The Healthiest 18 Days of My Life

This summer was one of excess.  Too much food, too much drinking, and too much fun.

It was absolutely fabulous.

We took trip after trip after trip, to see family, to go to the beach, to celebrate good weather and childhood and the freedom to be carefree.  I consciously decided to let go, and then some.  I didn't use my hair dryer once between Memorial Day and Labor Day (summer hair, don't care).  How freeing is that?

Freedom doesn't necessary lend itself to a healthy lifestyle, however.  My summer of leisure and nightly ice cream runs and daily cocktail hours left me feeling like a lazy blob.  I noticed the flab coming on, but I didn't really care.   I shall trash my body for the next six weeks, and then clean it up in September!

Trash my body I did.  And then September came.

After three months of creating bad habits, I needed something drastic.  Weight loss was not the only priority - though it would be nice.  What I needed was a complete cleanse.  A reset, if you will.   I wanted to be healthy.

Enter the Whole 30.

I had heard of the Whole 30 before, and was intrigued by it.  It's 30 days of clean eating.  There's no calorie counting, and you aren't supposed to weigh yourself at all (weight loss isn't the goal).  The idea is to eat clean, whole food, and see how your body changes.  The book makes the grandiose claim that this diet "will change your life."

As September approached, I started to prepare.  I bought the book "It Starts With Food," along with the corresponding recipe book.  As I read, I got nervous.  Turns out clean eating cuts out pretty much everything I like to eat.

There would be NO: sugar (of any kind, aka honey, stevia, vanilla, agave nectar, etc.), alcohol (AAAAAA!), grains, legumes, or dairy.  To break this down a bit, that means no butter.  Soy sauce. Most any salad dressing.  Cheese.  Corn.  Rice.  Bread.  Beans.  Yogurt.  Wine.  Did I mention wine? And did you know sugar is in pretty much everything? EVERYTHING?

That leaves: meat, fish, vegetables, and fruit.

This would be hard for anyone, but it was especially daunting for me for the following reasons - 1) It is basically impossible to go out to eat.  2) We always go out to eat.  3) I hate to cook.  4) Now I have to cook.  5) Did I mention wine?

But I was bound and determined.  I made a commitment, and when I commit to something, I'm all in.

The weekend of August 28th, I started planning.  I researched recipes and made a meal plan and went to Whole Foods and spent an embarrassing amount of money on foods I had never even heard of, like ghee and rutabaga.  On the evening of August 31st - my last "normal" night, I opened up a bottle of wine, ordered in Indian food, and spent the night cooking food for the upcoming week.

Days 1 and 2 were fine.  What's the big deal?  I thought.  I got this! I can't believe people think this is hard!

Never Any Time

I'm reminded of my favorite scene from Saved by the Bell.

Photo taken from https://us.beamly.com/exclusives/2014/07/28/saved-by-the-bell-caffeine-pill/

Oh Jessie Spano, I am channeling you.

I've got a lot going on.

We bought a house.  Yup, a house.  That's kind of a big deal.  It's only a half a mile from where we currently live, but it's bigger.  And nicer.  And I will have a bathroom I don't have to share with three mini-people.  Hooray!

Way back before I was an adult, I used to think that buying a house was simply that - one purchases a home.  That was before I understood inspections and mortgages and appraisals and oh, the fact that when you buy a house, you also have to sell your current house.  This is our first go round with that, and it sucks.  Lets just say last night I painted four doors.  It was hypnotizing.  I wanted to keep going.  More doors, more doors.  My husband had to stop me.  Shannon, put the paint brush down.  

Right now there are two different handymen working outside.  A storage unit will arrive this weekend.  And then the house goes on the market next Wednesday.  The same day we leave for Disney World.

This weekend, I will be hosting a baby shower for my sister on Saturday.  And then on Sunday a first birthday party for Colin (holy crap, how did that come so quickly).   I'd like to make a slideshow montage for him, as I did my two other children, in time for the party.  My friend from Australia will also be visiting, so I will take her out for a night on the town on Friday.

I have two different sets of papers to grade for the class that I teach.  And a blog that I like to write.

All of these are good things.  I mean ALL are good things.  So this is not a woah is me.  It's just a, I am in the middle of a whirlwind and just trying to get by.

Things that have gone to the wayside:  Showering.  Screen time limitations.  Returning phone calls and emails (sorry about that).  Playdate reciprocation.  Halloween candy regulation.  Blogging.  Thank you cards.  Getting gas.

