And for once I was SuperMom

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

Bad Reputation

This thing, this thing with Aziz Ansari, this is the beginning of a reckoning.

I wasn't there.  I don't know what happened.  We've heard nothing from him.
She said she didn't want to.
But he kept pressuring her.
So she did.

He pressured.  She sent 'mixed signals.'  So he did.  Or her signals weren't mixed.  And he still did anyway.

Why didn't she just say no?
Because from the very beginning we are taught as women the best thing we can do is to please a man.  The best and most valuable thing for us to do is to make men happy.  As little girls we are told the stories about princesses, beautiful beyond measure (because we are most valued if we are pretty for men to look at), who await and are saved by their princes.  As teenagers we are sold magazines that teach us how to apply makeup (because we are most valued if we are pretty for men to look at), and how to get and keep boyfriends.  (As an aside; magazines for teen boys are about lighting fires and having adventures, so eventually I stopped buying teen magazines. there's really only so much ou can do with eyeshadow.) . As young adults those magazines turn to more expensive makeup and now clothes (again because we are most valued if we are pretty for men to look at), and how to sexually please a man.
All of this goes deep inside the female psyche.  We live in the male framework.  Women in a framework created by men are there only for men.  We place their feelings and needs above our own.  We twist ourselves sideways trying to become beautiful for them.  We are 'nice' when all rational behavior points to saying 'no' and walking away.  Because we don't want 'him to hate us.'

I can't say I would behave differently if I was in her shoes.  Star struck, in the apartment of an actor I have a crush on.  I'm sure Ansari knows this and knows he can get what he wants and sees no problem in taking it, because most men have grown into believing that women are there for them.  Even if they don't consciously know that they hold that belief.

While I don't particularly agree with revenge porn, and the way in which this whole issue was brought about may discredit the conversation.  The fact still remains the game is rigged.  Women are climbing on a scaffolding made by men to fit men.  Did you know the weight machines at the gym are created to fit men who are six feet tall?  Our five feet tall bodies are wedged into machines pushing against angles that are wrong for us and we wonder why we are not getting results.

People have said, 'but what about his reputation?'  We still would rather hold the professional reputation of a man above the feelings, safety, and body of a woman.  We are still catering and functioning in the male framework.  Women used to 'earn a reputation.'  Right?  For sleeping around or being 'loose.'  Maybe now men need to 'earn a reputation.'  For being a predator.  For being someone who can't be trusted.  Maybe, he earned a new reputation.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Wonder Woman

There's a buzz going on the internet these days.  About the movie Wonder Woman.  I've seen so many posts, read so many blogs about women saying they cried during the movie, felt relieved during the movie, or felt like tearing down walls after the movie.
I went to see it with my husband on Father's Day.  He made the comment that he started feeling good about himself that he was so advanced to go see a movie about a woman on Father's Day, his pick, but then he corrected himself, 'wait, it's just a movie.'
And that's the beauty of this movie, that it's just a superhero movie.
With a female protagonist.

I may have been prepped for my reaction with all the blogs that I read, but I did cry.  Was it relief?  Yes.  Was it pride?  Yes.  Was it connection?  Yes.
Did my heart recognize Diana's anger at the end of the movie?  Yes.  I've felt that angry, and never watched a woman on screen get so angry, without being depicted as crazy.  And it set me free.  We all get angry.  Watching a woman get so angry was terribly cathartic.
Representation Matters.
I've seen the hashtag and thought it to be true.  I watched the movie and felt it to be true.  This is why men are so confident.  They see men in movies do these amazing things.  Women don't get those depictions.  We don't see ourselves in superhero movies.

What I was most surprised at though, was my relief at watching the characters Hippolyta and Antiope.
I have three children.  I'm in my thirties.  I see the clock ticking.  I see my skin changing.  This aging thing is happening.  No matter how much kale I eat or how many miles I run, it's happening.  I will get older and my body will change.  I've come into my love of fitness and chosen to pursue a career in fitness later in the game.  I keep questioning myself.  Am I too old for this?  Is this for the young?  Am I silly for doing all these burpees?

