Plastics

I was at a home party a while ago. If you're a suburban mom, you know the kind. A friend of yours signs up to be a consultant of some merchandise and invites you and all their aquantainces over to eat cheese and look through items you don't really need.... but will buy depending on how much of her cheese you've eaten. They always say "just come, you don't have to buy anything!". Yeah right. So you spend the evening weighing the value of snacks you've consumed against how much you need another smelly bar of wax, or which necklaces will match your yoga pants...then go home and stuff the receipt in your glove box because the hubster decided you should watch your spending.

While standing around the snacks in the kitchen, a friend of mine started talking about looking into a "Mommy Special". To me, a mommy special is a bottle of good red, two advil and Thursday night TV after the kids go to bed. Apparently it's also a nip and a tuck.
Conversation about plastic surgery has become normal at my age. Also normal is that a party is about melted smelly wax and snacks... not sure which is more sad.
I could rant about loving ourselves as we are, acceptance and ridiculous social expectations. I believe all that. I believe we should love ourselves as we are. I believe we are all beautiful. Does that mean I think it's likely? Do I think radical self acceptance is attainable for most people? Sadly No..no I don't. I've been there. I've hated my skin so much I felt like I was in an alien body. We've all been inundated with society's expectations of beauty. I see thousands of images in a day of that unattainable (for most) body, and very few of reality- the stretch marks, saggy belly, the dimply bum. One is beautiful I guess and one is not.
The recovery is glossed over in these conversations. The idea of being sliced open and introducing that stress to our physical and mental bodies is minimized. The end result is all that matters.... and that scares me.
I wrote about the same idea with my hair blog, this is really just a more extreme version of that. I tell my kids all the time that being kind is more important than being pretty.... but am I really showing them that?
A very close friend of mine got implants a few years ago. I didn't understand her choice, but I didn't need to since it wasn't mine. She commented that I used to want them, and didn't I still?
I almost got them done. There was a time in my life when I had the cc amount, the Dr consult and the credit to get them. I read all I could about over vs under, lifting and recovery after etc. I had a date. But I didn't.
Now I wouldn't.
(Note- I wrote the top part of this months ago. Then I saved it, not knowing how to end it or where to go without looking like a judgemental bitch. I knew I had more to say, but wasn't sure how to say it.... I've said before that my choices aren't yours. They aren't anyone elses, and you don't have to agree with them. Just as I don't have to agree or understand yours. If you are getting offended, please go watch a cat video and know I love you no matter what you do. Unless I don't love you, then wtf are you reading this for anyways?).

This I wrote today. There are some redundancies and it doesn't always make sense strung together, but I have shit to do.

I was at a another party recently. It used to be 30th Birthday parties... now it's 40's. Lol. I vaguely recollect (through wine colored googles) a conversation about boobs, and surgery. I remember saying I didn't want any.
I remember feeling the need to defend myself, because I remember everyone looking at me like I was insane. I had to defend why I DIDN'T want plastic surgery....
That doesn't mean I think I am perfect, as by now you should know. That doesn't mean I think I am superior, or even that I have given up (maybe a little, but not enough to buy Mom jeans yet). It means I am afraid of cutting my body open and putting it through even more trauma. This old body has been through enough punishment and hatred. The last thing it needs is elective surgery. I am afraid of reacting to anesthetic and dying and leaving my children without a mother from my own vanity.  I am afraid of the explanations to my children and how that would affect how they see themselves. My daughter tells me I am beautiful- who am I to tell her she's wrong? I am mostly afraid that it would be yet another band aid solution to the greater issue of self loathing.
I have come a long way in loving myself. I still have a long way to go, but I now appreciate it's a journey. For me, likely a life long one. I have created babies, I can lift moderately heavy things and I can fit into most of my pants most of the time. I try to be kind and I own a push up bra.
I am enough. Just as I am.

