Sleeping Single in a Double Bed

Tomorrow, FireDaddy will return home after 11 days on the Appalachian Trail. 

My intent for these eleven days was to have one fun, relaxing day after another with my girlies – visiting family, swimming, beaching, hitting the gym.  Unfortunately, my hopes did not come true. 

Instead, we spent our time taking doggies to the vet, getting eyes dilated, hairs trimmed, roots colored, and running other non-thrilling sorts of errands.  I changed batteries in chirp-chirp-chirping smoke detectors, paid bills, anguished over budgets, made service calls, and scheduled appointments for still more doctors and dentists.  I accumulated piles of books and various household items for an impending garage sale  and piles of decorations for next year’s classroom, applied for a part-time job, washed/dried/folded/hung laundry, and washed/dried/put away dishes.  I reserved hotel rooms for our upcoming road trip, had Big Boy microchipped, registered dog tags, reregistered car tags, and cleaned out my refrigerator.  I rose around six with the doggies each day, while my girlies blissfully slept till nine or ten.  I baked blueberry scones, Mediterranean chicken, and fresh pound cake.  I filled the baby pool and emptied the trash.  I’ve washed booboos and blankies, heads, hands & toes… and everything in between. I fussed when they bickered, and nagged when they destroyed the den and their room and my room and the office.  I’ve answered countless times each day, “How many more days till Daddy gets home?” and “How many more days till our trip?”  I hugged and held them as they cried, fed them when they were hungry, and reached the cups when their throats were dry.

All of this is not to imply that I’ve been entirely miserable…don’t get me wrong.  During the past eleven days of uninterrupted girliness – I’ve introduced my girlies to the Bangles, Madonna, and Barbara Mandrell, as well as continued to expose them to pretty-much-inappropriate current tunes.  We’ve kept up with the latest Disney Radio tunes, and counted down to the big Disney premiere of Sixteen Wishes.  We’ve played games, held our breath under water and felt the wind in our hair as we sailed down the road with the sunroof open (ahem…in my brother-in-law’s truck).  We’ve stayed up late and cuddled in the night.  Together, we’ve danced the Cha Cha slide, the Chicken Dance, and our very best ballet and jazz. 

Coming from a mother who prides herself on being able to do it alone, I’m POOPED.  On nights like these, maybe a girl truly needs to stand in her kitchen with nothing but a glass of wine, a fresh slice of pound cake, and a Zune stocked with ridiculously old songs to keep her company.  It’s nights like these that I close my eyes and see myself standing in front of my white whicker dresser, and look into my own eyes in that familiar whicker framed mirror – so vivid and real that I am positive the cold mirror would meet my hand if I were to reach my fingers out far enough. 

It’s funny how some things have grown so much easier over the years – like skipping songs, once a careful lifting and lowering of a needle, now a simple click of a button.  Yet, other things – like the long, hot days of summer “freedom” – have grown so much harder. 

When I was little, I loved Barbara Mandrell.  She was beautiful.  She could sing, dance, and play more instruments than I could tally.  I played her records over and over and over again in my room until I’d memorized all the lyrics.  I was thrilled when Daddy took us to the Maude Cobb see Lee Greenwood --- because he had recorded a duet record with Barbara Mandrell.  I was worried and afraid for her when she was badly injured in the car accident.  I loved Barbara Mandrell. 

It’s funny how songs can take you away to another place.  Take you back in time.  The familiar click-click, click-click of the needle passing over blank lines between songs is fresh in my ears.  Where is that click-clicking now?  We push a button to skip forward and skip backward…there is no waiting.  No pauses.  Like MP3 files, the hours, days, weeks all flow seamlessly together on autoplay.

It’s halfway through 2010 already.  My babies are seven and four.  My anniversary is next week and my birthday is close behind.  I’m turning 33 and I’ve been married for ten years.  FireDaddy and I’ve been together for 14.  Where has my life gone???  Hell, where did these 11 days go???  Before I know it, I’ll be hunting down plastic duo-tang folders and sending my girlies off to 2nd grade and VPK. 

My throat is tight and lumpy; my eyes sting.