There was one particular scene where the camera shot hit down on Antiope's shoulder and you could see the sun damage on her skin.  Not makeupped away, so she was more sexually appealing.  In fact they'd added a scar to her shoulder.  I recognized that skin.  It looked more like my own, than Diana's. Years of beach days, hiking, running, and just living life have freckled my shoulders.  I've no intention of hiding inside for the remainder of my years, so I'm sure that they'll only get more spotty.  When I saw that shoulder on Robin Wright, I saw my own.  Or my shoulder to come.  And I cried.  I felt tears release down my face.  Because here was a woman who looked like me in a role that was relevant.  She was not pushed to the side as someone's mother or wife.  She was a general.  Making decisions.  Training women. She was not boxed into relationship with a man or defined by her relationship with a man or relevant because of her relationship with a man.  She was her own.  She was relevant.
As we age women get pushed to the side.  If you are to believe Hollywood once we become no longer sexually attractive to men, because we had the audacity to age or give birth, we become irrelevant.  We no longer count.  Yet men get to continue.  How many movies have I sat through where I was confused by all the older white men on screen?  So many.  Too many.
And here were two women in their fifties, in control.  Still at the helm of life.

So am I silly for pursuing a career in fitness in my thirties?  No.
It ain't over yet.

Sunday, April 30, 2017


So there I was in the locker room of my local YMCA, and I hear a voice behind me say,
"I was just on the treadmill and the girl next to me was flying."
And I thought, 'oh geez, was that me?'  I tried to remember who was next to me on the other treadmill.  I couldn't remember.  The disappointed voice kept talking,
"She was doing like a 7, and she wasn't even sweating."
I thought, 'Well, that couldn't have been me, I sweat like a...a something that sweats a lot...' As I passed her on my way back to my locker I smiled, just in case it was me.  I didn't want to be the source of her discontent.  I didn't want to be the person that made her feel bad.  Everyone should be able to exercise to their ability and feel good about themselves.

Now I've been on both sides of this fence.  I've been the girl eying everyone else as they pass her on the track, and I've been the girl 'flying'  on the treadmill.

Here's something I want you to all know, never once have I ever thought, 'I'm going to run fast on this treadmill to make the person next to me feel bad.'
Never once have I ever thought, 'I'm going to throw myself down and do one more burpee to make the woman behind me feel out of shape.'
Never once have I ever thought, 'I'm going to lift heavier weight to make other people in the gym feel weak.'
Not even once.
I couldn't remember if she was the person next to me on the treadmill because I was focused on my own run.  Hear that?  'Because I was focused on my own run.'

This kind of comparing hurts everyone.

If we constantly compare ourselves to each other in ways that make ourselves feel bad we all lose.  If I know that my success makes you feel bad, I can't be openly proud of what I've done.
If you're looking around you comparing yourself to the other people who are 'doing better than you,' well then, you've already lost.

We've all done it, the sideways glance into the mirror.  The frustrated pat on some part of our body that we hate.  The 'go away' pat.  The 'I hate you' pat.  The 'I wish you were different' pat.  After a Spin class I did that sideways look, and I remember patting my belly.  That part of my body that has been stretched and pulled to produce babies, that part of my body that has never been the same after the birth of those babies.  I remember that angry pat, but what was different about that pat was that immediately after I corrected myself.  I thought, 'Lara, you just put yourself through a workout that would make some people throw up.  Be thankful for what your body is capable of.'  The revelation rang deep in me.  Don't focus on what I look like, but be thankful for what my body can do.

Exercise is one of the best things you can do for yourself.  Hours on the treadmill, weights lifted, time on the mat, it's all money in the bank.  All of it will help you feel good about yourself.  All of it will keep disease away.  If your only motivation is to look a certain way you will never win.  If your motivation is to feel good and chose health over illness you will always win.

Do you feel good after you exercised?
Than you've won.

Saturday, February 18, 2017

New Year's Resolutions

Here's how 2016 went for me:

I started the year with the New Year's resolutions:
1. Don't wear pants with a button until February.
2.  Drink as much coffee as I want.
3.  Give away more produce from my garden.
4. Try to eat more balanced meals.

I started my Group Exercise Certification.  So I could start teaching group exercise classes and work at the gym.

Then (about a week later):
I found out I was pregnant.

Then (a few weeks later):
I applied for a job as a teacher, at a community art program.  I saw the ad in my Facebook feed, and thought, while rubbing my growing belly, this is bad timing, but I should apply for it anyway.  I got the job.

