Mother Knows Best (and I've been called a mutha...)

After the kiddos hit the sack last night, I roamed my Blogger dashboard and rediscovered my former blog. For no identifiable reason, I read the posts. Perhaps such nostalgia should have been saved for the daylight hours. Well, live and learn.

One of the posts from May 2008 announces a trip to California to accompany my then ailing mum to various medical appointments. I remember knowing that something was terribly wrong with her and believing that the solution was as simple as an accurate diagnosis.

Skip ahead to the next post, a month and a half later. I composed it 8 hours before my mom died. As I reread my words, everything flooded back--worry, anger, resentment, and above all else, fear. And my fight-or-flight reflexes kicked in. Here I am, years later, Pandora's Box open wide. Last night, every muscle raged to kick things, scream, call my mum's doctors to remind them of what I've lost.

But one thing that 36 years with my mum plus 2 1/2 years without her have taught me is that sometimes your first instinct could be entirely wrong. Everything looks different in the natural light so it may be best to step back and really analyze the situation. I took a scalding-hot shower and thought that if it's 1 A.M. here, then it's only 11 P.M. in California, so it wouldn't do any good to call the hospital with my rants because I probably wouldn't be waking anyone up (never mind that the offices were closed, anyway). And what's the point of a middle-of-the-night rant if you're not making someone on the other end miserable?

Today is sunny and cool, the air is fairly still. Basically, it's a perfect day in Texas, providing what Mum would agree is the perfect light. Everyone looks amazing and perfect on a day like today and troubles, well, it's much easier to remember that they're temporary. Everything is.

It's over 12 hours since my "episode." I spent the morning having coffee with two of the most amazing women I have the privilege to know, followed by an hour of listening to my boy's school rave about how fantastic he is. Yes, I'm still miffed about my mum getting the shaft, but she promised me that everything would be fine, and she was right.

Same blog, six months later, exactly two years ago from today... I declared the Year of Michelle. At the time, I figured that if I could make myself a "better" person and make good things happen for myself, good things would happen for others around me as a result. I've spent two years stage-hopping through grief, while the Year of Michelle took a backseat to other priorities.

But without even trying, things have changed for me. My family and I have shared around a zillion laughs, my kiddos reached milestones, I've become kinder and less judgmental, and I have a much closer relationship with my dad. I've overcome my fear of singing in public (well, sort of), become more fiscally responsible, read some of the best strings of written words, and found a way to pay homage to the females who mean everything to me.

So really, Year of Michelle rolls on. I'll continue to hammer out power ballads on my drums, drive like the old lady in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, alert people who have food between their teeth or toilet paper from their shoes, and marvel at how a smartass like me has such sweet, helpful, disciplined, well-rounded kiddos.

One more task is added to the mix. I will no longer take peaceful moments for granted. It's one thing to notice a pretty flower when you're walking past it, but it's quite another to actually stop and smell it. So I challenge you to do the same. Every now and then, just stop to consider that everything is actually okay. And if it isn't, then it will be. I assure you of this because my mum told me so.

Aye, Me Bum!

Simple rules when faced with trying times:
1. Acknowledge the feeling.
2. Embrace it.
3. Release it.

Easy. I turn to this list when something makes me sad, angry, or even confused. Of late, however, there is one thing that has me completely baffled to the point where I can't even name the feeling...

Aging.

I would never want to be the head-in-the-clouds dumbass that I was at 21 (although I wouldn't mind having my 21-year-old ass back). But dang, it was so easy to take things for granted. Pimple before a date? Smack some concealer on it! A little too much to love around the middle? Why, add four more sit-ups to the routine and drink more water! Bender the night before? A couple of aspirin and greasy tacos! Aches and pains? What are those?!

As I approach 40, the answers change. Pimple before one of three dates a year with my husband? Why the heck am I still getting pimples! A little too much to love around the middle? To my children: Yeah, you're welcome! Bender the night before? The nights are perfect for catching up on chores, TiVo, and crashing out on the couch to wake up at 3 AM with a magazine page stuck to my face! Aches and pains? Aye, where do I begin?

When I was 21, I had no idea that how you age isn't so much about making a conscious decision to grow old gracefully, but rather a culmination of little decisions that lead to how well we age. For example, when faced with the decision to either go to the gym or take the day off, well, in the grand scheme of things, one day might not look like it would make a difference. But overall, that one workout takes you one workout closer to your overall goal. Applying that same logic, skipping that one workout can keep you one workout away from your overall goal. And there is nothing wrong with taking the middle road--resting and doing half a workout. But when faced with choices--i.e. hit the gym or head into downtown Frankfurt with friends--I generally chose the latter. I don't regret it, but it's something to think about.

At 28, I came to realize that the popular people on TV were, for the most part, younger than I. This realization sucked because I was a single mom and I wasn't ready to feel old.

On my 30th birthday, I took the day off from work. The kiddos were in school and the fella who is now my husband was sleeping so I went to a park and cried (a bit dramatic, considering it was just about crossing the threshold into another decade). Then I took a nap.

Now whenever I hang out with my step-daughter who is now 16, I am constantly reminded (although silently, unintentionally, and without malice) that I am getting older. Older. Hm.

Okay, so bad decisions and theatrics aside, what about aging? We can't avoid it. Sure, our physical appearances do...whatever. But why am I so hung up on it? Because weird things are happening to my body. I'm not talking about puberty or menopause, I'm just saying that some things now point to my shoes and other things have developed strange aches in places I didn't know aches could exist. And despite my efforts, stuff happens. Gravity. Muscle pains that don't make sense (like, my calves are sore after BodyPump--geez). And you know what I find even weirder about aging? I'm living healthier than I ever have and weird things are still happening. I floss daily, I drink water, I exercise, I wear sunblock.

There is no choice between being a dumb animal of 21 or a wise neurotic of one's late 30s. And while I have acquired years of wisdom and accomplishment, I still stand around and wonder, why do my bum muscles ache like they took a bum whooping? Hm.

Man Vs. Couch

I'm not a big fan of the gym in January. It is a natural part of American life to make New Year's resolutions, one of them being to lose weight. While I'm all for people getting off the couch and putting down the Velveeta, I hate the gym congestion. People galore! Wall-to-wall people determined to make this year's resolution stick--for a few weeks, anyway.

Since I can't just ditch the gym completely, I avoid it during the weekends. My light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel was February, since that's when people start falling off and the gym starts returning to normal.

A few weeks ago, I went to a BodyPump class on Thursday and found the class size to be shockingly normal. Hooray! People were flaking already.

That's when it hit. I actually felt sad. If the gym was returning to normal, that meant that people weren't making it beyond a full month on their road to better health. The couch and TV won. Diabetes won. Obesity won. That means people lose the battle.

Of course, last Thursday, BodyPump was so packed that I couldn't get in the door. *sigh* People...!

C'mon, March!

Forward Motion

I have fallen off the yarn-diet wagon so hard, that I've finally quit the yarn diet. Wait, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Yes, I have bought yarn, but it wasn't a haul like the good ol' days of Mum and me, and yarn petting gone wild. But these mini binges have become cause for concern in their own rite. When I started this yarn diet, I would occasionally slip and buy yarn, then beat myself up over the purchase and vow to begin the diet again immediately. Here's my conclusion: I work hard and sometimes I want yarn. Once I buy yarn, it's done. I've bought yarn and I can't time travel to make it not happen. Therefore, why should I continue to beat myself up about it, especially when I practice moderation and restraint when I do buy, right? This isn't a bad thing--it really isn't. Really. It isn't a bad thing.

For a minute, I believed that it would be in my best interest to cease buying yarn until Kid 'n Ewe in November. Geez, I still have some Brooks Farm that I bought a year and a half ago that sits around and waits to be knitted or petted. But I cannot lie. I miss my mum terribly, and lately I've felt on the cusp of desperation. I don't have the crying spells (which I can't even force, even if it would seem in my best interest), but I still feel like a lost little kid. Anyway, while I was interviewing various sock yarns at Hill Country Weavers last Thursday, it occurred to me that when I feel desperate to reach out for my mum, I buy yarn. It doesn't actually work; I don't feel like she is standing beside me when I do this. However, it's just what I do. So, if I'm already feeling like complete shit because I want my mommy, then why add to the feelings of despair by scolding myself for buying yarn? Nope, it just doesn't make any sense. Besides, when I look at the buget, I'm not spending a lot on yarn. Really. I'm not. By the way, I hired a skein of Dream in Color Smooshy and a skein of Misti Alpaca sock yarn; they're in training.

Through all the craziness that is 2009, Year of Michelle has taken a backseat. I contemplated this as I took a walk through the 'hood this evening. It's time to get back on track with this mutha. So here goes. Today, I am establishing a few goals for the week. I can do almost anything for a week. *Ahem*:

1. Write down everything I eat and drink, as well as any formal exercise I do. Boy, I've been a slacker in this department, but research indicates that written accountability improves one's odds for weight-loss success. I'm not one to argue with the data.
2. Practice drum rudiments daily, for a minimum of 20 minutes. I have a practice pad, so really, there is no excuse.
3. Finish something. I have a sweater that I knit over a year ago that needs to be steam blocked and stitched, another sweater that I need to put the buttons onto and block...You get the picture.
4. Clear out three boxes from my crazy craft room. This will actually be the most difficult.

My Feet Have an E-Mail Address?!

This is a simple cut-and-paste of a letter that I received in my e-mail recently.

Dear Michelle,

On behalf of your whole person, we would like to congratulate you on the completion of both the Country Music Half Marathon and the San Antonio Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon. What a feat! It isn't every day you see someone like you run/walk 13.1 miles, especially with injuries. Wow. That additional medal that the organization sent last month (for completing two half marathons in the series in one year), was impressive in size, by all means. Kuddos.

With that said, we would like to bring to your attention that for the last four and a half years, you have been carrying around an extra 45 pounds. By any chance, are you planning to take action against these fat cells? We have scheduled peace talks with said fat cells, but they have clearly stated that they need an official stance from you personally. Without action from you, they will not only stand firm, but they will continue to multiply and wreck havoc on your entire body.

As your feet, we have carried you for miles at a time, with minimal complaint. However, this will not continue as our policy. You know that heel pain that you have been complaining about lately? Well, perhaps if you would stretch the gastrocnemius, solius, and Achilles tendons more frequently, we would not have to send such unpleasant messages to you. After all, we have transported you 13.1 miles at your will and you have never--not once--consulted us. On top of that, half marathons are in the wee hours of the morning. And how is it that they are always scheduled during "that special time of the month"? But we digress. Although we are please that you no longer make disparaging remarks about our size or lack of cuteness, we would appreciate more frequent pedicures. We're just saying...

Your fingers would like to point out that your original wedding rings do not fit. Your waistline would like to bring to your attention that the padding that has accumulated may increase our risk of a heart attack. Your ankles would like to remind you of how crappy the Country Music Half Marathon felt because they were still sprained. The other parts had complaints as well, but they have requested a private conference with you to discuss their concerns. Please expect a call from our representative this week.

We are pleased to have delivered not one, but two beautiful, healthy kiddos. In order for them to grow up with a clearer understanding of the importance of good health, we, your body, suggest that you set a stronger example by demonstrating healthy eating habits, consistent exercise, and regular sleep. We assure you that if you follow that simple plan, you will have more energy, feel stronger, and tell funnier jokes (maybe not the last part).

Your half marathon schedule for this year looks good, if a bit ambitious, but please consider this a formal notification that if you do not train properly for these events, we will not carry you across any finish lines, including races as short as the 5k. We love you and respect you, and this is not about how the ass is beginning to look like two breakfast sausages arm wrestling in your jeans. This is about excellent health. Therefore, we will see you on the treadmill tomorrow morning.

With love,
Your Feet

P.S. It has not escaped our attention that if you lose the extra, unhealthy weight, we can knit things using less yarn, meaning we can buy the higher-end, more expensive stuff!