I know. I know.
I haven't done happy hour in forever. Pardon me. Abject, pleading apologies.
I am not good at maintaining consistent plans. But I do try!
Anyhow...I was inspired by a blog post I read yesterday, written by the brilliant Sally McGraw over at Already Pretty. She wrote up a brilliant piece on why body image matters. It struck a nerve in me. As a woman. As a school counselor. As a mother. As a sister. As a friend. My journey with my own body image has been one of many stops. From childhood where I simply adored what my body could do, was fascinated with each freckle, bump and wrinkle. Into adolescence where each thing that my body did was cause for embarrassment and angst. Stopping off in early adulthood while I loathed my curves and wished for a washboard-flat tummy. Tumbling into parenthood where I began to appreciate what this body could do. Now I am pretty happy with this body that carries me through life. I feel fortunate that it works. It propels me forward each morning. It provides those that I love with a soft place to land. It gives fantastic hugs. And while it isn't a body I find often in magazine spreads or on the pages of catalogues, I'm okay with that. I really feel good about each curve, wrinkle and dimple I've earned.
Yet I have girlfriends who are stunningly beautiful and hate on their bodies on a regular basis. As much as my teenaged students do. It breaks my heart to hear so many lovely ladies not seeing their own beauty. I wish I could give these girls and women the gift that I have discovered-that of a positive body image. It isn't to say that I walk around feeling stunning all the time. I have my days I feel blah. Or that I know my jeans feel a bit tight and I need to get the diet in check. But that does not drive my self worth. Or how I talk about myself. And I refuse to allow how I feel about my body to get in the way of me enjoying a week at the beach or a day at the pool. I have already spent too many years shying away from summertime to waste more sunshine and fun.
So, here is my happy hour shout-out to the ladies of the world...enjoy this unofficial kick-off weekend of summer. Be proud of who and what you are. Embrace every dimpled elbow, wrinkled forehead, freckled nose, and extra pound that makes you the unique beauty that you are. I am planning to spend this weekend doing things that I love with those that I love. Hair color/cuts for the family tomorrow. We love getting to see Dee and lauging our butts off while we are there! Graduation for our respective schools on Sunday. I love nothing more than taking our son to see my students graduate. It is important for him to see what this means to families, I believe. Then relaxing on Monday at home, just the three of us, enjoying some early summer treats. Bring on the summer, the sundresses, the bathing suits, the shorts, and the tank tops. I do not fear you!
Readers, share with us a little about what makes you happy about your own self-image. And if you struggle with this idea, what do you think your best feature is? We all start somewhere, right?!
notes from the middle
Friday, May 25, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
Why I'm Here
Way back when I started this blog in my little corner of the interwebs, I wanted to celebrate life here in our heart-shaped state. Because, let's face it, Ohio isn't always one for getting great press. We're out here in the middle. We have lots of farms. Our cities aren't gigantic. I hear from many people about how backwards we are, how terrible it must be to live here, how people who visit can't wait to get back to (fill in the blank____), how it is just 'meh.' When I start hearing these comments the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand up. I get defensive. Everywhere has their good and their bad. And when I hear someone talking about bad about where I live, I start mentally listing all the bad things I could say about where they live.
But that would be counterproductive. And I hate counterproductivity almost as much as I hate people hating on Ohio.
Yes, I have a point. Just this weekend, it was stunning and beautiful and perfect here. The skies were blue as could be with hardly a cloud to be seen. The air was warm on our shoulders. The grass felt just right under our feet. Birds were singing as if they were auditioning for a role on a Disney soundtrack. We had the quintessential summertime meal of hamburgers on the grill, made better by some fresh grilled asparagus. Ate on our screen porch in the evening sunshine. We drove to the local custard stand with the top down on my convertible and ate in the parking lot. I held hands with my husband while the three of us sung along with the radio. It was perfect.
Are there things about where we live that aren't perfect? Of course. But when you stand on your high horse and look down your nose at the rest of us as if we aren't good enough, you miss out on all those little moments that make up the good stuff of life. That is what I celebrate here. The good stuff that makes up our life here in The Middle. I will continue to choose to ignore the haters and embrace those who are positive. Be it about my love for all things Ohio, or places we go, this is the time we are given...let's enjoy it while we are here!
Now, I will climb down off my soap box, head outside to more sunshine and warmth, and maybe even enjoy some ice cream.
But that would be counterproductive. And I hate counterproductivity almost as much as I hate people hating on Ohio.
