The 973rd time

I spend a lot of time between the hours of 6 p.m. and 7 p.m. on Wednesday evenings telling large groups of people to "let go."

In fleeting moments outside of that time slot, whether in a quick meditation, a practice of my own, or even just a deep breath out, I tell myself to "let go."

Sometimes my own intention is specific, and other times it's just a general shake off the day, the week, the stress du moment.

I usually feel better--and I hope that the people in my classes do as well--but for me, quite often, it never feels totally gone.

There's still that little nagging something; an "ugh, I wish it would just release." I can feel it clutching in the pit of my stomach, or the back of my mind, or deep in that space in my heart that lies a little bit dark and unresolved.

But I know, each time I actively let it go, that someday it will be gone.

I say in class, at least once, "Let it go, whatever 'it' is for you. You may need to release 'it' 973 more times, but eventually, it will leave you free."

When I woke up today, one of my own dark nagging emotions was not there. I tried to get upset about it and even actively sought out the "ugh" emotion--I did, in fact, really try so hard to do that. It was like looking for the wallet you know your kid dropped in the parking lot at the last store. I knew it was gone, but I still wanted to find it.

But I was free.

And instead of being sad or upset, as a lost wallet might make me, this loss...well, it made me smile.

It's not the first time this has happened, and every time it does I wonder why. I wonder what pushed it out, once and for all. Was it a particular yoga pose from a few days ago? A good night's sleep? A visit from the Sandman who told me to release it? Was it what I ate? Healing properties of sun dried tomatoes?

The truth is, there is no one magical thing anyone can tell you to do to really, truly let "it" go.

But one day, just maybe, on the 973rd time, that little-dark-nagging-unresolved space will be gone.

Who knew a Monday could feel so good?

(Added bonus: my favorite yoga poem, by Danna Faulds from "Go In and In: Poems from the Heart of Yoga.")

"Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold: the holding of plans or dreams or expectations--Let it all go. Save your strength to swim with the tide. The choice to fight what is where before you now will only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go. Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes through your days whether you received it gently or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders. Take this on faith; the mind may never find the explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward nonetheless. Let go, and the wave's crest will carry you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of rest and peace, and certain transformation."

The best we can, part 2: Fall

I wrote this crazy whiny blog post last night that I published but never posted to social media and somehow, thirteen people still found it, although twelve of those may have been spam bots from r-e-f-e-r-e-r.com...weird.

I'm keeping it up because even though it lamely attempts to be present, happy, and bright, it's really just me whining, and I think it's important to show that I am not, in fact, present, happy, or bright all of the time.

You can read it here.

But I can also summarize.

It was all about how we did nothing memorable on a glorious fall day, and I dress my kids horribly un-trendy, and they often refuse to eat vegetables and I was tired of watching my news feed showcase only the stuff that made me feel like crap.

Because I totally compared myself to those news feed posts. And I shouldn't. But I did.

Human.

So fast forward to now, where yesterday's whine (although I wish it were wine) carried over to a case of the Monday blarghs and it's a full moon and technology messed up those dreaded SLOs and the kids were cranky and.

Blargh.

Now press pause.

Deep breath.

Resume play.

This moment.

I just finished my fourth chocolate chip cookie (yes, fourth!) with a cool breeze blowing on my face from that glorious fall weather while I sit and type and wait on a plumber to arrive who will allow me to take hot showers without flooding the finished basement.

And in my news feed was a post by a photographer who I don't know, but who, in a general photo of a cup of coffee said, "Expectations from others have the ability to destroy you, but only if you let them." (Follow thedefineschool on Instagram, and you can view such wisdom yourself.)

Like a good Language Arts teacher in a stream of consciousness writing assignment, I carried myself away from this desk chair and computer, and I found myself here.

At the risk of sounding like a crazy person, this tree calls to me, and has since we first moved in. We have an amazing acre of woods right out our back door, and this strong, enormous gem catches my eye every time I scan the yard.