Pity party

I am being a baby.
I generally try to be mindful and grateful. It comes fairly naturally to me now, and I routinely have teary eyed moments where the joy and appreciation for my life washes over me.
This week I am being a baby.
We aren't going on a holiday. I don't get a beach vacation. The economy sucks.  Our income is down, bonuses aren't coming, we did renos. So logically I know we aren't going. We went to the Bahamas last Jan for my dad's bday. So logically I know I agreed to take a year off big vacations. We got a lake lot for the kids. Logically I know we've spent the extra.
Logically. I've never been an overly local cat though.
My heart wants palm trees and ocean breezes and swimming kids and all inclusive Pina coladas. 
Sigh.
I look at sale prices. I gaze longingly at others vacay pics and get a little pouty.
I realize what an entitled little baby I am being. I realize that people are hungry, unable to pay their mortgages, homeless and terrified. I realize all those things- Logically. 
Ever try to reason with a spazzing 4 year old? That's how I feel.  G yelled at me this morning for making her 4 pancakes when she only wanted one. That made no sense. I didn't tell her she had to eat all 4, there were just 4 in the pan. When I tried to tell her that, she flipped out and stormed off to her room.
I want to storm off. To a room in Cancun. 
Double sigh.
I'm not sure when I decided I deserved a holiday every year, or Lululemon yoga pants, or a fancy suv, or a newer house. Most of the time, I am not this way, but I do have to routinely check myself. It usually comes in comparisons..and comparisons as they say, are indeed the thief of joy.
So today I will be mindful or what I have, and not focus on what I don't.  This too shall pass... but maybe I'll look at a holiday savings account for next year 😅

Defining

I am a hockey mom.
I am pretty much everything stereotypical that goes along with that. I wear Uggs and leggings/ skinny jeans to the rink. I stop at Tims on the way to get a giant coffee. I drive an SUV. I am learning which rinks you bring your own water to, which rinks are cold as f*ck and where all the washrooms are (that coffee comes out pretty fast). I am fiercely proud of my little player, and I have fantasized about throwing a throat punch at the other team. I never would of course, as I have completed my Respect in Sport Course lol.
I am also a preschool mom. A new ringette mom. A gymnastics mom. I've been a soccer mom, a basketball mom, an art class mom, a room rep, a PTA mom...
I'm called A's mom. G's mom (I won't type out my kids names because the internet). I am the Beard's wife. I am the bootcamp trainer. I am the yoga teacher. I have been the runner, the Spartan racer, the figure competitor, the junior high teacher.... But I am not enough of any these things to put a sticker on my car. I am the sum of all of them, and yet still more.#hockeymom #rinklife #noidentityofmyown
See how these labels go on and on and on. Occasionally I am actually called Cara.
My point is that I am defined by none of these things. Many of them are a fleeting season in my life. Many of them are life long labels. I find so many fellow moms defining themselves by these labels. Hockey is not all we have. I have my own accomplishments that I am proud of, as I hope my children do. I am not JUST a hockey mom. I am not JUST a mom. I am not only a wife. I am me. I am a separate entity. I am certainly not defined by my children's accomplishments.  What will you be when hockey (insert child's activity here) is done (since none of our children are going to the NHL lets be honest)... Which group will you cling to to identify with?
I was thinking about women as we age.  We become the hockey/ soccer/ working/ pinterest mom. How can you not? My life is consumed by my family at this point. I admit that I adore it. I love watching my children learn, and grow, and be active. My calendar rarely has a blank space, but when it does- I relish every second. How can we avoid losing ourselves in all this? When the activities and driving kids all over town is done... what will fill my time?
I have heard from many women that they lost themselves. I have heard many women blame their spouses for losing themselves. I hate to say this ladies, but if you lose who you are... you allowed someone to take that from you. Over years and years, we get chipped away. I get that. It happens in small pieces and suddenly you realize you are so far from who you actually are that you don't know how to get back, or even what it is you need to get back to.
Be more than someone's mom. Be more than someone's wife. Somehow, some way, make time to be YOURSELF. Sometimes, you have to be persistent. Sometimes, your family may balk at this and wonder why you are being selfish. What kind of mother spends time doing things they enjoy, when there is ALWAYS laundry to do, pee to wipe up, a bake sale to bake for, a child to read to, a meeting to attend.....a good mother. A mother intent on preserving herself for the long term gain of her family.
Maybe this happens to men too, I have no idea. I only speak to what I do know.

