Playing Possum

When threatened, a possum will pretend to be either asleep or unconscious.  It will not run away.  It will NOT move.  I’ve heard this expression a million times over the course of my life.  Last night, I learned the truth. 

At 5:45 I parked my car in the garage.  I entered the house after a long day at the office, said hello to my fellas.  The Hubs asked, “Was the garage door open when you pulled up?”  I replied, “No, why?”  Ominously he said, “I thought I saw something in there earlier.”  Of course, neither of us did anything about that.  We just shrugged, like maybe someone else will figure it out, as if we aren’t the heads of the household. 

Forty five minutes later, as I sat editing an email at my office desk, a clamoring came from the garage.  “I thought I saw something in there” floated through mind; I quickly ignored it, and returned to editing.  I checked my watch and noticed it was time to leave to pick up The Goose from volleyball and drop Mister at basketball.  I hollered, “MISTER!  GET READY FOR BASKETBALL!”  I heard him busy about upstairs, no doubt styling his hair and looking for his shoes.  He came down to the office and said, “I’m going to grab a Gatorade and my ball.”  He opened the door, stomped up the garage stairs, and then bellowed, “OHHH MYYY GAAAHHHHH”.  Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. Door. Slam.

I jumped up from the desk as he huffed and puffed his way back into the house, white as a ghost, trying to catch his breath.  I said, “Buddy – what’s wrong?" He replied, “There’s….there’s…there’s somethin’ in the garage.” I said, “Oh,” as if this was new information, “what do you think you saw?”  He said, “It was like furry, white and black, spiky fur.”  I said, “Oh no! You think it was a skunk?”  He said, “No, yes, I don’t know mom.” 

We charged upstairs to talk to Dad.  As we walked he talked me through each step as he entered the garage and saw the critter.  “It was behind the wood pile and it darted out across over by the toys or fridge or somewhere.”  He shared his experience with his father and noted, “It had a tail like a hairless cat – a long, hairless tail.”  Possum. 

It’s important to note here that The Hubs was in bed because he was preparing for a long night of work ahead.   He planned to get out of bed around 10:30 pm to be at work by 11:30 pm; he did not want to get out of bed a moment sooner.  The possum’s entrance in the evening was not on the schedule; I didn’t even have the heart to ask him to look for the possum, I rushed the boy’s coats on, headed out the door, and into the car.  But, because he is a good dad, he followed us out the door. He grabbed a broom and started poking it around the million places a critter could happily find warmth in our garage: woodpile, ball box, toy shelves, under the four wheeler, behind the fridge, within the mountain of bikes.  We sat safely in the car, watching him thrash about the place, wildly like only an angry dad can.  Nothing ever happened.  No critter emerged. 

We went about our evening schedule.  Dad returned to bed, leaving the garage door open. I did the drop at basketball, pick up at volleyball, drop friend from volleyball, drop daughter from volleyball, return to pick up basketball player, and back to the blasted garage.  We had hoped, upon our return, we would see tracks in the snow indicating the welcome departure of the possum.  No such luck. Mister said, “We gotta get this guy outta here.” 

We went in the house and he formulated his plan of attack, while I reiterated my “let’s leave the garage door open long enough for him to see himself out” theory.  “No, Mom, I’ll put on boots so if he attacks he can’t get to my skin as easy.”  He opened the door, grabbed the broom as he’d seen The Dad do, and started poking around the garage.  “I SEE HIM!”

GULP.  Unenthusiastically, I asked, “where?”  He said, “Right there – behind the red box.”  He poked and poked at that possum and guess what it did?  NADA.  Heart racing, I snuck around to the front of the garage, and peeked at the possums suggested location.  There it was.  A white, frightened (or frightening depending on which camp you’re in) face just stared at me. 

Then, one good poke and Mister yelped, “HOLY SHIIIIIIII – it’s tail is so strong!” He poked the tail, and it poked back and that was the end of our adventure in the garage (hallelujah).  Decidedly he announced, “Yeah, let’s just leave the garage open for a while.”  Of course I locked the door to the house because I’ve seen Over the Hedge, so I know those little monsters have nimble thumbs. 

This morning, our possum hunt continued before school.  It did not help with our morning timeline and we cannot confirm if there is or is not a possum in our garage.  But we can confirm, the expression “playing possum” closely aligns with the actual behavior of a real possum. 

To be continued – or maybe not; we can’t be sure. 

The Search for Wholeness

You remember Feris Bueller's saying: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."  That is how I feel today.  It is like in a blink another year has come and gone and I'm left wondering, did I miss it?  

I think as mothers we're often consumed by the little details so much that we miss the big picture.  We are so busy doing everything that we don't enjoy it.  Can we be in the thick of it and participate fully or can we be present.

I dug into MaverickRx in 2019 at the expense of The Mama Bird.  Now when I sit and look back on the moments that really busted me up in 2019, I feel remiss for not writing them down.  It is disappointing; I have to acknowledge and accept my own limitations in my personal, creative spaces.  Who likes to accept their own limitations?  Um.... no one.  Zero people want to talk about the shit they didn't get around to doing.  The thing is MaverickRx did distract me from writing; but it also gave me a wild goal wrought with challenges and littered with dreams.  

Every year I have LOFTY goals.  Thanks for that, Dad.  I want so badly to reach each goal.  I try and try and keep trying.  But in the midst of all that trying, something gets left undone.  I cannot be an exceptional mother, with a spotless house, laundry folded and put away, teach fitness, build a YouTube channel, write a blog, see my friends and family, read books, date my husband, maintain a lovely yard, and have a full-time job. Or can I?  

Someone recently asked, "how do you do it all?"  Super simple.  This is one you'll need to write down: I don't do it all.  