I made it with 14 miles to spare!

Whilst writing this post, Colin just ate a piece of dog food.

Someday soon I will write eloquently and deeply and wittily.

Just not today.

Four Years Ago You Rocked My World

Quite literally.

I thought I knew what it was going to be like having more than one child.  I was wrong.

I thought there was no way I could love anyone as much as your older brother.  I was wrong about that too.

Our first months together were HARD.  We both struggled.  We both lost a lot of sleep.  We both cried.  A lot.

And then we bonded.  Big time.  And before I knew it, I couldn't imagine a time when you weren't there.  It's as if I had known you forever.  As if you had been here all along.

I fell in love hard.

And the awesome thing is that it happens over and over again.  I fall in love with you every single day.  And I love discovering who you are.

You are unique, that's for sure.

You are the pickiest eater I have ever seen.  And yet you are obsessed with toy food.  You've been known to sleep with a plastic tomato or hamburger bun, and you are being a hot dog for Halloween this year (your choice).

Casey's Halloween Costume

You refuse to smile for pictures.  EVER.  But then sometimes, I can crack you, much to your own chagrin.

You are quiet - figuratively and literally.  Sometimes you speak in a whisper, and you are not one to gush with your emotions like your big brother.  But that means that when I do get an "I love you," it means so much more.  I melt when I hear those words.

What you don't say in words, you make up for in cuddles.  You are the cuddliest boy I know.  You always want to be close to me.  And even though I probably shouldn't carry you around anymore, it's hard for me to say no.  So I'll keep doing it until you stop asking.

You are so brave.  You have been poked and prodded by needles and sat in ER waiting rooms more times than I'd care to admit.  But you rarely cry.  And you are easily pacified by a lollipop in any situation.

You suck your thumb and twirl your hair.  And it is adorable.

You are a boy's boy.  You are all cars and trucks and balls and superheroes.  You rarely play with girls, though you do have a soft spot for a girl named Lila.  You blush when you talk about her.

You acclimate to social situations ridiculously easily, because you don't overthink it.  You are just yourself.  For lack of a better word, you are chill.  You are already cooler than I ever was.

You love Disney World.  And roller coasters.  And youtube videos of both.  (But especially Disney World).

You have an innate talent for naming that tune.  You can tell a song after literally one beat of music. It kind of freaks your daddy and I out.

You cry every single time you take a bath.  Every.  Single.  Time.

You are an amazing little brother.  When Braden is at school, you sometimes cry and incessantly ask when he will be home to play with you.  Sometimes the two of you sleep in the same twin bed, just because.

You are an amazing big brother.  It took some time for you to warm to Colin, but you are coming around.  And as a mother, it is beautiful to see.

You are a momma's boy.  You and I have an inherent connection that only the two of us understand. Sometimes I will hear you cry, and watch someone else try to comfort you, but I know it's me that you need.  And when I pick you up and embrace you, I can feel you relax into me.  You and me, me and you.

You are such an individual.

You are such a character.

You are a such a source of infinite joy.

You rock my world.

You are Casey.

You are 4.

And today is your birthday.

Happy birthday, my baby boy.

*************************************

Like this post?  Like me on Facebook by clicking here!

Redemption and Envy

When I was 18 weeks pregnant with my first baby, as I walked out of an OB appointment an elderly woman stopped me.

Congratulations, she said.  That was the best part of my life.  

I thanked her and went on my merry way.  This wasn't entirely out of the ordinary - pregnant women get random comments from strangers all the time.  But for some reason, this comment has haunted me.

First and foremost, people don't normally say that pregnancy is the best part of their life.  In many ways, it's a miserable means to an end.  I know there are those women that "love" being pregnant. Perhaps you are one of them.  Then you will forgive me when I say you are effing weird.  Because being pregnant sucks.

From the second you get that positive test, all vices must cease.  No more alcohol.  No more prosciutto.  No more sushi or deli meat or roller coasters or advil.  That initial test is followed quickly by a hangover type nausea that overcomes you for weeks, while you simultaneously try to act normal because of course, it's not appropriate to reveal a pregnancy too early.  A fatigue passes through you that you did not know existed, and your pants become snug almost immediately due to bloating that you didn't realize was even possible.  (You don't look pregnant, you look fat, and this lasts for about 18 weeks until you are even fatter, but it is excusable pregnancy fat.  The day you give birth, it's back to just fat.)

