I hate all seasons.

You are being warned... this is gonna get a little personal.

So summer's coming. Did you know that? I mean it's 40 degrees outside right now (at least in Texas, I know my northern friends are FREEZING!) but everywhere I turn I'm bombarded with, "Get your beach body ready", "Summer will be here before you know it", "Time for shorts! Are you ready?". And then this lovely little one, stumbled onto my screen during my Pinterest browsing:

 

Okay. I get it. It's supposed to be funny. And then I thought about it and it crawled under my skin and here I am. Seething. Wanting to throw things. Because this little gem, it feels like truth. That's how my brain works. I can't wait to go to the pool, except I really hate the way I look in my swimsuit. I'm really looking forward to taking the boys to the park, except I'm sure my thighs are going to jiggle in my shorts and no one wants to see that. And don't even let my mind wander into tank top territory and how much I loathe my arms. 

I'm a size 14. I'm average. And I despise being average with everything in me. Everywhere I turn the magazines and the motivation boards and the workout pins and the food blogs and the television shows and the news, tell me, that my average body is just not good enough. I need a thigh gap... and by golly I WANT one, I NEED one! Why? Well because I'm supposed to, right? Heaven knows if I had one I'd enjoy summer so much more because then my thighs wouldn't rub together and then I wouldn't get the dreaded lady part sweat. You know let's just call it what it is: VAGINA SWEAT!!! I know it's not pretty to think about but it happens. Boob sweat happens too.

And I WANT wedding arms. Whatever the hell that is because my wedding was 9 years ago! But those arms look so good. That perfectly toned shoulder and bicep. The non-jiggly tricep. 

And I WANT that damn BRAZILIAN BOOTIE! Except I'm not Brazilian, and even in my thinner days I had no ass to speak of (white girl flat ass... it's a thing), and doing lunges is next to impossible because of how bad my knees are. I just fall over and it isn't graceful. 

And I WANT to be skinny. I know. (blah)  I'm supposed to say "I want to be healthy." (blah) "I want to be fit." (blah) "I want to be strong." (blah) But you ask any woman my size or larger what they really feel? How they really think? And I promise you, once you get to the core of it, we just want to be thin. Right, wrong or indifferent. We just want to stop being average and start looking like all the images we see EVERYWHERE! Because all of those images tell us we're not average. They tell us that if what we see everywhere is a size 2 than that is average and we are fat and we are bad and we are wrong for existing. Sounds harsh right? Truth hurts.

And you know what's really funny, I think I actually do prefer the cold but I'm not sure if that is a personality preference I've always had or if that's just something I've tricked my brain into believing over the last few years because I despise summer clothes and my body. I tell people I prefer winter. That I like to layer and love all the sweaters and boots and scarves. And because hating my body has become such an ingrained part of who I am I can't even distinguish the truth anymore. Do I love winter? Or do I love summer? I just really don't know. And I think that's something we should all be able to answer.

So here I sit, wanting it stay cold forever even though I can't feel my fingers as I type because of how cold they are! Loathing a season that isn't even here yet because I'm worrying over people I don't know staring at the cellulite that has cropped up on my thighs over the last year or the arm jiggle as I push my kids in a swing or my belly flab as slip into the pool as fast as possible hoping to hide all of my imperfections. Here I sit picking apart everything about me because some damn eecard that was supposed to be humorous just ended up pissing me off. And making me cry. 

And in my heart. Somewhere in the deepest, darkest recesses, I know I'm good enough just as I am. That I'm a damn fine mother and wife and woman. And that I've got no one to compare myself to because there is only one me and while I may want to change things about myself, the want to change does not mean I'm not a wonderful person the way I am. It just means I'm searching for growth and self-acceptance and inner confidence. And I should love myself. 

I should love myself. 

I should love myself.

I'm going to work on loving myself. 

Grace

I'm a little flabbergasted by myself lately. Who is this woman who constantly berates and belittles herself? Who is this woman who suddenly sees herself through dull and shattered lenses? Who is this woman with the "I can't do anything" attitude?

I'm not sure how I got here, since not so long ago I was so positive that I could put one foot in front of the other and successfully walk myself into a new and better world that could build me up to being the woman I'm meant to be. That all sounds so uplifting doesn't it? Yeah. Well. That is definitely not the way I feel right now.

Uplifted.

I feel lost. I look in the mirror and I see little that I recognize. A woman who hates her body. A woman who struggles to find focus. A woman who is pretty sure she's failing at being a mother lately. Failing at being a wife. A woman who should go to the gym but instead decides it's totally okay to eat that entire box of Thin Mints (Damn Girl Scout Cookie Season!!!). Because the food will make me feel better, right? Yeah. That'll happen.

And what's worse is that face looking back at me offers me no forgiveness. She offers me nothing in the way of comfort or grace. Ah. That's waht I need right now. A little grace. No. GRACE.

As in the biblical Grace. As in my Father forgives the sins of my body and my heart and my mind and covers me in Grace. Covers me in Grace when I don't know how to. Covers me in Grace when I can't figure out why I deserve it. Covers me in Grace when my questions are simply too much and too many to answer and He knows that what I truly need is a little Grace. God Grace. Heavenly Grace. His Grace.

And to ultimately give myself a little grace. And say, "tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow I will make better choices. Tomorrow I'll be kinder to myself, because there is always tomorrow." God has given me that. A tomorrow. A place and time to begin again. A knowledge that we learn and we live and hopefully, sometimes, we live and we learn. And in that process we lean on His Grace. Because we must. Because without it we are simply falling over. Falling into holes we've dug time and time again. And inside these holes are our fears and our imperfections and our inner (read: unkind) voices. And we cannot live in these holes.

