Sweaty Sneakers

So I updated my status on Facebook regarding the fact that 40% of McDonald’s sales come from Happy Meals. Predictably, there were some varied responses.

Here’s the deal: sometimes we take the kids to McDonald’s to let them play in the play house. And since it seems wrong to use the facilities without buying something, we get them a smoothie. That’s right: my kids have never eaten food from McDonalds (they have however had grilled cheese sandwiches from Dairy Queen).

I don’t think kids should eat fast food. For that matter, I don’t think anyone should eat it. Can’t say I never do, but I can say that it happens less than four times a year. (I do get me a big ol’ pile of poutine and garlic fingers to share with Steve about twice a month though.)

But here’s the deal: I don’t judge you if you eat it nor do I think you’re a bad parent if you take your kids for Happy Meals sometimes. I don’t really think you should but that doesn’t mean I think you’re not a good person or that it’s really any of my business at all. And so I’ll most likely keep my opinion to myself.

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You know I coach the Team in Training Halifax chapter, right? Well, one of the women who was a beginner runner had a really crappy run a couple of months ago. She had eaten a sandwich for supper and a boiled egg for breakfast and then tried to run 12k. Didn’t happen. Predictably, she bonked (crashed) and ended up having to walk the second half. I walked with her and we talked about fueling for a run. She told me that she had never thought of food as fuel before, but merely as something to fill the hole.

It amazes me that so many people don’t realize what food actually is. It’s fuel. And good fuel equals good performance (whether that be energy level at work or athletic performance).

Leila has quick energy crashes. She needs to eat every few hours and has always been that way. Alena? She gets hungry and asks for something to eat, but not Leila. Leila will end up laying on the couch crying before she realizes that she needs a snack. And so when she was a toddler, and the energy waves were even more pronounced than they are now, I never chose to give her candy or chips or fast food because she needed real fuel that would help her feel better (ie: perform). In a way, yes, I was against feeding her crap, but honestly? It was more from a sense of self-preservation that I didn’t give her a lot of sugar.

It took a while to apply the realization that food fueled Leila to my own life, but I have. I’m not saying that I never eat crap (I just got back from five days vacation where all I did was eat crap and drink too much), but I am saying that about 80% of the time, I put real fuel in my body. And that’s why I don’t think kids (or anyone) should eat fast food: because it’s crap.

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So….. I’m going to Nepal in April. For three weeks. With my dad and older brother to hike the Everest Base Camp.

(I know!)

On one hand: Wow! A three week hike in the Himalayas. Camping, no showers, carrying a heavy backpack. Amazing, unforgettable experience. When I was invited, I couldn’t say no. My dad has an adventure bug, but unfortunately he’s also got a bit of a bum ticker (that is very well controlled with his extremely healthy lifestyle), and this is his last big adventure. So while it’s an amazing thing to experience, it’s also a once in a lifetime thing to experience with my Dad (whom I adore) and my older brother (whom I also adore).

On the other hand: Oh my god I am leaving my children for three weeks and probably won’t have so much as cell service. Panic. Panic. Panic. (Seriously.)

Dad booked the plane tickets yesterday (April 8- April 30) and I kind of thought <em>holeeeee fuck</em> because it’s one thing to talk about three weeks and it’s another to read it on paper and realize that you are going to miss an entire month of life at home.

But! Despite the fact that it’s an extremely selfish thing for me to do (Steve works 60+ hours a week and will also be a single dad. My kids will spend too much time with sitters and at daycare.), it’s also the right thing. Or at least a really awesome thing.

So on top of running 20-ish kms every weekend with Team in Training (plus the couple shorter runs I get in through the week), I’ve been listing weights and hiking with a weighted backpack (I’m now carrying 36lbs for about 3+ hours of hiking per week). Plus school, plus the weekly maintenance of emails and advice to my runners, plus the marking contract I have at school plus four courses… that’s why I’ve been feeling so overwhelmed. 