Yes, I have a point. Just this weekend, it was stunning and beautiful and perfect here. The skies were blue as could be with hardly a cloud to be seen. The air was warm on our shoulders. The grass felt just right under our feet. Birds were singing as if they were auditioning for a role on a Disney soundtrack. We had the quintessential summertime meal of hamburgers on the grill, made better by some fresh grilled asparagus. Ate on our screen porch in the evening sunshine. We drove to the local custard stand with the top down on my convertible and ate in the parking lot. I held hands with my husband while the three of us sung along with the radio. It was perfect.
Are there things about where we live that aren't perfect? Of course. But when you stand on your high horse and look down your nose at the rest of us as if we aren't good enough, you miss out on all those little moments that make up the good stuff of life. That is what I celebrate here. The good stuff that makes up our life here in The Middle. I will continue to choose to ignore the haters and embrace those who are positive. Be it about my love for all things Ohio, or places we go, this is the time we are given...let's enjoy it while we are here!
Now, I will climb down off my soap box, head outside to more sunshine and warmth, and maybe even enjoy some ice cream.
Friday, May 18, 2012
About Me
I was asked yesterday the dreaded "tell me about yourself" question. By a group of people who pretty much know me. I knew it was coming. I had thought about what I would say-I mean I have gone to professional conferences with them, shared dinners out, countless meetings, lunch breaks, phone conversations and more. Yet this was the formal sit-down. I could answer any number of questions on their page but this one. I mean, these women (and man) know just about everything about me. They know I'm an uber-geeky band kid. I'm terrified of thunderstorms. I garden (and leave jars of jam or pickles in their breakroom). I have a stepdaughter, son and husband. I am from the opposite side of our heart-shaped state. How can you be stumped by a question about yourself? Seriously! Then it dawned on me. No one knows I blog.
"I am a writer. I have a blog"
Eyes lit up. Questions flew. I sat up a bit straighter. Never before, outside of the blogging world and a small circle of friends who also read/write blogs, have I talked out loud about my little blog. It felt so good. I am very proud of what I do here. I write for me. I started writing here because I wanted to celebrate life in Ohio, life in the middle. Then I kept writing because I wanted to share my family, good food, funny stories, and life with those who stopped by. I write because I don't have to. I write because I am part of a community of amazing women. I write because it slows me down. I write because I love to.
Answering that question "tell us about yourself" isn't ever easy-whether the group knows all about you, or hasn't ever met you. Telling the world about yourself is like standing on a shifting dune. We are ever changing and cannot possibly be boiled down to a few short words or sentences. But at least I can say I am proud of the answer I gave yesterday. I did leave out one thing though.
I hate broccoli. But I'll save that for the next time.
"I am a writer. I have a blog"
Eyes lit up. Questions flew. I sat up a bit straighter. Never before, outside of the blogging world and a small circle of friends who also read/write blogs, have I talked out loud about my little blog. It felt so good. I am very proud of what I do here. I write for me. I started writing here because I wanted to celebrate life in Ohio, life in the middle. Then I kept writing because I wanted to share my family, good food, funny stories, and life with those who stopped by. I write because I don't have to. I write because I am part of a community of amazing women. I write because it slows me down. I write because I love to.
Answering that question "tell us about yourself" isn't ever easy-whether the group knows all about you, or hasn't ever met you. Telling the world about yourself is like standing on a shifting dune. We are ever changing and cannot possibly be boiled down to a few short words or sentences. But at least I can say I am proud of the answer I gave yesterday. I did leave out one thing though.
I hate broccoli. But I'll save that for the next time.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
(Lack of) Potty Training
Seriously. WTF
I mean, we did this two years ago. That's right, two years. Count the months. They equal 24. Twenty-four blissful diaper-free months. Two years. Two years without worrying about carrying around a diaper bag. Two years without having to find a suitable place to lay down our bundle of joy to wipe his rear end (because he got too heavy for those grody tables). Two years that we didn't have to carry a change of clothes everywhere. Two years of keeping the wipes in the car only.
And now we are back to this. For the past week or so our five year-old boy has gotten up wet. He is refusing to wipe himself. He is wetting his pants. A few months ago it was just an accident here or there. Bed wetting we can understand. But that isn't the case. It is the "I have to go but I don't want to go so I will hold it as long as I can and ohmygoodnessIleakedandnowwhatdoIdo" thing. Not wet through and leaking down his leg. Oh no. He is too engrossed in his play. Or too sleepy right at dawn. Or too much into his movie. Or loves riding his bike too much. And don't get me started on how helpless he becomes when it comes to wiping and washing his hands.
Yes, I am ranting. Because this boy insists he can "do it myself momma!" all the time. Unless it is related to potty and hygiene. He has regressed to babyhood. And we cannot figure out what to do with it. I am up to here (hand stretched to sky) with the wet pants and stink. Potty training was much preferred to this! So I am open to suggestions. Or offers to board our son while he works it out.
