Leaves in Their Hair

Despite late nights, I am slightly behind on my NaNoWriMo project. My tailbone is still tender. My blog reader is swollen with blogs left unread and uncommented on. Thanksgiving is this week, and my Christmas shopping isn’t even started.

This Friday, I felt overwhelmed and teary and wondered if I was taking on too much.

This Friday, Ryan and I tucked the kids safely into the arms of Grandma and Grandpa and drove up to our old college campus, tickets to a basketball game in our pockets and the possibility of a football game on the horizon.

This Friday, I flat ironed my hair without worrying about little fingers finding the scorching ceramic and left my laptop at home without worrying about my to-do list and painted my fingernails without worrying about putting on gloves.

That last one might have been a mistake, as the wind on our walk to the Breslin Center was chillier than I had anticipated.

Even with cold hands, there’s something about being away for the night that makes the responsibilities of home feel far away, something that makes laughter easier and lighter and the decision about what to have for dinner seem like the most pressing concern of the night (Pesto Bruschetta, because I love a delicious appetizer, if you’re curious.)

With a voice hoarse from cheering on the basketball team and holding a conversation over the reverberations of an eighties band, we returned home, and I felt rejuvenated.

Abbey's smile seemed brighter than when we left on Friday, sparkling sweetly with her excitement about her sleepover.

Dylan's head still fit perfectly into the side of my neck, and I easily forgave him for Saturday night's sleeping drama.

There are e-mails to answer and posts to write and paths to follow my characters down, as they stubbornly refuse to behave how I’d planned, yet I spent most of Sunday making gingerbread men and playing outside and pulling leaves out of Abbey’s hair (and Dylan’s mouth, if I’m being honest.)

Our responsibilities haven’t lessened.

No one did my laundry while we were gone.

I made three different lunches on Sunday.

Yet I feel ready for the week in a way I haven’t in a long time, making shopping lists and plans for the kids and writing lists with anticipation instead of dread.

Who knows? Maybe we’ll even find time to jump in another pile of leaves.

this week's prompt was "I am feeling..."

(inspired by a Soleil Moon Frye tweet)

Every MONDAY join us…

Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice.

Be part of carrying the weight of confidence and share our mission to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

Next week’s prompt: What are you striving towards?

(Remember you can also write on a topic of your choice.)

Sharing Some Smiles

Naps

Lately, his book of choice is Curious George Rides a Bike.  We settle into the glider, snuggling and reading until my voice coaxes him into slumber.  Every once in a while, the backseat grows quiet, Abbey succumbing to a much-needed nap.  After our half marathon, but before picking up the kids, Ryan and I stole a brief, luxurious nap before noon.

 

Happy Grandma

After years of putting everyone else's needs before her own, my mom retired this September and had their kitchen cabinets and counters replaced, a project she's been talking about for a long time.  She deserves fourteen kitchens for the sacrifices she's made throughout the years, but this one makes her smile.

muffin recipe courtesy of Move Over Mary Poppins

visit for the recipe but stay for her amazing storytelling

Pumpkin

My mom's pumpkin bread kicks off my Christmas season, but until she begins baking, I seek out the flavor in other goodies-the pumpkin spice latte from Biggby Coffee or the above Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins are my favorites this year.

 

Playing Outside, Before Gloves Become a Necessary Accessory

Equipped with Diet Pepsi, a Toy Story bottle of water, my ever present writer's notebook, a little leaf picked by small fingers "just for you, Mama", and a kleenex for slightly runny noses, we are soaking in the remaining outdoor weather that doesn't require wrestling Abbey and Dylan into snowsuits.

Photos courtesy of Pinterest

Click for source information

Fall Fashion

Dresses with tights and boots, jeans and cozy scarves, warm neutrals and pops of color.  I'm finding myself drawn to casual looks this fall, jeans with cute accessories (though I just can't get away from a good heel!)  With two little ones, and only one who enjoys shopping, I haven't made any of my fashion dreams a reality yet this fall.  There's still time, right?

