For a second I forgot you were gone today, Dad. I was mindlessly folding laundry and heard a commercial on Pandora that mentioned remembering to call your parents. For that one split second I had the fleeting thought, “Oh! I should call Dad.”
And then it hit me. It hit me as hard as it did the day you were diagnosed with a stage IV brain tumor. As hard as it did the day we lost you. That phone call is never going to happen again.
I should have called more when I had the chance. I should have been more present in your life despite the hundreds of miles between us. A few more phone calls. More texts, when that was something you were still able to do. I got so busy with life and the kids and didn’t cherish what little time we had left with you.
I just didn’t want to face that you wouldn’t be here to watch Gracie and Parker grow up. That you wouldn’t be around to visit and cheer them on at their baseball games and dance recitals. It just hurt my heart too much.
You’d laugh pretty hard at how I snapped out of these thoughts, though. I heard Gracie say, “Ewwwww, Parker!” and ran into his room to discover him with a used Q-Tip in his mouth. Somehow in the minute he was out of my sight he managed to get into his garbage. I can almost hear your laugh in my head right now.
I miss you, Dad. I’ll never NOT miss you. But hopefully someday my heart will hurt a little bit less.
Okay, so the title may be a bit of an exaggeration. But do any other moms out there just feel like their patience level is completely drained by the end of the day? I want my children to have the very best of me all the time, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen. I’ll be the first to admit it.
We’ve had this bedtime routine with Gracie girl that just keeps getting longer. Three trips back to the potty, constantly thirsty – she’s really just trying to delay going to bed. She knows that. I know that. But the song and dance happens every. single. night.
I’m doing my best to encourage independence and establish good habits. But at some point, as sad as it makes me, I snip at her. And then I feel like the worst mom EVER. She looks up at me with those sweet little eyes peeking out from underneath her mop top of curly brown hair, and she asks me not to talk to her so loud.
So I take a deep breath. I smile at her. I give her the big hug she needs. I remember that she is just trying to figure out her boundaries. She’s constantly learning, constantly growing, and constantly changing. Soon she won’t NEED me when she has to go potty. Soon I won’t be there for her to giggle up at me after I realize my error and make a silly joke to her. At some point she’ll get up and do it all on her own and go back to bed, and I’ll be none-the-wiser.
Each day I do my best to grow. Each day I try to be a better parent than I was yesterday. Some days I feel successful, some days I don’t. But every single day I put my head on the pillow knowing that I am doing the best I can, and I sure hope that some day they see that.
So…I haven’t blogged in about 8 million years. I know, right? Kind of ridiculous for someone who wanted to start her own blog for like 5 years. So here I am. BOOM. Hello, world!
I know why I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been avoiding it like the plague for the same reason I’ve been avoiding the mirror for about a week and a half. I have Beachbody Summit this week and I am scared. to. death.
Why? Because I’m not at my goal weight. *GASP* Not a shocker to anyone who knows me. And yet I’m terrified to meet most of these fellow coaches in real life. I KNOW they’ll be nice. I KNOW they won’t be judgmental, because everyone started from somewhere. But the little, insecure 7th grader inside me just keeps saying, “But what if they think I’m fat?”
There are times when my self confidence SOARS. When I’m able to help other people reach their goals, or when I reach goals of my own. I feel more amazing than a bag of potato chips could EVER taste. And yet I can’t get out of my own darn head.
So wish me luck, folks, as I bare my soul (and my upper arms) to over 25,000 amazing Beachbody Coaches. This is me. This is who I am. I’ve fought really hard to lose over 85 pounds and keep it off. I have a heck of a lot more to lose, sure, but I’m PROUD of how far I’ve come.
Thought of the day: judgmental people kind of stink. CRAZY thought – I know. But honestly, why are there so many Judgy McJudgersons in this world?
I feel like I had two separate instances today where I was BIG time judged. And we’re talking before noon. Yeesh. They were for totally unrelated reasons. One business, one personal. And the people may not have even realized they were being judgmental (though I doubt it). In one case, it was a complete pot-calling-the-kettle-black type scenario, which makes it even cooler. Sigh.
