" (How lil lion says "more")<br />
and....<br />
<br />
"How did you get started with yoga?"<br />
<br />
I bring all of those on, they're invited, I provoke them.... so I thought I'd answer them all in one blow today.<br />
<br />
- Pretty good.<br />
- Lara Jean Becar, yo.<br />
- 25 and LIVING LARGE (said in the coolest way possible. Difficult for me to achieve.)<br />
- SHOOT it's falafel and I need to get started on it.<br />
- No<br />
<br />
<br />
And...<br />
<br />
How did I get started with yoga.<br />
<br />
Ok we'll start at the very beginning, the place that I always start.<br />
<br />
About a year and a half ago I was in a bad place, not loving my image, not wanting to go running because in AZ that's a tall order, and I needed something to DO. I went to my bff, Melece, cried some, and she suggested yoga as a kinda fun thing to do. I lol'd a bit, because when people suggest yoga, they're usually not serious, and I don't think Melece intended me to take it the way I did either. But she held me accountable, I rolled my eyes some, but I was willing to try it.<br />
<br />
And I didn't stop.<br />
<br />
Ok but where did I start. I knew Melece used an app, but it was one that I had to purchase and on principle I don't buy apps. Yet. (That yet will be elaborated on.) I did find a free app, Down Dog. I downloaded it but started with YouTube, asking for advice from people on their favorite videos. Everyone, without fail, suggested <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/yogawithadriene" target="_blank">Yoga With Adriene </a>. As do I. She was the second person to get me going with yoga. When you're starting an exercise routine, if you're like me, you don't like to be coddled into it with sweet, airy voices and phrases like "chakra" and hocus pocus like that. I'm kinda a straight to the point person. Give it to me how it is. Tell me what I'm doing.<br />
<br />
And that's what Yoga With Adriene did. There wasn't a lot of hippy-dippy nonsense to it, and she had a sense of humor. I really appreciated that. After learning the basics, I went to the Down Dog app. Where I am now, I LOVE DOWN DOG. It's an incredible app. Crazy fun. But I'd be lying if I said it was easy. That is some hard crap there. Even on the beginning level, it wiped me out. I decided I couldn't stick with it. It was damaging my drive to do yoga, so I went back to Yoga with Adriene. I stuck with her for a year or so, before I felt like I was falling into the same routine and wanted to try some new things. Now I'm on the Down Dog App again, sometimes I do my own routines too, and I love this app. It actually may be an app that I buy, I love it that much. Yoga is making me an app buying person.<br />
<br />
Ok that's my start.<br />
<br />
Now for the good stuff, my tips on how YOU can start.<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Love it.</b> It's not really that complicated. The first thing you gotta do to enjoy yoga is to ENJOY yoga. If you're not enjoying it, then maybe it's not for you, and that's ok. I was really beating myself for not loving running for a long time. I'd do it over and over and over and I never loved it. I'm of the strong belief that exercise is not meant to be endured, but enjoyed. Find something you enjoy. Maybe it's yoga. Maybe it's weights. Maybe it's running. But love it. Now, if you WANT to love yoga and you're having a hard time with it, keep reading!<br /></li>
<li><b>Listen. </b>This may sound like hippy dippy nonsense but it isn't. When you start out with yoga, I think it's really important not to kill yourself quickly. A favorite quote of mine is "If you listen to your body whisper, you don't have to let it scream." The key isn't to push your limits. It's to find your limit, sit there for a while until it's a little more bearable, and then try again the next day. Your limit will grow. It's not a sprint though. It's a marathon. Pace yourself. Don't throw yourself into crazy vinyasa sequences before you're ready. Listen to your body. Notice the way your arms feel in down dog. Notice how your hips feel in warrior two. Notice your breathing in a chaturanga. Listen to the small things. It's kind of fascinating.<br /></li>
<li><b>Prioritize it. </b>Put on a cartoon for your kids. Turn off your phone (or not, if you're using it for your practice...) but make it important to you. It's not about the exercise being important. If that were the case, then you could go to the gym. But this is about you. About connecting your mind to your body to your breath. Having a little conversation with yourself, seeing how you're doing, seeing what's stressful, seeing if you can put aside the stress for a mere 30 minutes to be still. It's so important to be still. If you don't have a lot of time, cut out 20 min in the morning when you wake up. That's what my Joe does. If you have a lot of time but a lot of distractions, be patient. It's ok to stop after 10 min and put the binky back in your baby's mouth. It's ok to pause after 23 min and drink some water. It's ok if an hour practice take 2 hrs because your mom called or you had an important email to answer. In an ideal world, you can carve out all that time just for yourself. But it's ok if you're not in an ideal world.<br /></li>
<li><b>Create your world.</b> Find a place you love. I've found that I love natural light and plants. It must be swept and clean. This helps me to focus on it. In addition to that, find a program you like! My Melece doesn't like Yoga with Adriene very much. And that's ok. It's not for everyone. Try out different things! Not all instructors are the same. AND you DON'T have to go to a class. Confession, I've never once been to a class. I'm entirely "self" taught, with youtube, apps, reading up on stuff, and lots of practice. I believe the best yoga is done on your own when you're not worried about how you look. Because it doesn't matter how you look. My Fallen Angel pose up there looks horribly crooked and comical most of the time. It's fun to laugh about, and I don't care that I don't look perfect because I'm alone. </li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's crazy. To not care about looking perfect. There's not a lot of time in my life where I feel like that. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now if you're sitting here saying I WANT to, but I can't....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Here are some things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>You don't have to be strong. I'm not strong. It's hilarious how little muscles I have. I'm VERY unsculpted. I've got a blobby post baby body.</li>
<li>You don't have to be flexible. Joe is NOT flexible. Despite his time in gymnastics as a youth, he couldn't touch his knees for a while. But he's growing. </li>
<li>You don't have to be a hippy. Heaven knows I'm not. Or wasn't... I still drink soda after many of my practices, and take ibruprofin for headaches like it's going out of style. I enjoy the thought of working in corporate America sometimes. (Hippies hate that, right?)</li>
<li>To reiterate, you don't have to look like a catalog. My first down dog was painful and awkward. Painfully awkward, even. But I listened and focused on areas for improvement. </li>
<li>You don't have to become a yogi. You can just do it for fun. And run still. Or lift weights. Or watch Netflix. </li>
</ol>
<div>
This IS your world. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But know this also.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is where it gets hippy and emotional. Sorry guys.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Your body has power you can't even comprehend. You'll be amazed at the way the energy bursts from every limb when you do your first arm balance pose. You'll be surprised at how quickly you're able to advance through things when you unlock your confidence and true inner strength. You'll learn about new muscles. You'll feel the blood pump through you in a way unlike anything else. You'll feel your mind relax and sharpen, somehow simultaneously. It is an incredible high. When you finally get it, when it finally clicks, you can take on the world. You can. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Take it on with me.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-74866363327503641912017-08-01T14:20:00.000-06:002017-08-01T14:20:58.194-06:00Rough OneI'm getting increasingly terrible at blogging. I'm not super great at goals. Or blogging goals. Or goals about making 5000 steps when it's over 100 degrees out. Or goals about doing some big adventure every day.<br />
<br />
I've been doing bujo lately, though...<br />
<br />
<b>bujo:</b> Kinda like journaling and planning and doodling all had a baby.<br />
<br />
That's the literal definition from the dictionary.<br />
<br />
But nah yeah it's cool. I make note of my days. I stay organized. I make it look pretty. And my life gets recorded in small amounts. So it's not like nothing is getting recorded. Just not for the whole world.<br />
<br />
Besides instagram/facebook.<br />
<br />
I kinda put everything out there, huh.<br />
<br />
Well. The boys are asleep so I thought I'd write some. There is something different about writing on the computer. I'm pretty fantastic at typing. I can type fast! And I love the sound of clicking. And watching the words fly across the screen. I like that. And writing is something I can do. Writing is one place where I don't feel like I need to compare myself to others. It's a nice art, in that way. Writing is just me. And here is my most efficient place of doing that writing.<br />
<br />
What has been going on lately...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfRfpETgGVPcAyMK-_nP6gOlu8h44fDlgHNu9r71-_sIiopAWTszcHeK1JX481rL0hEpFYESzIWPU81oApK7vdW0oufDbzPEDUq2ksEIyCEUPDJBR7imF1l6VXtG4gN4MfypV8dnNkqM/s1600/20170730_132216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="507" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfRfpETgGVPcAyMK-_nP6gOlu8h44fDlgHNu9r71-_sIiopAWTszcHeK1JX481rL0hEpFYESzIWPU81oApK7vdW0oufDbzPEDUq2ksEIyCEUPDJBR7imF1l6VXtG4gN4MfypV8dnNkqM/s320/20170730_132216.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Little M was blessed.<br />
<br />
It was a beautiful weekend, surrounded by family. Lion child and M were very spoiled with all of the attention from both sets of grandparents, their great grandparents, and one of their uncles. Lots of playing outside. The weather has been marvelous, not a day over 110 in some time.<br />
<br />
Which is kind of pathetic, that I consider that marvelous.<br />
<br />
And we've resorted to talking about weather on this blog, so things are very thrilling right now.<br />
<br />
Things truly are pretty exciting though. We like to keep our life full of changes. Like car shopping, planning remodels, work... And boy work has been great. I've picked up more time. I realized that I have the ability to control our financial situation with my work. So I took the reins and did just that. I feel a lot happier when I'm working like this.<br />
<br />
Hmm.<br />
<br />
I've been continuing with my yoga thing. If you're on instagram, you see that. A lot. But my instagram is private, so for all of you at home...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOLa4iOFsEJxUEGbROUnEPpcXLqD835UxV9wBLmQ2kMGHjUxwQ46lWqS0aIaip5ag45jFh2qJM3SUnyTDwVjvmfW26HL82L5Tuo1lPGlOp8RUqt_4chfaF5Z2OiQZ6KXB4ZIaaB_qk9Q/s1600/8117-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="1600" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTOLa4iOFsEJxUEGbROUnEPpcXLqD835UxV9wBLmQ2kMGHjUxwQ46lWqS0aIaip5ag45jFh2qJM3SUnyTDwVjvmfW26HL82L5Tuo1lPGlOp8RUqt_4chfaF5Z2OiQZ6KXB4ZIaaB_qk9Q/s640/8117-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I think I could do to use way more b&w, don't think there's nearly enough there.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yoga has been really great. I started it shortly before becoming pregnant with M, and he really did put my progress on hold, as much as I didn't want to admit it. Inversion poses and twists are NOT great when you're carrying an 8lb baby on the front of your body. I kept the practice going in order to stay flexible and fit (and it paid off in labor!) but didn't progress. Really just maintained. I did build strength though, because chaturangas with a said 8lb baby on your front really strengthen your arms.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Some words on yoga.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I've been fighting myself again. That's vague enough for you. But this yoga thing has helped me de-OH SHOOT THE OLDER CHILD IS AWAKE.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Well.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yoga has helped me maintain fitness of body and mind. Watching one's body stretch and do things that typically aren't found in nature really fuels your mind with confidence. 30% of the time I look at the pictures I take of my routines and think "Heugh, that is what I look like?" but 70% of the time I think "Woah! I can do that?! Not too shabby!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And that's pretty great.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hm.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
What else to talk about.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm not really sure.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I suppose I have this wanderlust lately? But wandering is significantly more difficult in that heat that was afore mentioned and with two little boys. So I've been trying to think of ways to meet that need for adventure from the confines of an air conditioned room.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's tricky.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
If you have any ideas, let me know.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This whole blog post has felt wholly uninspired. So I'm gonna cut it out and go bujo some before I start critiquing this too much. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Everyone have a swell day, you hear? Tah tah for now, my readers. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-84359889265952447692017-06-15T12:43:00.001-06:002017-06-15T17:36:37.834-06:00Routine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Life is normal now. As normal as can be with two under two. Which is... Well, it depends on the day. Sometimes it's pretty normal. Other days I want to pull out my own teeth! Super! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
