tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46179996506519314942024-03-19T18:34:51.733-04:00half full pink martinicommon sense musings on life, home and motherhood.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-78273223202636451812011-10-02T21:08:00.000-04:002011-10-02T21:08:39.363-04:0018 miles. This run will not defeat me.I’m back in the blogosphere, at last. More on that later…<br />
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<br />
In 5 weeks, I’m running the New York City Marathon. My training has not been as productive as I had hoped, but I’m racking up the mileage. <br />
<br />
Today I ran 18 miles. And it was one of the toughest runs I’ve ever done. Not because of the distance or the hills, which were numerous, but because of everything else.<br />
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Two weeks ago, I got a new pair of ear buds – yurbuds. And they are awesome. Can’t imagine running without them. <br />
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Yesterday I broke them. Pulled the left ear cord right out of the joiner thingy. So I had to run with a not so good pair.<br />
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Yesterday I let my four year old son play with my iphone. Big mistake. He somehow managed to mess up my playlists and as I started my run, my iphone would only play 1 song repeatedly. I figured there was an easy way to fix it, but I sure as heck couldn’t find it. After listening to the same song for 20 minutes, I was ready to scream.<br />
<br />
So I called my all-things-technical husband. He didn’t answer my 2 calls on his cell. Then he didn’t answer my two calls home. I was mad. Even Lady Gaga, over and over again, wasn’t making me happy.<br />
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Then I hit the Big Hill. And it was only mile 3. It is a huge hill. Why I planned to run it at the beginning of my 18 miler, I don’t know. I walked up. Tried to run down, but my knees were killing me, so I walked down.<br />
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I was running a new route this morning, and I had mapped it out before I left. But I couldn’t remember if I had to turn left at mile 5, or the next left a half mile up. I opted for the second left.<br />
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Mile 6, hubby finally calls back, but isn’t sure of a fix of the phone, so he advised me to listen to Pandora. Ok, I can do that.<br />
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I made the correct left and headed down “Shades of Death” Road. Yes, it’s really called “Shades of Death” Road. It’s a beautiful rural road with quite a history, ranging from murderous bandits, malaria carrying mosquitoes, ghosts and husband-killing wives.<br />
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As soon as I headed down the road, the mosquitoes attacked. I must have gotten bitten almost a dozen times in a matter of minutes. Hope they weren’t carrying malaria.<br />
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Then my blood sugar started to drop. Seriously drop. This happens to me if I don’t eat enough protein. I get shaky and disoriented. And today it came on fast. So I had to call my husband for help as I wasn’t carrying the right food with me. He wanted to know which way to come – should I go Allamuchy or should I go Great Meadows? <br />
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I don’t care, just get the f*%# here.<br />
<br />
I passed by some fields and nearly got run over by a tractor turning in front of me.<br />
<br />
I passed under an overpass. On the side of the road, a dead mommy deer with her dead baby deer. Baby was missing its head. Oh. My. God. I was on Shades of Death Road, after all.<br />
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Almost at mile 9, not even half way home. All I wanted to do was collapse on the side of the road in a flood of tears.<br />
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Hubby showed up with 3 kids in the minivan, protein bar in hand. Thank you. Thank you.<br />
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My eldest son asked if I wanted them to give me a ride home. That’s when it hit me.<br />
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I am not letting this road, these hills and all the other stuff beat me. <br />
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This run will not defeat me.<br />
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As I watched the van drive off, with its pink 13.1 and 26.2 magnets fading in the distance, I decided to hit the reset button. Time to start again. I was half way home. I could turn this around.<br />
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But boy was I dead. I was a more than a half hour off my goal.<br />
<br />
But I kept going.<br />
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My body and mind kept telling me to quit.<br />
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But I kept going. My heart told me to keep going.<br />
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I walked the big hills. I couldn’t run them. But I kept going forward.<br />
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Mile 10, 11, 12, 13 passed by. Painfully, slowly. But they passed by.<br />
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Then an ambulance approached me, lights flashing. I actually seriously thought that some kind driver passing me on the road had called 911, reporting that a 40-something woman was staggering on the side of the road. But it passed me by.<br />
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Mile 14. I was running up a hill, distracting myself as much as possible from the pain in my legs and the emotional noise in my head with music screaming from my phone. As I moved my right arm back, my hand hit something furry. And that something furry licked my hand. <br />
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Now I live in bear country. I see a few each year. And I was running, alone, in bear country.<br />
<br />
So I screamed. I screamed very loudly, thinking I had just punched a bear in the face as it came up behind me.<br />
<br />
But no, it was a very friendly lab. A dog that I didn’t hear or see coming up behind me because I was too absorbed in my pain. Don’t worry, shouted the guy in the yard I was passing, he’s harmless.<br />
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Yeah, thanks buddy.<br />
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Mile 16. I was getting close to home. But close to home meant that everything was pretty much uphill from here. I needed Lady Gaga more than ever. So at mile 16.5, my iphone died. No more music. Great. Now I had to listen to myself puffing and panting as I limped forward.<br />
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Then I tuned out. And headed home. My driveway was in sight…I checked my Garmin, which told me that I was at 17.75 miles. I had to do 18, and I wasn’t going to skimp out on the last .25 mile. No way. Not after the run from hell. I was going all the way. <br />
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So I ran up and down my drive until the number 18 glowed on my wrist.<br />
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The run hadn’t beaten me. It came close, but I was home. <br />
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18 miles, check. I know there’s all sorts of emotional analysis I could do, but I’m too darn tired. <br />
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Can’t wait for 19 next week.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-36915081739040928112011-03-30T14:56:00.000-04:002011-03-30T14:56:11.531-04:00Wonder - fully creativeNo doubt Wonder Woman had to get creative in her crime fighting adventures. To paraphrase, there are many ways to catch a thief, and Wonder Woman used her incredible powers to solve all sort of problems.<br />
<br />
While I'm no crime fighter (except for brotherly crimes that take place in our living room), at last, after 41 years of trying, I'm recognizing that I am creative. <br />
<br />
When I was in Grade 2, we had an Easter school project. We had to make a bunny with movable parts, using paper fasteners. I diligently worked on that project and proudly brought it to school. I distinctly remember that day. I stood up to show my bunny. The teacher laughed at it. As did my classmates. I was devastated.<br />
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That moment permanently etched itself in my mind, and 35 years later, I still think of it from time to time. And I truly believe that that particular moment squashed years of confident creativity. I described that moment at a Mom's club meeting one day, and it brought me to tears.<br />
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I have never considered myself to be artistic or creative. I had no confidence in my drawing, coloring, or general art related abilities. And I think it was all because of that awful second grade event. Even at grad school in an urban design class, I was terrified and embarrassed to share my simple drawing. All done using rulers and easy lines.<br />
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But recently, I've been seeing things in a different light. <br />
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I've done a lot of scrapbooking since I had children (though I am years behind!). I love the feel of paper in my hands and the designs I can create with simple cutting and pasting. My early attempts were pretty rudimentary, but my skills have evolved over the years. And looking through my albums, if I do say so myself, my pages are not bad at all!<br />
<br />
And I'm now embracing another love of mine - cake decorating. I've learned that decorating a cake is really a set of relatively simple steps. But when put together, they produce an incredible result. Just like the brush strokes of a painter. When taken individually, they are simple marks on a canvas. But put together, there is a beautiful picture.<br />