Why is this the way we live? Why are we in a constant state of judgment on one another? Why do we think that OUR opinion, or our way of doing things, is the only way that matters? Why do we talk behind other people’s backs, instead of being up front and honest?
All good questions, in my opinion. I guess for now I’ll continue to live my life as an open book. I’ll continue to ask the questions. I’ll continue to present the problem. And if people decide to talk to others about it instead of just talking to me, so be it. Truthfully, it makes THEIR life more complicated – not mine.
Hmmm. But maybe these deep musings are just coming to the surface because of a trying day with my little lady. Toddlers sure test their limits, eh? You can seriously tell how good of a day we’ve had based on how many of her toys are being held hostage on top of the fridge. I absolutely hate taking things away from her, but it feels like the only thing that helps teach her lessons lately. Parents of toddlers, is that just me?!
So today? Meh. But tomorrow will be better. It always is. No judgments here.
When I woke up this morning I did NOT want to run. It’s been forever since I did a race (since last October, to be exact) and my stomach was in complete knots. But then my awesome sister-in-law picked me up, and then we went to pick up my other awesome sister-in-law, and at that point I was starting to get excited instead of nervous. We joked about the pre-race poops, and everything felt back to normal.
So picture me on this run. It’s the 4th of July. It’s getting muggier by the minute. I’m on mile 4-ish of a 5-mile run, and I see some teenage jerkface who was helping out with the race start to PICK UP THE FREAKIN’ CONES from the street. Okay, fine, so I was like 3rd or 4th from last place. I never claimed to be The Flash over here. But COME ON, dude. We were STILL RUNNING.
There seriously couldn’t have been anything more discouraging to me at that point. Tears welled up in my eyes. I gave a very stern mom look to the guy doing it, plus the driver (for good measure). And then I cranked up my tunes and I RAN.
Because guess what? People suck sometimes. People who are just trying to do their job can go right ahead and you’ll feel like they’re stomping all over you. It’s unfortunate, but it’s true. You have the CHOICE to either let their actions affect you, or to go on your merry way and keep. on. running.
I chose to run. In that moment, I chose to picture my sweet husband and two little kiddos who were waiting for me at that finish line.
I went for a run as my workout the other day because I’m training for a 10k. Yep, a whole 6.2 miles. And I am NOT a runner. Perhaps crazy, but not really a great runner. My comfort zone for workouts is in sloppy workout gear, sweating profusely along with my bestie Autumn Calabrese and my main man Shaun T. Alright, fine, they’re the trainers in my workout DVDs. But I feel like they’ve seen me at my worst, so can’t I call them friends at this point?!
Anyway. Running. I was talking with my REAL friend and it makes me laugh that she loves running the most at the exact same point I do – when she’s DONE. I never would’ve thought that a seasoned runner, who does marathons and other crazy stuff like that, would feel the same way. But it was kind of comforting in a strange way.
So on this run that kind of sucked the other day, I decided at the last minute that I wanted to run up a pretty serious hill in my neighborhood. It’s kind of hardcore, and at that point in my run I knew it would be a challenge by the time I got there. Buuuuuut I went for it anyway.
So I make the turn onto the path where this hardcore hill is, and the wind hits me like a load of BRICKS. It was miserable. There was a LOT of grimacing going on. I started to get disheartened. But there was kind of no other option at that point but to suck it up and RUN. So I did. I ran through that stupid wind. I ran up that darn hill. And the whole time I was listening to Raffi on the toddler radio station to placate the little girl sitting in the double jogging stroller I was pushing. Raffi? NOT so motivational on a run. SERIOUSLY.
But HEY! I did it! I survived. I knew I would, even though I felt like giving up about 12 different times. It felt like a major accomplishment.
I bet Raffi himself would have been proud. At least that’s what I’m telling myself, because heaven knows he’ll be joining me on another run sometime soon.