First item of business today, testing out my webcam. Because it's a new one, got it yesterday, and I'm starting work next week. Which is a whole 'nother kind of "normal." The kind of normal you need to brace yourself for, by hanging black out curtains in the nursery to hopefully get your babes to sleep longer, and the kind of normal you DON'T brace yourself for because you want to take advantage of staying up as late as you can for as long as you can. When you work at 4am, you can't stay up late anymore. Or you can, but then you look like death in the morning.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Webcam works. And this is my blogging room/office. And Joe's office. Hah. Blogging room. As if I blog.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJDSQCEzaTHrj5mtSiJMv_hgPWYsYYXfzDaTA9bo5L1P0nUVanJbPQlrekAi7mHJ9hS3ryWvy9KSKQpT7nIGQ8tPJiu9y6qN6AVJTDH36X2CsqvIXyhre8gZ1Dj8LtZ_dFfSONgLY285M/s1600/61517-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJDSQCEzaTHrj5mtSiJMv_hgPWYsYYXfzDaTA9bo5L1P0nUVanJbPQlrekAi7mHJ9hS3ryWvy9KSKQpT7nIGQ8tPJiu9y6qN6AVJTDH36X2CsqvIXyhre8gZ1Dj8LtZ_dFfSONgLY285M/s640/61517-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Oh the babies are asleep. I think one of them is sick. That's why I'm blogging. TIME FOR IT.<br />
<br />
The last month.<br />
<br />
The last two months?<br />
<br />
Bought a house, had my in laws in town for a week, had my mom in town for two weeks, had a baby, had my mother in law in town for a week, had husband off work for two weeks, visited Utah for a week...<br />
<br />
It was a lot. It was a lot of not routine. And now we're getting back to it.<br />
<br />
But that two weeks of husband off were pretty swell. Preettttty swell.<br />
<br />
First, the basis. He gets two weeks of paid leave for vacation time. Which is really hard on me. I joke that as a teacher, you get paid in vacation time. And working for VIPKid I get all the time I want. So when we're put on a constraint like TWO WEEKS it really freaks you out. Don't even get me started on next year when we're hitting up the big H. As in Hawaii. Without kids. Whatever.<br />
<br />
But Joe's work threw us a bone in the form of two weeks paternity leave. Didn't get that with child #1! It almost makes it worth it to have kids... almost ;) WINK WINK WINK.<br />
<br />
Wait. Don't read into that. I'm not pregnant. I'm joking about having kids being worth it, because of course it is. But two weeks makes it extra super.<br />
<br />
So we crammed those two weeks full of as much as possible.<br />
<br />
Part of which was a lot of cleaning and finishing the last touches of unpacking. Which Joe was less than thrilled about. It's a rough thing when you learn that your wife cleans the house, YES, every DAY! Because she's a little obsessive about crumbs on the floor and the toddler is a little obsessive about leaving crumbs on the floor. It's his primary hobby.<br />
<br />
But we also hit up Tucson. We're not in a hurry to live there... Though the mountains were nice.<br />
<br />
Speaking of mountains. I was going on and on, on the drive to Tucson, about the mountains. Joe at one point laughed and said they weren't mountains, they were glorified hills. Sure.... but there WAS a respectable mountain in Tucson. Anyway.<br />
<br />
Also hit up Utah, and when you see the mountains in Utah, you realize where "glorified hills" comes from. Living in AZ has me saying a lot of AZ things like "Wow, look at those mountains!" and "It's so green here!" and "Rain would feel really nice." and "Only 95? It's a beautiful day!" and "Three whole pine trees? This feels like the mountains!"<br />
<br />
We used to joke, as kids, because my grandparents would talk like that a lot, and we thought it was old-people talk. Nope. It's AZ living talk.<br />
<br />
K. Hit up Tucson for the LDS Tucson Temple Open House. It was gorgeous. It's a very unique building! A very beautiful one. The grounds were desert landscaped, which we noticed was a trend through Tucson. In Gilbert, people seem to try to forget that we live in the desert.<br />
<br />
Huh.<br />
<br />
Oh, hit up the Grand Canyon.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFzW2KwraCjyuo8yd8ssOid0zvcZajjGw6ViN_y-LxsryLNwcUGD5xjGZxp_Vu634gSTY0Zz8OWPeOSe0B9JH7zquVqh1nfKSVvZ41zn4KLtOB8_1yap4CijA5-pgRgleTpI6K116zA2w/s1600/61517-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1410" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFzW2KwraCjyuo8yd8ssOid0zvcZajjGw6ViN_y-LxsryLNwcUGD5xjGZxp_Vu634gSTY0Zz8OWPeOSe0B9JH7zquVqh1nfKSVvZ41zn4KLtOB8_1yap4CijA5-pgRgleTpI6K116zA2w/s640/61517-2.jpg" width="600" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yes, little one #2 is wearing clothes. Just not a lot, because we were wrapped together the whole time and it got hot. And never mind our weird squinty "Where do I look" eyes because the sun was everywhere. I cannot emphasize how much sun there was.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Joe: "Lara, have you ever been to the Grand Canyon?"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Me: "I think so, but not since I was really young."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Joe: "Then you must have been M's age, because you'd remember it if you were older."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Oh. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
That there is a joke about my memory skills that are slightly alarming. </div>
<br />
We'll talk about that later, but it involves the unfolding tale of me realizing I remember things back to 1 year old, vividly, and my mom saying that maybe that means I've got some kind of social disorder or something.<br />
<br />
We'll talk about that later.<br />
<br />
But the Grand Canyon. You get there, you park or ride the bus or however you get there, and you'll probably hit up the visitor center first, it's only smart. And there you'll see that there's a 5 min walk to the nearest lookout, so that's what you'll do.<br />
<br />
5 minutes later, you'll be there, you'll see this big ol hole in the earth, and you'll realize what the big deal about the Grand Canyon is.<br />
<br />
Guys.<br />
<br />
It's a freaking huge hole in the earth. It's mind blowing. It's fascinating. It's hypnotizing.<br />
<br />
And then you'll say "Ok swell, we've seen the Grand Canyon!"<br />
<br />
But since you decided at 7pm the night before to drive up there, you decide to make a day of it and hit up all the stops at this big ol canyon, not expecting much.<br />
<br />
But oh there is much to see.<br />
<br />
It's interesting how interesting a big ol hole in the ground can be from every angle.<br />
<br />
Reminds me of a quote.<br />
<br />
Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona. Not all holes, or games, are created equal.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Funny quote of the Grand Canyon.... But I don't like baseball. That can't be emphasized enough. Though I do enjoy sitting in a baseball stadium if it means there's interesting smelling food, interesting looking people, and the promise of fireworks.</div>
<div>
<br />
Well.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This has been all very rambly. And has had very little to do with routine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I did say I'd blog, didn't I? So here you go. Me. Or you... Or whoever this promise was made to.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Martha Stewart, signing out.<br />
<br />
OHANDPSWEHITUPUTAHTOOANDI'LLBLOGABOUTTHATLATERBECAUSETHISHASGOTTENLONGANDBORINGANDMYMOMNEEDSTOSENDMEPICSBECAUSEIFORGOTTOBRINGMYCAMERAANDI'MHAVINGAHARDTIMENOTPRESSINGTHESPACEBARWHILETYPINGALLTHIS.</div>
Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-67844061176350497602017-05-19T15:43:00.001-06:002017-05-19T15:43:32.490-06:00A Birth Story For The NewestWell well well, what have we here.<br />
<br />
Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to staaaart FOCUS.<br />
<br />
Ok.<br />
<br />
Late summer, I was hit with the overwhelming panic that I was pregnant. I wasn't pregnant though. It was impossible for me to be pregnant when I thought I was, far too early. But still, I bought a lot of tests, wasted a lot of money, did a lot of googling, panicked a lot. I finally reassured my brain that it was just random panic, that I wasn't really pregnant, that I could calm down.<br />
<br />
Until two weeks later I WAS pregnant. I cried a lot. I was really scared, I won't lie. I'm a planner, as I've been saying a lot lately, and this was definitely a big change in plans. Our town home was too small, the Lion was too young, and I was NOT mentally ready.<br />
<br />
But 40 weeks and 4 days is a long time.<br />
<br />
The pregnancy was very easy. No sickness. Very little weight gain. My hair grew like a glorious weed. I had a thought about the nature of my child, that he was determined and driven, but that he was also very considerate and sensitive. My gallbladder went on the fritz a couple of times, but since the new one has been born, I haven't had any problems there either. All in all, there were a lot of tender mercies sent my way during a really scary time for me.<br />
<br />
Which worked out in our favor, as we had been asked by our landlord if we could possibly be moved out of our apartment on our due date... and we were being asked this just 6-7 weeks before said due date.<br />
<br />
So the stress picked up. Lots of prayers asking this baby to stay put were said.<br />
<br />
And those prayers were answered. We moved in and unpacked. My mom came to town to help with the oldest and watch him when we would inevitably drive to the hospital. And the baby stayed put.<br />
<br />
I became very frustrated when I was checked during a weekly appointment, at 39 weeks, and was told that I had zero progress. I took some deep breaths and resolved to go to the front desk and schedule an appointment for 40 weeks, on my due date, and to, at that appointment, schedule an induction. After all, my mom couldn't stay in town forever. We needed to have an end in sight. Alas, the front desk was unable to fit me back in for another appointment until I was a week over due.<br />
<br />
And while those 39 weeks flew by, suddenly time got mixed with a bowl of honey, and things came to a near stand still. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I just convinced myself that pregnancy was a state of life that I would be stuck in forever. After all, I've spent the majority of the last 2 years pregnant.<br />
<br />
But the signs were all there. Every night I'd experience regular contractions. Painful enough to wake me up, but not painful enough to stop me from sleeping. And no closer than 10 minutes apart. This went on for several days. I expressed my exhaustion and frustration to a friend of mine, Amanda, a doula, a saving grace who lived a state a way... (<a href="https://www.facebook.com/powerfulpeacefulbirth/">check out her business here, Utah friends. She is incredible</a>.)<br />
<br />
Amanda suggested that maybe the baby was posterior. Which explained 100% of what was going on. The oldest child was also posterior, so this made a lot of sense. She sent me some articles with suggestions of how to get the baby to turn. I put said practices to work, and that night was not cursed with the contractions! I slept! Through the night! No contractions! I was relieved, but also a little sad, in a way. The contractions were telling me that I was close. With them gone, I had nothing to tell me an end was in sight.<br />
<br />
Until 8pm the next night, the day after I, presumably, turned the baby. 5 minutes apart, going steady. I worked out a lot of pain management techniques on my own, enough to let Joe sleep. I didn't really, at any point, tell Joe what was going on. I didn't want him to get his hopes up and lose sleep if he had to go to work the next morning. So I labored on my own until about 10pm, when I got one blessed hour of sleep in which I dreamed that I sold my soul to the devil for that one hour of sleep. Woke up at 11pm to the contractions coming on strong. I managed the pain on my own again for one hour, as they grew closer together, 3-4 minutes apart. At the one hour mark, I woke up Joe and asked him to help me put the last few things in our hospital bag.<br />
<br />
He helped me, or did all of the work as I screamed into a pillow.<br />
<br />
"But Lara, are you emotionally prepared for them to send you home if it's not time?"<br />
"They are NOT sending me home. I can't TAKE THIS PAIN. I will tell them I'm almost a week past due and I will throw a fit until they keep me."<br />
<br />
Oh, I was GBS positive too, which meant I had to receive two rounds of antibiotics, which would take about 8 hours.<br />
<br />
Hah.<br />
<br />
I went into my mom's room and told her we'd be going to the hospital and I went into my oldest's room and held a very confused him as I sobbed into his cheek and smothered him with kisses and thanked him for being my first baby, and promised him that he would always have that special place in my heart, that we would always be a team, him and I.<br />
<br />
I forgot to mention that during that day, the Lion child was sick with quite a high fever. We battled it with Motrin, but my heart broke, leaving him, worrying about him...<br />
<br />
A 25 minute drive to the hospital with Joseph prying my fingernails out of the back of his hand.<br />
<br />
We get to the hospital and the nurse tells me she'll check me to see how I'm doing. I was pessimistic.<br />
<br />
"I'm famous for not progressing ever... so..."<br />
"You're at a 7!"<br />
<br />
And I almost cried. I never expected to hear that. I had the terrible adrenaline shakes and shivers that people don't tell you about, but I assumed it's because by that time, it was 2am, and it was cold for Arizona.<br />
<br />
The epidural was heaven send, because at that point, my pain management techniques were failing me in a major way. That epidural was like chocolate to a person that just ran across a dementor. It warmed my very soul. And literally warmed me too, I was a little freezing.<br />
<br />
The nurse, bless her heart, started me on the antibiotic drip at around 2:15am and then let me sleep. She'd come in to help me move to a new position every now and then as this poor baby was stressed and his heart rate kept dropping.<br />
<br />
A little before 6am, the nurse very briskly started moving around the room, very nervous about baby's heart. She called in another nurse to help try to get his heart rate back up. While the nurse was coming, she checked me again, and I was at a 10, and ready to go. Which explained the baby's stress!<br />
<br />
The doctor came into the room and everyone was set. Well...<br />
<br />
I was so nervous. I'd been up all night, it was so early, I was exhausted, I was TERRIFIED, and the baby's heart was not handling labor well, to that point. And the antibiotics hadn't had enough time. I didn't really want to talk much, I was mentally preparing myself for a c-section, because I didn't think I had the strength and energy to get the baby here before he became too distressed.<br />
<br />
Until about 5 minutes later, after 3 pushes, when my second born child, another son, a beautiful baby boy joined our family at 7lbs, 14oz, 21.5 inches, 6:09am.<br />
<br />
And I cried. I didn't cry with the first born. But a hole I didn't know was in my heart was filled in that moment, when I held him for the first time. And we cried together a bit. And I whispered to him how loved he was, how wanted he was, how I would be there for him for the rest of his life, and how we've prepared a spot in our family, just for him.<br />