I miss the soft, scratchy static and click-clicking between songs. 

Motivate Me

As you may recall, I’m currently in the midst of an intervention.  And, as interventions may go, it’s moving along quite nicely, if I do say so myself.  As with anything in life, finding the motivation was half the battle, really.  You know, that whole mind over matter thing.  To be quite frank, I tend to struggle with a little condition of “matter over mind”.

Recently, though, I’ve reacquainted myself with my inner strength and motivation.  I thought perhaps you all might benefit from some of these highly technical tips and techniques, too.

Money.  As you probably already know, money can be motivating.  I encourage you to consider financial punishments and/or rewards when setting up a personal goal.  If you’re like me though, this alone is easy to lose sight of…like the cost of my gym membership.  The thought of wasting that auto-drafted chunk of change every month has never once been motivation enough for me to drag my lazy bootie to the treadmill. 

Public humiliation.  When in doubt, plan your own roast.  I did and I really hope I get to cancel it.  I REALLY hope I get to avoid that.  Really.  I don’t know if I can survive that.

Circle of friends.  Peer pressure is a good thing…after about 21 or so.  Get a partner – or more – and put them on speed dial.  My partner in crime and I have talked each other down from the ledge more than once already.  With her support, I was able to resist the temptation of the fresh, hot pizza calling my name.  She, with the assistance of my psychological prowess, was able to throw away a completely untouched small fry from McDonald’s.  Together, there is nothing we cannot resist.  Last year, I had a workout partner…until that crazy chick moved without my permission.  While we ran our mouths, and laughed till our sides ached, we worked our booties off multiple days a week – despite our busy schedules and irrational harassment from a tacky gym patron.  Everything’s more fun with a friend.

Tunes.  Not only does music keep your energy level up while your working, but it’s been known to keep me going a little longer, too.  For instance, I may be in the last two tenths of a run when a favorite song comes on.  All of the sudden, I go all music-Nazi-slave-driver on myself and make a rule that I can only listen as long as I’m running.  If I quit, the music goes off.  Usually, a great song will be worth another few minutes of weary muscles and chest pains for me. (Then again, I’ve often said I want to find a gym where it’s completely normal to bust out in song and dance while you’re on the treadmill.)

Open your eyes.  If fitness is your goal, take a good hard look in the mirror.  Naked.  Recently, I started my own ritual.  After arriving at the gym, I drop off the girlies in the play area and head straight for a private dressing room.  Then, I strip.  Nothin’ but skin, babe.  I stand there in the obnoxiously poor lighting from the one pitiful 60-watt incandescent hanging overhead and try to disgust myself.  I look at all the places I usually suck in and cover up.  Then, I suit up and head to the torture chamber, ready to do battle.

Jealousy…I mean “role models”.  Choose the treadmill, elliptical machine, or mat right next to the hot chick.  Watch her.  Get jealous.  Really, really jealous.  Like – bitter and mean jealous.  Let the envy soak in deep until you feel like a fat pig.  Then, push harder, run faster, lift stronger – because you can be that flaming hot, too.  Show that biotch what you’ve got!  Yeah!

An audience.  Be aware of the men watching you.  You may think you look awful – sweaty, stinky, ragged and pale.  Apparently, they don’t agree.  Either that or they just don’t care, because men watch women working out.  That’s all there is to it.  Married  men, single men, old men, young men – they’re all looking at you.  Feel the heat of their eyes boring holes into your arse.  Imagine what they see.  I don’t know about you, but if somebody’s going to be looking at my backside, I hope they see a nice, firm buttocks with just enough softness for a good pinch – not a bowl of jell-o and orange rinds.  Somehow, I think you might agree.

Eye candy.  Look right back at those men.  Sometimes, you get lucky.  Just today, this totally hunky Tim Tebow look-a-like pulled up to the elliptical right next to me. Wow.  Not a minute before, I had begun to back down and woos out.  Miraculously, I got my second (third?) wind, found a little more strength, and stuck it out through the remainder of my mission.  And, as an added bonus, I also noticed a nice looking man downstairs who, through squinted eyes and the red metal handrails of the stairs, looked an awful lot like a scruffy Chris O’Donnell. I was thoroughly entertained. 

