I could tell you a lot about my sister.

I could even tell you things that would make her crawl in a hole, because that’s what sisters do.  We blackmail each other.

But the most important thing about her?

She’s good for my son.

& with a little wiggle room from all of us & a lot of discussion, we have hired her as our nanny until next summer.  I could not be more at peace with this decision, & more thankful to my sister for…well, needing a job.  & wanting Harrison in her life.

Update on the drama of the potentially broken scale:  Last week seemed to hold steady around 207 lbs, & today was 205.5 lbs. So I lost roughly a pound & a half last week, which is lovely.  It’s still going downward on the scale & I’m doing it while I’m happy. Which is huge.

Because I was thinking last night…it was easier for me to lose weight when I was a psychotic Eeyore.  Because quite frankly, I lacked the will to live.  I had little interaction with friends.  I either went to bed by 7pm or was awake until 2am.  I did not celebrate anything.  I did not go out.  I found zero joy in anything, much less food.  The idea of simply wasting away felt refreshing.  I’m not ashamed to admit that.  But now?  Now, I have lunch with girlfriends.  I find joy in stopping into Starbucks in the morning for a latte.  I bake my husband brownies on the weekend.  & it’s harder to lose weight this way.

Obviously, I’ll take being happier & holding onto an extra 10-15 lbs over the way I’ve been this year ANY DAY.  If you can’t agree with that statement, please bend over so I can put my foot in your ass backside.

It’s easy to lose weight when life shuts down.  But when life is more normal?  When life holds joy & people & excitement?  It’s harder.  Can I keep losing weight when life is “normal?”

Is it easier for you to lose weight when life is “off,” or when it’s more “normal?”

What 205.5 looks like with a dirty baby-smudged mirror.  & my favorite yoga pants that I’m wearing holes into.  Which means I should probably stop wearing them out in public.

Kind of like how I should take time to wash my mirror before putting it out there for the universe to see.  But at least the bed’s made.  & it’s not like your house is perfect, either.  At least, that’s what I tell myself.

Seriously, can you imagine the stress of constantly trying to look perfect on a blog?  I think about that a lot.  How I should put on makeup & do my hair & put on clothes that aren’t covered in baby puke, but then I’m all, THAT’S NOT REAL LIFE.  & then people would totally hate me for it.  & I’d rather you tease me for my bare feet than think I live this fairytale.

umm, hi, random rant.

I’ve had too much coffee.

Sometimes, that means a lazy early morning walk with Harrison.  You know, the kind where you just throw a sweatshirt over jammies & set out with coffee mug & camera in hand.  Not for exercise, but just to breathe in the crisp air, listen to a babbling baby, & appreciate the sound of sneakers against cool pavement.

(I love that sound.)

It’s 7am.  & we have the same chin.

RAWR.

The weather was incredible, the house was clean, & we started the day with pancakes:

I made the mistake of not having pancake mix in the pantry for the boys, so we went out as a family for a treat.  Harrison adored his pancakes, but was not a huge fan of grits.  Meaning they ended up getting spit out onto his overalls.  He’ll learn.  The weather was so gorgeous that there was no way we could go home to play inside – so we headed to one of the local parks.

& then my camera died.  GO FIGURE.

(yes, that’s a rare shot of me in glasses)

Pushing Harrison on the swing?  One of my favorite Momma Moments so far.  Watching his face light up absolutely made my heart explode with happiness.  & then tell Nate that we MUST, as in like YESTERDAY, buy him a swing for our house.  Because he loved it so.  Every time he swung towards me, he let out a peal of laughter, reaching up to the sky with his big eyes wide as saucers.

Does my life seem perfect right now?  Because to me, it feels better than I could have ever imagined.

Minus the fact that I can’t seem to keep my camera charged for the best moments.

I want you to be full of a clean house, porch-sitting with my husband, fall decorations, long walks, & napping with my boy.  It also wouldn’t hurt if you had a batch of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies in the oven & some sunshine streaming through the windows.