This week at just.be.enough. we're talking about Five Things That Make Us Smile.

What made you smile this week?

Every MONDAY join us…
Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice. Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission
to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children
that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

Next week’s prompt: The truth...

(Remember you can also write on a topic of your choice.)

Mixing Away Bad Moods

My galley kitchen wasn’t built for two small IKEA stools, a cobalt KitchenAid stand mixer, and a counter spilling over with ingredients.

But there we crammed, one of us wearing her Easter dress, one of us wearing his footed pajamas, and one of us wearing something that would soon be covered in aforementioned ingredients. Our agenda for the day hadn’t included homemade granola bars, but any mom can tell you that when your kids are cranky by eight in the morning, even Target doesn’t want you wandering their aisles.

Knowing that asking Abbey to help would elicit a contrary refusal, I had slowly smoothed out the recipe, a bit sticky with honey, and deliberately pulled out ingredients from the baking cupboard. She noticed and dragged over her chair without a word.

I helped her scoop both scoops of oats and spill more than half a cup of flour before Dylan threw down his plastic dinosaurs and pulled his own chair over to the counter.

With both kids jockeying for position at the mixing bowl, I had to relinquish my position between the two of them, leaving them with full access to push and grab at will.

Abbey helps all the time, her small hands dumping canola oil and ground flax seed as carefully as her coordination allows.

Dylan rarely shows interest, and soon grew tired of the practically empty tablespoons of cinnamon I was allowing him to add to our mix. Curious fingers reached towards the honey. Abbey pushed the plastic bear out of his reach, and I inwardly sighed, bracing myself for the whine of complaint.

“Here Dylan,” her kindest voice offered him a plastic mixing spoon. “Do this.”

Light shone through the small window, picking up the blonde glowing in their hair.

I gently straightened the bow of Abbey’s sash, my mood buoyed by her reaction.

And when Dylan managed to vigorously stir a not unsubstantial amount of our ingredients onto the counter, we were all ready to laugh, his chuckle the most gleeful of all, knowing he had somehow amused his big sister.

Extra cinnamon and pumpkin made our granola bars taste deliciously like fall, but what I really slid out of the oven that morning wasn’t on the ingredient list; we had subtly stirred newfound cooperation and smiles and better moods into the batter.

Calmly, I placed the recipe back in the cupboard, awaiting the next time their sour moods need a little something sweet.

Dry Ingredients

2 c. oats * 1 c. flour * 1/2 c. ground flax * 3/4 c. brown sugar * 3/4 tsp. cinnamon

Wet Ingredients

1/2 c. canola oil * 1 egg * 1/2 c. honey * 1/2 c. pumpkin * 2 tsp. vanilla

Easy-Peasy, Kid-Friendly Steps

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Dump all ingredients into mixer

Mix

Spread into greased 9 x 13 pan

Bake 30-35 minutes at 350 degrees

Cool 5 minutes before cutting

This week's prompt was: What Fuels You?
And so much of that comes back to soaking in the lessons Abbey and Dylan wordlessly teach me.

Every MONDAY join us…
Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice.
Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission
to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children
that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

Next week’s prompt: Five Reasons to Smile

(Remember you can also write on a topic of your choice.)

Listen Up, Future Self!

Dear 99 Year Old Angela,

By this time, you know what happens in our life more than I do.  You know our disappointments, which of our dreams have come to fruition, and how some of those dreams have been reshaped into wonders I cannot yet imagine.

You may not have kept this Saturday in your special box of memorable days.  Days at the zoo can blend together, pushing the increasingly heavy double stroller over the cement paths, opening Goldfish, peering at monkeys for just a few minutes longer than an adult finds necessary.

But this Saturday was different.

You dragged your heels about going, a fuzzy-headed cold and a few nights of interrupted sleep compounded a nagging feeling of restlessness, of not being appreciated outside of your role as a mother.

You went through routine motions: automatically packing snacks and filling water bottles, applying sunscreen and remembering the stroller brake outside of the butterfly house.

Resentment bubbled under the surface of your smile.

