Exit from Babyland.

I admit that I dragged my feet a bit. We probably could have started the process at least a few months ago, but I hesitated. I wanted to hold on to babyland for just a little bit longer.

Julian is my last baby. And while I know there are many parents high-fiving and breaking out champagne glasses when they leave behind diapers, forever, I feel a twinge of sadness as I say goodbye to an entire department of Target. No more  jars of pureed peas, no more bibs, "my first Christmas" pajamas, and no more diapers.

Yes, we will save money on diapers, but really, all of those costs are replaced with big boy stuff. Little League, real bikes, video games and some day... an Iphone? Turns out diapers weren't that expensive after all.

But at over 2.5 we felt it was time to potty train our growing toddler. Let me rephrase that, one day our 24- year old nanny came home from the library with an armful of potty books and a look in her eye which told us that even though Julian was our third, clearly we didn't recognize that it was time.

So last week we stripped away the diapers and let Julian wander around sans pants, a tiny potty within eye shot at all times. Part of me wondered (hoped) that perhaps we were jumping the gun a bit and that Julian was still too young to be successful. Turns out the combination of his 2.5 years of development and the lure of  m&m's proved to be the perfect cocktail for potty training. One week later and the kid is walking around in the Hello Kitty underwear (that he picked himself!) and for the most part dry!  When we venture out of the house and at bed time we reach for the pull ups, but the 40 diapers we still have sitting on the changing table have gone untouched.

We still have accidents. The unfortunate moment you see a look cross that toddler face and realize you are a few seconds too late, the inconvenience of having to plan everything around immediate potty access but the reality is we are crossing the threshold. No longer are we  citizens of babyland. We don't fit in with the nursing mamas, the dads sporting baby slings, or the the chat rooms discussing sleep training and spit up. No. We had our stop int babyland, and now we are officially moving on, to what is next, leaving this magical time behind us, left to photographs and memories.

Goodbye Babyland.... Thank you.

Thank you.

With Grace

Grace: 

Elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion or action

A pleasing or attractive quality or endowment

Favor of goodwill

I have a new motto. I cannot take full credit for it, as it came from a recent conversation I had with my shrink. Yes, I have a therapist! Did you really believe I was this well-adjusted all on my own? Puh-lease. 

So what is my new mantra? 

"Respond with grace" 

Why? Because I'm working on being a better person. A better mother. A better friend. A better wife. A better employee. A better human being.  

For those of you who know me, it is clear I am a sensitive chick. In other words, my feelings are quiet easily hurt. I take everything personally. I mean everything. And when my feelings are hurt, I get....defensive. When I get defensive, I get sarcastic and nasty. So do the math folks and you will  come to realize that I spend a lot of my life being down-right....BITCHY. 

Bitchy isn't good. No. People don't like to be friends with bitches. People don't sit around thinking... you know who we should invite to our party? That BITCH! Nope. The world doesn't work that way. 

I don't want to be a bitter sarcastic woman. And while I am still learning how I can be a little less sensitive, and I am still trying to figure out how to deal with the stress of raising three moody little boys, one thing I can do with some relative ease is choose how I respond to these perceived slights, or negative situations. And I can choose to respond with grace.

What does that mean? When I looked up the word I found a few definitions, many of them religious. But the bottom line is, it means beauty and goodwill. And that folks is who I want to be. I want to be someone who is fair, good and can take other's feelings into account.. I want to be able to stand behind my words and demonstrate patience and thoughtfulness. 

So I have spent the last few days trying this on for size. I won't lie, I hasn't been easy every time, and I have had some knee-jerk reaction backslides, but for the most part I have been pleased with my actions.

Take for example a recent epic-eight-year-old-meltdown. A meltdown that had dad red faced and sentencing one little boy to basically a lifetime of time outs. That boy can be infuriating. He can leave me wanting to stamp my feet, slam the door and revert back to my own childhood. My gut wanted to scream "Shut up Zachary! You are behaving like a baby!" 

But I took a step back and nearly said the words out-loud  "Respond with grace"

How could I respond in a caring way? A way that I would be proud of? A way that I could stand by? 