Acknowledging my limitations and fessing up to what I'm not going to get done is how I don't do it all.  Things that truly matter are the only things I'm giving brain space to in the twenties - the things that make me feel entirely WHOLE. For example, how clean my house is or if my yard is pretty have nothing to do with what makes me feel whole; and the laundry can jump off a bridge for all I care.  Let's not even go there.  These are not unique aspects of what make a life.  These are universal "have-to's".  Disinfect, clean, mow, fold... everyone has to do this stuff.  It cannot, therefore, consume any brain space or plague us with stress.  

Before I was a mother there were a few things that made me, well me.  I lived to read and write.  I spent hour upon hour listening to music.  I hung around people who refueled me with laughter.  We talked about books, music, and culture. Those are non-negotiables for me to be me.  Creating, feeding my brain, and connecting with the most valuable people in my life, even for a quick coffee or phone call, give me a boost.  

I fell in love before I was "Mom!"  I fell in love with a man who makes me laugh and snort and who puts up with my countless lists and dreams.  He supports almost all of my ideas and when he doesn't he says so.  Although, I can't think of a time he said so exactly.  He might have made fun of an idea a time or two or screamed at me, "You and your ideas!"  But for the most part, 98% of the time, he is all in.  

Once I became a mother, I also fell in love with my kids and fitness.  I didn't teach fitness until I had my first daughter.  Over the course of the past thirteen years, fitness has become engrained in my being.  It is my sanity saver.  Motivating other humans to move, picking them up when workouts get really hard, and making them smile through the challenges really lights my fire.  

My kids are my favorite people, hands down.  They each have an energy all their own, unique quirks and personality traits that sometimes resemble me or their dad, but are most definitely their own spin on existence.  Most of the time we get along well, until someone breaks an XBox controller, the tv, or drags around in the morning and makes mom late to work which forces mom to come unglued.  But my mom friends assure me, that's normal.

Brain space is limited.  What we allow into our brain space - what we allow into our lives is absolutely within our control.  To feel like a complete, whole human we get to select where, what, and who we want to put energy into.  My goal for 2020 is to allow my brain space to be filled with three essential aspects of my life that make me feel whole: human connection, creativity, and movement.  

I invite you to take a minute and assess what will fill your brain space in 2020.  What makes you whole and uniquely you?  What doesn't actually matter in your life that you are allowing to fill your brain space with and, in so doing, creating stress?  Let go of the non-essentials and focus on the aspects of life that fill you with energy and excite you every day.  

Can You "Censor" Rude?

I went to dinner with my parents and children in the city on Monday.  As we were walking toward the restaurant I could hear a rowdy group of people sitting in front of the restaurant.  They were LOUD and cussing like truck drivers.  Which, let's be honest, I've been known to do myself.  My friend Brooke will testify to it.  I have a potty mouth.  But when I had kids, I had the decency to clean my act up and not speak with such colorful language around them.

It seems LOGICAL to me.  If I want my children to speak without profanity, I have to speak without profanity.  Am I perfect?  Absolutely not.  There are times when oops the F word sneaks out.  Like the day I got attacked by a swarm of earwigs.  Or when I scraped a dead mouse out of my dryer with my bare hands.  Things happen.

But on the daily, nope.  We keep it clean.  As we neared the group of boisterous, margarita sipping fools I made a mental note "sit inside."  I ordered for myself and the children, which took a decade.  My parents ordered and were outside setting up a table before I could suggest we just wait for a table inside.  I get it, no one likes waiting, but for my own sanity in that situation, I would have waited.  

Outside our table set up doesn't meet managers regulation and we are asked to move next to the table of cussing hoodlums or go inside.  I said to the manager, "well, I wish I could sit outside, but those kids are using a level of profanity known only to truck drivers or Snoop Dogg."  She giggled, apologized and said she'd set us up somehow inside.  

My darling mother, in the meantime, decided to approach the obscenity loving table of idiots.  She politely asked them to tone down their profanity.  At the table sat six men and a single woman.  The men all quickly apologized, "of course...we're sorry...we'll clean it up."  The woman, on the other hand, would not have it.  She loudly exerted her opinion, "I WILL NOT!  I will not censure myself because of YOUR CHILDREN!"  To which I laughed heartily because, really?  I said, "Oh hunny... I hope one day you have your own children then."  And she said, "I won't."  And I replied, "Of course not."  She quickly replied with the classiest of rebuttals, "FUUUUCCCCKKKK YOU."

Now, as I mentioned, I have a mouth of my own and have often been un-censurable.  Usually, like this nit-wit, I've had one too many margaritas or some other tasty cold alcohol rich drink.  I also, while being a very patient and kind person, do have a temper.  Usually, lets be honest, I stuff my anger down real deep in prayer.  

Truly though, I wanted to rip her head off.  She told ME to F OFF in front of my kids?!  I felt frozen.  I felt like if I rip this little girl a new one in front of my children and parents, that's not exactly setting the best example.  Instead, I sat down inside, and quietly raged while eating my dinner.  I dreamed of pouring a margarita over her incredibly ugly hair.  I dreamed of picking her up from the table by her ear and walking her up to my children and forcing her to apologize for her incredibly rude and terribly awful manners.  I dreamed of physically harming her while politely eating my burrito bowl. 

But I also knew that assault is assault no matter how you slice it.    

On my drive home from the city I wondered, what gives people the right to be such assholes?  Why on earth does asking a person to behave like a big girl and be polite in front of small children qualify as censorship?  Isn't it just RESPECTFUL?  Aren't we just talking about using our MANNERS?  

When did respecting other people around you and using your manners become a challenge?  Honestly, I do not understand.  

It will please you to know that really, in the end, I won.  That same night, I had a dream that my family was under attack by a werewolf.  It was a giant beast of a creature, which I can only assume was a subconscious way of representing the rude woman from dinner with the hideous hair.  In the dream, I protected the children but the beast kept coming at me.  Lunging with wild crazy eyes, intolerably bad breath, and a dreadfully frizzy coat of wild unkempt hair.  I called for my husband and he came running at the werewolf with a Ziploc 1 gallon freezer bag.  I held the beasts head down, with my knee in her neck as my husband suffocated her with the freezer bag.  

