It was October when I finally decided this little blog project would be put to rest come the end of the year. I'd tossed around continuing this segue of my journey, but I decided to make like Seinfeld and go out while people were still interested. There's more money in reruns anyway, right Jerry?
Things I hope you, dear reader, will take away from this project:
1. It doesn't take a major life event to grow and change. You do it every day. You do it every time you put two feet on the floor in the morning and hoist yourself up out of bed, because every day brings a new opportunity to grow and change--maybe it's your interaction with a new barista, or a quick text from a friend. It's your soul's path to seek out people and events that help you to become a better human being. Appreciate every smile and every tear--big and small--for pushing you to where you are today.
2. Along with that opportunity for growth, you have this phenomenal chance on a daily basis to shape your attitude. Sitting down at the end of the day and just reflecting on what was peaceful, or fun, or successful--it made me go to bed happier. Go to bed happy, wake up happy, grow happy...well, you see the cycle. If you are, in fact, a bright light (and you are), why would you dwell on things that make you dim? Shine.
3. The only person who can validate you is you. Love yourself first. Have faith in yourself. Believe in what you are doing. If you aren't currently in a position to see that you are awesome, change it.
4. This blog has been proof of this one: no matter how hard you intend and set forth and try, it doesn't always work out--but the effort you give is always enough. People won't judge you for it, and if they do, time for a life cleanse. It's not your job to "fix" people. Show them a path and let them choose. Don't be offended when they don't choose what you set forth. And then--let it go. Let it all go. Take your experience and evolve, grow, be.
5. As you reflect on 2011 and look to 2012, and declare things to be the worst or the best, to anticipate and hope, please remember that there is no more beautiful moment than the moment that you are currently in.
My keyboard will be silent for a bit as I await the arrival of my new blog site. It'll be pretty and fancy, and have buttons and bells and whistles. I'll be transferring all of this year's posts to that site, and once it's complete and ready to go, there will be a new place for us all to reflect and share. I hope that you will join me there when the time comes (I'm anticipating by the end of January).
I've timed this one perfectly. I hear Will stirring, and I think my New Year's dessert ingredients are thawed. With an enormous amount of gratitude and peace in my heart (and tears now stinging my eyes), thank you: for reading my words, for offering up encouragement, for being inspired and inspiring me, for sharing your intentions.
Thank you for being a part of my journey. I look forward to continuing it with you in its new form in the new year.
At least...that's my intention.
Cheers.
Friday, December 30, 2011
12.30.11
Quel suprise...I found myself crying this morning.
Some silly little figure skater was on the Today Show twirling around the Rockefeller Center ice rink to Beyonce's I Was Here, and I excused myself from pinterest activities and family coffee time to escape to the shower to cry.
Why was I crying--again--you ask?
Because I've been fretting over my final blog post for the last week, and it all finally hit me that tomorrow is it.
When you sit down in the same chair (this one here)
for 364 evenings, save the ones where I was elsewhere in the world, and you ponder not only how you fulfilled your intention for the day, but what about the day would be even remotely interesting to the hundred or so people who tune in each evening, well, if it takes thirty days to break a habit, it's going to be February before I shake the emptiness of my evenings.
And it all made me cry.
My intention was personal.
And it became so much more.
I want to say I lived each day, until I dieAnd know that I meant something in, somebody's lifeThe hearts I have touched, will be the proof that I leaveThat I made a difference, and this world will seeI was hereI lived, I lovedI was hereI did, I've done, everything that I wantedAnd it was more that I thought it would be
Well, my evenings won't be empty--in this crazy household, they never could be! But come Sunday, I won't ever again plop in my chair and say, "Oh shoot, I gotta blog." In about two and a half months, there will be two pint-sized people to occupy my lap in place of my outdated MacBook. And memories will suddenly be savored for the sake of savoring--for my own eyes, and my own heart--and not shared every.single.time.