Sweet success.  As a friend of mine said recently, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.  No pain is worse than the sting of defeat.  The miles never look more doable than when you’re looking back over your shoulder.  You never feel fat and lazy AFTER you work out.  Focus on these things. 

I don’t claim to be an expert – by any means.  But, I’m pushing.  I’m hurting, I’m sucking it up, and I’m trying everyday to do better than the day before.  And, that’s all anyone can ever ask. 

 

 

Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/d_vdm/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Dancing In the Kitchen

I grew up watching My Mama dance.

Daddy still has the same turntable stereo on which we listened to records.  Sometimes Mama and Daddy would dance together.  Sometimes Mama would dance with us.  And sometimes, Mama would dance alone while we watched, smiling and laughing.

Now, my girlies and I dance.  We’ve done so for years.  We’ll turn up the stereo till the neighbors can hear and dance till we sweat and our muscles are sore.  We dance to anything – classical, rock, pop, Latino, you name it.  We just dance. 

We dance ballet, ballroom, interpretive, and group (think: Ring Around the Rosie).  Sometimes I hold them in my arms with their cheek to mine and we spin in circles and dip deeply, smiles pressing into our cheeks.  Sometimes we sautée and arabesque and practice graceful arms and fingers as we tendu or relevé.

Other times, I dance alone.  I dance while I cook dinner, set the table, wash dishes.  I dance while they bathe.  I dance and I sing and I am happy.

I know one day my girlies will look at me and laugh, just like we laughed with My Mama.  Then one day, I will dance alone, with no one there to see.  And finally, there will come a day when they, too, will dance with their babies.  Then, at last, they will know just how happy I was when I danced with them.

A Haunting Tune

I’ve never liked K.D. Lang before.  It’s not that I have disliked her or anything, I’ve just never “known” her as an artist at all. 

Friday night I was on my bed, working on this and that and struggling to keep my eyelids from closing.  My back grew weak from sitting up, and I found myself stretching out on my stomach, my head at the foot of the bed, with my laptop beside me.  A fatal mistake. 

I began drifting in and out of consciousness. My bedroom still warmly lit by the light of my bedside lamp, the television still broadcasting the opening ceremonies, my laptop still faithfully standing by with my work, and I still fully clothed.  

I remember thinking, Who is that singing?

I remember feeling peaceful.   

I couldn’t hear the words clearly in my sleep, but the song seemed to go on forever, in a good way…like it was in slow motion.  It hovered in the room above my bed.

At some point the word hallelujah broke through to my mind.  Soon afterwards, I pulled myself back, lifted my head and said aloud

K. D. Lang???

and then

wow.

Since then, this song has haunted me and I’m desperately searching for a copy of it for my Zune.  No luck yet, but I’ll keep trying.  In the meantime, enjoy this older version from YouTube on me. 

By the way…Leonard Cohen’s version?  Don’t bother.  He sounds like he’s dying. 

The lyrics to this song have also intrigued me…you can find them here.

***Addendum – I’m even more intrigued now that I’ve read this.***

Monday Mentions

The author of one of the blogs that I consider a guilty pleasure (especially on Fridays) has started a new blog feature. I thought it was a great way to share new finds, discoveries, and favorites in a concise way, so, I'm jumping on the bandwagon. (To be clear, it was open invitation. I'm not jumping in uninvited...this time.)

So, without further ado...

