In the last year, I have lost approximately ten pounds, am within 1-2 pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight, and, I think, have gained about a pound in muscle over the last almost-month. I am 21 days into a 30-day ab and squat challenge, the furthest I’ve ever made it into a fitness challenge like that, and I’m already planning my next one. It hasn’t been easy but the last two months have been the most triumphant. I’ve lost a dress size (in certain stores), one pant size, and I feel myself getting stronger again. The strongest I had ever been was back in late 2007-2008 when I was belly dancing hardcore, five classes/practices a week, not including personal daily practice and conditioning. I remember when we were working on a troupe routine to “Rhythm Nation”, I watched us move perfectly together in the mirror and I felt powerful, strong. I want that back, and I’d like to think that I’m getting there.
Month: May 2014
Reading my Soul
I had a thought today, as I was driving, about how I write. I pictured reaching into myself, taking my soul in my hands, and turning it around, examining it. Sometimes I feel like Quorra in Tron: Legacy, watching Flynn draw out a corrupted line of her code to examine the damage. I draw out lines within my soul and it is from these bits and pieces, these lines and stories, that I write.
As I write, I take my soul in my hands, its glowing orb warm and pulsing with my own heartbeat, strong and delicate at the same time. It is the heart of me, the seat of my being, everything that makes me me. When I am done here, I will put my soul away until it is filled with inspiration and bids me take it out and turn it over again.
The Coquette’s Curl
Kiera Knightley in “The Duchess”
Her hair was the golden brown of the most perfect loaf of bread, coiffed flawlessly into a mass of curls where each had its place. Except for the two glossy ones that coiled over her shoulders. The tendrils flirt with her collarbone and the expanse of soft skin between her pearls and the Brussels lace edging the square, low neckline of her gown.
Her gown is simple but flattering, the cunning little chapeau gracing her head modest in its decoration, but those ringlets, they beckon like a siren on a sea-swept rock. They dare one to capture them and twist one around your finger to feel its glossy smoothness, smell the soft fragrance of spring peonies that has been captured there.
It is not the girl but the curl that draws you in, that captures your interest. The curls, they are the true coquette.
No Need to Be Extraordinary
“At this point in my life, I’m trying to figure out the things I truly care about.” “What’s something you care about less than you did ten years ago?” “Being extraordinary.” — Humans of New York – https://www.facebook.com/humansofnewyork
This struck me today. I think, once upon a time, that I wanted to be extraordinary. Extraordinary as a teacher. Extraordinary as a writer. I wanted to stand out, to be able to look at the people who made fun of me in school for my bookish studiousness and smirk, “I win.” I wanted, like Roxy Hart, to see my name featured prominently – somewhere, somehow (all good reasons, of course). But, over the years, as I have learned myself better, studied even harder, and discovered interests and skills and passions, I find that ‘being extraordinary’ isn’t so important to me anymore. I don’t mind being in the background, plying my skills at quiet things. But I also am getting better at being brave and bold and putting my thoughts and feelings, my skills and passions out there for others to see.
I don’t need to win Teacher of the Year, don’t ever think I would. I don’t need to take the world by storm with my writing or blogs. I don’t need to become famous on YouTube for my fashion sense and personal style or anything like that. I don’t need to be extraordinary in the world’s eyes. What I need to be is the best person that I can be and that is a daily, hourly, moment-by-moment work. I am still learning myself, even at thirty-one years old, and constantly trying to put what I learn – the good and the bad – to good use. I have a husband to be better for and, now, a daughter, not to mention myself.
I don’t think I need to be extraordinary. I really just want to be good.
Poetic Thoughts: Today
Today, the world around me is emerald and earth, set underneath an alabaster-flecked azure sky.
Today, I see life and death in equal measure, meted out in fields fresh from the plow.
Summer is coming in its heat haze and, with it, growth; then, with fall in her gold, maturity.
Time marches on, changing its garb as it goes.
#LoveYourSelfie – A Brush with Beauty
I feel beautiful today. I don’t know why. I’m in my pajamas, my living room floor is cluttered with toys, clothes need to be sorted and folded in the bedroom. Aside from my toddler, who’s napping, I’m alone. But I feel pretty, beautiful, desirable, pick a word. I do.
Maybe it’s my hair. My mother helped me do it while she was here, touch it up with relaxer, curl it up in rollers. I can do it myself but it always feels so much better when she does it. It’s years worth of memories, conversation, etc., during that process. So now my hair falls over my shoulders, still in light curls, as I left the curlers in for about nineteen hours and just took them out yesterday. My hair is light and soft and it flows when I move. I had a ridiculous fun time just rolling around in my bed with fresh roller curls and feeling my hair bounce and flow and brush my face, shoulders, neck as I moved.
