not that i don't love my kids....

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 11:33:00 +0000

CBS.com has a great new Eye On Parenting section. Check it out and my article Reflections from an Airport Bathroom.

Sarah Jessica Parenthood

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 03 Jul 2010 01:15:00 +0000

I wish I could say that I started writing after I had my second child four years ago because I fancied myself to be the Maureen Dowd of Motherhood, easily dispersing paragraphs of perfectly phrased parenting gems to all of my readers. (all four of my readers back then, comprised of myself, my mother, my sister and my best friend). And pursuing the idea of becoming the ‘Carrie Bradshaw of Childcare’ is glamorous in theory but about as far away from my reality as I can imagine. My generation's most popular icon would write something like, “I throw on my highest louboutins only to drop my kids off at some fabulous and overpriced pre-school where they tackle three new languages before they pick their own snack from a co-op whilst I run off to lunch with the girls but only after I drop off my charming and disarming anecdotal article to the Vogue editors.” (Vogue somehow in this fantasy now has a parenting section. That one’s hard to manifest even in my own imagination.) The truth is I don’t own louboutins but I did find a very nice (and current) pair of Michael Kors shoes the other day at Marshalls.
The real reason I started writing was certainly not to disperse advice. Lord knows, I had/have none. And it was clearly not to describe my lacking wardrobe. It was purely for survival. I had to get the neourosis, the parenting pressure out of my head. And coupled with some therapy, it seems to have helped. I remember feeling envious of the ease and grace that other new mother’s had. They swiftly went back to work or whole heartedly embraced their new role while I fought the urge to rock myself in a corner. (Sounds dramatic, I know but I was once, a lifetime ago, a theatre arts major.) So, writing essentially became my lifeline. The antidote to the uncertainty and fear that accompanied this chapter of my life, the one entitled PARENTHOOD.
Becoming Mom. Wow. What a trip. But somehow as I navigated through my new “role”, I felt more whole when I got to share it with words. It thwarted the doubt in my head and gave me some strength when I felt I had none. And when I say “sharing” I don’t mean writing about the day that I actually did “do it all” and managed to shower too.
I’m talking about “sharing” the real stuff. Not the stuff we’re all trying to “present” to each other. Even one of Carrie Bradshaw’s most relatable moments was when she went down on the runway at Fashion Week. Wouldn’t you rather hear about the day I accidentally forwarded the pre-school director an email full of f-bombs regarding school policy? (Yes, it did happen. Yes, still cringing. And no, there is absolutely no way to get an email back after you’ve hit “send.” I’ve heavily looked into it fueled by a complete state of panic and I haven’t hit “reply ALL” since)
We’ve all had our good and bad parenting moments. The dark and light. There is the Luke and Darth of raising kids and I do think we should share and be proud when the force is with us but we also need to learn to be a little more revealing of the not so perfect. Sharing my many mistakes. It’s what has saved me. Literally.
So, if you care to read on, I can’t promise any good gardening tips but I would like to invite you into my backyard anyway. And I use this analogy because my backyard is a complete disaster right now. We’ve pulled up trees and the roots are showing. There are cracks in the patio cement. It’s a process and we’re working on it. I keep pulling the weeds and they keep growing back in this hot, Florida sun. Upkeep can be a bitch. And everything from my bikini line to my psyche to my parenting methods to the weeds in my yard need it. And they all need it often. My four year old happens to think that the weeds are beautiful and can’t understand why we don’t just let them grow, grow, grow....It’s a lovely sentiment for my analogy. (and for the record he’s never once commented on my bikini line).
So, although It does scare me to let people back there because of what they might think of me and my overgrown weeds, it scares me more not to let people into my home at all. That sounds lonely. So, the doors are wide open. The front and the back. I have an idea in my head of how I want things to look and then there’s how things really look. And if I’m not honest, well everyone will know right away anyway.
I know that I’m "supposed" to enjoy the pulling of the weeds, the washing of the dishes and the every single night-nighttime bath and bed routine. I am “supposed” to apply the same ujayi breath used in a yoga class to my everyday life and just enjoy the journey. And most times I do. But sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I find 3 day old sippy cups under someone’s bed and I’m not so go with the flow about it.
So this blog is a ‘welcome mat’ at the entrance of my backyard. Uneven cracks and bumpy roots and old sippy cups and all. It’s not at all how I envision the final result to be but come on in anyway because it could take me a lifetime to get to the finished product. There are a lot more mom’s out there who write blogs and have cleaner kitchens and tidier tidbits but maybe you’ll find some comfort in my mess. Over time I have found moments where I’ve realized that the mess, if embraced could be considered abundance. In those moments, weeds can be seen through the eyes of a four year old and my abundant sippy cup does appear to be spilling over. And I’m sure yours is too. (and not just with three day old milk).

Surrender

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 16:22:00 +0000

Check out my article entitled Surrender at a great new publication, Hybrid Mom.
Wishing everyone peace and harmony!

