houseprep-hospital-roadtrip-paperwork-appraisals-chaos!

This month.  Wow.  Where do I begin?  April went something like this: cleaned house top to bottom, packed boxes, organized, made everything spic-and-span perfect for showing, painted walls, painted trim, painted ceilings, steamcleaned carpets, met with realtor daily as she walked through house pointing out flaws - everything from our cheap walmart sheets to well-worn books that needed to be hidden and replaced with her high-end fancy staging items.  It was beyond stressful.  I would work all day taking care of the kids and cleaning and doing laundry, and then work all night doing the heavy work that is next to impossible to do with children around, like painting and steam cleaning.  I would forget to eat and hardly sleep, trying to fight against the ticking clock to make our house absolutely perfect for the big day where we would list it, show it, and sell it.  I could barely breathe.  I felt like I had split into five different people who had to be in five places at once, frantically working as hard as humanly possible.  Or perhaps even beyond what was humanly possible.  I was wishing for super-speed and the ability to never sleep.  I was begging my husband to please take a day off work and help me.  Friends started to notice my frantic state and started calling to offer to take the kids, and, with hardly enough time to even drive them over, I would show up with no makeup, my dirty, messy hair knotted up in a messy ponytail, covered in paint-splattered clothes, thanking them profusely for offering to help.  I wanted to crumble and cry.  I felt exhausted beyond repair.

Through this particular week, I kept feeling a phrase resonate through my whole being:  "it is not requisite for a man to run faster than he has strength..."  And I would nudge aside that feeling as if saying, "I can't listen to that right now... I have work to do!"  But I kept feeling it.  I can't describe it any other way except that I felt the words flood through my soul.  But I kept going.  I would stop around 3:30 or 4:00 a.m., pass out in bed for a couple of hours, and then start all over again with the daily breakfasts and getting kids ready and my oldest out the door to school and then work work work work work in the midst of still trying to be a good mom who keeps her kids clothed and fed and entertained through the day.  That particular week was very chaotic.  I was indeed going faster than my legs could carry me, faster than I had strength.  My legs even gave out at one point as I was reaching for a bowl, and I came crashing down onto the counter, breaking the bowl in the process.  By the Wednesday, I could hardly walk.  I felt no pain, I just couldn't walk.  But I kept pushing through the day.  I had errands to run and cleaning to do and I just couldn't stop for a second.  I knew something was wrong with my body, particularly my legs, but I just kept pushing forward, desperate to be done.  Thinking that if I could just finish everything on the list, I could finally rest.  That night, Jordan got home from work and saw me hobbling around the kitchen, gripping the counter for support, stumbling around like Ariel the Mermaid when she got her new legs.  Something was wrong.  He insisted I go to bed before 10 that night, and I conceded.  I still had caulking to do and paint touchups and more packing.  I was one day away from listing day.  I could do it!  But I couldn't.  I barely pulled my legs up the stairs, feeling like I had no control over them, feeling like my feet must have weighed 200 lbs each.  I was so fatigued.  I tried a bath.  I had to crawl from the bathtub to the bed.  I just couldn't walk.  I decided not to worry.  It would all be over in the morning after a good night's sleep.


When I woke up that next morning, Thursday, my legs were not working properly at all.  It was the strangest thing.  I would go to walk, and it was if I were walking waste-deep against a current.  My legs were pulling behind me, lifting slowly, and stepping slowly like a funky bird.  It's like my brain was sending signals to my legs to move, and then they'd get those signals a few seconds late and try desperately to move in any way they could.  I was terrified.  I got downstairs with the kids and tried making breakfast.  I couldn't get around without holding onto the counter or the wall.  I decided to sit.  I kept falling backwards in my seat, unable to sit up straight.  I got up again, hoping standing would give me some more stability.  I was swaying and stumbling and falling all over the place!  I sat back down, swaying backwards, feeling like the wind would just blow me away if I were to go outside.  Then my diaphragm started to seize up.  I couldn't breathe!  It would only last for a few seconds, but it was crazy scary having no control over it and wondering if it would go away or get worse.  I texted Jordan, a little panicked at this point.  Next thing I knew, a Neurologist was calling me, because Jordan had paged him.  I told him my symptoms and he told me to get to the ER immediately.  I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.  I had no control over my body.  I had kids to take care of.  My house was being listed that day.  My husband was at work.  I tried to drive and my left leg kept jerking over the side like a sudden reflex.  That worried me, so I decided to wait for Jordan to drive me.  Jordan hurried home, we dropped the younger kids off at a friend's house, and we drove to the hospital.


I spent hours being evaluated in the ER by both the ER doc and the neurologist.  They decided to admit me immediately and ordered dozens of tests.  Jordan and Beckham both left and suddenly I was there alone, in my hospital gown, feeling very vulnerable, being wheeled in for an MRI and then a lonely hospital room.  Again, I wanted to laugh and cry.  For months I had been begging Jordan for a vacation, or at least one day off from working, and now here I was, in the hospital, with nothing to do and nobody to talk to except medical personnel.  Not exactly what I had in mind.  All night I had people coming in and out taking blood samples and checking my vitals.  My blood pressure was dropping as my heart rate increased and I became more fatigued.  I couldn't sleep.  My monitor kept beeping like an alarm clock.  I had no appetite.  My body was failing me. 
The next day came with no answers.  Just more tests, more x-rays, more EKGs, more MRIs, and visits from at least six doctors.  In the meanwhile, I was getting calls from unknown people wanting to see the house already and I was frantically texting Jordan with instructions on what needed to be done to make the house ready to show and how to set up the lock box and times to be out of the house for people to come by.  I felt helpless, miles away in that hospital prison, with no physical way to even bust out of there even if I wanted to.  I tried to get sleep, but kept getting a feeling like people were in my room watching me, and so I would sit up and look around and no body was there.  It was spooky.  I hate hospitals.  Not to mention those awful gowns they make you wear!

Tests kept coming back normal.  On paper, the doctors could not figure out what on earth was wrong with me.  I just couldn't walk normal, that's all!  I felt like a heavy weight was on my chest and was having difficulty breathing as well.  None of it made sense.  I finally asked if I could just be released from the hospital.  The neurologist on duty that day agreed that I could be discharged after one more MRI.  So, another day went by, and I waited and waited... and waited.  Not a single person came into my room for hours.  All was silent.  I was told the MRI would happen that night.  Night came and went.  No sleep.  Just a few more blood draws by a friendly male nurse from Africa who talked about his days raising rabbits and chickens and sheep and telling me the best way to kill and prepare them to eat.  I found it oddly interesting.


My third day in the hospital, I finally received my final MRI and was then allowed to go home.  Jordan showed up to get me sometime in the early afternoon, and I was so relieved to finally see my family!  We had originally planned to leave for a long roadtrip to Texas that day.  Jordan asked me if I still wanted to go.  I couldn't think of a reason why not.  I mean, at least that way I would get to sit and wouldn't have to walk around like a fool.  We drove home and I packed all of the kids' things and my own, stumbling around, holding onto walls for support, and kneeling down on the ground as much as possible.  I teased Jordan... even when I'm fresh out of the hospital, it is still my job to pack for everyone in the house.  Some things will never change.  Within two hours of being discharged from the hospital, we were on the road, driving to Texas!