<br />
And now we're a family of four. And our family feels whole.<br />
<br />
Welcome to the world, little one.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tYxV18P2-1jS2A0MUIPSjNT0pX0e56YmZ-rQHVW2S_DT7kaKospq2w2QxYMTtlRLfeGi7LK27iC6iZxSSj8V-tMmCmK8oxd_q8t6ZAV0pykjEIF3fdD9I6xRWbZksCGx0eKbEJZAVhM/s1600/18422818_10213146242360042_8673194264220690637_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3tYxV18P2-1jS2A0MUIPSjNT0pX0e56YmZ-rQHVW2S_DT7kaKospq2w2QxYMTtlRLfeGi7LK27iC6iZxSSj8V-tMmCmK8oxd_q8t6ZAV0pykjEIF3fdD9I6xRWbZksCGx0eKbEJZAVhM/s640/18422818_10213146242360042_8673194264220690637_o.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-1086160093182091862017-05-19T15:12:00.000-06:002017-05-19T15:12:16.551-06:00The kind of personIf, for some reason, this blog says that I'm publishing as Martha Stewart, it's because I am. And when I say that, I mean it's because blogger won't let me log out of my husband's account so unless I want to do some back alley shady browser business to get onto my account (like I had to do yesterday) then I have to use my husband's account. That still doesn't explain WHY his account name is Martha Stewart, but honestly, we can't explain that either. It's a weird thing that happened about 2 years ago to his account and we can't fix it. So. While it may appear that Martha Stewart is writing my blog posts, just know, it's actually me, Lara. I can see how you'd get confused, we have a lot of letters in common, we both are great around the house, and we are big into ankle jewelry.<br />
<br />
That last bit is a lie. I hate ankle jewelry.<br />
<br />
Well, before his younger brother makes a debut on the blog in the form of a birth story, I wanted to pay tribute to the oldest, the Lion as I call him.<br />
<br />
And the kind of person he is.<br />
<br />
He is the kind of person who will hysterically laugh at your foot tapping on the floor until he falls over backwards.<br />
<br />
He is the kind of person who will wake up from your tandem nap earlier than you, sneak away, and find something to stuff in your mouth while you are still sleeping. Yesterday it was actually food, which could be a good or a bad thing.<br />
<br />
He is the kind of person who is "aggressively friendly" as we call it, who will get up in your BUSINESS in the name of friendship. He is still learning about personal space.<br />
<br />
He is the kind of person who will hear a kid crying across the room, or across the grocery store, and start shouting some kind of nonsense at them. Not sure if it's reassuring or threatening. It depends on the day, maybe.<br />
<br />
He is the kind of person who will bargain with you to get what he wants. And gosh darn it, he's got puppy eyes, and we have a real hard time not giving in. I've got a heart of coal though. So the kid is out of luck.<br />
<br />
He is the kind of person who wakes up in the morning and walks around the house singing. Joseph will walk around the house humming when he is happy, that is one of my favorite traits. You can tell Joseph is happy when he's humming. It would seem that his son is taking after him.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_B7R2dWnt1UqIHJK67VFUp3HSBuI1wEteT2868iQaFkBfgoUS4gg_ae4QvXADIYh3njtuqmUZ9pQZIvzhpR-nGQZQZIPx1fYzDhPsuR9BEFxwkuSpiosvF-70tsXxOcU3HWnuHDJG1o/s1600/DSCN1135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_B7R2dWnt1UqIHJK67VFUp3HSBuI1wEteT2868iQaFkBfgoUS4gg_ae4QvXADIYh3njtuqmUZ9pQZIvzhpR-nGQZQZIPx1fYzDhPsuR9BEFxwkuSpiosvF-70tsXxOcU3HWnuHDJG1o/s640/DSCN1135.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He is the kind of person who will stubbornly help you. Try sweeping with him. He will find something in the house that resembles a broom and neatly disperse your dirt pile back all over the house before you can get to a dust pan.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He is the kind of person who will open his mouth when you throw water in his face to wash him off. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He is the kind of person who doesn't even have to LOOK at spinach to know he doesn't like it, and pick it up off his plate to drop it on the floor. He seriously doesn't even look at it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He is the kind of person who loves the hug game, where I sit on one side of the room, and Joseph sits on the other side, and he just runs back and forth between us and our open arms, giggling and hugging.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He is the kind of person who had every right to be terrified and perhaps hurt and angry over welcoming a new brother into his family, after all, he had been the total center of our lives, the center of everyone's attention for his entire life, and suddenly the spotlight changed. But instead he took to his brother, gently touching his hair, nose, hands and feet, giggling and staring with big eyes, loving immediately. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
He is the kind of person who has taught me more about myself and unconditional love over the last 16 months. And I adore the living daylights out of him. </div>
<br />Joe Becarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02858357934600587395noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-55119578125605690702017-05-18T14:42:00.000-06:002017-05-18T14:42:24.222-06:00A Woman of Her WordPretty sure I promised you guys a blog post in May.<br />
<br />
And guess what.<br />
<br />
It's May.<br />
<br />
Wow ok so. A lot has happened. I'm actually interested in getting back into blogging, but more on that later. Maybe in this post or another one in the future. Either way... I want to write more, and this is where I can do that. Because I could fill up books and books of Moleskin journals with all the writing I <i>want </i>to do, but that would hurt my hand. And I'd run out of pens. And journals.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
How do I want to go about this. I could make this an essay post? Or I could write just a LOT in this post. Let's just see where this takes us.<br />
<br />
We'll start with the easy.<br />
<br />
We bought a house.<br />
<br />
It all started at the beginning of this year, as the clock struck midnight, and we wrote a resolution to buy a house this year. There were a lot of reasons behind that decision, we needed more space, we were tired of renting, we wanted a new adventure.... A few months passed. More like a few weeks. We signed a contract on our rental town home one more time, with the end date being September 2017. We'd look on Zillow for fun, we learned different things about buying houses...<br />
<br />
Until Joe's work implemented a policy stating that remote work was no longer an option. This was a bummer for us, but imagine the bummer it was for our landlord, who worked for the same company, but lived in Colorado. He was given a few weeks, and was asked to come back to the state. Of course he wanted his home back! So he asked us to think about moving out, if we could. He knew we were buying a house anyways, and just asked if we could move up the timeline.<br />
<br />
We did.<br />
<br />
A lot.<br />
<br />
Found a realtor, a mortgage company, a house, put in an offer, went through a nightmare of negotiations but a daydream of financial windfall and enormous blessings, closed, cleaned, and moved all within the space of 6 weeks.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4uWEd22gWxfu7mMraTQRAQK2EGVU8SvxBJkN700EsP4TUO3spWZBOigGuMpdtBev9JYkr3-Nn-D6SKJhrfP1ObFaBG1-9c-Y_iM61DzHTr7EtfzuSGAn5M8yMzjrYxKq1q1BdyBX03-Y/s1600/18121589_10213034023434639_3030504202565827936_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4uWEd22gWxfu7mMraTQRAQK2EGVU8SvxBJkN700EsP4TUO3spWZBOigGuMpdtBev9JYkr3-Nn-D6SKJhrfP1ObFaBG1-9c-Y_iM61DzHTr7EtfzuSGAn5M8yMzjrYxKq1q1BdyBX03-Y/s640/18121589_10213034023434639_3030504202565827936_o.jpg" width="512" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We became first time home owners the day before Joseph turned 28. Happy Birthday, Joseph dear. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We moved in on Joseph's birthday! A busy and exhausting day. Furthered by the fact that...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Number two big update, it was a week before my due date.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Ah. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I never did tell you.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vM1lLJhlC9rsVyMTxLc8Fblyxn69biXztP3KswoixURdA69vAzcWF0s3pYDURi2GzG7M1CmycrxpGjIkdCNCnC8i7ZCvheLQtDKxosYkHZBOD3iOP5hidMB8tfX2WV7I6YuhGQp4puU/s1600/18447359_10213145999433969_571491741316786050_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vM1lLJhlC9rsVyMTxLc8Fblyxn69biXztP3KswoixURdA69vAzcWF0s3pYDURi2GzG7M1CmycrxpGjIkdCNCnC8i7ZCvheLQtDKxosYkHZBOD3iOP5hidMB8tfX2WV7I6YuhGQp4puU/s640/18447359_10213145999433969_571491741316786050_n.jpg" width="352" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Well, yes. Late summer I was met with a whirlwind of emotions and two pink lines on a test. No one really talks about what you go through, emotionally, with a surprise pregnancy. Especially when your oldest isn't even a year old yet, and the surprise definitely wasn't in your plans. I don't think this post is the place to dive in deep on that. But maybe another time.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But the last year brought a lot of growth. A lot of surrender, in a lot of ways. A lot of prayer and reliance on a plan that had to be greater than my own, it was the main way I could stay positive. That had to be certain. A lot of conversation with an unborn child, trying to learn about who he was, what he was like, what his nature would be. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So we moved, when I was 39 weeks pregnant, and the baby boy stayed put for another 11 days, making a very abrupt arrival. But his arrival deserves a post of its own, so stay tuned for that.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I did say I wanted to blog more, right?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Well.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We live in a new area. We're still in Arizona, but it seems like a different world. Rabbits and road runners run across our front yard. We HAVE a yard. We have rose bushes and fruit trees and all sorts of everything! There's parks and ponds and pools and parties. We live a 5 minute walk from the park.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And oh this walk. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMBn0Ay-6IOaqEKRa4mTYdNEA9rIUAHD50Q4JELTSoR62QzN1M9FxVAZ9r8PrTAIiTftmhyphenhyphenMuNoRJpxIVLxp8SoYEl8vhSHGpewB_gRhUr5diKBAUikIw6ElfUZGBNsHguJt0s7KWhhNw/s1600/DSCN1290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMBn0Ay-6IOaqEKRa4mTYdNEA9rIUAHD50Q4JELTSoR62QzN1M9FxVAZ9r8PrTAIiTftmhyphenhyphenMuNoRJpxIVLxp8SoYEl8vhSHGpewB_gRhUr5diKBAUikIw6ElfUZGBNsHguJt0s7KWhhNw/s640/DSCN1290.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Down a pathway lined with flowers and trees. It's a little too perfect, a little surreal. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Life has taken a lot of uh. Analysis lately. A lot of change came about in a short amount of time. Joseph hit his 2 year work anniversary today, and I was surprised that it had already been so long, but surprised that it had only been 2 years as well. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In those two years we've moved to a new state, brought two boys into the world, bought a house, I started a new job.... With the majority of all of that happening in the last 9 months. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
With all that change, it's easy to lose who you are. You become so busy DOING that you forget maybe why you are doing things. I've had many conversations with myself, figuring out who I was and what I wanted.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Thank you Kon Marie for helping with that!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I cut things that didn't bring joy, and welcomed the empty space to fill it with joy that was purely choice, not mandatory. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Things that bring me JOY (in no particular order)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My husband, my sweet Joe.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My two boys.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My job (just teaching in general).</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My beliefs. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My family</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Yoga</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Writing</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Being outside</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Gardening</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Tidying</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
That list is not comprehensive of what brings me joy, but things up there are things I'm using to fill my time. </div>
<br />
So here is the New World Adventure. ALL INCLUSIVE. Is that what I mean? Nothing barred, it's all on the table. You know all my big secrets! I'm looking forward to exploring through writing again, to making it a part of my life and a way to meditate. It will be interesting! All that change I talked about, there's a lot to catch you up on, a lot for me to learn more about as I write.<br />
<br />
So let's see where this takes us.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQnrNAZus_L_wPn4o0KNedZJHiF4JVFxIuTIqiuthxpib5eemM1nvRyMxEZt7Yi840JOptJQNW7wWeHlwOkrm-wAnIG0DPxMY9-Cg82O2rkDKqDu5hpe0qRjiNdUGdChhgnEOG1HzKR4/s1600/DSCN1270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQnrNAZus_L_wPn4o0KNedZJHiF4JVFxIuTIqiuthxpib5eemM1nvRyMxEZt7Yi840JOptJQNW7wWeHlwOkrm-wAnIG0DPxMY9-Cg82O2rkDKqDu5hpe0qRjiNdUGdChhgnEOG1HzKR4/s640/DSCN1270.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Post Script:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Joseph will appear in pictures, I swear hahaha. The boys' Oma (my mama!) has been in town and her camera has gotten a lot of use, mostly when Joe was at work. But maybe a dAtE nItE post will be making an appearance on a blog near you! A BLOG SO CLOSE IT'S THE ONE YOU'RE READING RIGHT NOW.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-32191019479005900912017-01-10T13:08:00.005-07:002017-01-10T13:08:56.313-07:00The RecentGoodness. It's been a month or six....<br />
<br />
The babe is asleep in my lap and if I move, he wakes up. Battery is low... let's see if we can get this done before "the end."<br />
<br />