'Om'Bob Squarepants

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 17:54:00 +0000

"Mommy", said my Five Year Old, "I can see things when I close my eyes. I can see the future."
"What do you see?" I asked, simultaneously intrigued that she was naturally inclined to meditate and also hoping that she wouldn't say "Dead People".
"I see babies and piggies and anything you want you can see in the future when you close your eyes."
Profound, I thought, knowing she was talking about those random flashes and spots you see when you focus on the inside of you eyelids. I was happy to hear that on her own she had found a way to take a moment and just be. And since I believe to a certain degree that if you stick with that third eye stuff you really can "google" up your own future as if we were our very own search engines, I wanted to encourage this behaviour.
The next morning amidst the craziness of trying to get ready for the day, my daughter stopped me in my tracks. She shushed my "get your shoes, brush your teeth" and all the rest of it with "Empty your mind, Mama."
Now, I really was taken aback. I started thinking I might have to contact someone in India to let them know that we had the Buddha Whisperer on our hands right here in Orlando, Florida.
"Where did you come up with that?" I asked, thinking she would answer with "dance class" or "yoga at school."
But no, all hopes of me having been the one to birth this generation's Dali lama went out the window when she simply replied with: "Spongebob."
Still, it was a very smart move on her part. We told her no more Spongebob a couple of nights ago when we heard the word "idiot" too many times during one episode. She definitely wanted us to see the yin to Bikini Bottom's yang. Perhaps it was to show us that the path to true zen enlightenment can be found by either closing your eyes or by turning on Nickelodeon.

twediting myself

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 16:52:00 +0000

I've been teetering down my twittering and self editing my Facebooking lately. It's not that I don't have the urge to write things. It's just I have to fight the urge to write really inappropriate things that maybe my old High School English teacher doesn't really need or want to know. Or anyone needs or wants to know for that matter.
"Can't wait to spend another day with my 3 year old" (read on a day where I am counting the minutes until bedtime) or "just took a 12 mile soft sand beach run" (read on a day where I've consumed a box and half of something that's surely not good for me or my thighs) posts have me really rethinking my 'update now' box.
Social Media as a marketing tool I get and even as a way to be funny and irreverent but should the bragging be banned?
Three or so years after I started my blog amidst a move to a new city where I battled bouts of PPD while simultaneously trying to create a support system, I am finding now though that instead of wanting to purge out all the fear and anxiety that being a parent brought, I want to breathe in every second of sweetness that my kids bring to me. And as much as I feared sharing my insecurities back then, I am equally afraid to share the Pollyanna parent in me too. At least on Facebook. Because frankly, it's annoying. It's annoying to hear someone complain too much about their kids and it's equally annoying to hear someone brag too much about their kids. Therefore, I've come to the conclusion that maybe I should just stop talking about my kids. But I can't. It's simply too big a love to shut my mouth. The same way I nauseated everyone of my friends after I first met my husband. Somewhere along the way, I suppose stopped outwardly gushing to most people's relief. And I guess, life eventually did balance out: I stopped watching baseball with him and he stopped watching the Tony awards with me; although we do come find each other on commercial breaks for a chat or a kiss. (or a "can you please put your socks away?")
So, for now, I'm holding back on the 'ultra-annoying FB-look at me' posts. Of course, I have to sprinkle my page with the occasional kid photo, quiz and a "Candace Martin is so hungover" just because I'm bored and have trouble showing restraint. But if you see me posting old head shots and resumes please defriend me. I won't be offended.

I am my own TUCKS.

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 30 May 2009 16:59:00 +0000

So, my daughter learned a new word. She's really been practicing using it in a sentence too. And often. So far, I've heard: "I HATE broccoli, I HATE salad and I HATE you." The final one was loud and repetitive and occurred as if on a loop during a massive meltdown that earned her an extremely early bedtime and me a much needed call to my BFF who lives across the country.
I called her as soon as I knew my vocabulary queen was fast asleep so I wouldn't be subjected to any further verbal attacks in front of my visiting mother in law. Such a proud moment for me. "Look what a good job I'm doing raising your grandchildren! Such correct word placement in her sentences!"
I vented for a moment and then the conversation turned to how ridiculous some people's updates are on Facebook (it was a deep talk). We amused ourselves with certain parent's mundane accounts of their kids every move as if they were the only procreators on the face of the earth.
"Uh, oh" I gasped suddenly realizing: "I'm one of them. I'm a MOMMY-BLOGGER. Not only does my Five year old hate me but I write about it anecdotally!" But then like all good BFF's do, she talked me off the ledge. She started using words like "unique, relatable, irreverent, funny." And I let her blow that much needed smoke up my bum because nobody around here was doing it today and the breeze felt nice. Like a cool Tucks on a hemorrhoid.
Then I shared an idea with her that I have for a reality TV show about mom's who want to try new adventures. Kind of like "cougars" meets MTV's "Made" and she made me feel like there was no question we would be watching my dumb pilot idea on TLC within the year.
"Now I know you are just making me try and feel good," I said.
And she assured me in the way that she does. In the way that makes 3,000 miles feel like she is on the couch next to me. She said that yes, she could see how it would be hard for me to believe her because she really does enjoy all of my kooky ideas (many of which start with a bang and a phone call to her and then chug along without much notoriety after that).
And I do believe her because I trust her completely. I know with all my heart she will hang up that phone and not be thinking different things than what she told me. And that means the world to me.
I went out for drinks later that night with that feeling like it was just fine to be me. That maybe even a person or two enjoys me just being me. Maybe I even enjoy just being me. And with that I allowed myself to admit that my bum maybe even looked good in my new non-mom jeans. And that's when I knew I was really being my very own BFF. My very own Tucks.

Legalize it.

