Recharge & Reset

We took a family beach vacay over the weekend, and even though it was cut short by hurricane Isaac, we made the most of the 2.5 days we had.  While I did have plenty of time to sit, toes in the water, and just...be, I did manage to completely wear myself playing in the water with my soon-to-be three year old. And somewhere between building sandcastles and wave boarding, I realized I've been running on autopilot.  Mommy survival mode, if you will.  Carrying out necessary tasks to keep the house and occupants thereof afloat.  Make breakfast. Feed breakfast. Clean up remains of breakfast. Wipe faces. Wipe hands.  Wipe bottoms.  Tidy house. Kiss children. Repeat for lunch & dinner, then sleep.  And before I know it, every aspect of my life is on autopilot as well.  There's food autopilot where my meal choices are no longer thoughtful, but instead last minute and often packaged.  There's wife autopilot where we exchange typical marital phrases, like "I love you" and hope that it makes up for the lack of conversation we've had in the last 24 hours.  And because I'm on autopilot, I find myself feeling bored.  Not because there is nothing to be done...because there are LOTS of things to do...but because I'm running the same track over and over and over.  It happened when I was working, so it's not just a SAHMommy thing.  Old habits die hard, and they are habits that I fall into because it's mindless. It takes zero effort and next to no energy. And then I realized how little energy I've had lately...which goes right back to what I'm feeding my body, and the general lack of fitness I am currently maintaining.  I did a happy dance when I was able to fit into and button my prepreggo jeans and pretty much quit worrying about my body by the time the zipper was up.  Now, while I am an advocate for rest, and I generally think most Americans work entirely too much and cram too many things into their calendars, knowing that I've been living on autopilot seems like a slap in the face to my adventurous spirit.  Not to mention what that attitude might say to the One who provided me this time here on Earth.  So today, I'm hitting RESET, people. 

Psshh. Who needs a January 1st date to make some life upgrades, anyway?  I change things up in August 'cause that's how I roll.

Beautiful Mess

-A friend recently called me a "mess"...and my former self might have shreeked and ran in the other direction, horrified that anyone saw me for who I really am.  But, at 28 years old, I laughed because it's true, and in a way it's so freeing.  I am a mess, and the beautiful part is that I'm finally okay with that.  In a world of Pinterest, Cosmo, and botox it's easy to spend your entire life trying to be someone you're not. But, lately, I'm too exhausted to continue the "perfect" facade {as if anyone was believing it}...so I've decided to roll with the hot mess that I am and work what I've got.  Yeah, ok...so what if I hate wearing makeup, my hair is never in place, I throw things when I'm mad {or maybe just trying to make a point...shoutout to my toothbrush}, I lose things, I laugh at things that probably aren't funny, I talk excessively when I'm nervous, I will never be gentically qualified to be victorias-secret-model skinny,  my house will never look like a PotteryBarn catalog, the number of gray hairs on my head are multiplying on the daily, my kids sometimes spend most of the day covered in their most recent meal, I don't always say the right things or make the right choices, and as of yesterday I may be known to walk in on strangers in the men's bathroom only to awkardly apologize for it later *palm to face*.  But I am who I am.  I'll never be perfect, and the good news is that I don't have to be.  God is doing a work in me...I can feel it.  So pardon the mess, but I'm under construction.
I may be a mess, but it's a beautiful mess.
 

Is That a Grey Hair?!

 My husband and I recently took a trip to Las Vegas, and while vacations always bring out our fun side, I realized {brace yourselves}, I'm getting old...{er}.  We sat next to a college student at the first show we saw, and I laughed out loud when she asked us if we were "going out" afterwards....after the show that wouldn't end until 11....PM.  Going out?! I thought I WAS out!  I also found myself wanting to avoid the young hip bar scene and opted for more civilized dining experiences instead.  And instead of, as I had planned, handing over cold hard cash to fling myself off of the 40 story Stratosphere hotel & casino with nothing but a few cables between me and the concrete earth below, I watched sheepishly from the bottom as others took the plunge, wishing I was excited about it as they were.  I talked myself out of it and found compromise with a carnival-ish roundabout ride atop the same hotel.  This will do, I thought.  But then as the arm of the ride swung us out over the side of the building, my children flashed before my eyes.  What if something goes wrong?  What will they do without me?  I could see the news story headline.  Two children left parentless.  Faulty hydraulic cable sends mother and father 40 stories to their death.  Who have I become?  When did I start looking before I make the leap, and in some cases, not leaping at all?  Somewhere between my 25th and 28th year, it seems I lost my cojones.  I used to be so carefree.  Fearless.  But the world that I once saw as my playground, full of monkey bar possibilities, I now see as the safety hazard that it is.  And instead of running right up and taking my turn, I tip toe my way through the minefield of caution signs.  They say things like "Early Morning Ahead"...yep, better not stay out too late.  "Make U-Turn Now"...before I fail or get my feelings hurt.  "Falling Expectations"....better be realistic.  And by the time I make it to the metaphoric apparatus, I've talked myself out of the adventure. Needless to say, I've marked a few things off of my bucket list...shark diving probably isn't a good idea.  Sky diving...seems a little risky.  In fact, I may just avoid diving of any kind.  And I'm not even ready to talk about the number of greys my hair stylist covered up last week.  *palm to face*...it's happened.  I'm officially a responsible{ish} adult.