I also won because I am not an asshole with the audacity to verbally (or really) assaulting other humans.  

The End.

Choose Grit.

Today my children sat in on a seminar [read: school assembly] on a concept that adults often find a struggle: GRIT. 

In her book Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance, Angela Lee Duckworth explores how this aspect of the growth mindset, developed by Dr. Carol Dweck, can impact student beliefs about failure.  Duckworth suggests that "what we eventually accomplish may depend more on our passion and perseverance than on our innate talent." 

Mrs. Duckworth has leveled the playing field, my friends.

Up to now, we're all under this assumption that our innate talent or our IQ sets the standard for success.  Then, in walks Duckworth.  Guess what she's doing - she is calling bullshit.

Is my sister better at math than me?  Yes.  It is because she is smarter than me?  No.  Could it be that when math got tough, I didn't have the grit to persevere and figure that shit out?  A person can be very talented, very intelligent, but in the absence of grit she will not be successful.

The lessons my children have learned within their elementary school about the concepts of having a growth mindset and grit are as valuable as the lessons they have learned about arithmetic and history.  This concept leads me to wonder and explore HOW as parents we can encourage these concepts, teach these life skills, and nurture our children's grit.

I think most of life's challenges can be eliminated with the right perspective.  Of course we each have our own - and we each have to rise to the challenge of creating our own positive perspective in times of struggle.  I find the right perspective in constant communication with God.  There isn't a day that starts without our conversation.  In so doing, I am able to stay the course.  Maintain a positive mind-set and seek personal growth.  I believe I am talented.  I believe I am smart.  But I also believe, I will not be successful with my talents or intelligence without grit.

How many talented, intelligent people do you know that are not particularly successful?  Take a minute and think of them.  Now consider this: is their perception of success the same as yours?  In Shift Happens: How to Live and Inspired Life...Starting Right Now! by Robert Holden I've been exploring this concept of perspective.  I've come to decide that perspective is literally EVERYTHING.  What I perceive as success, how I feel happiness, how I feel worthy, how I feel I contribute to the world, where I see myself heading, the connection and relationships I develop - all entirely of my perspective.

People often ask me how I am.  Though they say it in a way that leads me to believe they think I am not doing well, they seem to think I am "over-doing it".  Their questions are laden with their perspective that I am too busy to enjoy life.  "You're so busy... how do you do it all?"  "You must be stressed with so much work."  I am busy.  I have a lot of work.  I like it that way.  I prefer busting ass all day and pushing myself to work hard, learn new things, and shine my light into the world in my own way every day.  I prefer it to "down time".  I don't consider the challenges of my days as negative.  I think challenges are opportunities.  Let's see how we can tackle this mountain.  Let's figure out how we can eat this frog.  Is having grit and working toward my goals easy?  No.  But does my perspective allow me to see it as a positive and forward moving experience so that I want to do it.  Yes.  I choose grit.

After the school assembly today my boys came home happy and feeling charged up.  The Happy Critter said, "Today I am ready to take off my training wheels."  He was influenced by the motivational concept of grit.  We took his training wheels off the bike.  We gave it a go.  He chanted several times that he has grit.  We worked at it for thirty minutes.  I suggested we take a break, try again before dinner.  He immediately broke into tears.  He said, "I can't do it!"  Sobbing hysterically.

I calmed him down.  I said, "Wait, I thought you had grit."  He said, "I did for a little bit, but it must be gone because I can't ride the bike."  I said, "Listen, grit doesn't come and go.  Grit tackles the bike riding one lesson at a time until it gets done. Grit is trying again and again, keeping at it."  I asked him, "Will you keep trying?"  He said, "Yes."  I said, "See you do have grit."

Grit can be taught.  But it must be talked about.  My kid's first perception was that grit was a one trick pony.  How can we share how gritty we are with our children?  How can we include perspective and our own growth mindsets with our children?

Talk about it as it happens.  When something needs fixed, bring them along on the journey with you.  I never really learned how to be gritty when it came to math.  But I sure as shit learned to be gritty.  My parents each, in their own ways, modeled pieces of their grittiness with me - I developed it and learned it from their behavior.

In trying to live outside this little comfort zone of mine, I am sharing my grit.  In working until the wee hours trying to understand new software platforms, rules of using YouTube, best practices of this or that within my professional space - my children see my grit.  When my bag is overflowing with notes from my workout, my mornings spent creating Indoor cycle playlists, or my hands callused from weights they see my grit.  When the faucet is clogged and it takes not one but three trips to ACE to get the right materials to fix it, our children see grit.  When the hubs is up at 4 and home at 9, they see grit.  When we share and show our passion for our work, for each other, for our community - we share and show our grit.  We do not have it all figured out.  We are not good at everything, but we will bust our ass until we are.  That is how we Choose Grit in our house.  

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For all the books mentioned in this blog post and a few suggestions for encouraging grit in your children click here.  

I Already Miss the Sea

When I was little my grandmothers lived hours from me.  We would travel to visit and every time I left them, I would cry.  My parents would pack my brother, sister, and I back into the car and I would wish desperately that we could stay longer.  Leaving them felt like I was leaving part of me. 

I lived a wonderful childhood.  I come from a loving, kind, fun family and it was not that I was leaving them and heading to some version of torture.  I just really liked being near them. 

As an adult, I feel that way about the sea.  When I am not near it, I wish I was.  I can close my eyes and take a moment to escape back to it in my imagination.  When I am at the doctor and they say, "go to your happy place" before taking my blood pressure, I go to the sea.  The sound of it.  The smell of it.  The sheer expanse and beauty of it.  The depth of colors and textures within.  The feel of the sand and the joy of touching it - all bring me back to a calm that I feel deep in my heart and belly. 