It took us almost three days to get to Texas.  I was still hobbling around but felt like I was slightly improving each day.  The first days were really rough.  I  had a lot of blood draws while in the hospital and felt very faint on the drive.  As soon as we'd arrive at our hotel, I would fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.  One night, as we entered our hotel room, I had the sensation that my head had fallen asleep.  It was tingling and everything around me was fuzzy and buzzing.  It was a trippy sensation.  I had not been given any medication, so I couldn't even blame it on that!  It was all me and my messed up body.  I also felt completely ridiculous any time we'd stop at a gas station for me to take Ava in to use the bathroom.  I was walking funny still, and I didn't want people to think I was some drunk mom escorting her toddler into the loo.  But each day got a tiny bit better with some improvement.  We spent two days in Texas checking out potential houses to buy.  I would start feeling like I was walking normal as we'd walk through a couple, but by the third house I would start to get fatigued and stumble and pull my legs up the stairs one by one.  The realtor noticed and asked if I needed to take a break.  That's the part I hated most, was other people seeing me in my weak and desperate state.  At the same time, I found myself getting a little angry at Jordan that he wasn't doting on me and helping me out.  Which really wasn't fair, because of course he was concerned; he just knows me well enough to know I'm fiercely independent and don't like help.  But, in this particular instance, I just wanted a shoulder to lean on.  I wanted him to look concerned and worry about me, because I was scared to death that whatever was going on wasn't going to get better.  But he kept reassuring me with his unfaltering optimism, telling me that it would go away eventually. 


Doctors!  Anybody who has a doctor for a husband or, I hear, a father, will tell you that they are the least sympathetic people on the planet when their own family member is ill.  I have a theory that it's because of two things.  A)  They've seen FAR worse.  They've seen people on their death beds, literally, and know that you're just not in that bad of a state.  They'll tell you to take an ibuprofen and a bath and get over it.  B) They think far too logically.  If there's nothing wrong on paper, that science can explain, then nothing is the matter.  In my case, something was obviously wrong.  I was beyond fatigued, couldn't walk normally, and was struggling to breathe, as my blood pressure dipped down and my heart rate shot up.  But labs were coming back normal, therefore I was the picture of perfect health on paper.  VERY FRUSTRATING!  I almost wanted something to come back with red flags so we could pinpoint a problem and, therefore, have a solution!!!


But, hey, we got an offer on our house just a few days after putting it on the market!  At our asking price, too!  So, that was nice.  We handled all of the documentation from Texas, and then made the drive back to D.C. just in time for Easter.  I still hadn't gotten the kids anything for Easter (I mean, come on, it had been a LONG TWO WEEKS at this point), so I drove to the store as soon as they were in bed.  And I felt confident that I would be able to handle it.  Ten minutes into my trip, I found myself relying more and more on my cart for support.  I felt fatigued.  I started to fall and stumble.  My legs started to wig out again and not walk properly.  I tried to hurry along, grabbing a few items to make our Easter dinner, as well as some candy for the kids' baskets, and was grateful that not many people were there.  At the checkout, the bag boy asked if I was okay.  I held back tears and smiled and said I was fine.  I got out of there and into my car, as quickly as my gimpy legs could carry me.  I bawled and bawled in the parking lot.  I drove home and cried all the way, angry that I was not at my full health.  If I could not even buy a dozen items at a grocery store by myself, how was I supposed to be able to go grocery shopping with three kids?!  Why wasn't I back to being healthy yet?!  I was angry.  Angry that there was no explanation.  Angry that I didn't have any answers or solutions or ways to make it magically go away.  Angry at the unknown.  Would it ever go away?  Would it get better or worse?  WHAT was wrong with me?!


I wiped my tears, climbed out of the car, and loaded all the groceries inside.  I was relieved that Jordan didn't see me in that state.  I wanted to have a chance to get rid of any trace of tears.  To put on my strong face. 


Later, we hid the eggs filled with money (because I forgot to buy candy that would fit inside eggs), put together their Easter baskets (painting books, and a couple of treats, and bubbles).  We had a fun weekend of watching the kids on Easter morning, having brunch, and going to church.  We had our Easter feast.  I was exhausted, but I didn't want to kids to see that, so it was almost twice as exhausting trying to hid the fact that I was exhausted!


I would have liked to think that the busiest time was over and that I could just focus on healing my body and getting rest, but we got word that the inspector and appraiser would both be by that week!  I felt like I had barely had time to start to rest and I was being thrown right back into the fight.  I finished painting the trim.  I finished caulking areas that I had neglected before.  I finished steamcleaning the stained areas.  I cleaned.  I cooked.  I took care of my family.  Go go go... work work work... and I felt good about pacing myself this time with the largest things behind us.  The morning of the inspection was a tad crazy.  I noticed a new leak dripping from my ceiling that had never been there before, a lightbulb burnt out, and I realized I didn't have eggs in the process of making muffins for the buyers who would be coming by that day to check out the house!  I also just about broke our new garbage disposal.  My heart was racing, beads of sweat were forming, and I was scrambling to keep the house clean while juggling three young kids in the midst of all the chaos.  We left just after the inspector arrived and I actually had a really nice day, despite the stress of the house, meeting up with friends in downtown Bethesda to enjoy a children's museum and Georgetown Cupcakes.  It was exactly what I needed.  An escape.  And my legs were acting mostly normal.  And I didn't feel all that fatigued.  It was a good day.

Which brings us to the present.  So, after all was said and done, we found the cause of the leak and I am in the process of fixing it this week.  I have been trying to clean out mildew and water from floorboards, clean gunk out of my shower runner, and dry out the actual leak, in preparation to glue everything back down, recaulk and seal everything, and place new shower seals on the door... and a shower curtain just to be on the safe side.  Apparently the leak was caused by the leakage holes being covered up with caulk the night before when Jordan was helping me caulk the shower.  We had no idea those holes were not supposed to be covered!  We just thought we'd seal everything off to make a nice, tight, waterproof, seal.  But, by doing so, we were actually creating a disaster waiting to happen.  Because, as soon as I showered, water gets trapped in that shower runner, with no place to go, and starts leaking out the sides at the seems, and to the level below.  Whoops!  We have a lot to learn about houses and DIY home repair.  So, yeah, my job this week is to undo the damage and reseal everything.  If our buyers back out because of the inspector noting a leak, which I'm hoping is not the case, at least we have a backup contract in place with more buyers, not to mention plenty of people still stopping by or calling daily to ask if our house is still for sale.  I think it will all work out.

And that is how the past three weeks have been.  Exhausting.  I could have just said that and made this a much more concise entry:  The past three weeks have been exhausting.


Here's to a much less stressful, much more enjoyable, much healthier month of May... hopefully with some answers to this strange health dilemma. 

Outlet for an Extrovert

I haven't been on here for awhile... and by the looks of my friend's blog pages, no body else has had time for blogging these days.  Life is BUSY!  Sometimes crazy busy, and sometimes just busy, but always busy. 