I don't even know where to start! I guess if you want to know all of the last 6 months, ask me, and I'll tell you. Maybe you'll even get some little sneak peeks here and there around my blog. I've been MIA around here. Writing a blog regularly was starting to become a chore and as part of a minimalist lifestyle, I didn't want to do something that wasn't a need if it didn't bring me joy. And speaking of a minimalist lifestyle, most everything I do these days brings me some amount of joy, so that's pretty swell.<br />
<br />
Hm. But there were vacations, sicknesses, new lives and lives lost, hard times and high times, family visiting us and visiting our families ourselves.<br />
<br />
It's been busy.<br />
<br />
To say the least.<br />
<br />
But I thought I'd do an update as of late!<br />
<br />
Recently!<br />
<br />
Our baby boy turned one year old. He's not much of a baby. He learned how to walk around the time my blog dropped off the face of the earth. He now runs and plays with his bike and laughs and is a regular toddler. We still like him. We'll keep him.<br />
<br />
I got a job! I work for VIPKid now. They're an organization that contracts adults in the US to teach children in China how to speak English. For more info, check out <a href="https://t.vipkid.com.cn/?refereeId=2985188" target="_blank">this link</a>! It's my first post-graduation job, and the pay is pretty decent. It's pennies on the dollar in comparison to Joe's full time job, but were I to do this full time, I'd be making near what teachers in Utah make full time.<br />
<br />
For a rundown of my day, of late...<br />
<br />
4:00am- Wake up<br />
4:10am- No really, wake up<br />
4:12am- Put on a bit of makeup so the webcam doesn't make me look dead or asleep.<br />
4:14am- Put on orange shirt (uniform for VIPKid)<br />
4:15am- Get a granola bar or pretzels<br />
4:20am- Look over lessons for the day<br />
4:30am-6:30am- Teach 4 tutoring sessions.<br />
6:30am - Clean up "office." Some day we'll have space for a real office, and the daily set up and take down won't be needed. But I've got a snazzy system down now.<br />
6:45am - Watch Netflix and attempt to sleep again.<br />
8:00am- The babe wakes up and comes and sits with me while we play with quiet toys or read books as he struggles out of sleep. Somehow an hour goes by in this time. Sometimes I'll get messages from graphic design clients around now, and I'll work in my schedule to get the day set up.<br />
9:00am - 30 minutes of yoga. I'm working through Yoga with Adriene, doing the Yoga Revolution series. I adore it. It's progressive, and it's exactly what my body and mind needs right now.<br />
9:45am- Clean up yoga stuff<br />
10:00am- Clean the house and get breakfast going for the little lion child. His favorite is chocolate... but uh what? No I never give him chocolate for breakfast! What! Crazy... hah...<br />
10:30am- Shower and get ready, as well as shower the little one and get him ready. This is a process. So usually around...<br />
12:00pm- We're finally ready to face the world. Now is when client work gets done, lesson prep for the following day, grocery errands get run, appointments are made, and laundry is done. Sometimes we go to the park! I'm not going to lie. Sometimes we watch a lot of Netflix and take naps.<br />
5:30pm- The dad of the house comes home, and the little lion child promptly releases his hold on me and leaches onto his dad for the rest of the evening. Poor Joseph. Works all day, and works all night.<br />
Now we get to cook dinner together.<br />
Now we get to wrestle food down the lion's throat, and wrestle the food off the floor.<br />
Now we get to wrestle him into the bath.<br />
Now we get to relax for a few fleeting seconds.<br />
Now we get to prepare food for the next day.<br />
Now we get to laugh.<br />
Now we get to engage in deep conversation. Or laugh at the makeup of the weather girl.<br />
Now we get to brush our teeth and hair and rest our bones and sleep before the day wakes us up again.<br />
<br />
I've never been so busy. Something about waking up at 4am makes you feel like you can't waste your day, so you do a lot more. I've also never felt so fulfilled and optimistic. I never realized how much I missed teaching until I started this job, and now there's a fire put back into me that was just getting by before. I love that I can still work in graphic design, I can still be there for every moment with the kid, and I still get to be with my Joe. I'm not at a point where I'm ready to return to a traditional classroom, though I miss it too. This has just been everything I've wanted.<br />
<br />
Vulnerability...<br />
<br />
This last year was hard. 2016 sucked and all that ya ya ya... but some personal challenges came into my life which I struggled with far more than I ever thought I would. I was feeling the "me" parts of me being taken away, and I didn't have the passion or energy to fight for them anymore. Perhaps I'll talk more about those challenges later, but it was rough. I don't think I ever fully sank into depression, and the lowest points never were as low as my all time lowest points. But it was hard. I set goals, I made promises to myself that I wouldn't let myself go, I would maintain who I was, I would maintain my passions, yet I did not. You know how easy it is to wake up and say "Today we just won't... today is hard. I'm allowed to not do anything, today is hard. I've done enough already, I've given enough, I don't want to do anymore." For a while there, that mindset became daily.<br />
<br />
And I don't know what it is about these last two weeks. Maybe I'm still running on a post-vacation high. Maybe it's the new year and feel of a fresh start. Maybe it's the job... I don't know. But now I have that gusto back again.<br />
<br />
And it's not without sacrifices.<br />
<br />
I would be remiss if I didn't give honorable mention to my wonderful husband, Joseph. Joseph works so hard to provide for our family. He works long hours. My heart shattered this week, on our baby's birthday, while watching videos of him through the year and hearing Joseph say "Some day in Heaven I want to watch him grow up like you did." People give dads a hard time lately. Moms have it hard, moms deserve a break, but going to work for 8+ hrs a day is no break. And still, Joseph comes home and runs to his boy and says in the voice I will always remember "Heyyyyy! Look at you!" He helps me make dinner. He cleans the lion up after dinner. While I set up my "office" at night, he reads the lion stories and puts him in pajamas. Between 4:30-6:30am, he's the one to hold the lion if he cries, despite the fact that there will be no time for him to nap during the day. And if ever I say I'm thirsty, he gets me a glass of water. He's always there to serve me, and he's stood by me in helping me chase my dream of teaching. Yes, I bring home money, but the added things asked of Joseph during this time deserve far more pay than the money coming it. But he does it because he sees the excitement it gives me, and because it is something I love to do. I've been overwhelmed with gratitude towards him in the past few weeks.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
That took a direction.<br />
<br />
Of sorts.<br />
<br />
I don't know when I'll blog again. Probably... before May... or around May... maybe. We'll see. Big things are happening in our lives this year, big things! Some known, some unknown. The new year has that buzz about itself saying "This will be eventful. Pay attention or you'll miss it." So far, it is off to a great start!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-49684699262782476092016-07-25T17:35:00.000-06:002016-07-25T17:35:01.776-06:00The one that I tried to keep light but some heavy stuff snuck in (THE STRING PROJECT)I'm gonna try to keep it light because this blog seems really heavy sometimes. But I'll keep it light for the first bit.<br />
<br />
Life has been pretty nuts. I haven't been HOME home in ummmm a month. We spent the last week of June with my family in Utah, came home for a week-ish, went to Utah again for Joe's brother's wedding, came back to house sit for a while. I still make it home every day, to make sure the candles and paint and electronics aren't physically melting in this heat. But it's just not the same. That's ok though. We're coming to the end of the craziness here.<br />
<br />
Life with the kid is pretty neat too. He's 6 months old. He crawls. He yells at me. He laughs a lot. He stands. He grows much too fast.<br />
<br />
Life with the husband is wonderful as usual. He's 327 months old. He walks. He doesn't yell at me. He laughs a lot. He stands. He doesn't grow anymore physically because his growth plates have closed but he grows emotionally and mentally and spiritually.<br />
<br />
Oh it's my birthday this week? So now when I tell people I'm 24, I won't be lying! (Note: I've only been saying I'm 24 for the last few weeks. I'm a rounder. I round. Makes life more spicy.) The spoils for my birthday have been spoiled already, with a sewing machine from my mother that I use to make dresses that make me look like a hospital patient (because I'm not great) and dozens of pillow cases. You can just let your mind imagine what I'd do with that many pillow cases. And the other spoil is yoga gear that my Joe needed me to pick out so I wouldn't raise eyebrows at him when he presented it to me.<br />
<br />
I've been seriously kicking my butt with yoga and kicking yoga's butt with me. It's an every day thing. It makes me feel alive and wonderful. It gives me the connection I need. I'm ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE NOW where people are all "Oh I have this problem" and I'm all "OH YOGA FIXES THAT ASAP."<br />
<br />
So I fill my days with yoga... having a kid that likes to yell means I'm interrupted a lot, and I read books to him and play with him until he's fine with me leaving him alone for another 5 minutes. So while normal people can do the routines I like in an hour, takes me about 3. I don't mind. I love it.<br />
<br />
I fill my days with website testing, where I go on this website and they have me record myself saying "Oh uh yes this head bar is really uh... striking. And I like the... intuitiveness of the... intuition... buttons." But I make pretty good money doing it. I mean.... as much as a baby sitter would make. But I don't have to actually baby sit anyone besides the baby that lives in my house already! Score.<br />
<br />
I miss teaching. Oh so much. I don't think a day goes by where I don't think of it. I feel blessed to have found my passion in life as fast as I did but it makes it hard to miss. What's that saying... "How lucky I am to have someone that makes missing them so hard..." Except replace those human words with like.... teaching word things.<br />
<br />
That sentence there is a prime example of what makes me a fantastic educator!<br />
<br />
And now for the deep stuff.<br />
<br />
This week has been hard. I do a good job of keeping the hard stuff to myself. I think it's the lack of home-ness? Part of it is that my home is tidied and in tip-top-spark-joy fashion and being away from that for extended periods of time causes me to lose things and feel out of place. That doesn't make me boring. I think it's good for a person to have found a place of tranquility, and even better if that place is their own home. So it's fine for me to miss it. Do I love travel and visiting and such? Oh so much yes. But yeah, I miss my own home, and it brings challenges.<br />
<br />
Also maybe it's the time of year? The extreme heat that drives me to clothes that aren't my comfort zone (sweaters and long pants for life... that doesn't make sense for a desert girl but then again I don't make sense, pretty much ever, so c'est la vie, which is pronounced Say - lah- vee- and not pronounced phonetically, which I learned recently.) Because this time last year was hard too. So here I am again.<br />
<br />
But I've become much more disciplined. The hard times I just take rather than panicking over and worrying about. I know they come and I let them hit me and pass. I don't enjoy the hit but I let it pass.<br />
<br />
Anyways what am I talking about.<br />
<br />
Let me preface by saying that I appreciate my friends and family and well wishers so much. And when you say things like "You don't need to worry about that, you look great!" I really appreciate it. I know you mean it and I know it comes from your heart.<br />
<br />
But I deal with body dysmorphia. That means essentially that whatever it is you see, I don't. Maybe my eyes are broken or something but I truly see someone different in the mirror.<br />
<br />
Yoga has been a passion of mine because after my first month of doing it, I think I saw the real me for the first time since I can recall. That was wonderful. It didn't last forever, but I remember that. And things have been much better since doing yoga, in general.<br />
<br />
And yet those hard times I talk about still come. And I don't let them totally consume me but they do hit me. And I look in the mirror and think about throwing out all of my clothes because who am I kidding, they don't fit, they make me look like a sausage in casing and blah blah blah.<br />
<br />
Melece, my dearest friend, has gotten the brunt of my venting. I feel bad about it but I think it may be because she doesn't think it's the end of the world for me when I do come to her with my challenges. So she gave me homework last night.<br />
<br />
"Take a roll of string, and think about how big you are in the place you think you are biggest. Take that roll and cut the string to the circumference of what you think the biggest part of you is. And then actually hold the string around you, to see what you really are."<br />
<br />
Well, essentially that. Sorry if I slaughtered your words, Melece! I didn't go for the biggest part of me, but I went for where I was bothered at the moment.<br />
<br />
It took me a while. To estimate what the circumference of "where I was bothered" was. (So many "w" words there.)<br />
<br />
I wanted to be honest. In the moment I was struggling, but whenever I held out the string my mind kept saying "No, that's too big. Be honest. Be honest with how you feel right now. Don't be excessively mean right now, because you will know that you weren't being honest."<br />
<br />
And yet I wondered what would happen if I estimated myself too small. I think that would be even worse. I think that would have ruined me. So I sat there for a good long while, holding up different lengths of the string until I came to something I thought was accurate.<br />
<br />
*Snip*<br />
<br />
And I held it around me.<br />
<br />
And I took the ball of string and wrapped it around me once and cut the string to compare what I thought I was with what the reality was.<br />
<br />
There was a marked difference.<br />
<br />
And as Melece said "You will see that you tend to be mean to yourself."<br />
<br />
I held the strings in my hand for a while, and stared at the difference, then wrapped them into loops and put them in my wallet as a reminder that I'm better than I think.<br />
<br />