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I'm finally realizing that perhaps I'm creative after all, and that perhaps I even have talent. <br />
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I made a sandcastle cake last week for a Bar Mitzvah with an "underwater" theme. For almost 190 people! And I loved EVERY minute of it. Without question. And the pride when I delivered it was something I hadn't felt in a long time. <br />
<br />
I found something that I was passionate about.<br />
That brought joy to almost 200 people.<br />
And I was creative.<br />
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<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1pWcwu_mBXUY7AeMk094W69U46fSeUnVoZs7HrZl0BuIBh2ZN4F1iHj6Sl1CaAE2F_gByxTxJDTNetEoZzCgDA5XMjuh21ZJO5zZr_AITSWba_Bygqn6fA9VqNF_2q4RYsQ4atyyk7BL9/s1600/cake+and+candles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1pWcwu_mBXUY7AeMk094W69U46fSeUnVoZs7HrZl0BuIBh2ZN4F1iHj6Sl1CaAE2F_gByxTxJDTNetEoZzCgDA5XMjuh21ZJO5zZr_AITSWba_Bygqn6fA9VqNF_2q4RYsQ4atyyk7BL9/s320/cake+and+candles.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I can't believe that it has taken me over 3 decades to reach a point where I am truly proud of something I have created. I suspect that here are many others out there who feel the same way. We have little confidence in our abilities to create a masterpiece.<br />
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But all it takes is a few simple steps. Put them together, and something beautiful can appear.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-45825679865993564762011-03-23T07:07:00.001-04:002011-03-23T07:11:09.813-04:00A quiet moment of beauty. And a woman of wonder.Oh, dear Wonder Woman, you are a creature of beauty. And you fight for justice, truth and innocence. You are busy fighting the evil of the world, but I also suspect that you enjoy a moment or two of quiet. And in your crime fighting life, I suspect those moments are few and far between.<br />
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Kind of like the life of a mother.<br />
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We spend our days breaking up fights (at least I do, with three boys!), keeping our innocent out of imminent danger (from jumping off the top of the stairs down to the tile below), making our world a better place (cooking, cleaning, laundry). But how often do we take a moment, pause our non-stop trains of thought and endless to-do lists, and just stand and absorb what is around us?<br />
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We've had a rough winter in the northeast. Endless snow storms, snow days, ice, wind and cold. And last night, another storm warning, on this 3rd day of spring. For up to 8 inches of snow. <br />
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Great, I thought. Another snow day with 3 boys at home destroying the house and making far too much noise. There goes my list of things that I had to get done today.<br />
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Sure enough, when I got up just before 6 to take the dog out, there was the message - one boy has school canceled, the other two have a delayed opening. Big sigh.<br />
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Then I walked outside with my puppy. Into a wonderland of soft snow, silence, gently falling flakes and perfectly laden branches full of beauty.<br />
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It took my breath away.<br />
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It was one of the most beautiful sights of the entire winter. The peace told me to take it easy. Appreciate this wonder that is nature. Look up in the night sky and feel the snowflakes falling on your eyelashes.<br />
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Forget the to do lists and challenges that this day will bring. At least for this moment. And breathe in the scent of freshly fallen snow.<br />
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Do that - and then you really are a Woman of Wonder.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-57896513980449887722011-03-20T22:36:00.000-04:002011-03-20T22:36:13.742-04:00Yes, Ma'am. I'm a Badass Mother Runner.This week, I finally ordered the running shirt I have been salivating over for months. It's from the gals at <a href="http://www.anothermotherrunner.com/">Run Like A Mother</a>, Dimity and Sarah, two very inspirational mother runners who tell it like it is. The shirt is black and reads "badass mother runner." Sure the language may not be right for everyone, but it sure is right for me.<br />
<br />
After all, I'm a badass mother runner.<br />
<br />
Today I had to do an 8 mile run. The first 3 miles were absolutely horrible. Everything hurt. My knees, my feet, my toes, my head. And that voice in my head was loudly shouting "What are you doing? Why are you running? It hurts so stop! You don't need to do this!" etc etc etc. You know that voice.<br />
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But then I looked down and saw the writing on my shirt.<br />
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Badass mother runner.<br />
<br />
A badass mother runner doesn't quit. <br />
She may complain a little, but she sure as heck doesn't quit.<br />
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So I picked up my pace. And my attitude. <br />
And I channeled my inner badass.<br />
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I started to think, as I ran through mile 4, what makes me a badass mother runner? And I spent the next 4 miles coming up with the top 10 reasons why I'm a BAMR. Here they are:<br />
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10. My runnung playlist includes everything from AC/DC to Dolly Parton to Eminem to Elvis to Madonna to the Proclaimers to ZZ Top. And yes it even includes Miley Cyrus. And I'm not afraid to admit it.<br />
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9. I like to play the air drums when I run. And pump my fist in the air. And sing outloud. Apologies to those who share the road.<br />
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8. My muffin top jiggles when I run, but I run anyway. No apologies for that.<br />
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7. I'm 41 and I run in pigtails. No apologies there either.<br />
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6. When I was 2, my family survived an attack by pirates in the South China Sea. True story. You are automtically a badass if you fight off pirates, no matter how old you are.<br />
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5. I birthed my 3 baby boys at home, naturally, without so much as an advil. Boy #2 was 10 pounds. If I can push that hefty boy out, I can do anything.<br />
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4. I took up running just over a year ago. My first race was a half marathon. My second race was a full marathon, which I ran in an astounding 5 hours, 28 minutes.<br />
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3. When I was laughed at to my face for my marathon time, I stood strong because I knew I had thousands of other mother runners at my side. I suspect that most of them are badass as well.<br />
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2. I have 3 sons. Enough said.<br />
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And the number 1 reason why I am a badass mother runner:<br />
<br />
I can clean up a bathub full of little boy poop, unclog a backed up toilet, mop up a flooded bathroom all in the blink of an eye, knock down a couple of martinis and then wake up a few hours later and run 8 miles like only a badass mother runner could.<br />
<br />
So, what makes you a badass mother runner?Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-11121949739763383522011-03-02T19:03:00.000-05:002011-03-02T19:03:17.873-05:00Wonder Woman Wednesday, Week 1 - Jiggly bits.I realize that there are many versions of Wonder Woman - just google image her and you'll get 15 million - yes million! - different pictures. Some are the iconic Lynda Carter in her 70s best, others the original DC Comic cartoon. There are various, um, sexualized versions, and plenty of girls and women dressed in their Halloween finest, or perhaps not so finest.<br />
<br />
<div align="center"><img height="425" id="il_fi" src="http://flcenterlitarts.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/wonder-woman-790104.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="339" /></div><div align="center"><br />
</div>No matter what google shows me though, I have an image in my mind of what Wonder Woman looks like - a strong, fit, confident woman. I love the above picture, even though Lynda Carter's waist is cinched in so much that it looks like she can't breathe.<br />
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Motherhood certainly does a job on a woman's body. Though never skinny, I used to have a good curvy figure. I was trim and healthy and felt pretty decent in a bathing suit.<br />
<br />
Then I got pregnant. And gained 60 pounds. And then lost 50.<br />
Then I got pregnant again. And gained 60 pounds. And then lost 50.<br />
Then I got pregnant again. And gained 60 pounds. And then lost 50.<br />
<br />
You know what is coming next...an excess of 30 pounds. Plus a 10 pound baby boy - my other 2 were small, only in the mid 8 pound range - will do a number on the ol' tummy muscles, leaving them forever stretched, flabby and rolly polly. Muffin top central.<br />
<br />
Add to this the fact that my husband works for a major candy manufacturer - and has access to all the free chocolate a gal can handle. And I mean <em>good</em> chocolate. The <em>really</em> good kind.<br />
