The Struggle Continues

That sounds like an exciting sequel, but it's not. It's annoying and exhausting and I often feel like I'm over it, but then it sucks me back in, and this both disappoints me and pisses me off.

Mostly, I don't think critically much about how I look. I try to keep my hair brushed, my hands and face clean, and my clothes comfortable. Then I go about my day and it's fine.

But sometimes, especially at certain times of the month, and maybe especially especially because my body is making some midlife changes that I KNOW TO EXPECT... Sometimes, I just feel like I don't know the body I see in the mirror when I'm not expecting to see it.

The part about this that bothers me the most is that I am anti-feeling-like-crap about the way you look. I outgrew self-hate-speak years ago. I see pictures of myself from 15 years ago and think I look... insubstantial. I don't want to go back to that. Maintaining an artificially low (for me) body weight took up so much of my energy and attention that I have zero desire to go back to those days.

And yet...

My body is changing quickly and seems partially alien to me. I'm still flexible. I do the splits, I stretch, I squat, I bend. But now, when I try to touch my nose to the knees of my outstretched legs, I can't... because my belly is in the way.

I feel spry (mostly; I did a killer workout Friday and am just now getting over being sore about that on Sunday evening), and my body does what I want it to. I don't struggle with movement, and I'm strong enough to handle most tasks I set out to do on my own. In other words, I'm extremely functional, and probably more so now than I have been in years.

I'm proud of who I am, what I've learned, how I'm trying to improve, and of the life I and my people have built. It is absolutely profane that a chance encounter with my own reflection at an angle I wasn't prepared for threatens to send me spiraling.

Here's what I know: I'm not going to do anything about it. It's dangerous, mentally and physically. Usually, I just wait it out until the feeling passes. Fortunately, I guess, my life is generally too busy to get mired down in this sort of thing for very long.

Update: I'm past it now but wanted to go ahead and post this because... most of us end up in that space sometimes. 

Here's a picture of me walking last week. I have to go VERY late not to walk in complete darkness since Daylight Saving Time started again. I hate having no time to myself when I get home, but seeing sunrises like this *almost* make it worth it.

The Ravages of Time

In the past three years, I've changed. Physically. Like a lot.

I stopped restricting and doing exercise I didn't like years ago. Then I had another kid. And I breast-fed. A long time. I thought once I finished that maybe my, uh, chestral regions would go back to "normal" size, but they didn't. They didn't stay the same size, either. They got bigger! When I see pictures of myself from even just two years ago, the first thing I think is, "My boobs were so small!" So that's one thing.

But my face, too. I think it's a combination of weight set point being higher and my face finally catching up, and, honestly, age. I feel like my face is showing my age more now than it did a couple of years ago. For one, my features used to look like they took up a lot more of my face, and now they don't. It's kind of odd.

So when I see older pictures of me, I know it's me, but it almost looks like looking at a different person.

And, whereas before, I definitely would have pined over how "skinny" I looked in some shots, now I'm frankly alarmed at how much less room I was taking up.

I'm learning to view photos as memories frozen in time and to find the nostalgia in the moments they record, separating my ego from the process as much as possible.

It's definitely a process.

Once, after I'd lost a bunch of weight, we had family Christmas pictures taken. I'd agonized over what to wear, in the end choosing a black boxy sweater that was cute but not form-fitting in the least. When we got the proofs back, I kind of humble-bragged the truth to my ex-husband that I had thought about wearing something more body-conscious but went with something that would draw less attention to my "transformation." Unimpressed, he deadpanned, "No one's going to look at you in these pictures. They're going to look at our beautiful child." I mean, it hurt, but he wasn't wrong.

The biggest thing that I keep coming back to when I experience momentary surprise at how I appear in more candid pictures is to remember, "This is exactly what everyone else sees every dang day." I only see myself in front of the mirror or when having a posed picture taken (unless the front-facing camera accidentally comes on, then look out!!). So the mental image I have of myself is quite controlled. Everyone else sees me sitting, stretching out, double chinning it, etc. and so pictures of me aren't shocking to them... if they're even really looking at me. And they probably aren't.

I don't mind getting older. I don't mind looking older. I don't harbor fantasies that I can still pass as a co-ed. So it's fine.

I have a friend who was invited to a reunion recently, and she told me, "If I were skinny, I'd go. I could show them how fabulous and successful I am." I love her, and she IS fabulous and successful. And if she wanted to go, I wish she'd go.

I don't want her to be captive to presenting a certain body type in order to be pleasing to a critical eye (in this case, her own, but she's projecting on former co-workers), and I certainly refuse to be. If anyone has a problem with this, then I'm going to leave you with the wise words of one Ms. Edna Turnblad:

This is What 47 Looks Like

It me! About mid-way through my birthday yesterday. It was a good day, but, man, it was busy, too!

James worked from home yesterday morning, so we got to chat just a bit before Mal woke up. Mal greeted me with, "Happy birsday, Mom!"

We realized that Aish wasn't feeling well, so I took her to the vet's (for the second time in two weeks) while Mal amused himself at home.

Mal and I went to Rounder's Pizza to meet one of my friends for lunch. I hadn't told her it was my birthday, because she would have done something, and I didn't want her to feel obligated... but she brought Mal a really neat "present." She'd found a very sparkly rock, put it in a square of cloth, and tied it with a ribbon. Mal dug it!

While we were there, the vet called twice, left two incomprehensible voice mails, and then proceeded to prattle on in excess of nine minutes before I hung up on her because I'd only called back during lunch in case there was an emergency. Short version: There isn't, but she had some ideas of things we could do to help Aish be less anxious/more comfortable.

When we got home, I went out to visit the chickens and take snacks, which is when I took the above picture. James was gone because his team at work had scheduled a half-day river "cruise" party boat thing. So I went to pick up Aish after they'd taken some samples for blood work.

After James got home, he, Mal, and I went out for frozen yogurt. It was neat; I had a birthday bonus of a free quart of yogurt, in addition to buy-one/get-one-free.

D had put the chickens up since we were out a bit past sunset. By the time we returned home, D was midway through giving the bedroom a thorough clean, which was an AMAZING gift for me! However, about 2/3 of the way through, D hit a wall. I get it. I finished up while D showered, and then I vacuumed and cleaned the carpets. D did two loads of laundry.

So. Full day!

Then this morning, I got up, fed the cats, and was getting ready to go do the every-other-weekly major cleaning of the chicken coop when Mal woke up about an hour and a half early, with a nosebleed and needing to use the restroom. I almost cried, but fortunately, James was up a lot earlier than usual for a weekend, so he just went and laid down in Mal's room while I did my stuff. They both fell back to sleep.

I had time to shower and dry off a few minutes before Mal woke up for good. James went back to bed, and Mal and I played together for a few hours. I did a load of dishes and finished up a load of laundry.

This afternoon, James took Mal to Little Land. They were gone about three hours, so I had some time to myself. I did refill the hummingbird feeders, and took snacks to the chickens. But otherwise, I just sat on my behind, watched YouTube videos and ate cereal. It was a nice, relaxing break from the busyness of the previous day and a half!

My parents had left me a couple of minis from Nothing Bundt Cake, so we broke into those today. Very tasty! Mal kept telling me "Happy birthday!" before each bite he took. He takes this very seriously.

James has Monday off work, but D still has banjo lessons, so after class, we're going to go out for sushi since James can stay with Mal. It'll be an awesome way to tie up my birthday weekend!

Getting Old(er), Changing It Up

My body is tired of some stuff, guys, and I'm going to have to do things differently.

Lately, whenever I wear eyeliner, I have to use eyedrops. My eyes itch, they're dry, and I just can't wait to take it off. Yes, all eyeliner. Yes, even THAT eyeliner. I've tried them all. And I LOVE how "awake" I look and how it opens up my eyes when I wear eyeliner. But I think I have to be done with it.

This week, I've just used dark eye shadow at the eyelash line, and, while it's not perfect, it's been fine. At least I won't have to worry about whether it's run or flaked off? Sigh.

Another thing is my hair. It keeps getting so dried out and I will find and use a fairly expensive shampoo/conditioner that I love... for about a year, then I have to move on because my hair goes back to being crunchy hay and it's just no good.

After three years of this cycle, I have actually purchased a product from an MLM, which, if you know me, you know I AVOID. My friend's house-cleaning wipes were a pleasant surprise, so maybe this will be, too.

Beyond that, I might have made a half-decision (like kind of made it, but not overly committed to it yet). After twenty years, I think I might stop coloring my hair. I am sure my hair won't take it forever without just falling right out. It's been a good, LONG, run.

I did take a two-year-break at one point because I was super heavy, and for some reason decided that not having red hair would draw less attention to my fat body? And I also decided that bangs might help me look cuter. IT. WAS. A. MISTAKE. If you're a person who doesn't have bangs, but you're thinking about getting bangs: DO NOT GET BANGS.

