2012 favorites…

30 December 2012 by 1 Comment

Only two more days left in 2012.  I feel like an old fogey when I hear myself utter phrases like “Where did the year go?”

Copyright (c) 123RF Stock Photos

And where the heck DID this year go?  2012 was a very full year for me, for our family.  Our kids got bigger and bolder. We moved across country and explored new terrain.  I kissed my dance career goodbye.  My thighs have achieved maximum density.

As I look to 2013, I am slowly contemplating some resolutions. Or lifestyle changes.  I haven’t solidified them yet, but the gist at the moment is less junk, more spunk.

In the spirit of reflection, I took a look back at my favorite blog posts from the past year.  Here’s a list of some of the posts I enjoyed writing the most.  The ones that stuck with me.  Perhaps they will with you too!

Top Posts From 2012…

Don’t mess with Mama bear…:  An article made me reevaluate gender roles as parents and made me realize I want my kids to see I’m just as strong and capable as Daddy.

Time out…:  Our first night away from the kids in almost two years didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.

Clean up, clean up, everybody clean up…:  An attempt to de-clutter our cramped home to put on the market.  With small children around.

Bunny hills…:  My ankles and hips still cringe at the though of my first ski experience.  May I never see a ski slope again.

Letting go…:  I don’t want my kids to grow up yet. That includes forcing them to use baby products so I can get off on the smell of Dreft.

Ode to humidity…:  My first foray into Shakespearean ranting.

Adventures in babysitters…:  Do NOT hire this chick to watch your kids.

Pounding the pavement…:  One foot in front of the other.  Moving forward.

Getting a leg up…:  Attempting to navigate my dancing hiatus, one pound at a time.

Quick get away…:  Have you had episodes of G.A.G?

Copyright (c) 123RF Stock Photos

 

And to close, I say this:

Move over, 2012.  There’s something more 2013′ier.

What’s been your favorite post on Full of it this year?  What’s been the post you’ve liked writing on your own blog?  Feel free to post your link in the comments. 

 

 

Filed Under: babysitters, cleaning house, dancing, depression, growing up, humidity, mid-career crisis, moving, selling our house, skiing

Om my gosh: how yoga might just save me…

11 October 2012 by 6 Comments

I didn’t intend to start the day with a yoga class.  It wasn’t even on my radar.  My plan was to spend enough time on the elliptical machine to break out a sweat and burn enough calories to offset my quota of PopTarts I’d eaten for breakfast.  But walking down the hallway, I ran in to a mother from the kids’ school who roped me in to going to a yoga class with her.  And this yoga class?  It might just be my salvation.  The answer to everything that I’m struggling with right now.  The alternative to Zoloft.

Discounting the yoga that I’d done with P90X (I mean, I love Tony Horton as much as the next guy, but he’s not necessarily B.K.S. Iyengar), the last time I’d taken an organized yoga class was the low-energy prenatal yoga classes I’d taken when pregnant with Miss P.  Before that, it was the slightly-crazy class I attended with a friend in NYC that was so filled with yoga fanatics that I felt insecure and inadequate that I couldn’t even look the teacher in the eye.  And even WAY before that, the last time I’d done yoga regularly was over a decade ago.

So, yeah, it’d been a while.

I was nervous, intimidated, and wrought with all those First Encounter Jitters:  Where do I put my shoes? How should I lay out my mat?  Do I need all that gear?  Am I supposed to be stretching before we begin, or can I just sit here and chat with my friend?  And, God forbid, what if I queef?

We started out with some stretching and I quickly realized I wasn’t dressed for yoga.  I had on a baggy camisole and baggy sweats, and when the room began to get toasty, I was a floppy mess.  Still, the stretching…my God, THE STRETCHING.  My body was eternally grateful for all of those twists and bends, simultaneously cursing me for not stretching more regularly.