At least I can't. I want the light and the kindness and the joy that I know is waiting for me if I can just trust in His Grace and climb. One foot in front of the other. A little bit higher. And lift myself up. So that I'm uplifted by His grace. So that when I look in that mirror I see a woman who has a God of love by her side. And He has covered her in that love and she feels amazing. She looks amazing. Because she has allowed herself the grace to become who she is supposed to be.

Yep. I've gotta get there. Time to climb.

A Lesson in Judgement

Hello blog! Long time no post! Nothing like a little anger to inspire the fingers and mind...

Last night my hubby and I decided we didn't want to stay in for dinner. So we loaded up the boys (and the devices of course!) and headed to Salsa. Its not a big fancy restaurant by any means. Its a local Frisco favorite of ours, as it is next door to our church and they always run coupons in the local magazines. 20% off every time we eat here? Sound good to me!

Anywho, I knew Logan was a bit whiny: no nap at preschool = a 20 minute cat nap in the car between the house and the bank and home again = waking up more tired than revived. But as it turns out, I'd skipped an ingredient on my grocery list this weekend so the casserole I'd planned on, was a no go and in all honesty, I just really didn't feel like cooking. So should we have gone out? No. But we did, so there.

We get to Salsa and the fighting has already began. Logan wants to play with the iPad not the Nook. This is the constant battle in our house. The Nook is only cool to Mommy, not to any of the men in the house. But you know what? It has Angry Birds and that's all Logan's going to play anyway! Of course it's Star Wars Angry Birds and not Space Angry Birds so of course his little world is imploding. Is there a difference? Really? He eventually gives in as he realizes he isn't going to win (see, we stood our parental ground! +1 for the parents!) and plays with the Nook. Food comes, another battle there, I've really got to stop letting them put the french fries on his plate! But he eats... sort of. So he's had 1 chicken strip and we're trying to get him to eat the other one. At home, he'd eat 5 without a problem, but of course, because we're out, it must be a battle of stubborn will!

Meanwhile a family has arrived. A set of grandparents, a mom and a little girl around 18 months. I teach preschool, I know how old the kiddo was. They were nothing spectacular, they sat across from us, the little girl was playing with mom's iPhone (no judgement here!) although she was spitting her quesadilla all over it, but maybe you have more money than I do and can replace that iPhone whenever you need to... not my call to make.

Logan progressively melts down. He's screaming about not wanting to eat but he wants to play with the iPad when he gets home... sorry dude, you don't get rewards for poor behavior. Jason takes him to the bathroom for a little private Daddy/ Logan talk. While he did drop the argument, now he's just a crying mess.

Now let me stop you here. Yes, by now I know it is more than time to go. I'm trying to get paid out and leave but you know sometimes waiters have jobs and we have to be patient as we aren't their only table. I get that. So we inform Logan he has one more chance to calm down or he and Daddy are going to have to go wait in the car. He loses his shit! That probably doesn't even come close to explaining what happened but it's the best I've got. He just screamed. And while my kid is prone to screaming in a silly, goofy, crazy, playful way this is not something he normally does out of anger or frustration in the middle of a restaurant. I. Mean. Shrieked! Like a banshee. Everyone stared. And while I was mildly embarrassed, kids throw tantrums, especially 3 year olds and it isn't the end of the world. So my husband removed him. While he screamed death upon the restaurant.

And then I looked up. And self righteous grandmother is holding up her red napkin to cover her mouth while side glancing at me over the top of it. Now, I know I have no idea what she said but since her daughter (could be her daughter-in-law for all I know) and her husband glanced (please read: outright turned their heads to look directly at me) my way, I get the gist of her talking points. My whole body began to shake. Forget being angry at my kid. I am so over all the judgment. From other mothers, other women in general. Parenting, motherhood, it's damn hard. And we all do the very best we can. So keep your comments to yourself.

While I waited for the check I stared at her. I couldn't help it. Here you are a woman who has raised her kids. Done her time. And you are still passing out your judgement? You're still staring at younger mothers thinking how you could have done it better? Please tell me how you haven't learned anything in your 55+ years? You don't remember what it felt like to be me? What, your kids were angels? They never misbehaved in public?

So I paid my check, and I checked my anger and I walked up to her table. And I said, "Just because you hold up your napkin doesn't mean I don't know you are talking about me and my child. Mind your own F'ing business!" And I walked away. I'm sure people stared. But I didn't look back because to be honest I was really proud of myself. For standing up for myself as a mother. I don't do it often enough. And yes, I said F'ing, even though it wasn't nearly as gratifying but there was a child at the table and children in the restaurant. So I'll say it here...

MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!!!!

All of you! Laugh. Look at me with empathy. Smile and say you've been there. But don't you dare climb up onto that shiny, white pedestal and start preaching your own version of how mothers ought to do things. Because I have news for you: there isn't just one way. I wish there was. I wish we all read one book and we all did it one way. It would sure as a hell be easier. But it would also be so damn boring. I like that we're all different. I like that we are all raising our children differently. I don't want to live in a world where everything is the same.

And with all of that, here is my apology: To any mother I've ever judged. I'm sorry. I know better. I know it's hard, I know you're tired. I know we all had grandiose plans of what it would all look like and not a damn one of them has come true. I know we planned on teaching letters and numbers with smiles and endless praise as they surpassed all of our stupid goals we'd set. And in reality they tore up the flash cards and threw them at our face and we fell asleep on the playroom floor.

I know you wanted to breastfeed more than anything in whole wide world. And you couldn't. So you cried and you bought a can of formula.

I know you wanted to stay home and do everything with your kiddo. Everything was going to be homemade and magical. And you hated every second of it. And that is okay.

So lets start passing out those apologies. Lets start granting forgiveness. Lets put our arms around each other and figure out how we walk this walk together.

But to that grandmother at Salsa last night, Fuck You.