Also, "trying to look less fat" is a vapid and needless pursuit, but I won't get on that soapbox at the moment.

Anyhoo, the color wasn't bad, but I ended up going back to red a couple of years later (and after my bangs had grown back out).

The color I have now is fading so subtly, it seems like I *might* be able to just let it grow out? We'll see. It might be more noticeable when the roots are 2 inches instead of 1/4 inch.

Now... another thing. I love where we live. LOVE IT. That said, I don't think I ever want to buy a house again.

Last Friday night, at 6:48 PM, our lawn mower (a human, not the machine) noticed that we had a pinhole leak in the pipe in the ground right behind our water meter. We got it fixed quickly (yay!) but it was $400.

Tonight at 10, we noticed our air conditioner wasn't working. The repair guy came out, but guess what? It's an electric problem, not an a/c problem! The electrician can get here shortly after 10 in the morning, so it won't be *too* hot. But still. Ugh. Oh, and it was $150 for the a/c service call. For nothing. I mean, I guess we did get some information, And I don't begrudge paying the dude for coming out (with his wife in the car; she was his girlfriend last time he made a late-Friday-night call, back in September when we were at Disney World and my parents and D handled it).

In short, being old is kind of awesome, but comes with some "mature" expenses and weird body changes that I'm sure have only barely begun, since I haven't started menopause yet.

Good times.

I knew it was just a matter of time...

More on my trip with Mal soon, because there were some doozies I want to remember, but I have to denote this most special of occasions.

Ever since the last time I got pregnant at what the medical community at large  (but never, ever my awesome team of midwives at Birthwise) would call "an advanced maternal age," I've known it was coming.

And it finally happened last night:

"Is that your grandbaby?"

I expected it to be more cutting than it was. Frankly, it was anti-climactic.

Part of this might be because the lady who asked me this both called Mal a girl repeatedly, after he corrected her, and then requested a ride to a bar down the street. From McDonald's. At 8:45 on a Sunday. Bless her.

But I think that most of it was because of the work I've been doing on accepting and loving my body (and all bodies). While what I've wrestled with most has been internalized fatphobia, I feel like really examining and deconstructing biases I've been taught my whole life has helped with everything, this included.

To be "offended" by being mistaken for my child's grandparent, I think I'd have to have more stock in pride of visibly defying my age, or shame in maturing. I have neither.

Actually, a few hours before that, I'd been telling James about an article I read on the thin privilege of "small fats," or what Roxane Gay calls, "Lane Bryant fat." I told him that in addition to the "privilege" I experience of not having to worry whether I'll fit into a restaurant seat, or have to buy two airline tickets, or be told by a doctor when I go in with pain in my breast and I should lose weight and I'll feel better, I also seem to have reached a milestone that many women meet with mourning, but I find exhilarating:

Largely because of my age, I'm "invisible."

When I was young, I was on the receiving end of much overt disgust (*shudder* "You're so fat!") and impertinent assumptions (the first time I was asked if I was pregnant, I was 16) very often. There's a trauma that comes with stigma in which someone isn't victimized only by overt actions; they are hurt over and over just by the anxiety they live with in anticipating the next unwanted negative interaction.

What I'm describing as my personal experience pales in comparison to the things that other minorities and "super fats" endure every day, but it was still a big part of my younger life.

It isn't anymore.

And the reason I believe it is not is that I have reached an age where it isn't seen as my civic duty to be attractive to the male eye anymore. And so I'm "invisible," but, to me, in the best possible way. I am not on the receiving end of objective scrutiny and catcalls. I know men are being kind when they hold a door open, because they don't have ulterior motives. Some women hate that; I think it's an incredibly comfortable place to have landed.

So, being mistaken for a grandma when I'm not wasn't a blow. I wasn't taken for being any "older" than I am; my sister, who is younger than I am, is a grandmother.

Actually, there's an important lesson there: You cannot tell how two people are related by looking at them. I should never make assumptions.

There we have it: The first, and likely not the last, time I was presumed to be the grandma. Very often, when I go to bed at night, I certainly feel as tired as a grandma after a grandkid has visited all day! So it's kind of accurate.

Ol' Granny and Mal, Jr.

This is Going to Make You More Uncomfortable than It Does Me...

This summer, I'm having a pretty big birthday. It's the one that will move me into a whole other echelon when I am filling out questionnaires. That's right: 45.

After the whole back injury thing that was ushered in with my 40s, my other effects of aging seem tame, but I'm experiencing some, nonetheless.

For instance: I'm probably within a year of needing reading glasses. Only when my contacts are in; correcting for myopia renders my close-in focus difficult. When my contacts are out, I have super amazing microvision. So, basically, I'm going to need to put on glasses to read when I'm wearing contacts, and take off my glasses ot read when I'm not.

My hearing is still right on, but you can bet that as soon as I seem to be losing it, I'll fix that right up with hearing aids. I have a young kid, and I don't want to miss a thing. I want to hear it all, not just pretend to kind of get what's going on.

My point, I guess, is that rather than stubbornly denying "signs of aging," I plan to lean in and use whatever technology is available to me to allow me to thrive as long as is possible.

And it's interesting to me how we, as humans, tend to treat these physical changes as something almost shameful. Why do we do that? We're persevering, but we act like wounded pack animals, seeking to hide any perceived weakness from everyone else.

All of this to say that what I'm about to tell you, some people are going to feel is TMI. If you're prone to wonder, "Why is XYZ talking about THIS?!" then you might just want to check on out right now.

Okay. Everyone else still with me? Great.

You might remember last year I ordered and reviewed Thinx. They've been remarkable. Really, as much a game-changer as the Diva Cup. So, I ordered this week from Thinx's sister company, Icon.

I have done a bazillion Kegels in my life, especially around the times of my pregnancies and deliveries, but a combination, likely, of having Mal and being in my 40s has resulted in a miscommunication between my body and my brain. It's like my brain will realize, "Oh, hey, I need to go to the bathroom" and something about consciously thinking of the place makes my body go, "Okay, so right now?" Nooo!

It's interesting: The only time we talk about incontinence is when it's in a medical context, or when it's being joked about. Like, "I laughed so hard, I peed myself a little" or if a comedian is riffing on getting old... However, when it actually happens, and especially as it becomes obvious that it's not a one-off or a two-off, it's not funny at all. It's confusing and frustrating and more than a little embarrassing. Because, like, yeah, I was potty trained for all of these years, so why is my body betraying me now?

When my Pepa was alive and I'd offer to get things at the store for my Mema, she'd ask me to buy two things usually: Ensure and adult diapers. After Pepa passed away, though, I'd offer the same and she might have me pick up several things for her... but once, the day after I'd gone to the store, I saw her at Walmart with adult diapers in her cart. She quickly threw her jacket over them and I, of course, didn't say anything. But why are we like that? Why are we shamed by what's obviously normal bodily functions?

So I bought the "pee-proof" underwear. Because I will need to start carrying an extra set of pants for Mal pretty soon, and I don't want to have to do that for myself. 'Cause stuff happens when you're out and about: You're heading to the restroom and find it's full, or one of the stalls is unexpectedly locked. You have to walk through the detergent aisle to get there, and you have a sneezing fit. Or you're just suddenly surprised by the realization that you really need to go. Like three minutes ago.

And I'm sharing this with you, why? I don't want it to be a "deal." Stuff is big and scary and embarrassing when we're trying to hide it. So I'm just putting it out there. I think it'll be great, and turn this into a non-issue. The Thinx really has! Which is cool, because it's freaking expensive. But it's cheaper and easier than the disposable alternatives.

You guys have to promise to tell me when I need to stop driving, too. I want to be graceful and easy on myself as I age. Actually, I probably should never have started driving. But it's too late to fix that now.

I plan to stay around as long as possible, and I want to be fully present in each minute, so here's to being realistic and leaning into the stuff that will help!

Time Travel Day, Hormonal Parent Version

Hey, I forgot to tell you about something I saw yesterday. For real. In a person's house. This is a button on a real microwave. Maybe you have one, but I'd never seen this before.

"Is it done?" "Nope." "How much longer?" "I don't know. I just need to cook it a bit more." Beep.

Okay, so we "fell back" in the wee hours of this morning. It meant nothing, of course, to my younger child, who was up at 6:10 AM. I'm just glad it wasn't earlier. Last week, he was waking up that early on Daylight Saving Time, so I was scared today would be a 5 AM start. Grateful we dodged that bullet.

We had some breakfast and I was trying to make sure James got to sleep in, so we took off pretty early. We usually go to the later church service, but we were too early even for early service, so I stopped by the office to get something out of the mail hold, and Mal played in the on-demand yoga room. (Yeah, I know. Fancy.)