• If you've been keeping up with me lately, you already know a little about the book I'm currently reading. But, another great book I read recently (recently is a relative term...especially given the fact that we're on the tail end of the back-to-school season) is Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. This book, I believe, fell into my life when it did for a reason. I found peace and guidance in reading about Gilbert's own quest for pleasure and balance in life. This book was a thought-provoking read. Her story was easy for me to relate to and comfortable to read. If you haven't yet read it, be sure to give it a try.
• This weekend I finally watched Blades of Glory. The day it arrived from Netflix, I smiled a giddy little girl smile to FireDaddy and waited for him to laugh in anticipation. Unfortunately, he did not. His reply? "Oh...yeah." Because of that reaction, I did not have high hopes for the movie. However, I love Will Ferrell and gave it a shot. While I would not say it was my FAVORITE of his movies, it was fun to watch and made me laugh. That's about all I was looking for, so sounds like a win for me! If you are into immature humor, like I am, be sure to toss it into your Netflix queue next time.
• Colbie Caillat's new album has been a fun new addition to my Zune recently. You can check out the video to her single, "Fallin' For You", here.
• If you're on twitter and haven't already checked him out, consider following @rainnwilson. (Yes, it's the actor who plays Dwight on The Office.) As mentioned above, I have an exaggerated appreciation for immature humor, and he's sure to dish it up on a daily basis. I've even been known to "retweet" his tweets via text messaging to FireDaddy (since FD isn't on twitter).
• I recently bit the bullet and bought Super Straight Relaxing Serum by Pureology as my stylist had been encouraging me to buy for months. And I'm SO glad I did! My hair is soft, straight, and dries in half the time! I cannot say enough about how much I'm loving this new to me product. (And I don't know if I'm happy or disgusted that I just found it available on Amazon.)
• This weekend, I did a little blog reading. (Emphasis on "a little".) One post I did get a chance to read was this one. Audrey talks about Facebook from a parent's perspective in a way that got my ball rolling a bit, too. Check it out.
• Another post I enjoyed reading and thinking about was by my good bloggy buddy, Cheryl. Right now, she is my writing hero. She's inspiring me to slowly get off my bootie and write - for real.

That about sums it up for this week's Monday Mentions. If you're interested in reading other folks' mentionables, check in at the Daily Mish Mash for some links.

Happy reading!

Flashback Freeway

"Sometimes, a writer finds buried treasures in places they remember. As you think about the geography of a place from your past, memories will surface as you think about the place where they occurred..."

This was the gist of a lesson I recently taught my students. Then, I drove off to my old stomping grounds for a long weekend, and I felt that lesson come alive in my mind.

Sometimes, you don't even have to visit a building or any specific location for this to happen. I learned this weekend that, in some cases, just driving down the road will be enough to stir the pot. As I drove alone on a few brief errands this weekend, I was overcome with memories.

I remembered driving down the road with one of my BFFs in a red Mustang, singing along with Celine & Meatloaf at the top of our lungs as the wind ripped through the car. (Don't laugh. That song was at the top of the charts then.)

I remembered driving on the interstate for the first time with Boyfriend K. I was terrified that the car in the lane next to me was moving in on my space. He laughed at me and my paranoia, and I laughed back. Terrified, still.

I remembered riding, stunned, with Boyfriend S after the "Meet the Parents Date". I was stunned because his mother had whipped out flossers after dinner and flossed her teeth RIGHT THERE AT THE TABLE. (I'm not sure if this redeems her at all, but she was polite enough to offer me a flosser, too...."Gee...thanks...I think I'm good, though.")

I remembered wondering what road we were on as I rode home in the back of someone's parent's station wagon from the Nelson concert, my ears still ringing. (Ahem, they were cool too, thank you very much.)

I remembered getting a ride home after school from Really Nice Guy Friend everyday, only later to discover he liked me all the while and I was too stupid and too wrapped up in my Loves Gone Bad to realize it. Hind sight is 20-20.

I remembered the day I spent with Short-Term Romance Boy as he got a tattoo on his ankle, somewhere on the other side of town. I have no idea when or where this was, but it was a sight that scared me out of a tattoo...for life!

I remembered riding in Boyfriend D's brand new Jeep one cool Florida night, feeling too grown up for my years.

I remembered cruisin' in a convertible the summer I retook Chemistry (yeah...Chemistry and I went together like oil and water...) with my Wannabe Model Friend. She looked in the rearview mirror more than she looked at the road. (Checkin' out her pouty look.) Then, we'd drive through Taco Bell for bean burritos and Dr. Pepper.

I remembered walking, after a movie, down the main drag in town while it was closed for construction. Laughing my head off at Guy Friend B's jokes. Who knew Raffi's "Baby Beluga" could be so funny?