Deep breath, and I sat down  on my son's bed as he stood there furious and crying. Calling names and being generally awful. In my calmest voice I started to talk to him about his feelings, and how he could use his thoughts to calm down his angry feelings. I was kind and firm, and damn it was rather graceful. 

I showed by example. 

I acted in a way I was proud of. 

I was respectful.

I was kind.

And....it worked. It freaking worked! The kid calmed down. The kid reflected what I was showing him. 

It was a a miracle!! 

In all seriousness, I know that I cannot control the actions of others. I know that even if I am Mother-Effing-Theresa, I still may not get the response from  that I desire. But what I can control, are my own actions and responses. These are a reflection of me, and I want to like what I see in the mirror. 

So when that sales clerk is rude, when my kid wishes I was dead, when my client belittles me, or when a friend offends me, I will try to remember my motto and respond with grace and show the world who I really am.

In his eyes: Capturing the moment

Me & my Evan

I gaze at him across the crowed room. It took me a good forty-five seconds to locate him among the chaos. A mess of young children jacked up on orange soda and birthday cake, jumping on trampolines and hurling themselves into the ball-pit-of-e-coli. I'm watching from the sidelines, unable to bounce due to a  recent running injury. I have been alternating small talk with fellow parents and feverishly reviewing my friend's Facebook statuses. But he catches my eye, my sweet five year old middle child. My Evan. The way he moves so effortlessly on the trampoline flapping his skinny arms around with a giant goofy grin. He has sheer happiness spread across his tiny face.

I stare at him, taking in his joy. I wonder where the baby fat went. When did the round little tummy that was so very kissable melt away? When did I stop carrying him on my hip and pushing him in the grocery cart? The demands of my eldest son, and the arrival of his little brother makes that time blurry. I don't remember when Evan left his babyhood behind and became a kid.

But now I see him bouncing about solo. He isn't playing with the other children at this moment, but skipping across the trampoline simply enjoying the effortless way his body moves. Smiling at the lightness of his feet and the air he catches when he leaps up. It hits me. My son is happy. He is secure and happy. We think about childhood as carefree, and while I don't believe children escape feelings of anxiety, fear and worry, I do marvel at the pleasure they find in the simple moments of
life. Evan wasn't noticing the dingy carpeting, the chipped paint or the faint smell of diapers, he was focused on the way it felt to be light on his feet, the way his limbs moved with ease.

I want to run up and hug him tight, perhaps soak up some of his innocence. I want to beg time to stand still so he can remain this happy forever. I think about trying to capture the moment with a photograph but I know that no picture will do it justice. And time will march on relentlessly. He will continue to grow, from my small five year old, to an awkward adolescent and someday a man towering over me. Perhaps Evan  will have children of his own someday and if so I hope they can bring him back to his childhood, this time I gave him, this time that was just for him. And I hope as he watches his own babies that he is reminded of the joy I see in his eyes today.

Liar, Liar: Victoria's Secret

I probably get at least three to four Victoria's Secret's catalogs in the mail each week. Even though I am fully aware that for every two minutes I spend perusing through pages of airbrushed 22 year old models  I add another ten hours of therapy to address my body image issues, I can't seem to turn away. I can't shake myself of the desire to punch those Victoria's Secret marketing executives in the face.

It must be working. The company seems to sell plenty of bras. I shop there myself. But I don't get it. As I page through the catalog taking in picture after picture of a tight, tanned pretty young thing with her breasts busting  out of her "Very Sexy" bra, and her hip bone jutting out just beneath her cheeky, barely there panties I feel more and more inadequate. The thought crosses my mind that since I'm going to look nothing like the hottie with the bedroom eyes and the boob job I might as well save my money and buy my undies at Target.

I never used to pay much attention to their athletic wear.  Recently I came to terms with the fact that I needed an upgrade to my gym wardrobe, thus when my Vicky's catalog arrived for the fourth time that week, I flipped to the workout section. To my delight and amazement,  I discovered that Victoria's Secret models work out in brightly color coordinated sport bras and tight yoga pants. Somehow their hair either stays perfectly shiny and styled, or is tousled in their eyes, slightly damp from the exertion of a hard work out. The models are bent over their exercise bikes showing a "hint" of cleavage, their lips parted in a sexy pout, their eyes slightly closed and beckoning. Wow. I need one of those sport bras STAT! So I purchased two, but could not afford the matching skin-tight "yoga" pants and would have to make due with my faded Old Navy wear.

