A 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.

Kind of like the life of a mother.

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?

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. 

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.

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.

Then I walked outside with my puppy.  Into a wonderland of soft snow, silence, gently falling flakes and perfectly laden branches full of beauty.

It took my breath away.

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.

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.

Do that - and then you really are a Woman of Wonder.

Wonder 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.

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.

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.

Then I got pregnant.  And gained 60 pounds.   And then lost 50.
Then I got pregnant again.  And gained 60 pounds.  And then lost 50.
Then I got pregnant again.  And gained 60 pounds.  And then lost 50.

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.

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 good chocolate.  The really good kind.

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.

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.

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.

And I love a glass (or 3) of cabernet.  Or merlot.  And I've rarely met a martini I didn't like.

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.

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. 

Truth is, I think I've been lazy.  I know what to do, I just haven't done it.

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.

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.

So I'm finishing off my glass of merlot and getting to work.

Rediscovering My Inner Wonder Woman

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. 

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.

And now, 15 years later, I feel like my Wonder Woman is disappearing.

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,

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.  

And I am on a quest to rediscover her.

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!

Their passions have become my passions.  

My meals are often their leftovers. 

My hobbies involve writing about my children.   

My dreams have morphed into dreams for my children. 

(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 real Wonder Woman mend that??)

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.

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. 

Have you lost your inner Wonder Woman as well?  Is she lurking in the shadows? 

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! 

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.

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?

Playdate 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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

Next summer we might not be so lucky.  Our reputations - and noise - may precede us.

If 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.

Lately I've started reading the comments on some of the stories. 

And I think I'm going to stop reading those comments.

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.

Recently I read a tragic story about a family in Canada that was killed in a car accident. 
Random comment: Who cares?  They are Canadians.

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.

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.
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?

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.

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.

Motherhood and Running - Perfectly Imperfect Together

Perfect.  I've come to really dislike that word.

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.

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. 

I was going to have perfect children.  Just like me.

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.

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.

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.

And I was going to be the perfect runner, gosh darn it.  Just like I was going to be the perfect mother.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.