Most importantly, I want you to be lazy, care-free, & full of awesomesauce.

love,

Blair

It didn’t matter what was on the radio – Carrie Underwood, Britney Spears, Steppenwolf, Michael Buble, Jay-Z.  I even have Moses Hogan CD’s that I popped in, just to belt out Elijah Rock (don’t know what that is?  youtube it. you won’t regret it, I promise).  It was a free-for all for harmony.  Except  Nickelback.  I hate Nickelback.  & speaking of harmony?  I had it.  I could sing a third or a fifth with pretty much any song, thanks to four years in high school chorus.  I was that nerd that belted out show tunes, using hands for gestures, completely oblivious to the stares from other drivers.  I had no shame.  No worry.  Just pure exhilaration.

About eight months ago, I stopped singing.

& I didn’t even realize it.

Sometimes, it’s those little things that make me realize how sick I was this past year.  I stopped singing.  I stopped finding joy, searching for joy, or even wanting joy in my life.  The little things that made me who I am, that made me happy…they all slipped away.  Little parts of my soul that made up my quirks & character.  I became a shell of a person.

The other day, I put in an old Relient K album, turned up the volume.  Without a care in the world, I took in a deep breath & began belting it out with the band.  It didn’t matter that I sounded like a strangled cat in a garbage disposal.  It only mattered that the windows were down & a little boy was happily chirping in the backseat.  It struck me as odd & a little uncomfortable, which confused me…until I thought, “I haven’t done this in so long.”  I had not felt that free, that light, or that searching of little joys in the day.

But these days, I’m singing again.

me & mrs. lusher, belting out kelly clarkson.

I forget that my husband has fears & doubts & worries.  Partly because I see him as a pillar of strength, the unwavering head of our family.  Mostly because I can’t remove my head from my ass long enough to consider him.

& that’s just awful.

I forget that he’s worried too, when we drop Harrison off at daycare.  I forget that this is hard on him – that as much as I had yearned to stay home, he wished he could solely provide for us.  I forget that it’s not just my own sacrafices, but his too.  I forget that every day that I am tired from work, he is just as tired, plus he probably feels guilty that I have to work.  & that’s probably why he rubs my temples every night.

I skate over the fact that Harrison is his son, too.  That he’s as much of an extension of Nate as he is of me.  That it may be my chin & nose, but it’s Nate’s eyes & curls.  I forget that every time Harrison falls, Nate’s stomach flips just as much as mine does.

I forget my husband.

Because I am too obsessed with my own worries, my own fears, my own selfish desires.  & in a world where good, involved fathers are hard to come by, I have been too selfish in my own worries to appreciate the man that is raising our son with me.

In short?  I suck.

& I owe him about 4,000 temple rubs.

About falling in love with your own reality.

How often do I wish for a different reality?  I play these mind games so often:

“I wish I was a better mother.  It’s because I work.  I wish I could change my work hours or schedule or commute so I could be a better mom.  I would cook more & clean better & interact more.  I bet our house would even be cuter because I would have more time to think about pillows.  & curtains.  Maybe I could join a mom’s group!  That’s all it would take.”

“I hate our house because of how far away it is from everything.  & we can’t sell it because of this stupid economy.  When we can sell our house, I’ll be so much happier.  In our new house, I will decorate it even better.  & the yard will be immaculate.  I’ll have more friends!  Because they’ll live closer & we will entertain more!”

“I wish I were thinner.  I hate being fat.  I’ll be thin for the beach next year.  Next year, I’ll wear a bikini.  Next year, I’ll be happier frolicking on the beach instead of worrying about ass flab scooting out of my briefs.  One year to get into shape – I can totally do it.”

This is just so….UNFAIR to myself.  & it’s a miserable way to live, always wishing for something else, therefore making everything unobtainable.  Why torture myself?  Why cause hurt & resentment & grief when the answer is so simple?

Love my reality.

What if I completely put aside all the self-entitled wishes for the future, & simply decided to accept what life really held in the moment?  Would it keep me from jealousy & resentment?  Would it keep me living in the moment, rather than seeing each moment as an opportunity?  & without any jealousy & resentment & seeing life as each breath rather than anticipation…would I be happier?

