I pursued you like a theme, a song, or a dream in which you would have beckoned me to come. To come in from a solace, a sad place, perhaps an innocence in which I would hide. However you, like a foreshadow, knocked on my bedroom window, awaking me from my sleep. You whispered a truth only you could share. Oh, BC, you deceived me into thinking I was for you and you were for me. It has hurt, but yet there is comfort in this rain I cannot stand. This wind blows in my hair to aware me of the sound and the discomfort that swallows me in, like a grave in the dark, or a hollow in the Sycamore. Is there healing for me, even here? Bare I stand, before a shoulder cold, begging and pleading, yet, in deep despair, I realize the redemption doesn’t lie in the words of the thought, but in the brokenness of my heart. I searched you Truth, like a white stone, White Rock, a simple symbol of my time away from near. I asked you white stone, a symbol of my stay here, for a washing and a cleansing of the bitterness to restoration. I am and I could be, but this stain of humility, bleeds forth like the very presence of your beautiful rain.
I should just go to bed because the challenge of not eating after 7 is consuming my mind to the immense max of all maxes. All I want is popcorn and I want it NOW. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
I am so grateful for my mother. I remember when I had my first child the revelation of how much my mom did for me hit me really hard in the face. How ignorant was I to think life was so awesome with me. Jeepers! I remember the first week of baby one and the changing of 10 diapers in less than five hours. The inability to nurse and the screaming gut wrenching wails from the babe’s mouth rang through my ears like a train whistle blaring through with endless exhaustion. Oh and that exhaustion, come on now, one cannot even complain about exhaustion until they themselves have had the privilege of a new born bursting through the realms of what was once a place of Zen Tazo Tea, in other words a quiet and calm, or a safe house from the mad realms of the outside world. My back hurting having to change once again another poopy diaper, my hands chapped from washing for the zillionth time, and my clothes, ugh, don’t even get me started at the countless barf marks, stains and spit ups, that once disgusted me, could no longer even phase me. My hair, a mess and my eyes shrunken and haggard, and my skin, did I even wash my face anymore? Oh first born, what you put me through. But then something happens. This insanity becomes the new normalcy. Boogers in your nose, boogers in my nose, boogers in every ones nose! Perfection which once was bliss is replaced by a whole new set of word descriptions like parenthood, motherhood, perhaps even misunderstood. However, my mom was a superstar mom in my eyes. My early memories with her were those of riding horses, playing on the beach, and running in the backyard with our wolf-dog. I am extremely grateful for her patience and kindness. She never ridiculed me for not wanting to pin the tail on a donkey at another birthday party I didn’t want to go to, or ring around the rosy. She didn’t push me or force me to smile at the camera, but to remain as natural as I was which was typically in a state of chronic hysteria. Thanks Mom! I love you!
This was a great post workout meal. Tasty, zangy, roasted beet sweetness with a calming avocado coolness. This recipe is from Gwyneth Paltrow’s cookbook “It’s All Good.” Indeed, this salad was just that.
Roasted Beet Avocado Salad
2 Tbsp Dijon Mustard
3 Tbsp White wine vinegar
2/3 cups Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 pound roasted beets, peeled, roughly chopped
1-2 avocados, peeled and pitted
How To Play:
Wash 2 – 3 beets then and wrap in foil, and roast for 40-60 minutes at 425 degrees, until tender. Once cool, peel and chop. Add avocado and scallions. Mix all the dressing ingredients in a jar with a lid. Shake really good and pour liberally over the salad. Enjoy!
Ashley and I are about to begin our workout. We both have on our Mac lipstick, work out gear, hair up and ready to rock and roll, but with a very sudden realization, we haven’t a cool theme song for our working out challenge. If any one could suggest a really great workout theme song for me and Ash, we would very much appreciate it. Alright, it is time to get a move on, lipstick and all.
I fell in love with this song not too long ago, whether it be the mood, the season, the weather, or the current circumstance I feel I am in, I ran to it with endurance tonight. Perhaps the sorrow or the moodiness brings forth a certain justification to be free in such a melancholic state, a state I find rather comforting. It has been almost two weeks of this challenge of eating properly and being disciplined in my physical activities. I am happy with the results. Sean has returned back from Ontario. His birth mom has passed away, and though there is pain, there is hope. Life continues and death remains. I pray questions to be answered and lives to be touched.
Since Sean has been out of town, this little challenge has been challenging me in more ways than one. I have been finding it difficult to find time to write, time to eat, time to think, and time to work out, because there are so many different things happening in the day! By the time night rolls into town, I want to head to bed with the kids. Last night while they were eating their leftover chicken paprikash and dumplings, I ate Gwyneth Paltrow’s Millet and Chickpea Falafels and Tomato Avocado Salsa. I had it again today for lunch. SO GOOD! I have been happy with the results of my restricted eating compared to when I just ate chocolate whenever I wanted. My tight pants are beginning to feel slightly normal again, Phewie! It is amazing how after one week of strictness, our bodies are able to adjust to the sudden changes halfway into the second week. I am looking forward to Sean’s return and for my return back to spin class, also for the use of his phone so I can take photos of my meals. Oh trashed camera…how I miss thee. I can just imagine a few friends under their breath saying, “Well, if you would just get your own phone….” Any ways….that is not going to happen, but what is going to happen is 19 more days of this challenge and a possible weigh in, but scales scare me, so truly doubt it.
I joke I am addicted to chocolate or catch myself saying so loosely, “I’m addicted to Parenthood, I’m jones-ing for next week!!!” However, there is a grave reality that everyday addiction is robbing someone of their daughter, son, brother, sister, friend, father, or mother every minute of every day. Sad news was given to me the other night of a young girl, twenty-two, who overdosed. Like many I work with, we knew her or at least knew of her. She desired help and knocked on our door, until it was opened to her. However, she chose to leave, but yet never closed the door behind her. The reality of addiction perches itself like a gargoyle, cemented to the door posts of every generation, waiting eagerly for his next victim of incapacitation. We hear it every hour. Addiction is someone’s reality. Addiction is real. Addition shows no partiality or mercy to one.
I can not believe I came across this. Miley Cyrus covering Melanie?????????! Freaking out right now!