Twenty-nine

Guess what happened today? I found the silver lining.


No, for reals, I actually looked up at the clouds this morning, after the rain stopped, and saw the sun shining behind one of them. It created a bright, glowy edge along that big cloud, and I thought, Huh. There it is.


Nothing has changed. The taxes are still there, as is every other stress in life like aging parents, missing siblings and the ever-present question of "Why haven't we won the lottery yet?".


But.


While the puppy is a nut job, he's sweet and fuzzy and when he pounces on me at 5:30 in the morning with his 110 pounds and then circles around and drops down ass first on my pillow, it's sort of charming. If you can get past the wind getting knocked out of you by his not-so-soft landing on your ribcage, and his hindquarters an inch from your nose.


Maybe I should get smart and realize it's him telling me to get up for that 6am class so he can spoon his alpha dog.


And my girls are crazy and combative but they are healthy and strong and funny as hell, and all of those things, even the crazy/combative parts, are going to serve them very, very well someday. I'm happy to be their training ground.


Also? Good things are coming. Fun, interesting, different, challenging, new things. They're coming. I know they are. And if this isn't your first time reading this, you know I love anticipation. And today is my favorite day of the week. So today, my coaster is glistening in that silver lining and going tic-tic-tic up the incline, and I'm inhaling and outhaling and letting go and becoming transparent and letting it wash right through me as I fall into the next steps of my life.


I'm blessed to have today and I pray I get tomorrow. I live in the quiet, joyous expectation of good. (I didn't write that, I read it somewhere. Nice, right?) My hair is frizzing into oblivion and I'm pretty sure I haven't weighed this much since the last time I was 4 months pregnant and tomorrow morning my kids will be all, We don't want that weird organic cereal for breakfast, we want Lucky Charms! And that will all be fine. Nothing some product and a little self-control and some marshmallows can't mastermind.


Maybe this is just the Nutella and Real Housewives of Orange County marathon I indulged in last night talking, but you know what?


I have hope! I believe!

Twenty-two and a half

Turns out I know really smart, healthy people. Also, funny ones.


Just a quick note (hence the half) to let you know that I've gathered the thoughts you've shared and am bouncing them back to you. I'm going to try most of these suggestions, as time/travel/mindspace will allow. Maybe you want to meditate on one or more of them as well? I will wish us all some luck. And by luck, I mean willpower. Obviously.

• Cook from Rachel Ray kid-friendly cookbook.
• Use my crock pot at least 1x week, including friend's fabulous recipe ideas.
• Consider a health plan with a coach.
• Don't over think.
• Practice moderation.
• Add protein to snacks (cottage cheese, string cheese, yogurt, etc.).
• Exercise 5-6x week with friend/dog.
• Watch carb intake throughout day.
• Have healthy snacks prepared in the refrigerator.
• Eat whole foods and things with 5 or less ingredients.
• Do yoga to manage stress and for exercise.
• Make smoothies with supplements and veggies.
• Make green juice.
• Eat more lean protein.
• Phase out white pasta.
• Walk. Alone.
• Take more classes.
• Eat steamed greens for a day.
• Buy bigger jeans.
• Go to a healthy friend's house for dinner.

I'm not gonna lie, when I put it like this in a list, it feels like a demanding full time job. But I have to remind myself that it also seems pretty simple. It doesn't have to overwhelm. There's always a healthy answer to the questions, it's just a matter of being prepared and stepping out of my comfort zone.

Want a crunchy snack? Bake some kale chips. Hungry NOW? Eat a few almonds. Want sourdough toast with quince jam? Add a dollop of cottage cheese to satiate. Dust off the amazing juicer we got years ago and start juicing. Go get some new glass storage containers and spend part of Sunday shopping and prepping for the week so the frig looks colorful and delicious. Switch out pasta for healthier options. Make your smart, healthy friends invite you over to eat their healthy meals. And I might even buy a pair of bigger jeans, just because I like the suggestion so much.

Most of this stuff will fly with the whole family, but let's be serious, I'm not worried about them right now. Mama needs to get her own ass in shape, and then what I do, they will do. The husband will follow suit because if I make it, he will eat it. He's my next project. I can't very well pass at age 106 holding hands with myself, that's just depressing.

Thanks all, for reminding me to outhale. Here's to good eating! I have hope! I believe!!

PS: Don't start thinking that this blog is going to now be all about healthy eating options and my journey towards shrinking my ass. Perhaps I will update you all, maybe I won't. But I can't be all-consumed, and neither should you be.

PSS: My husband took Nine to the donut shop while I was typing this. I'm currently sitting next to a bag of donuts. Already? Testing me, already??

Fifteen.

My brother (let's call him "B") and I were born nineteen months apart. I'm May, he's October. He was born at 12:53am, I at 12:53pm. Our older sister had brown hair and brown eyes. Our older brother has blonde hair and blue eyes. But B and I, we both have brown hair and green eyes. Hazel, most of the time, really, just like our Dad.

When B and I were little, my Mom said people asked her a lot if we were twins. We weren't, of course, but she said we did have our own language. Some sort of toddler banter that clearly meant something to us, because we babbled with great purpose and enthusiasm.