I stared at the strings though, for a good long while. And I thought about how I treat myself vs how I deserve to be treated. You always see those things that say "Find a man or friend or something like that who treats you how you deserve to be treated" and honestly that wasn't that hard. I live by the golden rule and people treat me with fairness and kindness, because usually I treat them the same. But I don't apply the same principle to myself. My body has done me so much good and I think of it in such low regard. That's not something I intentionally do. It's not something I can just fix with a flip of a switch. But those two strings helped more than I could have helped myself in that moment.<br />
<br />
And then I thought about Melece, and THIS IS WHERE IT'S BOUT TO GET SAPPY Y'ALL but have I ever told you how I met Melece, or most of my dearest friends? It's because once upon a time I sent out letters once a week to some guy and I needed a support group while I did that for some reason, so I joined one, and met my friends. Sometimes one of them would message me and we'd start talking and become soul sisters, and sometimes I got the guts to message them. But that's what happened and I was lead to people like that. People like Melece, who, in that exact moment of my life knew exactly what to do to help me.<br />
<br />
I'm grateful for my family and husband who do that so often, who I met through just being born, or met through a blind date (hint: That one is about my husband)... but those random friends I met on the internet are something unusual, I think. And I'm so grateful for them. Call these things what you will... fate, karma, "the universe", or God (personally, I attribute it to my God), but these were friends I needed for various stages in my life and I believe they were put here for a reason.<br />
<br />
So now this got WAY more deep than I intended but there you go. I guess I got bored and needed to write. So.... yes. Ok bye now!<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-15192645872507793232016-05-25T13:45:00.001-06:002016-05-25T13:51:15.217-06:00How To Survive Your First BornI used to blog like.... every day as a college student! Why was that?! I blogged about the most random stuff in the world, like the in-proportionate ratio of cookie dough to trays of cookies and scooters. I talked more about scooters than the people who make scooters.<br />
<br />
And maybe I grew up and lost my sense of humor or maybe I grew up and started caring more what people thought of what I wrote. Oh the joys of childhood, when you knew nobody cared.<br />
<br />
Well I want to blog more. I really do. Sometimes I toy with the idea of become blog-famous and then decide not to do that. It's all for you, readers, so that if you say you read TNW, you can be all hip in saying that, because you're literally the only one who does. Keeping my readers fresh and hip.<br />
<br />
Today I'm here to talk to you about....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYTMt6pFTZRbgLwiajUQYIrc6gP2-gsJuiPW8ILfbT6dRWTC8FUaAGQn6dzC3xqcUljGbJzAuFtARKdcW4jC43yJsyjrob_74ykk58wjHnwNLQRLwk9OPdmNnHqMlKbP3ZH3FYQpm4ho/s1600/HOWTO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYTMt6pFTZRbgLwiajUQYIrc6gP2-gsJuiPW8ILfbT6dRWTC8FUaAGQn6dzC3xqcUljGbJzAuFtARKdcW4jC43yJsyjrob_74ykk58wjHnwNLQRLwk9OPdmNnHqMlKbP3ZH3FYQpm4ho/s640/HOWTO.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
... Because if anything makes me an expert on this subject in its entirety, it's the fact that my first born is only 5 months old and I haven't been doing this for that long.<br />
<br />
But maybe some of you out there have first borns that are like... a week old. So that makes me something of a bit more experienced. Hah. Who am I kidding. We're all winging it.<br />
<br />
Except!<br />
<br />
There are a few things I've learned.<br />
<br />
*thinking*<br />
<br />
There's got to be a few things I've learned....<br />
<br />
*thinking*<br />
<br />
OH! Like. Ok. So, you know how before I had a baby, I had dreams all the time of walking into our nursery and finding a baby there and realizing I already HAD a baby and I'd just forgotten about him, and he was suddenly very sick and hungry due to me forgetting about him? Well. I've learned that babies cry. If they want your help, they cry. So: Tip: If your baby cries: Figure out why and: Feed/change/play with said baby... and they usually stop crying.<br />
<br />
Except for if they're colicky, then you're just out of luck, fellas, sorry about that. I hear like... gas drops help with that but I also heard something about the fourth trimester that NO ONE tells you about so it could be that too.<br />
<br />
Something else I've learned. Hmmm... There will come a point when your baby will become very interested in your food. And up to this point, you or your husband may have enjoyed holding baby on your laps during meal time, and that's ok. And it's ok if you want to keep doing that too! But BE AWARE that those babies hands reach further than you expect, and you very well may end up with soup poured all over you. It happens.<br />
<br />
Or you may leave your husband at the table at Zupas with your baby and your cup of soda so you can go wash your hands and when you come back, your soda is spilled all over the table and your husband shyly explains that he thought he had a strong enough grip on the cup to keep the kid from ripping it out of his hands, when he was sorely mistaken.<br />
<br />
I guess that's pretty much it. In reality I could tell you things like "Get a convertible car seat and skip the baby bucket... baby wearing is funner and it's cheaper to skip the bucket!" or "Get a stroller and go for lots of walks" or "Buy bibs" or "Read lots of books" or "Make funny faces and teach your baby to blow raspberries because it will keep him entertained for life" but really...<br />
<br />
Parenting is one of those conundrums. No matter how many advice blogs you read, no matter how many books you read, you're still going to end up with a baby. And it's going to be easier to take care of him/her than you though, in many ways... your instincts will likely kick in and you get to know that tiny human and pick up on their cues pretty quick. And then on the reverse side of it, no amount of book reading will ever prepare you for how little you will sleep or how tired your arms will get or how run down your molars will get as you grit your teeth trying to comfort the baby that is screaming in your ear and confused about the amount of hair you have as he tries to pull it ALL out...<br />
<br />
So in reality. I guess just.... do your best. If it's any comfort, people have been doing that for millenia and almost all of humanity has turned out to be pretty normal. I mean... there's a few here and there that you'll notice *cough*2016presidentialelectionbringsoutthewildinpeople*cough* but could anyone have really done anything to stop that? It'll work out guys.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-82052227368229798562016-05-24T14:50:00.000-06:002016-05-24T14:50:03.449-06:00Things That I DoWhat oh what have I been doing.<br />
<br />
Hmmmm.<br />
<br />
Tsk tsk tsk.<br />
<br />
Well, I haven't been blogging, that's for sure.<br />
<br />
Other than that, it's hard to say.<br />
<br />
I guess it all started around 12 months ago, or so, when I found out I was pregnant. So, for the last 4ish months I've been raising a human. He's at that fun stage of being very very cute. He smiles and laughs and is ticklish and talks and blows raspberries and plays and is very very curious. I'm gradually getting busier and busier with him. Today we drew eyebrows on his face, played with red paint in a bag, and played with a tub of water and got very soaking wet. And then the normal like looking in the mirror (because the kid is VERY conceited) and reading books and stuff. You know. It's pretty great stuff.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2DHGv8YgB0dqzWmfuDwZoVkzQEeqJs8VobwSpvvbnNIUIpx7xdlrGOfVRQNI338tIVw1qwG4m6wvb6kFBGv7Fsg6lZoOCclk1rmogjFF6-VYk3ZK0s0Zg3xjdZUkJpxGKiCVeMYIVf8/s1600/C360_2016-05-21-13-00-39-747.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2DHGv8YgB0dqzWmfuDwZoVkzQEeqJs8VobwSpvvbnNIUIpx7xdlrGOfVRQNI338tIVw1qwG4m6wvb6kFBGv7Fsg6lZoOCclk1rmogjFF6-VYk3ZK0s0Zg3xjdZUkJpxGKiCVeMYIVf8/s320/C360_2016-05-21-13-00-39-747.jpg" width="192" /></a>Last weekend the mister (as in, Bécar) and I went up to the mountains. There's a beautiful place about 2 hours from our home. On the Mongollon Rim. You turn left at the visitor's center and drive down the road about 1.5 miles and there's a small parking lot with 5 stalls and you feel like you're on the top of the world. The rocks are placed so seemingly-intentionally and the world just drops off, almost beneath your feet. And you're on the top of the world. There's a paved path, and we thought it would be fun to go up and walk the path and have a picnic. It was in the high 90s when we left home, and the low 50s when we got there. We were dressed for the high 90s. And let me tell you... low 50s in AZ is like low 10s anywhere else. Never mind the wind that would blow you right off the tops of those perfectly placed rocks if you let them have the chance.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, we didn't hike it. But we'd driven 2 hours up there and we had a picnic and we weren't about to give up and go home. So, on the hunt for a new small trail to walk/hike. The hunt lead us to a sign that said "Fish Hatchery, 5mi -->" When you see a sign like that and you have time to spare, you follow it. We ended up, essentially, in the middle of nowhere. A forest, in the desert. And a park, in the forest. With trees and grass and verandas and cabins. And a pool full of fish. A couple of sticks with fishing line, and what must have been crack-for-fish stuck to the hook, and before we knew it, we had two very expensive trout in our buckets. Joe managed to rip the jaw off one of the fish, thus the bucket full of blood. The baby was enthralled. A picnic in the woods and a splash in the river later and we were home. A year in the state already, and there is still much left to discover.<br />
<br />
Other things I've been doing: yoga. If you know me, then you're sick of hearing me talk about it, so move along. Or read on, I mean, you're welcome to do so, I won't stop you. But I get all preachy about yoga and that's dull.<br />
<br />
Mah BFF got me started doing yoga after I expressed a desire to be a hot mama jamma, yet, because of my "history" I was worried about starting a serious, strenuous work out routine and diet. Thus, daily yoga was born into my life. Every morning I wake up, change and feed the baby, and put him in his play gym while I stretch out a beautiful mat on the floor next to him so he can laugh at me while I do yoga. It doesn't insult me, his laughter, because he laughs at everything. He's got a weird sense of humor. I've been yoga-ing it up every day now for ehhhh almost a month. And it feels fantastic. My abdominal muscles magically vanished post baby (you'd think that the act of HAVING a baby would help you develop muscles but you are wrong there. Very wrong. It's ok. I was very wrong too). But slowly those abdominal muscles are creeping back. My posture is fixed. My headaches are fading. And I'm quite enjoying myself. Mornings no longer are the bane of my existence. It helps, since the young boy-child is a morning person himself, so I'm mimicking him now. The first few days I felt so much stress and frustration in my body just doing a simple downward dog. But now I'm enjoying all of it. The burn in my muscles and bones and skin. It feels less like the fire of death and more like the fire of living. I've found danger in the past in self awareness, but yoga is teaching me a new form of self awareness and it's leading more and more to self acceptance. I've been glad to find something that I like!<br />
<br />
Well. Ok so that's all the things I do, lately... besides cooking and cleaning and walking and working and visiting and all those other things. Reading writing so on and so forth... watching. Yeah I watch Netflix. What of it. You know you do it too. It's all good. It's all love. Nothing but love for you all.<br />
<br />
Peace -- <3<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-27439321523751396842016-03-22T16:21:00.002-06:002016-03-22T16:41:40.951-06:00That Book About Cleaning Everyone LikesAlright. Yeah. I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna blog about that book.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkz93G-9lGj5-W30CHdFgux-i-QWRqzAW6S9r1VotaOuS_8j676a0DZRvSwH77VuDIpYUHEOqxuUY5yNqKG_RJYvxXGYFvkCa7Q5IrcebM7-dB-QLTCkb2qxybNU2ndGEUOHMHFzumCg0/s1600/1913566_10209137681148517_2964425227287311495_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkz93G-9lGj5-W30CHdFgux-i-QWRqzAW6S9r1VotaOuS_8j676a0DZRvSwH77VuDIpYUHEOqxuUY5yNqKG_RJYvxXGYFvkCa7Q5IrcebM7-dB-QLTCkb2qxybNU2ndGEUOHMHFzumCg0/s640/1913566_10209137681148517_2964425227287311495_n.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
<br />
That book that it seems every mom on the internet has read. Apparently I'm one of them now, I've joined the club.<br />
<br />
I'm not ashamed!<br />
<br />
I wish I joined sooner.<br />
<br />
Let me tell you.... My story. *dim the lights*<br />
<br />
It all started when I moved to Arizona. My mom had just read this book. I was talking to her about how I was wanting to get our house unpacked and in order, and she shared a few tips from this book from me.<br />
<br />
Mainly.... throw away my stuff.<br />
<br />
"But mom, I can't throw away my stuff. I have a lot of stuff I need!"<br />
"Like what?"<br />
"Well... my teaching things... Christmas decorations..."<br />
<br />
And then I thought about it. In our house we have three huge walk in closets, a laundry closet, a pantry, and a hallway door closet. Were all of those things truly jam packed with teaching supplies and decorations? Short answer, no. True answer? No. So I started throwing away things based upon my mom's tip of throwing things away. She briefly told me about the "Spark Joy" method, which essentially boils down to... if you don't love something, why do you have it?<br />
<br />
I rid myself of many clothes and many boxes of things I knew I would never use. The months passed and still my house was cluttered. I had my excuses. I was busy, I had a baby on the way, I was tired and pregnant, or my favorite "It's not that bad!" I'd justify the mess, I'd get it to livable and then live in it and do nothing about it.<br />
<br />
Everything changed one day, a Sunday, when someone noted that their Sabbath day observance was hindered if their home was a mess. I reflected on my life and noticed that if my kitchen, in particular, was a mess, then I couldn't focus. My mind would wander back to that kitchen and stress over the mess I had to clean. So I got to work on getting the kitchen clean. But not always clean. It was a disaster Saturday night, and then 5 minutes before going to bed I would rip my hair out, pretty much, and polish the thing down, only to then return home from church that day and destroy the house once more.<br />