I don’t know what it is today but I feel beautiful. Last night, I dressed up with the intent of expression just such a feeling. Today, I’m content in my ladybug pj pants and pink tank, my hair a lovely tousled mess.
I guess the song is rather appropriate today: “I feel pretty, oh so pretty! I feel pretty and witty and bright!” I don’t pity anyone who isn’t me, though I do wish you a brush with you own personal beauty today that will last much longer than you dare to hope. ^_^
A Thread of Control
I’ve realized that very few people understand my particular brand of organization. How I arrange things in the fridge (and, yes, there is an order), the dishes in the drying rack, my particular bookcase, even my husband’s clothes in his baskets in the bedroom. No one really gets it, no one seems to understand that there IS an order, a point. Or at least I think that no one gets it. Maybe it’s me, but I assume that it’s obvious when you look at it.
Take the fridge for an example: fruit and snacks on the top shelf, drinks on the second shelf (left to right: coffee/beer, water bottles, sodas/juice boxes), large drinks (juice and milk) and leftovers on the bottom shelf, and in the door: condiments on the top shelf, cheese in the little cabinet, and large bottles (wine, mineral water, etc.) in the middle and bottom shelves.
I admit, I get annoyed when people mess with my system, when things get placed willy-nilly rather than in their particular places. Not all the time but sometimes. I like seeing things where they should be, to feel that bit of accomplishment in that something is in order. The order that I can impose upon my environment is that little bit of control that I can have in an out-of-control world. Some people might say that is a foolish notion – control – but…it’s what I do. I like to know my environment and I do. As a teenager, I could tell when someone had been in my room, when things had been moved from where I had specifically placed them, the second I stepped into the door. It’s why I set my kitchen table so that neither I nor anyone else will be tempted to set clutter on it. It’s why my bookcase with my historical fiction novels is ordered by dynasty, author, and then titles chronological within that author’s scope. It’s why my closet is ordered by clothing type (cardigan, tops, dresses, skirts) and then by color within their category. These are the little threads of order that I can hold onto and that I can set right if they ever get out of whack, unlike most of life, and it’s gives me a bit of relief, I realize.
These are just the thoughts that bounced around in my head as I cleaned out and ordered the fridge the other day.
A Storm’s Moment
The moment has passed and the storm with it (I was driving through most of it), but this is what came to mind as the sky darkened and the rain fell.
= = =
Today is raining, today is storming.
Today is cuddle time.
Today is game day.
Today is sexy time.
Today is candle glow and a good book.
Today is silence, a notebook, and pen.
Today is the patter of rain marking a beat for your mind,
Taking your heartbeat with it.
Do It Like a Lady!
Yesterday, I cleaned out the fridge, put away the groceries, entertained my daughter, washed a sinkful of dishes, and then made dinner for our little family of three. I gathered them around the kitchen table and we had dinner and dessert together. Ben and I discussed our day and Elizabeth chimed in with whatever she so desired. Oh, and I also bought and arranged flowers for the kitchen. In those moments of domesticity, I felt blatantly…female.
Now, don’t burn me at the stake just yet. Hear me out, please.
I am female by sex but I also identify strongly with the female gender and a lot of the roles that are usually prescribed to women. I do not believe that women (or men, for that matter) should be bound by “traditional” gender roles, but I cannot deny the fact that I get a warm fuzzy somewhere inside me when I am taking care of my family and friends, whether it’s a meal, a mug of tea, a load of laundry, or a needed hug or cuddle.
I had a career as a teacher before I had my daughter a year and a half ago, and I am looking at perhaps getting back into working. I’d rather stay home with Elizabeth, I can’t lie about that, but I also acknowledge that, in our current society, that is not a forever choice that I think I can make. Not if we want to accomplish some of the plans that we have for our family and home. I have some wonderful female friends who have gone back to work after having their children, launching into successful careers in their chosen fields, and I could not be prouder of them. I know some incredibly strong women, women who juggle work and families and hobbies with an aplomb to which I can only aspire, and I cannot help but admire them. I have friends who are adamant that they are no use with housework, can’t cook, etc. I am not aficionado at cooking myself (trust me, I’ve ruined many a dish) but I find a measure of peace and accomplishment in taking care of my home and my family. And, yes, I have cooked and cleaned in pearls and high heels before, just to say I did.
I am not entirely sure what my point was in writing this; I think I had an idea that was more coherent in my head, but that’s all right. Thoughts poured out on paper, right?
MWGS: Mom, Writer, Geek, Superwoman 