We talk about self care all the time. I feel sometimes we have gone too far in our generation, and are so worried about time away, that we don't appreciate what we have. Trips without kids, girls trips, guys trips- but that is a blog for another time.
Self care brings you back to the core of yourself. I lost myself in a sea of resentment years ago, and it took yoga to bring me back. Maybe yoga isn't your jam. I lost myself in a sea of competing many years ago, and it took a divorce, a ton of therapy, eating disorders and a drunk summer to bring me back. Maybe that wasn't the best way....
I am certainly not saying get divorced or abandon your children. I am saying deal before it gets there. Don't allow yourself to be chipped away. Be the greatest hockey mom, but be the greatest YOU too. The kids are going to leave you, as devastating as that is, and do you want to look across from your spouse and having nothing to say? Invest in you. Invest in him. Invest in the relationship- and how can you invest in him if you have nothing left? Do something only for you. Something that makes you feel like you. Like the old you, before your calendar became a mess of color coordinated activities. Before people called you the wife... when you just had one name.
Because you're amazing. Just you. Just as you really are.

Things no one told me...

*Note- I started writing this last week on the first week of school, but had to step away because I kept crying. I am a baby and I cry a lot. Not in front of people, so if you're surprised it's ok. I cry alone, and apparently while writing things. I am posting it today, in honor of my biggest little turning 7 tomorrow. I find myself feeling weepy all over again... I have yet to get through a birthday of one of my children without crying. *

I read all the baby books. I read all there was to read about pregnancy, post pregnancy, attachment parenting, natural consequences, sleep solutions... I felt prepared. I had an ed degree and isn't that really just 4 years learning how to raise kids? I had seen other people parent and knew exactly what I would never do. I knew it all.
Until I had a kid. Then another kid. And I realized I didn't know anything.

No one told me that breastfeeding wasn't easy. No one told me my birth plan wasn't worth the paper it was written on, and that I'd have to have a c-section, and since that wasn't part of my type A birth plan I had no idea how to deal. No one told me my belly would look like deflated bread dough for months after, regardless of what I ate or exercised. No one told me about how my boobs would entirely change after two babies, and i would barely recognize myself anymore. No one told me I would have drenching night sweats, or migraines, or awful depression from the hormones post baby.  No one told me about the resentment that would build up boiling hot in my chest when my husband got to go out for work lunches or golf and I was at home trying to make sure the baby had enough tummy time so he wasn't a stunted freak.No one told me it's ok (and accepted even in most cultures) to cosleep if that's what the baby needed- instead I lay awake convinced I would roll over him and smother him to death... while all he wanted was to be close to me.
No one told me how I would be so far from the mother I thought I would be. No one told me I would pause mid-yell (or even YELL at all!) and be horrified at the words coming out of my mouth. No one told me that after 7 years of rarely sleeping through the night I would have to force myself to be kind at 3am to my wide awake child instead of my natural instinct to yell "would you freaking  sleep already?!?!". No one told me about the guilt over working, the guilt over not working enough, or reading enough or doing enough crafts or creating an independent thinker or creating an obedient child. No one told me about the guilt.
No one told me that not every mom dances when their kids go to school. No one told me that the hardest thing I would face in the first few years was not interfering or running onto the ice when my child was sobbing as he learned to skate. No one told me how it would rip my heart apart when my child was upset over not being included in a birthday party and not having an answer to his why. No one told me I would worry about absolutely everything, all day, every day.  No one told me that most nights after they went to bed I would sit and think of all the times I could've and should've done better. No one told me that family vacations would be more work than vacation, and no one told me that trips without the kids would result in an ache without them.
No one told me that sometimes liking my child would be a struggle but the mama bear love would never fade... even if they were being the most annoying human on the face of the planet.
No one told me that the greatest moment of a day (week, month) would be a chubby, sticky arm around my neck while reading Barnyard Dance for the 150th time. Or of a heavy body sagging into me as they fell asleep on my lap. Or of a big boy saying "Mom I forgot to give you a hug!!" And running back to me before he walks into his grade 2 class. Or of a big girl telling me she will be ok by herself at preschool, as I sob in my car alone- so proud of the little person she is, but at the same time so scared of the world she has to navigate.
My kids went back to school this week
Grade 2 and preK.  I've been a mom for 7 years. And I've learned how little I know in that 7 years. I've learned that the mom I planned to be, isn't the mom I am. I'm still learning to give myself a fucking break when I am doing my best, and sometimes I need a swift kick in the ass, because I'm NOT doing my best. These kids deserve my best. Maybe not every minute of every day, but most minutes and most days. Just because I'm tired, or stressed, or at my daily limit of being touched... my words and actions will shape who they become and how they feel about themselves.  No one told me that either. The enormous responsibility it is to create a human.
7 years is nothing. 7 years is a fart in the wind. I have no answers and I have no advice.  Maybe it'll get easier, but I doubt it.
Most of all, no one told me that the saying about how "having a child means your heart is walking around outside your body", wasn't just an adorable plaque to hang on a wall.It's an agonizing truth. A wonderful, life changing, exhausting truth.

