Monkey Mama Lite

We're wonderful, we know it, but we can't help it.

She is five years older and as a kid, she was exactly who I wanted to be when I too was five years older. She knew everything about how to be cool; from what music I should be listening to, to what shows I should be watching on tv. She would clip out cool adds from cool magazines and post them on her walls like artwork. I tried to emulate this process but mine always came out looking a little junky, a little scattered.

She introduced me to the 90s hair bands and true rock and roll. Because of her, I still turn to one of my many The Cure cds when I am sad and looking for music to go with my mood.

As kids we spent hours playing school, playing office, creating our own design companies using the ancient Paper Shop as our printing tool. Her company was KLS Incorporated, mine was ACS Designs. When we played office we pretended we were characters from Dallas or Santa Barbara, both soaps, one nighttime, one daytime, that I was not allowed to watch but being five years older, she certainly was.

As a teenager she was my go to for all mature matters when my Mother could not be trusted to provide unbiased advice. When together we would spend hours talking, sharing stories, me constantly soaking in her words, often until the wee hours of the morning. Whenever a large VHS video camera was around we would not miss the opportunity to share our coined catch phrase, “We are wonderful, we know it, but we can’t help it”. I can still picture us standing arm in arm in my backyard, or at my grandmother’s dining room table, saying those exact words, to the chagrin of our family members.

She is my cousin Kristin. The one who I can attribute my fashion sense, my love of music and my deep appreciation for family. She was the sister that I never had.

We grew up and we grew apart. That, unfortunately, is often the way that growing up goes. Now families and distance and our own obligations challenge once sacred and hallowed connections. But then something magical happened, social media brought us back together. For all of its faults, Twitter has been the way, in 140 characters or less, that we have managed to re-connect.

Kristin is wicked smart, although I’m not sure she always gives herself enough credit for that. She is a fierce democrat, in a town where fierce democrats are not understood. And for that I think she is brave and strong. She soaks in information that is not always at everyone’s fingertips and she is not afraid to speak her mind.

I admire the life she has created for herself in her own little neck of the woods. She has two remarkable boys who bring out her mama bear instincts but also her youthful abandon. She fights for them and loves on them and helps them appreciate the good shows and the good music now too.

I have truly missed her presence in my life and I am so grateful that it is returning. It is often so hard to redefine relationships as we get older; to find a place for them to fit when we are such different people then we were as kids. But I wanted to take a few moments to say how much I love her. How much I have always loved her. Because we are still wonderful, and we should always know it.  

**I will post photos as soon as I can get my act together enough to upload some***  

A revival

God I miss blogging. I read others well written blogs, sharing bit and pieces of their day to day and I miss blogging so much that it creates a little ache inside. Most of the time I am inspired after reading others' blogs and I begin to write, composing bits and pieces in a Word document that I can't ever seem to finish. The initial surge is great, but the ability to wrap up the thoughts into a cohesive package to neatly deliver as an entry is not possible. There is still simply too much to write about.

But instead of holding myself hostage between what is and what is not acceptable to write about here I have decided that writing is more important to me then not writing at all. I just need to come up with topics to write about that are not so deeply personal that it will hurt my family members for sharing their story, or so deeply personal that my family members will be upset that I am sharing it here and not with them.

So, inspired by Sweetney I am going to spend February writing about people that I love. Because here is what I have come to realize recently, we don't tell those that matter to us, how much they matter to us, nearly enough. Sure we say "I love you" during phone calls or emails or text messages. Sure we kiss our significant others and tell them that we love them, but do we ever really say why? Do we ever, or very often, take the time to share with those that matter to us, why they matter to us? Life is busy and life is fast. And I have gotten so caught up in the busy and the fast and the down right crap of life recently, that I haven't come up for air. I have surrounded myself with my little family cocoon, in sheer survival mode really. But it's time to come up for air. It's time to accept this current space as our reality and make the best out of this current reality no matter how craptastic it tends to be.

And so I am going to share stories and anecdotes about the people in my life who help get me out of bed every morning. If the words flow as easily as I hope that they will, it will take me much longer then a month to get through this. But it is someplace to start, I think. Someplace to find my own blogging voice again. A way to find my way back.