Spring is for dragging our roots up out of the earth, dusting off, and beginning to tread lightly. Summer is for floating through air, whimsiscal and light. Winter is for hibernation, for burrowing and finding warmth.

But Fall. Fall is for letting our roots seep again. For grounding ourselves and settling into something solid and tangible and safe.

Safe from the expectations of others that we think exist--of the "What will they thinks" and the "Who even cares" and the "Why do I put myself out theres."

Fall is for the reset button; the trees shed their leaves and we watch them let go with grace and freedom.

We let go, too.

I'm letting go.

I choose to let go of my own expectations of myself as a mom, a wife, a teacher, and I certainly let go of what others' perceive to be ideal and fabulous...what is ideal for one is not for the other, and who are we to judge (ourselves or others) in saying what ideal looks like. It changes. Every day. Maybe even in each moment.

I acknowledge where I faulter and I know that no one area of my life can ever be equally as strong as the next at the same moment in time. It's this beautiful dance of give and take where we waiver one day and shine radiantly the next.

How we let go is of little importance; run, yoga, dance with wild abandonment, cry, sigh, laugh with friends, sing, scream, whine, or wine.

Shake it out, Florence and the Machine.

I'll go ahead and take all of the above, please.

Once we've cleared, we dig deep and settle in and we feel better. Free. Strong.

Even big trees bow with the wind.

What counts is that we find smiles and giggles and love in as many moments as we possibly can.

And if that means eating four chocolate chip cookies on a perfect fall day while setting my roots alongside a magical tree, then so be it.

Happy Fall.

The best we can

I feel like I do a pretty good job of telling myself that I do the best that I can when it comes to raising my kids.

When Will was a month old, and we would turn on Nick Jr. for him (okay, for us--we were so ready for kid shows...little did we know then...) there would be a spot between shows about the parent website and their slogan was, "We're not perfect; we're parents!" And it wasn't until much later in this gig that I realized how true it was.

Still...I can't help but feel like crap when, for example, today, I saw how every family under the Western Hemisphere sun was enjoying the most perfect fall Sunday afternoon EVER (according to social media), and all my kids did was go to Target and watch Finding Nemo.

Or when Will picks the t-shirt with screen print super hero characters all over it, and the other kids at the play date/school/birthday party have on their finest Polos and Gap Kids pull overs.

Or those little zingers here and there: "My little guy just LOVES vegetables!" as my kids shun peas with faux gagging noises and dramatic choking sounds.

It stings a little because I can't help but think, "I messed up."

My poor little vitamin-deprived, festival-deprived, couch potatoes.

And I know--I absolutely know--that no one posts their kids in super hero t-shirts even if they wear them the 364 other days out of the year, nor does anyone post the candy corn meltdown that may have occurred post pumpkin patch hay ride (it's not even October yet!?!), or in the throws of hot dogs for the fourth dinner in a row.

Because "no one wants to see the bad stuff."

Except me.

And probably you, too.

Give me honesty, people. Give me your good, glorious, Rock Star parenting moments, because those moments are awesome--I absolutely know. I want to like them and give you social media high fives!

But give me your human moments, too. Those are what make us feel connected.

Which is why I'm going to share the following--it's a little Rock Star, a little "Ugh I messed up somewhere."

#honestmommy

Will has this bucket called "Our Love Bucket," that a friend from high school made several months ago. In it are photos of ten relatives, and I have had every intention of having Will pick a person at bedtime, and think good things about that person...every intention of doing this since it came in the mail...eight months ago.

Today, while cleaning up his room, I decided it was time.

So I called him in.

I explained these were all people we loved very much, and we were going to pull one person out without looking and think about all the reasons we love that person, and maybe something we would like them to experience, like a good night's sleep, or a fun day.

"So we don't call them fat or anything like that?"

#honestmommy Will is fixated on people who are overweight--only not just people, but cartoon characters, and animals on a game, and pillow pets! I was told he asked one of his preschool teachers why she had a fat belly.

There. Honesty.