We are in the midst of preparing our house to sell - upgrades and renovations and painting and oh-the-cleaning!  Try deep cleaning a house while constantly meeting the demands of three young children and you have entered a whole new ballgame.  We still haven't gotten official word about where we are being sent after residency.  First we were told Texas, but then we heard that everything is changing with the military downsizing and certain installations and departments closing.  So, now, who knows?!  Certainly not us.  We don't have a clue!  It's rather exciting, actually.


Right now, I will apologize if I use any English terminology or phrases from the early 20th century - we have recently started watching Downton Abbey for the first time and are hooked.  Like, watching it every night on the Kindle sort of hooked.  And since I don't get out much, my language exposure consists of either the early 20th century English aristocrats or my young children and the details of cars and trains and pet spiders (fake pet spiders, thank goodness!). 


But, let's get to the point of why I'm even here today, blogging, ever-so-randomly, about absolutely nothing.


I NEED AN OUTLET!!!


A few weeks ago I was having a discussion with a longtime friend of Jordan's about personality types and the tests that tell you what yours is.  I was always a "yellow" and an "ENFP" back in high school and college.  An "Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Perceptive" personality type.  I suggested that whereas I used to be a yellow and an extrovert, now I was probably much more of an introvert.  I have always been fairly shy, even as an extrovert, but now I keep to myself all the time.  This friend just laughed at me and insisted that I was still the extrovert that he has always known.  Then he suggested that I just think I'm an introvert because of my circumstances of being home alone with kids all day every day, but as soon as I'm around anyone I have this innate need to release my entire heart and soul for everyone to see, at least those I'm comfortable around.


He's right.  And it is an innate need.  I feel like I'm going to burst sometimes if I can't share what's on my mind with someone.  I feel like sometimes I let people see too much of my heart and soul and other times I bottle it up, but eventually it all has to come out like a shaken up soda pop.  I have to share me.  I have to let people see me, even the vulnerable parts.  Even all of my vices.  The good, the bad, the ugly, I can't hide it and hold it in and let it simmer.  I really do need to have a release.  And writing, even if no body in the world reads it, provides me with at least one outlet.


What I need to do is write a book.  Or two.  Or several.  I need to get it all out.  Write fiction, using elements of my life that I so badly feel the need to get out of me and into the world.  One of my favorite aspects of history and humanities is reading the personal writings of people from the past.  It is what brings them to life and makes them real to me.  They took the time to write something that meant something to them, whatever that might be, and no matter how trivial or extraordinary, I feel a little piece of their soul in that writing and I imagine the person being so full of life.  I guess I want to show the world that I am still so full of life and ambition and dreams.  I didn't disappear when I became a mom.  I just became extraordinarily busy!


So, if you ever wonder what my blog is all about, there's your answer.  It's about nothing.  It's about everything.  It's my outlet when my heart is full or my mind is spinning or I'm so excited or mad or sad that I have to shout out to the world.


Today, I don't feel the need to shout out anything, but to just let the words flow out and provide my mind and body with a release from all the pressure of doing it all by myself all the time.  Running the household, raising the children, figuring out the finances and running the numbers to see if it's in our best interest to sell or rent and how much we can afford to lose in the process, packing, cleaning, making the meals, taking kids to appointments or extracurricular activities, teaching, listening, planning, all the while wishing... wishing for the best for my children.  Wishing my husband will always love me no matter how cranky I am at the end of an exhausting day or through the years as I get old and lose my beauty.  Wishing for a break to go exercise or take a sunny walk instead of being stuck in the house during a week of snow and icy rain.  Wishing and hoping and dreaming.  My life is so good.  So blessed.  So extraordinary in ordinary ways.  And sometimes it just all has to pour out of me.


And since I've been doing a lot of yoga lately, I feel like I need to end with a "Namaste" - and I was going to say that I won't because I'm not into that new-age hippie stuff, but maybe I kind of am. 

Mercy

I'm back!  It has been a few weeks, but I'm back for Five-Minute Friday.  I almost missed it.  I almost forgot it was Friday!  And Friday the 13th, at that!

Mercy.

Go!

Oh no!  Somehow I just entirely erased the paragraph I had just typed!  Tender Mercy, where are you now?!

I will try this again....

Eh hem, as I was saying before all was erased.....

I am at the mercy of all those around me.  As I lug my kids from point A to point B, struggling to get them all out of the car and across the parking lot and into the grocery store or the gym or the church, all it takes is a little bit of understanding and mercy to make all the difference with even the slightest hardship.  A gentle pat on the arm, a kind word, a smile.  One day I was buying metro tickets to go downtown while trying to keep all three kids within arms reach.  A happy man, probably not much older than myself, walked up to me and made light conversation.  He commented on my little girl who was dancing around me so happily.  I'm used to people being annoyed by the presence of my children in this bustling city (D.C.), and it was refreshing to find someone who seemed delighted by their presence.  But, and here is what made this interaction absolutely remarkable, then he reached over and touched my shoulder kindly as he said goodbye and told me to have a great day.  A simple touch from another human being - compassion, mercy, kindness - all reflected in a simple act.  Another time I was boarding an airplane with my toddler who had just thrown a monumental tantrum in front of everyone who was going to be on our flight.  I was exhausted, embarrassed, and worried about the upcoming five-hour flight.  A kind, elderly woman reached across her seat into the aisle and kindly patted my arm and nodded with a gentle, understanding smile on her face.  My heart melted.  Compassion, mercy, kindness.

I am in a town that seems rather unfriendly at times.  It is not like any place I have ever lived.  We have lived in military towns, student towns, and small towns, all family-friendly.  Suddenly I arrived in a town where children are not welcome at the grocery store.  Sweet old ladies do not approach me and make chit-chat with my little ones, as they did in other towns.  Rather, they scowl at me as I pass and shake their heads disapprovingly or make rude comments.  It is amazing what experiences I have had since moving here.  An old man honking and yelling obscenities at me in front of my children as I wait for a mother with her child to cross the street before making my right turn.  An old lady hollering for me to get out of her way and that she doesn't like children as she approaches my family.  A man in my neighborhood flatout telling me that I look too young to have so many children (I am a grown woman in my 30s; I have three children - nothing crazzzzy).  Many experiences have floored me and made me wonder why everyone is so mean around here.  I went to Hawai'i on a family vacation recently.  Everyone we encountered was so warm and friendly and welcoming.  I returned to my "heartless" town and decided I was going to be the change I wanted to see in the world, just as the famous quote directs us to do.  If I couldn't live in a friendly town in Hawai'i, I would bring that friendliness to where I was.  I saw that same elderly man that judges me for having so many kids, and while he usually walks away from us with his little dog, I smiled and called out to him with a friendly hello and asked if he minded if we pet his dog.  And something happened.  First he looked a little shocked, a little hesitant, but then... then he smiled, just a little.  He moved over to us.  He let the kids play with the dog.  We made light conversation.  It turns out he has been struggling with depression and loneliness since his daughter moved out for college and he underwent chemotherapy for some cancer that was found.  We walked together for nearly 30 minutes.  He joined us at the park that day.  Now he stops to chat with us every time he sees us.  I decided to keep it up.  When people would scowl at me as I approached with my children, I would smile kindly and say hello or ask them how their day is going.  Most everyone has received me in kind, although I did have an experience with one lady snapping back at me to not talk to her.  It has been an interesting thing, though, seeing how you can be that kind smile, that warm touch, that compassion and mercy and kindness in somebody's world.  And couldn't we all use a little more of that?