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I've been trying to lose these darn 30 pounds for a few years now. And the pesky things just won't go away! I've read every diet book there is, and tried a good number of them out and failed miserably at each and every one.<br />
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I even ran a marathon last year, thinking that all that exercise would result in millions of calories burned. Well sure those miles burned calories, but those miles also made me ravenous. So not a single pound was lost. Sure I had great leg muscles, but said muscles were still covered by jiggly bits.<br />
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The truth is, I love to cook. And I love to eat what I cook. And eat what others cook for me. And eat what Panera Bread bakes for me, too.<br />
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And I love a glass (or 3) of cabernet. Or merlot. And I've rarely met a martini I didn't like.<br />
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And don't even get me started on chocolate. Oh, the chocolate! Dark, milk, white, spicy, flavored with liqueur, in various shapes, colors and wrappers. You get the picture.<br />
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Now it's fine for me to joke about eating and drinking, but when it comes down to it, I am not comfortable in my own skin. And I haven't been for a while. I know what I have to do to lose weight - eat healthy, eat less and exercise more - but it is really really hard. I marvel at how people lose 50, 100, 200 pounds or more. And I complain about my 30. <br />
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Truth is, I think I've been lazy. I know what to do, I just haven't done it.<br />
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So my first step in rediscovering my inner Wonder Woman is to give myself a kick in the pants - my larger size pants - and get to work at losing these 30 pounds.<br />
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I'm realistic about my body. I know that motherhood and age change a body in ways that you can't necessarily reverse - without a scalpel anyway. So I'm not expecting to look like Lynda Carter. I just want to feel good in my own skin and not self conscious about my various jiggly bits.<br />
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So I'm finishing off my glass of merlot and getting to work.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-46371017517630846422011-03-01T20:17:00.000-05:002011-03-01T20:17:06.389-05:00Rediscovering My Inner Wonder Woman<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">When I was a school girl in Grade 2, one of my favorite games to play at recess was Wonder Woman. I would put on my bullet proof bracelets, spin my Lasso of Truth and climb aboard my invisible jet, along with the other 8 year old girls dreaming of becoming Wonder Woman. We were invincible, bringing truth, justice and feminine power to the playground. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Fast forward to the end of high school. About to venture into the next phase of my life - university - I was ready to seize what was in front of me. Young adulthood, knowledge and once again, truth. Finding my passions, determining my dreams, becoming the invincible woman - indeed the Wonder Woman - that I was destined to be. The end of Grad School brought the same feelings, now ones of mature independence, professionalism, and again truth as I began my career in Corporate America. A future that was incredibly bright was before me. I felt like Wonder Woman all over again. That little child was playing her favorite superhero once more, just in a different context. But the underlying values and dreams were there.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">And now, 15 years later, I feel like my Wonder Woman is disappearing.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I left my corporate office behind 10 years ago after the birth of my first son and have been at home ever since. Now with three boys, a husband, dog, cat, and endless loads of laundry and messes to clean up, </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I feel like I am losing my inner Wonder Woman. She has been lurking there in a dark corner for most of my motherhood years, and I feel that she is fading away. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">And I am on a quest to rediscover her.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Motherhood is truly one of the most difficult jobs there is. We give 100 per cent of ourselves to our children. I love my boys, they are the center of my world. But in that world, I sometimes forget that I am there too!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Their passions have become my passions. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My meals are often their leftovers. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My hobbies involve writing about my children. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My dreams have morphed into dreams for my children. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">(Plus my body has been forever changed by three pregnancies and 6 years of breastfeeding. Changes that only a breast lift and tummy tuck will fix. Can the <em>real</em> Wonder Woman mend that??)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Somewhere in my days and nights of mothering I have forgotten my own dreams, my own passions and my inner core. I know those things - the essence of my Wonder Woman - are still there, they have just been buried under the avalanche of motherhood.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So now my search begins. I'm giving myself four months of time devoted to this. Time to think about my inner core and what makes me, me. Time to rediscover my passions, convictions and hobbies. I've put a time frame on it because otherwise I know mommy-hood will take over - my needs will fade away again unless I give myself a specific goal to work towards. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Have you lost your inner Wonder Woman as well? Is she lurking in the shadows? </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Or is she up front and glorious for the world to see? If she is, please share how you found her - or never lost her! </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">If you want - and need - to look for her, let's do our searching together. Let's fill our world with Wonder Women - women of confidence, beauty, strength, and truth. Truth to ourselves and those we love most.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT2_u_m62zGGwznoDp3Q2lEceNWpnDTXsxF_YmdpFCDdQli6PVg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="rg_hi" data-height="269" data-width="187" height="269" id="rg_hi" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT2_u_m62zGGwznoDp3Q2lEceNWpnDTXsxF_YmdpFCDdQli6PVg" style="height: 269px; width: 187px;" width="187" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The re-discovery begins tomorrow, Wednesday, March 2. Here on the half full pink martini, I'm declaring Wednesdays to be "Wonder Woman Wednesdays" when we can board our invisible jets, wear our bullet proof bracelets and lasso some truth. Are you ready to fly?</div>Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-21056674967825442412011-02-18T11:16:00.000-05:002011-02-18T11:16:14.196-05:00Mommy sleep vs. Daddy sleepI've always needed my sleep. A lot of sleep. I was an 8 or 9 hour a night kind of gal. <br />
<br />
Then I had kids.<br />
<br />
I'd always heard that once you become a mother, you never sleep well again. And I think those are true words. The type of sleep I get now is what I call "mommy sleep."<br />
<br />
I hear every noise, creak, groan, cough and snore that takes place in the house. Even with with my white noise sound machine. And I know plenty of mothers who sleep - and I use that term lightly - the same way. It's like we sleep with one ear open to hear any problems with the kids in the night.<br />
<br />
And somehow, "daddy sleep" is just the opposite. At least in this house. <br />
<br />
Case in point: The night before last, my youngest son crept into our bed at 3am and promptly threw up all over me, my pillow and my side of the bed. (which of course woke up the dog and the cat and got them interested in the new smells in our bedroom). It was not a quiet event by any means, but all I got from the other side of the bed was snoring.<br />
<br />
So I cleaned it all up, covered what I could with towels and settled back on my few inches of clean sheets with my poorly little boy next to me. Then 10 minutes later, another round of upset tummy, and then another, and another and so on until sunrise. Getting a 3 year old to tell you when he is about to throw up is a skill I still have not mastered - even after years of trying.<br />
<br />
And the snoring on the other side of the bed continued. There was the occasional grunt, but never really one of consciousness.<br />
<br />
Now I'm not knocking my husband at all. I couldn't ask for a more involved father. He knows when this mom needs a break and is more than happy to give it to me. He's fully engaged in parenting and I know I am very fortunate to have him.<br />
<br />
But he can sleep through anything, even multiple rounds of vomiting. In his bed. Right next to him.<br />
<br />
And I have no doubt that this mom will continue having "mommy sleep" for years to come. So maybe I should crank up the volume on my sound machine just a little bit more.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-88435188999683155622011-02-03T17:45:00.000-05:002011-02-03T17:45:57.878-05:00Getting to know my little pea.Thank you so much to everyone for the emails and facebook comments after I blogged last week about finding a lump in my breast. <br />
<br />
Just a quick update...<br />
<br />