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Wed, 27 May 2009 02:57:00 +0000

There are a few things I want my kids to look back on in bewilderment when they are older. I'd love to hear my son say, "People didn't recycle and you didn't take your own bags to the store back then? Wow. That must have been a long time ago." Separating their trash is second nature to them and taking care of the earth is a concept that just makes good sense to any Five year old.
And I also have this vision of my daughter saying, "I can't believe Gay Marriage was ever illegal. People were really ridiculous back in the day." Just like my generation does now when we think about the history of voting rights. I know the civil rights movement wasn't that long ago and by no means do I think racism is non-existent. But there is such relief in the fact that my kids are growing up with Sasha and Malia in the White House and now they really know and see that the color of a person's skin is a non-issue when it comes to achieving greatness in life.
So, let's get it together already with equal rights. Like Whoopi said the other day and I really don't love quoting 'The View' but this was a good one: "If you are against Gay Marriage, then don't marry a Gay Person."
Let's just leave it at that.
And here's to equal rights for everyone being a non-issue in our very near future. Let's have our children only know that marriage is for anyone who chooses it and in any United State they wish.

educate yourself and be heard.

not gonna 'should' on myself

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 09 May 2009 19:51:00 +0000

I was inspired when I heard that the Post Partum Progress Blog was hosting a Mothers Day Rally for Mom's Mental Health tomorrow. I am actually spending this Sunday away from my own children. Ironically, I have flown to Denver to be with my sister and her very newborn son. The sense memories that are rocking my mind as I am rocking my new nephew couldn't ripen my brain anymore for sharing about those early days of new mommyness.
Of course, I am resisting the urge to tell myself that I wish I could go back in time to my first weeks after delivery and enjoy it more. I am trying not to tell myself that I 'should' have been more relaxed. 'Should' have done this. 'Should' have felt that.
As I hold this new beautiful baby I am filled with zero anxiety and depression. I can only gaze in awe at his loveliness. I am ultra relaxed when he cries for milk or opens his eyes from too-short of a sleep. I am not in pain and I am not tired. I am not feeling psychotic in the least.
So on this eve of Mother's Day, I am choosing not to berate myself for wishing I was this serene with my own Newborn Babies. Instead of berating myself, I am forgiving myself.
Those early days when I wanted help yet had to know more than anyone who lovingly offered it. My new mom ego and pride punctured if the wrong somebody dared to offer sound advice that actually worked.
I knew my own baby.
The problem was, I didn't. And I was scared that I never would.
The course needed to unfold on it's own but trusting it was so overwhelming. Day into night into day into night. The Buddhist Zen clan would say, "stay in the moment." I get the concept of embracing each diaper change as if there were nowhere else I'd rather be. But how come I was wanting to stuff my new addition in the genie along with each soiled swaddler? How come I was OK with maybe throwing out the baby with the bathwater? And how could I not hate myself for feeling like that? And how could I explain that feeling to anyone without eliciting a response of sheer horror?
I suppose the hormones, the move to a new state with no friends in sight could be to blame. But I think those variables only compounded the neverendingness of it all. The fact that no matter how much of a feminist I was and am, I knew I was the Mama. The one who could never just go take a shower, run out to the store, fall asleep, watch a movie, have a life.....(what felt like then.... ever again). The pressure of such a connection. A connection so glorious to me now. So frightful to me then. I had given away pets and only rented apartments. I hyperventilated after my own wedding even though I knew that I had married the perfect man for me. Permanence. Change. I welcomed both not so gracefully.
So, now my babies are Five and Three. I suppose that my current down days can't really be classified as PPD anymore. They do stem from feelings of "I really want to walk away from you guys right now" But those feelings are as short lived as my new nephew's nap. My life is so much more balanced now. It's so much easier to adopt the 'in the moment' zen philosophy when you know pre-school starts in half an hour and the babysitter is a phone call away. And now my eyes actually fill with tears when I think of how fast it's all going. When I realize one day they won't want something from me every waking moment of the day. And sometimes night.
I remember when someone once said, "the days are long but the years are fast." I wanted to throw the baby monitor at their head. It was all slow and I was resentful that there was such pressure to pretend that it was all so precious.
As I look at Newborn Nephew, I know that it really is all so precious but I forgive myself for not feeling that way all the time with my own newborns. Healing and adjusting and trying to wrap my head around the fact that a human was just pulled out of my body was not cause for happy, shiny feelings all my doo dah day.
My PPD did not pass quite as quickly as the nap that I described earlier. And in a sense I did combat it one moment at a time in the best zen way that I knew how. I wrote back then to give myself a voice. I write now to lend that voice to others.

www.Postpartum.net

www.postpartumprogress.typepad.com

a little gloating will have you floating..........

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 00:14:00 +0000

Total humiliation via skype. Instant Web Karma on the Web Camera.
I was rubbing the 80 degree weather in the faces of my family in Colorado who were not as fortunate with their climate today. As I smugly toted my Macbook Pro around the pool so they could get a good look at the kids splashing in the jacuzzi, I decided that if I sat on the edge of the chaise lounge, it would give them a better angle. They got a good angle all right. They saw me go ass over tea kettle into the pool WITH my laptop and the lounge chair. It was my Bridget Jones moment caught on skype. The last thing they saw was my bum and legs and the last thing they heard was "splash." And then all communication was lost.
Please, if you need to feel graceful or better in anyway about your own life, visit my blog. I have no disillusions about my lack of slickness. I am here to tell all. On my husband's computer, of course, while mine sits wrapped in a towel awaiting it's fate at the genious bar tomorrow. Sigh.

My New Rules a la Bill Maher

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 14:52:00 +0000

I saw Bill Maher live last week and he was great. I love his show, misogyny and all. Bring it. I'm ripping his New Rules segment off for this blog entry.