Stop.

It's Five-Minute-Friday!

Topic:  Lonely

Go!

I can only think of one thing right now, as my little 23-month-old munchkin climbs all over me and as I try to type one-handed despite his face in my face:  How could I ever feel lonely with this guy around?!


There is an E. E. Cummings poem that has always touched my heart.  It speaks to me, as a mother.  I'll try to copy and paste it below before my little guy erases my document or demands I give up on this endeavor altogether.... Oh, how I love him!  I am never lonely with my sweet babies. 


By E. E. Cummings 1894–1962

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart)

i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

i fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet)

i want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

 

 

“[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]” Copyright 1952, © 1980, 1991 by the Trustees for the E. E. Cummings Trust, from Complete Poems: 1904-1962 by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J. Firmage. Used by permission of Liveright Publishing Corporation.

Source: Complete Poems: 1904-1962 (Liveright Publishing Corporation, 1991)

 

 

Story

It's Five-Minute-Friday!  Topic:  Story

Go!

What's your story? 

I was born in Provo, Utah, as my parents oldest child along with my twin brother.  I had two younger siblings growing up and we spent most of our childhood in Woodland Hills.

When I was only 16, I met the man I would marry some day... Jordan. We dated casually for a year, then seriously for a year.  I was on my way to NYU on a full scholarship - I don't know why I chose NYU, it was just as far away from Utah as I could go and it offered opportunities in my two areas of study - Dance and International Relations.  But, the more in love I fell, the more I decided to not run away just yet.  I canceled my NYU plans.
(here we are when we were only 18)

We broke up out of necessity.  We made a fateful decision to break up in order to stay together, if that makes sense. 

I stayed busy to get over him.  I got scuba instructor certified.  I started college at BYU - I wanted to get out of Utah so badly, but decided I could transfer to BYU-Hawaii after a year of saving money.  I got engaged.  Jordan showed up not-so-randomly and told me he still loved me and to not get married to that other guy.  I broke off the engagement.  Jordan and I dated for three weeks.  Jordan left on his mission for two years.

I stayed busy.  I went to school.  I worked full-time.  I joined every extracurricular activity I could think of to stay busy and keep my mind off Jordan - Sailing Club, Hip Hop Club, Unicef, United Way, etc.  I got proposed to seven times.  Seven!  Silly college boys.  They all knew I was in love with the elusive Jordan who was gone on a mission, and college boys always want what they can't have, I guess.  Or maybe I was just really fantastic back then, ha ha!  Just kidding.  A close friend compared it to the movie, "There's Something About Mary."  And I was in Provo, Utah where all college boys seem to be in a hurry to get married.  I was in no hurry.  I just wanted to be with Jordan.

Jordan got home.  Maybe out of spite, he felt he should go ahead and date everyone but me for awhile.  Sting!

Jordan asked me to be patient and stick around.  We dated for a bit, madly in love.  And, one evening, to my shock and surprise, he proposed.  I said yes.  We got married.  In the midst of busy college life, we got married. 



We both worked full-time - he at a boys home for troubled youth, me at an eating disorder recovery center for women and as a dance therapist for a private school for girls with learning disabilities.  We both went to school full-time.  We moved to Iowa for a semester for a soccer scholarship, randomly.  He encouraged me.  I encouraged him.  I got into the dance program.  He got into medical school.  We moved to Virginia. 

We had our first baby on the first week of medical school.  We had our second baby during the fourth year of school.  We moved to Washington D.C.  We got just crazy enough to decide to have a third baby at the end of Internship year/start of Residency.  We have worked hard.  We have played, we have dated, we have loved through it all.

I always continued to work on school - I studied International Area Studies, Linguistics, Dance, Journalism, Community Health Education, History, Creative Writing.... But, every class I took continued to convince me of two things - I wanted to learn everything I needed to know to be the best mom I could be, and I want to be a teacher when my kids are out of the house.

Now I am a full-time mom of my three rascals, ages 2, 3, and 7.  Outside of staying really busy with being a mom, I dance with an international dance troupe here in the D.C. area, where we perform for the Russian Embassy, the World Bank, cultural events, etc.  I love taking really long walks with the stroller.  I love the outdoors.  I love hiking and camping.  I enjoy exercise that really gets me to push myself while also having fun - Jazzercise, Kickboxing (the real kickboxing where you punch the crap out of the boxing bags), Spin, Body Pump.  I love the water - I love to swim, go boating in any kind of boat, go waverunning, body surf, and love love love to S.U.P.  I love the beach.  I don't like to sit still, at all.

Stop.  

It's Five-Minute-Friday on a Tuesday

It has been one of those crazy times where the weekend just flew by too fast and one week just merged into the next without skipping a beat.  And the server is broken on the Lisa-Jo site.  So, I procrastinated.  And here I am.

Topic:  Broken

Go!

Broken...
bones
hearts
signals
promises
pencils
crayons
lamps
guitar
tune
nail
toe
spirits
home
speech
man
(woman)
humanity
window
system
town
clown
frown
record
old junk
mirror
back
egg
wave
song
heel
circle
flow
train of thought

Stop.

Which one resonates with you?  At this moment?  In your life?  At this moment, I feel like broken thoughts and broken crayons define this moment.  I wanted to keep this post simple.  My life could use some simplicity.

 

Belong

It's Five-Minute-Friday! 

Topic:  Belong

Go!

I have been and continue to be a member of several groups and organizations.  But I don't necessarily feel like I "belong." 

I am a member of the Larsen family, but I haven't always felt like I was a Larsen.  At times I even wondered if I might have been adopted.  I just felt different, somehow.  I felt like the odd one out. 

I had groups of friends throughout my life where I felt kind of like the outsider or the fifth wheel as everyone else would pair up with their best friends and I just wanted to branch out and be friends with everybody. 

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and although my beliefs are strong, I haven't always felt like I belonged there, either. 

I went to BYU, and I certainly didn't feel like I belonged there.  I kept wondering, "where do I belong?  What is my purpose, anyhow?"  I changed my major a hundred times.  I changed schools.  I kept searching. 

After I got married, my husband and I ran off to Iowa for a semester for a soccer scholarship.  I tried out for a dance team just to get the scholarship... It was fun, but, still, I didn't feel like I belonged.

After we had our first baby, I joined the MOMS Club.  I loved getting together with other moms in my small town of Blacksburg, VA, where we were living at the time, but somehow I didn't really belong there either.  I wasn't quite at ease in that tiny town, I wanted to keep moving, I had to get out and move on.  I wasn't quite ready to be at a point of settling down into a routine.