I had an ultra sound last week and finally (finally!) got the results today, which are of course inconclusive. I have an "indeterminate" nodule...meaning they don't know what it is. The advice is to wait for three months, and if it is still there, have a biopsy.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure if I like that advice very much. That means carrying around this little pea that is most noticeable. To me anyway. I know it's there. You can't see it, but it can most easily be felt. I find myself unconsciously touching it throughout the day (not in a Divinyls way, of course - remember that song?)<br />
<br />
So I'm deciding what to do next. Perhaps see a breast surgeon and get a second opinion. Or just live with my little pea for 3 months and wait it out. Either way, my little pea will be there for a while longer and I'll get to know it a little better. <br />
<br />
And I'll keep on running. Me and my little pea.<br />
<br />
My gut tells me everything is fine. But I wouldn't mind being pea-less sooner rather than later.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-58776542793564226392011-01-27T21:29:00.000-05:002011-01-27T21:29:53.789-05:00Playdate time. Where's the wine?Ahh the playdate. Specifically the playdates that my 3 boys have with my BFF Beth's 3 boys. For a grand total of 6 boys. That is a lot of boys. Plus now we've each added a puppy to our broods. So 6 boys plus 2 puppies.<br />
<br />
Our boys are pretty close in ages - mine are 10, 8 and 3. Hers are 9, 7 and 3. Whenever we have playtime after school, we fantasize that the kids will all play peacefully downstairs while we moms quietly sip a glass of wine watching Oprah. Though we are now resigning ourselves to the fact that getting our boys together means that neither of us will get to complete a sentence, the wine will be guzzled and we will be lucky to catch Oprah's ending credits.<br />
<br />
Case in point, today. Beth made cookies for an after school snack. Beth's boy #3 (BB#3) walked around the kitchen with his 2 cookies on a plate that slid off so my dog ate them, sharing them with Beth's dog. Then my dog grabbed my boy #2's (DB#2) cookie off the table because he didn't sit down fast enough. The dogs then romped around the kitchen for a while all sugared up. Then DB#3 had some bathroom time but forgot to point his thingy downwards so his shirt, pants, socks and undies were soaked, along with the bathroom floor. Then Beth's puppy tinkled all over her bed in the kitchen. Then they all wanted to go outside which meant suiting up in snow pants. Add to that the noise of 6 boys and 2 dogs, and well you get the picture. We didn't even get the chance to turn on Oprah. Forget the wine. We were together for 55 minutes.<br />
<br />
Last summer we came to a rather sad conclusion. It appears that whenever we all show up at our local playground, all the other kids seem to disappear. We must look pretty scary, invading the playground with the normal wild screams of boys on the loose. But sure enough, we noticed a trend.<br />
<br />
Beth summed it up well though. "Hey," she whispered, "let's head over to the playground in the next township. No one knows us over there."<br />
<br />
Next summer we might not be so lucky. Our reputations - and noise - may precede us.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-4945207548458103232011-01-25T18:16:00.000-05:002011-01-25T18:16:06.277-05:00I've got a lump in my breast. So I'm going for a run.Today I spoke those words that every woman dreads. <br />
<br />
I've got a lump in my breast. <br />
<br />
I saw my doctor this morning who did not think it was anything to be too concerned about, considering my history, but wanted to err on the safe side. He ordered an ultrasound which I will have on Friday.<br />
<br />
So instead of rushing home, googling everything it could be from cancer to a cyst to a fat deposit, I ran some errands, met my BFF for a quick cup of coffee and headed home. Where I promptly strapped my precious girls down tight, laced up my beloved kicks, grabbed my pink ipod, leashed up my dog and headed out the door for a run.<br />
<br />
The last thing I'm going to do is worry. There is nothing that is going to change between now and Friday morning so I'm going about business as usual. <br />
<br />
And I had a wonderful run. One of the best runs, ever. It was cold, but wonderfully fresh. I checked my Garmin on the one and only flat portion of my 3.5 mile route and nearly stopped in my tracks - but I'm glad I didn't! I was running the fastest I had ever run. An 8:45 minute pace. Now I know that isn't fast by any means for a lot of mother runners out there. But for me, I was lightning! <br />
<br />
Even though I had a puppy leashed in one hand and a bag of puppy poo in the other.<br />
<br />
Ironically, there is something about health problems and worries that can do a person good. My now 10 year old son has several chronic eye diseases, and nearly lost his sight at age 3. So now when I run - and when I don't - I really look around and take in the sights. From roadside flowers and fallen leaves to snow banks, there is beauty in the most simple scenery. <br />
<br />
And today, with a tiny little pea sized lump, I ran with energy, strength and power.<br />
<br />
And I'll run again tomorrow.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-78627729464951318832011-01-24T15:09:00.000-05:002011-01-24T15:09:41.217-05:00If you haven't got anything nice to say...I check my Yahoo! news page first thing in the morning to see what is going on in the world. Plus sometimes there are odd "human interest" stories that provide a break from the normal doom and gloom of the news.<br />
<br />
Lately I've started reading the comments on some of the stories. <br />
<br />
And I think I'm going to stop reading those comments.<br />
<br />
I can't believe the rampant rudeness! It seems the anonymity of the internet has given free licence to people to say what ever they want. No matter how uncivilized, childish, mean spirited and insulting their comments may be. Whether it be a political, social, current events news item or just an interesting story, people are writing horrible things.<br />
<br />
Recently I read a tragic story about a family in Canada that was killed in a car accident. <br />
Random comment: Who cares? They are Canadians.<br />
<br />
Stories about bullying, people dying in fires, horrible illnesses...the hurtful messages that people leave astound me. There seems to be no compassion. I really don't understand why, when the subject of the story has faced unspeakable tragedy, comments have to add even more hurt and hate.<br />
<br />
As a parent, one of my jobs is to teach my children respect for their fellow human beings. And kindness. And compassion. And understanding. And tolerance. And that job gets harder and harder every day because we are surrounded by hatred and intolerance.<br />
There has been a lot of talk about this in politics recently. And it doesn't matter what side of the political aisle you are on - it comes from both sides. How can I teach my children respect and kindness when our politicians and national commentators are calling each other Hitler, putting gun sights on their opponents and telling their supporters to reload? How can we ever expect to raise children into decent adults when our leaders can not themselves set a good example?<br />
<br />
The recent horrific events in Arizona have certainly given us pause as a nation. However, I fear that this will be short lived. Our memories do not seem to last very long. Attention moves on to the likes of the Jersey Shore - where not much is said in kindness (or sobriety) either.<br />
<br />
We teach our children that if you haven't got anything nice to say, then don't say anything. Imagine if our media, politicians and commenters followed that ancient rule of being nice. The world would be a much quieter place.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-80249788821265166582011-01-22T16:58:00.000-05:002011-01-22T16:58:48.927-05:00Motherhood and Running - Perfectly Imperfect TogetherPerfect. I've come to really dislike that word.<br />
<br />
I was the perfect child. Rarely, if ever, in trouble, straight A's all the way through grad school. Did as I was told and had the world at my doorstep. Career planned out. Oh I was going places. And those places would, no doubt, be perfect.<br />
<br />
Then I became a mother. Of three boys. I imagined raising young boys of impeccable manners, eager to clean their rooms, help their mom and never say an unkind word to anyone, not even each other. <br />
<br />
I was going to have perfect children. Just like me.<br />
<br />
Well, children have a way of throwing all those visions out the window into a big steaming heap. My sons are well mannered for the most part, but will eagerly laugh hysterically at the slightest hint of a burp or, as regularly happens in our house of 4 males, wind from the other end. My goal of 3 well dressed boys in khakis and collared shirts? I'm lucky if they have anything that isn't stained or ripped. And right now with the growth rates we are experiencing, a pair of pants that isn't 3 inches above their ankles.<br />
<br />
I've scaled back my expectations, and I've realized that that is a good thing. My kids are happy and well adjusted, for the most part anyway. And the stress - though still there - has been reduced as I realize that my kids are their own selves and with a little guidance from hubby and me, will turn out just fine. Forget perfection.<br />
<br />
Then last year I decided to take up running. I've never been athletic but I decided I wanted to run. I wasn't going to start at a short 5k (though I ran one - but it wasn't timed, so in my mind, it didn't count.) Heck no. I was going for a race with the word "marathon" in it.<br />
<br />
And I was going to be the perfect runner, gosh darn it. Just like I was going to be the perfect mother.<br />
<br />
