haven’t posted in awhile … but 3 kids later-

3 kids later- I am 12 lbs away from my pre-preg. weight, overly stressed and going back to work is a vacation for me! Amen??? anyone??? You people who are of the female gender understand- kids or not- the unbelievable pressure of appearing like all is well and we have our crap together is huge! Well- confession- I never have it together. Even on my best day- the days, kids take naps and eat their vegetables without me threaten them with their life- I still do not have it “together.” What does this “having it together” even mean?

My definition:

having “it” together- is an action verb. It is when a woman – in her prime successfully manages a full-time job with success and admiration of her peers (almost to the point of envy). Eats only fruits, vegetables, and lean clean meats. (no doughnuts or happy snacks- people). Has multiple children who never scream in Target and they  say “please” and “thank you” without prompting.  This woman wears the hip-est clothes and is a badass in everything she does. She  never sweats or  looks flustered- she writes her thank you..s on time  and works out daily.

Do I have high standards? probably/ definitely….

However is this  how we really see other women? . They have it – and we don’t. This is the tale piniterest and instagram and every other social network is telling us. The Narrative:  they have it and I don’t.  But the truth is much more realistic and mundane. No one has it together all the time. And if they did- where is the fun in that???

 

Why do we love the transformation story?

Why do we love the transformation story? because- so many of us Amraricans have been brought up on this bedtime story. A wayward son- reconciled with the father, a ugly woman made beautiful by love. A coward ultimately deciding to be brave. I admit- I crave this type of  narrative. In my classes, I can not bear a sad- Woe- unto me,” story of neglect and appealing abuse. Something inside me shuts down, when I read abuse stories, the wartime stories of domestic violence and abuse fall flat on me. Is it because so many embellish and therefore take advantage, or is it a deep, internal flaw I can never carve out of my soul  o matter how much spiritual searching I do. I believe people write and tell their stories in such graphic detail- primarily because they are: deeply lonely and angry, and somehow wanting to provoke.

I only say this= because this is the only reason I would speak about my fierce anger, and crippling loneliness. Its never to get sympathy, (which I would hate you for.) or to show off how horrible a person I really am. or how out of sync I am with the modern Christian world, with all their “Small-group, meetings, and how the modern Church  has not changed at all in the recent centuries and that it does not give a flying FUCK about family life.- By the Way…. I only use serious profanity when I am so overcome with emotion – I know no other way to convey the sense of deep resentment, loss, and anger towards someone or something, and therefore result to the baseness of profanity. here is the truth:

  1. I hate church life and all its “churchiness.” never could get the hang of it.
  2. I loved hymns and gospel music as a child, would weep and agonize over my sins and shortcomings as a child. And yet- the more I confessed and repented, the more I screwed up and feared.
  3. I was a fearful child. Anyone who know me from way back then,” can trace my various reactions or emotional outbursts to fear. Deep Deep Fear. The kind that goes down to the marrow. Whenever I gathered the courage and bravado up to ask a church leader or sunday school teacher about my fear of dying or unworthiness…. I was met with this, ” Well, There must be something wrong with your spiritual life.” I would agonize and fret over this. As a Child (elementary age)- I often cried out of fear of dying or being bad.  My parents struggled (In their own way) with this same concept.
  4. now-days-  I hate Sunday School with a Passion. So ridiculous and fake. Too Superficial for me to get myself all precise and my two babies dressed, diapered, feed, and happy- only to sit in an aluminum chair for an hour, (feeling like the chump I am)- bored, and pretending, like everyone else in the room to be happy and saintly.
  5. So- I don’t go. Stupid. Here is the thing though…. When I was a child and into my teenage years- I had a sensitivity towards spirituality.  I would mop the kitchen extra clean, as a way to make extra points in someone’s tally book.
  6. I would read scripture over and over, and would hope I would become more loving towards people. Especially stupid people: like my girlfriends who were going out with douche-bag guys and then crying to me on Monday about how they were  treated. It became even more difficult when my ow brother was the douche-ass hole. Treating the girls like objects and less than human.
  7. I hated them for their weakness, and I hated myself for the same reason. I loved this brother completely- and he epitomizes my worst fears.
  8. So.. that makes me hypocrite #1.