As it is when you train for something big and important to you, it takes precedence over other things in your life (like cleaning). 

Anyway, I have four more months of school until I’m finished (and I’m away for one of them!), and then I think I’ll be able to heave a deep sigh of relief, clean my house, get back to some freelance writing and you know, being lazy. Except not really, because I think I’m going to run a marathon in September. But whatever! School will be done.

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On that note, I have to drive to school for a group meeting. Farewell, and hopefully it’s not another month before I post. (sorry bout that)

“Every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it” Michelangelo

We are both the blocks of stone and the sculptors. We are the only ones who truly know what lies within.

Sometimes I feel that we can chisel ourselves into any masterpiece we choose, sometimes I feel that we are destined to be a specific masterpiece.

I’m rumbling in my head lately, buzzing from the half-marathon I ran last weekend and the lingering sense of strength. I’m at the almost overwhelmed point of school, so I took the day and kept Alena home with me. We went for a walk with Milo and talked and sang songs. We read books and while she napped, I had a hot bath. Then we arrived at daycare before Leila, so when she stepped off the bus, she hugged me and jumped into the car. This afternoon is cup cakes and Mickey Mouse cartoons and taking dinner to Steve since he’s working until 10.

It’s hard to balance everything, especially since it feels like I should be able to balance things better. I feel guilty that the kids are in daycare full time (and the fact that the guilt hasn’t ebbed in the five months they’ve been in proves to me that this shouldn’t be our permanent situation), but the kids being in daycare full time is the only way I’ve kept my sanity, made decent grades and still stayed active with running. I sometimes feel somehow “less” because I’m not good at juggling, because I don’t have a pressing job, because, because… I’m better at making those thoughts go away though and I’ve been focusing on the time I do have with them. I try to inhale them, push my love into them. I try not to yell or sigh tiredly. I try to laugh and cuddle. And then when we’re apart, I try to work hard, get my readings and assignments done instead of waste time on Facebook or Twitter (or here).

And for the most part, most days, I think I’m doing it mostly right.

I wouldn’t classify Leila is outgoing, but she’s definitely talkative. She’s engaging, sensitive, funny, smart, caring, giving… need I go on? But she’s also terrified of failure, of new things. Once she panics, it’s all over, and she’s left trembling and crying at the thought of what might be. Most people don’t see that side of her though, they see the five year old who is wiser than her years, more articulate than most and much smarter than average.

Leila doesn’t like being stared at. She doesn’t like having her picture taken because, as she told me, it makes her feel funny inside when she thinks of the person behind the camera just looking at her. She also hates speaking in front of people. Which shouldn’t be a big deal for a five year old because, seriously, how much public speaking is there in grade primary?

She is part of one of the local Sparks troops (and I am a leader). We head out every Monday night, her in her pink shirt, I in my (dorky) blue one to a church hall full of screaming girls and crafts and badges. The first week after Christmas, we had a show and tell week and Leila brought her favourite blanket. By the time it was her turn to stand in front of everyone, she had already gotten nervous and ended up red-faced with tears in her eyes while I jumped to her rescue to tell them about her blanket.

Since Christmas, her class has been working on practicing more of their spoken French (she’s in immersion). Tomorrow is Leila’s turn. The teacher sent home a note emphasizing that while the children should come up with an idea of something to talk about, it’s not a big presentation and don’t put pressure on them (or let them put it on themselves) to memorize anything. Last night ended with Leila in tears because it’s almost her turn and everyone was going to look at her. She knows that she’d like to talk about playing with two of her friends, and after we got it out of her what they like to play together (Monster Tag and laying on the grass looking at the sky), we wrote it down and she said it to herself a few times.

I wrote her teacher a note as a heads up that Leila is very nervous and will probably get upset when it’s her turn. I don’t think that was too interfering, I wanted her to know so she could be prepared, but also for Leila.