New Rule:
No more letting my husband watch Star Wars on Spike TV with my Five Year Old. The commercials are less appropriate than the actual Star Wars movie is for a Five Year Old. "Daddy, what's a Trojan Party Pack and can I get one?" He told her that the commercial is just trying to sell a lot of balloons because everyone is buying in bulk due to the recession. She was either OK with that or Yoda came back on.

New Rule:
My son is not allowed to tell me my boobs look like King Triton's anymore. I have no idea what he was implying but I know it wasn't good.

New Rule:
I would really like my contemporaries to stop crushing on pre-pubescent boys. I like to be thinner and younger than my men. And preferably have them be straight. Unless, we're shopping. Zac Efron does nothing for me. What happened to depth and humour? Gabriel Byrne? George Clooney? Do all these women really want to relive high school? And as a musical for that matter? I just now started liking Leo Dicaprio since he broke 30 years of age, proved he's a great actor and gained some lbs. I had more of a crush on Kate Winset than him during all that Titanic crap.

New Rule:
Can Gay people please just get married and we can all move on? I have a hunch if you are a man and against gay marriage, you are secretly wanting to "shop" with Zac Efron. And you're scared your wife will find you beating it to her People Mag with him on the cover.

Thank you and G'nite. I now must take my Children and My New Rules to Chuck E. Disease for their school fundraiser.

progressive passover?

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 12:57:00 +0000

Passover brought to you by Skype.

"Cuz down the shore, everything's all right...." Or is it?

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 23:41:00 +0000

Until last week I was so proud to be a Jersey Girl. But I'm sorta hanging my head in shame after this. Are these gals even worthy of the "salt of the earth" title of Jersey Girl. There is no way Bruce was singing about them when he wrote and recorded this.

And what to think of my Beloved Boss and fellow Jersian now too? What's with this?

Check out this great Washington Post Article about Real Housewives and how we still might be OK as a human race because a snide remark and ungracious disgusting excess incites us to yell at our TV. The TV we just can't stop watching.....

"Sha la la la la la la.........."

which is scarier?

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 19:40:00 +0000

I let my kids watch inappropriate movies. When I mention to other Mothers that my daughter was so excited because her uncle just downloaded Jurasic Park Three for her off the computer, there is never any sort of "agreement nod" like "yeah, we watch that kind of stuff too." I just sort of get a blank stare and an "Oh."
I guess on some level I realize that my kids will probably end up in therapy anyway due to "My Bad" and maybe I'm kidding myself into thinking that I'm pickin' and a choosin' what their couch-time issues will be. I realize this is a lame grasp to control what they will eventually blame me for. I heart therapy myself and should know better than to assume I can control how anybody thinks especially my very own kin. But for the time being, I do have control over the clicker and in a world of mixed media messages, we kick it old school here with early eighties Sci Fi sagas.
I try and monitor the Miley and keep the princess culture on the downlow yet I pretty much let them have free reign on the Star wars and Jurasic Park trilogies. I guess my own Free To be, You and Me upbringing is unconsciously or consciously feeding the current television regulating. I find it far scarier to let my daughter believe that one day her Prince will come and rescue/save/"let" her live happily ever after than to have her watch a t-rex gobble a guy off the potty. (and probably more likely).
I'm partly pushing them into certain interests and I'm partly responding to what they respond to. They'd both much rather watch Ewoks than Hannah Montana. But the question arises, Is one more appropriate than the other? I read this interview with Dr.Drew at Babble.com which says that my aged kids are too young to be digesting this Celebrity Cyrus Circus Culture and though I completely agree, it's partly because those things do not appeal to me. I don't NOT let her play with barbies but she's never gravitated toward them and that's been just fine with me. I like when my daughter asks about the Good v. Evil concepts from Star Wars, (I'm not saying that I didn't come up empty when the whole cutting off the Father's arm with a light saber came up) but overall I'm pleased as punch that she wants to be an Archaeologist when she grows up and was Darth Vader for Halloween.
I let my son wear Princess nightgowns to bed if he so desires and I can never answer correctly at a Drive thru when asked if I want a girl or a boy toy in a Happy Meal. So, maybe it's not so much what I push on them but what the rest of the world pushes on all of us. My daughter told me she likes "Boy stuff". I told her it's everybody's stuff. Her toy box celebrates gender equality. There's a nice mix in there. And hopefully she'll find a nice mix of people and ideas when she starts to explore the world on her own.
Turning a stereotype on it's head has always been interesting to me so encouraging my kids to be themselves instead of anything else is exciting. However, I am guilty of not being age appropriate in my methods. And maybe it is more about me than them. Perhaps, I'm just like a Toddler and Tiara mom but instead I can't wait to take them to some sort of Trekkie convention. I guess the ignored ideology behind lipstick and lack of clothing at a young age feels more threatening to me than meteors crashing. I have less control over the embedded message in the former.