Today I am grateful for my marriage. It is my humble opinion that life can not have all of the pieces working perfectly together at any given time. For instance to have your relationship with your spouse, your job, your finances, your family, all moving forward in perfect harmony is about as likely as the childhood Andrea (that's me in case you were wondering) getting to be Princess Leia when she grew up. Right now there are some pieces of our life that are downright craptastic (job, finances, the loss of family members) but our marriage, I am proud to say, is strong.

I think that it is fair to admit (and I hope that David would agree with me on this one too) that it has not always been easy for us. We have had to work on the success of our marriage from the beginning. And I will be the first to admit that I had no freakin' idea what people truly meant when they said that "marriages are work". I smiled and thought I knew, but oh boy, I really didn't have a freakin' clue. But we have continued to plug away, learning from each other, and learning how to exist not only as husband and wife, but as people who genuinely care about the other person, people who are proud to call each other a friend. I believe whole heartedly that to stay in love you really do have to work at it, each and every day.

I am really proud of the two of us. And not only that, I am really proud of my husband. He has faced some really hard things in the past year. He has been given a lousy hand of cards and he has been playing the heck out of that hand, refusing to fold. And because I have seen him fighting for us, for our team, I have been motivated to fight to. And together it feels like we have been kicking life's butt right back. Sure life, you can throw crap our way, but we refuse to let you get the best of us. And today, that is what I am so grateful for. I am so grateful that we are staying strong and united. I love my marriage, its imperfections and all. Yes, we still make each other crazy and we have many days when we don't chose our words so carefully and push each other's buttons just because we can. But it's because we have been able to pick ourselves up from those days and not let them turn into weeks and then months that I am also proud. On March 30th we will have been together, on and off, for 18 years. In June we will have been married for 5. I'm proud of how far we have come and I love that today, I can truly say, that I love my marriage.

A little perspective

We’ve had a lot going on here recently. We are in the midst of medical diagnoses, frustrating insurance companies and doctor’s offices who are too busy to really do anyone any good. And we have had some bad luck with where we live. House is slowly falling apart around us, teenagers breaking into our car and stealing lots of expensive stuff. Nothing catastrophic. But a series of bad circumstances and challenging genetics have made for a less than stellar state of affairs.

And that state of affairs has been impossible to write about. It’s really not my story to tell, at least not yet. And I want to respect my family’s privacy as we learn how to exist in what will most likely be our new “normal”. But there has also been a lot of fun. I graduated last week from Hopkins. I decided that with everything going on, I REALLY wanted to hear my name called and walk across that stage. I wanted to remind myself even with all of the challenges, good things are still happening.

And good things are happening all around me. Some of my closest friends are getting married.

David and I will soon be celebrating our 4^th wedding anniversary and PEY continues to get cuter and smarter by the minute.

His current parlor trick that delights us to no end, is yelling “Rock Out!” from the backseat when the radio gets turned on. The subsequent head bobbing and hand clapping can almost make me drive off the road with hysterics.

I’m trying to enjoy as many moments as possible, through all of the craziness. Because no matter how crazy, this is where we are right now. This is our path. Much of it is out of my control but what I can control is how I appreciate the good things. And how I continue to love those around me, even when the stress meter starts to reach its max. 

 

Bye bye Surfer Dude

PEY's hair has always been his signature piece. He was born with a full head of jet black hair. And anytime we were out in public, I consistently was asked how bad my heart burn was during pregnancy.  I also consistently referred to his signature look as his "rockstar hair". He was pretty freakin' cool. And  people reminded me that I should appreciate his newborn "rockstar hair" because he would most definitely loose it all within a few months. Oh yes, these experts knew what they were talking about, or so they thought.

As he has grown, his hair has lightened, but it never went away. It just kept growing. As summer arrived this year he became what I affectionately referred to as my little surfer boy. The ends curled up, and framed his face in these precious golden curls. But like every good thing, it eventually got in his eyes. And was turning into what I dare say, was the beginnings of a mullet. And I may be open to MANY things, but mullets are not one of them.

So I brought up to David the idea of cutting PEY's hair. David was not a fan. He wanted to just let PEY's hair grow. I can't blame him, I loved his hair too. But eventually, we decided that it was time for a trim. I didn't want to take PEY to a professional for fear that they would cut too much off. Because I still wanted him to maintain that surfer dude vibe. So I decided, in a moment of shear stupidity brilliance, that I would cut it myself.

See exhibit A and B:

PEY was supplied with a liberal amount of graham crackers, I was armed with a hair cutting kit, and a trusty water bottle and David was poised with the camera. And so the cutting began.