Steve’s better at talking her through these things because I end up getting upset myself and then I’m holding her while she cries biting back tears ready to keep her home forever. Steve has a beautiful gift of being able to speak to people in the way they need to be spoken to and she hears what he’s saying. Unfortunately, he’s away tonight at a conference and the anxiety will be back around bedtime, mark my words.

Also, since I’m on a fret-streak here, there’s this kids race we do with the girls every June. Totally fun and a great atmosphere, except, guess who puts too much pressure on herself to win? And guess who isn’t the fastest runner? Every kid gets a medal and every kid is cheered for but last year, Leila stopped mid-race and cried because she had gotten passed by an older girl. It’s not that she’s a sore loser (well, no more-so than your regular five year old), it’s just that she really really wants to be the best.

The kids race is on the Saturday and the race event (5k, 10k, half marathon and full marathon) are on the Sunday. Steve wants to “run” the 5k with her this year. It takes place a week after her sixth birthday.

First of all, she is totally psyched and doesn’t even want to run in the kids race. Secondly, once the weather warms, he plans on taking her out a few nights a week and run/walk starting with 1k. Steve is rabidly aggressive and competitive, but he knows how to turn it off and this isn’t about Leila being the youngest kid at the race, this is about Leila learning that life isn’t about who crosses the finish line first.

I’m worried she’s too young and that it’s too far. Or not, maybe I’m just worried. About… nothing that I can actually articulate. I’m worried about Leila. Because she seems so small to have her foot in the real world already, mostly. Because it’s been such a big year for her and I know that sometimes she’s overwhelmed by it all. Because I miss her, oh man, I really, really miss spending all that time with her. I miss her physical presence, but also, I kind of miss her as a three year old and a four year old.

I wish so much that I could make her path easy. Oh, I know that isn’t right or possible or even fair to her, because there is so very much she has to learn on her own, but I do really wish I could take it all up, lift it off of her – the nerves, the fear, the hurt. I think how couldn’t you like people looking at you? you’re so beautiful and amazing and I worry that she’ll struggle with low self-esteem. I want to gush and tell her how wonderful she is, but I wonder if she’ll look back and think that I was putting un-due pressure on her for perfection.

Part of all of this comes from my own struggle, I realize that. I’m so scared that despite everything we can do and show her, that one day she won’t love herself. I’m scared that she’ll wake up and feel unappreciated and unloved, that she’ll get lost on her own road where I can’t go. I’m scared that I’m not enough for her, that somehow my own flaws will hold her back. I’m worried that she’ll feel that her sister is loved more, because her sister is loud and funny and gets away with more because she inherently just knows how to push and push and push.

My real wish for Leila, is that she will keep the love that is in her heart – and she feels love so deeply and openly – for her entire life. That she will share that love with everyone, yet not let those who are unworthy of it hurt her. That she will learn how to turn that love inward and focus it on herself so that she can take the gift that is her beautiful spirit and shine it out onto the world.

I stumbled upon this self-help article about how to build a better perception of yourself, physically and one tip it suggested was writing a letter to yourself from the body part that you dislike the most.

As I imagine what my stomach would say to me, how it would justify itself and how it would accost me for my cruelty, I realized how hard I really am on myself.

Steve compared me to a woman I know who is very lean and muscular. He told me that she doesn’t work for it, that skinny is genetics and skinny people have very visible muscle when they work out a few times a week. He told me that he didn’t care about her flat stomach and that the reason he thought that my stomach was beautiful was because inside of it our two babies grew. He told me that her flat stomach was a gift – genetics – but that I took mine. I worked for it. And that’s why he loves me stomach, because it’s part of me.

I’ve been thinking, really trying to change my perception about how I look at my body. So many people have said to me that my kids are worth loose skin and saggy breasts and yes, of course they are! But to me, the two really weren’t connected. Wishing my belly button didn’t look like a perpetual frown didn’t mean I didn’t love my kids, it just meant that I missed my perky, happy, 24 year old belly button. After reading that article, I tried thinking about what my stomach or breasts would say to me. And I realized that they have helped me with the biggest gifts. My stomach housed my children. And my breasts fed them, for months and months.