Squad goals

I don't have a squad. I don't have a big group of girls that do ladies nights. There are no pics on my fb of girls nights out in the city, because they don't exist. If I died tomorrow, there would likely be a quite a few people at my funeral. Very few of those people would know what I was doing, feeling or dealing with in the days leading up to my untimely death. Morbid I know. But true.
Sometimes I am really lonely. Those weekend nights after the kids are gone to bed and I have two glasses of wine and I scroll through others super fun party pics. I generally enjoy alone time, because I have so little of it.  I have a few girlfriends who are solid and wonderful that I love and trust. I have a few others who are mommy friends, or hockey friends, or work friends. I love them too, but the space is always there. I don't have anyone who walks into my house without knocking, or anyone who's kids will grow up with mine, their memories all entwined. I'm also a bad friend because life gets busy and I forget to keep up. I need friends who get that too. I'm also an understanding friend because I totally get it. 
I saw Bad Mom's with a friend who I hope becomes a closer friend. She's one of those rarities who is fun, who genuinely likes her husband and who has real conversations. I said I was sad that I didn't have a squad. She said she had one, they just all lived in her house.
Sometimes I stop talking and listen. Sometimes things percolate in my busy brain and I think about them for days. This was one.
Girlfriends are important. Integral to sanity even. But the 3 people that live in my house are it. They are my squad. They are my everything. Sometimes I miss the days of dressing up and hitting the clubs, but I hate missing bedtime and snuggles more. I'm pretty sure my dress lulus aren't club appropriate anyways.

Self Reflection

I am having one of those full- of-gratitude- days. I got to go for a walk/ bike ride with the littlest and the dog today, after dropping off the biggest at school. I got to go the market and chat with some great ladies I know, in my great town, and then go buy planters for my lovely house. No rushing, no stressing. Just a chill day with my girl, doing menial things. This is my perfect day.
While messing around with said planters in the front yard, I chatted with our neighbor. She mentioned that their 25 year wedding anniversary was this year. I am in awe of people who can stand another human being for that long. My in laws are at 48 years this year. 40freaking8 years. We are at 6. A measly 6, and some days I cannot comprehend even one more. I first congratulated her and said what an amazing thing I thought it was, then asked her how.
She said the normal stuff that I still need a reminder of like, "it's a choice you make everyday" which of course is a solid point. Then she said every time she wishes she had a weapon to end him with (hahaha of course everyone ever in a relationship can identify with that), she said she stops and asks herself "Am I such a bargain?" and lists in her head all the things she may have done wrong that week that could make him feel the same way about her.
I will never forget that.
I've been divorced. I left. I filed. I was fucking OUT. It was HIS fault. HE did this to me. HE did that to me. It took much time before I actually thought about what I may have done. Honestly, it didn't happen until the Beard and I started to have issues. It finally occurred to me (I am embarrassed that it took so long) that I contributed to the negativity too. I do wrong. I fuck up and act like a silent, stubborn bitch. I have the mouth of a sailor and I am pretty good at saying awful things. The list could go on, but it is in the past.
Regardless of what anyone else has done, I have no control of that. I only have control over my behavior.