We moved to Fayetteville, NC where I joined different Meet-up groups in the area for military moms.  It was a great way to make friends and have support, but I still hadn't found my niche.  I joined Stroller Strides, made great friends, enjoyed the outdoors of NC while exercising, but I was still seeing myself as an outsider, someone who would move on soon. 

We moved to the D.C. area, and I joined the Oakleaf Club (for military medical wives), and instantly decided I certainly did NOT belong to that group. 

Where do I belong??? 

I became a member of a gym, here, but don't always feel like I belong.  I go to work out amongst the retired population, because that is who is there mid-morning, and they don't always appreciate my bunch of noisy children that I bring with me through the hallways.   That goes for the grocery store, as well.  The elderly people in this town do not take kindly to children.  I always feel like an outcast here.  There are not many stay-at-home moms in this region.  I was invited to dance with an international dance group.  I feel a connection with these women through our love of dance, but, being the only one with kids, I still feel like I didn't quite belong.  I always have to turn down their offers to go out to lunch or to evening concerts, etc. because I am a busy mom of three young children.

All of these groups have offered me something in the way of feeling connections and friendships, but I still never quite... belonged.

Then, I thought about it.  Where do I really belong?  Like REALLY. 

At the end of a long, frustrating day, as I sit down to read to my children and they all huddle up close and fight over who gets to sit in my lap, I feel ultimate love and acceptance and I most certainly belong there.  After I kiss them and put them to bed, I go downstairs and my husband takes me into his arms in a loving embrace and I just melt.  I certainly belong there.  There's no where else that I feel more love.  There's no where else that I feel more belonging.  I belong here, alongside my man, raising these children, enveloped in love.

Stop.

"I belong to you... and you belong to me"

The Art of Doing... Nothing

Summertime brings back a flood of memories from my youth, namely from the good ol' days of high school and college.   Swimming, eating popsicles, listening to music, laughing about dumb things, going on rambling walks through the canyon, or UP the canyon if we felt so inclined.  (Ha ha... just caught that pun.  Sorry for that.) 

Some of my most cherished memories are those moments that were seemingly uneventful, but ever-so-significant - those small moments of time where a friend and I just sat in the sun eating a popsicle and talking while listening to Tom Petty songs.  I have very fond memories of doing nothing.  And, I think my best friendships were built upon those moments.  Those moments of driving aimlessly in the car because everything was closed for the night and we just weren't ready to go home, or sitting next to the lake after an evening of cliff-jumping just to watch the sun go down.  I kind of miss the freedom to just do absolutely nothing.  Because nothing was really quite something!  90% of the time I was working or studying or accomplishing something, and then I truly felt alive when I would finally just STOP and breathe and take in life all around me by doing nothing.  You should try it some time.  It's fabulous!

I was thinking about it today as I watched my children eat popsicles and splash in the kiddie pool at our neighborhood health club.  My first inclination was to tell them to hurry and finish up so we could go home.  But, then I stopped myself.  Why hurry?  We're always rushing to the next thing, we're always doing something.  Why not just stop for a moment and just be?  I smiled and thought to myself, "I want to make sure they have as many of those playful, meandering moments in their childhood as possible."  Life will always be so rushed and so busy.  I want to teach them the art of enjoying life, so they can appreciate the beauty and the friendships around them in those very significant moments suspended in time.

Because, after all is said and done, I regret the moments where I didn't just sit and enjoy everything around me more. 

In the midst of our busy, chaotic schedules, my husband and I never even get to finish a sentence when talking to each other.  There's always a pager going off, or a kid making a demand, um, I mean... request, or a timer going off on the oven.  There have been way too many instances of having to stop mid-sentence and hollering over our shoulders, "I'll finish telling you later!..." as life drags us off in separate directions.  Even in the midst of typing this blog post, ironically enough, Jordan called from work and the kids kept interrupting as I tried to have a conversation with him.  I asked him what he thought of having a night of eating sushi and relaxing and having fun and not planning anything... just doing nothing.  He was all for it for five whole seconds before he was told he had to rush over to assist on a surgery.  Doing nothing will have to wait.  But, I tell you what, all these years of being students and going through a long surgical residency makes me want to move to a little cabin on the lake in a small town and just truly enjoy life once and for all.  Last summer in Maine was bliss.  I want that lifestyle.  And why not?  Who can tell us we can't do that?!

I miss my husband.  So, enough is enough.  I'm planning a date with my husband where nothing is planned.  We just go do nothing together and see where it takes us.  I'm unsure of how it will go... one or both of us always tries to be productive... But, no, we will fight that urge and just be lazy and free and enjoy doing nothing for once! 

It's Five-Minute-Friday! Topic: Present

Go!

I am giddy at this concept of just getting to write.  Anything?!  I don't have an agenda or the worry of getting it just right and going back and editing again and again.  Thank goodness for instant spellcheck!  After spending so much time in college classes, this is such a breath of fresh air.  And here I am not even able to stay on topic because I'm so ecstatic!

But, in this moment, I am certainly PRESENT.  I feel it in my eyes as they glisten with utter happiness.  I feel it in my heart as I am overwhelmed with gratitude for my life and my family and my friends and this wonderful sense of community all around me no matter where I go in life.  I find it when I look for it.  Too often I get so caught up in everything else.  Way too caught up in the tangles of what was going on yesterday or what is going on tomorrow, forgetting to appreciate this moment in front of my very eyes.

My sweet little 3-year-old is asking me for a marshmallow with her big, blue eyes and then pitter-patters across the kitchen to go get it as I holler for her to wait.  Then she rebounds with a plea to have fruit snacks.  She wants me to be present.  She wants me to see her.  I see her.  I do.  I love her.  I love all of my sweet children.  And I know the best thing I can ever do for them is to live in every present moment with them, exploring the adventure of life together.  The dandelions blowing in the wind.  The bubbles popping in the grass.  The sidewalk chalk all over our hands.  Laughing, singing, without a care in the world because it's bliss.

Stop.

It's Five Minute Friday! Topic: In Between

http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/

In Between

I laugh because this is the very definition of me right now.  My life.  I am in between the cracks, where I am invisible to the busy passer-bys.  I am in between a life where I was social and outgoing and reaching and striving for the next big thing and a life of motherhood and barbequeing and driving kids to school.  With toddlers at home, everything feels very much "in between."  Literally and figuratively.  I find crackers shoved in between the couch cushions.  I finish sentences in between helping kids refill milk cups.  I think about what's for dinner in between diaper changes.  I am in between a life of a student and my ideas of being a career-woman to the life of a full-blown homemaker who dusts and vacuums and repeatedly wipes sticky fingerprints off of everything in between kissing away the owies and the boo-boos and teaching the alphabet.  I am in between focus.  I am searching for tranquility and a stable life where I can live in the present moment instead of being pulled between helping one kid with homework and potty training another and putting another down for a nap.  I am in between being a loving wife and a loving mother, giving both husband and children the attention they crave.  I am in between post-partum body and rockin' hot gym-going body.  I am in between thoughts, in between dimensions, in between hair styles, in between ideas about whether or not we will go camping tonight for the first time with three kids.  Always in between.  Teetering, finding which direction to go, always this way or that way, it doesn't matter, just moving forward happily.