<br />
I'm not a clean person, guys, I'm not. I just never really HAD to clean. My mom was a great cleaner. And I didn't have that many things in college, so I didn't end up in a mess.<br />
<br />
But that there was the key, I didn't have that many things.<br />
<br />
Two weeks ago, I decided to pick up that book. It had been sitting on my bookshelf since Christmas, my mom brought it to me. I picked it up and read it. I had been hit by an urge to clean, and I thought if the book had some tips on how to do it, might as well read it.<br />
<br />
The next day, this all happened...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVbo3ylejUD9yY-a4B3Te3h6EF9I4QMiW2S8OmrA_h5A3Ftv4-cdPVqk3Zs8r7Eu9Qbydj7Gm4byUwnI7VnW4yyf7DM7wsL4w3jfHPHpXLy0mdo8pIQwexmrfvlvPWponwdJUWINCAFVo/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVbo3ylejUD9yY-a4B3Te3h6EF9I4QMiW2S8OmrA_h5A3Ftv4-cdPVqk3Zs8r7Eu9Qbydj7Gm4byUwnI7VnW4yyf7DM7wsL4w3jfHPHpXLy0mdo8pIQwexmrfvlvPWponwdJUWINCAFVo/s640/PicMonkey+Collage.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The picture on the left shows the clothes I threw away, the picture on the right, the clothes I kept. Before you get all panicked, I didn't throw them away in the trash. They're sitting in another room in bags, waiting for me to take them to be donated or sold. It's not a waste.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now, my wardrobe is full of clothes I love. I tried that "spark joy" method. I thought it was nuts at first. But I notice days when I put on clothes just for the sake of needing to wear something, and I notice other days when I put on an outfit that I truly love, first time. The first day described, I find myself throwing outfit after outfit on the ground, trying to find something I actually like, before getting frustrated and giving up. And I haven't done that for a few days now, ever since doing this. Every item of clothing I wear is something I love. Every outfit I don gives me confidence. That is an amazing feeling. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I still have a lot of cleaning to do, but I've gotten started on the rest of it. I stress... let me tell you my stress.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The first time I cut down a Christmas tree, Joe's family tied it to the top of their car, and Joe and I followed behind them. Joe said "Doesn't the tree look a little sad on top of the car?" and I was ravaged with guilt. That poor tree... cutting it down in its prime, taking it away from its family....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Simply put, in my mind, my things have feelings, and to discard of something, to me, was to tell that item that I didn't love it anymore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But think about this now. All of my things were sitting in boxes and drawers, the most of which were never seeing the light of day, and the things that were being used were being thrown about with no true home. To give my things a NEW home, they could go to someone who would use them! Maybe not immediately, maybe they'd be sent to the thrift store a few times, but eventually they would find a permanent home. That's better than I could give them. A home where they would be out in the light of day, being valued. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There were some things about this book that stressed me out. For example, she goes through the process of throwing away books. That is just... nearly blaspheme in my mind. You can't throw away books. You can't donate books. She mentions at one point, something along the lines of "Are you truly happy surrounded by books you've never read?" and in my case, the answer is yes. Yes I am. But the true brilliance of this book is that YOU are the standard of clean. When you start to discard, you throw things away until you are content. And for me, I noticed I had two copies of the full works of Oscar Wilde, and so I discarded one, and I was content. I am happy surrounded by books, and that is ok. Others may see my shelves lined with books and feel uncomfortable, but I do not. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, there are some things I got rid of that were securely fastened to memories. Tiny golden snitches. Wrapping paper. Notes passed in high school. I held onto these things, sure that one day I would pull them out and the memory would flood me. And as I cleaned, the memory did flood me. I thanked the item for the memory it gave me, and I discarded it, while writing down the memory in a journal. Some day will come in which I would pull out those items and be unsure of why I kept them, and the memory would be gone. Writing the memory in a journal allows me to preserve the memory while keeping my space clear and open and fresh and clean. I anticipate those bookshelves full of books will soon be full of journals, and I will need to buy more shelves! But that only means that my dream of a Beauty and the Beast Library is close at hand!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And lastly. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The part that I thought was the best. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The author discusses why this is life changing. Let me share with you a quote. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"The best way to find out what we really need is to get rid of what we don't."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know how to explain how, but this book has helped me find peace with where I am at in life right now. It has helped me let go of things, forgive people, and embrace what is most important NOW. It feels great to walk through the store and not be filled with the impulse to buy everything. I brush an object with my finger tips and feel no joy in doing so. Why would I purchase something that does not add joy to my life? This has been particularly useful as we're saving to buy a house! Simplifying has freed my mind of stress, and filled my days with time.<br />
<br />
As Marie Kondo boasts, tidying only has to be done once. You simply have to discard what you don't need (or decide what you do love) once, and then find a place for what you have. Now those Saturday nights are no longer full of stress as I frantically clean the kitchen. I'm not done tidying, quite yet, but my house sings of the difference already! The big tasks of cleaning wait for the weekend when Joe is home, and he can help me with the baby (while I've taken a liking to tidying, Isaak has not taken a liking to me not giving him constant doting attention...) but the small tasks each day take little to no time, and I find myself looking forward to them, to returning my items "home" and thanking them for their service. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've truly been blessed by this book. I believe even the cleanest person could benefit from reading this book. It's kinda a silly notion, a book on tidying... but truly. The author is very engaging. And the concept is quite fascinating. I give it all the thumbs up that I have. For just about any problem in your life.... struggling with a break up? This book. Unhappy at work? This book. The concepts in it can reach you wherever you stand, and lift you up!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-64171771937634175402016-03-01T14:25:00.004-07:002016-03-01T14:26:56.312-07:00Things that have made me a bad momI HAD ALL THESE PLANS. About what I was gonna do as a mom and what I definitely was NOT going to do as a mom.<br />
<br />
And Joe laughs about them because he notices them now. He remembered them. He remembers that I'm giving up on all the plans right away. And *I* am the one with the killer memory, not Joe.<br />
<br />
Like... first day of middle school I wore a yellow shirt and tan shorts and had my hair in two side braids and the principal told me my shorts were too short and she was wrong, because they weren't, but she didn't like me. And that's ok, because I didn't like her. That's my memory. Or I remember the exact day Joe and I saw Interstellar... it was Feb 13, 2015.<br />
<br />
But Joe is remembering things even I don't remember now and it's giving me a run for my money.<br />
<br />
So I was gonna be the perfect mom because to the outside world, my degree in school was "How to mom other people's kids" even though my degree was "How to make kids be brilliant, confident, world changing geniuses." But both of those should mean I'm an excellent mom.<br />
<br />
Teaching elementary school is a lot different than momming.<br />
<br />
I have read extensive books and research articles on everything under the sun, and if you try to tell me something that isn't true, I will come back at you with "Actually!" followed by a really annoying statistic. Just ask anyone in my family. I am a very fact and research driven person.<br />
<br />
And then I put none of it into practice.<br />
<br />
So it may have seemed that I would be just MOMMING UP THIS PLACE LIKE CRAZY. But nope. And if some of you wonderful women are feeling like you're not doing great, just look over here. I, who allegedly and self proclaimed-ly knew everything.... I am not perfect.<br />
<br />
Because no one is.<br />
<br />
And if anyone wants to feel better about themselves. Here are some examples that will make you feel better.<br />
<br />
One time I was eating oatmeal and coke for breakfast. Because these days, every morning is an "I need a coke morning" and if that caffeine is getting to the youngling somehow, so be it. And the youngling was screaming and both of my hands were occupied with trying to eat as fast as I could, and I was sitting on our bed and he was laying next to me, so I pulled out a great contortionist trick and held his binky in his mouth with my toes. It was rough.<br />
<br />
I was never going to bed share because it is dangerous and SIDS and dependency and bad habits and so on and so forth until one night I was so tired and he wouldn't sleep, so I sat him next to me, and curled up around him trying to get him to be quiet so he wouldn't wake daddy and my next memory was 3 hours later, when we both woke up. And now this happens a few days a week. Oops. Sorry, hospital, who told me to never ever. Sometimes you gotta.<br />
<br />
I forgot to feed lil lion before going to the grocery store for 20 minutes, and he wasn't thrilled about that, and was very vocal about disagreeing with my choices, in the form of screaming loudly in my ear. And I just let it happen for the duration of the shopping trip because I was frazzled and had no idea what to do. And someone in the cereal aisle glared at me for treating my child in such a way.<br />
<br />
I needed to do the dishes so badly, so I put Bug in his bassinet and closed the door and did the dishes while he cried. And I let him cry. And he will likely resent me for the rest of his life because of that but part of me needed a break for a few minutes and the other part of me needed the dishes done.<br />
<br />
Along those same lines. I am a mom but I also keep the house, and in addition to that, my eyes reflexively twitch when the kitchen is messy. But lil Bug doesn't like to be alone. So I put on Gilmore Girls and turn up the volume and put it by his bassinet so he thinks someone is there. That's right. TV is watching my child. Unfortunately he is getting too smart for this so I will have to learn a new trick.<br />
<br />
One Joe especially teases me about is this "routine" I definitely was going to have. Some routines are still set and solid, and I'm proud of those. But diaper changing. It was going to be a very strict routine. With the mat on his changing table in his room. He'd get used to diaper changes being in there, every time. And then the first night home.... yeah I wasn't going to get up in the middle of the night to go change his diaper in a different room. I dragged the mat into our room. BUT DURING THE DAY! The changing pad was in HIS room. That was where diaper changes happened! Er... during the day. And by the end of the first week, the changing pad was in our room. And it's been there ever since. I'm not dragging that thing all over. When Bug is old enough for his own room, then it will go back in his room. But today is not that day.<br />
<br />
There's lots of other things. Like, feeding things... I've gone back and forth a billion times on a billion different feeding routines and options and methods. All in all, life is very different from what I planned it to be. And that is ok, because life is what is working. My son is just as strong willed as I am, and it's a lot harder to convince a baby to follow your plans than it is just to compromise. And that's what we do. A lot. As parents. We compromise.<br />
<br />
Despite things being different than planned...<br />
<br />
The youngling is healthy. He is happy. And he is loved.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-54627423254522789172016-02-29T09:33:00.003-07:002016-02-29T09:33:50.873-07:00Things I'm Figuring Out.... Probably only to forget them later on.<br />
<br />
It all started when I got my hair done. This was daunting. There were two things I wanted. Well.... one thing I really wanted. And that was to go back to my natural hair color. That's easy peasy. Especially considering my natural color has changed since the last time it was natural. It's a very very very dark brown now. Makes me look dramatic. I like being dramatic. I always wanted dark hair. Like in Anne of Green Gables when she dies her hair raven black but it turned out green? I sympathized. Dark hair always looks so sleek and beautiful and I wanted it. Anyways. That was easy.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTyFvasab3VU9rxcgoR_JO9z_7yoprGYl6M1RipVxICkX-WquvjzytYQZLPdmnLdCP6IX3yFlvm6yMhnpO3_J9VXpF2jjpD51fm5X48HbtquPMpTTB3MuVeA_7UUP7Lct3VenJAcU-pxM/s1600/12698179_10208760985131352_6674098597808381448_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTyFvasab3VU9rxcgoR_JO9z_7yoprGYl6M1RipVxICkX-WquvjzytYQZLPdmnLdCP6IX3yFlvm6yMhnpO3_J9VXpF2jjpD51fm5X48HbtquPMpTTB3MuVeA_7UUP7Lct3VenJAcU-pxM/s400/12698179_10208760985131352_6674098597808381448_o.jpg" width="225" /></a>The second thing I did want, don't get me wrong, but a lot of me wanting it was because Joe wanted it. And that was.... bangs. Cutting bangs again. I haven't had bangs since we got married 3 years ago! And now that I'm down to washing my hair once a week, I didn't know how it would go with bangs. I thought they'd get dirty or something, and be hard to maintain. But my lil sis got bangs recently, and she doesn't wash her hair all the time either, and she liked them, so I TOOK THE LEAP.<br />
<br />
And I like it. I really do like it. But let me tell you what I'm figuring out.<br />
<br />
I watch the Bachelor. And I'm on pinterest. And the internet in general. And these haircuts that everyone loves, and all the girls that are typically the "it" girls... they don't have bangs. They have this swept to the side look and when I got bangs it took a toll on me.<br />
<br />