You'd think I never had a kid (or two for that matter)

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 04 Apr 2009 14:28:00 +0000

My best friend had a baby last August and my Sister is due this month. I have no advice for either of them. I don't think this is because I messed up my kids. I love my kids and for the most part, they are respectful and fun to be around. (For the most part!) When my friend called completely sleep deprived asking for some advice on schedules and nap routines, I drew a blank. A big, fat blank. "Hang in there?" I would have hung up on myself.
I know so many mothers who pride themselves on having the "Answer". The "Solution." And they probably do. Kids that sleep night after night peacefully, who potty train on demand and have never ingested a piece of fried food or sticky candy. Me? I just do the best I can in the moment. I panicked when the pressure to be a seasoned parent was upon me. Is it OK to say, "Duh, I dunno?"
When my friend called, I so very much wanted to have the answer for her but I found myself playing both sides of the fence and declaring my unconditional love for her no matter what she chose. "Yes, yes, sleep train, the baby will be fine!" (which I believe) and then "Yes, yes, let her get up and hold her if it gets you the rest you need, the baby will be fine!" (which I also believe). I think the bottom line is when it comes to parenting, the only hard and fast rule that I have is that we make the best choices we can in each moment and support each other along the journey.
I've seen the "eye roll" from other mothers. I know I've been categorized and scrutinized and judged. I've done it too I suppose to make myself feel better in this sea of parenting uncertainty. But it does hurt. It does cause my already unsteady footing to stumble a bit off the never ending balance beam. I try and shake it. I try and not have those imaginary conversations in my head, "Oh yeah, well you don't even know me nah nah nah nah nah bitch." Yes, it reduces me to part toddler, part High School mean girl. It's so easy to know how to raise someone else's kids.
When I came up empty for my dear friend, she ended up being the one to reassure me. "I'm so sorry", I said. I wish I had the magic answer. I flashed back on my days of PPD and long nights. The only thing I can offer is, "It really is and will be OK." She responded with, "That's what I needed to hear."
My friend and my Sister have people to go to and books to read for the tried and true remedies but for unconditional love, stories that will make them feel better about their own child rearing and a phone that will be answered at any time of the night, they have me.

Double Date Night

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 02:50:00 +0000

My husband and I went out to dinner Sunday night at a cozy country french restaurant. As we sipped our first glass of wine and tried to forget the image of our children pounding on the door begging for us not to go (new babysitter), we began to relax and enjoy some uninterrupted conversation. Just as our appetizers were served, a young couple came round the corner and sat so close to us you would have thought it was picnic dining on a commune. Like I said, it was a cozy restaurant.
At first, I had to peel both sets of our eyes of the big boobies that were coming our way and remind us that we were here to talk to each other. It was slightly disconcerting as "they", I mean, she was in my direct line of vision the entire evening. As both of our "dates" progressed I began to draw some interesting distinctions between the young and seemingly new couple and the pair of tired parents that would be us.

Firstly, I ate. She did not. I heard (more than once) as I tucked into pate and chicken with vegetables, "All this food for me?" Ahh, I remember those days well but children and life had made me hungry. And a shared love of food and wine was a key element in my marriage so I wasn't about to play coy.

Secondly, we talked. They giggled. Rolled eyes at the quirky waiter and tried to think of something to say to each other while he ate and she watched. We talked about the kids. And the Pelosi Problem. And the kids. And then we did our famous trip down memory lane. Remember when we lived here, pursued this or that, had no money, had no money, had no money, had no kids..... Remember when we were ten dates into this instead of ten years?

And lastly, we had sex before dinner smartly thinking ahead about how full and tired we would be after. Which left plenty of time for us to watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall before we fell asleep. Young Couple probably did it before din din too. And they were probably heading home to do it again. And again. And then watch Forgetting Sarah Marshall too as they're definitely more the demographic for that film and we're, well, we're just immature.

So as we got full on wine and conversation, and the Young Couple came and went, I thought wow, we are "seasoned" in a sense and when did that happen? All the places we've lived, the adventures we've been on, the money we've had to work for and the journey we've taken. No longer nervous about a night out together was now more just us being anxious to reconnect.
And I didn't even feel to bad when I went to the loo and realized that I looked nothing like the image I was keeping in my head. It was Okay that the person who stared back at me was more of a cross between a bloated Rachel Ray and a manic Jill Zarin than the effortless natural beauty look that I was going for. Because at this point, He loved me no matter what and I was pretty damn happy with the fact that we were healthy, in love and had made it this far.

And if anyone is wondering how you have sex before dinner while trying to tend to two kids and get ready, I strongly suggest hiring a babysitter an hour earlier than you need them.

Thank you and Good Night.

Holy Hamantashen, Batman!

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 21:28:00 +0000

Just call me Martha "Jew"-art!

my small intestine is getting big!