Stop.

Here's just a couple of photos from last summer that I felt depict me "in between."  In between the clearing.  In between the life out there and the life in here.

 

 

 

Coming soon....

Check back every Friday for something called "5-Minute-Friday" - for more details, check out lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday

Tomorrow will be my first time participating, and hopefully I can figure out how to post it because I have never used twitter and am still not quite sure what it is.  I am very technologically challenged.  It seems I missed the technology era by about 3-4 years and, of all the classes I took in college, not one of them had to do with computers. :)

You should try this "5-Minute-Friday" out, too!  It sounds fun.......

I continue to find inspiration in strong women all around me.  Today, I found that inspiration through a woman I have never met, who happens to live in my neck of the woods.  Lisa Jo.  As I read an article she submitted on motherhood, I realized we had a lot in common already.  And then I realized once again the connection you can feel with someone just through their writing.  Then I read an article she wrote on the importance of writing, and realized we share a common interest.  Writing is such an incredible tool of communication.  Sometimes I miss the letters my friends and I would write to one another, because I feel it was the letters that connected us most.  I love to write.  I don't always write well.  Most of the time when I am writing, it is broken up by constant interruptions (like right now as my little girl calls out that she went potty and my son hollers out to me to come look at his fort and then to come over because he wants to show me in the anatomy book where the heart is).  And most of the time when I am writing, it is with a toddler climbing all over me and trying to pound on the computer keys or steal my pen as my six-year-old asks me questions or urges me to stop because it has been the "two minutes" that I promised it would take me to finish my thought.  And then I'm so scatter-brained with all of this going on that I wonder if anyone can even comprehend what I'm trying to say. 

So, if you can figure out what I'm saying, or even if you have no idea what I'm saying, try it out.  Spend five minutes every Friday writing with me.

Every Friday, possibly at midnight when I can be alone, I will be participating in this "Five-Minute-Friday" where I follow the given prompt on Lisa Jo's web page and just write for five minutes.  No editing, no proofing, no second-guessing.  Just writing and submitting.

I read this essay, "On Why You Need to Keep on Writing" on her web page and loved it.  These are all of her words, not mine.  I decided that she said it so well, that I would just copy the entire passage and paste it here to share.  Maybe this will encourage you to write.  Here's an excerpt:

Words are a road map for those who come behind.

To write is to give. To be flat out, all out generous with your story. To wrap up your words, your life, your failings, your most miserable moments and your wild and wonderful discoveries and give them to somebody else. To share them with someone, to encourage someone, to re-gift what have been the hardest parts of your story in ways that make other people feel they are not alone.

To write is to pour out your life as a love offering for people you may never meet, because when you do so you feel God’s pleasure in your fingertips.

And maybe you were made for this time and these keyboard letters to leave a legacy. Maybe you were made to connect a family. Maybe you were made to tell the story of someone who can’t. Maybe what you whisper over your kids at night or dream in the dark hours, or doodle in your head while waiting in the car pool line is essential to somebody else.

Maybe when you write it down you will discover not only your own pleasure, but the pleasure of the God who gives you the words, the prompting and the message.

Run with it, my friend. Forget the doubts and the reasons why you think you can’t. Don’t look back – run with abandon like you used to when you were just six and discovering the joy of your own strength.

Run like you used to when you believed you could fly.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/2012/02/on-why-you-need-to-keep-on-writing-especially-when-you-dont-have-time/#sthash.wBMRWkbx.dpuf

Strong!

First of all, I would like to apologize to anyone who actually reads my blog!  This blog was originally set up to be mostly about my kids and my family life, things we were up to, vacations we were taking, where we were moving next, and so on.  Instead, this blog has been more like a personal journal.  As it turns out, it's sort of my time away from all of that "mom" stuff.  If there is a moment in my day where I just need a break, I let it all out on this blog.  If there is a night where I can't sleep because I have too much on my mind or Jordan is working late at the hospital, I pour out my soul on this blog.  Not that I blog that often.  But, when I do, it's my personal release.  I took a "writing personal histories" class last year, so I did most of that journaling in an actual journal or through my writing assignments, hence the lack of entries for the past year.  Now, I'm back to putting it all out there in this blog.  Blog, blog, blog (blah, blah, blah).

Back to the actual post....  STRONG!  That's the title of today's entry.  I dragged my tired bones out of bed this morning after a sleepless night.  I stumbled into the baby's room and changed his diaper, discarded the diaper outside, and washed my hands.  Then I stumbled around the kitchen preparing breakfast for three kids.  They always want different things.  And I oblige them because I'm just happy to see them eat!  After making cereal with strawberries on top, oatmeal with strawberries on the side, and oatmeal with sprinkles on top and strawberry jam swirled in, and topping off all the milks, I sat down to eat my own breakfast.  I looked at the clock.  One hour until intervals class and body pump.  Blah.  I didn't have it in me.  I sluggishly ate my granola and helped my kids with their endless requests in between bites.  I decided that staying home from the gym this morning would not be any less exhausting.  The kids would still make my morning incessantly busy - constant requests for food or entertainment, constant fighting, constant messes.  Yes, it would be far better to get out, let them play with their friends in childminding for an hour and a half, and I could have a "break."

After cleaning up breakfast messes, getting all three kids dressed and teeth brushed and hair done, then hurrying in to brush my teeth and throw my hair up in a ponytail, I realized that I was already running late.  Maybe I'd just do some light cardio on the elliptical machine today....  I got all the kids' shoes on, grabbed up the diaper bag, a water bottle, and my keys, and then made the long journey from my front porch to the car.  It is about 10 feet.  Yet, with three kids, it takes F-O-R-E-V-E-R.  They want to stop and pick a flower, then they see a bug, then they want to run over to the neighbor's yard, then they realize they forgot something in the house, then there's the tears, then I'm getting them all to the car and trying to get all three of them to sit down so they can get buckled in their seats.  The oldest two do great.  They climb in and get buckled.  I wrestle with my toddler to get him to actually sit so I can buckle him.  It's like trying to wrestle a cat into a bucket of water.  I feel defeated.  I wait until he's ready.  I try again.  I bribe him with a book to hold, a suddenly-fascinating toy to play with, anything that will get him to sit down so I can strap him in!  Done.  By this point, I have already completely missed the intervals class.  If I hurry, I can still make it to body pump.  If I have it in me.

The drive to the gym is a short five minute zip through the neighborhood, thank goodness!  We get into the parking lot and find a spot near the stairs.  Walking my kids through a parking lot is like herding cats.  All three of them want to wander in three different directions.  So, I get them all lined up, hold the youngest, and we venture from the parking lot, up the stairs.... as one kid wanders down some mysterious steps to a utility room and another kid wanders over to the flower garden and my youngest is fighting with all his might to get out of my arms... so back down the stairs, round up the kids, back up the stairs.  Finally into the building.