Then we went to early church, and I got to look through the left-overs from the holiday bazaar I missed yesterday becasue we were out having adventures. We made it through about 2/3 of the service before Mal was walking out the door (literally), so we got to the gym just as it was opening.

By the way, until you've lived with this kid for, oh, two years or so, let's not talk to me about "What do you mean, he just left church? You make him stay. You're the parent." Tell you what, YOU make him stay, and I'll be super grateful.

Anyhoo, he played at the gym for an hour and a half, and I had to keep forcing him to take breaks because he was crazy tired, wearing himself out, and having an absolute ball, but I was afraid he was going to hurt himself.

When we got home, I was tired and I had some chores I needed to get done (vacuuming up, cleaning out the litter boxes, and getting the trash ready for pick-up). Also, I was exhausted. So I did what any sane person would do and pulled out of the closet the four legs and giant, heavy, solid wood top of the amazing Crate and Barrell dining room table someone gave us several months ago. Hyper toddler and a chance of rain? Seemed like a perfect time to spray-paint stuff out on the patio, right?

My sweet husband jumped right in, trading spray-painting with kid-wrangling, and we got two coats on that puppy, then brought it in, put the legs on, and I got one coat of the chalkboard paint put on the top of it. It's supposed to dry for 4 hours before I put a second (and final) coat of the chalkboard paint, but I just read that that time is based on 50% humidity, and it's 95% humidity here now, so I have to wait until tomorrow. When James isn't here.

Oh, and we have a giant dining room table (leaf inserted, because we have to paint the whole thing, of course) in our entry way. Like, we have to crawl under it to get out of the apartment. I'll probably move it into the dining area (we don't use as a dining area) when I'm confident it's dry, after moving Mal's slide out onto the patio with the Sit-and-Spin, the sand box, and the water table.

Ugh.

But did I mention that the table was free?

Okay, so here's the deal. I need some inspiration or something. I've been doing this "monitoring caloric intake" since my birthday week, or just over 2 months. I know I've lost weight because my clothes fit better and some other personal stuff I'm not telling you. I don't have a scale. I don't care about that.

What I'm finding, though, is that I'm bored with counting the calories, and I'm eating very weird because of it. Like I typically have all of my calories taken by about 4 PM (which was 3 PM today). It's stupid. Once I can't have any more food, I can tell myself, "Sorry, you're done," and not eat. Mostly. But when I think, "I only have 350 calories left? But I'm hungry and that's not a lot of food! What can I eat? Oh. I'll eat this thing. Ugh. I'm just going to eat it now and get it over with so I can stop thinking about it."

That sounds ridiculous, but it's what I'm doing. I hate this whole thing, but I don't want to lose the progress I've made, and I wouldn't mind losing a bit more. But I am slowly eating more because I feel like I have to or I'm just grumpy and blehh. And I don't like how I'm obsessing over when I can eat next, and what I can fit in. I hate this being an on and off companion in my life, big time.

Finally, here's another thing. Most of today's mania was brought on by hormones. I forgot to mention that I did vacuum, including putting on the pet attachment and going after a bunch of chairs. And the cat condo. Plus the trash, litter box, sweeping, etc. Also my lethargy about and resentment of the calorie-counting. I really hope I'm about to go through menopause because this is getting exhausting. I have this thing now where I kind of start my "girl time" three days before I *really* start it, but that results in ten days of... dealing with this garbage. And this time, it's like I did the "get ready" start, then the real thing, then it tapered off, and now today it's a second real start, so who knows how long it will last (today makes it a week so far). Ugh.

Um. Hope you all had a great Sunday.

A Thing I Thought

For my own mental health and yours, I've been trying to avoid all political stuff on social media. I have read so many articles that I've really loved, and haven't shared any of them, because I don't define my life by politics, and I don't want to cause stress between friends. So hopefully you'll see this more as I mean it, which is a couple of comments on the human condition.

I'm not endorsing a candidate. I think that the choice for whom to vote, or whether to vote at all, is deeply personal, and I respect it for every individual. I have friends who feel like voting supports tyranny (explained here). I have friends who will be voting for third party candidates for President in 2016. And I have friends who will be voting for either of the "major" party candidates. No one needs my opinion or instructions.

So please don't message me to try to pull me to a specific side, because I make my decisions with the same autonomy you do, and I hope we can all joyfully and lovingly respect that.

That said: There was only one point in the first Presidential Debate last night that felt "sacred" to me. I loved it. It was when Lester Holt asked Hillary Clinton, "Do you believe that police are implicitly biased against black people?" Her answer: "Lester, I think implicit bias is a problem for everyone, not just the police. I think, unfortunately, too many of us in our great country jump to conclusions about each other...."

My jaw literally dropped and I looked at my husband and said, "That was brilliant."

She then went on to explain that we need to slow down and ask why we're feeling certain ways, but that the repercussions of this in relationship to police force are huge and need to be addressed. She described "support" and "training" and "assistance" for police.

I felt the answer showed realism, empathy, and basically positivity in an otherwise loud, brash, difficult debate. I fully expected to wake up to lavish praise of Secretary Clinton for this eloquent response.

Instead, it was: "Hillary Clinton calls the whole US racist!"

What? She didn't say that at all. She said we all have implicit biases, and anyone who would say, "No I don't" is either in denial or is Jesus. Just today, I made a mental judgment about a person in a situation at a store that was based on nothing but what I guessed to be their socio-economic situation. It was a snap thought, and I'm embarrassed by it, AND I was wrong, but we do this.

She said nothing that was accusatory or mean-spirited, and I am just shocked that anyone could see her addressing of this extremely difficult, tragic situation as anything other than well-stated.

Okay, we're half way through.

The second thing is that apparently Donald Trump mentioned after the debate at some point that he hadn't brought up Monica Lewinsky because Chelsea Clinton, whom he admires, was in the room. Well, I guess it's good that she doesn't have the internet, because now she'll never know.

First of all, if you haven't watched Lewinsky's TED Talk, it's completely worth your time. I'll even embed it, so you don't have to click through.




We could go on for hours about how many stupid things I and my friends did in our 20s and we can all thank God none of these involved the President and therefore became public fodder. Holy cow.

But, anyway, she's not the point here.

The point here is that I guess he was going to bring Lewinsky up to talk about Hillary Clinton's feminist take on the world, and how did this situation fit into that, since the President took advantage of his power (and, if you listen to her, she doesn't seem to feel victimized by anything other than her own naivety). Regardless, Hillary Clinton didn't, you know, actually DO anything to Lewinsky, besides maybe calling her crazy, and I think she'd agree she was acting like someone in limerence, and that's basically crazy. If someone were trying to make time with my husband, I'd probably have even choicer words. Even if he were complicit. Your tendency is to be mad at the person you don't love and live with first.

And that's not the point, either.

My point is that I'm going to tell you what I'd like to see Hillary Clinton say if the former President's past "indiscretions" do come up in the future...

"Mr. Trump has repeatedly brought up my husband's activities as President, as though these define me and my future Presidency. I hope we all recognize that, as dear as the former President Clinton is to me, we are not the same person.

"It is an interesting choice to bring up a situation that is devastating to families who experience it in private, and much more so when it is played out in front of the entire world. It is interesting to me because it happened twenty years ago, and because I did not perpetrate anything on anyone in respect to it.

"My guess is that the only thought you've ever given to this situation is either, as many people did, as a joke worthy of every SNL skit it generated, or, in this immediate case, how to leverage it to your political advantage.

"In my opinion, leveraging a family's pain to your own advantage is deplorable, but since you insist, let me tell you what I hope everyone will take away from this about me.

"First: I keep my promises. When I say I'll do something, I will. Not just when it's easy or fun. I will do it. When trouble rears up, and when things look hopeless, I won't throw my hands up, call 'bankruptcy!' and run away to start over. I will do what I say I will do.

"Second: I am willing to make decisions that are for the good of the people I love, my family, and this country, and stay with it. I am not afraid to do the work. I do not shrink back from something that is hard, but will doggedly pursue an end once I have committed to it.

"As a wife, I had some heavy decisions to make twenty years ago. I knew the world was watching, and I knew I'd be vilified by one group or another regardless of what I chose. But I didn't need people praising me and telling me how amazing I was; I just needed to do what was best for our family. Now, I can tell you that we are a better, stronger family than we ever were before.

"I believe that these things can translate on a national and global stage. When faced with difficulties, I make decisions, I navigate, I work, and I want to see us better down the road that we nave ever been before. I have hope and faith in us and what we can become.

"So thank you, for whatever reason you brought this up, for reminding me and for reminding all of us."

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.

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P.S. This isn't divorce-shaming Trump; I have been married and divorced exactly as many times as he has. And it's one reason I feel so much respect for what this "I'm not sitting here, some little woman just standing by her man" lady ended up doing.