The children and I were fortunate to take a few days for spring vacation with some friends to Destin, Florida.  It was a bright spot in the middle of this dreary, lingering winter.  When it came time to pile back into the cars, I took my boys back to the magical place where the stairs lead to the sand to share with them my tradition of saying goodbye to the sea.  A feeling much like that of leaving my grandmothers as a child, it brings tears to my eyes. 

I longed to be home.  I looked forward to seeing my husband and sleeping in my own bed.  The comforts of our life here in our little bubble are inviting.  But I wish, always, when I leave it that I don't have to.  I wish that I could be closer to it.  I wish that it could be bottled up and moved closer to wear my home is.  I daydream the whole ride home about returning to it and finding my own little piece of home near it.   

Last night, I turned on the sounds of the sea to fall asleep and was filled with the wonderful memories we made with our friends while on vacation.  I felt full, blessed, and thankful to have had my time at the sea again. 

The truth is...

Often I think social media and the blog·o·sphere do a heck of a good job of putting lipstick on pigs.  The social media happy spin.


Even I have asked people to read a book on authenticity with me and take a 12 days of kindness challenge; I've posted holiday baking, the kids end of year shows, and all the festive goodness of this time of year.  But behind it all, I'm also doing the social media spin/lipstick on the pig.  

So here it goes:  The truth is I am very, very sad.  I lost my friend and colleague, Robert, last week.  I told my children that he went to bed and didn't wake up; but the reality is he took his own life.  Suicide.  I am not trying to lie to my kids - they are very young and I am just not ready to start talking with them about suicide as part of life in any way. 

I am lucky to have known Robert.  I feel genuinely blessed to have had him in my life the past two years.  Two short years.  Robert hired me as a marketing independent contractor to work with him for his fitness company.  We spoke on a weekly basis for work.  We planned, schemed and dreamed.  But we also talked often about fear and regret; we talked about living outside of our comfort zones and learning how to grow.  

In the past eight days I have run through the gamete of emotions and questions.  Why was he so happy on Friday and then Monday completely without hope?  I look through my missed calls and wonder what if I'd answered those calls... what if I had sent him the reminder text on Sunday evening instead of Monday afternoon?    

What if.

And why.  Why is totally out of my scope of understanding.  I will never understand because what I thought of him, and what he thought of himself, were not the same thing.  I saw an incredibly talented, intelligent and kind person.  I saw a man with so much information and insight.  He knew everybody, he remembered everything, and he could tell story after story about traveling and fitness without missing a beat.  

While he was interesting, he was also interested.  He would ask about my life, my family, my goals.  He would question my plans and nudge me into directions I hadn't really thought all the way through.  He asked, no kidding, the best questions - he was incredibly inquisitive -of anyone, too, not just me.  We would be on the phone with someone and Robert would expect a certain outcome; he could ask the right questions to create the outcome he desired.  Sometimes, even if he knew the answer, he would still ask the questions and get me thinking about it and then I start questioning, why do I think that, and then before I knew it my perspective on the situation was broader.  

The small glimpses he shared with me about his sadness were just that - small glimpses into his reality.  Never enough information that I ever thought he was where he was.  Now though, that he has taken his life, I replay our conversations in my head and I think and wonder, "Oh Melissa..that..that one was a bad day for him."  

We talked often recently about direction for the business.  We talked about how to keep growing and thriving in an industry that is always changing.  We talked about our immediate actions and our long term goals.  Maybe while I felt hopeful for the future he felt anxious about it?  The simple fact is, now I will never know.  And it makes me incredibly angry that I do not get to talk to him anymore.  My heart breaks for his broken heart and I ache for his family.  

In October Robert was here in my home, having dinner with my family, and playing piano with my daughter.  He said, "Let's set up a zoom video conference for me and the Goose to practice again...she has an incredible ear, Melissa."  I've watched the footage of him standing beside her, in his comfortable way, umpteen times.  I've listened to his voicemail and scoured the email threads - looking for something unknown.  

I still talk to him when I am working.  He always says the same thing, "Listen...we will never know until we try...Let's do it once, and then go from there...If we get 10% I'm happy..."  Listen.  Listen.  He said listen incessantly.  "Listen, I think it's a good idea, but I've been down that road before... Listen, I don't want you to get too excited about this...Listen, one good post is all we need this week.  Listen, recovery is as important as the exercise."  

Now that I've taken the lipstick off the pig.  There is something else I'd like to mention.  If you see me, you don't have to look at me like I'm broken.  You can simply say, "How are you doing today?"  It is not an imposition to be asked questions about him or about what I'm feeling that day, because I'll be honest some more - every day I have felt different than the day before.  I am sad, but I am trying to keep my light shining because I believe 100% that God put me on a path to meet Robert and I will follow His lead.  I pray for the ability to continue Robert's mission; I can only say that it was an honor to work along side him for the brief time I could.  He was the best mentor and I miss him.

You Have to Work Hard at Being Happy

When it comes to a good day or a bad day, how much of it boils down to perspective?  I have come to a place in my life where I believe that 90% of my day is determined in my own head. How I interact with the world around me, how I respond, how I proceed through decisions - all impact my perception of my day.  

First of all, I believe that I can control the outcome of my day. I wake up, I think through the first steps of my day and sequence it out to set myself up for a positive day.  This morning, for instance, I woke up and laid in bed thinking about the day.  My mind touched on each hat that I wear and what I need to accomplish first in each hat:

1. Coffee, prayer, meditation
2. Get the laundry going
3. Make lunches
4. Test a sale & make adjustments
5. Check weekend sales & open rates
6. Finalize play list
7. Wake the kids

The first thing I do, everyday, is always #1.  I set my day by connecting with God, giving thanks for the blessings on my mind each day, and I meditate on my intentions for the day.  Each day my intention is to work hard and shine kindness into the world.  