– I don’t go to church- if truth be told. This past week- the local church– the one I am supposed to be attending, had a marriage… service? Program? what would you call it, I wonder? A popular Christian Couple- who has written numerous, numerous, numerous books on the subject of marriage and how to do it… FOREVER- talked about nonsense for 2 hours and all I have to show for it- is 2 sick children (nursery germs) and a headache. The kind of headache you get from Pretending to believe what you have heard is profound for the sake of show- when in reality you are bored as hell and all you have heard is what your mama and grandma have told you ti e and time again.

Basically,  EVEN IN 2015: here is the deal.: Communicate. Communicate your shit, his shit. and I do NOT mean – high school loves or crazy college nights…. I mean communicate to him- that when he walks in the door after being on the deer stand for the last 31/2 hours, and he is all refreshed and revived from the great out-doors.. in the mean time… you have picked up kids from daycare- after your own day job, waded through waters of tired- toddler- tsunamis and started supper, folded laundry, answered emails, defussed fights over a toy, given out gold fish snacks, pacifiers, bottles, baths, and wiped numerous butts- there is NOT a charitable bone in your body towards Anyone…. much less a man coming home- all happy and smiling and looking like the breeze itself- from his reprieve on the deer stand.. or whatever it may be-

What you are feeling – COMMUNICATE TO HIM….  whatever it is you are feeling. Perhaps,  you are congratulating yourself on feeling: ultra- tenderhearted, the equivalent of a sexy Marilyn Monroe, and  sainthood of Mother Theresa- if you feel this way 50% of the time, then this post is not for you, and we will never be friends.  This post is for those “OTHER” women.

Compromise. Walk into marriage knowing it is NOT a Cinderella fairy tale- you MUST compromise. Compromise means More than the guy wanting to do his own thing, or wanting to “do” things yall may have done once.. drunk… on a beach…. 7 years ago…   No, No, No- COMPROMISE – means – tit for tat. ” I will do this, if you do that.” Sorry, pretties: but this is the truth of the matter.

Because so many husband live in a visual and shallow world… – to be attractive after… say baby number 2 or 3 or whatever your number may be… you have to go on a diet. Sorry- it is the truth. Women are pressured to go back on the never-ending diet and stay on a diet until they look like a skinny enough. As if your life can not get anymore….. not depressing (ehem…)… different? Also- compromise.

In Marriage and Motherhood: I am beginning to wonder if “compromise,” is a dirty, foul word, only meant to scare our daughters from teen pregnancy, and young married life.

So often- these days, I wonder: what is going on with me? Knowing that if I were to peep a word to any particular person- any and all amounts of judgements would be heaped up and pilled on me, all hurtful and never helpful. Motherhood and Wife…ness (?) is a lonely place.

Honesty— about being a mom in the summer.

 

they are repairing their bike.. like daddy does.

they are repairing their bike.. like daddy does.


Summer 2015.. on goods days- I will say… It’s been wonderful… exaggerating- the “wonderful” part. But most days…. I feel, I am swimming in deep waters. Waters filled with guilt, anger, boredom, contentment, laughter, angst, More boredom, More guilt, ultimate- impoverishment of humanity, and lots of self-center-ness (on my part, I am sure). I am a mother of two. A girl- almost 3 yr. and a boy- 9 month old. Evie and Mav. Mav Man and Evie. HEY!!!!!! Stop That!!!!! Get off The Couch!!!! Don’t chew the cord! Stop! No!!! Aghhh . Evie and Maverick…. “sweet cherubs.” actually- they are . I am the one with Horns. ;-)

I will go ahead and confess… I am crazy. I have lost my mind…. months and months ago to be precise. I will also confess– I have NOT lost the 20 lbs postpartum 2nd child….. which I was  supposed to do done yesterday… according to Pinterst, and mommy blogs who are fit, and nutrition guides… I am still nursing 2nd child, which means— I have doubled the crazy cycle ( can’t you tell?)- And all the Moms on Facebook- whose status says…”oh! I will miss the summer with the kids, those late nights, and those supper cuddly mornings, and all the healthy food we have bought at the farmer’s market… while holding hands, and singing songs… ” make me gag and vomit!!! (cynic laugh.. ha ha ha ha). How absolutely ape-shit you are! you don’t fool me! you are secretly crying in your pillow and wishing for vodka, while your husband seethes and plays X-box!! Sorry.. hunny, no sex*, tonight. OR… perhaps….