I'm at peace with the fact that the nightly therapy this blog has become will in fact end tomorrow. For those of you as sad as I am, fret not: I'm relaunching something new in 2012. :o)
Tomorrow's post will conclude the year, with the most amazing of intentions.
Some silly little figure skater was on the Today Show twirling around the Rockefeller Center ice rink to Beyonce's I Was Here, and I excused myself from pinterest activities and family coffee time to escape to the shower to cry.
Why was I crying--again--you ask?
Because I've been fretting over my final blog post for the last week, and it all finally hit me that tomorrow is it.
When you sit down in the same chair (this one here)
for 364 evenings, save the ones where I was elsewhere in the world, and you ponder not only how you fulfilled your intention for the day, but what about the day would be even remotely interesting to the hundred or so people who tune in each evening, well, if it takes thirty days to break a habit, it's going to be February before I shake the emptiness of my evenings.
And it all made me cry.
My intention was personal.
And it became so much more.
I want to say I lived each day, until I dieAnd know that I meant something in, somebody's lifeThe hearts I have touched, will be the proof that I leaveThat I made a difference, and this world will seeI was hereI lived, I lovedI was hereI did, I've done, everything that I wantedAnd it was more that I thought it would be
Well, my evenings won't be empty--in this crazy household, they never could be! But come Sunday, I won't ever again plop in my chair and say, "Oh shoot, I gotta blog." In about two and a half months, there will be two pint-sized people to occupy my lap in place of my outdated MacBook. And memories will suddenly be savored for the sake of savoring--for my own eyes, and my own heart--and not shared every.single.time.
I'm at peace with the fact that the nightly therapy this blog has become will in fact end tomorrow. For those of you as sad as I am, fret not: I'm relaunching something new in 2012. :o)
Tomorrow's post will conclude the year, with the most amazing of intentions.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
12.29.11
I'm blogging tonight from my kitchen, click clacking away in the fifteen minutes I'm waiting for my brussels sprouts to finish roasting and my carrots to finish soaking up their sweet honey glaze.
I've immensely enjoyed cooking on this little winter vacation (which can't really be deemed "winter" given that it's 51 degrees outside, but the crackling fire Greg just built might persuade me otherwise), baking desserts and roasting this and that--there's something about filling your house with the scents of traditional holiday foods that can't help but make you feel festive and...fill you with a sense of peace that can only come with the aroma of nostalgia.
I've got one more "holiday" left to cook for, and that's New Year's Eve.
If Greg and I were big anniversary people, then we would be counting this New Year's Eve as our ninth anniversary of truly being "together," and it was probably the last New Year's Eve we spent out on the town. And by "probably," I mean it most definitely was.
And this NYE you will find us doing the same thing we've done for the last eight: cooking, sitting by a fire, enjoying each other's company, and the peace that comes with knowing we don't have to spend a lot of money, find a designated driver, or be hungover the next day to ensure we've had a good time.
I'll wrap up the holiday cooking season that evening, maybe with my mom's traditional cabbage rolls, and we'll toast each other at 9:00, just before we turn off the light and fall asleep.
There goes my timer.
What are you doing to celebrate the end of 2011? I'm thinking a kid-friendly party is in our future one of these years. Maybe it'll become one of those traditions.
Cheers.
I've immensely enjoyed cooking on this little winter vacation (which can't really be deemed "winter" given that it's 51 degrees outside, but the crackling fire Greg just built might persuade me otherwise), baking desserts and roasting this and that--there's something about filling your house with the scents of traditional holiday foods that can't help but make you feel festive and...fill you with a sense of peace that can only come with the aroma of nostalgia.
I've got one more "holiday" left to cook for, and that's New Year's Eve.
If Greg and I were big anniversary people, then we would be counting this New Year's Eve as our ninth anniversary of truly being "together," and it was probably the last New Year's Eve we spent out on the town. And by "probably," I mean it most definitely was.