P.P.S. Also, like Trump, I married a devastatingly sexy super-model-type this time around, and had a kid when I was just a little past my prime.

The Early-Mid-40s

Holla! Tomorrow is my first day in my early-mid-40s.

I have this system, see: When you turn, say 40, you're 40. Then 41-43 is the early 40s, 44-46 is the mid-40s, and 47-49 is the late 40s. 41 is the early-early-40s, 42 is the mid-early-40s, 43 is the late-early-40s, and so on. Anyhoo. Now you know.

I'm in my early-mid-40s.

I'm hitting the middle of the decade of official Middle Age.

And stuff is changing, man.

Old folks say things all of the time. Stuff like, "I still feel like a teenager inside; it's only when I see myself in the mirror that I realize..." And you think, "Sure you do, oldie." It just doesn't sink in. Until it does.

There have been several things I've noticed over the past few weeks and months that have really sneaked up on me (yes, that's grammatically correct), and it's shocking how freaking typical I am in this whole thing. I don't love being "average." Yet here I am.

In no particular order:

#1) Number One. This is likely a mixture of age and having recently had a kid. Gosh, I hope. Anyway, the thing is this: I have to sneak to the restroom without letting my body know that's where I'm headed. I can't even think, "Oh, good! It looks like I have a moment to go to the --- WHOOPS! NO! NOT NOW!!" Seriously. My eyeballs register the outside of a stall door and before I've even reached out to open it, it's like, "Release the Kraken!" Good gravy, Mabel! We still have a good six or seven seconds before it will be safe! So I can't share this information with my body, really; unfortunately, I don't know how to get my brain to cooperate with me on this one.

#2) Close-in Vision. I've been myopic enough to require corrective lenses since 1977 (which was 2nd grade, for those of you who, like I, hate unnecessary maths). This has rarely been a blast, especially as a small child and awkward teen, when glasses were either strictly utilitarian or just purposefully ugly. That's the only thing that makes sense.

However, my close-in vision has always been incredible. Without my contacts in, I can read the microprint on checks. I can read tiny print on anything, including pictures of stuff. And as long as my vision is uncorrected, I can still do this. However, if I'm trying to read anything smaller than regular book print, it's becoming more difficult to do so in less than perfect light, or with writing on a less-than-strictly-contrasting-colored background. It's frustrating because I could read this stuff with my contacts in/glasses on like FOUR SHORT MONTHS AGO. So what the heck?

James said it's because our lenses thicken as we age, rendering us less able to focus with the acuity we once had. I'm sure he's right, but that's just plain dumb. I exercise my eyes. They should repay me by staying fit. Jerks.

#3) Post-Baby Spread. I am not sure how much of this is strictly age and how much has to do with that plus having a baby. I'm going to blame it all on my little kid, because it's not a deal-breaker, and it makes me feel like less of a senior citizen to think I had some help.

Anyway, after I had Daphne, I just gained a bunch of weight and was generally fat. Then I lost the weight. That makes it all sound a lot simpler than it was. There was drama, there was work. Sure, all of that. But my weight gain was all-around and my weight loss took a bit of time and discipline, but it happened within less than a year of my deciding to fix things.

With Mal, my body is actually changing. The distribution is not typical for my body, and I don't know how to handle it.

First, I've never been very busty, and this nursing thing is keeping me plenty filled in up top. Next, apparently breastfeeding melts gluteal fat, so my posterior, in addition to getting a lot of use during frequent floor play and nursing sessions, is actually flatter because some of the fat is outta there. So that's weird. Mom butt. And THEN there's the tone I lost (YES, I HAD SOME) during the pregnancy, what with the stretching of the belly area, and its shrinking back down. There is also some left-over layering that is still there and I've read doesn't want to go away as long as I'm still nursing. I PROMISE YOU, BODY, I'M NOT IN DANGER OF STARVING.

Le sigh.

With this stuff, though, I know it's just a matter of making good choices and waiting it out. I have zero desire to do sit-ups or go to the gym at all. I love walking with my people, and I'll love riding my bike again once we get into a neighborhood where that's feasible... and I replace my stolen bike (grumble grumble grumble).

Still, it's weird not to know your body. It's expected during pregnancy, but now...

#4) The Sweating. PEOPLE. I have never been a big sweater. Austin is certainly hot and muggy, but even the first summer we were here wasn't that bad. Now, I sweat most of the time. I don't necessarily feel overly-warm. But my face is almost always shiny (and we'll get to the face thing in a minute), and especially when I get super stressed (which is several times daily due to my precious little boy), I find the flop sweat to be present in rather alarming quantities.

Also, the area under my eyes... sweats. A friend teased me about whether I had eye bags so this was the facial equivalent of under-boob sweat. It's not. And it seems to be "a thing." Seriously. I just Googled it. Don't, by the way. The recommendations are ridiculous. I don't use regular antiperspirant. Why would I use under-eye antiperspirant?

If it's this bad now, I shudder to think about the lake of steam I'm going to be when I actually start having hot flashes.

#5) My Complexion. Oh, goodness, this one hurts the baddest of all. My skin has always been pretty dang fabulous, and it's something I mostly took for granted except when I was in high school and realized I was fortunate only to have a few major zits rather than constant full-facial flare-ups. Even now, I'll get the cycle-related blemish every now and then, so that's not a huge problem. But, heaven help me, the discoloring! My skin isn't the same uniform color anymore. Some of the skin on my left cheek is, well, I guess there's nothing to call it but a giant age spot.

This is to say nothing of the status of my pores, of random facial hairs, and of the colorless permanent bumps that are cropping up across my forehead. Oh, and did I mention that many of my freckles are becoming three-dimensional? Yeah. Skin tags. Never had those before. Mal appreciates these, though. They give him something to play with when nursing. He's actually excised one of them and is working on two other ones. And, yes, it hurts like the Dickens.

#6) My Flexibility. I always swore that I'd be able to do a cartwheel and the splits forever. And I could. Until my ruptured disc. I can still cartwheel (though I get more dizzy now than I enjoy) and can mostly do the splits. I am working on those, trying to get a full split complete with my laying down flat on the floor, which I could do until four years ago. I blame this on my injury, and a lot of my loss of flexibility is due to this, but I didn't injure my back ever until I was just a couple of weeks shy of my 40th birthday, so this, too, is probably age-related.

I can get some of this back, but some is permanently gone. For example, I can bend over and touch my right toes without bending my right knee. I cannot do this with my left leg; the injury and sciatica messed that stuff up forever. So it's official: I'm past my prime, people.

#7) The Upside. I'm writing this blog post. Do you know how self-conscious I might have been about all of this stuff in the past? Do you know how little I wanted to expose any vulnerability?

Also, this stuff? It doesn't make me feel worthless or "less" anything. It's just reality. And I think that sort of emotional maturity is worth the price of admission.

Last week, my mom took a picture of me that I absolutely hated. She posted it on Facebook. At one time, I might have been tempted to ask her to take it down. I wasn't. I have too little time left to worry about petty crap like that.

Back to what the "old people" say: I have asked around recently, just to see how many of my contemporaries feel like they're actually truly responsible adults maneuvering through their lives, and most of them agree that they don't. I feel most like a grown-up when I'm actively parenting. Otherwise, I sincerely feel like a 16-year-old kid driving around town, just wanting to be happy and hang out with the people I love, and hoping not to do anything too stupid.

What's the cut-off age for stupid kiddy hairstyles?

Why I broke up with Facebook

It's been about three weeks since I decided to take a mental health break from Facebook.

What lead up to it was... well, several things.

First, I was just grumpy in general. I'd find myself thinking, "That should be a private message, not a status update." Or other judgy stuff like that.

Second, this is a politically charged time, with the upcoming election and the months of caucasus and primaries, and people are super opinionated. Those opinions often come forth with (often unfair and one-dimensional) characterizations of people who hold differing opinions. It's so much heat and rhetoric and anger that I was already being exhausted by it. And, truthfully, my own fears about how the election season would play out were being fed into by stuff that was posted.

Third, the Orlando shooting seemed to bring out a LOT of anger. And I get it. There's plenty about which to be angry. I just wanted to be very sad and grieve, though. Instead, I saw rage spew from across my very wide spectrum of friends, both personally and from news or opinion items posted: Anti-Muslim sentiment; gun control advocates holding this up as an example that assault weapons should be banned (honestly, I'm kind of with them on this one); gun rights activists (I have a CHL and am certainly not anti-gun-ownership) calling out all of the same old arguments about saving unarmed people's asses and how criminals don't obey laws; people wondering why we're upset about gays dying but not veterans; LGBT allies saying that James Dobson is just the same as the murderer because of his "hate speech" (I do not agree with his take on homosexuality, but know enough about Dobson to know he probably doesn't hate anyone except child molesters, and thinking or even saying someone's sexual activity is wrong isn't tantamount to gunning down a bunch of gay people); and people posting articles showing Tweets and posts by allegedly Christian people saying that at least gunmen were killing "perverts" now instead of innocent people (fortunately, literally no one I know appears to think that). It was all just ugliness. I wanted to grieve and mourn for those people who lost their lives. Maybe, in a big picture way, it's important that we know why the gunman did what he did. But I guess I didn't care enough to want the whole thing regurgitated and discussed and angrily opined on for weeks upon weeks.