I did pretty well for my very first athletic accomplishment. I finished the half marathon in 2:23. I was quite proud of myself for my first "official" race. But I needed to go further. I signed up for a marathon. 26.2 miles.<br />
<br />
And I was going to run the perfect newbie marathon. I had the shoes, the running skirt, the support of family and friends, and I'd done the training. But it took me a long time. A realllyyyy long time. 5 hours and 28 minutes. I thought I could finish in less than 5, perhaps even 4:30, based on some of my better training runs. But 26.2 miles is a heck of a long way, especially in bright 70 degree sunshine. I did well for the first half but at about mile 21 I bonked and half walked/ran the rest of the way. But I crossed the finish line upright and smiling.<br />
<br />
I was proud of myself - but disappointed too. I didn't run my "perfect" marathon - perfect by my standards any way. I had different expectations for how I would feel at the end. I was laughed at by someone who thought my time was slow, and told I was selfish for training for such a long time. After all it took time away from my family - as if that was my only reason for existence, thank you very much. I had great support from the Run Like a Mother community which made me feel so much better. But still, part of me felt like I had failed.<br />
<br />
Just like there are days when I feel like am failing as a mother. You know those days, when the only way you can survive is to park the kids in front of the goggle box and lay on the couch. Those days when you can not deal with one more argument, fight, spilled glass of milk, load of laundry or toilet to clean.<br />
<br />
But running has put this whole experience in perspective. When you run, you put one foot in front of the other and keep going. There are days when you are slow, and days when you are fast. There are days when you can't drag yourself out of bed and there are days when you hop out of bed and go straight to your happy place while putting on your running shoes.<br />
<br />
Just like there are days when you can't stand motherhood, and then days when your kids tell you that you are beautiful and the best mom in the world. You just have to put one foot in front of the other and keep on going, avoiding the legos strewn across the floor, of course.<br />
<br />
So my visions of being the perfect mother, the perfect runner? Replaced by visions - and reality - of being a mother runner who is doing her best. Putting one foot in front of the other, the best - and only - way I can.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-11220329088274384142010-09-24T12:58:00.000-04:002010-09-24T12:58:11.767-04:00This tough broad's new name.Since I became a stay at home mom, or family manager, or home CEO, or whatever I want to call it on any given day, I've really struggled with my identity. Before kids, I was slated for a great career in corporate America with a generous salary and recognition for my work. Now, after kids, my home is my work place and my days are filled with laundry, cooking, cleaning, child care and the occasional Panera trip with various mom friends. <br />
<br />
Thanks to these Panera trips, and three babies that unapologetically changed my metabolism and body structure, I struggle with my physical identity as well. I carry around an extra few pounds, and thanks to mass media and women's magazines that tell me over and over again how to lose weight, sometimes I think I never will be comfortable in my own skin. I thought my marathon training - all 400+ miles of running over 18 weeks - would get rid of my jiggly bits. Well, I have muscles of steel now, but the jiggly bits remain firmly - or un-firmly, as it were - in place over said muscles of steel. <br />
<br />
I've had an ongoing battle in my head for years - should I get rid of the extra 20 pounds or finally accept that they are part of me and embrace my body? This body that has given birth to 3 boys - naturally, without so much as an advil, one baby at 10 pounds (!), all born at home? This body that spent 6 years nursing my babies? This body that provides a safe and nurturing home for my family, 24 hours a day? And of course, this body that can hold my fair share of Woman Warrior martinis? This body has more strength in it than I ever thought possible. I never thought I'd ever run 5 miles, let alone 26.2. But here I am, running mile after mile after mile, and thoroughly enjoying it. <br />
<br />
I had a moment of clarity while running this past weekend. My BFF Beth joined me for a couple of loops at the park during my short, comparatively speaking, 14 mile run. I had my typical long run attire on - capris, running skirt, tank top, visor and pigtails. (Yes I'm 41 and run in pigtails. I LOVE it!) The path encircles numerous baseball fields. It was opening day for the local men's league and there were a lot of fine men pitching and hitting and running. And of course they checked us out as we ran by. I felt a little self conscious, thinking about the muffin top and jiggly bits, and Beth and I had our usual conversation about body image. Then she said I was like a roller derby girl. At first I was aghast, but then I pictured a roller derby girl. Strong and tough. Physically and mentally. No skinny legs for those gals. Tattooed. Check, have one of those (now you know mum, I have a tattoo) Bright colored clothes. I always run in bright pink. And lip gloss.<br />
<br />
Hmm, maybe Beth is on to something. Maybe I just need to look at myself differently. Not as a runner who has a few pounds to lose, but as a strong woman who is one tough broad. But in a nice way, of course.<br />
<br />
A cool name is a must for a roller derby girl. I've been calling myself a muffin top marathon mom, but I need something much edgier than that. So I thought of the tattoo on my right shoulder. I designed it myself and I'm proud of it. It has three thistles, one for each of my boys, and represents my strong Scottish heritage. And the thistles are pink, of course. The leaves of the thistles form the shape of Ohm, a very meaningful symbol to me from the time I spent living in India. <br />
<br />
So now when I run, I'm the Pink Thistlenator. <br />
<br />
Step aside, skinny girls, I'm coming through. Jiggly bits and all.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-25599835752173034132010-09-02T08:00:00.000-04:002010-09-02T08:00:22.461-04:00Forget what's in your wallet. What's in your car?I admit I like those "What's in your wallet?" viking commercials. I chuckle at the antics those silly fur clad fellows get up to.<br />
<br />
That "What's in your wallet?" question popped into my head as I unloaded the car at the park the other day. Except it wasn't what was in my wallet, rather what was in my car.<br />
<br />
I have always tried to keep a clean car. "Tried" being the important word. This summer, however, got the better of me. My embarrassment upon opening up the back of my 10 year old minivan prompted me to make a list. <br />
<br />
So what is in my car?<br />
<br />
3 boys' bicycles. Yes 3.<br />
3 boys' helmets.<br />
1 umbrella.<br />
1 fall jacket. Even though it's 93 degrees outside.<br />
4 footballs. Even though I only have 3 boys.<br />
2 soccer balls.<br />
1 rubber chicken.<br />
1 rubber duck.<br />
1 toy mini copper with a giant union jack on it.<br />
1 toodler hoodie.<br />
1 pair of dirty socks. That happen to be mine, stolen and worn by my eldest son.<br />
1 bionicle.<br />
Ice Age - the movie.<br />
Night at the Museum - the movie.<br />
1 aluminum water bottle.<br />
54 cents.<br />
1 roll of paper towels.<br />
1 wipes bin.<br />
4 pull ups.<br />
1 doggie doo doo bag.<br />
1 doggie leash. Pink of course.<br />
3 smushed up M&Ms. Brown, red and yellow.<br />
1 paper airplane.<br />
1 rain poncho.<br />
1 plastic water bottle cap.<br />
Assorted crumbs and bits of unidentifiable food.<br />
<br />
And something I can't quite quantify...the smell of the feet of three little boys and their wet sandals mixed with dog and rubber bike tires.<br />
<br />
Oh, and there is a cobweb in the corner.<br />
<br />
I used to take such pride in my clean car. But trudging around with the three kids for bike rides at the park and hikes with the puppy has taken it's toll on the minivan this summer. Back to school week means a thorough detailing of my beloved mom mobile.<br />
<br />
So, what's in your car?Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-75054025310405230582010-08-23T07:45:00.000-04:002010-08-23T07:45:54.398-04:00Getting it balanced.Last night, husband DJ and I watched Avatar for the first time. We very very rarely go out to the theater to see a film, but thanks to our new Netflix account, we are catching up on the past few years of Hollywood.<br />
<br />
To be sure, it was an amazing 2 hour and 45 minute cinematic experience. The computer generated film was incredible to watch and had a story that, though very predictable, told a message of the evil of greed. <br />
<br />
We were curious to see how much the movie cost to make so we googled it. <br />
<br />
$500,000,000.<br />
<br />
That's 500 million dollars. To make, promote and distribute Avatar. Half a billion dollars. And so far it has brought in $2.7 billion in box office sales around the world. And it is coming back in theaters which only means that the revenue will go higher. <br />
<br />
20th Century Fox amd James Cameron must be rubbing their hands with glee.<br />
<br />
About a movie about greed.<br />
<br />
Hey, I love a good movie. I love to laugh, cry, be moved and awakened by a film just as much as anyone. But something just really bothers me about these huge sums of money. <br />
<br />
And talking of money...today we are taking our boys to the NY Jets open practice, where we get to watch big men thowing a ball around, running a few yards, and earning millions of dollars for doing so.<br />
<br />
Something just really seems screwed up.<br />
<br />