And this NYE you will find us doing the same thing we've done for the last eight: cooking, sitting by a fire, enjoying each other's company, and the peace that comes with knowing we don't have to spend a lot of money, find a designated driver, or be hungover the next day to ensure we've had a good time.
I'll wrap up the holiday cooking season that evening, maybe with my mom's traditional cabbage rolls, and we'll toast each other at 9:00, just before we turn off the light and fall asleep.
There goes my timer.
What are you doing to celebrate the end of 2011? I'm thinking a kid-friendly party is in our future one of these years. Maybe it'll become one of those traditions.
Cheers.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
12.28.11
My kids can grow up and be whatever they want to be.
And while I don't necessarily hope for a teacher to follow in my footsteps, I was warmed heart and soul tonight by the following interaction with Will. Oh yes, it's another mommy entry.
I took Will to the yoga studio before my class tonight so that we could dance and be goofy. We've been reading My Daddy Is A Pretzel a lot lately (Baron Baptiste), and he gets a kick out of the poses.
I turned on Laurie Berkner, and we danced around to songs about dinosaurs and buzzing bees and tobasco sauce on burritos. We sat on the meditation bolsters as though they were horses, and we had a race. Oh, and Will turned the OM night lights on and off. And then on. And then off. Again and again and again.
As the time drew nearer for Greg to come and pick him up, I unrolled my mat and walked away.
"Mommy, come here!"
I turned around to find him in up dog in the center of my mat.
"Wow buddy! Can you do down dog too?"
He could.
And then he stood up, balanced on one leg with the opposite foot on his shin. He danced his hands in the air above his head and said, "Look mommy! I'm a tree!"
Greg walked in, and Will sat down.
"Daddy, you do tree."
Greg obliged. Will laughed.
"I teach yoga like mommy," he said.
It brought me a sense of peace knowing that my child doesn't just pick up on the fact that I say the word "No" eight hundred and eighty-seven times a day.
He picks up on the good stuff, too.
And while I don't necessarily hope for a teacher to follow in my footsteps, I was warmed heart and soul tonight by the following interaction with Will. Oh yes, it's another mommy entry.
I took Will to the yoga studio before my class tonight so that we could dance and be goofy. We've been reading My Daddy Is A Pretzel a lot lately (Baron Baptiste), and he gets a kick out of the poses.
I turned on Laurie Berkner, and we danced around to songs about dinosaurs and buzzing bees and tobasco sauce on burritos. We sat on the meditation bolsters as though they were horses, and we had a race. Oh, and Will turned the OM night lights on and off. And then on. And then off. Again and again and again.
As the time drew nearer for Greg to come and pick him up, I unrolled my mat and walked away.
"Mommy, come here!"
I turned around to find him in up dog in the center of my mat.
"Wow buddy! Can you do down dog too?"
He could.
And then he stood up, balanced on one leg with the opposite foot on his shin. He danced his hands in the air above his head and said, "Look mommy! I'm a tree!"
Greg walked in, and Will sat down.
"Daddy, you do tree."
Greg obliged. Will laughed.
"I teach yoga like mommy," he said.
It brought me a sense of peace knowing that my child doesn't just pick up on the fact that I say the word "No" eight hundred and eighty-seven times a day.
He picks up on the good stuff, too.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
12.27.11
I took on some yoga classes to sub the first three mornings this week, so Will has been bounced from family member to family member while I spend a couple hours spreading a little peace.
That doesn't take away from my mom guilt. After all, I'd rather be playing, cuddling, wrestling, and watching movies with him!
And that's what I did this afternoon. He woke up from his nap, we painted for a little bit (ten minutes, to be exact), and then I popped some popcorn and put in Cars.
He sat on my lap.
Fifteen minutes in, he stood up, wrapped his arms around my neck, and then backed away.
He threw his arms into the air.
"I so happy! I so happy! I so happy!" he shrieked.
I'm so happy, buddy. Me too.