Sure, the second semester is easier and you get to feel the miracle of the kicks and flips inside of you.  But this coincides with an increasing stress which, unbeknownst to first time pregnant women, never goes away.  There are kick counts, to ensure the baby is still alive.  There are blood tests and scans, to ensure that your baby doesn't have spina bifida or a genetic abnormality or other disorders that you can't pronounce.  You learn of complications like placenta previa and preeclampsia and gestational diabetes and you wonder how it is that anyone ever has a healthy child.  You start to feel Braxton Hicks contractions and your provider tells you that it's normal, but too much is not normal, and how much is too much, you ask - well, they're not sure.  You vacillate between being paranoid and being laid back and wonder how you ever will find the balance to be a chilled out, rational human being again.  (Hint - that part of your life is over).

Okay, 2014

Last year, in lieu of resolutions, I drafted a mission statement  of sorts.  It was sentimental and hopeful and a bit poetic.  I guess I was successful at some of them, but like all resolutions (or mission statements), the romance of it was gone after a week or so, and I forgot at times what my "mission" was.  

This year's resolution list won't be so idyllic.  Instead, it will be hard, measurable goals that I aspire to accomplish.  Such as: 

- Lose eight pounds. (How original of me.)  I am not going to promise to exercise X number of times per week, or cut out any major food groups for any lengthy period of time, but here ye, here ye, I proclaim now:  I will lose these remaining pregnancy pounds.  

- Get an uninterrupted night's sleep.  This is not so much up to me, as it is to the cute little baby staring at me as I type this.  But I WILL get him sleeping through the night, in the not so distant future.  And by the time we are ringing in 2015, he will be getting 12 hours of solid, continuous sleep.  Ahhhh, that will be nice.  

- Keep blogging - at least once a week.  If you haven't noticed, my posting frequency has correlated directly with the arrival of the aforementioned baby this past November.  There are weeks that I think there's no way I'll get it together to post, but at the end of the day, I am always glad that I do.  Because if I stop, this little blog of mine will fall to the wayside and disappear, and I have gotten so much out of it in the past three years that I refuse to allow that to happen!

- Use my spa gift certificates.  I have two sitting in a drawer right now (one to Bliss, one to Red Door).  I refuse to forget about them. 

- Do sit ups with some sense of regularity.  After three pregnancies, it's not pretty.  Who knows if sit ups will even help, but at least I can say I went down fighting.  

- Have dinner with my girl friends.  At least once a month.  And take a taxi so I can have more than one margarita.  

There you have it.  I've capped it at 6.  

You may notice that none of these resolutions has anything to do with my parenting.  That's because I've learned that you can't make any promises in that department.  All you can have is good intentions.  So I'm not going to say I won't ever yell, or I'll always serve nutritious foods, or that I'll strictly limit their screen time.  I'm going to make mistakes, and I'm not always going to be a model parent.  I'm not going to vow otherwise and set myself up for failure. 

But I am going to do the best I can.  And if I can stick to the resolutions above, I'll be a happier person.  And, hence, a better mom.  If I take care of me, I can take better care of them.  

And that's what we all should do!

Below is a graphic from OTC Safety which summarizes some of the most common resolutions moms make.  Apparently only 46% make it past January.  Hopefully I can beat that statistic!  But the message is clear - take care of yourself!  Make it a priority.  

Here's to a healthy, happy 2014 for all of us!

Disclosure: I received compensation for this post as part of the CHPA OTC Safety Ambassador Program.  All the opinions reflected here are my own.  

Introducing

On November 13, at 9:46am, Colin Samuel made his appearance:

It took 15 hours of labor with the world's greatest doula, three attempts at an IV (and a near fainting incident), a pitocin drip, the breaking of my water, and a NATURAL childbirth (holy crap, that was wild), and he came out in three pushes.

Colin cried.  I cried.  My husband cried.  No matter how prepared you are, or how much you know that a baby is coming, there's something so amazing and awe-inspiring about that moment when you see that baby for the first time.

And just like that, he's here.  As if he always was.  We spent one night in the hospital, and came home, and then it all began.  The feedings, the diaper changes, the sleepless nights...  I had honestly forgotten how hard this newborn phase is, and Colin's second night with us was a stark reminder.  It is HARD, simple as that. But it's worth it, a thousand times over.

Physically, I am doing great.  Which is a good thing, because with three kids, there isn't really an alternative. Mentally, I am doing okay.  After one rough day, I started my meds almost immediately, and they seem to be working (with the help of placental encapsulation - more on that some other time).  Now I just need to break out that UV Happy Lamp I bought a couple of years ago.  If anything is going to get me over the next couple of months, it's going to be the damn darkness.