Maybe I can start to look at these things as badges of honour. Maybe woman (not girl) breasts and stomachs are something to be proud of. Maybe it’s this “Get your pre-baby body back!” mentality that we all have. You can’t get your pre-baby body back because it doesn’t exist. And it’s not even that it doesn’t exist as in it’s gone, it’s just that you, as a woman and human being have evolved.

My body is stronger now. I am stronger now. And in a way, that’s weird to say because I am so glaringly aware of all my twisted thoughts and mixed up perceptions when I wasn’t before, but I believe that being aware of them is part of what makes me stronger. Because if you don’t even realize why you’re so hard on yourself, you can’t really understand how to fix it.

Maybe one of the reasons it’s so easy to cast stones at my physical perception of myself is because taking the safety net of physical critique leaves nothing but my soul.

I wonder, if when you’re happy with yourself, truly content with who you are you wonder about the state of your muffin top. (I wouldn’t think so.) And so maybe I focus on the exterior because I’m actually afraid to lift up the outside layer and check out what’s underneath.

In the past four months, I’ve coached 13 people through half marathon training. I’ve motivated them. I’ve given them (good!) advice. I’ve made them laugh and I’ve helped them see a side of themselves that they may not have seen before. On the first day that we met, we ran 4k together, and for a lot of them, that was the farthest they had ever run.

In the past four months, I’ve run two half marathons myself (and will be running a third on Sunday). I’ve swallowed down guilt almost everyday that I left my children at childcare to go to school or to come home and do school work. I am currently coasting at an above 3.0GPA (which is higher than my BA GPA was). I decided to finish my program this year, and I am almost there.

In the past five weeks, I have gone to the gym four to five times a week to lift weights and strength train – something that I really don’t enjoy – because I know that for my hike in April I need to be stronger.

In the past year, I have changed the way my family eats. I have cooked real food for them most nights.

Despite all of this, I have also learned how to slow down. Every night I say a bedtime prayer with my babies and sing them a lullaby. Every morning I spend five minutes in bed with them, cuddling.

So why am I afraid to look deeper than physically at myself? What is it exactly that I’m afraid I’ll find?

Last week, I received a note from Leila’s principle about a nine year old girl who attended the school who had been in a devastating accident and was at the local children’s hospital in critical care. Sadly, two days later another note was sent home saying that the little girl had died.

We talked about it, and Leila told me that her teacher was very sad and even though she didn’t know the little girl, seeing everyone sad had made Leila sad. Later, I sat on my bed and cried.

At church on Sunday (which is where her funeral is being held today), the kids sat in a circle at Sunday school and told stories about her and then they read a story about Jesus. And as the minister spoke about cleansing yourself from within, I just couldn’t seem to stop the tears from slowly filling up my eyes.

How do you explain to a child that there was a car crash without her starting to be afraid of driving? How do you explain to a child who is so sensitive to the emotions of other people that sometimes children die and their parents are left without them for the rest of their lives.

If you died Mommy, I would be so sad I wouldn’t ever be able to go to school and have fun again.

Everyone has been talking about it, because this is the sort of thing that scares you to your very core. I overheard two women at the gym making note that it had been one week and asking how that child’s poor baby-lost mommy could wake up and know that she had to start a whole new week without her daughter. And as I looked for my socks, my eyes filled with tears all over again because I don’t know and it’s not fair and why would this happen?

How could this ever be explained to someone so that they could understand? How could this ever be perceived as right or fair or God’s way.

It’s so easy to quip that God would never put us through a situation for which we didn’t have the strength, but I think people are thinking more along the lines of dealing with your kid not sleeping when they say that stuff. This isn’t fair and it’s a shitty horrible thing for God to do.

