I’ve filled so many journals. I’ve written so many blog posts. Filled books with notes and thoughts and scribbles. Taken picture after picture after picture. Written essays and lists and ideas to tuck away for later.

Sometimes I wonder why I do this. Why spend 20 minutes every night scribbling about what happened during the day? Why bother to carry a camera? Why let so many books take up space on my shelves?

I don’t always have a good answer for those questions. But the one I’m using today is that it helps me to look for – and find – the beauty that is always around. Even in the moments and moods that seem least likely to have any beauty lurking in them.

I forget how nice it can be to run in the rain. It’s refreshing. I don’t sweat. I’m distracted from any aches or pains by the wash of water running down my face. There are so few other people out in the rain that there is more space to take in my surroundings. I don’t get caught up in trying to stay with anyone – I’m able to focus on my own pace more easily.

I feel like running in the rain is a good way for me to get down to the basics and see where I’m really at. And this past Tuesday, the rainy run went well. I’m feeling good about being able to complete my Under Armour What’s Beautiful challenge – even though I will likely be a few pounds heavier and a couple of centimeters rounder.

Have you come up with a challenge for yourself? What do you want to achieve?

Every night after I lie down with the boys for “just a minute” and sing them songs and talk with them about the day and answer their questions and listen to them laugh maniacally over I have no idea what, the thing that sounds best to me (besides a big chunk of chocolate) is to dive onto my own bed. Which Iwill not be doing for approximately 2 1/2 months. But whose counting? Besides me.

Also, the words that come first to my mind whenever I see Micah lounging on the bed, lying on his stomach, are, “Show off.”

Raise your hand if you can relate.

And someone mentioned to me last week that the last 12 weeks of pregnancy are the longest of your life. After careful thought and consideration I decided that the biggest reason for this, among the many reasons for this, is that I change my clothes about five times a day. It’s not just that nothing fits, it’s that everything I wear makes me look pregnant. Or feel pregnant. Which is an uncomfortable feeling, even if I’m not actually uncomfortable. And so I change my clothes again and again to try to find something that I feel better in.

Unfortunately, a new outfit does not mean a new day is starting. It just means I have a few more hours to kill until I become dissatisfied with my clothing choice and start digging to find something better.

(The above picture was taken a couple of weeks ago, for those who are curious.)

We took the boys out to run some errands a few days ago. They rode their bikes and Micah and I split up to stay close to one or the other. Manchild is learning to use his brakes and not taking quite so long to get started after stopping, while Squish is getting the hang of propelling the balance bike by himself. Just a few weeks ago he needed me or Micah to push him if he were going to go anywhere.

When we got home I told the boys I thought they’d done a great job riding their bikes, that they were both improving a lot, and I was happy that they seemed to be having such a good time learning to ride.

To which Manchild responded, “But who do you think did better at riding their bike?”

“You both did well. I think you both were doing the best that you can for your ability level.”

“But who do you think did better?”

“Well, you did really well because you are learning to use the brakes better and you’re getting better at steering, and he did really well because just a few weeks ago he could hardly get the bike to move and now he doesn’t need any help to go.”

“But did I do better, or did he do better?”

“It’s not a competition, Buddy. I can’t really compare you two because you are two different abilities. You both did really well for what your bodies are able to do.”

“But . . . ”

I think it may take a while, but someday we’ll learn that competition has very little to do with being better than everyone – or anyone – else, and everything to do with being motivated to do and be your own best. (Myself included.)

Despite the fact that my family, in general, is far from being a contributing factor to the national crisis – we are, or are becoming, a family of fairly health conscious marathon runners – I understand the feeling of not wanting to be part of the problem. In any way. Now, or ever. And I especially understand wanting to instill healthful habits in the younger generation – the grandchildren. My children.

We chatted for a couple of minutes about ways to give people the feeling of having dessert without so much of the fat and sugar that are common to traditional desserts. Smoothies, I said. With greek yogurt. It’s almost like a milkshake, only . . . healthier. Or banana ice cream. With cocoa powder or peanut butter if you want to something a little more indulgent (although I certainly wouldn’t be above topping with some homemade hot fudge sauce). Maybe a fruit crumble for special occasions?

But I’m wondering what else there is out there. Do you have any more ideas for my mom? Of course, there are things like black bean brownies, or black bean chocolate cake which, I would argue, contain enough nutritional value to counteract the evils of “dessert.” What do you turn to when you’re trying to cut back on sweets, but you need something . . . sweet?

“Okay, hold my hands. We’re going to cross the street so I need your hands.”

“Yes, you can run, but stop at the corner.”

“Boys, boys, boys, I need you to be still on the train.”

“Hold my hands on the platform. We always hold hands on the platform. Thank you.”

“Stay with me in the store, boys.”

“Yes, you can hold the list.”

“It’s hard to read because I didn’t write it very well, but also because some of the words are in a different language.”

