E is for Elliott

It's the day before he turns 10 and we are driving to school. I ask him what he wants for his birthday and, after looking out the window to ponder for a moment, he says calmly and in all seriousness, "I want to be able to say c-r-a-p and I want a Dr. Pepper." Trying my best not to laugh out loud (and wondering why I spent so much on an actual present), I tell him that I will have to think about it. The story ends at Gerties with Elliott drinking a Dr. Pepper and with him nervously spouting a well-rehearsed, "Holy cow, did I eat a crap load of pizza!" After being reassured that he wasn't in trouble, he smiled contently, completely satisfied by his rebel moment and the best birthday present ever!

This story remains one of the most endearing in my life with Elliott and, with a boy like him, endearing moments are in abundance. Even though at 15, c-r-a-p is as common as hello and I should be so lucky to have Dr. Pepper as my biggest beverage concern, the story still speaks volumes about the essence of my Elliott.

If you were to ask me what makes Elliott stand out from others, I would unequivocally say that it is his heart of gold. Since the day he was born, he has loved and cared and felt like no one else I have ever known. Growing up, the comment shared by every teacher Elliott had was that he was a friend to everyone. He has always been the first to scoop up the underdog, include the one alone on the playground, help those with challenges (physical or mental), and put his arm around anyone in need - all without a single concern for what this may do to his own status. Of course, the older he gets, the harder I imagine it is to be so outwardly accepting of others. But if it has been harder, he has shown even greater character by still never losing sight of the compassionate person that he has always been.

Other things I would say to describe Elliott:

The worst consequence for Elliott would be knowing he disappointed someone he cared about.

He wears his heart on his sleeve. He loves completely, hurts deeply, and cares abundantly.

He is a gentleman and the first to hold open a door...for anyone, carry groceries for a stranger, or defend the character of someone he thought was being disrespected.

He is a friend to anyone who needs one.

He says "please" and "thank you" and "I love you" whenever they apply and times when even I might forget that they do.

With each one of these attributes I list, I can think of a million examples to support them. As I think about each of those times, I am full of pride in the young man that I have raised...am raising. I am grateful to be along for the ride that he is taking and truly believe that anyone else in his path will feel as blessed as I have to have been touched by his sincerity.

Now I know my son is far from perfect, and I spend a decent amount of energy talking with him about the times that he isn't. But one of the things I know (and dislike) about the world is that people are quick to tell others when they do something wrong and often forget to tell them all that they do so right. One of my goals this year is to tell the people I love, that I love them...more. Elliott will read this (only because I will make him) and my hope is that when he does, he will realize all that is good and beautiful in him. I want him to know that his actionsspeak to his character and his heart will always define him. Amidst the mistakes he will make along they way, if he can keep those two things in check, he will, no doubt, be part of what makes the world a better place.

D is for Dog Hair

Don't get me wrong, I love my pets. But I would love them more if I weren't removing evidence of their existence with a lint roller every time I left the house.

On a side note, we did, after an extensive search and many hits and misses, discover the most awesome tool in successfully removing the hair (albeit very temporarily) from the hardwood floors. Since I know we are not the only ones who stand to benefit from our find, I present to you the Shark (http://www.sharkclean.com/). Because they aren't paying me to advertise, that is all I will say. Just trust me. From one pet-hair-hating, pet lover to another - trust me.

The problem with the pet hair, besides the fact that it is everywhere all the time, is that it somehow seems to impede my daily productivity. When I'm organizing in my head the list of things I need to accomplish each day (because I do start every day with the best of intentions), I look around at the scattered, freshly shed pet hair and have myself convinced that nothing else can happen until I make my daily vacuum through the house. I don't always want to do vacuum, and since I have already established that the all or nothing mentality has an ugly hold on me, sometimes that means nothing else gets done.

On the flip side, the silly flip side, as soon as I do vacuum, I feel a renewed sense of purpose and things generally start to happen. See what I mean? Silly.

To add insult to injury, lately I'm finding other hair amidst the piles of theirs. The insulting part is that it is mine. Maybe that is the injury part. Either way, it is disheartening. I have always had a lot of hair, but as was the case the first two times, I was blessed with much more of it during my pregnancy. The pisser is that it was temporary and I seem to be losing the hair I gained at a much faster rate that I am the weight I gained. I find it on the couch, my clothes, the tub, the floor, the counters and the clutches of my unusually strong daughter. I'm amazed I still have any at all. I'm amazed any of us do. And yes, the "us" just confirmed that I am now in a group that consists of me, a dog, and a cat.

On a positive note, the pet hair might just be my best argument yet for getting some new furniture. Leather furniture.

C is for Control

We can control, be controlled, lose control, be controlling, or lack control. There is so much to say here, but because of the many variations of the word, I find it difficult to organize my thoughts in order to write. One might say I am having a hard time controlling the direction of this entry. Maybe there won’t be one. A direction, that is.

Life really seems to be about finding a balance between the things we cannot control and the things we should.

This is what I know now. I cannot control others (Lord knows, I have tried). I cannot make my son like math, make my daughter eat more, my students read more or my husband put the green bowls on the bottom shelf and the plastic ones on the top. I cannot make someone sorry or admit when they are wrong. I cannot keep the dog out of the mud or the cat from puking on the carpet. But I want to. And I feel out of control when I can’t. The bottom line is, I am. What I am finally starting to recognize is the obvious; in the big picture, these things really don’t matter. I find myself saying, “pick your battles” often. And I do everyday. I pick my battles. It is the mantra of my mid-thirties. I am starting to feel myself get wiser with age. Maybe Oprah is right.