You are the type who says: F-this! c’mon honey- lamb*- let’s make another, while secretly, “wishing upon a star,” you remembered the BC and cannot- for a minute… contemplate how many thousands of dollars you will be spending on psychiatric bills if you were to conceive a third…  Oh Goh!! The Crazy Cycle—

I am both of these scenarios… give or take some details. My husband is a freakin badass. I am not kidding or exaggerating in the slightest. He works hard. Provides for his family, comes home with smiles and warm hugs. He is generous, and strong.. Strong is a word I want to emphasize here. He stills loves me… strength incarnate. He is like Hercules and Superman,Iron man and Chuck Norris + Bruce Lee  combined  — seriously awesome!!  and then… there is me…. ….. …. no words can describe the horror.

  • unwashed hair
  • misspelled words and uninterpretable phrases….
  • forgot to unload the washer again!
  • dinner? Oh- pizza, again.
  • Who are you?
  • Oh- my god- My Mother is a SAINT.
  • I love them… I want OUT of here.. to run away…. I love them.. can I run away from home.. as a 30-ish yr old?

this scenario plays through my head everyday!

I  hate to play into the female stereotype of hysterical mother…. but, if she were to spend 14 hours a DAY (if” they”… the 3 yr old and 9 mo. happened to sleep 10 hrs… which, they don’t!!) Everyday- for months  and months- without any break!- Hysterical is what you would be too – don’t get too judgy and high- and mighty!

SO– for all the moms out there– spending day- time hours in crazy town and night time hours in the guilt field (which, will kill any living cell in your body if you stay too long)- Know this—

  • Your Voice is still strong and heard.
  • Don’t be a #DNB (see – Ronda Rousey for definition).
  • Forget what “Facebook” shows  (total crap… its all about.. “look at me! look at me! and how awesome my life is.. ” or the really annoying… people on soap-box.
  • Read a Book! Books are full of moms who are crazier, worse, better, or totally douche-bags compared to you.
  • Don’t lose heart-… cause 1 day, my E may run into your Boy.. and I hope to God you have done right. Cause- she will run right over anyone who does not treat her the way her daddy treats her mama!!!
  • Boom! it’s over. too soon. too fast. too too.

Taking a long trip to a far and exotic Land….

I have 3 days until I leave. and I must prepare. Nothing I take with me can be in the western form… except perhaps my children- but they may take the next trip… not this one.

yes! 3 days, and I am excited. This 365 year trip will be amazing. insightful and challenging.

I am still researching what all I will need to take, leave behind and how much spending money this vacation will require– details will come soon.

But, in 3 days- I get a vacation!! Woop Woop!!

What I do know is this:

being a person who is interested in learning about different cultures and incorporating new ideas or ways of living….  (at least temporarily), I will adhere to their customs.

Also-  realized I am NOT bilingual in any way. Which may make it difficult to communicate – so for a while I will need to do a lot of smiling and waving until I become fluent.

There is a sobriety clause I will adhere to and who would have thought- but there is this thing… where – I kid you not…. they carrying their kids everywhere. I do – mean carry! There is  still some issues with this one.

I will keep posting to chronicle the adventures of this new trip. I am ready- so ready for a vacation!!

fasting.

Fasting is such a scary word. Fasting- going without- actually using self-control. Ha! Self-control– probably the weakest muscle in my body- the self-control muscle.

But for a while I have been thinking about this activity- or decision to fast. Let me be clear, what I mean by fasting is the good ole-fashioned biblical fast. No food, just water… perhaps tea, but plain (no sugar. no milk). Duration: ? I don’t know. one day at a time, I guess. My reasons are sound: for spiritual break through, change, and self-confidence. (Is this allowed on a fast… self- anything?) I need to detox. My body is sluggish, and exhausted.

I also want to fast from spending.

Listing out needs and wants > and spend only on the needs.

I must set down my goals and pursue them. The difficulty is starting and getting a momentum up.

I am starting with the intermediate fasting. I will journal on this for a while, before launching into the real deal.