Side note: Congrats to loyal blog reader Laura B. on the arrival of her second son Jack this morning! May you get a little peace and quiet the next couple of days before the real fun begins. :o)
That doesn't take away from my mom guilt. After all, I'd rather be playing, cuddling, wrestling, and watching movies with him!
And that's what I did this afternoon. He woke up from his nap, we painted for a little bit (ten minutes, to be exact), and then I popped some popcorn and put in Cars.
He sat on my lap.
Fifteen minutes in, he stood up, wrapped his arms around my neck, and then backed away.
He threw his arms into the air.
"I so happy! I so happy! I so happy!" he shrieked.
I'm so happy, buddy. Me too.
Side note: Congrats to loyal blog reader Laura B. on the arrival of her second son Jack this morning! May you get a little peace and quiet the next couple of days before the real fun begins. :o)
Monday, December 26, 2011
12.26.11
Greg and I decided we weren't going to do Christmas presents this year--not even gummy bears or Sweet Tarts in our stockings--for a few reasons:
1. We are gifting ourselves--our family--a house we hope to love and live in for many years.
2. We realized, with a bit of nostalgic sadness, that Christmas isn't about us anymore.
3. We had another really big gift to give.
We were awake at five yesterday morning, and this time it wasn't the fault of Will. For me, I was purely excited about the gift for my mom and my stepdad.
My three siblings and I decided to give them a Happy 60th Birthday/Happy 20th Wedding Anniversary present. After a few months of planning, many many text messages, and a very large secret, everything was revealed yesterday morning.
First, they unwrapped shovels.
We convinced them we'd purchased side-by-side grave sites, and they may need to start digging. Hahaha.
Next came the big box of sand. Now they really did have to dig.
They found the buried treasure...
...but had to unlock the chest...
And as soon as they realized we were taking a family vacation for the first time in fifteen years at our old family vacation standby spot (Myrtle Beach), they were all smiles...
...and then they clutched each other sobbing hysterically.
Knowing now what it feels like to have kids, and to love having them around, I completely understand their tears of joy.
Something tells me their world will feel a little bit more complete--perhaps at peace--come August, when we're all digging in the sand and riding waves...together...once again.
P.S. Dad, if you're reading this, you know you turn 60 next year...watch out next Christmas! :o)
1. We are gifting ourselves--our family--a house we hope to love and live in for many years.
2. We realized, with a bit of nostalgic sadness, that Christmas isn't about us anymore.
3. We had another really big gift to give.
We were awake at five yesterday morning, and this time it wasn't the fault of Will. For me, I was purely excited about the gift for my mom and my stepdad.
My three siblings and I decided to give them a Happy 60th Birthday/Happy 20th Wedding Anniversary present. After a few months of planning, many many text messages, and a very large secret, everything was revealed yesterday morning.
First, they unwrapped shovels.
We convinced them we'd purchased side-by-side grave sites, and they may need to start digging. Hahaha.
Next came the big box of sand. Now they really did have to dig.
They found the buried treasure...
...but had to unlock the chest...
And as soon as they realized we were taking a family vacation for the first time in fifteen years at our old family vacation standby spot (Myrtle Beach), they were all smiles...
...and then they clutched each other sobbing hysterically.
Knowing now what it feels like to have kids, and to love having them around, I completely understand their tears of joy.
Something tells me their world will feel a little bit more complete--perhaps at peace--come August, when we're all digging in the sand and riding waves...together...once again.
P.S. Dad, if you're reading this, you know you turn 60 next year...watch out next Christmas! :o)
Sunday, December 25, 2011
12.25.11
I find that on Christmas, my deepest sentiment is one of gratitude.
And it is with a peaceful heart that I am thankful for my beautiful family, sharing their love, and being able to be with them, at this time of year, and all throughout.
Love.
And it is with a peaceful heart that I am thankful for my beautiful family, sharing their love, and being able to be with them, at this time of year, and all throughout.
Love.
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