Last weekend I put on one of my pretty new bras and got ready to head to the gym. It's true, unlike the VS models, I always cover up with a t-shirt, no matter how hot that gym gets. But just for fun I decided to check myself out in the mirror before throwing on my not so stylish shirt to see if I had been magically transformed  into something resembling a page from the catalog. At first glance, it wasn't all that bad. No. I didn't look quiet as voluptuous, but I passed. Then I hit the floor in a plank to see what gravity did to my mid-section and I was less than pleased. So I covered up and hit the gym wondering if while using the elliptical with the private knowledge that I was wearing a Victoria's Secret's sports bra I would be inspired to smolder as I moved up and down on the machine. I wondered if my ponytail might have a bit more bounce and if I would develop a new sexy work-out pout.

None of the above.

God damn it Victoria's Secret! This is no different than the glittery red teddy I purchased in December! I was supposed to look like a sexy Christmas surprise. I ended up looking like I belonged in the cast of Disney on Ice. What gives? Why aren't your underwear working for me? Is it because I purchased the bras on clearance? Would they have been more effective had I paid full price? Please tell me, because I'll pay four times as much for a sports bra that makes me look like your cover model. Hell. I'll give you a kidney. Or my dog*.

Or perhaps I'll realize that you are bunch of liars. Perhaps I'll watch a video on Buzzfeed that illustrates the power of Photoshop. I'll remember  that your models were digitally corrected to make them flawless, their lines, folds, and inches magically erased. I'll tell my self that I am more than a skeleton in panties, figure out that when I exercise  it is for me, not for a camera, or anyone's approval.

Screw you Victoria's Secret. Screw you for making so many of us feel inadequate , undesirable and imperfect.  And shame on me for buying into it.

*My dog is old. I don't really like her. It doesn't really count.

Looking good right?

And then you see her. Tell me they didn't "erase" a few inches from her waste...

The New- New Year's Eve (with kids)

I remember the New Year's Eve celebrations of years past. Let me rephrase that, I have hazy, blurred recollections of alcohol fueled evenings meant to mark the passing of another twelve months. We welcomed Y2K by wondering the skyways of Minneapolis on a frozen night. My girlfriends and I wore far too little clothing and shivered in glittery dresses and bejeweled stilettos while sipping cheap "champagne" and getting our groove on to Eminem's "The Real Slim Shady" and a variety of Bare Naked Lady's songs.  New Year's Eve was a big freaking deal. It was an (unnecessary) excuse to be fancy and drink in excess. 

New Years Eve...a long time ago.

New Year's day was greeted with a pounding headache, a couple of Aspirin and reruns of VH1's Behind The Music.

 

Oh how times have changed. 2014 will be welcomed the way our past seven New Years have been ringed in. Avoiding the downtown crowds and meeting pre-dinner hour at a friend's home,and  instead of cleavage and smoky eyes, the ladies will be wearing any variety of yoga pants, Gap jeans and cozy sweaters. While there may be a few stuffed mushrooms and olives on the buffet, the evening fare will mostly be comprised of some variety of Goldfish Crackers, string cheese and raisins. Music? We may have some but it will be drowned out with the sounds of shrieking children and Despicable Me being blared on the flat

screen. We will be home before ten PM, tucking sleepy children into bed and folding the loads of laundry that didn't take a Christmas holiday.  There is a high likelihood that we will be asleep well before the clock strikes midnight. 

New Year's Day will start just as early as any other day, with all the same demands. No lazy morning. No time for a hangover. 

At first glance this all seems rather depressing. We have traded in an evening of strapless dresses, party shoes, and bottomless champagne for crying babies, snotty noses and spilled apple juice. Yet unlike years past we have so much more to be hopeful for. The New Year is not just about our own resolutions and wishes, but also about the futures of the little beings that rely on us.  The wishes made on stars are no longer for ourselves, but also for our children. Although our countdowns start hours early, there is so much more to anticipate. First steps, potty training, lost teeth, little league games, dance recitals, new friendships and puppy love. 