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 01:18:00 +0000

I've been seeing my acupuncture team at the College of Integrative Medicine for a few weeks now. It's nice. It doesn't cost much because they are students and It's been a nice gift to myself. What I like about the treatment is that it seems to cover everything: mind, body and soul. I can't remember the last time a Doctor or for that matter even a friend took such interest in me. There has been genuine concern for all aspects of my health, well-being and lifestyle.
So, this past week, I knew they would have a good suggestion when I asked what I could do about feeling "stuck." This lingering congestion has been "stuck" in my chest and unable to move has been paralleling some other stagnant movement in my life. I believe the physical and emotional are feeding each other and I wanted more progress. The needles were helping but I suspected that some of this was due in part to my own behavior.
I wasn't taken aback at all when I was told to clean out my closet. Literally. "Stuck" stuff apparently has to do with my small intestine or something like that. And while I don't really understand the minutiae of it, I did know that my closet sure had a lot of crap in it that needed sorting out.
I assumed I had been avoiding seeing the bottom of my closet because I didn't really want to deal with the whole "these jeans don't fit me anymore" issue. But what I really found in there next to the never worn slippers and scuffed up fit-flops surprised me. I had no idea this was even bothering me. Well, I had an idea but I just kept pushing it out of my mind and down into my body. Resulting in a cold that just wouldn't quit.
I had stashed a bag of my daughter's baby clothes in my closet because I was running out of room in hers. My first baby turns Five on Saturday and suddenly I realized that I had to confront that bag. Which really means that I have to look at how it feels for me to let go. Letting go of her clothes somehow translated into letting go of my baby. And I don't want to do that. That feels stuck in my throat and in my chest. But mostly it's stuck in my heart.
I thought the endless days and night of Baby-Ness would last forever. That's why I bitched so much about it. It had become my identity. I feel like it was just yesterday that I was writing about my Two Year Old not sleeping and now I sit here with a whole other Two Year Old not sleeping while my first child dreams away on her big girl bed. The days that used to take forever to finish are now slipping through my fingers and there aren't enough minutes in a lifetime to tell her how much I love her. It's dramatic I know but I can feel Five turning into Ten and then melting into Fifteen and I can't believe I wished a second of those sleepless nights away.
(Well, yeah maybe I can.)
I just want her to know how much I love her and as she gets older, I have to convey that to her differently. Part of showing her I love her is by letting her go. Giving away that precious bag of baby clothes and stop wondering where the time went is going to be a challenge for me. I have to replace my pining for her chubby legs by just letting myself marvel at the wonder that is her now. Respecting her and enjoying her in all that Five Year Old Glory.
So, I sit hear hacking and crying but I can feel that the stuff is moving. It's moving out of my closet and through my body and it hurts which is probably why I tucked it away in there in the first place. Ignoring the pain is something we grow so adept at. Sometimes I don't even know what I'm trying to avoid because it's buried so deep beneath so many pairs of out of style pumps and old sneakers. And while buying new shoes can certainly be a heavenly band-aid, it's still just a band-aid. Another layer of stuff.
These babies have been my life. An extension of me so as they change and grow, so must I. I just wish that I did it with as much grace, ease and excitement as they do.
Hopefully, by next week, my cold will be gone, my big girl will have had a great party and I'll be onto scrubbing the oven in hopes of lightening up the load on my liver...... Which really means what? I'm anxious to find out!

Anonymously Speaking....

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 17:36:00 +0000

So, I finally start blogging again and my worst fear occurs. I get bitch slapped in the comment section. Ouch. It hurt. But things only hurt when they ring of truth so I had to live with my ass cheek stinging for a few days before I got back on the horse. I suppose I don't blog just to get sunshine blown up my bum. Although, I like when that happens, it doesn't do me nearly as much good as a mighty tush-kicking.
The specifics don't really matter. I took the post down because I was cringing in retrospect at how smug and condescending it sounded. I had to hit Delete just to get some sense of relief from my very own "comment section" which lives in my head and is way worse than anything anybody else could possibly say to me.
Ironically, I wrote the piece in the hopes of confronting my own flaws. It was an arrogantly written post. I haven't been able to shake my shame for a couple of days now. The entire drive to the Va Jay Jay doctor I was thinking about ways to redeem myself but it was too late. The negative spiral kicked in. Double humiliation. I'm an awful person and now I have to spread my legs and pretend it's as normal as folding the laundry. I even gave a much coveted parking spot to an elderly woman in the hopes of easing my self-hatred but still my neggie-chatter continued. "You think you're better than her because you can go get another spot oh-so-easily, huh?." See, told you, I can take it far. Scarily far. All that really happened was that the lady scored a Kojak and I was late for the stirrups.
I thank Anonymous for the comments although it's not really about the Comment Leaver. I initially tried to make it about C.L. but I couldn't shake the feeling so this clearly is all about me.
The real person to thank is the hubs. Mostly I am just so grateful that I married someone who makes me confront myself and the truth. Someone who just looks at me when I doth protest too much, "You know I'm not like that...Can you believe that comment? That's not what I meant it to sound like....etc, etc." I'm not saying that he tells it to me straight all the time. He certainly knows how to say, "No honey, you haven't gained a pound" in the most crucial of moments. But with the important stuff, he holds the mirror lovingly up to my face and says "What do you think? It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."
He didn't even indulge my first gut response post where I manipulated the sitch out of anger and embarrassment. He told me to own it all or step away from the computer. Gotta love this man. This Man is who my kids will become some day. How lucky am I? Especially, when my own actions fall way short of legacy-leaving.

courage to change the things we can....

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 02:52:00 +0000

It's been far too long. But you know how it is. It's like dieting or sex or going to the gym. You feel so good when you are doing it but the longer you are away from it, the harder it is to get back. Even though it's sitting there right in front of your face. So many ways to approach all of those things but you just don't. You freeze in the face of asking something of yourself. You become paralyzed by the made up of fear that is the voice in your head that helps you not rise to the occasion. You do everything but. You eat. Clean the house. Make calls and appointments but you don't write. You even go to the gym and have sex and attempt to diet but you don't write. You work on other projects and clean out closets all in the name of doing something just as worthy as writing in the hopes that it won't tug at you any more. "I have nothing to say" I tell myself. "I've officially run out of things to say." But the truth is I've never had anything to say really, I just wrote what I felt. I still am obviously doing the "feeling things" part but with the other component missing, it don't feel nearly as good. The good stuff don't feels as great and the bad stuff doesn't move through me as quickly. So, like an alcoholic, I am pledging to go one day at a time. I thank the handful of friends who tried an intervention. The comment from Bliss Belly that made me feel so great but still took me awhile to do anything about. The nudge from a friend, "It's been over a month...." and the sister who really made me believe it when she said, "haven't written in awhile, you know, I think people really enjoy it."
Well, Just like sex and going to the gym (not so much the dieting) I'm the one who really enjoys it. I've just been pretending that I don't. So one day at a time, I am going to stop blaming the kids, my new project, the dirty sink and reality TV that keeps calling my name and I am going to face myself at the computer.