I also know that while I put my energies into attempting to control the things I can’t, I am wasting valuable energy needed to control the things I can. And should. I can control what I eat, the days I run, and the water I drink. I can control the way I treat people and the things that I say. I can control my to-do lists and what time I go to bed at night. But since outside forces sometimes make these things difficult to control, I sometimes don’t, even when I know I should. Interesting, considering the other things aren’t difficult, they are impossible to control.

I know that losing control and letting go of control are two totally different things. Being a control freak (as I have been affectionately referred to by some), marrying another one has created major lessons in self-discipline and the art of letting go. I have discovered that I am better at it than I thought I would be. So much so that I now I have to be cautious of becoming complacent in certain areas because I have given them to someone else to take over.

I am learning to let go of the little things. If I didn’t, some days I would lose control entirely.

I know that sometimes I feel like maybe I am trying to control everything on the outside to hide the fact that so much of what is on the inside is missing that restraint. This is huge.

Writing this entry has taken me over a week. I told myself that it was because of a very sick nephew, doctor’s appointments, my own fever of 103, daycare hunts, and a clingy baby. Yes, these are all external events and yes, they were beyond my control. The truth is, none of them should have stopped me from writing at some point, yesterday or the day before or even the day before that. Again, trying to control what I can't and losing control of what I should.

I am a work in progress, but this too I can control.

B is for BodyPump

Today was the day I finally braved the gym again - for the first time since I was about 7 months pregnant. Going to the gym with an extra 30 pounds because you’re pregnant, comes with looks of admiration from others and the feeling of confidence from myself. Going to the gym with an extra 30 pounds when you are not pregnant carries with it the feeling that you are simply like every other overweight person in the gym, a month overdue on their New Year’s resolution. When I go anywhere else, I have the baby with me and one of two things happens. 1. Nobody notices me (or the maternity clothes I am still wearing) because of the gorgeous nugget in the car seat I am carrying or 2. Everyone sees that I just had a baby and everyone understands. Today, I walked in the gym alone, 30 pounds heavier than I want to be, and in really tight workout pants.

Vulnerability at its finest.

I didn’t just go to the gym. I went for BodyPump. For those of you that have taken this class, I could stop here and you would feel my pain. For those of you who haven’t, I just ask that you trust me when I say that tomorrow will be spent avoiding stairs, and chairs, and toilets, and anything else that requires me to bend my legs – at all. My body felt ready today. Tomorrow, I will be reminded that it is NEVER really ready.

Just as I mentioned in my last post, I am open to the idea that with change, great things come. And I don’t necessarily think it comes in the most obvious or suspecting ways. I am aware that going to the class today was the right thing to do and I do appreciate, simply, that I am able - but something bigger happened as I put my mat away and walked toward the door to leave class this morning. In came a flood of senior citizens that had been waiting outside the room for our class to finish so theirs could begin. They were early and eager and pushing their way through to find a spot to plant their silver sneakers for the next hour. They had smiles on their faces and they were focused and ready. They all had a good 30 years on me and suddenly my 30 pounds seemed more than manageable. I walked out of the gym smiling and grateful and tried to visualize myself walking in a gym 30 years from now, inspiring an insecure 36-year-old mother of three to suck it up.

As I finish this post, I can hear my daughter talking to her papa downstairs. I can hear him telling her it is the most beautiful sound in the world. My aching back, tight pants, and messy house seem a small price to pay. Everyone should be so lucky.

A is for Apple

OK, OK. I am back. I made excuse after excuse for keeping this process on pause – seems to be the theme, after all. I am done with excuses and ready to push play.

The longer I put something off, the harder it is to jump back on. I know I can’t possibly be the only person who does this, so I will assume that all is forgiven and I have no need to list for anyone the convincingly logical reasons behind my absence. Not that I was missed, but since the idea of accountability is one that is meant to motivate me here, I have tricked myself into believing that this is being read by someone other than me.

Yes, I read my own blog.

I have survived pregnancy, childbirth, and am now enthusiastically caught up in the whirlwind that takes the shape of a very petite and vocal three-month-old human being. If I thought I had a hundred viable excuses for not doing what I should or could before, I now have at least a million. That being said, it is time to start tuning out those voices and begin to conquer once again.

Drifting off to sleep…

Middle of the night feedings…

Sucking wind on the treadmill…

These are the moments that my finest and most well-intentioned voices speak to me. I write entire chapters to a book that is beginning (still…) to play itself out beautifully. I redesign my career and where I want to be utilizing my gifts five years from now. I plan the next two weeks of workouts needed to speed this ridiculously tedious process of losing the baby weight (although she weighed a mere 6 and ½ pounds, making it difficult to use that term without feeling like a total idiot). And I begin my blog again and again and again, fulfilling the promise to myself to write everyday. If only these moments would transcend themselves… They never get any further than my thoughts.

One. Step. At. A. Time.

I’ve been told I give pretty good advice and one of my favorite tools of motivation (second to screaming in someone’s face) has been to convince people to start small. Each day, make a single new change. Drink water today, go for a 15-minute walk tomorrow, clean out your linen closet on Saturday. Not long ago, someone offered me the same advice. Somehow it sounded more reasonable coming from…..well, not me. I have never started anything small in my life. This continues to be the reason there has been much that I haven’t started at all. The less I do, the less I do. It is a vicious cycle. As Dr. Phil would say, “How is that workin’ for ya?” Rhetorical. Obviously.

I’m open to change (even in tiny bits) and to the idea that with each day that I embrace it, a better me will emerge. Let’s put this theory to the test. A-Z. Not all in one day anymore, but one a day. Like an apple.

Eating one now. Check.