Then something shifted.

It began on the carousel, a new fixture at our zoo, the animals still shiny and smooth, unblemished by errant wads of gum and the residue from sticky, chubbily childish hands.

Abbey’s infectious giggles coaxed out a real smile as she primped and posed, “Take my picture, Mommy!” reminding you that you hadn’t used the camera as much lately.

By the time we reached the prairie dogs, an underappreciated animal, cute and spry, the bubbling resentment had dissipated.  Abbey patiently helped Dylan into the children’s viewing area, holding his hand instead of pushing him away, quietly encouraging him and relinquishing her turn, with a smile, in a reasonable amount of time.

Of course, we had to remind Abbey fifty-nine times that she needs to tell us before jumping out of the stroller.

Dylan fell asleep as we ambled to the car, slept during the ride home, and refused to nap the rest of the day.

You forgot to refill your enormous zoo member diet pepsi cup before leaving.

Yet the day ended without the discontentment and resentment with which it began.

So today, I want you to remember that Saturday in October, warm and lovely, leaves just beginning to glow red and orange in the sun.

Remember how a small hand sliding into yours can ease worry about what will tomorrow or the next day or the one after that.

Remember to be present.

With love,

Angela, October 2011

P.S. You don't look a day over 93.  I promise.

This week’s prompt: Write a letter to your future self or your child.

Every MONDAY join us…
Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice. Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission
to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children
that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

Next week’s prompt: What fuels you?

(Remember you can also write on a topic of your choice.)

Today I Will Practice Patience

Months ago, I agonized over choosing a preschool for Abbey.  Using an evaluation scale involving recommendations, observations from classroom visits, pros and cons lists, and sheer instinct, a system more complex than the current gymnastics scoring system for the Olympics, Ryan and I finally decided on a school we felt would work for her and for Dylan in a couple of years.

Five minutes after we dropped her off the first day, I doubted our choice, worrying out loud over coffee with a friend, our younger boys playing happily, but a little aimlessly, confused without their ever-present older siblings.

I fretted to friends on the phone, quietly talked to Ryan about it at night, hurriedly whispered my concerns to my mother as Abbey and Dylan ran around on the mall playground, thankfully oblivious to my overactive dramatic gene, the one I thought I retired at sixteen.

I would have poured out my troubles to the mailman, who seems like a kind man, but Abbey was listening, and the one thing I worried about more than if I had made a mistake was that she would hear me talking about it.

Because I have chosen my friends wisely and got lucky in the family department, every person listened calmly, withheld their admonishments of my particular brand of craziness, and gently reminded me to give the situation some time.

Last Sunday, Abbey cried about preschool for the first time.

She cried because it was Sunday, not Tuesday, and she hadn’t been to school, “…in such a long time!” and wanted to go immediately instead of waiting a few more days.

This week, Dylan, my mom, Nan, Ryan, various stuffed animals, and I have all attended school, where we’ve been asked to call her Ms. Mary, her teacher’s name.

Finally, this Tuesday, I will be able to kiss her good-bye with real enthusiasm to match her own, trusting that she is enjoying her first foray into education.

Give it time.

I have needed that reminder my whole life.

Be patient.

I battle impatience daily.

Seeing my girl excited about school, despite my worries, is another gentle shove, prompting me to take a breath and pause, to slow down.

I will close my notebook and go to bed, warding off burnout with fewer posts and resting at night so I can enjoy fall without a fog of exhaustion clouding my head.

I will buy a few pretty things that fit and make me smile, realizing I can’t remake my closet in a season, at least not without the help of a fairy clothesmother like Stacy London.

I will keep running, slowly, and keep eating birthday cake and balance it all out with smaller portions and a genuine attempt to stop fixating on a number, neither on the scale nor on the tags of my clothes.

Today, I will practice patience.

Abbey on her first day

see the name tag?

one of my concerns was that they hadn't used "Abbey"

it's been fixed

This week at Just.Be.Enough. we wrote about something we knew we had to do.