 

 I was working as fast as I possibly could, without seriously maming le babe.

It didn't take long for the squirming to begin. And the fussing. Oh man, was there fussing.

But thank goodness there was a Daddy, to supply the laughter, and the welcome distraction, aka the Wii remote. This kid has an obsession with electronics. Hence the reason I am missing two keys from my laptop.

The final product was a little diappointing. I didn't butcher the job. It was a decent cut, considering I was dealing with a 16 month old who we call the "Texas Tornado". But he doesn't look like a sufer dude anymore.

But it's just hair, it will grow back. And at least it is out of his eyes.

I do not, however, think that I missed my calling as a professional hairstylist. Next time I want to maintain a specific look, I am just going to take him to see the professionals. The professionals who are trained in the way of baby haircut wrangling. And who also supply lollipops, for baby and parents.   

What would YOUR Mama say?

Growing up, I lived in a healthy house. My Mom, the English Professor, was a bit of the crunchy granola type. Not off the charts, but definitely eating clean and healthy, way before it was the hip thing to do. She made homemade, 100% natural baby food.  My lunches, when I started going to school, always had 100% whole wheat bread, 100% fruit juice boxes, fruit, and maybe a fig newton. I would stare longingly at the lunches of my friends, with their Little Debbie snack cakes and Kool-Aid and wish that I had those things in my lunch box. Some days my friends would trade something delicious in their lunch boxes with me, but usually it was just a simple juice box flavor swap.

When middle school came around and I started going to Public School, I developed a love affair with the school cafeteria. A few days a week my Mom would give me lunch money, so I could buy my own lunch, from my boyfriend, the cafeteria. And that’s when the trouble began. Sometimes, if it was pizza day, I would buy pizza, but that was the healthiest it ever got. Most days my lunch would consist of two chocolate milks, the chocolate hostess cupcakes, and maybe tater tots. All of those healthy eating habits my Mom had so painstakingly tried to instill in me from a very young age, went right out the window when I was allowed to make my own food choices.  

Because to me, those “bad foods” were my little way of rebelling. I was never a bad kid. I was a typical teenager, I did the things “typical” teenagers do, but nothing drastic, no hookin’, no druggin’, no jail time. But I wanted to prove to my Mom that I could eat those foods if I wanted to. I wanted to prove that they were “ok”. I wanted to prove that I COULD eat them and still live a normal life.

So, all of my history makes me feel a little sheepish that I am where I am now with food. My Mama is very good about keeping her mouth shut when it comes to me, my weight, my healthy life, etc. We both learned the hard way that it was not a topic that could ever be talked about, without tears. Because even though I may have rebelled, I also didn’t want to be the fat girl. I had this crazy love/hate relationship with food and my body. Some weeks I would ask her to pack me a salad as my lunch, and others I would go back to my cafeteria boyfriend. I started Weight Watchers for the first time in the 8^th grade. And again my senior year of high school. And again after my freshmen year of college….you get the point. And I tried Atkins and South Beach, and this crazy hospital diet that you only ate certain foods, that were supposed to have some weird chemical reaction that would help you drop weight fast. Yeah, that one I did my senior year of high school too and I can STILL remember what a bitch I was when I was on it. Definitely NOT the healthy choice. But my Mama has been through all of that with me. Trying to be supportive, ultimately just wanting me to be happy, and feeling helpless that she couldn’t take my pain away, along with my insane issues with food.

I’m a grown-up now (but I often don’t like to admit it), and it is crazy the kind of clarity and perspective you get on your life, and the role of your parents in your own life, when you become a parent yourself. And it is even crazier to me that I now want all of the same “healthy” things for my family, that my Mom wanted for me, 31 years ago. I can only imagine what my Mama is thinking to herself about my new way of eating. I’m sure she must want to bang her head against the wall in frustration with the fact that it took me 31 freakin’ years to accept that what she was trying to do, was really the best thing for me. But she is good about still not saying much when it comes to the way that I eat, my weight loss, my healthy journey. Years of arguments and tears later, the pain of the misunderstandings that we both lived with are still close to the surface. But hey, I’m getting there.  It may have taken 31 years for me to appreciate my Mama’s wisdom, but she doesn’t have to say a word now. I know what she would say.

