Not here anymore

It's true. I've moved. Thanks to my dear (amazing, creative, fantastic, awesome, patient, generous) friend Beth K., this little ol' blog has an official new home. Come visit? I'll be waiting (and, um, hopefully writing as well).

From now on, find me using my time permanently here.
See you there!

You know who you are

So I recently went to a concert, a show, we lovingly call it. A Grateful Dead cover band called Dark Star Orchestra. It's not the first time I've seen them, and certainly won't be the last, but it was most definitely their best yet. It was such a celebration -- of music (obviously), of fun, of love, of life, of happiness and joy, but most of all of good memories (summers in Old Blue) and good friends (my husband most of all).

Close to the same time last week (coincidence? you know the answer), I stumbled upon a comment from an old friend, and realized how much I missed him, missed laughing with him, missed just talking and getting the latest on how his three girls were, how happy he was in general. Before any of my other friends, this friend was the one who really got it when I first told him about Jim -- he's a pilot? No way!! And plays the drums? You're kidding!! Is sooo into music? He's perfect for you.... I will never forget that feeling of overwhelming love for this old friend as I heard his enthusiasm and sheer, untarnished, unprompted happiness blast its way over the phone. He just knew. He could feel my happiness and love. And not only did he celebrate with me about it (about Jim), he told me, with his words and honesty and heart.

Which brings me back to the show last weekend. I never grew up a huge GD fan, but I did grow up as a huge music fan, influenced and open to whatever, wherever by my close-knit circle of music-obsessed friends. It started with the Fixx and Rush. The Replacements and the Alarm followed in college, then Pearl Jam and DMB in the years after that. Along came Jim, and with him, my love and appreciation for all things Phish, Grateful Dead and giant, joyful music festivals. Music has been such a part of my life -- a way of life, really -- and no surprise that at least in that realm of things, nothing has changed yet.

So, the show. It was about good times. It was about love. It was about throwing your arms in the air cuz you just couldn't help it you were so filled with happiness -- for those immediately around you as well as those who live in your heart. It was about breaking out in song (come on, who can resist belting out Hey Jude from the bottom of their lungs/heart/soul?). It was about the uncontrollable smile that you just couldn't keep off your face -- and the same one you saw on everyone else's. It was about this amazing life Jim and I have together, forged in music, supported by love, fueled by fun and light and laughter. And it reminded me of all the friends in my life. The ones who have come and gone. The ones who helped shape me and grow with me and move with me. The ones who celebrated with me when Jim came into my life, and the ones who celebrate with me still. The new ones that I fell in love with as part of Jim's extended family, and the ones I had to let go as they grew extended families of their own. The ones I still dream about when I hear The Spirit of '76. The ones I thought of when DSO played Franklin's Tower. The ones I miss. The ones I still get to see and have fun with even though so many years have passed. The ones that made me cry and laugh and smile and live and become this version of me -- they entered my heart as the band closed the show with Brokedown Palace... Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell...

So here's to all of you, my friends. You know who you are, and why I love you so.

Creative break, creative refresh

Not so long ago, at a completely different workplace, I used to blog occasionally during business hours. (Gasp!) Of course, I no longer do this -- mostly because of the fact that I am only working part-time, and am slammed from morning to afternoon trying to cram in all the work I have to do in a shortened work week. I'm not complaining -- it just strikes me as odd that I've made less time to blog here (minus my marathon New Year's beginning), and I attribute that to being so busy and focused at work that I no longer need/have/can afford that 10-minute creative break I used to take advantage of pretty often. Really often. Ok, a lot.

Until now. It's September 11, and I'm taking just a bit of my lunch to refresh my writing here, refresh my soul, if you will. It's a heavy day in our history, filled with so much weight whether we fully recognize it or not. It's hard to concentrate on writing for a client when my heart simply wishes to revel in and remember how truly good my life is, and celebrate it with the boy and my pilot.

So, in tribute to those hearts that were broken, and friends who were lost, and lives that were freely given, I pause and give thanks, once again, for this crazy world and all I have and love in it. I give thanks for my strength and beauty and health. For the love of my life, my pilot, and the center of my universe, the boy. I would be so lost without them, for they are the source of so much of what is good and joyful and right in my life. Grif standing at the open window yelling, Bye, Mommy! I love you! at the top of his lungs. Jim reaching over to encircle me in a hug when I'm cooking or lying in bed or simply standing still. My friends, my family, who understand me and love me, even when I'm ungrateful or mean or absent. For my talent, which sometimes pulls words from the air and forms them into something meaningful, whether for an agency client or this simple little blog or a little boy bedtime story.

It's always a hard start to get back here after I've been away for so long -- the apathy, the guilt set in from my silence and laziness and busyness -- but it seemed important to take the time today. It seemed appropriate to take a chance and make a little jump back here where things are so familiar, even after all this time in silence. It seemed...right. Thanks and love, universe. Always.

The Shape of Things

Ok, so I'm going to gloss RIGHT over the inordinate, unbelievable, crazy amount of time it's been since my last post (glossing, too, right over the fact that I had vowed to do this every every every day), and get straight to the point. I've missed this. Had tons (and tons) of thoughts I wanted to share, record, post, send out into the bright universe, but have not risen to the occasion to get off my duff and actually do. There's the rub, I think, of being a writer. