I hit the gym... and then I kicked it!

There are few things as frustrating as my thwarted efforts at exercise. I KNOW the innumerable benefits that come by way of physical activity and I long for all of them (better sleep, more energy, less stress, greater muscle tone...). Despite my knowledge of just how fabulous exercise is, these days, I’m lucky if I make it to the gym once per week. This morning reminded me why.

Saturday is the one golden day where I can go first thing in the morning before I’ve spent all my energy on work, kids, and being pregnant. Now don’t get me wrong, I still have to drag my butt there, but at least it’s within the realm of possibility. This morning, I did just that. I rounded the troups with unusual efficiency and precision. We actually made it to the car on time. Well, technically, we were 15 minutes late, but just on-time enough. I could still plan to make it within the first five minutes of step class and hope to discover a little sliver of space in the room to allow me to participate. The kids were buckled in and, with the exception of my untied shoes, I was ready to roll. I looked around to the faces of the little people I call my children and was filled with gratitude. “Kids... Thank you so much for getting ready so quickly today. I am very happy to make it to my class on time!”

It was at this point that I attempted to turn over the key that we might be on our way. That is, only to discover the battery was dead. Despite numerous instructions regarding the interior car lights, the two year old had apparently managed to turn them all on YESTERDAY leaving us stranded. Feeling deflated, I called my husband who was well on his way to soccer. He was gracious enough to return home and give me a jump. While we waited, me and my kids pushed the giant SUV out of the garage (not without incident, or should I say multiple incidents), located the jumper cables, and popped the hood. Within ten minutes, we had recovered power to our car and were on the road. As good fortune would have it, despite my extreme tardiness to the class, there were problems getting the instructor’s mic to work. Lo and behold, we were ALL ready to start at the same time. Relishing in yet another fortuitous moment, I thanked God for the chance to exercise.

As it turned out, I don’t think I knew what I was thanking God for. While pregnancies one, two, and three could tolerate step, pregnancy four cannot. The bouncing of my stomach felt like it might relocate the fetus to knee height. Worse yet, it was ripping every abdominal muscle and ligament I own. I hung in there with a pained grin. Having worked so hard to get there, I wasn’t leaving now! I struggled for a good 20 minutes until I just couldn’t take it anymore. My reasonable side forced the rest of me to admit that injuries happen when people do dumb things like this. I swallowed my feelings of defeat, choking on them like nails, and put away my stuff that I might “retire” to the stationary bike. I reluctantly accepted this “lesser” form of exercise only to discover that the trauma of the class rendered my body useless for even this. I struggled through five minutes of pained pedaling until I eventually admitted it was time to go home. Collecting my kids, I headed to the car, bathed in disappointment.

While there was a period in my life when I was young and it seemed as though I could do most anything and everything, days like today remind me, that that season has passed. My life is now subject to countless forces that are completely outside my control. As a busy, working, mother, I can’t have it all. That feels disappointing. As I reflect, I wonder if perhaps the task for me now is to learn to live graciously in this new reality with flexibility and gratitude. As challenging as life can be, it is also chock full of wonder and privilege, meaning and substance, connection and purpose. As I write, I admit that I’m not quite there yet, but I’m committed to working on it. AND it may be the only work-out I get!

Perhaps Honesty Is Overrated

I finally broke down and visited a maternity store to try on a few things yesterday. Given that I am pregnant with my fourth and final, I had not been real thrilled with the idea of spending money on more maternity clothes to wear them for only a couple months. However, given the predictable self-esteem dip that has accompanied my morphing body, I finally admitted that my commitment to NO new clothes was not sustainable. New clothes have a way of giving me that little bounce to my step that has begun to feel conspicuously absent. I hit up the local mall with my two daughters in tow. Somewhere in the process of trying things on (in the presence of my two-member peanut gallery) my older daughter, full of snickers, remarked, “Whoa, Mom! I definitely don’t like those pants. You look like an umpa lumpa!” Entertaining her sister with this comment, they both proceeded to giggle uncontrollably. I swallowed the lump in my throat, took a deep breath, and rest assured that it was clearly not an ill-intended statement. Meanwhile, my daughter continued to proceed with her fashion advise providing commentary about how she really liked the purple shirt and the cream-colored skirt, but “definitely not those pants!! The waist is too high and they fit waaay too funny.” A few minutes later, as I am wrapping up our thrilling time in the dressing room, my other daughter exclaims, “Mom, why do you keep putting those ugly pants back on?” At which point, I had to confess, “Honey, these are the pants that I came in.”

Slug Bug’s for Sissies (NOT Mommies!)

I’m submitting my vote to release all moms from any sense of obligation to the game Slug Bug. Did you know that John Gottman, PhD stated in one of his books that young children place some sort of demand on their parents every three minutes? Did you know that most women are the default parent in their home assuming primary responsibility for a broad range of domestic responsibilities ranging from meals, to cleaning, to maintaining countless numbers of mental lists? Are you aware that in most homes, it is the mom who keeps a comprehensive grocery inventory in her head? At a moment’s notice, believe it or not, most moms could tell you how much milk is in the fridge and at what point the milk will likely run out, give a day or two. The same mom could also tell you the names of each child’s teacher, approximately when said children need to return to the doctor for their annual well-child visit, which child’s pants are getting too short, who needs new underwear, and specifically which condiments go with which hot dog at the dinner table. Given that, I beg you to tell me, how on earth, as I’m driving down the street rehearsing all of life’s responsibilities that am I supposed to take note of a Slug Bug, register it in my brain as a Slug Bug, and remember to punch my passenger? This whole business of playing a game that I am so ill-equipped to have ANY success with is getting old… It is for this reason that I am registering my vote. Sisters, brother, fathers, cousins, and friends… Play away, but leave mommy out of it. My arm is getting sore.

Ten Things I Loved About Today

“Then we sit on this curb right outside, and I’ll count all the blue cars and he counts all the red ones, and whoever gets the most wins. I like that curb. That might sound boring but I think the boring stuff is the stuff I remember the most.”

~ Russell reflecting on memories with his father (8-year-old boy in the movie Up)

This quote is just one of the many reasons why I love the movie, Up. One of the challenges for us as a busy family is not losing sight of the simple things. Racing through life, it’s the day-to-day moments that can get so easily sabotaged by a false sense of urgency and pure mindlessness. I often wonder, thanks to drive-thru’s and play lands, who actually sits on the curb with their ice cream anymore. Russell reminds me what I know has to be true: Life takes place in these daily moments. Not only do these moments define the quality of my life, but they’re probably what my kids will remember most about growing up in our home.

Today was a day that I found myself cherishing the simple things and so I dedicate the following list to Russell:

Ten things I loved about today....

1. Being the last member of my house to get out of bed

2. The time alone with Jocelyn... The chance for her to finish her sentences without interruption... Holding her little hand in the movie theater...

3. Proudly watching Jonas as he counted the lady bugs in his book

4. Cleaning out the kitchen pantry cupboard – I think I felt at least a pound lighter with each thing that I tossed in the trash

5. Reading a sweet note written by Jillian to Jocelyn. There’s nothing more fabulous than those special moments where my kids are kind to each other.

6. Playing a makeshift game of Pictionary with my kids in the backyard, followed up with a mean game of hangman. I relished the opportunity to watch my kids erupt with deep delight when they guessed a correct letter.

7. Stealing a kiss from my husband in the kitchen while I made dinner

8. Laughing at how sick dinner tasted tonight! So much for trying to use up some of the old food! I guess it’s not always a good thing when practicality wins out.

9. Tucking the kids in bed, sighing a sigh of relief, and enjoying a nice, hot shower

10. A quiet house, soothing music, and letting my mind wander while I painted my nails

James 1:17 “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights”

Vista Point

If you’ve ever taken a scenic drive, I’m sure you’ve noticed the signs that direct you to those pullout spots where travelers can stop to take in the view and maybe even snap a couple pictures. It is here that the driver is relieved from the challenge of trying to experience the majestic scenery amidst managing the wheel of the car, the winding roads, and the safety of the passengers. No more multitasking and fleeting views. Instead everyone can inhale deeply, take their time, and soak in all the beauty that nature has to offer. It is here that the details can emerge. The visual intricacies, the smells, the feel of the breeze on your skin…

I’m beginning to think that spending quality time with my kids serves as a sort of vista point in my life. So often, in the process of racing through my day (working, cooking dinner, picking up the house, throwing in a load of laundry, etc), the little faces of my kiddos begin to mimic the blurred images that race past my side window when I’m driving in my car. I don’t fully listen to the words they say. I neglect to notice the expressions on their face. I lose touch with the texture of who they are.

Yesterday was my day to spend a little quality time with my middle daughter. We enjoyed a tasty breakfast together at one of our favorite spots and then headed out for a wonderful hike in the foothills near our home. In the ½ day we spent together, I was able to notice so many things. Released from the rush of a busy schedule, I studied her little body as she climbed in the car. I noticed the contour and size of her little legs. They seemed so small and cute compared to mine. I noticed the awkwardness of her gait as one who has not quite yet mastered coordination and control of her 6-year-old body. In spite of her lean build, my eyes were drawn to the soft roundness of her arms. It really hasn’t been that long since she was a baby.

As I reflected on my day, I was filled with gratitude for the opportunity to move beyond simply meeting her various needs for food, clean clothes, and assistance with her homework, to simply look at her as the beautiful creation that God has made her to be. I feasted on the joy of a deeper kind of listening to the feelings behind her words. I made mental notes of how her little hand felt in mine as we traversed the steepness of the trail. I tried to memorize her giggle as I cooled her pony-tailed head with my drinking water.

I sit here this morning with lingering feelings of a delightful inner warmth. I took in a gorgeous view and I am challenged. I want to find ways to enjoy my kids even more. To recognize when I’m becoming a mindless driver who races through the winding mountain road never stopping to take a look at the breathtaking beauty around me. I hope to learn to be more mindful of those signs pointing in the direction of a vista point.

A Romantic SEND-away

Sometimes, as a busy working mom who is part of a busy family, I have had a difficult time redefining my definition of fun in a way that is true for me now. Fun used to be synonymous with “going.” There was nothing fun about staying home. Staying home meant boring, monotonous, isolating. Fun conjured up words like beach, party, amusement park, shopping, restaurant, driving, visiting, laughing, and mingling. Fun meant a cute outfit and make-up. In my grown up life as a working mom of three, I confess that those kinds of things sound fun in theory, but on most days would require a gigantic vitamin B-12 shot in the butt in order for me to pull them off. No matter how many times I tell myself that going out is fun, truthfully, it doesn’t always sound fun anymore.

Despite this personal change, I oftentimes succumb to the voice that tells me what I should find fun. Usually, I drag myself to my “fun”, feign engagement, and then drag myself home. Every once in a while, I put my foot down in favor of naps, mindless puttering around the house, and staying in my pajamas. I don’t do this near enough.

This weekend, my husband and I had the unexpected opportunity to leave my children overnight with my parents. Thrilled at the newfound freedom, I was like a child in a candy shop. I planned and replanned the next 36 hours in my head ten times on the drive home from my parents’ house. First we were going to breakfast and then Disneyland. Then I decided we were going to eat breakfast and then head to the Getty Museum. Finally, I landed on a hike to the Hollywood sign and a late lunch in Pasadena. I was exhausted by the time I got home simply from thinking about it. Even so, I mustered up some energy and enthusiasm in order to explore these many “fun” options with my husband. After a brief discussion of our options, no longer able to ignore my fatigue, still feeling ashamed of my boringness, I sheepishly asked my husband, “What would you think if we stayed home and worked around the house? Would that be too pathetic?” As it turns out, he was holding out for the same kind of fun. He appeared to sigh a sigh of relief as he admitted, “I had been thinking that might be nice.”

And so we did it. Instead of painting the town red, we chose the “romantic send-away.” The kids were gone and we stayed home. We completed our sentences, took NO breaks for changing diapers or refilling sippy cups, and got a few things done. At the end of the day, we felt refreshed, connected, and a little less stressed. While it didn’t exactly make for exciting reporting (I do apologize...) and I’m still not sure if it was technically romantic, if you ask my husband or me, it made for a great day! And if given the choice, we'd do it all over again!

P.S. A little housework didn’t stop me from wearing some make-up and putting on a skirt!

One of the MANY reasons why I love my husband…

Every morning when I see this little guy’s feet, I’m reminded of yet another reason why I love my husband. I guess you could say that I’m a little bit of an absent-minded professor when it comes to tending to some of my children’s more basic needs. Though I obsessively reflect and incessantly pontificate on the deeper values of parenting, I have been known to forget things like jackets or food.

For the sake of the kids, I’m grateful to report that my husband is just the opposite. While I’m lost in my own world, thinking things to death, he faithfully tends to many important details. One of which is the following:

Every night before he climbs into bed, he makes the rounds to each one of our children. It is at their bedside that he gently and imperceptibly places his hand on their leg or arm for a temperature check. He diligently makes any necessary adjustments. If it’s summer time, he’s turning up the fan. In the winter, it’s often pulling covers tight around the little restless bodies that have inadvertently worked their way out of the blankets. More recently, it’s been addressing Jonas’s cold feet by accessorizing the little guy with slipper socks.

Morning after morning, as I’m greeted by this little boy in his Dr. Seuss-like attire bumbling around the house, I think of the tender-hearted man that I am privileged to call my husband and I can’t help but smile.