We grew up tight, as some siblings do. And by "tight" I mean he used to tease me until I screamed, then I'd get in trouble for getting our Mom all bunched up and he'd laugh until he peed. Or he would sit on me, pin my arms down, and tickle me until I wished I could either pass out or shout "Wonder Twin Powers - ACTIVATE! Shape of...ICE! Form of...FIRE!", in which case my superpowers would kick in, making him freeze and then burn into nothingness, and then I could never be tickled again and I would get my own room. I remember Batman spray soap in the tub and waking each other up on Christmas morning, and I remember kneeling in front of the couch with him as he taught me how to read. I remember us streaking through the living room while my parents tried to watch the news, and I remember him hitting his knee and falling down, which of course made me laugh until I peed, because I laugh when people fall and get hurt. (Stop it. You do too, and if you don't, well then, there's one thing we don't have in common. Because I think that shit is laugh out loud funny, every time.)

B and I came up through the same elementary school, middle school and high school. We went through times where he secretly dated my friends, then not-so-secretly told his friends never, ever to date me. We went to the same college, though we didn't overlap much during those years, but by then it didn't matter. I knew him better than anyone and I loved him absolutely.

We lived several years like that, not connected at the hip, rather at the soul. We still spoke that language our Mom talked about. Sometimes one look told a whole joke. We were on each other's team, unconditionally and without a doubt. I stood in his wedding; he stood in mine. He gave his only daughter my middle name, and he gave his middle name to his only son. Watching the two of them was like watching ourselves as kids.

And then more time passed. Hearts were broken. Happy fantasy twisted and morphed into harsh reality. Life changed. Sad things that happen to lots of people happened to him too. But rather than recover from those things, he let rage and defeat in, and he let them win.

He is not the boy I grew up with, or the man I watched that boy grow into. He is changed. I spent a lot of time and energy trying to pull him back, make him laugh, remind him of who he still is, and who still loves him, and what life has to offer in the short time we get to enjoy it.

And then, 267 days ago, I stopped trying. I remember it because it was the day before my birthday. Five days before the anniversary of our sister's death. Six days before Mother's Day. An emotionally charged week at best. I stopped trying, because in his last communication with me, his words scratched at my surface until I was raw, and hurt, and mad as hell. I can't seem to heal. Still, when I close my hazel eyes, I see his. And I still feel I know him. It's a bad connection now, with damaged wires, but if I'm really quiet I can still hear his voice.

I can't decide if that makes it better or worse. I can't decide if I'm delusional or if I really do still know him underneath it all. I can't figure out how to let go, or if I should.

What I do know is that I feel like I've now lost not one, but two siblings. And I am filled with double the regret, double the heartbreak, double the void. Every time I think about how I feel, I consider how my parents feel. Then I think about how all three of us feel like we gave everything we are and everything we have to someone who set it all on fire and threw it back in our faces with a great big fuck you to top it off. 

Maybe if I were a guy, I would just go over to his house, knock on the door, and sock him in his eye. But I'm not. I'm a girl, a woman, a little sister. The ovaries tremble with this one and it makes things complicated for me. It's harder to move on because I've already had to say goodbye once before and everything in me says to fight harder for this one.

Huh.

I can't seem to find the ribbon I need to tie this one up with a pretty bow. And I hope reading this isn't like trying to work a jigsaw puzzle in the dark for you. I realize there are a lot of missing pieces and shapes that only I know how to fit together. I'm sure I'll touch on the subject of B again down the road, but for now, I guess I'll say the silver lining on this one is still buried under a hula hoop and a half-eaten volleyball in the backyard.

Maybe when Spring comes around things will look brighter. Maybe I'll forget about time lost. And maybe, just maybe, I will get the chance to forgive words spoken from a broken heart and start speaking that long lost language again instead. It could happen, right? Spring is totally a time of renewal, plus all those April showers are sure to wash the debris in the yard away and let the silver lining shine through. 

It's a new year after all. And 267 days is a long time, but I'm a patient girl. Speaking of girls...what did Nine say again? My 2012 mantra? Maybe if I write it, it will start to feel true.

I have hope! I believe! 

Four.

A dear friend asked me recently how I find time to blog at all, let alone at Christmastime. I put it to her like this: It helps relieve some pressure. Pretend my head is a giant, overblown balloon that's about to pop. Then picture me pulling at my neck a bit. That screaming sound you hear as the air squeals out is my blog.

And here it is.

Confession: my kids make me cry.

Sometimes it's when they are awake and exhibiting behavior I not only don't understand, but can't control. Sometimes it's when they are asleep, and I sneak in quietly to put my nose next to their sweet little mouths to inhale as they breathe out. (Yes, the same mouths they were sassing me with just hours before. Being a mom is reeeally complicated.)

And sometimes, they make me cry when they're saying sweet things to each other and don't know I'm listening. This is when their true selves emerge, unencumbered by all the mother/daughter emotion that tends to seep into their tone of voice when they talk to me lately.

Some of you know a brief version of the story I'm about to tell already, but I never said this blog was going to be original or amazing, so pretend you're in college and just skim the rest.

The other night, the girls were tumbling out of the car and happily talking to each other when I overheard my oldest daughter, the one who is lately exasperated/annoyed/short-tempered/emotional with me say, "I have hope! I believe!". I don't even know what they were talking about, but her words were wings that attached themselves to my heart and flew up to heaven and back.

I've smiled every time I've thought of it ever since, and at the urging of my best friend (the one who lives so far away that her kids think that "Auntie Amy" is a sound that comes out of the phone), I've decided to take this phrase on as my mantra for 2012. 

I'm not making a resolution to lose weight, or exercise more, or go to church, or stop gossiping. All great ideas that will likely flit and float in and out of my life next year, but "I have hope! I believe!" will be the constant. 

That and dirty laundry.