I know I could write a lot about this. So could a lot of people...We are responding to the desires of our society - people want to see this so they will pay, etc etc. Our need for entertainment etc etc.<br />
<br />
And on the other side...I lived in India for a year, and have had fantastic opportunities throughout my life to travel the world and see how most people live. It's a far cry from billion dollar movies and throwing a ball around for millions. Sometimes I just get completely overwhelmed by the amount of wealth that is in our world and the depths of poverty.<br />
<br />
It just seems really messed up that we spend billions and billions on entertainment when most of the world is suffering in poverty, disease and war. And I love a good movie and am willing to pay to see one. And I also enjoy watching football. <br />
<br />
So how can we balance it all? I wish I had an answer.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-72690824845880833322010-08-13T15:30:00.002-04:002010-08-13T15:50:07.669-04:00Running like a mother. For about 7 miles, maybe. MOM!!!One of my favorite books is Run Like A Mother: How to Get Moving and Not Lose Your Family, Job or Sanity, by Dimity McDowell and Sarah Bowen Shea. For me, a mom new to running, it is great comic relief, inspiration and motivation all rolled up into one. A book that told me I can be a middle-aged, slow, athletically challenged, slightly overweight mother and still call myself a runner.<br />
<br />
Well, today I ran like a mother alright.<br />
<br />
I like to run alone. It's my escape from the kids, I mean reality, I mean I like the quiet - other than Eminem blaring in my ears, that is. Sometimes I end up at the park and meet up with hubby and kids and get offered an air conditioned ride home that I'm usually all too eager to take.<br />
<br />
But this week, I screwed up on my schedule. I ate waaaay too much three cheese ravioli with homemade pesto and lots and lots of garlic one night. The night when I was supposed to run 7 miles. Needless to say, the 7 miles dwindled to 4 and I had to figure out when to fit the 7 in. <br />
<br />
That happened to be today.<br />
With the kids.<br />
All 3 of them.<br />
On their bikes at the park.<br />
<br />
I had visions of me running the path while they rode their bikes beside me, cheering me on in my marathon training.<br />
Yeah right.<br />
<br />
Mom! My handle bars are loose!<br />
Mom! My bike is broken!<br />
Mom! I don't want to bike any more!<br />
Mom! I want to go on the play set!<br />
Mom! I want your gatorade!<br />
Mom! Mom! MOM!!<br />
This was at mile marker 1.3. 13 minutes in to what should have been a 70 minute run.<br />
<br />
What on earth was I thinking?<br />
<br />
I managed to squeak out a couple more miles after I sent Collin to the playset with little brother Iain, but of course felt like a horrible mother for letting two of my three boys play without direct supervision. Even though they are perfectly fine doing that. I think I got bad looks from other mommies, even though I was never far away from them.<br />
<br />
Mile 4. My BFF Beth and her three boys show up to run / play with us. Great! I think. The boys can all amuse themselves while Beth and I run my last 3 miles. Her littlest one promptly does a face plant on the path and scrapes up his knee. Screams and tears.<br />
<br />
Mom! I want a snack!<br />
<br />
By this time, I'd spent almost 2 hours at the park trying to do a 70 minute run, and I was barely half way through.<br />
<br />
So we parked the little guys under the pavilion, surrounded them with snacks, and ran the short track that is maybe, perhaps, a quarter of a mile around the picnic tables. I can't remember how many times.<br />
<br />
So I think I ran about 7 miles. Maybe. It took over 3 hours. In April I ran a half marathon in less time than that! But at least I kept moving the entire time. You know, from kid to kid to kid.<br />
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Hopefully that makes up for the chocolate I ate for breakfast.<br />
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Running like a mother. Gotta love it.<br />
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(Check out their website - <a href="http://www.runlikeamotherbook.com/">www.runlikeamotherbook.com</a> )Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-82675963870962670532010-08-10T10:30:00.000-04:002010-08-10T10:30:40.983-04:00Happy Birthday To Me, wrinkles and all.I love celebrating birthdays. And today is mine! I'm proud to say I'm 41 years young today this 10th day of August 2010.<br />
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Many people like to forget their birthdays. They don't want to celebrate gaining another year in age. <br />
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Not me. I like to look at it as another year of life, experience, love, friendship and adventure! <br />
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I get a little disheartened when I see all the commercials for anti-aging products for us women of a certain age - you know, the wrinkle reducers and such. I have my fair share of wrinkles around the eyes, but I like to look at those wrinkles as 41 years of seeing the world, my family and children, majestic mountains, blue oceans, and the simple beauty of sunflowers and blades of grass. I'd rather hear about the life that eyes have seen than how to get rid of the life that those eyes have experienced. <br />
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Don't get me wrong. I'm all for looking my best, but I'm not going to go to great expensive lengths to wipe away the after effects of a life well lived.<br />
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I like to celebrate. A couple of years ago, I threw myself a birthday party - a ladies martini night in my backyard! We giggled, ate really good chocolate and of course made ourselves martinis. Last year was the best - I was so proud to turn 40! We threw a great party - 1980s style! Everyone came dressed in their best neon, jellies and leggings. We drank Sea Breezes and Fuzzy Navels and danced away the night to Wham, Michael Jackson, Madonna and the sounds of Flashdance. It was one of the most fun nights of my life.<br />
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This year hubby and I and some friends are heading out to a martini bar for dinner and drinks. A little quieter than last year, but a celebration nonetheless. And a couple of days ago we had a little impromptu get together at home with some friends and enjoyed their fine company and a delicious dinner, fresh from the garden.<br />
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A birthday is a great way to reflect on the the year gone past. What has been accomplished and enjoyed? What dreams have been realized? What new ones are on the horizon for next year? And of course there are heartaches to consider too. That is part of life and should be reflected upon. Goodness only knows our family has had our share of them. <br />
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But this is what life is - an adventure to be be shared, enjoyed and relished. Every new wrinkle is a sign that I've done something, lived more and gained experience in this journey of life. <br />
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And I don't mind another wrinkle or two. Cheers!Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-73470262583697021662010-08-01T22:00:00.000-04:002010-08-01T22:00:48.646-04:0012 years of Marriage. Then and Now.Today, hubby DJ and I celebrated our 12th wedding anniversary. Such a day is always a good time to reminisce about the past and reflect on what our lives together have become. Here's a comparison of then (newly wed, eager to fulfill our dreams together) and now (3 kids, dog, cat and a mortgage)...<br />
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Then - waking up in each others arms, lazily reading the paper and sipping premium coffee.<br />
Now - waking up at 6am with the puppy in between us, licking my face, wanting to be let out for a tinkle and poop, using the paper to mop up any overnight accidents.<br />
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Then - gazing into each others eyes, calmly discussing our dreams of the future.<br />
Now - a quick hug in the kitchen, recalling our wonderful wedding day, while the puppy chews on her squeaky toy and the SQUEAK boys chase SQUEAK each other around SQUEAK the living SQUEAK room.<br />
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Then - a day trip to New York City, strolling around a museum, arm in arm, window shopping on 5th Ave<br />
Now - a trip to the county fair with kids in tow, looking at pigs, cows and their corresponding poo, cheering on the boys in their respective Big Wheels races.<br />
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Then - cocktails, a romantic dinner in a trendy New York restaurant, intimate conversation in candlelight, dessert at our favorite bakery in Little Italy<br />
Now - dinner for 5 at the local Italian chain with our conversation ranging from "don't jump on the chairs! get up off the dirty floor! get your feet off the table!" to the boys' screams of "I dropped my silly bands! I think there's poop on the light! Iain dropped his Big Wheels medal in the toilet!"<br />
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And I bought my husband a thoughtful card, expressing my love for him. But the dog ate it before I could give it to him. Really, she did.<br />
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What a difference 12 years makes.<br />
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Happy Anniversary Dear Husband!Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-45169283290121920962010-07-29T10:25:00.000-04:002010-07-29T10:25:24.224-04:00Sitting on my backside. And loving every minute.Have you ever had one of those mornings when you just can't be bothered to do anything at all? And I mean anything? Even when there is sooo much to do?<br />
