beauty

A friend of mine is now selling arbonne.  For those not in the know, it’s cosemetics and creams and the like.  It’s supposedly good stuff, I’ve heard good things about it, at any rate this post isn’t a review of the products so its neither here nor there.

I am not a home-party or network party person.  In fact, it is unlikely I’ll even go to a home party unless 1. you’re a REALLY good friend, or 2. actually, there is no second point.  I don’t do home parties.

However, she’s a REALLY good friend, so I said I’d attend one party.  And I did.  It seems like lovely cosemetics.

During the “presentation” the head lady (top of network food chain?) talked about two skin care lines.  The one and only cosemetic I buy is face cream, so I’m willing to buy that from my friend instead of the store.  At least once anyway.  I questioned the difference between the two lines and was told that one was for 23 and younger, and the anti-aging line was for the 23 and older crowd.

Seriously?  We’re suppose to worry about aging at 23?  SERIOUSLY.  AT TWENTY THREE?

I don’t know about you, but when I was 23, I was hot.  Smokin’.  I also looked like I was 16.  When I was 23 I was thinking about my career.  I was thinking about my next big trip.  I was thinking about the rest of my life.  I can guarantee you I was not thinking about those wrinkles and sagging eyelids and grey hair.  BECAUSE I DIDN’T HAVE ANY.

A young man, at 23, is going through his last growth spurt.  A GROWTH SPURT.  Why is it that a woman is considered to be aging at 23?

Our society is so very, very weird.

The other day my Mom said to Claire “you’re beautiful” and Claire said “I’m not beautiful.  Everyone else is beautiful.”.  I’m not going to over-analyse this because I have no idea what she meant by it.  She might have just meant that she’s smart.  Or a super hero.  Or cute.  Who knows.  She’s 3.  But a part of me did wonder if a 3 year old would pick up on this shit?  Do they start to feel like they’re not something.  Do they start thinking that their looks are the end all and be all and that they are suppose to look like a damn mermaid in a coconut bra?

Do I have a point?  I don’t know.  I just know that I spent my childhood, and my 20s, thinking I was gorgeous, and that didn’t matter because more importantly I was clever.  And capable.  I hope and pray that my daughters will also spend their childhood and young adult life thinking the same thing.

I sure the hell didn’t think I was aging when I was 23 and felt I needed to take action.

To end this random tirade, a conversation with Claire:

Claire: When I’m in Kindergarten I’m going to be Wonder Woman for Black and Orange Day.

Me: Not say, Batman?

Claire: No.  Batman is Wonder Woman’s assistant.

Yo go girl!  (and ps: You’re beautiful.).

wordless wednesday::hallow’s eve

hallow's eve

me time.

Steve and I are were chatting the other day and he casually said something like “well, we both get the same amount of downtime every day” to which I snorted. Or maybe said “ha!”. The conversation went something like this:

Steve: “What? We do.”
Me: “yeah, no. We don’t.”
“Once the kids are in bed, it’s our time”
“Once the kids are in bed, I am still folding laundry, tidying the house, doing dishes, etc, etc. I’m still working.”
“well, you need to make more me time.”
“True.”

And that is true. I am terrible at demanding Amber time. Then I started to think about it, really think about it. In that same conversation Steve mentioned how I had skipped several boxercise classes (my current exercise of choice) indicating that I needed to make that me time a priority. Right. I shouldn’t skip my exercise times, I absolutely agree 100%. Except you know what? The first one that I missed was because Steve forgot. I was ready to go, I had dinner on the table, had pre-washed every dish I could pre-wash. The house was clean*, but he didn’t walk through the door until after 6 and you can’t really show up half an hour late to boxercise class. I mean, you could, but then there’s no warm up and you’re in the middle of the routine and I’m not a show up in the middle kind of person. At least not to an exercise class. If it were a wine-drinking class then sure! I’d be late. To be honest I show up to everything late but an exercise classes. I called him the next day and made him put my boxercise class in his calendar, which he did.

The other two times? Anna was sick. Not just your run-of-the-mill the kid has a cold. No. Anna was super sick. She slept terribly for 8 straight nights. By that I mean I have been up in the middle of the night for hours. Two Saturdays ago she was basically glued to me and completely miserable. She wouldn’t sleep unless she was draped across my chest, she was croupy and was having a hell of a time breathing. By Tuesday night I was so damn tired and worn out that the thought of even putting on my running shoes just about made me cry.