 

My perfectly imperfect journey

I’m still in the “inbetween” between wrapping my brain around Primal eating, and counting my points on Weight Watchers. A lifetime of being told “fat is bad” is hard to let go of after only a few weeks.

Here’s what I know to be true, however. I love feeling healthier. I love learning these new recipes that include loads of vegetables.  I love that my husband, bless his junk-food eating heart, is eating his vegetables, albeit gagging them down, but eating them all the same. Because he knows he SHOULD eat them. I LOVE how my 16 month old eats the vegetables first, and often tosses the other stuff over the side of his high chair for the eagerly awaiting dogs.

I love going to the gym and having a lady I see there often tell me that the weights I am using are definitely too light for me now. She told me to suck it up and push a little harder. That is the beauty of a small town gym. People notice when you are there. People notice your progress.  

This is my perfectly imperfect journey, of getting my body back to a healthy and happy place. There are days when nothing still fits and I beat myself up for letting myself get to the place that I was 6 months ago (my rock bottom weight). I’m still fighting to get back from that place. But then there are days like yesterday, when I wore a pair of pants that I bought five years ago when I started my new job, and only was able to wear for about a year before they rapidly became too small, and I wore them to work yesterday, without needing to cut myself out of them.

Will I stay “Primal” for the rest of my life, I have no idea. And that’s not a cop-out or an excuse or even setting myself up for failure. I’m just trying to fill up my mind and my body with as much “truth” as I can about living healthier.  I need to find what works best for me. But I also live in the real world, where I commute over an hour each way to work, and I have a junk-food addict for a husband, and a baby who I am trying to teach to live healthy, from the beginning. And with all of that, I have no idea where I will be in this food journey, even six months from now. But what I do know is that I will still be healthy. I will still be exercising and feeding my body and my families bodies with as much healthy food as I possibly can. I will NOT go back to the way that I was living. I have fought for every success I have earned on this journey I’ll be damned if I give any of those back to the unhealthy darkside that I was living in.

  Cause this happy life is totally where it's at.

It's finally starting to feel like "home"

We moved to Shady Side in March of 2007. Well I did at least. David was still in the Air Force at the time, still stationed in North Carolina. We bought the house because we were getting married and the lease on my apartment was about to expire. We knew we needed a place that had somewhat of a backyard for our dogs (only two then, three now). For those of you that are familiar with the DC metropolitan area, the cost of living here is RIDONKULOUS!! And three years ago, the housing market was still booming.

So we found a house, outside of Annapolis, that had a backyard, was well kept, and fit BARELY into our budget.  In my mind, the house was like a band-aid. We needed something for a few years, until we both got settled in our married life, and then we would buy a bigger house, one that suited our needs a little better. Our intentions were never to stay in our current house for longer than 3 years.

And then the housing market crashed. And the value of our home depreciated significantly. And I began to resent where we lived. I hated living 30 minutes from a major grocery store. I hated how cramped we felt in our home. I hated living out in the “boonies” where my friends wouldn’t visit. Everything about our house made me feel claustrophobic and unhappy. It just didn’t feel like my HOME. Probably because I never opened my heart up enough to let it be my home.

Recently, I have had to have a serious “come to Jesus” with myself about how long we will be in our current home. We may be here for a VERY long time. And once I started accepting that fact, once I started to open my heart up to the area that we live in, I started to realize that it actually is pretty darn great. Sometimes I hold on so tightly to expectations, to ideas of how I believe things SHOULD be, that I don’t appreciate what I have, and the potential that it holds.

This past 4^th of July, my little family, plus Nona, went to the Shady Side 4^th of July parade.

And it was pretty spectacular. It was like a little piece of simple Americana. There was something innocent and comforting about the small town feel of that parade.

And PEY loved it. He was fascinated by all of the cars, and the people throwing candy from their homemade floats.

I had found an excuse to not go to that parade for years, mostly because I didn’t want to open my heart up to a community that I didn’t intend to stay in. But now that I know we are here, for the long haul, I am beginning to love the small town feel of where we live. It is nice to have local, family owned grocery stores, a half a mile from my house, where I can buy bread AND wine, in a pinch. It is nice to get to know the people who live around me, to enjoy the fireworks set-off by dozens of families, out on the West River. I love taking PEY to the numerous neighborhood playgrounds, and showing him the crabs in the water, and the ducks on the neighborhood pier.

Shady Side is starting to feel like home, FINALLY. And I can finally see the potential that it holds for my family.