This is sounding all so materialistic and shallow.<br />
<br />
But it was a little hard at first, because this look made me look different. I didn't feel conventionally beautiful anymore. I felt "edgy" (because aren't bangs just super out there and weird? Jokes, my friends.) but I did feel different.<br />
<br />
But what am I figuring out about this?<br />
<br />
I had to grapple with this for a little bit. Because how I perceive myself is very important to me. I wish it weren't so, but I often struggle with my appearances, as much as any girl does, but maybe a bit more, and I see myself differently than most do, and when I see myself differently, I assume everyone sees me that way. So if I don't like what I see, then I only imagine that no one does, and I spiral downwards and end up in a pretty dark place.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
Bangs.<br />
<br />
What I am figuring out.<br />
<br />
Not everyone has the same hair I do. Not everyone dresses the same way I do. But does that mean I'm not beautiful? Well, first off, beauty comes from the inside, and all that jazz-stuff-that-is-written-on-motivational-posters. But second. Just because I look a bit different, this doesn't mean it is bad. Maybe I don't have to look like other people. (Though I suppose I look like Carly Rae but that's not exactly a goal of mine). Maybe I can just look like me and have hair like this because I like having hair like this, and not because other people like having hair like this. I can just like it because it is me, maybe. So I'm trying that. And I do like it.<br />
<br />
So there you go. The first thing I'm figuring out. I'm probably the only person who thought this much into bangs. It probably makes me seem ridiculous but there you go. You can call me shallow if you'd like.<br />
<br />
The second thing I'm figuring out.<br />
<br />
I live in AZ where we deal with reverse-Winter. I made that term up, but it essentially means that our Winter is great and our Summer is awful. We stay inside for the Summer and go outside for the Winter.<br />
<br />
Now how does this match up with the rest of my life.<br />
<br />
Scroll backwards in time in your brain to Summer 2014. That was uhhhhh about a year and a half ago. Joe and I were living in Provo, going up to the mountains and running, and it was so much fun. I loved it. But I would get burned out pretty quickly, and our running streak would last a few weeks and then be done. And I would blame my ankles or my heart or my lungs, and those were the reasons I couldn't go running.<br />
<br />
Then came Fall, we didn't run, Winter, it was gross so of course we didn't, Spring, we were busy finishing our degrees and preparing to move, Summer we were here where you don't run, Fall and Winter I was super pregnant and wasn't going to run.... and now here we are. A year and a half later.<br />
<br />
We bought a jogging stroller.<br />
<br />
And we go running.<br />
<br />
And this is what I have figured out with running. It is super easy. When you go out.... don't push yourself to the point of death in the first 3 minutes. Pace yourself. I feel like everyone in the world knew this except me, but maybe not. Start out comfortably, then push yourself until you are slightly outside your comfort zone, and keep at it until it becomes comfortable. And then run in comfort for a little bit before pushing yourself out again, into discomfort, but only slightly, and run until that becomes comfortable and stay there for a little while again.<br />
<br />
This may mean you are running very slowly.<br />
<br />
In fact, sometimes my starting run is slower than my brisk walk. Which doesn't make sense, but there you go.<br />
<br />
And sometimes we start out and I'm feeling uncomfortable and Joe says "So we're just gonna take it easy today?" and I think "THIS IS NOT EASY FOR ME, BUB."<br />
<br />
But maybe this is an analogy for life. 10 points if you can figure it out. And now the babe is crying for me, so goodbye until next time.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-1111692925594650572016-02-22T16:04:00.004-07:002016-02-23T08:35:42.706-07:00My First BabyI lay awake, staring at the ceiling, and my mind wandered to my first born, my first baby... this blog. And I realized how much I had neglected it. It has been over a month since my last post. Posts are few and far between. And the thought crossed my mind....<br />
<br />
What if I just quit?<br />
<br />
I started this blog as a just for fun thing. And eventually it grew into a bigger thing, people read my posts, I dreamed of being famous. Then I realized how much work it took to become famous and I was content with not doing that. But I feel I've lost my sense of humor now, or something. I was filled with ideas to write before, and now I'm just not. The last few months, I thought it was because I wasn't working or going to school, so my life was boring. My life most certainly isn't boring now, with a 46 day old small growly lion child.<br />
<br />
So what if I just never wrote again?<br />
<br />
And I thought of those cheesy pictures on the internet with things like "There will come a day that you pick up your child, and then put them down, only to never pick them up again..." all melancholy and getting you to SEIZE THE DAY and I realized I don't ever want me quitting writing to be a conscious decision.<br />
<br />
I always wrote.<br />
<br />
I wrote a book in 4th grade about some ghosts. I don't even remember what it was called, there was a family of ghosts and the father was very smart and named Braindy. It was pretty much a cheap plagiarism of "Dial-A-Ghost" by Eva Ibbotson (hey, if anyone knows how to get me in touch with that author, let me know. She was my everything when I was little.) But my mom loved that cheap plagiarism. I wrote poetry. I wrote a poem for the 2002 Olympics.... "You can be a swimmer, when the water is tame. Watch the water glimmer; you can win the game. My metal will so shimmer; I will have the fame. Will the light grow dimmer? No! For I played the game." In 5th grade I was selected to be the head editor for the class publication and it was a great honor.<br />
<br />
I loved writing. I don't know where that love for writing went. It's not really that I don't love writing anymore.... it's just.... what do I write about? What do I talk about? What is important enough for me to put to solid word? What is something others will read? Is it even important that others read it? If others don't read it, then what was the point? Why did I write it? See, if others don't read it, then it has to be something VERY important, I think, because I wrote it purely for myself, and these days I'm not in the habit of doing things strictly for myself.<br />
<br />
Well.<br />
<br />
Anyways.<br />
<br />
An update on my second child, Small Lion or Youngling or Bug or whatever it is I want to call him for the day. The one who makes me laugh. He still makes me laugh. Yesterday was a hard day, he didn't nap at all and just wanted to be awake and making eye contact all day long. We were rushing to get him ready for church, because somehow we still end up rushing even with 1pm church. And Small Lion picked an inopportune time to throw up on his father. And it made me laugh. I'm so sorry, Joe.<br />
<br />
Small Lion is small, he growls, he kicks a lot, he's got a pretty solid scream... but he doesn't do a WHOLE ton as far as people go, and even less as far as people-who-qualify-as-my-best-friends go, but still, somehow, having his tiny warm body in the house, next to me, fills me with comfort and company. And somehow we manage to have a lot of fun together, especially after discovering DubSmash.<br />
<br />
I like him a lot, I guess. I like Joe a lot too. It's crazy how much love grows in your heart when you watch the man you love fall in love with a little person you created with him. Parenthood has been.... indescribable.<br />
<br />
That's all for now. Maybe y'all can remind me to write more often.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-3043508458417255832016-01-09T16:17:00.003-07:002016-01-09T16:17:36.715-07:00The Birth StoryBecause this is apparently a rite of passage, and every blogger needs one.<br />
<br />
I never thought I'd write a birth story, I didn't think the event would be one worth sharing or remembering... I mean, I think remembering the birth of your child is obviously important, but what more was there to it, besides "He was born and I felt like this..."<br />
<br />
There's a lot more, apparently.<br />
<br />
Let's start with 36 weeks. The Braxton Hicks contractions started getting much more intense and I was feeling pretty good about labor coming soon.<br />
<br />
37 weeks came and I was all excited about it "most likely" being the last week I'd have to squish into my dresses for church. 1cm dilated.<br />
<br />
38 weeks came and I was DONE. If he wanted to be here in time for Christmas, he was making a pretty late show of it. I was getting contractions that would keep me up for about 3 hours every night, but they'd fade during the day. Still just 1 cm dilated. Frustrated me that the contractions to me didn't seem like they were doing anything.<br />
<br />
39 weeks and things just seemed impossible. I was definitely going to be pregnant forever. December 30th though. December 30th Joe and I went to bed and I put on Iron Chef to watch as I fell asleep. After 4 episodes, I realized I wasn't gonna fall asleep any time soon, and I realized the contractions hurt, and I realized they were 5 minutes apart and getting closer. Adrenaline kicked in and then sleep was impossible. I told Joe, and the two of us mustered up enough excitement to keep ourselves awake all night long, certain that baby boy was on his way. At about 3am, we packed our bags and drove to the hospital, where we stayed for an hour, and then were sent packing, STILL ONLY 1CM DILATED. And I felt like a failure. I felt like I didn't know my body. I cried the whole way home. We got home at 5, and slept until 11, and I woke up angry and certain I would be pregnant for forever.<br />
<br />
After 40 weeks my doctor set an induction date for January 7th at 3:30pm when I was at a 1.5cm dilated at best. I resigned myself to this but I was so disappointed. It was the DAY before my mom would fly home. And getting induced at 3:30 doesn't mean you have a baby at 3:30. I didn't think she'd be there. I spent a couple hours crying in the bathroom feeling like a failure again. The last week of pregnancy involved a lot of self blame and feelings of letting people down.<br />
<br />
So that appointment was January 5th at 8:30 and contractions started right then, every few hours, but very intense. I got to sleep that night and woke up at 3:30am feeling even worse. I was told to wait to go to the hospital until I couldn't walk through contractions, so I decided to try and walk them off, and I effectively couldn't. But they were about 10 minutes apart, and that didn't seem good. I did eventually get to sleep again, and woke up to the contractions back to 30 minutes apart, but getting closer, and more intense. I still couldn't walk through them. I called up my mom and told her what was going on by the time they were about 15-20 minutes apart, and she came over to keep me company while I played Just Dance for a while and waited for my doctor to call me back and tell me what to do.<br />
<br />
When you go to the hospital only to get sent home, you're hesitant to go again.<br />
<br />
The doctor called back and told me to head to the hospital if only to get monitored to make sure baby was handling the contractions well. I called Joe, and he headed back from work, and my mom and I met him at the hospital.<br />
<br />
Monitoring went on for an hour, and they came back to tell me that YES my contractions were intense (thank you!) but I was dilated to just a 1cm STILL and that the contractions weren't close enough together to progress me. So if they got to be 2-3 minutes apart, then I could go in. But until then....<br />
<br />
And it didn't help that the woman in the room next to us was screaming. I can't compete with that.<br />
<br />
We all headed home a big bundle of annoyed and frustrated, probably most of all me... and on the ride home the contractions bumped from 10 minutes apart up to 4 minutes apart. Joe and I did some passive aggressive angry laughing awkward kind of thing like "OH LET'S JUST GO TO THE HOSPITAL AGAIN NOW! And come home! We can do this TWENTY FOUR HOURS, RIGHT?! Until the SCHEDULED INDUCTION TIME?! AHHHHHH."<br />
<br />
Joe worked from home the rest of the afternoon while my mom and I got pedicures and made lots of jokes to the Asian man working on my feet that if he put me into labor, we'd tip him well.<br />
<br />
Came home, did some Just Dance, contractions got to be 3 minutes apart, I still wasn't buying it... And Joe needed a new drivers license so my mom and I dropped him off at the DMV while we walked around some stores. Where the contractions started coming 1-2 minutes apart, stopping me in my tracks.<br />
<br />
We picked up Joe and headed back to the hospital.<br />
<br />
I got to triage at 6, where we were met with shouts of "You're back!" and they were met with our (mostly my) dirty glares. When you're having 1-2 minute contractions, you don't have time for silliness.<br />
<br />
And I was dilated to a grand total of.<br />
<br />
Drumroll.<br />
<br />
1 centimeters. An entire. One. Centimeters. I gave up. I cried. I couldn't do it, I was so frustrated. They watched contractions for an hour, agreed that they were intense, and put me on a morphine drip to try and relax me and hopefully get me to dilate. An hour later and!<br />
<br />
1cm dilated. But I was in pain at this point, and was vocal about it. Remember that hollering lady? I thought maybe if I hollered, they'd hear me. But really I was in pain enough to yell, so I did. The morphine did nothing for me.<br />
<br />
The nurse came back and told me she talked to the doctor and.<br />
<br />
The words I'd been waiting to hear.<br />
<br />
"We're admitting you."<br />
<br />
Me and my party of three headed to our labor room where they put me on pitocin for about an hour or two, and I labored drug free. I was pretty confident in my pain tolerance ability, boasting of broken bones and feeling fine and blah blah blah.... And at midnight I snapped. I couldn't do it anymore. My face was rubbed raw from burying it in a pillow to scream, and I hated everything. I called for the epidural.<br />
<br />
At this point I was 2.5 cm dilated!<br />
<br />
And they put me on the epidural, and took of the pitocin because the contractions were coming often and strong.<br />
<br />
At 1am I was at a 4. After 5 weeks of being told I was 1cm, it was a miracle to hear 4. And let me tell you about this epidural. Pure heaven. The epidural wore off again at 9am or so, and when they re-dosed me,.... let me tell you. That relief is just OTHER WORLDLY.<br />
<br />