Then we started to move through asanas, did some balance poses, some abdominal strengthening, and before I knew it, the yoga class was over.  And, man, did I feel great.  For the first time since we’ve moved here, I felt connected back to my body.  The teacher (also a mom, who had told us she was up most of the night with a croupy kid) kept instilling this mantra (for us? or for her?):  This is for YOU, this is YOUR time.  All that other crap that’s coming in to your head? Drop it.

And I did.

All that breathing, stretching, strengthening, moving, it felt glorious.  Like the missing link.  In that yoga class, I realized how much I miss dancing.  Moving my body in a three-dimensional way.  Feeling grounded.  Feeling home.

And that euphoria?  It lasted for the rest of the day.  What a bonus, right?  I found myself getting less wigged out over every little thing my kids did that might otherwise annoy me.  I didn’t have my usual late-afternoon headache.  And I actually felt good about myself.  How did I forget about yoga?  I knew it was out there, that there were classes at the gym.  Why didn’t I do this sooner?  I’ll tell you why…my stupid mind fed me all sorts of excuses, filled me with fear of the unknown, of what might happen, or of how ridiculous I might look.  I’m so grateful for the mom that talked me in to going with her.  Sometimes all we need is a little push in the right direction.

This yoga class might just be the answer to the loss I feel about not having a dance career anymore.  I knew, deep down inside, that I’d been mourning that aspect of my life, but I don’t think I’ve come to terms with and accepted it just yet.  Yoga might be the gentle hand that leads me over to the other side of my career transition.

As they say at the end of a yoga class, namaste.  Namaste indeed.

Filed Under: dancing, depression, happiness, mid-career crisis, p90x

Baby steps…

9 September 2011 by 4 Comments

I need a freakin’ therapy visit.  I’m starting to feel squirrely.  Twitchy.  The last time I saw my therapist was right after we came back from Mexico.  And in that visit I uncomfortably sat through we reviewed my homework – my autobiography.  My life story, summed up in about 12 pages.   Twenty minutes spent where I heard how whiny I am about things.  But more importantly, we started to address my anxiety and anger.  It felt as if I was standing on the edge of the high dive, being told that it’s almost my turn to jump.  Then my progress came to a screeching halt as Dr. B went on vacation.  For 3+ weeks.  Long weeks.  Now I feel like Bill Murray’s Bob in What About Bob after his first visit with Dr. Leo Marvin, who promises huge breakthroughs, then skips out on vacation.  Except, I have no Baby Steps book to fall back on.  Or a goldfish to cradle.   Granted, I’m not stalking my therapist and his family up in Lake Winnipesaukee, but I’m feeling lost.  And at critical mass.  I just want to START, y’know?  I mean, damn it, I’m paying all of this money, I want to start feeling some results.  But I can’t, because we keep doing this in fits and starts.  I’m trying to be patient and keep my fingers crossed that an appointment opens up soon. 

Baby steps to happy hour. Baby steps to happy hour…

Filed Under: depression, therapy

Knock it outta the park…

29 August 2011 by 4 Comments

Things are starting to settle in to a routine, now that school is back in session. And with full-day Kindergarten starting a week from now, I feel as if I’m getting a little break. Summer can be Oh So Fun, but Oh So Exhausting. The constant planning of play dates, activities and camps makes the long days with two kids go down a little easier but I find myself getting a little maxed out.  For instance, the playground?  Yeah, I could use a hiatus from that.  Except that it’s free and close by.   Can’t we just spend a day in our jammies, playing with the thousand toys we have here, instead of having something on the itinerary?  I know those little minds and bodies get bored quickly, but since I’m keeping Mr. B occupied during Miss P’s naps, I feel as if I’ve hit my limit with LEGO construction.  Yet, now that our weekdays are taken care of with school, I’m finding I will miss having my little guy around. 