After assuring him that this was not the time to dwell on the size of people, he selected Greg's dad and his friend, Mary.

"I really like Grandpa," he said. "And I hope he has a good day at work, and I hope Mary has a good day at work."

Never mind they're both retired.

"Can I do another one?"

We selected my dad.

"I really like Grandad. He's wearing a hat in this picture from his birthday party when we set off fireworks. Why did Uncle Jon like the fireworks?"

Sidetracked.

"Can I do one more?"

He picked Greg and I.

"I like my mommy and daddy. They're nice."

"Why are we nice? What kinds of things do we do that make us nice?"

"You let me have popsicles."

And fat comments and popsicle bribery aside, I rest easy.

I am doing the best that I can. And it's always always enough.

Workin' Together

Happy Labor Day, folks.

It may be ninety-five degrees outside, but when I see the date "September" on my phone, my mind goes to crisp fall days...even though those are still several weeks away.

I may or may not have beef and barley soup in the crockpot...and a cinnamon candle burning...while the only thing outside that is crisp is my very brown lawn.

Speaking of lawns, we've owned ours now for two months exactly, and we have been wrapping up projects here and there, so I thought I'd let you in on what we've done. Prepare yourself for a big ol' bomb of photos.

I may have mentioned before that DIY projects are sort of our "thing;" some couples go to concerts, some ride bikes, some try new restaurants. Greg and I bust out stuff on our house.

And although we've never DIY'd while on a bike, we have definitely shared a few beers and listened to good music while working (well, it depends on who you ask if the music is "good").

We never really documented too much of our old house, aside from the photos on old computers that were never transferred, etc., so as we put our stamp on this house, we wanted to make sure we were keeping track of our sweat equity.

Before we begin, let's answer two frequently asked questions.

"Where on earth do you find the time to do this?!" 

Well, my mom moved back to town recently so...our kids LOVE their grandparents! And we do this and that when they are sleeping. I've painted enough rooms now that I can knock one out in just over an hour! 

"Where do you find the energy?!" 

I don't know...we love doing this stuff, and you always find the energy to do the stuff you love. That and sugar free orange caffeine packets you can get at Kroger. :o) 

So. Let's begin--in no particular order.

Greg hated the faded tomato-y red door and forest green shutters (I suppose I did, too, but they didn't bother me to the same degree). So last weekend, after the line at the barber shop was too long for the boys to get haircuts, we looked at each other and said, "Let's paint the house!"

Before. (We suck at taking most "before" photos, so I had to steal this from the county auditor's website--you can still see the hideous bushes...and a car that is not ours, duh, we didn't live here in 2008.)

After. (Black shutters, brighter red door.)

We've also ripped out all but a few original bushes. There are great deals on plants this time of year, so as long as you cross your fingers it all comes back in the Spring, I say take advantage! We decided to forego most of the suburban round shrubs and create a bit of a "butterfly garden" with great color in the planting bed to the right of the house, so maybe next summer that will fill in and make for a good post.

Let's head inside.

As soon as we had signed the paper work, we got into the house and ripped out all of the carpet on the second floor, and painted both boys' bedrooms (Behr's Cosmic Quest for Will, Behr's French Colony & NYPD Blue for Reid).

Will's room before.

After.

Reid's room before (pink!).

After.

What I love most about Will's room is his art, including this etsy find: a Batman print on vintage French dictionary paper (hello!?):

And this etsy find--you know, boy stuff:

(The choo choo names were a gift from a friend, but can also be found on etsy here.)

The laundry room was our next project (day three of having moved in) because we I couldn't handle the original white--and very stained--linoleum floor. This would be the room we walked into after long days, so I felt it important to be somewhat inviting.

We purchased a newer product on the market--linoleum tiles you can actually grout. So, for the look and feel (but not price!) of ceramic, and only about three hours total installation (walkable the next morning!) we got this:

Before.

After.