Paid in meatballs-

Everytime I make meatballs, I think of the scene in Wedding Singer  when Adam Sandler is paid in meatballs and I think- I know, I know.

Epic meatball recipe:

1 lb of organic venison burger

1 lb of organic pork sausage (pan sausage)

1 egg (extra large )

1 tsp: “butcher seasoning” and 1tsp “signature seasoning” (from the Spice House in West Monroe)

a handful of Panko.

425 degree until done – so freakin good.

Evie Leona and Mav Man Max,

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Dear Loves:

My two cherished miracles- I realized I have placed significance on the ridiculous, and not on what is eternal. I love to hear your voices sing and make our home the noisy ruckus it is. Smiles peer up me and strive to grab my attention- my scattered and distracted attention. You say,” Mommy, let’s go to Ebie’s room.” Or Mav, because you are 4 months old, you use your dimples and wails… to get your point across. But- the constant feeling of lost time and trying- frantically to stop moments, record words, film the songs sung at bedtime, memorize your faces at this age- I struggle to stay present. I smile, but know I have so much more to teach you, to show you, to pray over you- so, why am I not doing this?

I have these stupid goals: like reading novels that won’t make a difference in my life. or Losing weight: the “New American Pastime,” work: work, which is dreadful and necessary. This is what I should be doing:

Each morning: get up and pray over your sweet hearts. Read you the Bible stories and speak with you about God’s saving Grace. Live this out in my words, actions, moods, and finances. Sing and teach you songs I sang as a child. I once had such a tender heart towards eternal matters, towards the Lord, but I have grown distant and hard. Gradually. Which is the dangerous part. All mistakes- small or large begin with the gradual. This is a life truth. Successes and failures all begin the same way- Gradually.

I repent. I have a huge responsibility as your mommy, and I will begin in the small moments with the Big Ones in mind.

Love love love.

 

you always.

 

Cheese! you’re back in my life.

Going no sugar- which means I can have cheese. The good- melt in mouth kind that couples well with white wine- the kind I miss when I am on a no diary/ (retarded) diet or the WLC performance level diet. by the way- this is the 3rd time I have participated in the WLC, and the third “false start.” Cheating may be my new pastime when it comes to diets. I have never considered myself a cheater, except for that one year in high school spanish. However- I have taken a new approach to diets, which entails cheating everyday in some form or fashion.

Anyway- I digress. Lately- I have wondered if I may be borderline diabetic or just chronically dehydrated. Since Mav’s birth- I have had chronic headaches and severe thirst. I have never metabolized sugar well- but that does not stop me from eating it. I read the I Quit Sugar cookbook/ 8 week no sugar detox book by Sarah somebody, and thought it sounded too difficult. But now.. I am reconsidering her approach. What turned me off initially was her “no fruit” suggestion on the week 3 “to do list” in her book. For someone who once lived on only fruit (also in high school)- I was completely turned off the idea of  the “no fruit rule.” She does give good points regarding this suggestion. Like it would be “too confusing for your body during recalibration,” or ” just a little fruit” could be more difficult than simply going cold- turkey. All points make sense, and since I have serious cravings, mood swings, and headaches everyday no matter how much water I drink, I felt this may be the diet I need to do. My body could use some serious re-calibration and detox.

So- Sarah suggests adding more fat into the daily diet at the beginning when the “no-sugar” thing is at its worst. She suggests cheese as an after-dinner dessert, instead of dessert or fruit. She says, yes to wine and spirits, but not excessive and the wine needs to be on the dry side if possible. Full-fat diary and tons of vegetables are also recommended. I need to eat more vegetable-focused dinners anyway.

Today was day one: I drank a lot of green tea, water and one coconut water. Thirst satiation level was good. Still thirsty, but not too excess. I ate edamame for breakfast. Plain – Fage greek yogurt with roasted pecans- snack. Some chicken and beans with quinoa for lunch,  green peas for a snack, and for dinner: mushrooms, brown rice, roasted mixed veggies, and deer sausage crumbled on top.

Extra sharp cheddar cheese for dessert. Lots of water and green tea. Not bad for the first day.

The good news is there is more fruit for Evie to eat. She loves frozen cherries and bananas.

regime- for the crapper.

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That’s a nice title- ya think? Anything using the word “crapper” has to be good, right?