I also feel as if I’m driving out of the tunnel of whatever funk I was in.  Not completely clear of it, but seeing the exit signs.  I’m getting less irritable.  I think.  My husband would probably disagree.  It also helps that my son has been an absolute angel this past week.  I’m not sure why, perhaps it is being back in school (and the new teacher he has, who seems like a woman that don’t take no shit from nobody, yet can still offer a hug), but he’s been a great listener, a very sweet and loving kid, nice to Miss P, and has been controlling his temper better (especially around his little sister).  Man, do I need to take a lesson from him and practice what I preach.  Perhaps he’s getting all of his anger and aggression out during our nightly t-ball sessions.  Maybe I should do the same?  I go through times where I feel like I need an anger cleanse.  Or an exorcism.  Something.  Do you experience that?  A sudden and explosive sense of anger and frustration?  It’s a horrible feeling.  When you’re IN IT, boy is it hard to remind yourself to breathe, count to ten, go to your Happy Place, etc.  I’m getting better, I think.  But I still have a long ways to go before I feel like my old, silly self again. 

Excuse me while I go whack some whiffle balls…

Filed Under: anger, depression, self-improvement

Freebird…

17 August 2011 by 11 Comments

It’s official.  I am off anti-depressants.  I haven’t had a dose in over a week.  Just in time for a friendly monthly visit from Mrs. Hormones.  But at least I can own up to that as a reason for feeling all over the place, instead of feeling out of control over what the evacuation of drugs is doing to my psyche.   My poor mother had to deal with my Wrath during her visit, as I was battling withdrawal and PMS, with a husband out of town.  It was not pretty.  Instead of telling her what was going on and asking for the help I needed, I turned in to a pouty, moody teenager again.  Why is this my default coping mechanism?

Therapy is going well, I think.  I’ve only had a few sessions, and I feel like we’re just scratching the surface.  It’s frustrating to feel as if it’s not going fast enough, that I’m just on the precipice of working on myself, and have no reliable means to get through my emotions.  The important one?  Anger.  It’s a doozie.   It’s so easy to get sucked in to the 2-5 year old mentality when the kids are fighting with each other and hitting and yelling.  I become one of them.  It’s almost like I need someone to come by, give me a good slap, and remind me that someone needs to be the adult.   I wish that, in those moments, I could remember to breathe.  To assess the situation for what it is, not what it might turn in to.  To remember to be present.  I think that’s why I liked the trapeze in Mexico…I know, that comes out of left field.  But let me explain…

Here’s the thing: getting on that trapeze and (successfully) doing tricks, catching Chucho’s hands, then turning around to grab the bar, doing a back flip as I came off…I felt like Superwoman.  Standing on that high platform, waiting for his “HUP!!” (which, by the way, is a great sound, and I’ve adopted it in to my daily routine to get the kids moving.  A swift and deep “HUP!” accompanied by hoisting out of a chair, or in to a car seat, works wonders!) all I had to think about was jumping.  In the midst of a trick, I felt more present and aware than I have for a very long time.  In that moment when my feet left the platform and my body was swinging through the air, I wasn’t thinking about my sick son and how I might have two to three days of sick kids instead of beach and sun ahead of me.  I wasn’t worried about the state of Jon’s job or how my aging body was tired of K’s work or what a nightmare unpacking might be when we get home.  I was solely focused on was the rush of adrenaline, the wind against my legs, the feeling of freedom and courage.  When I came down, all I wanted to do was go back up again and again.  It must be what a drug addict feels like. Except that I wasn’t looking for the next hit, I was looking for another trick I could master.  It felt good to be successful at something.  While I’m sure that it is their job to make guests feel this way, I felt like the circus guys encouraged me to keep coming back, and I took that as a sign that I was decent at this thing I just started for the first time.  It was a nice feeling.

So why can’t I bring that presence and awareness to my daily life?  Why does my mind constantly worry about what needs to be done, instead of enjoying every second with my family?   How can I transfer that “surrendering to the moment” feeling to my daily struggles?

Filed Under: depression, presence, therapy, trapeze
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