So while I hadn’t been to the class in a while, I don’t think that makes me lazy.

This got me thinking about it all a little more. Exercise, for someone like Steve and many others, is meditative. It is stress relief, it might even be truthful to say that Steve looks forward to it. He has considerately arranged his schedule so that it has very little impact on my life which I appreciate tremendously. When he’s training heavily he is gone Thursday evenings and Sunday mornings, the rest of the training he does during his lunch hour. I give him a gold star for this (that isn’t sarcastic; I really do think it’s awesome that he has done that). But his training schedule doesn’t come with a consequence, mine does.

When I go to boxercise, I don’t come home, hit the shower, pour a bowl of cereal, and tell Steve about my day. I often come home and put a child to bed. Then I do the dishes. Then I tidy up the living room. Then I sweep the kitchen. Then I have a shower (if I’m quick enough and it is before Steve goes to bed). Even to get to boxercise I first have to time it so that dinner is ready and on the table and that I have all my shit together to walk out the door.

To which one might respond “so what?”. Right. I’m prepping to go work out while doing my day job. I work out to come home and finish up everything that isn’t maintained while I’m not at my day job.

And I’m doing all that to go out and do something that I don’t particularly enjoy. Exercise is not meditative to me. Exercise is just one more damn item on the “to do” list. Something I’m supposed to do because I’m supposed to be perfect. I’m supposed to be thinner, stronger, healthier (well, healthier is a solid reason). I’m supposed to have sweet kids, a clean(ish) house, figure out a way to provide some income, keep my kids safe, and GOD DAMMIT, I also need to be thinner.

Exericise is not meditative for me. Knitting is. When I’m moving heaven and earth to make this happen I would so rather sit on the couch and knit. Or create something new. Or draw. Exercise is work, both physically and mentally. It’s annoying.

So, yeah, I’m probably not going to move mountains to ensure that no matter what I get in that sort of “me” time, because it isn’t “me time”. It’s just another asterick on the to do list.

Although I might start moving heaven and earth to get in a little knittin’.

doesn't have a damn thing to do with this post, but here's Callum's cake. Cute, yes?

*it should be noted that Steve cares NOT AT ALL if the house is clean. I care. Actually, I don’t care if it’s clean. I care if its tidy. If I don’t pick up after our day I find that 1. things get out of hand remarkably fast, and 2. it prevents us from doing creative things. Clutter discourages creativity.

the stubborn

Three year olds are awesome. And also completely exhausting. I have no idea where the term “Terrible Twos” came from because, in my experience, two year olds are the cutest damn things that have ever walked the face of the earth. Two year olds are edible. Two year olds rock. Actually, at 16 months I am pretty sure there is no other soul on earth as delightful as Anna. Seriously. NO OTHER SOUL. The time between 1 and 3 years is pretty swell.

I don’t know if I have mentioned this but I am Mama to The Most Stubborn Girl On Earth. And she’s three.

that would be Claire

That would be Claire.

oh, this girl. She will be the most delightful thing in one minute, then you’ll ask her to wash her hands and she WILL COMPLETELY LOSE HER MIND. Which is fine. She’s three and three year olds don’t make any sense and we all know cleaning poo off your hands is highly over-rated. I know I like to keep a little poo on my hand for its moisturizing properties. I’m experienced with all this insanity having already had a three year old. Except Claire? Well, Claire doesn’t let up. Claire will continue to lose her mind about washing her hands for an hour, then when you just give up and wash her damn hands because let’s face it, I’m bigger and can ensure the poo is removed from said hand, she will still rage about not wanting to wash her hands for another hour. BUT HER HANDS ARE ALREADY WASHED SO JUST GET OVER IT.

I was talking to my neighbour on the phone the other day, and he had happened to see Claire earlier that week and commented on how tall she was. So we got to talking about The Bear, and I mentioned that she’s a bit stubborn and can sometimes carry on. His response “oh yeah, I’ve heard her. You’re very patient.”.

My neighbour doesn’t live THAT close to me. I live on 2.5 acres, and while he certainly isn’t 2.5 acres away he’s not mere feet away either. Kid can scream. At least he knows I’m not beating her. Unless you consider my singing a form of abuse. Some might. (Singing has been known to calm her down, so I sing. A lot.).