I am thankful that we will have the opportunity to celebrate 2014, a little early with our friends and their young children., And guess what? Will go out January fourth, when the drinks and babysitters are cheaper.

Cheers & Happy New Year! 

On the road to happiness: Blog Girl

New blog image. Because this picture makes me HAPPY

I have been quiet on this little blog the past few months, but I'll tell you a secret. I have big plans for getrealmama.

In my last post I mentioned that my goal for 2014 was simple. Happiness. Just happiness. However I failed to mention exactly how I would go about achieving that. It isn't as simple as changing my diet and putting in extra miles on my running shoes. It isn't as simple as taking a class or striving towards the organization I desperately lack in my life.  There is no twelve step program or book that I can read. Damn it I have to use my intuition to figure out my path to bliss, or at the very least feeling good.

I have been sitting around scratching my head (which have you noticed is covered in much, much longer hair these days???) wondering what I can do to find more happiness. Then the angels sang and the a-ha light went off and it came to me... write more. Write better. Invest more.  It's no secret that I have some *minor* self esteem issues. In my day to day life I don't feel a whole lot of pride in myself. I don't think there is much that I do that sets me apart. But I have always had a knack for writing. I have always written well. My papers in high school and college always earned me praise. And I enjoy the process of writing. It brings me joy. It makes me happy.

So damn it 2014 is the year I do something with my writing, and I'll start right here on this blog. I'm not sure what this looks like mind you. Does it mean I write more? Does it mean I spend more time crafting  interesting and well written posts? Does it mean I try to get more traffic and viability?  I haven't figured that all out just yet. But stay tuned folks. Changes are coming.

Happiness is on it's way.

Christmas Wish

And so this is Christmas

And what have you done?

Another year over

and a new one just begun....

-John Lennon

 

 

 

While John Lennon's Happy Christmas is not my favorite holiday song, these lyrics seem particularly meaningful to me this year. 2013 was a damn strange year and by no means an easy one. I haven't much felt in the holiday spirit this December, and as a result my shopping is still not done, no cookies have been baked and although I promised to host a Christmas party, I failed to do so. Yes we got the tree. Julian visited Santa. We spent a late evening driving past the glittery homes in Cherry Creek, admiring the impressive display of wealth and lights. We even watched the Golden Christmas parade and enjoyed a horse drawn carriage ride around the little town.

 

 

But something was different this year and I can't put my finger on it. The shopping which I usually enjoy so much seemed like a chore. My boys lists for Santa were pathetic, they don't even know what they want because they have everything. I never did send

the holiday cards I planned for. Our professional family photos went unprinted- I reasoned that everyone already viewed our pictures on social media, so why waste the paper?

 

Perhaps I am just simply ready to be done with 2013, to hurry up and skip forward to what 2014 will bring.  I don't feel the desire to reflect on what I have done in the past year but to focus my energy on what lies ahead.

 

 

The new year ahead. The twelve months of possibility. 365 days of the unknown. It's always a little exciting contemplating a clean slate and a fresh start. And I'm not thinking about those silly new year's resolutions, the one that drives hordes of newly christened fitness fanatics to the gym. No, I'm talking about real goals, the ones that aren't easily accomplished and expected. Losing weight, saving money, reading more. No, that's not what I have in mind this year. I have something bigger planned for 2014. Happiness. True fucking happiness. I don't expect it to be easy. It's going to be a lot of work. And I'm not positive I can achieve it in only one year. Perhaps it's a five year plan, or a twenty year achievement or a lifetime goal but it's the one I'm working for.

 

My only goal in 2014 is to find and create more joy in my life and for those that I love. My goal is to be able to look at myself in the mirror and like what I see and to be able to say in all honesty that I am happy. With me. With my life. With my actions.  My goal is big and bold and perhaps unachievable, but my hope is that next Christmas I will at least be 365 days closer to reaching it. 

 

 

Merry Christmas

&

Happy New Year

May all of my friends and family find joy and happiness in the year to come.

 

 

Love,

Rachel