Every MONDAY join us…
Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice.
Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission
to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children
that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

Next week’s prompt: Write a letter to

your future self or your child.

(Remember you can also write on a topic of your choice.)

The Constant in the Chaos

My fingers race over the keyboard, thoughts tumbling onto the screen.

Pausing, I read what I’ve written.

Sigh.  Select the text.  Delete.

More slowly, I begin again, attempting to form the sentences in my head before typing.

I read what I’ve written.

Sigh.  Select the text.  Delete.

Pushing back my laptop, I read the jotted prompt in my little notebook:

“The top area of your life where you would like to apply the Just.Be.Enough. mission of standing taller.”

My cursor blinks at me, the screen blank, glimpses of ideas scurrying around my mind, ducking behind columns as I try to grab them, pile them together, decide which part of my life most needs this important mantra: Just.Be.Enough.

I idly flip the pages in my planner, take a drink of water, reach for the book on the corner of my desk, ready to distract myself with another one of the endless tasks on my to-do list.

My nails are unpainted.  I need to empty the dishwasher.  There are new songs I want to add to my running playlist.

Each thought is a bouncing ball, a tiny sphere of pink rubber ricocheting back and forth in my mind, bumping against other thoughts, rebounding off each other, crowding the space and making it impossible to follow any one thought to its final destination.

Again, my eyes go to the prompt:

“The top area of your life where you would like to apply the Just.Be.Enough. mission…”

I jot notes.  Running.  Writing.  Self-Image.  Parenting.

Running has been a struggle lately; after the half marathon I need to rediscover what it means to run without a clock, without mileage expectations, without a goal other than the joy I find in running.

I’m writing and editing and collaborating on amazing projects, but I am unsure what all of those things mean in relation to my own professional path, unsure if it can even be considered a professional path.

Preschool has reawakened my worries about moving, where I want the kids to go to school, when we’ll be able to consider a move at all.

Dylan resisted going to bed tonight, and as he buried himself into my chest, I breathed him in and vowed to spend more time enjoying each little phase of their development instead of worrying about timelines and schedules.

“The top area of your life…”

I study the words I’ve doodled.  Which area is top?  How do I determine where I need to most accept my limitations and embrace my strengths, when I’m so unsure about so many of my end goals?

Deliberately, I reach for the computer.

I have not had a moment of clarity.

I can’t declare that I am enough as a runner, a writer, a mother, a wife.

I am uncertain about where any of these paths will lead.

Without a goal, a destination, I cannot state with certainty that I am enough.

There is only one certainty.

Today, in a parking lot, I held Abbey’s hand, her other hand holding Dylan’s small fingers.  Ryan completed our small chain, holding Dylan’s other hand firmly in his.  Our eyes met briefly, over the heads of our children, a smile holding the four of us together.

I am unsure where my path will lead, but I know who is walking at my side.

And that is enough.

Every MONDAY join us… 
Write, post, link-up, share your story and your voice. 
Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission
to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children
that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

Sweetness of Summer

For months, the humidity seeped through the cracks in doors, dampening foreheads with sweat.  

Temperatures climbed upwards, causing us to spend days playing in water or retreating to the coolness of the library.

Playing at the park meant ponytails to keep hair off our necks and baths every night to scrub away the thin film of sunscreen, sweat, and dirt unique to little boys enamored with feeding wood chips to plastic dinosaurs and the little stone turtle in our backyard.

We lingered in wayward sprinklers on neighborhood walks.

Slid feet into sandals and flip flops and Crocs.

Ignored the back-to-school sales and the days slipping by on the calendar.

Rode the lazy days and evenings towards Labor Day without realizing how near that weekend loomed.

Then, September.

Labor Day in Michigan marks the change of seasons more than the autumnal equinox. 

Even if the temperature climbs back into summer-like heat, we have already pushed aside our swimsuits to make room for sweaters, and the heat is just a reminder of what lies in wait at the end of a long winter.

Years ago, my family welcomed fall with a soccer tournament at the Peach Festival, a Labor Day celebration in a nearby community.