But overall, I am happy.  Blissfully happy at times, in fact.  Because in the midst of the sleep deprivation and aching lower back and general shock at how my life has changed, it all just feels right. It's exactly how it's supposed to be.

I spent so much time in my young adult life planning and micromanaging everything.  I had distinct desires in terms of when I would get married, how many children I wanted, when I wanted to have them, whether they would be a boy or a girl, etc.  In truth, none of it has turned out as I planned. But what is so amazing is that my feeble mind could never have imagined it turning out like it has - turning out so good, so perfect, so much better than I could ever have known.

My family is exactly as it should be.  I just know it.  And these three boys....  they are my everything.  They are incredible, amazing, more than anything I could ever have asked for or expected.

I am so blessed, lucky, fortunate, call it whatever you want.  I am complete.

What It Means to be Tree

For Casey, it means this:

It means going to school.

It means sharing a room with a big brother.

And getting ready for a little one.

It means sucking a thumb.

It means taking selfies.

It means being silly.

And playing pirates.

And cuddling up with a best friend.

It means running.

And digging.

And climbing.

It means getting hurt every once in a while...

It means starting karate.

And becoming such a big boy.

It means the proudest mommy and daddy (and brother) ever.

It means celebrating.

It means that when people ask you how old you are, you proudly pronounce that you're "tree"!

Happy third birthday, Casey boy.  We couldn't love you more.

A Solo Date

I've never been one to be self conscious about doing things alone.  I have no problem dining alone, and in fact, I actually relish the rare opportunity I get to sit at a bar with a book, an appetizer and a glass of wine.  I also really enjoy going to movies solo, if not for any other reason than my husband hates going, and I am a hard core lover of buttered popcorn.

As you can imagine, solo dates don't come often for me anymore.  And of course, that makes them all the more appealing.  The fact is, I am generally constantly in the company of someone (my kids, predominantly).  And while I'd hardly call myself a loner, the idea of some time to myself - just by myself, for just a little bit - is somewhat of a luxury.

For the past week I have been with my kids in Wilmington, North Carolina, visiting the grandparents.  It's fun and great, but also exhausting and stressful to be out of our fully childproofed environment.  My parents are always offering to give me some time to get out by myself, but I usually decline.  To be honest, I'm usually just so exhausted I don't have the energy to venture out of the house when I have the opportunity.

But last night I mustered the energy, and I indulged.

A few days ago I had read a movie review on CNN of the movie, This is the End.  I had never heard of the movie, but the review was stellar.  I mean, in the I can't remember the last time I've read such a good review of a movie stellar.  It stars Seth Rogen, Jonah Hill, and James Franco. Given the great review and the weird connection I have with James Franco, I had a sudden urge to see it.  (I should clarify - I don't directly have a weird connection with James Franco, but my sister does, so close enough.  See picture from TMZ below).

Two

Two legs, two arms, two eyes, two ears (ten fingers, ten toes).

Two proud, sleepy parents. 

In the Washington Post!

So this little blog of mine, as well as Montage, the company I'm working with (see post below), are mentioned in the Washington Post today. 

Which I think is pretty awesome! 

Special thanks to Janice D'Arcy, who writes the Washington Post blog "On Parenting", for the shout out. 

You can read the article here.

Happy Monday, everyone!

A Small World

The older I get, the more I realize what a small world it is.

My former boss from London now lives a mile away from me in suburban Maryland.  The father of a child at Braden's new preschool went to high school with my husband in New York.  And my favorite - when my husband and I were staying at a B&B in Byron Bay, Australia, we ran into two friends from law school - staying in the room next to us.

I could go on and on.  It seems to be happening more and more as I get older, and it always gives me a happy feeling when it does.  I don't know why.

It happened again this morning.

A Toot

Last night as I was putting Braden to bed we were having a moment.  We were cuddling, I was stroking his hair, telling him the last of our goodnight's, and then he did it.

A toot (as we like to call them).

And he thought this was just HYSTERICAL.  He's never really laughed so hard at his own flatulence, perhaps because it's never really occurred in so peaceful of a moment - in the soft darkness with me caressing his face professing my undying love for him.

It was the kind of laughter that made me laugh hysterically, so I just went with it.  As I left him in bed and closed the door for the night, he was still cracking up.