With a coat of our general first floor paint (Benjamin Moore Moonshine), and some brighter paint (Behr Ultra White) on the trim and door, coat hooks, a magnet board, etc., it looks like this:

Other things I'd like to do:

• new light fixture (maybe recessed lights instead?)
• art work somewhere
• backsplash around the utility tub
• hide things on the shelves with baskets
• new door hardware

The dining room was my next big project, and I was super excited to use this wall stencil I got on etsy. I went bold in color (Stuart Gold by Benjamin Moore), and the final product became this fantastic French farmhouse feel.

Before (a mess always makes for a better "before," eh?):

After. 

I turned my old half-door garbage pick find from the old house into a chalkboard and carried that Frenchy theme with a little menu from the city the Puntenneys hailed from.

(Sorry for the instagram copy but hey--wanna follow me on instagram? There you go!)

The family room was next. Dark blue scared me but this color turned out fantastic (it's Behr Andirondack Blue). (I also love how in this photo you can see the green of the office, the gray of the hallway, and the still khaki walls in the kitchen, which actually fit into the color family nicely.)

The mantle provided a challenge, but for now, this strikes a nice balance.

More things we want to do in here:

• We've got plans for another "Ikea hack" (details below) entertainment center 
• Eventually this room will be hardwoods as well to complete the entire first floor. Lulu, sweet girl, had a hard time adjusting to the new house and made this room her personal, well, potty. Gross. Stinky. #smellslikedogpee #thankgoodnessforsteamvacs
• Lighting. Recessed lighting. 

The foyer has been given a coat of Moonshine, as has the upstairs hallway. Need to paint the spindles (hello, time consuming project) and add a little chest to the front (it's currently holding the TV in the family room). 

And our last project--probably what I'm most proud of so far--is the office. 

Completely empty (well, except for that pretty girl who is confused about the potty).

To this.

The color is starting to grow on me (Benjamin Moore Stormcloud) as we've hung artwork, curtains, and styled the bookcases. 

After finding inspiration online here and here (definitely check out that second link, young house love; we have gotten so many great ideas and tutorials from them!), we decided to do our own "Ikea hack": take the cheap Ikea stuff, and customize it to make it look, well, custom! So we went from cabinets with cubes and a lumber top...

...to cabinets that look custom made with Greg's carpentry additions, and a walnut stained top.

 

Things I'd still like to do in this room:

• hang pendants above each desk area
• get some sort of loveseat for the back of the room
• hire someone to paint all of that dental molding (holy cow is it annoying and time consuming)
• acquire some upholstered desk chairs (those are our old kitchen stools as the unit is more bar height)

We haven't spent much; that office was only the cost of a gallon of paint, two additional Ikea cabinets plus drawers, the shelves, the drawer hardware, and the lumber for the top. We had everything else!

We are on a ridiculously tight budget for at least the next nine months as we become accustomed to things like, oh, a new house payment, etc., so we are picky about where we spend money. Most of our changes have been paint--which, if looking for inspiration, should inspire you to spend $35 and create your own makeover! This winter we may only be tackling the half bath, which is covered in wallpaper and a very outdated sink and cabinet--which (I say) can be made over on the cheap...oooo, or maybe we will paint the basement (the amount of toy storage and play space down there is ridiculously awesome).

Doesn't matter...so long as we are workin' together!

P.S. Like all those links throughout? They take you to the stuff we bought! Go crazy!

Ironic oxymorons

Last week, I went to the doctor because I thought I was dying.

No, seriously. Legit--I thought I either had a mass on my brain, or I was having a heart attack.

You can laugh. It's funny now. Those two things aren't even slightly related.

I started back to work last week--new everything--and I felt anxious and nervous and overwhelmed, but nothing that gave me a full on panic attack...

...only I was totally having them. I sat in meetings last week and suddenly my heart would race, I would start sweating, and it felt like all of the blood was draining from my head. My legs would get tingly and I'd have to grip something to keep from falling face first into my coffee.

I had a migraine daily. I had so much Excedrin migraine coarsing through my veins that I was like Jessie Spano circa 1989...

"I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so...so...!"