So- I signed up for this “dietbet” competition a month ago. It is this website where people can host or join group competitions with the goal to lose weight. I won’t bore myself (since I am my only reader) with how these competitions work- except to say… You are a Sucker! These websites are developed with people like you in mind. Another place where you can go and throw money down the crapper, because you know – you ain’t gonna lose the weight in a month. You begin with lofty goals and high spirits, but…. C’mon! The minute the word diet enters your thought process, and becomes “a must do” is the very minute you crank out the King Cake Ice cream and chow down.

King Cake ice cream made by Bluebell is some of the BEST ice cream I have ever tasted. Just saying.

Yea, today is the last day of the dietbet, 30$ gone, and now I am supposed to depress myself further by “weighing in,” while holding a index card with a secret word, so the “judges” can know it is me.

I lost. So why bother. The goal was to lose 4% of the starting weight in 28 days. This is totally doable if I  worked out fiendishly everyday, and ate like a mouse or a bird or some other very small creature.

Instead- I began the 28 days with stomach flu- lost all the weight I needed to in a 3 day span, and then proceeded to do nothing for the remaining 25 days, except eat and watch the Sprout Channel with my babies. I also read several books and basically sat on my butt for 25 days. Not a bad life really, I love to read, color with my toddler, hide out in my office and read some more, read blogs about reading, and lay in bed listening to books. All this non-active lying around -does not get my body moving to push out 4 pounds of fat.

My 5’1 frame loves fat! Truly, my favorite foods involved a nice ample portion of fat: nuts, avocados, roasted chicken-heavy on the dark meat. 100s of bananas and coconut butter… all fat inducing foods. These are not “bad” foods either. I simply have no self-control and very little imagination when it comes to eating “balanced” meals. I essentially eat like a my toddler- the same foods every day. I must change this-perhaps I will one day when I have nothing else to do.

Here’s the deal:

I make plans and seek out a variety of workout regimes, but since baby number 2 has arrived, I could care less about such goals as: “how to look sexy while you are breastfeeding 10x a day on 4 hour sleep intervals.” Just not a priority. But, but what about your husband? Don’t you want to look good for your husband? A question I hear a lot when I verbally communicate this lost goal. My reply is the same, Sure, I do! I care. and that is the end of That conversation.

Back in the day….

When I was 27, in grad school, and riding the  bike trails every Saturday- I had the waistline of a 12 year waiting to hit puberty. But- Life changes and trying to keep to a workout and eating regime I did as a newlywed 27yr old only leads to failure, unbelievable frustration and  late-night King cake ice-cream cravings. Which also- while I am not on the subject of sex-  giving into these cravings leads to pissing the spouse off by acting less than enthused when sex (at the end of day)- comes up.

Question: Why does sex have to happen at the End of the day. At say 10:30 pm , when all I want to do is fall into a coma? Why not at lunch time, when the babies are not at home? or Some other hour of the day when it doesn’t seem like the after-thought or the period at the end of a  very-very-very long sentence. ???

Here is a solution: (not to the timing of sex question, because that will never be solved… too man vs. woman. too Mars and Venus colliding due to Polar Opposite mindsets. I am thinking,” Dang! If I take a quick bath, I may be able to get and in bed and get some sleep before the 12, 2, 4 and 6 am feedings.” He is thinking, ” Sex Tonight, Baby!!” )

I digress: Solutions:

  1. No More ice-cream, wine= throbbing head, and all other booze taste like alcohol (rubbing alcohol
  2. go to bed stinky and never bother to wash your hair. (It is healthier for the hair anyways…)
  3. Eat some yogurt- the plain-jane kind and lay off the bananas for a while (but they’re so good frozen….)
  4. Work out like a fiend. and ignore the screaming children running a muck in the living room. Who cares if they find all the sharp corners and destroy all those expensive electronics your hubs loves so much… You Must be SEXY!
  5. Simply, stop eating…. okay- too middle class- white girl- goes -on- eating -disorder
  6. Practice the art of…. what? Exactly….
  7. Have more kids! Ha Ha.
  8. Apologize and give him some loving!

 

 

life- love-fitness.. a bogus blog.