I know, I know...I should be more patient. I should be understanding. But right now. In this moment. I. Am. Not. Someday I will look back on this and giggle (possibly). Just like we do over his hitting phase. But today I want it fixed. And like any parents, we know that once this is solved, another problem will move in to replace this one. Possibly one that is even more aggravating. The neverending fun of parenting, right?
For now, I reserve the right to rant. And will call our family physician for a consult to rule out any serious medical issue. And purchase a board to beat my head into. And then turn to the bottle. Because this is a problem that can only be solved by a good, stiff drink.
For me, people! Yeesh!
I mean, we did this two years ago. That's right, two years. Count the months. They equal 24. Twenty-four blissful diaper-free months. Two years. Two years without worrying about carrying around a diaper bag. Two years without having to find a suitable place to lay down our bundle of joy to wipe his rear end (because he got too heavy for those grody tables). Two years that we didn't have to carry a change of clothes everywhere. Two years of keeping the wipes in the car only.
And now we are back to this. For the past week or so our five year-old boy has gotten up wet. He is refusing to wipe himself. He is wetting his pants. A few months ago it was just an accident here or there. Bed wetting we can understand. But that isn't the case. It is the "I have to go but I don't want to go so I will hold it as long as I can and ohmygoodnessIleakedandnowwhatdoIdo" thing. Not wet through and leaking down his leg. Oh no. He is too engrossed in his play. Or too sleepy right at dawn. Or too much into his movie. Or loves riding his bike too much. And don't get me started on how helpless he becomes when it comes to wiping and washing his hands.
Yes, I am ranting. Because this boy insists he can "do it myself momma!" all the time. Unless it is related to potty and hygiene. He has regressed to babyhood. And we cannot figure out what to do with it. I am up to here (hand stretched to sky) with the wet pants and stink. Potty training was much preferred to this! So I am open to suggestions. Or offers to board our son while he works it out.
I know, I know...I should be more patient. I should be understanding. But right now. In this moment. I. Am. Not. Someday I will look back on this and giggle (possibly). Just like we do over his hitting phase. But today I want it fixed. And like any parents, we know that once this is solved, another problem will move in to replace this one. Possibly one that is even more aggravating. The neverending fun of parenting, right?
For now, I reserve the right to rant. And will call our family physician for a consult to rule out any serious medical issue. And purchase a board to beat my head into. And then turn to the bottle. Because this is a problem that can only be solved by a good, stiff drink.
For me, people! Yeesh!
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
My Superpower
I found it. Discovered my inner superpower. The thing that I excel at above all else. Why try to deny it? Time to bring this power out from the shadows and let it soar!
See? I even have a cape!
I showed this delightful discovery to my poor, bedraggled husband and he laughed. At least I think he laughed. Or did he laugh to cover up his horror? Or did he laugh to cover up his horror at discovering his wife is crazy? And why am I typing faster and faster as I think this over.
Breathe.
I am doing it again.
See? I even have a cape!
I showed this delightful discovery to my poor, bedraggled husband and he laughed. At least I think he laughed. Or did he laugh to cover up his horror? Or did he laugh to cover up his horror at discovering his wife is crazy? And why am I typing faster and faster as I think this over.
Breathe.
I am doing it again.
Anyhow, I have been doing rather well with containing my superpower. Since winter I have been writing, meditating, breathing, seeking medical help, running, and working on my diet. All good things. But the last month has been chaotic. Life as a school counselor (teacher/administrator/school person period) can be that way the last quarter of the school year. So I stupidly let myself go. I fell off the running wagon. I have allowed a little bit of regular pop to trickle back into my diet. I haven't done yoga in a few weeks. I haven't stayed up on my to-do list like I should. And to make matters worse, I beat myself up for it. Like seriously. Like in the "you are such a loser" way.
Palm to face.
So, this week it is sunny every day. I am hitting the trail again with the running shoes. I am eating better lunches again. And I will do yoga at least once. I started the meditative breathing again. And those to-do lists that make me feel like I am on top of things? So doing those. I can get the run away horses back in the stable.
But I still want to wear my cape. Because that is badass. Bad. Ass.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Without Teachers...
...where would I be?
I wouldn't have discovered how to make butter out of heavy cream and a marble inside of a plastic tub. Shake, shake, shake...pass to a classmate, cheer them on, poof! Butter! Spread on some saltine crackers and enjoy. Teamwork makes the best treats. Thank you Mrs. Billings.
I wouldn't have learned the power of friendship between a spider and a runty pig. Or how the smallest voice could be the most powerful in a sea of chocolate. From Charlotte's Web to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, chapter books became my friends thanks to Mrs. Krusinski.