You get through a pregnancy without losing the baby. And then you get through the first year and the fear of SIDS slowly lifts. Then they learn to walk and bonk their heads a get a few nasty bruises and go to school and skin their knees and you start to believe that maybe just maybe you can stop and take a breath because they just might be safe.

And then, just like that, you’re afraid again. Because she was nine. Nine year olds aren’t supposed to die. Not from car crashes, not from cancer, not from anything else.

I don’t know the family, but this has scared me and shaken me to my core. And I want to pray for them but I don’t even know where to begin, because asking for peace seems a little trite and unrealistic. And asking to send strength just seems mean because this is all so mean.

And so, I’ve been on the verge of tears for a week, hugging my kids, my heart breaking for that poor little light that went out. And for her shattered family.

Please keep them in their thoughts today as they go through the unimaginable pain of buying their child. And then wake up tomorrow and have to face the rest of their lives without her.

Being a mom for five and a half years now has taught me a few things.

This may sound silly to some, but the biggest thing it’s taught me (aside from how to live with my heart running around outside my body of course) is how to run a household. That sounds like such a… I don’t know. Stupid thing to have learned? But I think that if you believe that running a household is no big deal, then you have no idea what you’re talking about.

(That kind of rationale works, right? If someone disagrees with me, they’re dumb?)

Seriously, though, I don’t have a house cleaner (YET. The countdown is on and next promotion that Steve gets IT IS HAPPENING) and I do freakin everything most of the work around the house. Aside from the hanging doors and snow clearing that Steve does (among other things and I don’t mean for this to minimize his imputs), when it comes to day-to-day stuff around here, it’s on me. That includes garbage and recycling, cleaning, laundry and cooking (on days when Steve’s at work). No big deal, right? There was a point when it was enough to bring me to tears.

I guess because it’s all so much and all so continuous and no one gives you a yearly bonus or raise or even a required by law lunch break.

Anyway, partly because they’re older and are capable of playing in a different area of the house than me unsupervised without a very high likelihood of killing themselves, but partly just because I’ve gotten used to it. My mom told me this would happen, when I bemoaned about it to her years ago. “You just get used to it and it becomes less exhausting,” she said. And at the time, it sounded like such a dreary answer because basically, that means that you just have to suck it up and do it. And you do just have to suck it up and do it, which is part of what makes it so hard because honestly, while there’s nothing wrong with Cheerios and raw veggies with dip for dinner, children do eventually require cleaning and clean clothes.

I tried cleaning in different ways: one task per day (dusting on Monday! Bathrooms on Tuesday! etc) and while that worked for a while, and worked when the kids were young because I didn’t really have two hours at a time to spend cleaning, eventually I both got tired of cleaning every single day and missed that day and a half of bliss that you get after you gut the house before it gets messy again.

I’m back now to once a week every two weeks, and I’m ok with that. Toilets and… stuff gets cleaned proper at least once every two weeks. Vaccuuming happens when it needs to/can. Dusting probably once a month. But the tidying happens daily or at least every other day.

It helps to stay on top of it, laundry is still my biggest downfall (three blissful laundry free days = the rest of the week catching up).

I guess though, that what I’ve realized, is that all of this (most of the time, anyway), doesn’t really bring me down anymore. I cook and feed and clean and study and it’s just… the way, you know? Some days I’m wired and some days I’m utterly exhausted and most days fall somewhere in between those two extremes. I had planned on mopping today, but my longish run this morning kicked my butt, so I scrapped those plans and made muffins and then rested on the couch for half an hour while the girls’ played dollies.

More importantly than not seeing it as a burden anymore, I also realize that it’s ok. It’s all going to be ok. I do what I can, and I usually do my best. My kids never go hungry or cold or to bed without a story. There’s no one casting stones at me regarding the amount of dust on the picture frames on my mantle and on the day when I meet my maker, the number of times my bathroom smelled like pee will not come into question.