Then (a few weeks later):
I was promoted Program Manager of that community art program.

I worked really hard.  I made a lot of spreadsheets.  I am not sure that anyone read them.

I left that job.  Because it was a mess.

I voted for Bernie Sanders in the primaries.
I got Hillary Clinton as a candidate.
I voted for Hillary Clinton in the election.
I got Donald Trump as a President-elect.

I had that baby.

2016 was not what I expected.  I did not plan on having another child.  I did not plan on getting and leaving a job.  But these things happened.
Scott predicted that my supervisor at that art program would not be there much longer.  I remember his exact words,
"He's not long for that job," I remember thinking, 'that sounds right,' but not being able to trust that it would happen.
When that supervisor actually got let go, Scott pointed out that he called that event.  And I couldn't articulate why I hadn't fully been able to think that he was right.  Then finally the words,
"I didn't think it would happen, because what's supposed to happen, often doesn't happen," tumbled out of my mouth.  Scott just nodded, he understood.

This year felt like a series of that.  Not that they are all bad things that happened, those things that weren't supposed to happen.
That baby wasn't supposed to happen.  But here he is, unexpected.  I don't feel like writing all the platitudes about what a blessing he is.  I knew he would be.  Once I found out I was pregnant I thought, 'let's just get this over with and give me the kid.'  Now, the pregnancy is over, and I am healing.  He is here, and he's delightful, and chubby, and gorgeous.

I started with my New Year's Resolutions.  I hate New Year's Resolutions.  Just another opportunity to find ourselves wanting and set up goals that we will fail at executing.  Goals that we will white knuckle towards, goals that our hands will loosen on, and we look at our empty palms and think, 'I didn't do it again.'  I tried to make my goals positive, not life changing or painful.  Fun.  Funny.  Not ways to improve my personhood, maybe just a few things to make my life more entertaining.

Let's revisit them:
1.  Don't wear pants with a button until January.  This is because I believe that January should be renamed Pajamuary.  January is the worst.  It is cold.  It is month long hangover after the holidays.  It should be withstood wearing only pajamas.  I have to admit that I failed at this goal.  I wore jeans at some point during that month.
2.  Drink as much coffee as I want.  Did it.
3.  Give away more produce from my garden.  The garden was not as successful this year.  Which is kind of what you'd expect from someone who's gardening philosophy is basically, 'let's stick this in some dirt and see what happens.'  I almost didn't do the garden when I found out I was pregnant.  Then I thought, 'it will make me move and it will make me eat vegetables.'  The garden accomplished that, I moved and ate vegetables through my pregnancy.  I would like some credit for that.
4.  Try to eat more balanced meals.  I was actually able to do this.  I added fruit to my breakfasts and started turning my salads into a more balanced bowl of whole grains and protein.
Did you read that?  I ate salads while I was pregnant.  I would like credit for that.

So let's try again, for this year, for 2017, here are my New Year's Resolutions:
1. Don't wear pants with a button until February.  I think I will make it this year.  None of my pants with buttons fit.
2.  Give away more from my garden.
3.  Get outside more.  Pregnancy is a funny thing.  The process makes you slow down.  Settle inward.  I didn't leave the house for much of the fall.  I needed to, but my family and myself suffered.  So that's a goal.  Despite the weather that New England can drum up for us, we're going to get outside.
4.  Heal well from my pregnancy.  Give myself time and be gentle with myself.  Don't focus on appearance, but health.  I want my back to stop hurting and I want to feel strong and energetic again.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Letter to an Insomniac

'Oh, well, I just couldn't sleep last night,' I said.
Her eyes grew wide.
I suddenly realized that I was speaking to someone who had never had trouble sleeping for one night in her life, ever.
I guess, I thought that everyone, from time to time, has a hard time falling asleep.
Even my incredibly emotionally stable husband, sometimes, can't his get his body to fall.
Even my lovely sweet friend, sometimes, can't get herself to stop thinking.
Even my strong brother, sometimes, can't relax in a new place.

I remember that first it happened to me, right after I had a child.  Those first few weeks of such extreme sleep deprivation. So tired all the time.  Even the most awake of us can fall asleep at the drop of a head, with newborn cradled in arms.  I remember my eyes, open, surrounded by a fog of dark, and thinking that adulthood just keeps on.  Even when you haven't slept in days, that sometimes your brain just keeps you awake.  Worries don't go away just because you're too tired to deal with them.