Often my intentions are met with resistance and my light turns off.  I get angry.  I lose my patience.  I feel misunderstood, like my boundaries are being pushed, or I simply disagree with someone.  But the overall goal for the day is to come to terms with the resistance and settle it before the day ends. For me, this doesn't mean that I need to settle it with the person, if one is involved, by the end of the day.  Settling it, for me, is coming to a peaceful understanding of how I can exist with it.  How can I come to terms with, or process, the issue?

I process in two ways: talking about it & praying over it.  This morning "My Book" (Jesus Calling by Sarah Young) said:

Many people's decisions are a combination of their habitual responses and their desire to please themselves and others. This is not My way for you. Strive to please Me in everything, not just major decisions. This is possible only to the extent that you are living in close communion with Me...A quick glance at Me is all you need to make the right choice.

In essence, I felt comforted by the simplicity of how to check my own behavior. What will work for Him is what feels right for me. In the making of our days, a quick glance in His direction can lead us down a path that allows us to be true to ourselves and a positive influence in the world around us. On good days, these choices we make are easier than on the bad days.

And there are really bad days, right?  Days when the server crashes, the car crashes, the airplane crashes.  It is those days when leaning into God for support is incredibly important and also incredibly hard.  We ask over and over, why why why is this happening?  And unfortunately there is never a reason for the why.  There is only: how we can cope, come to terms with, or respond to the heartache or trauma. How can we set our minds to have more control of the way we respond, react, and behave?

I've had a some experience with traumatic situations, bad days. Sick or injured children with unknown resolutions, sleepless nights, days spent in tears, weeks spent in sadness. The only way I have ever made it through any of it is by leaning into God, allowing other people to help me, and giving myself the space to feel awful and fall apart.

I think Dolly's message speaks to me because how we approach the good and the bad days really does matter - our perspective can tip the scale in our favor if we let it. If we choose to lean in, if we choose kindness, if we choose forgiveness, if we choose to set our mind and create our intention for the day, even on the bad days, the load is a little bit lighter.

Making a Life

When I was a little girl I loved Dolly Parton.  She was my idol.  I sang 9 to 5 until my heart was content. One fine summer evening I parked it in front of my grandmother's TV set, turned on HBO and followed Dolly's career on to The Best Little Whore House of Texas.  It might not have been the best message for elementary school, but I adored her.  

She seemed so strong and confident in both films. As if she'd take no shit from anyone.  She had a strut about her, a bold, emblazoned gate that caught everyone's attention.  She is a savvy, business woman.  If you peruse her Wikipedia page, the list of her accomplishments is long.

From time to time when I need a powerful message, I'll google Dolly quotes.  Because she never fails to inspire me.  This month there are four that I find particularly helpful in conquering new goals, staying true to myself, and living life.  

"Don't get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life."

I find this particularly powerful from her because she made quite a living.  "American singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, record producer, actress, author, businesswoman, and philanthropist..." a powerhouse of a woman.  

But something not accurately described at times is her marriage.  This woman made a life with one man for 51 years.  A very private man who didn't want to step out into the limelight with her.  51 years.  Talk about making a life.  Look her up for her philanthropy and the list is nearly as long as her career!  

What women are girls looking up to now?  First, I believe they are looking up to US.  It is on you to show up for your daughter and teach her to love herself, empower herself, make a life, and be kind. If you could use a little motivation to do that for yourself from time to time, I understand (why do you think I'm googling Dolly Parton in the middle of the night?)

So ask yourself, are you making a life?  Here is what I want to hear:  

I'm trying.  When you can say, "yes! I am trying!"  Then you're on the right path.  Maybe trying for you is getting through couples therapy, signing a new lease, setting up doctors appointments, working overtime to save for college, learning a new braid, painting with girlfriends, dancing in your kitchen, traveling the world, chairing that committee, carpooling, paying the bills --- WHATEVER IT IS --- you have to make a life.  YOU CANNOT ALLOW IT TO HAPPEN TO YOU.  You are the main character in this show, and if you will own the role, pull up your big girl pants and take responsibility for all the good, bad, and ugly parts - YOU WILL SHINE.

Can you spell h.y.p.o.c.h.o.n.d.r.i.a.c?

The scariest thing just happened to me.  Well.  Maybe it isn't THE scariest thing.  Everyone is safe, Grandma, don't worry.

The thing is I know this happens to people all of the time.  But for a minute I'm allowing myself a moment of worry.  Which I know I shouldn't do.  But I'm a parent.  Worry is my middle name.  Chalk it up to being a busy, multi-tasking woman.  Chalk it up to being human.  Or....worry.

I work out of my dining room because the office in the basement is lonely and it doesn't afford me the ability to keep a watchful eye on my children.  I set up shop in the dining room and this is where I spend a sound forty three hours of my week.  In the midst of that I also run the household.  Kids up, fed, dressed, teeth, catch the bus, teach a fitness class, and then back to my perch here in the dining room.  The doorbell here and there, then lunch for the little guy, then a call from Boss #1, then conference call with Boss #2.  And so on.  You get the picture.

Tonight, I am switching from mode #1 to mode #2 and getting a sale set up to begin tonight at midnight.  I pull up the email with the CDs for the sale, I quick stop to put meat on the stove to start lasagna for dinner.  Thankful for the no-boil Barillas in the cabinet.  Then I sit back at the computer to run through the email and pull up the sites I'll need to make the sale arrangements.  Check on the meat.  Back to the sale.  Find the email with the pertinent details, hit "print."  Check on the meat.  Add the sauce.  To the printer, no email.  Back to the computer to look at why it did not print.  "Printer is offline".  I click, "print test page".  Go back to the kitchen to move on to the next step with the lasagna, but the sauce isn't ready.  So I turn to go back down to the printer.  I turn the corner toward the office and then it is blank.  Gone.

Why am standing in the hall?

Totally blank.  Then I get a little bit nervous.  Trying to think why did I come down here.  What is down here that I need.  Laundry?  I turn around to go back to the kitchen hoping something there will trigger why I walked down the stairs.  Nothing.  Totally gone.