It’s hard when kids are babies. They are wonderful and special and amazing, but it’s hard. And it wasn’t even until I got away from it that I realized how difficult it had been. They were heavy (figuratively), I carried them everywhere. I used to think about Steve dying and leaving us, and I concluded that I would never love another man. Because who would want me with all this baggage? And yesterday, as I thought about my children and my dog and my home and my life, I realized that if Steve died and left us, I may never love another man. Not because another man couldn’t handle my baggage though, but because I don’t know that I’d be willing to share this gift – of raising them, of knowing them, of caring for them, of opening my heart to learn from them – with anyone else.

And I think that maybe that has made all the difference.

I am drinking in breath so that my soul is not thirsty.

That’s how the yoga instructor ended class today. It was a fast 75 minutes, relaxed flow, not strenuous but much needed stretching for my runner glutes and hammies.

One thing that made me think was something she said at the beginning of class. She asked us to focus on our practice, to decide what aspect we wanted to concentrate on and to keep that with us during the entire class.

As class ended, I realized that what I focused on (being strong) perhaps wasn’t what I should have focused on. Maybe what I needed to think about was letting go of being competitive.

I want to be strong and lithe and balanced and well, that doesn’t always come from a healthy place. I want people to tell me how great I am and that I’m strong and fit and lean and lovely. I have trouble recognizing my own strength, and often rely on others to notice and comment on it before allowing myself any sort of validation. Next week, I will focus on my own breath, instead of spying out of the corner of my eye to see who wobbled the most during standing tree pose.

There’s this list I have of things I want to do, can’t wait to do once I’m finished school and every time I add something new on, I get more and more antsy about this whole five more months thing because Man! Five months is forever!! Even though it’s not (do you know how fast five months can fly by? Or course you do), maybe what really concerns me is the amount of text book reading I have to do in those next five months.

It can be so hard to focus on the journey. When I started this “journey” I was a mom to two babies and needed to get out of the house a couple of days a week. So I signed up for a certificate and I signed up for daycare and I had no idea that by the end of it I’d be a mom with a kid in school, like for real, and another very lovely but very strong willed pre-schooler. I had no idea I’d be a marathoner, a run coach (a real live run coach! and people listen to me! and I even give them good advice! and I get paid for something I love), with absolutely no intention of going into HR, the very thing I am taking in school.

There have been a lot of near quits along the way. There have been blows to my self-esteem because it is truly draining to be around highly make-uped 20 year olds with very perky breasts because we have nothing in common. It’s been isolating (see previous sentence), because I feel alone on campus. It’s been both very, very good and bad.

My mind wandered for the most part of my classes this morning (as it is right now, I’m actually supposed to be working on a case study) and I thought about running and yoga and the fact that boys wear much brighter clothes to school than they did ten years ago.

I’m at the point again where I wonder if I say too much here. Sometimes I get all anxiety ridden and need to spill my guts so I come here and emotionally vomit and then start to feel better. And then I’m better and I start to wonder who I know in real life that read this and what they could have thought, because you’d never know by looking at me that I get nervous and self-conscious, and I get that scared feeling and want to re-swallow everything I’ve spewed. But what’s the point of saying it if I just take it back? And what’s the point of having this space if I can’t use it for what I want, if it doesn’t make me feel better and more centered about my life in general?

I saw this video the other day and was amazed at the beauty:

and I thought how I would like to be able to move like that, to do crazy handstands and flip my legs over my head. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past three years, it’s that if you want to do something, you need to practice instead of just wishing it would happen. So I’m headed to my very first “real” yoga class tomorrow morning. I set goals for myself that by this time next year I will be halfway through the 200 hour Yoga Teaching certification and will have at the very least (depending on dates) signed up for a Personal Fitness Specialist course here in Halifax.

Of course, making those goals made me wish that I was doing yoga and reading books about muscle groups today instead of thinking about how much my prof reminds me of my sister in law.