Thanks ya'll.

Becoming Savasana (instead of a chicken sandwich)

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 14:26:00 +0000

I used to hate Savasana. Savasana is the pose that usually comes at the end of a yoga class and it's when you finally get to stop moving and lay down for awhile. For me, it was always the cue that lunch was coming and I could reward myself for doing what sometimes felt like 70,000 sun salutations. So, needless to say, Savasana typically made me feel antsy and itching to get on with my day. I found myself laying on my mat mentally going over what I was going to eat for lunch and wishing we could just roll over and bow down to the teach so I could get me a chicken sandwich.
Savasana was sorely misunderstood in my world for probably the first 5 or 6 years of my yoga practice. Actually, Yoga was sorely misunderstood for that period of time too even though I was doing it on a regular basis. There were a few minor and major epiphany's along the way that flipped me upside down and made me rethink the power and reason behind vinyasa and meditation. (Often one and the same). I still sometimes have the urge to think about shopping and food consumption while I'm downward dogging but I now have a few more tools that enable me to gently tap my mind back into the moment. Don't get me wrong, eating and buying things make me happy. But they make me happier when they aren't the only things that are making me happy.
Lately, in Savasana, I've been trying to bring my awareness to where my body meets the ground. Really feeling where each part of me meets the mat, the floor, the earth. It's becoming slightly more exciting than thinking about a chicken sandwich. At first, it's just boring and cerebral "where does my foot hit the floor-I'm so done with this and I want a vanilla latte." But then something switches and the body becomes the ground and the ground becomes the body and then it's sort of like floating and being attached to the planet all at once.
I've been trying the technique in the home office.
Scenario One, My Brain: "Kids stop messing up the house, ugh, I have to get them out of here to get my errands done to get through the day so I can get to the next thing which will eventually lead me to them being in bed and I can watch TV. Then and only then will I be happy." (this wasn't really working for me).
I didn't actually lay down in corpse pose in the middle of the chaos and Play-doh and Legos and spilled chocolate milk, (Although the urge was there) Instead I tried the gentle nudge. I put my hand on a small body and observed where the two parts met.
Scenario Two, My Body meets The Ground (or the parent meets the child): "I know we have to go to the grocery store but look at them. Happiness isn't "what comes next." Joy is This moment." And somehow everything got easier. I stop chasing the chicken sandwich and start contemplating wonder and then fascination sets in.
This is where my readers start to gag. I know. It's totally throw-up worthy but it's life and I've decided to go through it being grateful for what I have as well as looking forward to what's next. I want to be grounded in the moment and looking forward to lunch. Lunch makes me happier when it's not the only thing that's making me happy.
Savasana is changing my perspective. I'm noticing the small things. I'm gently nudging my mind back to the moment even if the moment is frustrating.
When I take that second to feel where my body meets the earth, or where my hand meets my other hand in Namaste or where my hand meets someone else's hand, that connection becomes awareness. And that awareness becomes the power to change one's perspective. One's life. True transformation.

hannukah gifts!

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 01:29:00 +0000

My gift to you.

And yet another one.

Feng Jolie

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Mon, 08 Dec 2008 21:14:00 +0000

I am about to unveil a new project which will explain my absence but I had to blog this exchange that I had with my husband today while we were shopping for bedroom furniture.
After we found a bed that we liked he said, "I think this is perfect and then we can blow up some pictures of the kids to hang behind the headboard."
I then said that I thought that I had read somewhere that it is very bad "Feng Shui" to hang photos of people in the bedroom because it means you are basically "sleeping with them."
To which he replied, "Great. Then let's just blow up a picture of Angelina Jolie."

I had to give him blog props. Made me laugh.
And it's not gonna happen either. He's maybe allowed a small photo or two of her under his pillow.

Everything tastes better sitting on a Ritz.....