I check the sauce, sit down at the computer to try and fix the printer and then it hits me.  The test page.  I already printed the test page and that is why I went down the stairs.

I know that this happens to everyone.  I know it happens to me all the time - that oh I forgot my phone minute or the I left my glasses downstairs or forgot to bring the mail in.  But I swear to you tonight it just felt awful.  Like the purpose was totally gone.  Vanished.

And so then I try to calm myself down with logic.  Mel you're running a million directions.  You're mind can only manage so much.  But then it's still there.  That minute when I totally lost it - went totally blank.

I thought writing it down would help me feel better.  But guess what?  It didn't.  I'm going full blown hypochondriac on the blog right now.  People forget things all the time.  Where did that piece of information go?

But first I was an...

Aunt.

Many years before I was The Mama Bird, I was Aunt Sa.  My first niece was born in 1998 - the year before I graduated from college.  She attended my graduation in the sweetest little white dress, with the most darling little curls, barely walking, in her little white shoes.  In two days I will watch her cheer at a Big 10 football game.

Time has flown.

Since then, there have been A BUCKET OF additional nieces and nephews added all of whom I see on a regular basis.  I could tell you little stories that have touched my heart about every single one of them.  But today I want to tell you just one that happened this weekend at my house.

My youngest is 5.  He loves his cousin Bivy.  He wants to be by her side whenever they are together.  At dinner Sunday night I walked into the dining room to see him smiling, sitting next to her.  Then he got up and said, "Bivy, I have to show you something!"  He left the dining room, went to the refrigerator for milk, got a cup out of the cabinet,and then walked back to the entrance of the dining room.  He placed the cup on the floor and looked up at her and said, "Bivy, are you watching?"  Then he poured his own glass of milk.  She said, "Wow, Critter, I can't even do that."

It was totally darling.

But then it got even cuter.  I sat at the table a moment and listened to them talk about the honor of pouring yourself a cup of milk, without spilling it.  Another of my nieces said, "You know what I do, I put the cup near the sink so then if it tips over it is real easy to clean up the mess."  The Happy Critter and Bivy were impressed by her intelligent suggestion.

After everyone left and I was cleaning up the house, that little moment struck me again.  How incredibly sweet it is to be proud of the things we accomplish.  How incredibly ignorant I am for not acknowledging better the small tasks he is checking off his own list every day.  Sometimes the youngest gets the short end of the stick - fewer accolades with everyone else already able to do everything on their own.  This year he has learned to buckle his own seat belt and pour his own glass of milk, and he is so proud of himself he showed off to Bivy.

They really are the sweetest things.  These kids.  Their moments.  Cherish them, mama birds.    

My 2 Cents: Tide's Child Safety Campaign

Last night after I put the kids to bed I snuggled up with the remote.  I came across a 15 second commercial.

(pause for your viewing of 15 second commercial)

I found this commercial disturbing; guys, the container is not the problem.  The product is toxic. Rather than addressing the issue and funding the research necessary to create a safe product, P&G sells toxic products to millions of Americans.

With a little research today I learned Tide embarked on a video challenge in an attempt to address the many household dangers to keep kids safe.  In one video an unattended baby is sitting in a room; the challenge is to spot the eleven risks the child can get to in five seconds.  There are coins left out, a balloon, a fire roaring in the back ground, electrical sockets, an iron, the cord from blinds, unsecured tv, mom's purse, sharp edges of a table, a leaning mirror, and laundry packs.  Tide is likened to items found in a home that could kill a child.

The container is Tide's solution?  

Nope. Create a safe haven for your family by simply shopping smarter and safer.  Buy laundry soap, of course, and store it out of the reach of your kids.  But feel safe and secure knowing your soap is not toxic.  Guess what else?  Your clothes will still be clean!

Look at alternatives for your family and know that you have safer choices.  I'm always happy to share my solution.  Reach out and let's talk!

Little Helpers

As I sliced tomato for BLTs last night, I heard a frantic banging on the front door.  I poked my head around the corner to see the Happy Critter's little eyes peeking through the glass.  He kept banging on the door and started to yell, "MOOOOOMMMMM!"  I opened the door and he said, "Mister's crying!"  I looked outside to see him in the street, bike tipped, holding his knee.

I turned around and The Goose was on my heels.  I said, "Tell Daddy to pull the bacon, please."  I darted to the man down, removed his helmut, and swooped him up grabbing his bike with my free hand.  Then I heard a little voice behind me, "I got the bike, Mom."  The Goose.

I took the boy to the bathroom and cleaned him up.  We talked over how he fell, if this skinned knee was more painful or less painful than his previous injury a few days prior.  I trimmed my nails and he gathered himself.  Then we heard a little voice, "Mom, how's Mister feeling?  The Happy Critter.

It struck me with these little, ordinary events how kind and caring my kids actually are.  When one of them is hurt, or sick, the others actually show thoughtful and loving actions.  They help.

In motherhood there are little details that disappear.  How it happens is simple, there are so many incredibly special moments and stressful moments that my brain can't possibly remember them all. There just is not enough space - motherhood moments should get more brain real estate, but they get muddled up with field trip money reminders and work...so I write it down and pray the internet never fails me.  

From the Archives...

While cleaning up my files I came across this post from several years back.  If you have had or now have little ones - I'm sure you can relate.  Enjoy!

There are moments in motherhood.  Moments when joy overwhelms or fear paralyzes.  There are also regular moments in between those high peaks and low valley that I hope to remember.  I hope to remember the way my three year old hugs me as tight as he can with his huge muscles, or squeezes my face to make a smooched mouth.  Times I hope to remember lying in bed with my six year old talking about her day or my day or where we want to go together when we grow up.  Moments with my infant rocking, snuggling, giggling, and pumping his arms as only he does.  His laugh is infectious and he tickles easy.  Small moments in between the big, first preschool shows and long hospital stays.