While I may be a bookworm at heart, a simple "I believe in you" powered me through long division. Math became my friend (for a while) and a teacher that frightened me at the beginning of the year was now my super hero. Mrs. Kerby, you made me feel I could accomplish anything.
At the end of a hallway was tucked a room-dusty, crowded, and noisy. It was a sanctuary for middle school students like me who didn't seem to fit anywhere else. With our instrument cases and giant music folders, Mrs. Grom and Mr. Santelli coaxed us from rocky scales in sixth grade to eighth grade band where we were convinced we were master musicians. A gift of music is one that stays forever.
She was the "Ms." in the sea of "Mrs." She made us read short stories filled with gore and horror. We tackled American poets and playwrights with appetites fit for college lit classes. We wrote analysis essays and sat wherever we pleased. We felt respected and rasied our own standards. I've never worked harder for a teacher-in high school or college. Mary Styslinger (now Dr. Styslinger), you showed me what it meant to be a powerful, strong, and amazing English teacher. You were my model when I ventured into my first classroom. You fanned my own flames.
I never had a voice. Suddenly I was a soprano. I was shy. Now I had a solo. I trembled like a leaf. Now someone belived in my talents. I lacked confidence. I now belonged. We sang in Latin. We swayed to American Gospel. We improved to Jazz. We sang in the dark while standing on our chairs-to be "in" the song. Mr. Kochan, you gave me a voice. You gave me the gift of my song.
Without the teachers I have named, I would not be the woman I am today. The woman who loves discovering new foods. The woman who reads voraciously. The woman who has confidence in herself. The woman who can play the flute still and loves to sit and listen to a symphony orchestra, high school band, or jazz combo. The woman who taught High School English, will analyize literature, and loves to edit essays. The woman who sings in the car, even with the top down, because she knows she has the chops. My teachers all gave me gifts I am forever changed by. Today is Teacher Appreciation Day, and while I am always thankful for what they have all done for me-I am taking a moment today to pause and give them their time in the sun. Thank a teacher today-thank them for what they have done for you. Thank them for what they have done for your child. Or just thank one for what they do for any child. Just thank a teacher and make their day a little sunnier.
I wouldn't have discovered how to make butter out of heavy cream and a marble inside of a plastic tub. Shake, shake, shake...pass to a classmate, cheer them on, poof! Butter! Spread on some saltine crackers and enjoy. Teamwork makes the best treats. Thank you Mrs. Billings.
I wouldn't have learned the power of friendship between a spider and a runty pig. Or how the smallest voice could be the most powerful in a sea of chocolate. From Charlotte's Web to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, chapter books became my friends thanks to Mrs. Krusinski.
While I may be a bookworm at heart, a simple "I believe in you" powered me through long division. Math became my friend (for a while) and a teacher that frightened me at the beginning of the year was now my super hero. Mrs. Kerby, you made me feel I could accomplish anything.
At the end of a hallway was tucked a room-dusty, crowded, and noisy. It was a sanctuary for middle school students like me who didn't seem to fit anywhere else. With our instrument cases and giant music folders, Mrs. Grom and Mr. Santelli coaxed us from rocky scales in sixth grade to eighth grade band where we were convinced we were master musicians. A gift of music is one that stays forever.
She was the "Ms." in the sea of "Mrs." She made us read short stories filled with gore and horror. We tackled American poets and playwrights with appetites fit for college lit classes. We wrote analysis essays and sat wherever we pleased. We felt respected and rasied our own standards. I've never worked harder for a teacher-in high school or college. Mary Styslinger (now Dr. Styslinger), you showed me what it meant to be a powerful, strong, and amazing English teacher. You were my model when I ventured into my first classroom. You fanned my own flames.
I never had a voice. Suddenly I was a soprano. I was shy. Now I had a solo. I trembled like a leaf. Now someone belived in my talents. I lacked confidence. I now belonged. We sang in Latin. We swayed to American Gospel. We improved to Jazz. We sang in the dark while standing on our chairs-to be "in" the song. Mr. Kochan, you gave me a voice. You gave me the gift of my song.
Without the teachers I have named, I would not be the woman I am today. The woman who loves discovering new foods. The woman who reads voraciously. The woman who has confidence in herself. The woman who can play the flute still and loves to sit and listen to a symphony orchestra, high school band, or jazz combo. The woman who taught High School English, will analyize literature, and loves to edit essays. The woman who sings in the car, even with the top down, because she knows she has the chops. My teachers all gave me gifts I am forever changed by. Today is Teacher Appreciation Day, and while I am always thankful for what they have all done for me-I am taking a moment today to pause and give them their time in the sun. Thank a teacher today-thank them for what they have done for you. Thank them for what they have done for your child. Or just thank one for what they do for any child. Just thank a teacher and make their day a little sunnier.
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