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 01:57:00 +0000

So, I've been ruminating. And writing. I've even been having profound and inspired thoughts that are spilling onto the blog page but I've yet to post. Maybe I feel vulnerable because I find myself holding back from revealing some of my inner thoughts. Shouldn't I be excited to post something with depth and feeling and insight? No. Instead I keep my words tucked safely away in my Draft Folder. But today, I wanted to post. Nothing of insight or depth or revelation. Just itching to share about the third birthday party I went to with my Two Year Old son at the Ritz Carlton. Yes. Three years old. Yes. Ritz Carlton.
I mean I love me some Ritz Carlton but it never crossed my mind that somebody would have a party for a Three Year Old there. My husband and I celebrated our anniversary at The Ritz not too long ago and although it's an incredibly child friendly establishment we left our little tater tots with friends.
My son had never been to a Birthday party for one of his "peers." He's been to plenty of Family Friend gatherings and many a Friend of Big Sister's Party, but his inauguration into his very own birthday party season was at the Ritz Carlton. I told him on the ride home, "It's all down hill from here, bud. Including your own. The cherry has been popped and ain't nothing gonna live up to your "first".
After we valeted, we walked through the lobby and we probably could have left after that. "Wow" my little guy said. "Look at this! It's so cool. It's a castle."
"I know, my son, a castle indeed. Let's go meet the Princess."
At first, I was nervous. I don't have a Two Year Old that does well at luncheon type events with real silverware and glassware. He's adorable but he's a breaker of all thing breakable. A soiler of all clean clothes and a serial not-sitter-stiller. I knew we were in trouble when he started squeezing the blueberries and calling them nipples. I wasn't in the mood to get into the "Well, we just tell the kids the anatomically correct words to body parts at home" which is usually met with "how would he even know to ask?" Which I typically answer with and "we also tend to walk around naked a lot. Oh, and he's got a couple of his own that he likes to squeeze."
So I removed him from the oh-so lovely table and plopped him on the bocce ball court so he could get really dusty and dirty while the other Mom's struggled to make their youngins sit like they were at the Emily Post Institute. I was contemplating a graceful exit when the announcement was made that Birthday Girl was about to have her first taste of chocolate.
I couldn't exactly relate. I mean, I know I was damn precious with my first child. Grinding anything with Vitamin A in it through a food mill and carrying mini- bites of Avocado and Quinoa with me whenever I thought we'd be out long enough for her to miss one of her well balanced meals where I provided at least 18 different vegetables. But three years is a LOOOONG time to keep that shit up. I mean, this was the kid's first sip of chocolate milk? That just seems like torture. I think my Baby Boy was getting some Yoo Hoo from my nipples while I breastfed him, he tasted sugar so early. That's probably why he's taken such a liking to the word nipple.
But good for her, I thought. Enjoy yourself some chocolate. It has the potential to be a lifelong friend. So after, Elijah took the sacred sip the party really got started and I relaxed a little. The live animals came out, the kid's club opened up and my little guy was in his glory. Crafts to do. Characters walking around. Goody bags that were nicer than the gift I gave and very happy and gracious hosts.
He's asleep now. Probably dreaming about his Birthday Party which is in May leaving me enough time to erase his memory of castles and chandeliers so that I can completely wow him with a BBQ and a Cowboy cake. But we had fun together today. I stopped him when he wanted to crush the giant cake that had bubbles blowing out of it. I wrestled the knife out of his hand when he wanted to run around the groomed grounds with it playing pirate and I pleaded with him to just pet the snake and not squeeze it. He enjoyed and embraced every moment and he acted completely like a Two Year Old. Because that's what he is.

A Bee and Darth Vader walk into a bar......

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Sat, 01 Nov 2008 19:29:00 +0000

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

The Bee has a little too much Halloween sugar if you know what I mean.

He starts acting unruly. He sits on the bar.

He interrupts a meeting.

And eventually he is escorted out of the joint.

He passes out cold on Mama BEE.

Leaving all the glory to Ms. Vader. "The force is with me!"

But like all good Honey-holics, The Bee rallies and hits the pavement in search of more sugar!

The end!
The moral of this story is that the day after Halloween for a child is the equivalent of a grown person being hung-over. It should be spent in one's pajamas watching movies and ordering in. They need to get in bed early and sleep off their binge.

I BaROCKED the vote!

candace@yogasisters.com (Candace) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 00:04:00 +0000

And it did feel slightly "electrifying" to make my choice just like Colin Powell said it will feel like if Obama wins on November 4th. Other than that, the voting situation was not as dreamy as I had anticipated it to be. It was important for me to bring my Four Year Old daughter to vote with me because I was voting for her. I wanted her to know she has a voice and a powerful one at that. But this also means bringing along the Two Year Old Brother because clearly he goes wherever we go. It did cross my mind that he could possibly be responsible for another "chad" disaster in Florida as he NEVER stays still and is constantly grabbing whatever is in his line of sight. I braced myself for something to come flying down. He's small but he's mighty.

It started like this after school on the playground:

Me: Let's go vote!
2yrold: We going on a boat!
4yrold: We already voted for Obama.
Me: That was the Primary.
4yrold: What does that mean?
Me: Let's go vote.
2yrold: We going on a boat!
4yrold: I don't want to go.
Me: Get in the car now! Both of you. This is an uplifting, positive and enjoyable experience and we will all remember it forever, now march!

Then there was the waiting in line and the woman who had to come over TWICE to tell my children to stop drawing on the voting table and to get up out from behind the the voting booth all while I tried to figure out if we should have an 8th member of the school board. It's not so easy to figure out the wording on illegal immigrants and their inheritance when your children are acting like children. I panicked like it was the S.A.T. all over again. I even tried to cheat off my friend's ballot but I had a Two Year Old clinging to my leg so I couldn't look over far enough to see.
I quickly scanned the two sided sheets for the important stuff and there it was. Amendment 2. I was more than horrified by the wording of this. It should be illegal to have it written out in such a way. How does it threaten my marriage or any marriage to have the rights's of gay unions protected? If a gay couple is protected by the law does somebody immediately show up at my house with a gun and demand that I get a divorce? I JUST DON'T GET IT! How and why do people care?
I'd vote a million times a day with twenty kids going rimbam on me if it meant that this would eventually someday just be a non-issue.
Look, by no means do I think this is or should be a central issue of either campaign but I do think it's indicative of a larger problem that we have in this country. We are sheltered and provincial in our thinking. We stand on our own soap box (mine is right here) and have ideas about what and who other people are. Colin Powell said it best the other day when he was speaking about the Muslim boy who went to fight in Iraq. He was a real person who died for his country. And we have somehow made "muslim" a scary word. It's shameful.
Why are we so segregated? The biggest gift I will give my children is to send them on their way out into a world of diversity. To encourage them to see another perspective. So when or if they ever have to vote about rights being given or taken away from them or somebody else, they will have a picture of real people, true friends in their head which in turn, will allow them to vote from their heart.