I try to focus on the journey, the little things I’ve learned and how much I’ve changed in the past three years. Things have gotten easier, in so many ways, but they only became easier after they became much more difficult. I’m stronger now, so much stronger, in every way. I’m a better mom, a better wife. My house is more organized, I’m calmer, more focused. I believe in myself (with the occasional hiccup) so much more than I ever did, and I see that what I’m doing – not necessarily the school but most other things – are making this world a better place. And honestly, that’s all I’ve ever wanted, was to make the world a better place, I just didn’t know it would be such a bumpy journey to get here.

After my awesome long run last weekend and then legs at the gym on Monday and then hour long hike on Tuesday, by Wednesday, I felt kind of tingly all over and funny in my head. I skipped my run but did some weights. I pushed myself through the gym until Friday, at which point I did half my workout and tapped out. Saturday involved a 16k run with my TNT group and today was sinus congestion and achiness and general cranky, peppered with some laughs.

I’m not sure if I was so tired because I got sick, or if I got sick because I caught a chill during that frigid run last weekend and didn’t give myself time to rest or if it was a combination of those things or a complete fluke. Either way, I didn’t eat great for the second part of the week (something about being sick-tired makes me only want to eat carbs), and my workouts were tiring and so kind of half hearted. Tonight I’m feeling bloated and weak and kind of crappy. The Advil I took didn’t clear the pulsing pain in my neck and face (which leads me to believe there is going to be some major mucus moving by tomorrow) and basically, I just came here to wine.

It’s hard not to get all apocalyptic when I feel like this. Because I feel weak in this moment, I tend to feel like a couple bowls of Doritos and peanut butter sandwiches negated the past three weeks of clean fuel and strength training. Logically, I don’t really think that’s the case, but I do think that (in retrospect), I should have listened to my body instead of pushing through when I knew the fatigue had moved from “fatigue” to “getting sick” and rested.

I’m kind of manic about things though and for some reason this week needed to do this, regardless of the expense. It’s a hard balance to achieve. Especially since I am feeling kind of tense about school and often a skipped workout can lead to some anxiety on my part. So I pushed through hoping that it would pass but tonight I feel tired (bone weary tired) and kind of sorry for myself.

We ate a healthy supper, and I made lunches for tomorrow and have resolved that I will pick myself up and dust off and climb back on the vegetable wagon, even though I probably still smell like Doritos. I’m hoping that healthy food today plus a good night’s sleep will leave me feeling better when I wake up today.

I’m a good mom, a good provider, a good “adult”, but when I’m sick, it still sucks that I can’t throw a day in the bag and hit pause on the world.

Three awesome things I am totally loving lately:

1) Ben Taylor’s album: The Legend of Kung Folk. I Shazaam’d a song from a movie the other night and promptly downloaded the entire album. Love.

2) Magic Bullet. Despite the faat that the name makes it sound like a vibrator, this thing is awesome. My mother in law gave it to us for Christmas. I had long been lusting after one, but we had a fully functioning blender so… anyhoo, we have protein smoothies every morning and this is way less hassle than the blender. Plus, Leila loves her a smoothie, so she’s been enjoying it too. (Alena can’t deal with “stuff” her in soft things – yogurt, smoothies, etc. So she doesn’t dig the smoothies.)

3) Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. Unfortunately, I’ve long given up on environmentally friendly cleaning products in my bathroom. I just don’t find that they work. After a few weeks, it’s all soap scum and mildew. I use damp cloths to dust, safe cleaner for the kitchen and environmentally friendly floor cleaner, but it’s all bleach and foaming bubbles in our bathrooms. Anyway, due to our lack of bathroom fan (and possibly a broken air exchange), our bathroom was gross. I was at the point of embarrassment about it. Anyway, I attached it with a magic eraser and couldn’t believe the results. I’ve been cleaning the tub and corners (problem areas) about twice a month with a magic eraser and the mold/mildew/soap scum are pretty much gone. Ama-za-zing! (They are on the expensive side, and I use one per bathroom scouring. But! They wipe crayons and mysterious marks off walls with zero elbow grease.)

What about you? Anything you’re loving on lately?