112_BabyMaverick

Writing is about telling the truth. or should I say- Good writing is about telling the truth. Since, I do not have a friend I can be candid with – I impose my truths here- in the blog space. This empty void where all is exposed and yet,- disconnectedness still occurs. Telling the truth is the brave choice. One very few take. I include myself in this statement. The liar is a coward,  bully, a selfish prick who refuses to change. The liar is also the weak conformist who challenges everyone, except themselves, in terms of ethics, values, justice, and the rights of men. I am this person on my bad days. And probably on my good days- self-delusion and all that.

Here is my point:

I say, “I love You.” But do I really mean it? Do I? I am not a I Corinthians purest… or is it II Corinthians? I am so Aware of my selfish nature, literally, it feels like a tangible garment I dress in every morning and sleep in every night.

It is 11:20pm, Fat Tuesday. Babies are asleep, and hubs is in bed, most likely fuming or depressed that he married such a bogus bride. HaHa – that word “bride”… not one I would use to describe myself. Bride is woman needing man, giddy with sexual excitement, and clear eyed about her future. I may be romanticizing this a little, but in the perfect world this is what the word “bride” conjures up in my mind.

Get  to the point:

We’ve been married five years in May. And The number one- most top rated reason we fight/argue/have a silent war between us is this crazy concept, aka. sex. We do not fight about about money, children, family, work hours, or hobbies. It is always sex. And you guessed it- he wants it and I don’t. Plain and simple. Okay, so not that plain and simple. Marriages are never black and white. Never a “he did this, she did that.”  It is always Gray. And- I do want it- just not on his time table.

So- hubs is in bed. Mad at me, disappointed at me, or perhaps asleep and none of the above. What I do know is we are back to square one. When he is requesting me to be with him and I am in a total different mindset, I feel my selfishness overwhelm me. Thus, the silent war begins again. This never ending cycle of disconnectedness for days- then a connection (sex) occurs and we are close again. Two people against the world. This stage last maybe a day or two, and then… I mess it up- by not being in the mood.

How can two people live in the same house, have children together and NOT get each other At All. He is thinking sex, and I am thinking.. .sleep- coma-induced sleep.

If I ask him to go to the store for a bottle of wine, ( not a rare request) this does not mean,”guaranteed sex tonight buddy,” and yet- I wonder if he believes this notion. Where did this notion that wine= sex come from? or “Get a woman drunk or a glass or two in her and she will have sex.” Where did this retarded notion come from? I’ll be honest- wine is a two-faced bitch. A schizophrenic not to be trusted. Sometimes, one glass = massive headache, and other times it’s the perfect compliment to a long day of playing the toddler-100 question game, and listening to the awful disney music for hours as your toddler dances around the house in her tutu (very cute) and infant son screams for his 9th, 10th and 11th meal of the day.

Btw- breastfeeding is awesome for baby, but KILLS sex-drive. KILLS it Dead!

So, hubs comes home from day at job, and I come come home from work. He goes into his office to study his craft, answer emails… basically continue to work- until he hears the crazy come out in my voice.  Because- I am in the kitchen/living room trying to multi-task with a migraine. While E requests music, minie mouse, can she wear here “green dress,” can she have some “dora snacks…”Supper is needed to be made, baby needs to be feed, toddler needs mega- amounts of attention. Guilt and frustration come for a visit. My feet hurt. There is a list of “must dos” piling up for me to do once babies are in bed. House is chaos. I do not thrive in this environment. My husband does.

After chaos declares a cease-fire: babies are in bed- lights dimmed; I feel myself torn between an early bedtime, a workout that will help me get that “sexy look,” (eyes are rolling) or prep work needing to be done for tomorrow’s work day- Hubs is on the other end of the spectrum. He is waiting for me.

I love him. I truly do. But why are we not on the same page? Why does he have gazillion amounts of energy, and I am barely able to make a complete sentence. He appears to be a thriving individual,  (apart from his horrid wife), and I look like a cast member of the Walking Dead?

Can I buy will-power at Amazon? The kind that is “as needed” in its prescribed directions and to be taken 1-2 hours before hubs gives you “the look,” and the loving response is to be, “Yes, Please.”

I’d pay serious money for this.

 

Ps. Above is a darling picture of my Mav Man Max- he loves to eat, and smile at his crazy mommy.