(Not settling.  Don’t misread this to mean that I simply throw up my hands, drown myself in peanut butter M&M’s  – zomg, that would be so awesome -  & never strive for anything great ever again.)

But enjoying.  Really, really enjoying the life I live down to my fingertips & toes.  Go ahead & plan a football party & know that only two couples may come because of the distance – but enjoy the small group instead of wishing to be Hostess of the Year.  Buy a one-piece that flatters my body, rather than stuffing it into a bikini that makes me feel uncomfortable, just because I feel like I should be in a bikini.  Take those moments with Harrison to teach & instruct, rather than get frustrated in the discipline process.  Realize that I don’t have the time & money to spend at a fancy gym, but instead be satisfied in 20 minutes with Jillian Michaels’ because it is the best I can do & it’s what my reality affords.   Yes, I have to work for regular bills, but I can take pleasure in also being able to afford activities for Harrison & maybe help him through college down the road.

Fall in love with what is & what will be, rather than what I wish for.

Because y’all?  My reality is pretty awesome.  I’ve just needed to embrace it.

____________

edited to add:  i swear, i wasn’t trying to be a douchecup & say that stay at home mom’s sit around & dream about curtains. promise. i simply meant that i’d be in my house more, therefore surrounded by it, therefore having it on my mind more.  ::headdesk::  i is a genius.

edited again to add:  twitter has decided that it is totally normal to dream about curtains.  normal & socially acceptable.  especially with windows staring you down over a cup of coffee & a dining room table that desperately needs to be dusted on a saturday morning.

& twitter never lies.

{It’s no mistake that I have an appointment with my psychiatrist the next day.  I know my limits.}

I’ve been…apprehensive.  It’s hard to put my finger on it.  I KNOW he’ll be fine.  I know this is an excellent chance for him to spread his wings, become more independent, & learn social skills.   In my heart, I know it will be fine.  More than fine.  So why have I felt like gnawing off my toenails one by one in anxious fits all week?  Why have I felt that cement lump in my throat?  It’s not like childcare is a new territory for us – we’ve been rocking the working mom gig for over six months.  But still…I worried.  I worried that he would be afraid.  That he would not get along with the other children.  That he’d feel ignored, abandoned, or even resentful.  After months of one-on-one nanny care with my sister, a daycare center is a HUGE move for him.  In a desperate move to help calm my worry, I did what every obnoxious, over-bearing parent would do – I took him to daycare for an hour today.  You know, to “introduce” him to the teachers, room, & see how he’d do with the other babies.

I KNOW, I HAVE BECOME THAT DOUCHEBAG PARENT.

But at least I still refuse to have stick figures on the back of my car.

Every other parent simply drops their kid off, like normal people.  Me?  CAN’T HANG WITH THE NORMAL FOLK.  So I came by on my lunch break, nervously chewing on my lip & clasping Harrison to my hip.  We walked back to the room with the director & I sat down on the mat with Harrison, preparing for him to cling to my side with uncertainty.  Steeling myself for the separation & fear of a new environment.  Instead, he stood up, toddled on over to the teacher, & gazed up at her with a big grin.  He squealed with delight & made his way over to one of the cribs, reaching through the bars to the sleeping baby within.  & seeing two babies sitting on the floor, he dropped to his knees & crawled between them.

I held my breath as he & another 9-month-old wrestled over a toy, waiting for tears to come & the momma bear in me to sheath her ugly claws.  But as they struggled briefly, Harrison let go of the toy & moved on without any true trouble.  My heart burst with pride – he was smart & social & displaying skills far above his age.  All of my worries?  Unfounded.  & I realized while I sat in a puddle of baby drool on the floor of the center…

I’m the one that is clinging.  Not Harrison.

He’s brave & self-assured & assertive & everything he should be.  Whether it was the cheers when he fell, a kiss for no reason, an answer to every cry, I must have done something right as he learned to hold his head high & take on the world.  He will be fine in daycare.

It’s his momma that has to learn to let go.

Remember The Momma’s birthday party?

I jotted down “pumpkin pie pops” on my list of tasty treats.

Next to it, I wrote “I AM INSANE.”