“If you stop running, he’ll stop chasing you.”

“We can’t keep running in the store, boys. And we need to be a little bit quieter. Can you do that? No? Do you need a time out?”

“Okay. No more running. I know it’s fun, but no more running. Do you hear me? Do you understand?”

“Hands to yourselves. Hands to yourselves. Hands to yourselves, please.”

“Heads to yourselves, too. Heads to yourselves!”

“Faces too! Boys, keep your faces to yourselves. Faces to yourselves. Do you hear me? Faces to yourselves.”

“Why? Because it’s annoying to the people next to you if you are wiggling all the time.”

“Forget the birds, forget the birds. I know I see it, but it’s in the street, so forget about it.”

“Yes you can run. Are you going to run? If you’re going to run, go ahead and run.”

First, let us remind ourselves of why it’s important to have a strong pelvic floor (which are the muscles that help you go – or not go – to the bathroom). Not only does this keep things in when you want them in and help you get them out when you want them out, but a strong pelvic floor can help you birth a baby, or keep your organs inside your body once you’ve had several babies, and, you know, improve your sex life. There. I said it.

Second, let us think of our pelvic floors as a hammock. Of course you want the part you’re going to lie down in to be strong, no tears or holes that you could fall through, that kind of thing, so do your Kegels. But no matter how strong the actual hammock is, it’s going to be much more comfortable to lie down in if the ends are tied up tight. One end of your pelvic hammock connects to your glutes, the other end to your lower abs. You want both of them to be strong so that the hammock doesn’t fail to do what it’s supposed to do.

So do your squats, do your lunges, do your side-lying leg lifts, as we discussed last time we talked about pelvic floors. But also work your abs. And, believe it or not, you can tone your abs while your are pregnant. Crunches – especially ones targeting the lower abs – are a good bet. They’re a little bit awkward to do, but maybe not quite as awkward as peeing every time you sneeze.

(image from here)

As far as I was concerned, I had very little to offer my kids: Big eyes and thick lashes. A somewhat annoying knack for remembering way too much. And . . . that’s just about it.

Then Manchild was born and he had a nicely shaped head. “He gets that from you,” Micah told me. At first I tried to deny it. It was so cute, it couldn’t be from me. But then, I’d never really looked at the shape of my skull before. And if that was kind of what it looked like, sitting atop that adorable ball of chubby baby, then maybe it wasn’t so bad, maybe I did have something going for me after all. A nicely shaped head. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

And then on Saturday night I got an early Mother’s Day present. We were at a wedding reception, it was late but we were all having such a good time we couldn’t seem to get out the door. We made our way from the back corner of the yard where the boys had been climbing a tree and running around with other boys, to the steps where we kept running into friends we needed to say hi to and chat with. Finally we made it inside, and then past the food, and then into the dance room where the beat was bumping and a small group of people were dancing. I joined them almost instinctively, suddenly unconcerned that we needed to get the boys home. I was surprised, however, when they skittered past me to the middle of the dance floor. More surprised still when they started dancing, and possibly the most surprised when, after we left half an hour later, Manchild couldn’t stop talking about how much fun he’d had, how he loved dancing, how he wanted to go to dance parties all the time.

It may be odd, but there have been few times in my life when I’ve been more proud to say, “That’s my boy.”

–lizzie.

Part of living in a small apartment with no outdoor space in a big city with lots of things to do is feeling like I need to take advantage of it all. We always need to be outside, or at a museum, or riding bikes around the block, or something.

But we also need naptime, and bedtime, and time to just chill. And this pregnancy I have been a little frustrated with myself for being the reason we haven’t gone out as much. It’s hard for me to be the that needs time to rest. It was especially difficult for me because we had such a mild winter and I knew that within a few months we’ll have a new baby and a kid to take to school everyday.

Things will change, yes. And we’ll adapt. And then they’ll change again. And we’ll adapt again.

And in a few years no one will need naptime. Maybe not even me.

–lizzie.

I took Manchild to the doctor last week for his 5-year checkup. The receptionist noticed my interest in the Rachael Ray show, which was on while I was filling out the paperwork.

“You’re a real stay-at-home-mom,” she said. “I could tell because you’re interested in the cooking show. You cook for your family.” She went on to tell me about another mom she knows like that, who lives in Park Slope. She cooks all their food and doesn’t hire anyone to help her around the house while she is home with the kids. The receptionist had noted how, unless Micah was home, I always came to the doctor by myself – no babysitter tagging along. This other lady said that if she’s going to be a stay-at-home-mom, she’s going to be a stay-at-home-mom. Meaning she’s not going to hire any help or order out for their all the time.

I was a little surprised. Isn’t that what a stay-at-home-mom does? She may not earn any money, but she makes up for it by not hiring help, by preparing her family’s food, by learning how to make the most of what they have, by being the person who is there to answer the kids’ questions and take them to the park.

What does being a stay-at-home-mom mean to you?