The Most Stubborn Girl On Earth

All this is fine and dandy, but the stubbornness rears its ugly head in other ways. Like potty training. Claire is potty trained. Except when she isn’t and that would be when it suits her to not bother.  This isn’t a huge deal to me because I sort of don’t care.  She will eventually always use the toilet or she will never have a boyfriend and I’m willing to bet that the toilet will win out.  The problem is that preschool is going to care.  Unfortunately Claire doesn’t care that preschool will care so this should prove interesting.

The other awesome thing about three year olds is that they’re still little snuggle-bums.  At least Claire is, and every night I hear her slide out of bed then stomp to my room, climb into bed and wrap her little arms around me.  Sometimes she’ll even give me little love pats.  If I get up to carry her back to her own bed, she is like a leech and attaches herself to Steve in a heartbeat (and he then wrap her up in blankets and snuggles her some more).  There will come a day when she will not be wrapping her arms around me and covering me in snuggles so I plan to cherish this.  I do not care what the Parenting Experts say.

Well, I’ll listen to any suggestions on dealing with The Most Stubborn Girl Alive, though.  In that respect, I’m all ears.

She's totally cute, though

Kid has us totally wrapped.   Maybe that’s the point of this post?  Let’s call it a random Claire Update.

baby-baby

I would like to have another wee rotten.

I KNOW.

When I tease Steve about this he rolls his eyes and plants his feet firmly.  The answer is no.  Which is, in all honesty, ok.   It really is.  It makes sense NOT to further populate the already crowded and strained earth.  It makes sense to concentrate on Phase II (or III or IV depending on where you start numbering Life Phases).  It makes sense to stop and soak up the awesomeness that is Right Now with three healthy, happy, and seriously awesome little beings that I share my days with.  Besides, I’ve given away all the baby stuff.

Still want another.  Can’t help it.  Maybe we’re hardwired that way.

I could probably stamp my feet and whine and carry on and get my way but babies aren’t usually something that you throw a temper tantrum over to convince the other person (especially if it is the other person responsible for providing the food and shelter for said wee rotten).  Instead of stamping and whining I decided to be adult and take a hard look at my reasons for More!Babies!.

They’re pretty lame, to be sure.

1.  Babies allow you to check out of life.  It’s like this get-out-of-dealing-with-the-real-world pass, like a bathroom pass but better.  It’s the bathroom pass where you meet your boyfriend in the bathroom and then make out for 15 minutes.  That kind of pass.

2. I really dig this life.  I mean, my life totally rules.  Steve has prefaced many sentences with “I know you don’t want anything in your life to change but…” and he’s right.  This life, right now, this second?  AWESOME.  To be fair, that is also part of my personality.  The cup is half full, usually with wine.

3. Not working becomes me.

4. I don’t think there is anything else in life that matters more than the relationships we keep.  I really like people.  I really like kids.  I really like the idea of this big, crazy, loud, ridiculous and annoying family.  I like the idea of a community and in theory I should be able to get this from my community.  The truth is, I’ve never had a community that was - I don’t know what the right phrase here is - that fulfilling?  that true?  that comfortable?  I never fit in 100%, which I imagine no one really does because we’re all people and we’re all different and for some reason that is really hard for most people to accept so there is always this push, albeit a subtle push, to conform.  To change to be more like the group or the community.  People, as a general rule, aren’t that great at just accepting but we’re REALLY good at passing judgement.  Plus, I’m kinda weird.  Families have a way of embracing the weird.  Friends don’t have to be as tolerant, and generally aren’t.

5.  I have this romantic notion of homeschooling my kids (another blog post, I’m not talking out of my ass, I’ve done the research.  Besides, this is a great community to do that, there is a huge homeschooling population that is very supportive so socially you wouldn’t be holding back the rottens), raising and growing my own food, sitting on the front porch in the evening playing the banjo and singing to my chickens. For some reason I think you need a lot of children to do this.  At least 4.  Maybe even 6.  I mean, think about it.  AWESOME, yes?  I knew you’d think so.

6. 3 is an odd number.  4 is even.  Things should be even.

It really is a mystery why Steve doesn’t just jump on this bandwagon.  I mean seriously, right?  RIGHT?