Fourth and final, after that sweet baby was in that awful accident at Disney and people were posting not just opinions about the parents' and the resort's blame, but a freaking joke meme... I lost it. I couldn't. I just had to stop because I could feel the poison in my blood.

You know what? I haven't missed it. I actually haven't. I have been called "The Facebook Queen" and have used and loved Facebook for over nine years. I guess I'm kind of over it. I'm over having every news story (we don't have a TV and I usually don't know what's going on) broken down and used to further someone's world view or to put down a group of people or to see my sweet friends calling other of my sweet friends (directly or indirectly) ignorant, hateful, or anything else.

I also have spent a lot of time over the years imagining how events in my life will play out over Facebook, or how they will be taken, or what the best way is to present and frame something. It's dumb. For me. I don't need to do that.

I also don't need to create "the illusion of intimacy" (Mr. Robot) that I had. I had a really neat core group of friends who interacted with me on Facebook, but we don't actually interact in daily life, and although that's still something, I am seeing more and more that I need people. Like I need someone I can call when I'm just stressed out of my mind, and outside of my family, I don't have that. So maybe I need to be more out and in the world and purposefully incubating face-to-face friendships.

That's the other thing: If I know you and I care about you, I want to hear YOUR take on things. Not the take of someone who thinks a lot like you but writes with a sharpened pen. Because people's posting "This" and a link has come to exhaust me. I've done it! I really have read and read and found something that resonates with me and shared it. But I see that this doesn't usually change anyone else's thinking, only garnering accolades from people who already agreed with me.

This reminds me of an article a friend posted recently called "The 'Other Side' Is Not Dumb." I highly recommend that you read it. Read it and maybe think of it before you click "share" on the next article or web comic or political meme and ask yourself why you're sharing. Try to understand other people's opinions and respect that someone who disagrees with you might not hate our country or your God or any of those things that are often bandied about in online arguments.

I'm still on social media. I'm on Instagram because I do love seeing pictures of people's kids and meals and vacations and their visual perspective on things. I also unfollowed one of my favorites this week, The Libertarian Homeschooler, because although she's typically political in many of her posts, I bristled against the bombarding of reactions from a certain news item and started getting that hot feeling at the back of my neck again. I don't want to do that. Not anymore.

I'm on Snapchat because it's frivolous and ridiculous and just stupid fun.

But now I'm on something else. I'm on a path to try to do the thing that has exhausted me for years, but which I need and have needed for some time: I'm going to find a place and build a tribe and we're going to actually live life together. I don't know what that looks like, or who will be involved, or how I'll get there. But I'm working on that.

I still want to hear from people, I do. But if you're like me and you say, as I have for years, "Well, I post stuff on Facebook, so if you're not on there..." then I guess that just means it's not worth it to you to keep in touch with me. And that's fine. This way, I know. And if we ever run into each other in the world, we will have a lot to catch up on, because I won't have any idea what's going on in your life. It'll be fun.

I FOUND THE CANDY and other updates

James says he didn't mess with my candy, but I'm thinking someone did. It's where I vaguely remember putting it, but I LOOKED THERE MULTIPLE TIMES. Like, even with a stepladder to make sure I wasn't missing something in the back. I'm not a man. If it had been there, I certainly would have seen it, right? *sigh* Anyway, I'm too full from dinner to enjoy it, but I might be having Reese's for breakfast in the morning.

The gym is an interesting place, and one of my pastimes is to try to figure out people's relationships with the kid(s) they bring to the gym. Because I'm an older mom, probably, I don't assume grandparentage. I have friends to whom this has happened, and I don't want to do it to anyone (nor do I want it to happen to me!). I don't assume kids with different-colored skin from their caregiver aren't their children, because I know too many adoptive families (in fact, just the other day when Mal and I were at the pool with the younger Brownies - a family name, this isn't racism! - the lifeguard was concernedly looking for "these boys' mother" as my sister stood right there). There are quite a few nannies who bring their charges.

It's an interesting melting pot, more so than I've seen anywhere else in Austin at large. Frankly, I was surprised at how white Austin is. The first place I saw black people, and the only place at first, was Walmart. Then when I moved closer to the campus, I saw more... still not many. It seems like a lot of black people work at the airport. Anyway, I expected Austin to be this freaky rainbow, but not so much. At the gym, there are not only families of all colors, there are at least seven different languages I've heard spoken.

A friend asked me once if I see the same moms and therefore connect a bit there, but that really hasn't happened. There ARE about five or six moms I see on a regular basis. Their kids are all a bit older than Mal, and most of them are quite a bit younger than I am. After a year of going, we're chatting more... but none of us is asking the others to tea (unless they are, and they're just not asking me).

One lady, I thought she was just super stuck up for the longest time. Then I heard her talking to another mom and realized she's not American. She's from I'd guess somewhere in Eastern Europe. And so the "eye contact and a smile" is probably still super foreign to her. She pack the tidiest Bento boxes of fruit, vegetables, and rice pudding for her daughter. I want to steal that kid's snacks.

Another thing that runs the gamut there is parenting styles. Some parents sit down, shoo their kids off, and read a book or play with their phone the whole time. Some parents won't let their kid play on one thing for too long before they're encouraging them, "Let's go do this now! Let's try this one!" like the kid needs circuit training. Some are very (overly?) conscientious about whether their kid is sharing, and others don't look at their kid at all because they're there to chat with their other mother friend, meanwhile their kids together monopolize an area and won't let other kids play.

A couple of times, I've seen occupational therapists working with kids, and, honestly, I wish they'd do that somewhere else. One kid screamed in terror with everything, and wanted his mom to hold him, and I know the lady was going for the end goal of helping him, but seeing a kid sobbing and wailing, chasing his mom around the gym while the OT encourages her to "laugh and keep running like it's a game!" is excruciating to watch. I seriously almost picked that kid up and hugged him.

One nanny (who is older than my mom) is so on top of Brianna (bree-AH-nuh; I know because she calls her name a bazillion times an hour) that I feel sorry for THAT kid. "Brianna, your shoe fell out of the cubby. Can you come put it back? Brianna, back here. Thank you. Oh, it fell out again. Can you put it back farther, Brianna? Brianna, that kid said 'hi' to you. Can you say 'hi' to him? Can you wave back, Brianna? Brianna, we can't play until you tell him hi, Brianna." Ad infinitum.

Then there was the day James was with me and only two other families were there. A four/five-year-old-boy had opened the bathroom door with his foot in the way, and had scraped off the entire inside of his toe. It was a wreck, and he was reasonably hysterical. I can't even go into how his mom handled it, because it was so dumbfounding and senseless that it will make my butt hurt for an hour. I like to pretend that SHIELD gave him a cybernetic toe so now he's glad it happened.

(Memo to self: In a health and safety situation where a kid might be in shock, please never EVER say, "I know it hurts, but I need you to calm down for just a minute.")

We've had a fun year and are going to keep it up. As long as we live somewhere this hot, it's nice to have an indoor place for Mal to burn off energy and be mostly safe. He's gotten a few bumps and bruises there, but has grown so much, in terms of balance and motor skills.

We had tried a class when we first went, but he just wasn't ready. This summer, they're offering free unlimited classes to people who are already members. We tried one today, and guess what? Still not ready. :)

That pool picture is from yesterday. We'd been meaning to pick up a cheap plastic pool so Mal could enjoy being outside, and he really dug it! I only put about 6 gallons of water in it, and will dump it out tomorrow. So, for under $8 including water, it's been a great deal.

Mal's having some weird sleep regression where he's just not firing on all cylinders, though sleep has never been his strong suit. But he went all of the three-day weekend without napping, though he was exhausted and overtired the whole time. So he was going to sleep between 7 and 8:30, and waking steadily every few minutes from about 5 AM until we usually get up around 7.

Saturday night, he woke up sobbing. He was just so, so sad. He was too sad to nurse, even. I think maybe he had a bad dream. At first, I was trying just to hold him but finally I said, "What's wrong, baby? Can you tell Mama?" and when he heard my voice, he got quiet and eventually fell back to sleep.

And whereas a few weeks ago, he had started sleeping 3-4 hours before his initial wake-up, now it's back to being at most two hours, and wake-ups every hour or so throughout the night.