I remember those weeks that it happened to me in college.  So tired, that I think I went a little insane.  Nights built on nights, until I wasn't falling asleep until the sun came up.  The cruelty of those first bars of light.  The sandy feeling of tired eyelids.  Feeling crazy.  Feeling like something was wrong with me because I couldn't let go.

As adulthood marched on I came to know that sometimes you just can't let go.

Sometimes it's as simple as not having any time to yourself.  There's a song lyric, 'do you like you.'  When you're alone, do you like you?  Unfortunately I do.  Sometimes in the wake of children and husbands and guests, I don't get to see me.  I can't check in and think my thoughts.  Then when I lie down next to my husband at night, those thoughts come, they seep out from the space between my brain and my skull.  They climb on a carousel, that brings up some emotions I didn't know I had.  Or sometimes they just keep twirling.
Then I'm not tired.  Those thoughts are twirling.  Those emotions are brewing.  Or not.

Tonight, with glass of red wine to my left, feet stretched out before me, surrounded by a calm blanket of dark, I think I just miss me.

I want to go back to that young woman who was just so tired and wrung out and say, 'hey, hang out with yourself.  You're pretty cool.  Nothing is wrong with you.  Sometimes we just didn't take are of ourselves and our body can't let go until our mind does.'
I want to take her hand and say, 'that mind carousel is normal.  So many people have that.  In fact I kind of worry if someone hasn't had it.  Take some time. Get out of bed.  Climb on that ride.  Listen to the music.  Ride it around a few times.  Let it unravel.  You will sleep.'

So tonight I'll let it unravel.
Maybe I'll sleep.
Or maybe I won't.
Maybe I'll just hang out with myself.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Stolen Time

I'm left with the corners.

Some people love the corners.
The corners of the brownies.  The two sides of crunchy.
The corner piece of the pizza. That one that is mostly crust.  I would like to figure out a pizza that is all crust.  I would eat that.
The corner of the couch.  Pillows supporting you on both sides.
The corner of a child's blanky.  That piece that got rubbed and loved until there was nothing left.

I like some corners.
But not only corners.

It's the corners of my life that are left to me.
The end of the day.
When all I really want to do is sit on the couch (maybe even in that corner) and watch Mad Men with my husband.  Those are the moments left to me.  To drag myself into my studio and magically create.

Gracious, Lara, when you put it like that...
Well, I didn't realize it until I wrote it...

It's so hard as a mother.  So many needs crying out.  So many mouths.  So many people that you actually want to be around.
I keep learning things about my friends.
'I did an Ironman once.'
'I was a ballerina.'
'I hiked the Appalachian Trail by myself.'
'I raced outrigger canoes.'
I hear these awesome feats that my friends accomplished and I am proud of them.  The things we did before our time was taken from us.

In the book Out of the Silent Planet, C.S. Lewis paints a picture of a race of bear like alien creatures that only have sex for a short period of their life.  Sex is used for procreation and pleasure, but when their procreative years are over they stop having sex.  (The planet that they live does not have any concept or understanding of sin, all of the creatures live in harmony with each other and themselves.) One of these aliens explains to the main character, Ransom, that things are best experienced when you are given a chance to remember them.  This moment in literature has reverberated in my brain for over ten years, I read Out of the Silent Planet in a literature class in college.  The idea that you only do something for a short period of time and then cherish that particular thing in your mind afterwards, was a huge paradigm shift for me.  If something is good shouldn't you be able to do that all your life?  Especially sex?

Well, with the advent of modern birth control, we don't have to face the same choices that these bear like aliens did, but there are many things in life that I think it's best to wrap this idea around.
Sadly I think that some of the awesome things that we did in our youth are those things.  I was the one who raced outrigger canoes before I had children.  I loved it, I would spend three hours on the water for three days a week.  I was probably in the best shape of my life.  Then I moved to Chicago for graduate school.  When I left I had a sneaky feeling that I would never have an opportunity to race again.  As of yet, I haven't.  I have either lived in a place that was landlocked or just simply, haven't had the time.  I've been able to fondly remember racing; that summer when I was so strong and probably did most of the sun damage I have on my body.

