Being Uncomfortable

I've gotten to a certain age where I'm pretty stuck in my routine. I mean, it's pretty easy seeing as I have young children, and children, as they say, are creatures of routine. Happy kids have a routine. We wake up and have breakfast (usually my awesome 7 ingredient oatmeal which my husband is only so happy to help me replicate on days when I do not want to get out of bed), play games or just chill for a bit. Then we do some sort of activity (if it's not the bone-chilling -18 out as it is today, we usually play in the snow) or go to the store for groceries (and coffee). Lunch, followed by nap, then calm after-nap activities, and then something before dinner (either outside, going to grandma's house, or the store depending on what we did earlier). After dinner we do some physical activity involving walking (usually at the mall since it gets dark at 5:30 still), then bath, books, and bed. Bed is always around 7:30-8, wake up is usually between 7:30-8. A very planned out life (or at least the bones of the day are very structured and don't usually get moved).

Unfortunately, this level of life routine has got me stuck in a personal rut. I do the same thing everyday. When the boys are in bed, I would go watch some tv while knitting (or folding laundry), and be in bed by 10. Not much wiggle room, considering the 8 pm bedtime can often slowly leech into 9, as kids want sips of water, or another story, etc. This hour is golden. I don't want to do anything except what I want to do. I've guarded it closely. And it has become a rut. There are so many things I could do in the evening but I want to be lazy.

It's a bit like an analogy I saw in a magazine about clutter (stay with me for a minute, it'll make sense)- by setting down an object, be it mail, random items, laundry, whatever on the areas where things congregate, you are saying that your time now is more important than your time later. You are robbing yourself of that time freedom later. If you had decided to take the extra minute to put the bill where it needs to go (or heaven forbid actually pay it), put the socks away, put the toys in the appropriate bins, books on the appropriate shelves, you wouldn't need to spend the time later to do it. Think of it- if every time you set something down, you decided to put it in it's right home- you would have clean counters. You would have time where you didn't have to sigh about the counters and then spend 45 minutes trying to figure out where stuff goes, what to do with it. Or if you have a spot where laundry piles up- you take off your work clothes and something isn't dirty so you don't need to throw it in the bin, and you are just too lazy to hang it up or find a cupboard for it. This is my life (except I don't work). If you take the extra minute to hang it, fold it, put it away, you wouldn't have the mound of shame looking at you while you are surfing netflix.
So going back to my evenings- I am robbing myself of life. I just want to veg out and be lazy, be by myself, and I need to start doing things. Now see, things make me uncomfortable. I like to do my routine. It's ingrained, it's automatic, and it's comfortable.
I wrote that I took up running (and I will re-take it up once it's safe to run outside again). I have decided to take up yoga as well. I tried yoga once when I was in undergrad; my friend Holy and I went and it was so boring. I was not zen at all. I would try to hold my poses longer than other people, I couldn't zone out. But I guess something has changed in 13 years.

One- I have no flexibility at all. Ow. Man it hurts to work those areas that enjoy sitting on the couch eating Ben & Jerry's. Two- I don't mind it so much. Granted, I still want to be the best at things, but I'm working on quieting the voices. I need to be gentle with myself. I can't be awesome at everything from the get go. Sure would be sweet if I was, but it's just not going to happen. It's ok to be uncomfortable. I laughed last night at class as I'm trying to stand on one foot and do some sort of squat pose. It's uncomfortable to be the baby, learning for the first time. It also puts me in a better space to teach my children. I get upset when I ask them to do something for like the hundredth time and they can't. It is teaching me to have patience with the growing process, to help my children navigate the uncomfortable learning areas, and to show them that they can always be growing, always learning, always changing.

I'm very uncomfortable, but I'm starting to be more zen about it.

I'm a Runner: And no, Nothing was Chasing Me, Thanks

If you are wondering if the world is ending, it may be.

I have decided to take up running.

Shocking, right?


I decided the other day that I hate this anxiety so I'm going to do something that I hate even more than the anxiety and that is running. Oh I hate running. I mean I've never really done it, but the one time I did I ran maybe 200 feet and was like ok, that was fun.