Then we have to get down the hallway.  Oh boy.  They want to stop and touch everything and look at everything.  Then we get to the front desk where I try to get all three to hold still and patiently wait in line in one spot without wandering off.  Unfortunately there is usually a long line in the mid-morning because of all the tennis camps going on.  We finally make our way to the front, I'm only missing one kid, and I get signed in.  I grab a towel, have one kid in a barrel hold on one side as I grip another kid's hand and go calling for the missing kid.  I find missing kid. We proceed to steps to go downstairs.  They are freshly mopped.  I try to hold hands, they resist and want to do it themselves.  My oldest runs down the stairs, no problem.  My three year old cautiously steps down the stairs, taking about 30 seconds per step.  We have about 20 to go.  I ask if I can carry her.  "No!  I'll do it myself, Mommy!"  So, I wait.  The youngest is getting restless and is squirming out of my arms.  I have no idea where my oldest has disappeared to.  Still waiting.....  Finally we get to the bottom of the stairs.

We have to pass a drinking fountain before we turn the corner to childminding.  This is the next challenge.  My oldest is already at the drinking fountain, guzzling down water... or at least getting it all down his shirt, and making a big deal about how refreshing it is, so that his sister cannot resist it.  So, we have to stop.  I'm already carrying a toddler, a diaper bag, a water bottle, and a towel, but, sure, why not lift up my three-year-old for five minutes while she, too, gets a nice long bath in the drinking fountain.  Done!  We turn the corner, hustle all the kids into the room and shut the door behind me.  Success!  We made it!  I get all the shoes off, hang up the diaper bag, and then one of the childminding teachers comes over and politely asks if I would like to change my reservation time to 10:00 instead of 9:00 each day because it's pretty clear that it's impossible for me to make it to the gym on time.  I smile at her and wonder if she has ANY idea what I had just been through to get there.  I laugh and tell her that we'd try to stick with 9:00 and if it doesn't seem to be working out after this week, then I'd change it.

I walk into the workout area of the gym and see everyone getting set up for body pump.  I don't know.... I feel like I just got a world class workout just getting there.....  Maybe I'd just sit on the bike and read a magazine.  I started to walk on the treadmill while I decided.  I watched as the class set up their benches and got out their bars with their weights.  I noticed my towel draped around my neck at that point.  I had only grabbed it because I had planned on really sweating today.  I never sweat.  It's one of my "super powers."  I can do an intense 60 minute cardio class and barely work up a glisten.  But, I really wanted to sweat today.  I wanted to kick my own ass.  So, it was decided.  Body pump.

I have NEVER lifted weights before.  You know, other than little hand held weights for toning, or using the occasional machine in the weight-lifting area.  But I have never really "lifted weights" before.  I have done all sorts of cardio and yoga and pilates, but no weights.  I decided that would be my challenge this summer.  I'm now in my 30s and need to focus on maintaining bone mass and building muscle while I can.  I'm in my prime!  I want to feel like it!  Besides, my scrawny little arms could use a little muscle.  I did body pump for the first time last Friday and I spent the weekend hobbling around with sore muscles.  It was awesome!  So, today, I was going to really work it.  I upped my weights a little, entered the class area, and took my spot.

Holy burn!  Ten minutes into class, as we were doing all sorts of dead lifts and squats and whatever else all those things are called, I felt something wet trickling down my arms.  What in the ........  sweat!  I was so excited!  Ten mintues into my workout and I was actually dripping sweat!  I could have danced for joy right there, I was so thrilled.  I had a huge smile on my face and I kept going.  Feel the burn!  Yeah!  It was so fun!  About 50 minutes into the workout, I think the smile turned more into a painful grimace as my muscles shook and I struggled to lift the bar as quickly as the instructor.  Biceps are clearly my weak point.  Poor little biceps, they just didn't stand a chance.  I was gritting my teeth by the end of that segment and wishing for an ab workout.  Anything else!  Please!  My tiny muscles can't take any more!  After holding plank for what seemed like a thousand minutes, and then doing countless variations of plank, with my poor little arms shaking, I felt sweat dripping down my neck and my face and my arms.  It was incredible.  I have never sweat from using my muscles before!  I felt so strong!  But, phew, class was finally over and I was just so happy I survived all 60 minutes.  I put away all of my gear, called out to the instructor, "see you Friday!" and trotted along my merry way to go get my kids.

After all of that, I felt like Wonder Woman.  No body could stop me.  No body could bring me down.  Not even the bad news in childminding about my oldest misbehaving today.  I stood tall and proud like a super hero!  Taaaa-daaaaa!  Okay, well, not quite.  I stood there and discussed it all like a grownup.  But, on the inside I felt like a super hero!  Oh my goodness, I felt incredible!  My muscles are certainly fatigued even as I type this.  Poor biceps, all this typing is so hard on you...  But, wow, I feel so empowered!  I love exercise!  Why did I even consider not doing this today?

I am surrounded by strong, empowered/empowering women.  Women who run, women who play soccer, women who teach an entire classroom full of kids, women who surf, women who hike mountains... To all of the women out there who have always inspired me, thank you.  To the old lady I met in my first yoga class, thank you.  To the middle-aged woman I met while I worked at a sports store who told me all about her adventure races all over the globe, thank you.  To all women out there who find something that they can challenge themselves with and take on the world, thank you!  It is such a marvelous feeling to let go of anything that is holding you back and break down all of those barriers.  Be free.  Be strong!  Time to go dust off my invisible jet now....  Ta ta.

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Peace.... Be still.

I used to love love love yoga.  I still do, I think, but find it hard to find any peaceful moments to myself to actually do a full session of yoga.  I got started doing yoga when I was in college, living in Utah.  I stumbled across a Power Yoga class by accident, stayed to participate, and fell in love with how challenging it was.  I was surprised by how difficult it was to hold the poses in the beginning.  I would be sweating just to hold a simple chair pose or a twist.  I had always considered myself to be "in shape" but I had found my new challenge.  What really sold me, though, was watching the elderly lady next to me master each pose with absolute ease.  She was strong, flexible, and absolutely still as she mastered her poses gracefully and effortlessly, as I fumbled clumsily and my muscles shook.  After class I spoke with her about yoga and she was absolutely glowing.  She looked young and vibrant.  I was surprised when she told me her age (I forget now, but 60 or 70-something).  She just looked so youthful and graceful and radiant.  And she was happy and peaceful.  I wanted THAT.  All of it.  She embodied everything that I wanted to acheive, so I set to work with my yoga.  I started to go quite often.  Then I also signed up for Power Yoga as part of my class schedule at school.  It didn't take long for me to find that it wasn't about strength and power and pushing through movements.  It was about finding the proper positioning and alignment and syncing it with the breath and finding the energy and power from within my very core.  When I found that place - that place of ease - I suddenly felt like I was floating through each pose.  I was working, sure, but without all the opposing force.  I had learned to find that meditative place within myself that allowed me to be in tune with every aspect of my movement and stability.  It was, quite simply, a beautiful thing.  My very favorite was the sivasana (dead man's pose) at the end.  After an hour or hour and a half of intense breathing and postures, you just lie there, still, peaceful, letting yourself just be.  Everything relaxes, even your mind, during the sivasana.  It's a very tranquil moment.