Once my Russian doctor (I feel like I should tell you she's Russian because her accent is awesome) was sure I was not, in fact, dying, and I just needed to find my groove--"and relax!" she said (with her Russian accent)--I felt a bit more at ease. Pun intended.

In fact, I haven't had a panic attack since.

It wasn't until Sunday, when I unrolled my yoga mat in a class, lay down in the toasty room with that familiar and soothing China Gel smell, and exhaled with much gusto that I had this thought:

"The yoga teacher had panic attacks."

Shit. Seriously?

I was am a walking oxymoron.

My morning commute isn't nearly as long (I swear, I'll stop talking about this new job eventually), but since it's the place I do my best thinking, and I've had a few days to sort this out, I thought I'd share my conclusions.

1. It isn't enough to just practice breathing on my mat. When I practice, I am there. My mind is a one-track-inhale-exhale-flow machine. Why can't I stay in that flow when, say, my kids are climbing into drawers and sitting in them with the toaster and throwing raisins on the wall when I'm cooking dinner (because yes, that happened. Recently. Ok, last night)? Where does my breath go and why can't I stop and say to myself, "Breathe"? My conclusion is because it's not part of my daily practice--my drive to work, pick up kids, go home, make dinner, give baths, bedtime routine. At no point do I say, "Inhale as you put the car in drive, exhale as you roll down the window." And while it doesn't need to be as black and white as that, well, maybe it does. And so post-its are helping me. I wrote out a whole bunch at work today, and they're going in special places around my house. "Breathe you idiot" happens to be my favorite. Kidding. Not very yogi like to call yourself and idiot. But maybe it would get the point across.
2. Remaining in the moment is hard when your mind is organizing and categorizing and processing a thousand files a minute. My mind was on overdrive. I was overthinking everything: every lesson plan, every word, every idea, every movement, every new name on my roster, every new person I met. I analyzed and overanalyzed and rethought each movement I made. I relived it all in my head, hashed it out time and again, and then I anticipated the next interaction or idea or thought with so much anxiety that my heart had nothing to do but race, and my head had nothing to do but hurt. Duh, Russian doctor. Textbook panic attack. Now that I've established a routine, I'm giving myself deadlines. "Things don't feel awesome now, but they will by Friday...or next week...or October," and that seems to make my mind shut itself up and calm the fuck down.
3. Sorry for the profanity in this post. It's not very "bright" of me.

Why share all of this with you? Because a friend reminded me this week that sometimes a blog is the one thing that makes us feel normal and say, "Gosh, someone else out there lives through and feels the same things I do!"

And also, yoga teachers aren't perfect. Yogis aren't perfect. You can count on me to stay positive  to anything that's going on in your life...but I often struggle to remain in that bright spot with my own.

We're all on a journey, doing the best we can. Every morning we wake up and it's a new opportunity to grow.

Healing

I've been thinking quite a bit lately about how we each have the power to heal one another in various forms--words, the act of listening, prayer, and touch.

Think about how much more significant something becomes when it's said with even the slightest touch--even an introduction is more powerful when a handshake is firm.

I have a friend I was lucky enough to live with in France, who, every time she shared a laugh with you, would look you straight in the eye and grab your forearm.

It was so powerful for me that when I think of her thirteen years later, that is what stands out. Her grip was so full of a shared love it just made you feel good, laugh harder. The energy we share and transmit can be just as healing as it can perhaps be depleting.

Last night, at the end of the yoga class I taught, I apologized for my wrist cracking and popping as I gave people head and neck adjustments in savasana. We all laughed, but I was especially taken by the woman who said, "It's such a bonus, your touch, that I leave feeling even better than I thought I could."

When I first began teaching yoga, I had to accumulate Karma Yogi hours--time spent teaching yoga for free (because, well, you know, you can't charge people when you're terrible).

I had a bank of guinea pigs in the staff at my school, and a dedicated ten of them allowed me to guide them through asana and pranayama (fancy pants words for poses and breath), but really, they came for the head and neck adjustment at the end.