Some things though, we just can't let go.  No matter how many babies need to be bounced.  No matter how many floors need to be swept.  No matter now many people ask of us.
We jam those things in the corners.  Right now, my children are in bed.  My house is somewhat picked up.  My husband is on the phone with his parents.  So I take this time to let some of that pressure that has built up out.  Like that first psst when you pop the top on a soda can.  Just let's the pressure out, so we don't go crazy.  A little peace of time to remind us of who we are, of who we once were.
An hour writing.
A long run...without the jog stroller.
Twenty minutes reading a book on the beach.
Sometimes you're not even alone.
Pushing off on a rock, up the trail.  Strong legs connecting with earth.
Warm sun on your back.  Anytime.
Bare feet in grass.  Always.
Sometimes it's even just looking at your children and remembering your childhood.  Their eyes seeing what yours once did.
Braiding clovers into crowns.
Swinging so hard that you think your feet will touch the sky.

You can roll these moments over in your mind, cherish them.  And every now and then you get to do something a little awesome, all by yourself.

Monday, April 6, 2015

Yesterday was Easter

Yesterday was Easter.
I didn't post yesterday.  I was too busy just being present.
I don't have any fantastic photos.  I was too busy just being present.

We rose early, before sunrise.  We drove to an outcropping of rock that overlooks the Atlantic, and two churches met and worshiped God for the miracle of His son.  I wish I could say the service was lovely.  It was not earth shattering.  I was largely distracted by hefting a thirty six pound five year old off the ground.  Standing, wrapped in a pink fleece blanket, and looking at the backsides of adults didn't seem particularly worshipful to her.
Can't say that I blame her.
The service was different, though.  A simple change of plans.  Instead of in church we meet outside and gazed at his creation.  Instead of a comfortable nine o'clock time, we met at daybreak.
I can get behind that.
The weather was cold.  We were nipped and chilled.  And maybe a bit more alive than inside the safe walls of a church?
But the sun showed up; bright pink, bright orange, and lovely.
My first east coast sunrise.

Afterwards we all made our way to the church building and enjoyed a pancake breakfast.  Pancakes came out slowly, cooked quickly to feed so many hungry and waiting mouths.  Parents waited, fed children first, hosts waited, fed guests first.  No one complained.  This was Easter after all.  We eventually all left full and warmed up.  Sharing this day with our family that we picked, eating with people that we've chosen to do life alongside.  Every church service should start with a meal.

We were home by eight in the morning.  We took our time, played with our kids.  Mid morning we hid eggs while the girls were distracted upstairs.
No one ever tells you that watching and hiding is more fun than doing.

One moment made me rethink it all; the first time my eldest ever did an egg hunt, she didn't seem to get it.  She would refuse the eggs that she didn't like, put them back and look for the 'right' ones.  She didn't end up with very many, I was worried she would be distraught when she saw how little she had compared to the kids that had gone full boar.  She wasn't bothered.  This year?  She was cutthroat.  Cutting her sister off, shaking with the urgency of getting as many as possible.  I thought, 'are we just teaching greed?'
Maybe we are.

Their baskets were simple, a few chocolate eggs, and a paper carrot filled with jelly beans.  And a craft; a ceramic bunny to paint.  They were so excited to paint those little bunnies.  That I did not expect.

A lunch of deviled eggs and salad.  The girls were so excited to peel the eggs that we had dyed earlier in the week.  That I did not expect.

I took my time cooking scalloped sweet potatoes and bacon wrapped green beans.  Celebratory food, a little more butter, a little more sugar than normal.
We headed over to a friend's house and ate and drank more than any one person should in one day.  The few of us who don't have family in the area.
This is the only thing that rings disappointing to me.  This makes me feel a bit like the leftovers.  That my family is gathering on one coast and we are here.  Our holidays with our girls have come to feel too quiet.  I miss the jokes my brothers would sling at me.  I miss the fussing that any of my parents would do over me.  I miss the extra hands to make work light.  I miss the extra mouths to eat the food, and celebrate a little too much butter and a little too much sugar.

The day was quiet, thoughtful, celebratory, out of the ordinary, but not over the top.  No stress.  No panic.  No unrealized Pinterest moments, ruined by children, being, you know, children.  I missed my family.  But I dug deeper into some good friendships.  My children got to do things they don't normally, and got to eat an inordinate amount of sweets.
So did I for that matter.