Last night, he woke up while I was in D's room helping with something, and James tried to calm him. He would have zero of that, and I ended up coming back into the bedroom because I heard him yelling and crying from the other side of the apartment. People have said that they left their kids to be night-weaned by their fathers, and it was so much easier than they'd imagined... but I don't see that happening with us. Mal knows what he wants, and it's me. Surely we're approaching half way done, right?

That reminds me: I had thought about posting on Facebook a few weeks ago something like, "I hope when I see this on my memories next year that we're done with diapers!" And I realized it seems more likely to me that Mal will be potty-trained by three than weaned by then. I'm not forcing either, so we'll see what happens.

I just realized it's almost 11. It feels like Mal just went to sleep, but it's been nearly 2 hours. I should go to sleep, too. I'm pretty exhausted from the day, which included three loads of laundry, vacuuming the whole apartment, cleaning D's room, taking Mal to the gym, preparing three meals, and Mal trying to sit in my lap while I was eating dinner and instead flipping my plate into the floor... so a carpet cleaning to get rid of the carrot salad stains and the tuna salad smells.

Parenting this boy is an adventure! I love him so much, and he's such a sweetie, I honestly don't think I'd change a thing if I could. One day we'll be on the other side of the baby/toddler "tough" and I am certain that we'll have such a strong relationship borne of it. I really look forward to watching him grow up.

EDITED TO ADD: One last note! Today, we were at a stop light, and Mal looked over at the Golden Arches and said, "deedah!" (his word for "soda") I told him we had soda at home, so we weren't going to stop, but I thought it was funny. THEN when we passed the Sonic a mile down the road, he said, "deedah!" again. I might have a caffeine problem.

This is not a funny blog post, so please don't laugh at my pathetic reality

My elder child requested something a few months ago and I, ever the attentive mother, have been diligent in my compliance. Somehow, she didn't inherit any of the stalwart willpower I possess in astonishing amounts (as long as negative amounts count; which means that's sarcasm, for those of you who are new to this game).

Anyhoo, she said that if she knows we have junk food around, she will eat through it until it is gone. Now, personally, I see nothing wrong with that, except if she eats it all and then I want to eat it all, too. But other than that... Anyway, apparently she doesn't want to locust her way through the snack aisle of the grocery store the way that I do. So I've been buying less, and trying to make it super low key when I do.

About four weeks ago, Walgreens had a good sale on regular candy bars. I bought (yes, I remember exactly from my purchase a month ago. Shut up) a Heath Bar, white chocolate Kit Kat, Reese's big cup, and then noticed a flirty little 5th Avenue that I had to have. When I got home, I ate the 5th Avenue, then I set about trying to find a place to put the other three bars.

Do you see where this is going?

So... a week or so after my purchase, I decided I was in the mood for maybe a Kit Kat with smooth white chocolate coating. Sounds good, right? So I looked up in the place where I keep my spices, because I remembered putting the brown paper bag, carefully folded over to be compact and surreptitious, up there... But it wasn't there.

Then something buzzed in my brain about how that was right above the Instant Pot, and when I release the steam, it might affect the chocolate, so I *didn't* put it there. Had I put it in the regular pantry? That seemed kind of douchey, but I looked there, anyway.

I ended up looking in all of the cabinets and couldn't find it. I just gave up and decided that it might hit me where I put them later.

It didn't hit me, and over the next few days, I'd relook in all of the places I'd already looked when I was in the kitchen cooking, cleaning, or emptying the dishwasher. Seriously. Where were they?

In the ensuing weeks, I've looked in my bedroom drawers, bookshelves, and pretty much everywhere except under the counters anywhere because I wouldn't put them low enough for Mal to get to them, and I haven't looked in the laundry room or bathroom because they get hot and humid, and plus, gross: people and cats use it in there.

WHERE IS MY CANDY?

It was less than $2.50, but the contents of that bag represent a lot more to me in terms of memory and holding it together and my hope that at least a few of my brain cells still function!

So, there it is. This is my life now. Forever searching my home for my lost candies. Do you realize that the universe has trusted me with the care and well-being of TWO HUMAN CHILDREN? I cannot keep track of tiny bricks of chocolate, unable to move under their own volition, and yet I am supposedly competent to make sure that these kids survive until adulthood? Who's in charge around here?

Guys, I'm Tired

It seems like Mal was doing a growth-spurt thing this weekend, eating voraciously, and then nursing *a lot* at night. Like a lot a lot. Like I'm starting to want to wear undergarments all day and night because my girls are just tender and touchy and even if I accidentally brush up against the refrigerator door when I'm opening it, I want to yell at the door, "Leave me alone for three seconds!"

Now, he might be sick or he might be teething. Very easily upset, very demanding, very... booby. I was actually able to put him off the longest we've ever gone on Saturday: just over 4 hours! It would have been longer, but his gym was closed over the weekend for Thanksgiving, and so I ended up nursing him for a bit when we got home because he'd gone to sleep in the car and I wanted him to stay asleep when we got home. And the reason I was able to make it so long is that we went out to breakfast, then to the grocery store. At home, he's less easily distracted. I offer him water, food, a baby food pouch, or I say, "Just a minute. Let me go put my contacts in," etc. to see if he'll forget. This morning, there was no forgetting. I didn't even make it to 9 AM, and had already nursed him about 4 times before he fell asleep at 11ish. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

Also, the more emotional Mal is (up or down), the more likely he is to bite. And nothing is worse than getting bit/hurt when your patience is already worn down and you're really, REALLY trying to be maternal and caring. A furious little bubble pops inside of my chest and I have to fight so hard not to yell at him. I'm not saying I don't say, "Do NOT bite Mommy" between clenched teeth, because I do. I'm just super ready for that phase to be over with. And it's also more than a bit humbling how hard it is to control my own temper sometimes.

It's funny... a lady in the cry room yesterday at church asked me how Mal was sleeping. She has a little girl probably about the same age, and then an older girl. She said the older girl has always had sleep issues, and they're trying to avoid it with the younger daughter; she thought maybe I'd figured out the secret. I just laughed. I think I've just gotten used to the sleep thing. I wish it were easier, but I don't fight it anymore. If I did, I'd have gone crazy. I'd be a lot more exhausted than I am. And I'm finding the actual bed-sharing part isn't as bad as I'd thought it might be. The waking up every hour or so I could do without but, again, we've kind of just gotten used to it. I've gotten really good at conking back out pretty quickly.

Mal is definitely growing and maturing. He understands things. I can ask him to do something and he might or might not do it, but he definitely understands what I'm asking, as long as it's about something familiar to him and I make it a simple request. Yesterday, he'd taken an eyeball from a book (don't ask) into the other room and had come back later. I asked him if he could go back and get the eyeball so I could put it where it belongs. He thought about it for a minute, and he did it!

-- Update from the next day: The rest of the day was more of the same, exhaustion-wise. Several bitings, lots of cryings. I try to have so many "yes" spaces in our house, but it seems like Mal gravitates to the "no" things, and now that he can climb, it's worse. I feel like I'm saying "No, get down; that's dangerous; you'll hurt yourself; I'm sorry you're mad, but..." about 80% of my waking time.

So, actually, stuff is probably developmentally appropriate, baby-wise. And it's tiring. That's just the nature of the beast. But I'm also a little tired... of... people. :\ This probably explains a lot about my post yesterday about how I don't have any friends.

Last week was Thanksgiving, and there was just so much disgruntled rumbling all over the place: Stores selling Christmas stuff "too early," people putting up their decorations "too early," stores being open on Thanksgiving, people being jerks going to those stores or waiting in lines for Black Friday sales. I don't get why people are so hacked off. Just celebrate the holiday the way YOU want to and don't worry about everyone else, maybe?

Then there's all of the tension about accepting Syrian refugees. The response from so many people has been so negative. I'm sorry, but I don't get it. Take a look at this photo essay. I realize there are adult male refugees and that people are concerned that they might have bought into ISIS, but I think that is statistically insignificant enough that we can extend a welcome, as our country is supposed to do, what with the huddled masses yearning to be free and all. The rhetoric going on around this has been demoralizing to the max. I hurt for the refugees and I hurt that people can harden their hearts against people who are desperately in need of asylum because they're scared for themselves. I don't know. Maybe I'd feel differently if threatened. I hope not.

And tons of people are posting, like recently, within the last week, about the evils of screens. This, to me, is like my fighting my son to sleep "better." It is what it is, so chill out and if you want to change your own habits, go for it. But most of the stuff being published is alarmist and without foundation. For instance, one recent post included the fact that ADHD diagnoses have increased since the introduction of computers/smart phones/tablets, etc. into our home. But correlation does not equal causation! You know what else has happened during that same time? School days have gotten longer. Kids are not going to recess or art class or music class in a lot of schools. They are involved in activity after activity when they're not in school. Run here, run there, do your homework at the gym while your sister practices. And then we blame computers when they can't concentrate on something?