This year, I decided the kids would experience the Peach Festival for their first time.

And they did.

And the experience was nothing like I imagined.

Driving as a passenger with my mom meant not really needing to pay attention to where we were going all those years.  With Ryan in buckled down study mode, I scoured the website map and still drove to the wrong location on my own.

Friday and Saturday were sweltering, and Saturday’s storms cooled things down for the remainder of the weekend, possibly a little too much.

With the temperature dropping by the minute, we wore hoodies and wandered around the craft show tents with sides, to block the wind.  I found myself wishing for pants or gloves or my comfortable brown boots as I tried to indulge the kids on the swings for a while.

My hair stuck in my lip balm; I used more than several tissues chasing running noses around the playground. 

Six eyes watered from the wind, and I let myself slide into thinking maybe I should have waited another year, a warmer year, a year Ryan could have joined us.

But then Abbey saw the farmers' market stands and forgot the wind.

Carefully, she inspected the four peaches in each "cute little basket" until finding the perfect combination.

And in the car, out of the wind, we enjoyed a few last bites of summer.

not a fan of the peaches

maybe he's waiting for fresh picked apples this fall

Every MONDAY join us… 

Write, Post, Link-Up, share your story and your voice.
Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission to empower, inspire,
and remind women, parents and children
that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

How have you have lived the Be Enough Me feeling this week?

Mind Games

In five weeks, I will be limping around a little, my legs burning with that familiar discomfort signaling that I pushed them a little further than they wanted to take me.

In five weeks, I will eat my favorite, calorie-laden Mexican dinner, trying my hardest to save room for ice cream, without guilt.

In five weeks, I will have crossed the finish line of my fourth half-marathon.

My legs have carried my body thirteen point one miles three other times, and each race has been uniquely challenging.

My mantra for each race has been “trust your training,” knowing that I had put in the training mileage, readied my body, no matter how painful it may have seemed during some of my runs.

Twinges in my left knee annoyed me while training for my first, later becoming painful enough to rely on a knee brace.

“Trust your training.”

I had to slow to a walk a few times, stretching my painful knee on the side of road and using the encouraging words of other runners to keep running, but my training carried me over the finish line.

My second was nine months after having Dylan.  Training runs meant rushing from the house after nursing, rushing back home, training myself to mother two children while coaxing my body back from pregnancy.

“Trust your training.”

I remembered that the underground tunnel connecting Windsor and Detroit would require a particularly motivating tune, so Kid Rock welcomed me back to Detroit with “Bawitaba”.  My training powered me through the last hill, somehow keeping the foot cramps from stopping the familiar left, right, left of my legs.

This winter drove me onto the treadmill, out of the cold and snow that freeze my motivation.

“Trust your training.”

I ran my best time of the three races.

Leaving that race, optimistic new goals bubbled into my consciousness.  My secret mental chalkboard blazed a new number.  I added a little speed work to my training plan.

Then I faltered.

Writing projects and active children compete with running on my priority list.

I missed some speed work, which doesn’t worry me.  I missed some long runs, which does.  My ambitious goal time is fading, slipping from my grasp.

There is still time to train, a few more long runs to spark my legs into remembering what I expect them to do when I lace up my shoes that morning to watch the sun rise over the Ambassador Bridge, concentrating on my pounding feet so that I don’t look down the impossible distance to the water.

I have vocally declared running a mental sport, explaining how my stubbornness helps me overcome my lack of natural ease in running.  Yet, trusting in my training means depending on my physical preparation.

“Trust your training” loses its power when I've fumbled in my training.

This time, I have a new mantra.

“Trust yourself.”

This is our very last week to make an impact for Be Enough Me 4 Cancer. Last week we had 45 people link up an enough-themed post in our Be Enough Me for Cancer campaign and I’d love it if you’d help us boost that number again. For every 20 linked up posts, Bellflower Books will provide a memory book to a woman fighting breast cancer through Crickett’s Answer for Cancer, and help bring a smile to courageous women giving it their all, every single day. The link-up remains open for three days. No blog? No worries. You can also comment on the post or on the Just.Be.Enough. Facebook page with your own story and be counted.