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I had one of those today. It was pouring with rain outside, thundering and lightning at 6am, my usual time to take the puppy out for her first tinkle of the morning. Well she wanted no part of going outside - and neither did I. But rather than cleaning up a puddle inside the house, I opened the umbrella, braved the storm and picked her up under my arm and made for the back yard. Thankfully she promptly did her business and we raced back inside. <br />
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I looked around the house. At the piles of unfolded and creased laundry, knowing that it all needed to be put away. But it had been sitting there already for two days, so what is another couple of hours? I looked at the full dishwasher, ready to be emptied, but intead of tackling all of the dishes I grabbed my favorite mug and made my morning cup of tea. I looked at the stack of papers that needed to be dealt with and the mess on the dining room table and sighed. And then I grabbed my book. And sat on the couch on my backside with my mug of Yorkshire Gold and agave and lost myself in the last 100 pages of my current novel.<br />
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Hubby DJ came out and wondered what on earth I was doing. Usually when he appears for breakfast before hurrying off to the office for the next 11 hours, I'm busy in the kitchen preparing for the day. Doing all those jobs that I'm supposed to do every morning. But not this morning. I know I'll pay for it later in the day when I have to play catch up with three boys at my heels. But well, this morning, I don't seem to care.<br />
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And I enjoyed every minute of it. <br />
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Maybe we busy moms should do that more often. Just sit and enjoy our own company before the day begins with the normal chaos. Goodness knows the dishes and laundry will always be there. But a quiet moment? That is something to be treasured.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-71154541244006049902010-07-27T20:43:00.000-04:002010-07-27T20:43:58.985-04:00A fan club for this Muffin Top Marathon MomThis year I hope to cross a big item off my life's to do list. Run a marathon. Or perhaps I should say, complete a marathon. Having never been athletic, this is one heck of a big goal. But following my very first official race - a half marathon - that I completed in April, I figured I might as well try. I'm not a fast runner by any means, just slow and steady. And committed to my goal. There are many days when I do not want to run, but there are many more when I really look forward to running. It's my escape from my chaotic home.<br />
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I like to run at my local park, appropriately named the Field of Dreams. It's usually an early morning run for me, before the summer heat moves in for the day. I'd often see three bunnies, always in the same spot on the track. I'd wish them a good morning as they scampered away and I'd continue on with a smile on my face. My eldest son Corbin would always ask if I'd seen the bunnies, and they soon came to be the founding members of my Fan Club.<br />
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Yep, I have a running Fan Club. And I'm continuously adding members as I encounter them on my runs. Though they may not know it yet - or ever. Along with the three bunnies, I have a doe and her two fawns, a wild turkey, four ground hogs, 17 horses - including the HUGE one that came out of the bushes with a rider attached that scared the daylights out of me. There are some humans in there as well - the two ladies that walk seven dogs between them every morning, the guy flying his remote control plane who likes to give the "thumbs up" as I pass by, and even a nun in her habit saying the rosary. I did a double take on her, thinking I'd been in the heat too long, but when I saw her the next day again, I figured she was really there. And of course there's my mobile fan club - our mini van with hubby, three boys and puppy following me from time to time on the road bringing me Gatorade and offering the occasional air conditioned ride home. <br />
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(There is also a four foot long black rat snake, but I'm not sure if I want that on the club's roster.)<br />
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As a mom of three young boys, I have a lot of noise in my home. Noise that never seems to cease. Ever. Running has become my escape. And it gives me some time to think. Even if Eminem or Katy Perry or Will Smith are blaring away in my headphones, I still think. It dawned on me one day that running a marathon is very much like being a mother - a journey of exhilaration, pain, emotion, fatigue, distress, happiness, solitude and togetherness. And I've decided to write a book about this - the marathon of motherhood. I'll be trying out some chapters from time to time in my blog and would love some input. And I would also love to grow my fan club! Add some people that I know and don't know. <br />
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So please join the fan club for this muffin top marathon mom! Follow and/or subscribe to my blog. If you have a fan club or would like to start one, let me know and I'll be happy to join yours! We can all use fans - support and encouragement can get us through the rough times and make the good ones even better.<br />
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Thanks, fans! Welcome to the club!Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-13452161045453217182010-07-22T21:09:00.000-04:002010-07-22T21:09:20.092-04:00Poop happens. Especially in my house.Yep, poop happens. <br />
Life is full of poop. <br />
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As any parent knows, there is a lot of poop when your loved ones are little. Constant diaper changes from the moment your babe is born till he or she is potty trained. Then it is accident clean up time. And then if you have another child, it starts all over again.<br />
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Puppy Fendi is potty training, and well, she's a dog, so there is always something to be picked up in a bag - either inside or outside the house. Thank goodness, mostly outside these days. <br />
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Plus she loves to eat deer poop. And there is no shortage of that in our back yard. Same with bear poop.<br />
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Iain is potty training too, and seems to forget that his bathing suit is not a diaper. He insists on going without swim diapers, so you can only imagine what happens when, well, you know.<br />
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And now, unexpectedly, we have a cat. And gosh darn it, she has to poop too! And guess who has to clean out the little box? Yeah, you guessed it. Me.<br />
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And then there are my two big boys, who sometimes - well, more than sometimes - forget to flush.<br />
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So, after I'd just cleaned out the litter box, wiped up the mess on the bathroom floor from a rather full bathing suit for the third time in three days and was bending over in the grass with doggy baggy in hand, I let go and screamed. MY LIFE IS POOP!!<br />
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Ahh, that feels better.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-33539655588074834502010-07-20T20:08:00.000-04:002010-07-20T20:08:58.538-04:00In search of a great blogI’m taking the night off. Well, not really “off,” but let’s just say I’m not doing the dishes, bathing the kids or putting them to bed. I’m sitting in my local Panera Bread, with a steaming cup of hazelnut coffee at my side, laptop open, contemplating my life. (I think I may need a martini instead.)<br />
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I’ve been trying so hard to get to my blog this summer. I have these great expectations of myself – churning out brilliant essay after brilliant essay. I have visions of myself sitting by the pool while my kids happily swim, puppy at my feet, me writing words of wisdom to set the world straight and getting book deal after book deal.<br />
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Yeah, well, as they say, sh*t happens. <br />
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Three boys in the pool on their blowup pirate ship “The Black Dog” makes for constant screams of “It’s my turn!”, “Corbin pushed me off!”, “Mom, Collin kicked me,” and Iain’s well timed cries of “Mommy I have to go potty!” Only said of course, when he is soaking wet. Plus Iain is now, dear Lord, able to swim without his bubble, which means I can not take my eyes off him for a second. Most of the time I have to be in the pool with him. Oh, and the puppy at my feet? She is usually eating goggles, socks, towels or shoes. Which means I have to play her favorite game of “chase me as fast as you can because I refuse to drop my new favorite toy.”<br />
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Yes, all of this makes for perfect, quiet, blogging bliss.<br />
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So tonight I’m at the coffee shop for a couple of hours trying to put together a writing plan for the next few months. I’m hoping to get myself into a routine of blogging three to four times a week, perhaps following themes for certain days. I have a lot in my head to sort out.<br />