I used yoga during my pregnancy to prepare for labor and delivery.  I had not read anything about birthing breathing or hypnobirthing or anything of the sort.  But, I practiced yoga regularly and continued to sync my breath with my body.  When I went into labor, I used yoga breathing rather than any of the methods the nurses would throw at me to breathe through the contractions.  I was calm and peaceful and actually fell into a sort of trance at one point.  I felt like I had fallen asleep, just for a moment, during active labor!  This was before the epidural, when I was dilated to an 8.  It was incredible.  I probably could have had a natural birth that way - I felt like I was handling my first labor and delivery like a champ - it was one of the most peaceful experiences of my life.  But, I was just a little bit (okay, very much!) terrified of that time when the baby is actually supposed to, you know, come out!  I buckled and got the epidural before it was too late.  No regrets.  (By my third baby, I did have a natural delivery, but more out of circumstance than choice.  You can read that story somewhere below in September 2011.)

After my first baby was born, I continued to do yoga with him by my side or even in my arms.  He would lie down next to me as I mastered yoga poses, and when he learned to tummy crawl, he would crawl on over and participate in the poses.  I have some great photos of us doing yoga together that I need to find.  I even started to teach a free Mom & Baby yoga class a couple times a week at my church.  I didn't have a gym pass.  My exercise was taking walks with the baby and doing yoga.  I felt great!


Somewhere along the line, I lost it.  We moved, life got busier and crazier with an active toddler running the show, Jordan was gone a lot with medical rotations and military stuff, then we had another baby, moved again for Residency, had yet another baby, and life just started to spin faster and faster out of my control.  I finally joined a gym about a year ago, but quickly got sucked into various classes such as dance and spin and interval training.  I forgot about yoga.  I started to kind of hate yoga.  I pulled out one of my old yoga DVDs one night and was annoyed by how foreign it felt to me.  The strange breathing.  The funky poses.  I couldn't believe how much my mind and body had forgotten of something that I had once sworn by!  What had changed anyhow?  Why did I used to love this stuff?  I wanted to teach this?!  Had I really changed so much over the years?

I tried a yoga class last night at my gym, now that dance rehearsals are over for the summer break.  I tried really hard to like it.  The poses the instructor presented were really easy, actually.  But, I kept forgetting to breathe.  And I was too caught up in my thoughts.  And I just wasn't present.  I was somewhere else.  I was stressed.  I was mad.  I didn't like the solitude.  I wanted to move.  I wanted to run.  I couldn't relax during sivasana.  I didn't feel myself melting and relaxing, I felt myself tensing up and watching the clock.  By the time the instructor chimed her annoying little bells, I wanted to bolt out of there!  I sat up, uneasy, and went through the cheesy chanting and said my namastes to the class around me and quickly started to pack up my yoga mat.  I felt very uneasy.  The instructor approached me and inquired about my past experience.  I don't know why, but I just felt so agitated.  Not by her, just by being stuck in this quiet, dark, calm room.  I politely answered her questions and told her I used to do yoga a very long time ago and hoped to get into it again some day.  I walked out of there and felt like I needed to gasp for air.  Why was I feeling panic in there rather than relaxation?!  Why can't I just BE STILL?!

Today, as I contemplated that question, I realized it's the very thing I'm trying to work on outside of yoga.  Being present.  Relaxing and being okay with it.  A song entered my mind today, one that we sing in church:  Peace, Be still.  It is so hard for me to do that.  To feel peace.  To be still.  This seems to be a common theme for my posts in the past month, actually.  When I was looking for the lyrics to that church song, I came across this song, which touches the sailor in my soul.  I always joke with Jordan that I was meant to be a sailor.  I have a deep passion for boats, the sea, and predicting weather.  And I love a great drunken sailor song!  Here's the hymn I found.  It seems to be sung in a very southern Baptist style, but the words are very poetic and deserve some recognition for their beautiful meaning:

Master, the tempest is raging
The billows are tossing high
The sky is o'ershadowed with blackness
No shelter or help is nigh
Carest thou not that we perish?
How canst thou lie asleep
When each moment so madly is threatning
A grave in the angry deep?

The winds and the waves shall obey thy will
Peace, be still
Peace, be still
Peace, be still
Peace, be still
Whether the wrath of the storm-tossed sea
Or demons, or men, or whatever it be
No water can swallow the ship where lies
The Master of ocean and earth and sky
They all shall sweetly obey thy will
Peace, peace, be still

Okay, so back to the yoga topic.  The difference between THEN and NOW is simple:  it's the "discipline" aspect of yoga that I have lost.  When I was starting out yoga, I was a stressed-out, beyond-busy college student.  But, I used yoga as my time to step away from everything and meditate and focus on the task at hand and just breathe through the poses and JUST BE.  Now, I have lost that ability for the time being.  I am a stressed-out, beyond-busy mother of three, running a household almost entirely on my own while supporting a busy surgical resident husband.  I have a very difficult time letting go, stepping away from it all, breathing, meditating, disciplining my mind to focus and be present.  So, yeah, I really hate yoga right now because it is really hard for me.  But, I also recognize that I need it now more than ever.  I need to learn to let go, focus, and breathe.  I need to re-teach myself to be present.  I know I'll love it again if I could just do that.  And I recognize that it is so good for me all around because it teaches me to follow those same principles in my daily life - and who doesn't want to live in the present when life is just so good?!  I want to cherish every moment I have with my kids.  I want to live in the moment as we have all of these wonderful adventures together.  Lately I'm just so consumed with other things.  I want to love yoga again.  I want to learn to let go.  Let go of my current stress.  Let go of the past pain.  Let go of things that inhibit me and keep me from living life to the fullest.  I want to let go.  Breathe.  Just be.

I think I'll stick with Power Yoga and Ashtanga Yoga, though, because some of that other stuff is really funky.  I'm really not into the new-age imagery and chanting.  I participated in Sivinanda Yoga last night.  I feel so phony chanting the Ommmmm..... and then mumbling out whatever jibberish comes next.  I'm sure it has some beautiful meaning and significance, but it's just not me and I hate doing it.  I also don't like it when the instructor tries to impart wisdom and affirmations in an overly soothing voice during the sivasana.  I'm not looking for a guru.  I'm looking for a workout that allows me to train my body and mind simultaneously.  I can be my own guru.  If I need advice on finding the light or whatever they're talking about, I'll talk to someone I know and look up to, or read a book, read the scriptures.  I don't need some new age guru rattling off yoda-style bits of wisdom.  It's so annoying.  Right?  That's why I like the athletic styles of yoga (such as Power, Vinyasa, and Ashtanga)  mixed with the basic principles of the yoga discipline (breath, alignment, finding your center, finding your energy, focusing your mind, living in the present, appreciating your body, etc).  Anyhow, I'll stop ranting about Yoga.  I'm just journaling what is in my head because for years I thought I would become a yoga instructor.  Recently I have been exploring what it will take to open my own fitness studio where I can teach dance and aerobics and, yes, even yoga.  But I'm going through a sort of funky season of life where everything is just utter chaos.  Which makes me think maybe I need yoga now more than ever.  ????