And that was all fine by me--I wanted to heal and help in anyway I could, and for them it was always the power of touch.

One of those ten was a woman named Trish, who taught across the hall and down from me for five years before she decided to take an early retirement to do, well, the fun things retirees do. For her, it would be time spent with kids and grandkids, and helping her daughter run her cupcake truck business.

(Duh...cupcakes all day or stinky sixth graders? Um...cupcakes!)

In January of this year, she emailed and asked if she could still come to the yoga classes I was holding in my classroom. She needed a good head and neck adjustment. :)

She brought her check book to her first class back in my stinky classroom, which I promptly told her to put away. She then offered to pay me in cupcakes. How could I refuse?

I led her and a few other teachers through poses and breath, and then everyone's favorite part--the healing power of touch and the coveted head and neck adjustment.

I didn't see Trish again.

Two weeks after her return she was diagnosed with inoperable brain tumors.

She passed away this morning.

And for me--what I can't seem to let go of--is that the last place I touched so lovingly and with such good mojo...was her head.

My first few years teaching I was lucky enough to have a principal I adored.

His name was Mark, and he had the biggest heart, kindest soul, and softest demeanor.

After his departure, I was told the story about how Mark, a devout Christian, would arrive well before the staff and walk the halls, praying at each teacher's room--for strength, and courage, and confidence, and patience, and anything else he deemed necessary.

That building needs Mark.

For the second time this summer, they will bury one of their own.

I went for a run this morning without my kids--I needed to, for lack of a better word, cleanse. It is really hard to run and cry at the same time, so it was good to not focus on the sadness.

My mind kept repeating lyrics to one of my favorite yoga songs (Om Narayana) by Wade Imre Morissette, and I end this blog post with them because they embody the absolute sweet spirit of Trish...and the spirit of our ability to heal one another--maybe not in the medical sense, but in the much more powerful sense of healing emotions through touch, prayer, words, love.

Joy on the inside and peace on the outside,
Loving on the inside and laughing on the outside,
Kissing on the inside and healing on the outside,
Flowing on the inside and thriving on the outside,
Clearing on the inside and accepting the outside,
Shining on the inside and shining on the outside.

Shine on, Trish...Shanti Om.

To the moon

It has been almost exactly a year since I wrote a post about the astronaut we were welcoming into our lives.

Reid's toritcolis/plagiocephaly diagnoses were not earth shattering, world ending, terrifying issues to deal with.

They were little teeny tiny bumps on our road, blips on our radar.

And they were totally fixable.

After four and a half months in the very stinky astronaut helmet, which more than anything made me cry because I could not cuddle my sweet babe, our physical therapist wasn't seeing the result she wanted to see with his neck stiffness. In December, she recommended we put him in a "tot collar," and that's when I said, "Thank you, but no thank you," grabbed Reid, and called a craniosacral therapist a friend had recommended to me months earlier.

Her name is Cathy, and she did beautiful things for Reid. Using her energy and the healing power of touch, massage, and manipulation, she would relax Reid to the point of sleep, and he literally became modeling clay in her hands. She was able to manipulate the fascia in the skull to pull everything to where it should be, and she released all of the tightness on the right side of his neck. After four months, Cathy released us from her care, and we were left with a now-toddler who had a loosey-goosey neck, a full head of hair, and a beautiful skull.

Reid at 6 months, just after starting helmet wear. You can see how flat his head is in the back.



Reid today, at 16 months, with a very pretty head.



My mom shared recently that she had read something crazy like 75% of babies today have some degree of plagiocephaly due to the "Back to Sleep" campaign that has reduced the risk of SIDS. The article also went on to blame "lazy" parents who refused to put their babies on their tummies.

No comment on that one from this mom, baby "experts."

There is something to be said for following maternal instinct, mother's intuition, whatever you want to call it.

There is also something to be said for alternative medicine and therapies.

But that is a topic for another day.

Today, we are just happy to have our astronaut, who took us on quite the journey into the unknown.  We will keep shooting for the moon.