Not to mention the fact that we expect children to act like adults more and more and when they don't, we "diagnose" them and often dose them.

I'm not buying at all that this is the fault of computers or tablets or smart phones. Have those things changed our lives? Definitely. For the worse? I seriously doubt it.

I was going to go off on another tangent, but I won't. I'll just say that there have been things like televisions and fish tanks and magazines in waiting rooms for a long time to give people something to do and to look at that is NOT the person sitting across from them. So people on their phones in situations like that don't bother me. Actually, a family at dinner all on their phones doesn't bother me. If that's how they want to enjoy their meal, who cares? It's not my business. Let them do it.

I had to stop writing this yesterday because my sweetheart woke up and life started up again. But in thinking it over the rest of the afternoon, I realized what I have to do: I have to use Facebook like I use email: to communicate efficiently with people when necessary, and "delete" everything else. Since I can't do that literally, I'm deciding to stop reading my news feed at all. I'll go in and check on my family and some friends, of course, but I'm just going to have to stop reading the rest. I know I can hide people, but the time it would take me to hide everyone... I just don't want to. I'm just going to stop. I have to, for my mental health.

I compare it to this: I had a dear friend I loved immensely who just had a negative outlook on life. He could stuff it for a while, but the closer we got, the more constant the stream was: Everyone hated him, including God. Everything was out to get him. People were all jerks and losers and screwing him out of the happy life he deserved. In the end, I told him that I couldn't be his friend anymore because I didn't share his gloom and doom view of the universe, and I couldn't stand to be poured into by that train of thought anymore.

Honestly, this has been brewing since the Marriage Equality Act passed several months ago. I was just crushed and disheartened by the response of so many people... or the articles and blogs to which they were linking.

I should have stopped then, honestly. And if I've replied rather aggressively to a post you've made in the past two or three weeks, I'm sincerely sorry. It got to the point that I couldn't take it anymore and I accidentally slipped into this:

It's eating up too much of my emotional and mental energy, and I really need that for my family. And for you, when I see you in person. So, again, I apologize.

I wish, I really do, that Facebook still allowed you to choose "only important updates" to see from people. I love the pictures of your life, your kids, your dogs, your food, and to know what movie you just enjoyed. But I can't read any more about how someone in Obama's cabinet is a known Muslim trying to convert America to Islam. Friends, I just can't.

So thanks for being patient with me (internet-wise, and in person... because it's seriously difficult to find words when I'm talking to a face because of the toddler thing), and thanks for reading and being my friend even when I'm disgruntled about people being so dang disgruntled. I need to focus on positive things. I WANT to focus on positive things. Onward and upward, then...

Random Musings of a Sleep-Deprived Mind

Yea! Fall is here, and it's finally cooling off, Austin-style, meaning that I can wear socks and something other than a tank top in the mornings.

Lots of stuff is happening, and I wanted to take a minute (we'll see how many I can sneak in... Mal slept over 3 hours before waking the first time last night, but has already awoken once this evening) to note some updatey things and some mental note things. You know, junk and stuff.

First of all, this evening, I had this very panicked feeling that I'd crossed over into "old lady" territory for reals. I was going into Mal's room to pick some stuff up as James was on his way home. I was wearing skirted leggings and habitually make sure the skirt is covering my bootay. As I did this, I realized that the pants part under the skirt... it was soaked. My first thought was< "Did I pee myself and not even notice?!" And I might have had a brief thought of something I've heard of called "anal seepage" which might actually be a dog issue, but I wasn't necessarily thinking rationally, as I pondered what the heck this meant for my future and my marriage and my parenting my kids into adulthood. Then it hit me that, although today has been a gorgeous day, it did rain all weekend and I had just been sitting on the patio furniture and the cushions have not had nearly enough time to dry out. But isn't it fun where our minds go? (Not so much fun when our minds go.)

Last week, I had taken Mal to his "gym" to play and a couple of people were asking how old he is.

Allow me to interrupt myself here to say that twice last week, different people (both older) referred to Mal as a girl. I don't even care; you can't really tell with babies. I think it's just going to get worse as his hair grows out. I would have corrected the lady at the gym if I'd realized that we were going to end up talking for half an hour, but whatever. I'll probably never see her again. However, she did say something interesting...

To continue, when these people found out that he was 13 months (or 1 year, 1 month, as I promised Daphne I wouldn't be one of "those moms" who says "He's 41 months;" James says we should say it as a fraction, as in: "We're 13/216 done."), they were surprised at how agile he was.

The above-referenced grandma was really getting a kick out of watching "her" climb and run around so adroitly. At one point, she said, "I think you're going to have a gymnast right there."

That struck me because someone made a very similar prophecy over Daphne when she was just a little older. Of course, that girl wasn't a grandma. She was actually a gymnast from Russia who was teaching a community tumbling class in Las Vegas, and I took her a little more seriously. Anyway, it will be fun to see if Mal is at all interested in gymnastics as he gets older. Goodness knows he has the energy for it.

There used to be a Special K commercial (or a series of them) about how you were a Fatty McGee if you could "pinch an inch." The answer, of course, was to eat their very nutritious *sarcasm* cereal and drop that flibbity flabbity floo so that your stomach region was ungrabbable. Well, I have to tell you that I've pretty much all my life been able to pinch at least an inch, and I have at least one person who is really glad.

When I nurse with a "pull up" top (as opposed to a "pull down" top), Mal likes to knead my stomach. It's actually quite a relief, because otherwise he often wants to play with my other... um, side. It doesn't seem fair. I feel that the off-duty side should get a break, for goodness' sakes. Or sometimes, especially if he's really sleepy, he'll put his hand in my mouth, which, okay, whatever. Until he starts scratching my gums with those razor blade fingernails of his. So, yeah, pinch an inch, dude. Not many nerve endings down there.

I've been very emotional about some things lately, and today had several cry moments listening to "Free to Be You and Me" streaming on Spotify. When I was little, we used to check this record out from the library like several times per year. Then when D was small, my mom found a copy of a book that was made to go along with a CD, and we listened to it quite often. It means so much more to me now that I have a teenager.

Okay, first, this is a silly little poem, but it made me choke up a little bit, and I'll try to explain why in a minute:

Don't dress your cat in an apron
Just 'cause he's learning to bake.
Don't put your horse in a nightgown
Just 'cause he can't stay awake.
Don't dress your snake in a muu-muu
Just 'cause he's off on a cruise.
Don't dress your whale in galoshes
If she really prefers overshoes.

A person should wear what he wants to.
And not just what other folks say
A person should do what she likes to
A person's a person that way.

And then here's the title song. Oh, my gosh, it's such a hippie.



Then there's the story of the princess Atalanta and her evenly-matched would-be suitor. And "William's Doll." "It's All Right to Cry." "Boy Meets Girl." Just do yourself a favor and go listen to the whole thing on Spotify. It really is fun. Your kids will love it. If you don't have kids, your cats will love it, too.

The album came out the year that I was born, and I couldn't help but wonder as I listened to it today how much of my laissez-faire attitude about kid stuff started fermenting with these ideas, repeated over and over, and echoing in my memory.

Here's the thing: I don't really know how radical this album was when it came out, but I do know that today's world is very different than the world in which my parents grew up. And I know that some people lament the passing of the "old days." But, can I tell you, I don't? I appreciate the freedoms we have to make decisions so much freer of the narrow gender expectations that were placed on the generations before ours.

As the parent of at least one gender-nonconforming kid (and with Mal's love of hair products, fascination with make-up, obsession with cleaning, and enjoyment of "cooking," who knows), I am glad that the world is so much more accepting of people who might be outliers in the gender Bell Curve.

Also, I'm so grateful to live in Austin, where people don't really care what you wear or whether you're made up or whatever.

Now... I had thought of one more thing but can't place it now. Besides, Mal has awakened again, and I don't want to be a distraction. Also, I should probably get sleep. I wouldn't trade my kid or my circumstances for anyone else's, but, dang, I'm ready for him to be able to go to sleep/stay asleep/go back to sleep without assistance. I look forward to seeing how, if at all, this affects our future relationship. I plan to remind him of it often. :D

Failed Sabbath

Today wasn't a bad day, but, man, am I weary.

Mal slept "in" both days this weekend, meaning just past 7 instead of his usual hitting the ground running at 6 deal (which I hope sticks, because DST ends soon, and I won't want to be up and at 'em at 5!). I had planned to get to work on some of James' grandma's sausage balls first thing today, but Mal needed some attention.

First, he'd consumed a lot of liquids overnight, and just before we got up, his diaper must have reached critical mass. I grabbed him and pulled him into the bathroom and changed his diaper, and we got started on our day.