Even with the Be Enough Me 4 Cancer campaign drawing to a close, please continue to share your Be Enough Me stories on Mondays at Just Be Enough!  We will still be linking up every Monday and would still love to hear how YOU lived the Be Enough Me feeling each week.  Be part of carrying the weight of confidence, empowerment and share our mission to empower, inspire, and remind women, parents and children that the time has come to celebrate ourselves!

It Started With a Corner

For a long time, I blogged from my couch, laptop precariously balanced on a pillow teetering on my knees.

Inevitably, my eyes wandered to the television, DVR’d episodes of Gossip Girl, episodes of Law & Order I’d seen seventeen times, reality shows I should be embarrassed to admit to watching (Dance Moms, I’m talking about you.)

Idly, I clicked open a few blogs I meant to read earlier in the day. 

Checked my e-mail. 

Pinned pretties.  (And if you don’t know what that means, you’re better off.  Your to-do list will thank you for not opening a Pinterest account.) 

Finally made it back to my patiently waiting blog posts, my train of thought lost somewhere along my path of distraction.

I began to covet the immortalized necessity of Virgina Woolf – a room of one's own*.

I can see this room.  Cozy and feminine.  White furniture and frilly touches, peppered with optimistic shades of turquoise and yellow.  Delicate toile fabric. 

Absolutely unlike any of the rooms in my actual home, a home filled with vibrant, saturated colors, espresso wood, neutral décor.  A home I love.  A home filled with love and laughter and endless diversions.

A home that doesn’t have a spare room for Ryan and I to share an office, let alone for each of us to have our own, no matter how many ideas I might lust after on Pinterest.

Still, blogging on the couch was lulling me into a comforting vortex of wasting time. 

I needed something more.

As we discussed moving things around, creating a playroom space in the basement, I turned my eye to a corner in our living room, a corner housing a brightly colored dollhouse.  

Yet behind the dollhouse, I saw something more.  Built-in shelves.  The open staircase that snagged my heart the very first time we entered our house.

Potential.

Carefully, I purged and organized the toys so that they would fit into two of the four baskets remaining in our living room. 

Wistfully, I put aside my idea of an ideal writing space. 

Practically, I realized that I was building a for-now space, a stepping stone of sorts, a place to write towards my goals and my dreams.

Thanks to a particularly engaging episode of Sid the Science Kid, I managed to put together a sleek desk, the espresso color blending perfectly into our living room. 

Actually, it took an episode of Sid and the majority of Sesame Street.  Abbey and Dylan were in a state of television Nirvana.  There were four thousand and three parts in that one little box!

My dream room is tucked away, waiting for a day when I can paint and furnish and lose myself for more than the stolen moments when the kids are safely ensconced in their beds.

For now I have a corner.  

It still needs to be cultivated, decorated with small bits of me.  I need a chair, so that I don't have to drag my dining room chair over to my desk each night.  But for now I have a corner.

And it’s enough.

My room of my own.

For now…

 *I realize I have oversimplified Woolf's idea of a room of one's own.  I don't mean to disrespect her ideas or the struggles that women writers faced in her time, but I honestly think my little corner will be beneficial as I move down my writing path, wherever it may lead.

How have YOU lived the Just Be Enough feeling this week?

Write a post, or link up a post you've already written, about how you felt comfortable, powerful, or content in your own skin recently.  

Just Be Enough is teaming up with Bellflower Books and Crickett's Answer for Cancer to bring beautiful memory books to women fighting breast cancer.  For every 20 linked stories, Bellflower Books will donate a $75 gift certificate to a woman and her family to create a twenty-page memory book.  The families will be chosen through Crickett's Answer for Cancer.  Our goal at Just Be Enough is to provide ten families with one of these books.  The campaign will continue for two more weeks, and we are currently very close to our third book!  

Please consider linking up, and if you read a post you think fits with the idea of being enough, send them over!