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My question to you is this – what draws you to a blog? What makes you stay and read and "follow"? I only have a handful of “followers” but I know it gets read a lot more than that based on emails I get. So step one – figure out what makes a successful blog. Which is just what I want. Any suggestions?Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-65461255907726339602010-07-01T20:58:00.000-04:002010-07-01T20:58:32.646-04:00Coke Bottle GlassesRemember that line from your childhood days? There was always some poor kid with really thick glasses at school who was picked on and teased by kids with good vision. <br />
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I just Googled "coke bottle glasses" and found links to "nerd costumes" and "bookworms." <br />
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Well, I'm a mom to such a "nerd" and "bookworm." A kid with coke bottle glasses. When Corbin was 3 he was diagnosed with cataracts in both eyes, uveitis and juvenile idiopathic arthritis. He now also has glaucoma. Two separate surgeries removed the lenses from his eyes which resulted in his need for glasses. Really really thick glasses.<br />
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I was terrified when he first went to school, even crying in the principal's office as I voiced my worries about bullying. But the bullies never appeared - at least not because of the glasses. But that's another essay.<br />
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Over the last 6 years, I've gotten used to the thick glasses that distort his eyes. The glasses are so heavy that he seems to squint a lot to keep them up on his nose. He has to hold his head at an angle to watch TV. He can't wear sunglasses because they don't make them in his strong perscription. <br />
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One thing I really miss is looking into those eyes - I mean really looking into them. His irises have holes in them from his surgeries, and one is a funny shade of green while the other is blue. Since he can't see more than a few inches without them, I very rarely see him without those glasses. Except when he sleeps. And then his eyes are closed so I still can't look into them. <br />
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They say the eyes are the window to the soul. Well, I really want to see my son's soul.<br />
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Things may change tomorrow - he's going for his monthly check up and Remicade treatment. And there will be a pair of contacts waiting for him in the neuro-ophthalmologist's office. He wore contacts for a little while after his first surgery, but they irritated him too much. Now that he's older, we are trying again.<br />
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He'll look like a different boy tomorrow when he comes home from the hospital. Plus he just got his haircut, so it's like he's having a makeover (just what every 9 year old boy wants!) Who knows if the contacts will work - he may hate the feel of them. Maybe he won't be able to see well enough with them. I don't know. But I do know that perhaps, even just for a short time, I'll be able to really look into my son's eyes. And perhaps see his soul. <br />
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And I hope he'll look back and see mine.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-57101906009462696412010-06-04T14:07:00.003-04:002010-06-04T14:15:41.524-04:00Before and After - The Big RevealAs I did my usual scan of the morning news on Yahoo!, a feature article caught my eye - <a href="http://www.shine.yahoo.com/event/haven/7-simple-ways-to-get-organized-1434241">www.shine.yahoo.com/event/haven/7-simple-ways-to-get-organized-1434241</a> - Seven Simple Ways to Get Organized. It outlined how you can organize your home in 7 days, simply, easily, without any fuss. <br />
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They are kidding, right? <br />
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As a wannabe professional organizer, I can assure you, the average family would struggle to organize their home in 7 simple ways. Cleaning out the kitchen cabinets and restacking the towels in the linen closet does not an organized home make. It is far more complex than that.<br />
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Articles like this and "organizing" TV shows really distress me. Many of us who are not "born organized" long for those perfectly stacked shelves, those closets where like items are arranged by season, color and sleeve length. Where our children's playrooms have color coordinated toy bins, neatly organized according to toy type, size and age. You know those ones, straight out of a Pottery Barn or Container Store catalog. Sure they look great, but how realistic are they?<br />
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Those shows in which teams of organizers sweep in, magically decluttering to give the homeowner a"big reveal" moment when they walk in and see their wonderful new spaces, do not tell the whole story. Sure they provide great entertainment for us and perhaps ideas for our homes, but they don't tell us the before and after story. They don't really address how the "before" chaos happens and how the organized "after" can be maintained. Recognizing the "before" and "after" is the key for true home organization.<br />
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My desk is the one place where I really struggle. It's the general dumping ground for every piece of paper in the house - kids school papers (which come home by the thousands, it seems), newspapers (that need to be recycled. Why on earth I put them on my desk instead of straight in the recycling bin is something I cannot comprehend.), bills (which I will get to, later) and junk mail (that needs to be shredded). Under all this is my inbox which seems to be constantly overflowing. So much so that I never get to it, because in order to get to it, I need to clear off my desk! I clear off my desk and then, whoosh, all this paper appears from no where and I have to start all over again at the beginning. Know what I'm talking about? Thought so.<br />
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So I could get TLC or HGTV to come over and clear out the recycling and kids papers, and give me some pretty desk accessories to hold the mail and nice little matching pencil holders and a nifty looking label maker to label everything. But what good is that when all I will do is dump my papers on my desk and cover all the cute things up? That's the problem - why do I dump it instead of sorting immediately (before) and once sorted, how do I keep it that way (after)? Having pretty containers on my desk doesn't help me.<br />
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Organizing is far more than plastic bins and cute organizing accessories. It's about really looking at ourselves and asking why we do the things we do. Why do we buy stuff? Why do we procrastinate about our inboxes? Why can we never seem to get organized? What is standing in our way? Perhaps if we answer the "before" questions, we can have the organized "after" that so many of us desperately seek. Now THAT would be a big reveal.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4617999650651931494.post-36487532608806691002010-05-26T13:05:00.000-04:002010-05-26T13:05:10.126-04:00Verdict - Not GuiltyGuilt seems to come at us from all over the place. We feel "mommy guilt" because we let our kids watch TV when we just need a break already for 30 minutes. Because we fed them junk food once this week (okay, maybe more than once.). Because we didn't have their baseball uniform washed on time and had to pick it out of the bottom of the dirty laundry hamper (of course that has never happened to me, cough). Because we haven't done the "thing" we were supposed to do, according to whatever study has come out today. You know those "studies" - the ones that tell you to do one thing this week and then will be refuted next week by another one?<br />
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I had a big dose of mommy guilt this week. Today little Mr. Iain is on a field trip with his play school group to our local kiddie amusement park, the Land of Make Believe. It's a cute place that's just for little kids - all the rides are pint sized. I've been there soooo many times over the years with the older boys. Iain didn't have to go today as Wednesday is not his normal play school day. So I didn't sign him up. But then the school said that he could go if he wanted to. Sure, I said! <br />
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But then it dawned on me...do I have to go with him? I know many other mommies are going. But to be honest, I just couldn't stand to go there again. Even though he'll have a blast on this beautiful sunny spring day. It would be priceless to see his little face on the car/airplane/dragon/boat/etc rides. I could get some really cute photos for the scrapbook. But, truth be told, I would much rather spend the day in my basement sorting though the piles of paperwork on my desk and maybe catching a few minutes of the View.<br />
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There are days when Mommy needs a break. Desperately. Does not taking my son to the park make me a bad mom? Good Lord, no. But do I feel guilty about it? Well, yeah. For a few minutes anyway. Until I realized that he's fine with his teachers - who are all wonderful. That he's not going to be crying for me because I'm not there. That because I've had a few hours to myself, I will be much more patient with ALL my boys when they explode into the house later this afternoon and leave their school papers, shoes and dirt scattered all over my newly vacuumed carpet.<br />
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Sometimes we just need to give ourselves a break. Guilt free. I've enjoyed every bit of mine today.Deborah Halliday Millshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13515070397411868422noreply@blogger.com0