After spending some time playing in Mal's room, we went into the kitchen for me to start on the sausage balls. I also decided to make some chocolate chip pumpkin bread to take to the potluck. In the meantime, James got up, and we took all of the sheets and the mattress cover off of our bed because they needed a wash, thanks to Mal's little incident.

When the sausage was cooked, I put the pumpkin bread in, but it became obvious that it wasn't going to be ready before I left. I asked James to take it out when it looked done, which made him nervous, so I set the timer. It turns out I didn't set it for long enough, but that wasn't apparent until later.

I moved the first load of laundry into the dryer and started the second, then got enough stuff together to (hopefully) keep Mal entertained while we went to the last New City service.

Actually, Mal did great. The music was louder than he's used to at our church now, so he was kind of clingy during the song service and even a bit after. When he started to get restless, we just sat down on the floor in the back and he did fine. He was getting more bold about going to see people and wanting to run around just as the service ended, which was perfect.

At that point, it was time for his nap, but he was doing well enough that we stayed for the pot luck.

First, I'm glad James had the idea for me to make his grandma's sausage balls (which weren't actually balls, but mounds because I was running short on time and lazily used the cookie scoop, which led one guy setting out the pot luck food to put my sausage with the desserts) because there were chips and some fruit and a salad and only one other meat item and then plenty of sweets. Incidentally, someone else made chocolate chip pumpkin muffins, so my bread wasn't missed at all.

We left at about 1:30, and of course Mal fell asleep in the car. When we got to the apartments, I stopped by the office to get Daphne's tablet, which had come in the mail yesterday but apparently was too large for the boxes at the mail house. There was only one person in the office, though, and she was in the middle of selling people on renting here. I waited seven minutes and didn't feel comfortable leaving Mal in the car any longer (even though I could see him where I was standing).

Once I got him upstairs and settled on the couch, I asked D if she wanted to go down with me to try again. Mal's been having some great naps; Friday, he even slept well over an hour before he woke up the first time. Saturday, he slept two and a half hours, only waking once. I felt confident that, given his level of exhaustion, it'd be fine for me to step out for a few moments.

We went back to the office, and this time she was out. We ate some Starbursts and I used the restroom and finally she came back and unlocked the door so I could get the package. Then we headed back and... as we rounded the corner to the apartment, James was out on the stoop with Mal, getting ready to put him in the stroller. Ugh. He woke up while I was gone and was hysterical, so James was bringing him to find us.

I brought him in and tried for half an hour to get him back to sleep, but he wasn't going. He slept only an hour, and I knew then it was going to be a long afternoon. When Mal is awake but should be asleep, he cries at the drop of the hat, even if there's no hat or no dropping. He just weeps. Sobs. Fusses. It's exhausting.

I'd taken him outside to have Naked Patio Time, but Daphne needed help with her tablet, so James played with Mal while I went to help her. Mal didn't like this and would come to the baby gate and cry, then let James distract him, then come back to the baby gate. After a while, I let Mal into Daphne's room because I couldn't take it.

We realized she needed a USB extension cord, so ordered from Prime Now. While we waited for that, I dried the second load of laundry, emptied the dishwasher (with help from James, who'd run the dishwasher for me because he's awesome), and put the pumpkin bread, which I'd realized was still liquid in the center, back into the oven.

Mentally picture all of this happening with Mal happily playing at my feet, then crying or biting me or screaming every, oh, two minutes or so, for two hours. I tried several times to lay him down and nurse him to sleep, but he kept wanting to get up.

James and I teamed up to make the bed, and I put away the other laundry. After a while, James, exhausted, lay down for a nap and I just took Mal into his room to give him undivided attention for a while. He is really raw in the diaperous region, and he was very busy on that front today, so... good times. Good, good times.

But he was sweet... he's trying to figure out kissing, but right now, there is a lot of teeth and some tongue stuff going on. So there's room for improvement. Anyway, he was blowing zerberts, trying to bite my nose, and attacking my face like a monster some of the time. Then he had me get out the "James, age 5" doll his grandma made, and we put clothes on it and set it up in his room... but he wanted it to play with him, so I got to be a puppeteer for a while.

Finally, James got up and joined us and I can't remember being more happy to see him in a long time!

When the USB extension cable got here, we were still having problems with the tablet not showing graphics, which is the whole reason we got this one to replace the one she had before, on which she could use a stylus to draw, but the picture would only show up on the computer, not the pad. After a little research, we realized that she actually also needs an HDMI/DVI adapter. So I ordered *that* from Prime Now and we're still waiting on it.

Meanwhile, Mal was in Daphne's room while we worked on the tablet issue, and he was just crying nonstop at this point. It was about 6:30, but I decided that his day was over. I brought him to bed and nursed him to sleep, then I was able to get a shower and help Daphne some more before he woke up the first time. He's awakened two other times, but now that it's actually a little past his regular bedtime, I'm hoping he'll just stay asleep.

At some point this afternoon, I told James, "I think I tried to do too much today." He asked, "You think?" It didn't feel like too much when I was setting out to do it, and I hadn't planned on the two loads of laundry that had to be done or else we'd have been sleeping in pee tonight, but I was also counting on a good long nap for the boy. It's crazy how much the day is changed when that falls apart, isn't it?

Aww, but look at him... So, so worth it.

Now I'm looking forward to tomorrow, and just staying home, and not having to do anything on any given time frame. Hoping Mal sleeps well tonight, and we'll try getting our Sabbath rest tomorrow.

Review: Clinique All In One Colour Palette for Women

Um, I'm not sure why this is "for women." I just noticed that. Anyway, I'm sure if you're a dude and you need some makeup, this review will work for you, too. Read on, pretty gents...

I have to make a confession to you: Over the past three years, my "beauty regime" (which has never been terribly high maintenance) has degenerated a lot.

First of all, I moved to Austin. Where it's almost always warm and more nearly almost always humid. Ten minutes outside, and that gorgeous hair style of mine is flat. I have naturally straight hair, and here in Austin, it defaults to that as soon as I leave climate control.

Secondly, soon after that, my honey moved to Austin. He's super affectionate. I like that about him! However, I also used to like deep, dramatic colors of lipstick. But I got tired of wiping hot pink smears off of James' face before he went to work, so I dialed that back a bit, too.

Finally, I had a baby. Oh my goodness. I have hot-rolled my hair four times in the past year, and forget about the perfect little ringlets I used to create with my ceramic "wand." I won't get to use that until my one-year-old is out of the house, most likely. If you ever see me with curly-ish hair, it's because every other night, after I wash my hair (I'm totally a morning shower person, but, again, the baby changes things, and nighttime is apparently the right time for my all-over hygiene at this point), I put on a headband and wrap my hair around it overnight.

Oh, speaking of that: Since I had Mal, some - not all - of my hair has developed waves. Not pretty waves. Not waves that I can wash and wear and look like I maybe did something with my hair. No. These are located in the back of my head, a swath about three inches across and four inches deep. Just enough to look like maybe I slept on a crow bar or haven't run a brush through my hair yet. Yeah. Yay, hormones.

Anyhoo, my point: I was tired of my big old make-up bag taking up real estate in my purse. I don't use much makeup and I wanted all of it in one compact, if that wasn't too much to ask. Apparently it wasn't.

I went to Facebook to look for suggestions, and my friends had many. I ended up getting the above-referenced Clinique product, for just under $60.

It's tiny! I love that!

The top has a travel-sized mascara (good, because I rarely use it... makes my eyes itch, even the hypoallergenic kind), five lip colors and an awesome retractable brush, four eye colors and a brush/sponge thing.

The bottom is powder with a sponge, and blush with a brush. I can use the top as a mirror if I need to. Until it inevitably gets dirty.

All of it in its glory.

Okay, so first we're going to post a picture of me with a freshly-washed face. No make-up. Oh, but what I like about the picture is that you can see where the hair I lost after I had Mal is growing back... actually, maybe more so in the second picture. Anyway, my hair is pulled back in the aforementioned head band wrap thing, and I had put a bandana over it because I was running errands earlier that day.

Okay for 43, right? Well, anyway. I don't do super dramatic makeup, so I was happy with the results.

Still me, baby fringe more pronounced, and just a little more polished. Later in the day, I went a bit more dramatic (little little) because we were going out to dinner. Here is that picture.

Basically, just a darker lip gloss and a touch more mascara.

Now side by side so you can compare.

Do you see why I'll never cut my hair short?

Anyway, I'm pleased with the bit of polish this gives my look without taking up a lot of room. My one question is: Will each piece last long enough to make this worth nearly sixty bucks? Like, if the powder broke apart tomorrow, I'd be pretty disappointed. So check back! I'll let you know... As long as it "wears" evenly, I'll be pretty jazzed about the whole thing!