Today was a day I long to remember.  It hasn’t gone well.  Though, I am smart enough and have been overwhelmed and paralyzed enough to know, that this bad day actually pales in comparison to the real thing.

We started out pretty good.  Made the bus on time, boys watched Toy Story and I got an article written.  Lunch went well, naps, bus pick up, lifted weights, showered, and played outside.  About 3 o’clock we came in after an outdoor snack time.  Mister spun himself into the curtains.  I asked him to get out of the curtains and unspun him.  He punched my leg and was promptly put in his room because hitting mommy is on the zero tolerance list.  While in time out he peed his pants; which is becoming such a frequent occurrence that I’m considering time outs in the bathroom. We worked through it, he and I alone in his room.  I was so focused on his tantrum and his feeling upset for having peed his pants that I forgot about the others.  We talked while he undressed and then we decided to wash off in the tub.  I filled the tub and he began to smile after the time out and frustration.  My heart breaks for him sometimes.  I think he is so big for such a small guy, and he just wants things his way. 

I left him in the bathroom to tend to the wet clothes.  When I stepped out of the bathroom I heard the sound a makes when it clinks “cheers!”  I said, “What is that?”  I rushed down the stairs as Goose called from the living room, “I don’t know, Mom.”  I quickly arrived in the kitchen to find the 19 month old on the counter.  He had climbed up the step stool in the corner, by the knives.  He sat on the counter and happily clinked an eight inch bread knife into a glass butter dish.  Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. Then I saw the actual mess.  He had picked the coffee pot up, held it out passed the counter and dropped it.  How hadn't I heard that?  Coffee flooded the floor; glass sparkled in the wet, shining puddles.  Had he held the knife wrong, his hand would have been bleeding.  Had he crawled down the step stool he’d surely have slipped in the coffee and cut himself on the broken glass scattered across the stool and floor.   Heart racing, I grabbed him and scanned him for any blood.  Zero.  The knives!  The glass!  Not a scratch.

When days like this come - the tantrums, the peed pants, the hurt feelings, infants climbing counters, breaking coffee pots, playing with knives – I feel defeated.  I am frustrated by the unexpected glitch and sure tears will come, but they don’t.  They stay put, waiting for real cause.  Today wasn’t a moment of sheer joy or incredible fear – it was just a moment in the life of a mother of three who hopes that these memories will last.  This time, in our lives, is going too fast.  

Fretting Footballer

Flag football season has begun.  My littlest, when initially asked, said "YES! I want to play!"  He turned 5 four weeks ago.  Football started, though, and he did not.  He was sick for the first two weeks of practice.

Last week he was healthy.  I said, "Football practice is Thursday."  He said, "The thing is Mom, football is kinda wrestly."  I said, "Yes, I guess it is."  The next day I said, "Let's go buy you cleats for football on Thursday!"  He said, "Yes! I need cleats!"

Thursday came and he felt nervous.  We went to practice. Reticently, he went through the motions of practicing football.  At the end of practice the team played Sharks & Minnows.  Most of the team stands in the end zone; these guys are the Minnows.  A few team members stand in the middle of the field; these guys are the Sharks.  The object is to run past the Sharks without getting your flags pulled and stop at the other end zone.  My little guy was fast.  He dodged the sharks time and time again.  During the second to last round he made it to the end zone, but the Sharks pulled his flags anyway.

He turned into a puddle.  It was not a good practice.  All previous successful runs past the Sharks did not matter at all.  The only thing that mattered was the one run that ended poorly.  We took to the sidelines and then watched older brother practice.

Game day came just two days later.  Saturday.  We packed up the truck with rations for two hours on the football field.  Cleats, jerseys, mouthguards - check.  Juice boxes for the team - check.  Umbrellas - check.  Older brother played the first game and loved it.  He ran his heart out, tried his best, and had a grande ol' time.

When the little guy was up, trepidation set in.  Dad laced up his cleats, tucked in his jersey, took his hand and confidently charged the little guy to warm ups.  The little guy, hung his head, and cautiously walked beside his father.  Just as cute as could be, he warmed up.

The Lone Firefly

The game began with his team on offense.  If you've never watched 4 and 5 year old children play flag football, it can be likened to releasing a jar of fireflies back to freedom.  They scatter.  Some follow the ball, other's run randomly in all directions, and usually one stays back inside the jar.  That one, alone in the jar, then looks ahead and slowly leaves.  That was my little man.  The lone firefly.  Once he realized everyone else was down somewhere in the end zone, he walked there, then he looked off the field of play to see his mother cheering him on.


He turned into a puddle.  He ran off the field, to my arms, crying hysterically.  Game over.

This week, I've tried to talk it up.  I've been upbeat, positive, "it's just like playing tag - you're so fast, buddy!"  His sad eyes return, his head droops, "but what if I cry, Mom?"

The debate then has been in my head all week, certainly not his.  He is not feeling it.  Do I make him go?  Do I tell him buck up camper?  Do I make him sit on the sideline to watch?  Am I one of those mother's who says, "finish what you start" or am I one of those mother's who says, "you're 5, don't feel sad about sports"?

I've certainly been the "finish what you start" Mom.  When my eldest tried to puppy-dog eye pout her way out of soccer at age 5, I tried the buck up camper bit.  Now, at 9, she is terrified of competitive sports.  So maybe that isn't the best choice.  I am also certain the "finish what you start" Mom will return, one day, when this guy is older and it actually matters.  This time I'm opting for "don't feel sad about sports".  I'm going to enjoy his silly shenanigans on the sidelines while cheering for the older brother who really loves it and really wants to be there.

Indecent Exposure or Childhood Phase? You be the judge.

I'm experiencing one of those motherhood moments when I am unsure how to handle a situation with my children.  My boys are very happy to be boys.  They like the freedom that comes with urinating wherever they want to urinate.  Trouble is, they want to urinate in places I do not want them to urinate.

Where you ask?