Ok, I was at a 4, they gave me a few hours to let my water break on its own, saying that when they broke, I'd move really fast. But after a few hours, there was still very little progress, and they called in the doctor at 7am to break my water. That was a weird experience. When pregnant, you have this idea of what your water breaking would feel like. But remember the epidural? I didn't feel anything. The doctor got up to leave and told me I'd progress more quickly now and I said "Wait, what? You broke my water already?" Turns out yes. Zero feeling.<br />
<br />
I don't really remember the next few hours. I was trying my best to sleep as much as possible. My husband and mom had the fun experience of not sleeping at all.<br />
<br />
Let me talk to you about them. I couldn't have done it without either of them there. Their support and encouragement and distraction was what got me through the hard parts (i.e. epidural not working, or getting sent home the first time, and the general discomfort of it all....)<br />
<br />
At noon, the nurse checked me again and I was fully effaced and dilated. Baby was still sitting up very high, though, and she told me she was going to let me labor down for a little while so I wouldn't exhaust myself pushing. She said I still would have a ways to go, and left.<br />
<br />
20 minutes passed and I was in so much discomfort. I was feeling a lot of pressure, and at some points feeling like I was having to hold something in. I kept having this horrible nightmare of the baby coming when the nurses and doctors were out of the room. Joe kept telling me to call the nurse back in but it hadn't been that long since she told me the baby was so high and I had a while to go, it had only been about 10 minutes. And I was full of experience of being told I was 1cm dilated for weeks on end that I was sure I would always progress slower than I thought I was. So no, I didn't call in the nurse.<br />
<br />
It had been 20 minutes since last being checked and, the other nurse came in, told me that she had sent the first nurse off to lunch, and she was going to check me, which she did. She said if I had made any progress, they'd let me start pushing. And she checked and shouted "YEP. The baby's head is RIGHT THERE. Ok!" He was so low she couldn't get the catheter out and had to do some tricky maneuvering to figure out how to get it out, and eventually it did come out thank goodness. The other nurse came back into the room and they helped me get all situated while my doctor drove over.<br />
<br />
Ok but actually it wasn't my doctor, he was in with patients, so Doctor Kale, a doctor I'd met with a few times during my pregnancy came to my aid. It took her about 15 minutes to come over, and the nurses helped me push during that time.<br />
<br />
And then the next little bit is a blur. But at noon, I was told to labor down, 20 minutes later I was ready, 10 minutes after that I was pushing, and 30 minutes after that he was born. A really chaotic rush and blur of one hour.<br />
<br />
Baby boy was born at 1:01pm, sunny side up with one hand by his face. 7lbs and 15oz. I was told he would weigh around 6lbs, with 7lbs being the maximum, so we were really surprised by his size. He's 20.5 inches long.<br />
<br />
And true to his name, he continues to bring laughter into my life. Laughing is hard when your ab muscles are numb and you can't feel them. Laughing is hard when you're very sore. Laughing has been hard for me, but he's been making me laugh. Like when he startles when we rustle paper near him. Or when he spit up all over his homecoming outfit. Or when he still hadn't peed after 24 hrs and we were starting to get worried and when Joe changed his diaper, he peed all over Joe. Maybe I wouldn't have been laughing if it was me, but maybe I would have still.<br />
<br />
I love this little boy. It is surreal to have him here and to see his face and to feel him move outside of me. I'm exhausted and overwhelmed at times but the overall feeling is just happiness and love, love for him, love for my husband, and the feeling of love coming from angle around me as my friends and family shared their support from around the world. Thank you to all who supported me through this pregnancy. It has been quite the adventure, and I'm excited for the adventure to follow.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiLs-FFIDUM2JPsn0FwnsQnsdk-4QfYdYzz_IxAgs9vFkZCje4t4veIjNtP3nQq1-glM4aApoxC4dyZ_mJi7fjDCx1jbIgLIBOl68Kowjlyr6UCx1twx2uQDiP6pDtqdEF0zFexpf29Y/s1600/12508726_10208528882168923_2604859471671723003_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXiLs-FFIDUM2JPsn0FwnsQnsdk-4QfYdYzz_IxAgs9vFkZCje4t4veIjNtP3nQq1-glM4aApoxC4dyZ_mJi7fjDCx1jbIgLIBOl68Kowjlyr6UCx1twx2uQDiP6pDtqdEF0zFexpf29Y/s640/12508726_10208528882168923_2604859471671723003_n.jpg" width="640" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-27543232607441620292015-11-24T16:02:00.000-07:002015-11-24T16:06:55.436-07:00Pregnant Lara and the UnexpectedSee how it sounds like a Harry Potter book? Only slightly? Because it follows the same format? Does that make me cool? Guys?<br />
<br />
Lately I've been reflecting on what I expected pregnancy to be. I read a lot. I read a lot. That sentence is typed twice, but pronounced two different ways. It's important that you understand that. Read. Read. Two different words in those sentences. One is past tense. And that is the first one. It's important that you understand that.<br />
<br />
Back to where we were.<br />
<br />
I read a lot. I read a lot. This makes me feel confident, and makes me a really annoying patient since most of what the doctor is saying, I've heard somewhere, and I'll interrupt and add things to his sentences. Or maybe this means we're soulmates, the doctor/patient kind of soulmate. You decide. I'll let you decide. I like reading, because reading gives me knowledge, and "Knowledge is Power!" So I spend a lot of time on research based websites reading lengthy studies. I'm grateful for my stats class that has given me the information I need to dissect studies. (Y) <-- Thumbs up sign that won't show up on blogger. (Y)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGrn8PTTKadlh5jYRH7hd2aUeQX3GlKuEO96W7ko6eqSMlOTfGql6jhmjSTRVZuMuFgoMboNr6hXBZsx2_vOS061Y9PkQFWnOCG4C3WlINdGwb5fOSBn9RurYadMi_1Pm2SgtxxdmLIY/s1600/112015-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="444" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGrn8PTTKadlh5jYRH7hd2aUeQX3GlKuEO96W7ko6eqSMlOTfGql6jhmjSTRVZuMuFgoMboNr6hXBZsx2_vOS061Y9PkQFWnOCG4C3WlINdGwb5fOSBn9RurYadMi_1Pm2SgtxxdmLIY/s640/112015-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
So I consider myself more informed than the average pregnant woman. This made itself manifest when my doctor was trying to figure out my due date and I pulled out my phone, equipped with three apps that had charts on them, depicting the exact date of conception. How many normal people know THAT?<br />
<br />
There's been a lot of things I expected to come with pregnancy. And many of those things did come! But in unexpected ways. So lemme break it down for you. Drop a beat for me, DJ.<br />
<br />
<i>Expected: You will be hungry all the time!</i><br />
<i>Reality: </i>I'm not hungry ALL the time, but I am a lot more hungry than normal. This hunger typically strikes at 3am, when I'm too tired to get out of bed. So I lay there and whine a little bit, and the whining puts me back to sleep. Hey, that's a good thing, right? If I can sleep through the sound of whining? Maybe that will come in handy?<br />
<br />
<i>Expected: You're eating for two!</i><br />
<i>Reality: </i>Sure, inside my body are double the major organs right now (cool Time Lord reference here) BUT my exterior is more or less the same size as it's always been. Besides the frontward growing that's happening. But it's not quite enough, see, I'm trying to fit a squirmy human into that space, and that space is where my tummy used to be. My tummy was evicted and sought residence in the "Rib Cage" region, but my lungs are hostile neighbors to my stomach. My stomach, being the timid organ that it is, sacrificed his (why is my stomach male?) flexibility and space to make room for a human, it was the only organ that seemed to be willing to do that. So maybe I'm eating for two humans, maybe I should be, but I'm doing it with the stomach of a early-spring squirrel. I've got a teaspoon amount of space. I'm hungry, I want to eat the things, but I have to carefully choose what I get to eat because, again, teaspoon amount of space. The extra fun bit of this is that my stomach uses up that food just as fast as it did before, though. So I quickly get hungry again, after dinner is cleaned up and put away and the dishes are washed.<br />
<br />
<i>Expected: Say goodbye to your toes!</i><br />
<i>Reality: </i>This boy of mine carried pretty stretched out, with my bump being equally distributed through the majority of my torso for quite some time. Until last week when baby boy changed position very suddenly and my bump got all put into one place. Reality? I didn't get to say goodbye to my toes. They were taken from me all too soon.<br />
<br />
<i>Expected: Cravings will be INSANE.</i><br />
<i>Reality: </i>Along with this, I thought I'd have them all the time. The truth is, I've had them four times. Twice for root beer, once for salad, and once for straight up grenadine, much to the disgust of my husband. He hid his eyes as I drank a couple sips of grenadine from the bottle.<br />
<br />
<i>Expected: Oh that pregnancy GLOW!</i><br />
<i>Reality: </i>I feel like an elephant and blush red enough to look like a tomato when people tell me things like "You know what they say, you're your most beautiful when you're pregnant! You're radiant, Lara!" What am I supposed to do with that? "Thanks for saying that! I've never felt so weird about my looks in my life, so it's great that you think this is my peak. No where to go from here but down; that makes me feel REAL good."<br />
<br />
<i>Expected: You'll bond with the baby before he's here.</i><br />
<i>Reality: </i>Ok, for me this has been an understatement. I had to end this blog on a positive note. I feel I know this boy already. He has a strong personality. He has likes and dislikes. He loves the sound of my voice. And when I've cried during this pregnancy, his movement becomes so calm and tender as if he's trying to comfort me. I've never met him but I know I'd move mountains for this boy, I'd stop trains for him and cross seas for him. The bond keeps me going through the fear and uncertainty and stress and anxiety and every unpleasant symptom and every sleepless night. I can't wait to meet my son.<br />
<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9204034401273288360.post-4398048116497740152015-11-19T10:18:00.002-07:002015-11-19T10:18:30.987-07:00Give Me A Break!ALRIGHT.<br />
<br />
It's been a busy bit here. I knew this would happen. I'm glad this has happened! A baby being born just after the holidays means LOTS OF STUFF TO DO before he comes. Like have the holidays. Prepare for the holidays. Lots of visits and trips. And of course everything that goes into getting ready for baby.<br />
<br />
So here's a quick update on my times.<br />
<br />
I'd been feeling a lot of stress/depression/anxiety over baby. I was ashamed of that, because half my brain was saying calmly "It's ok, this is a big transition, it's ok to feel this way." while the other part of my brain was shouting "NO SHUSH UP! EVERYTHING IS BAD FOREVER!" As hard as it was for me to go through it all, I can't imagine what it was like for Joseph to watch his normally very happy/reasonable wife cry into a pillow for several days on end. He did everything perfect though, I'm glad to have a support like him.<br />
<br />
Through that, my dad thought it would be a good idea to come give me a visit and keep me company for a while. And that was the best idea ever. I had an amazing week with my daddy! I love my dad so much and it has been so long since we've had one-on-one time. I was so grateful he took time from his schedule just to see me! We drove some cars for fun, discovered new neighborhoods and areas and parks, found a diamond of a mountain park in Phoenix. The week came and went too fast, and I'm excited to see my family again in a few weeks for Christmas!<br />
<br />
Next up, Joseph and I flew to Colorado for my last week of travel. Doctor won't let me go anywhere anymore! We brought beautiful sunny weather with us to Colorado for the first few days! We went to a football game, rode a train up to Pike's Peak, saw some great views and walked around in a cloud, saw The Martian, had "Mexican Thanksgiving" to test out food for my sister-in-law's wedding coming up soon, and had a wonderful time just visiting family! Thank you so much Becar family for your incredible hospitality! We're sure excited to see you next time when our little boy is here!<br />
<br />
And now to the second part of this post. One of those "writing-down-thoughts-and-experiences-for-my-own-safe-keeping" things. I'm home a lot. I find myself with a lot of free time. And I spend most of that free time on facebook, reading the same things over and over, watching meaningless videos, listening to the problems of others. And before I knew it, my life became so wrapped up in the lives of others that I was losing track of myself in the process. It's a little pathetic how much time I spent with Joe, talking about things like "Oh em gee, you wouldn't believe what so-and-so said today" and such as and. They were things that weren't important anymore.<br />
<br />
And for the first time, I took a facebook break. I've taken a break where I can't even check it because I'm camping or out of town, but being off facebook is a side effect of those things, not an intentional action. This time I wanted to test myself.<br />
<br />
And surprise, I really didn't miss it. I deleted it from my phone, knowing I wouldn't be near my laptop at all that weekend, and it was fine. There was a time where I was waiting for a class to start that I thought "Huh, I'm bored, what should I do right now?" and I pulled out my phone to check facebook, only to realize I had to do something else to fill my time.<br />
<br />
It's been two weeks now and I think I'll go back to it maybe after the weekend. But it's not something I'm counting down the days to. And I don't think I'll become so absorbed in it.<br />
<br />
This isn't to say I loath social media. I do like it. I like how I can follow the lives of my family and friends who live far away. I like how it can allow me to share in the joys and pains of others. But I don't like how it had become reflexive for me to check it, I don't like how a website was taking priority in my life over things that are really important. This break has given me a chance to reground myself and refocus my priorities, especially at a time in my life when my priorities will be changing a lot in the next few weeks!<br />
<br />
So anyways.<br />
<br />
Lara.<br />
<br />
It's ok to take a break sometimes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10493347612679909279noreply@blogger.com0