It dawned on me that one day soon I'm going to have to start telling him that he can't do those sort of things in public.  Along with a whole host of other behaviors, like sucking his thumb and burping and wiping his nose with his t-shirt and telling people they have a "boo boo" (aka, a zit) on their cheek.  There's a lot a kid has to learn about being "appropriate" in social environments.  About being polite.

But for Braden, not yet.

Not yet.

I'm going to let him laugh at his own toots for now.  Wherever he is.  And there's something refreshing in that, you know?

***And yes, this is what this blog has come to.  To think that I at times consider it a "legal blog"?***

Out Out

I can't even remember the last time I've gone out two nights in a row on a weekend.  And I don't mean out to a restaurant, or to a park, or to the zoo.  I mean OUT OUT.

"Out out" = an excursion without children.  With other adults besides one's spouse.  With drinks.  And food.  At least 2 miles from your place of residence.

Perhaps some of you reading are childless, or single, and go "out out" all the time.  Perhaps you can't even imagine what it is like to come to a point in your life where you repeat the word "out" twice and put quotation marks around it to reflect the rarity of it all.

To you I say, you are familiar.  I used to be you.  I never thought I wouldn't be you.  But now, I am so not you.  Someday you could be me (shudder).

Perhaps some of you reading don't feel the need to go "out out" anymore.  To deal with crowded restaurants and reservations and taxis and babysitters and all the hassle.

To you I say, I get it.  But really, you need to get "out out" more.  Because going "out out" is fun.

A Good Day Is...

Sleeping in until 9:15 am.

9:15 am!!!!!

Awakening to this face:

And this face:

Eating 1300 calorie Fajita Nachos from Don Pablos for lunch.  (My choice for venue - I'm high class, you see).  

Mother's Day Battle Cry

Earlier this week Braden asked me what Mother's Day was.  After a long winded explanation, involving explicit instructions to not disturb me until after 10am on Sunday, he asked the quintessential little kid question:

When is kid's day?

To which I gave the quintessential adult answer:

Everyday is kid's day.

It's true isn't it?

And it got me thinking.  How is that fair?

Some Rare Facebook Gems

I'm the worst kind of Facebook user.

I have a profile, but I don't really use it - I rarely post pictures or status updates.  Instead, I quietly judge those that post pictures of food on a plate, status updates such as "Thank you for all the birthday wishes," and "like" campaigns that say if I don't participate, I want children with cancer to die.

But yet, I check it incessantly.

And sometimes, between all the Bejeweled Blitz statistics and sonogram photos and Spotify sharing (really, I don't care what song you are listening to) and comment soliciting status updates ("Having a bad day," "Got the best news!" "Sometimes I question humanity"), people post some good stuff.

Here are three of my favorites:

It doesn't get any better than this. 

The perfect anniversary card.

Oh, the innocence.

Thank you, Facebook friends!

My 33rd Year

I read an article a few weeks ago that said that a study found that 33 is the "happiest" age.

My first reaction?  Well, crap.  I'm 33.  And this year has pretty much sucked.  Am I wasting what is supposed to be the happiest year of my life?

It's just a stupid article.  But it got me thinking.

About myself.  About happiness.  About control.  About letting go.  About life.

(Warning, this is going to be a deep one.)

Humbled by a Shot (at Life)

Casey's 18 month birthday was last Friday.  And with it came pride, some bittersweet tears as I entered stats into the baby book, and then the dreaded well check up at the doctor's.

Why the dread?

It's the vaccines.  I always opt for them, but it always makes me nervous.  I can't pinpoint why. Perhaps it's a mistrust of all powers that be or modern medicine or memories of being held down for shots as a child myself.  Perhaps it's my autistic cousin and the big question mark that surrounds the why (and yes, I know there is no proven link).  Perhaps it's just the angst of being a mom and having something injected into my baby.

Casey was set to get the MMR this go round.  You know, the big one.  The one that's controversial and has all the side effects and potential for fevers, rash, etc.  I was stressing about it.

And then came Friday night.

I attended an event hosted by my friend and fellow blogger Monica Sakala, (if you haven't read her blog, Wired Mama, you should check it out) and UN Foundation Specialist Anastacia Dellacio. The event was  to benefit the UN Foundation's Shot@Life campaign, which aims to ensure that all children worldwide have access to vaccines.  It was held at Dolci Gelati headquarters, which Anastasia and her husband own (Yes, she's a do-gooder and owns a gelato company.  I wanted to hate her, but I couldn't.  She's just that awesome.)