On Tuesday my kids were helping me in the garden at work.  I have been teaching mini-garden lessons with the camp kids on Tuesday mornings this summer.  This week was my last week so I let my kids pitch in.  I talked a little with the camp kids, then my children distributed nectarines to the campers from the back of my truck.  Next to my truck was a line of bushes.  Behind that line of bushes is the actual YMCA swimming pool windows.  Between groups of campers coming and going we had some down time.  My son, unaware of the windows, went between my truck and the building and peed on the bushes.

I do not want him to urinate outdoors at my place of employment.

On Thursday my kids spend the day with my niece so I can work.  They love it because sometimes they get to go to her house and swim, jump on the trampoline, or play video games with my brother. Yesterday, my boys were jumping on the trampoline and one of my boys chased the other with his pants down and tried to pee on him.

I do not want him to urinate on his brother.

Finally, Friday morning around 1 am.  There I was sleeping peacefully in my bed.  When I heard something, it sounded like someone was peeing in my bathroom garbage can, in the dark.  I opened my eyes to see my littlest, sweetest, darling child crying in my bathroom and peeing on the floor.

I do not want him to urinate on the floor.

Then I wonder, is this a passing phase or will it linger, rearing its ugly head throughout the years? Will one of them be delivered to my doorstep by the PD for public urination?  Will I find one of them, likely intoxicated, urinating in his closet?  I've been jovial.  I've been firm.  I've tried everything to make it clear that a toilet is the desired target.

A One Act Play: Boogers

Have you ever heard your son or daughter say something that you would totally say?  You think, oh geez - that sounded just like me.  But it wasn't the nicest thing in the world to say?  So you (sorta) kick yourself for being nasty and you (totally) giggle because it was (very) funny?

Act 1

Scene 1

Driving today the boys have a conversation.

MISTER  What's your favorite food?

HAPPY CRITTER  I don't know.

MISTER  Is it boogers?  I think it's boogers.

HAPPY CRITTER   (Turns quickly in his car seat) No, it is not boogers!

MISTER  (Furrows his brow) Well why do you eat boogers if you don't like them?

HAPPY CRITTER  (Yells) I don't eat boogers.

MISTER  Yes, you do.  (Gazes out the window) Just forget I said anything.

(The scene shifts to Mother in the front seat, thinking.)  

MOM  (He has a valid point.  Why do people eat boogers?  Is it like picking toe nails or scratching your ear with a bobby pin?  You do it, but you don't even realize you are doing it?  Does it taste good?  I think when I was a kid I ate boogers.  Maybe everyone eats boogers.)

As an aside: People actually study eating boogers.  There is a biochemistry professor, Scott Napper, from University of Saskatchewan who studied whether eating boogers boosted the immune system.  Can you imagine? People actually participated and were told to eat their boogers...and they did.  It makes sense to me that anything excreted from our bodies should not be ingested or put back into our bodies, regardless of whether it is going to boost our immunity.  Buy some tissues and zinc for Pete's Sake!  Maybe even a copy of Emily Post's Etiquette and brush up on our manners a bit.  Or if you're more of a modern reader try Good Manners for Nice People Who Sometimes Say F*ck - either way, keep your fingers out of your nose and your boogers to yourself.

Curtain

Body Image

body image

noun

1. an intellectual or idealized image of what one's body is or should be like that is sometimes misconceived...

I love my work.  I teach fitness and wellness to help people improve their lives.  There is one down side to my field: body image issues. Everyone has given some degree of thought about his body image.  Sadly, some folks have more severely misconceived ideas than others.

I have had countless conversations about nutrition, weight loss, strength building, endurance training, and supplements.  I have talked with people who are physically fit, unfit, and everywhere in between.  I have talked with people who are incredibly sad and those who use exercise to remain incredibly happy.  Helping people work through an issue, develop a plan, and create a more positive body image is the best part of my job.  I believe much of it can be done within our own mind.

There are two types of body images: negative and positive.  People who struggle with a negative body image are not comfortable in their body for a variety of reasons.  They feel their body is unattractive or inadequate; but, this is a perception.  People with a positive body image have a more realistic appreciation for their unique figure.

Negative body image is deeply ingrained in us: from the images we have seen all of our lives, to the conversations we have participated in, the social perceptions we have been raised with, and the expectations we've crafted - body image runs deep.  

How can you conquer your negative body image?  I think the first place to start is trying, hard as it may be at times, to focus on what you do well.  I give a mean hug, for instance.  I also knock out a mile in 10 minutes.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I am not a runner for speed - I am runner for sanity.  It clears my head.  I am not great at it. Regardless, I do it because I think better when I'm moving.  When I start running, I am so angry because everything hurts.  I want to quit.  My legs. Ouch.  I conjure up my POSITIVE MENTAL SPACE - and I tell myself, "This is why God gave you the muscles on your legs.  Keep using them."  

Thing is, nearly all of my life, the muscles of my legs have been a source of my negative body image.  Most girls do not have manly legs.  People have asked me all of my life about what I do to have "those legs".  Very little, in fact, genetics.  I envied the legs of other girls, long and lanky.  I envied the way their jeans fit, the way their inner thighs didn't rub together driving their shorts upward.  Shorts were always the worst part of summer.  Loose, baggy pants were my friend.  Skirts and I were chummy.

Just a few years ago I actually accepted these legs as they are when I met HIIT.  HIIT workouts, or High Intensity Interval Training, are very quick, very hard workouts.  My legs got me through them every time.  Even when I thought I would puke.  Truthfully, though, that is when it happened - my mind changed because I focused on what I could do.  Not what I looked like.  

These negative perceptions of ourselves are just that, perceptions. These perceptions have been created by so many things that you have had no control of at all - all of your life.  These ideas were planted by media, friends, neighbors, or family.  Making the shift to a positive body image is POSSIBLE.  There is some work involved.  Introspection.  

This shift is within the scope of your ability - what can I do to help you?