It is so anti-me that I have a funny story.
I texted my husband to ask if he wanted to go running with me when he got home.
He said sure.
He got home and I asked him to go change into his running clothes (as it was getting close to dinner). He comes back in with jeans and a thermal on.
I ask "are you wearing that running?" and he says yes and gives me an odd look.
I ask him to help get the boys' snowsuits on, as it was beyond freezing and I wanted them warm for their trip in the jogging stroller.
"Where are we taking them?" my husband asks, and I reply to the jogging track that's nearby.
"Why?" he asks.
"To go running," I reply because duh I've already said running like eight times.
He thought I meant running errands. Because never in a million years would I run. I loathe it. So we went running and it was pretty pathetic.
Well actually it was beyond pretty pathetic.
It was 17 degrees and felt like 3 with the wind chill. The bitter bitter windchill. And to make matters worse, the track was thick with slushy snow, so very hard to push a stroller on. We made it about half a mile before the littlest boy got cold and started crying.
And also, my husband got a stress fracture from running.
Pretty pathetic right?
ButI got a girl friend to run with me the following day and I ran 1.5 miles (jogged, ok? Geez) without really stopping so that was a success.
Can I walk today?
No not very well.

But I'm going to stick with it. Even though every minute is full of hatred for it.

I'm hoping if I can conquer running, then maybe there's a chance I can mind over matter this anxiety.

Or at least get in shape.

Fat Lazy Slob- i.e.: Don't EFF with My Family

My sister and I haven't always gotten along.

Like say the entirety of high school.

Or when we were in junior high and she chased me with a butcher knife. 

Ah the joys of youth.

And being one year younger than my big sister.

Once we had kids, we actual realized we have more in common than we don't have in common.

We understand how truly weird our parents are.

As our family always said- I'm an idiot and she's my biggest fan.

And while I love her, she can drive me batshit crazy. I can just assume she meant something or sense a tone in her voice and it's done. I'm pissed. We can fight over the silliest things, yell, and then magically we are over it. The joys of family- they are family regardless.

And BECAUSE she is my sister, I am allowed to be grumpy and upset, or to say crap about her.

But don't for ONE. SECOND. Think that you can say ANYTHING about her. OH YES IT IS AN ALL CAPS MOMENT my friends.

She did something I'm not exactly in support of, but once you have kids you understand-

She left her kids in the car (it was about 60 out, early afternoon, so it's not like it was hot) to run inside a store, grab an item, and pay for it. In total, she may have been away from the car for about 5 minutes max. Now I am the ocd worrier who would think of someone crashing into my car or trying to steal my children, so I wouldn't do this. But I understand why she did. They are 4 and 6, loud, bratty, similar or equivalent to my children (just older). 

When she came back to her car, a man in his truck next to her berated her for leaving her children in the car. She responded, "They are my children and you should mind your own business". That's a step better than I would have said, and also had no swears.

He responded by calling her a fat lazy slob and said he was going to report her.

UM WHAT

I could kill this piece of crap bastard. First of all, the nerve. He said he noted it. Great. It wasn't hot, no one was crying, it wasn't a long time. Second, the hypocrisy. She said when she got there his dog was in the car without him. Oh so it's good enough for your dog but not for human children? Third, he's sitting in his truck sucking on a cigarette berating my sister? Imma murder him. 

It just reiterates the vastly different standards that men impose on women. She was dressed nicely, had makeup on, did her hair. Maybe she could stand to drop a few lbs, but what mother with children, especially young children, couldn't say the same?

And lazy?

OH YOU HAVE NO IDEA

My sister has been working full time while putting herself through nursing school, currently working nights in the maternity ward, and taking care of her kids during the day.

You are the most ignorant person in the history of persons I have called out on the internet, sir. 

I've definietly had my share of "helpful" people giving me unsolicited parenting advice. But insults? Fat-shaming? No.

And what do you think will stick with her? The words of love and support from her family? Smiles and hugs from her kids? Accolades on the job? Good grades?

Or some verbally abusive misogynist bullcrap from a random stranger?

It just makes me sick that one person could, with a few words, cut down a person I love so much and who has done so much for me. 

I'm done with humanity for the night.