I have many divorced or divorcing friends. It seems to be the age. I have very few who have mentioned mistakes they have made, and how they will address them in the future. I have many who freely mention what the ex has done... it's easier. I get it. It's easier to look at others failings and it hurts to look at our own. Shining a light on our shortcomings may lead to discomfort, and God knows we will go to incredible lengths to avoid any of that. Bringing our issues to the consciousness may mean we actually have to DO something about it, and shit that sounds hard.
The Beard is certainly not perfect, but he is good at self evaluation. There are ways I feel he makes me a more skeptical, negative person (we become what we spend time with, although I do need to take responsibility for it myself), but he does encourage reflection in me too. I am still a silent, stubborn bitch who thinks most of everything is his fault, but I am getting better. It sucks, but it's growth. I've also found it actually doesn't physically hurt or make me less to apologize and take ownership of ones behaviour. It took almost 37 years to figure that one out....
Enjoy your weekend. Take a minute to think about how you could be better, kinder, more loving. Less anger, more compassion.
<3 Much love.

Time for a new topic?

Probably past time... Sorry for the absence (if you care lol). I have had to blog for work, so that takes all my writing time and brain power. Seriously though, I haven't even been able to keep up with that blog, so it's really a lame excuse. I feel unable to say how I really feel, or able to post things I know will piss people off, because of my business. It's really new to me, and I really don't like it. That doesn't mean I won't drunkely blast someone in a status on FB (I am still hearing about my comments after 3 beer about our local minor hockey association....), but I am so much more careful than I used to be. Owning a business sucks a bit.

I had a bunch written in my head about marriage, but now I want to punch my husband in the throat so I doubt anything I typed would be of great value.... I felt I needed to write something, but what?

Perhaps I should write about my apparent lack of time management skills. I feel like the last month is a blur of work, kids, kids sports, trying to clean and cook and drive everyone everywhere they need to go. I am not sure why I feel more out of control and like I have less time (I work 9 hours a week plus 2-5 admin hours. Where the hell does the rest of the time go?!?!). I simply cannot imagine working full time. It boggles my mind. I don't sit around and eat cake with my other mommy friends while we ignore our children, as my husband has suggested during a routine fight (see why I want to throat punch him?). I wish I did that. I don't workout for hours anymore either. I wish I could do that too. Then perhaps this late 30's body would fuck right off and I could look like ME again. Wait, that's wrong. I do look like me. I look like almost-38 years old me. I just feel sometimes like this skin doesn't fit. I haven't felt like that for a long time.... since I turned 35 ish, things have started to wrinkle, and dimple and sag. It's the typical aging stuff. Maybe I looked so much younger for so long that I just don't know how to deal with reality. The reality of coming up fast on 40. It's not like I cry myself to sleep about getting older, or approaching 40, but I do pull at my eyelids while waiting at red lights. I used to text, now I look at my crows feet and my puffy lids. I usually remember to check my upper lip hairs, but if I miss it please let me know.
Can't be old AND hairy. Speaking of, I need to go check the chin hairs. Those bitches are coming in fast and hard as well.
See how I went WAY off course there? As usual. start at one place, ramble a bit and end up who knows where... it's the way I roll.

I have been thinking a lot about radical self acceptance. Accepting oneself as exactly we are. This idea is so foreign to me, it literally took me months to even bring it into my consciousness. My lovely Yogini Michele brought it into a course I took from her. Promoting radical self acceptance. Yeah, the concept sounds so fabulous in theory- like signing up for a marathon or organizing closets. It sounds AMAZING, but how the fuck do you actually do it??? We all want change in some way. We all have ideals, and how we think things/ ourselves should be. I'm usually pretty good at creating paths to get where I (or clients) want to go. I am very much a Do-er. I am not a "let's talk about it at length"er. That is a surefire way to get me to flip out, or lose interest. But for this.... radical self acceptance. What the hell does that plan look like?
I don't have an answer. Sorry if you came this far and are now wanting to punch ME in the throat. I don't have a plan. I don't have an A-to - B map for you. Or for me. All I know is, I am thinking about it. Every day it gets a little stronger in my brain. Every day, when I am ripping into myself for something (weight, pants not fitting, saggy eyelids, workouts being less intense than they used to be, not being able to run because of my back, or because I am simply tired or whatever... ) I remember the idea of self acceptance. Every time I say it in a yoga class, the idea becomes just a little more clear, and I spend just a little less time in front of the mirror. A little less time holding up my ass to where it used to be, and realizing that where it is is really ok.
Maybe that is enough.

For now anyways.