I remembered the odd ritual of touching a screw in a girl friend's "bucket" of a car and hollering out "SCREW!!!" everytime we crossed a railroad track, as though her car would fall apart without our help.

I remembered "pushing" my "For Real" Model Friend's car - from the inside - everytime we went up a hill. "Go, go, go!" We were never sure if it could make it to the top.

I remembered walking with a Middle School Friend to the 7-11 outside her neighborhood and spending a few dollars on that crazy powder candy you dip a candy stick into and then lick off the stick. Afterwards, we dried fresh flowers in the microwave and rolled each other's hair.

I remember walking home in the rain after school. I remember cutting through the field, taking the short cut to Freshman BFF's house and having Dr. Pepper and bologna sandwiches. And laughing.

I remember the little sink hole on a corner around a few corners from my house. It totally freaked me out, so I walked a wide circle around it.

I remember standing outside my house after a great first date, with butterflies in my stomach. My face hurt from smiling so much. I don't remember where we went or what we did, but it was great.

I remember walking home from a friend's house when the street lamps came on, after a really silly afternoon of prank calling everyone we knew...and didn't know.

I remember riding downtown to a summer theater camp with a girl I barely knew, singing Richard Marx in the car. (Yes, he was cool then, too.)

I remember being so impressed when One Or Two Dates Boy had a CELL PHONE. (oooooh......) Sure, it was his mom's...but WOW! I also remember being stupid enough to believe his nonsense blabber about how it "worked on a grid system...blah blah blah...and if you move when you're on the phone it will lose the signal..." What??? No wonder boys got me in trouble so much.

Those moments truly are miles away from my present. Today, I find myself cruisin' the streets on the way to and from school and the dance studio, jamming to Hannah Montana with my NEW BFFs...Little Princess and Big Girl. My latest boy, FireDaddy, has a seat indefinitely reserved in my cool, white Pacifica. Sometimes, I still kiss the clock and make a wish when I glance down from the road at exactly 11:11. I still love to car dance on Target and Publix runs. And, everyday, when I look back in my rearview mirror, I smile at what I remember AND at what I see smiling back at me.

Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dotsi/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Rainy Days & Mondays

This notorious Carpenters song has been circling in my head all day like a plane waiting for clearance to land. Even though Karen obviously didn't have EVERYTHING figured out...she definitely knew what she was talking about when she sang this song.

I'm not looking forward to the climatic changes that will occur in my part of the world in a few months. (Hey, it's Florida. Our kids sweat their booties off on Halloween night, even when they have smart, beautiful mommies who tirelessly hunt down a costume that breathes...which is next to impossible to find, by the way.) Over the past few years, I've learned the power of the weather over my psyche. It's stronger than Prozac.

On the bright side, I shine with optimism throughout the summer and spring. I'm energetic and yearn to be outdoors doing things completely out of my nature...like, plant flowers and weed. This year (and you may want to sit down for this one), I actually came close to asking my husband to teach me how to start the lawn mower. Yeah! Thank God I came to my senses! Whew!! I'm positive I would have lived to regret that one very quickly...

On the flip side, what a bummer a rainy day can be. What's even more depressing, I tend to carry this sort of depression through the fall and winter, as well. Last year, I started to come to some conclusions as to WHY my emotions seem to be so hypersensitive to weather....I'm lazy.

Really. I am.

The bottom line is, I can't stand having to work harder because of the weather. I do NOT like having to tote an umbrella. I despise wet feet and pant legs, not to mention frizzy hair. (The bane of my existence.) I cannot stand having to dawn jackets, hats, gloves, and skarves just to step outside. I don't like real shoes...or socks...or, for that matter, TIGHTS. I also do not enjoy having to add layer upon layer of clothing to a body that really needs to shed a layer or two to begin with.

But alas, I have not yet taken up permanent residence in my own castle in the sky. I "get it" that I can't have my lovely summer soul year round...nor can I enjoy that elusive money tree that continually evades my capture. So, for now, I'll suck it up and cover up.

Until, that is, I move to Bali.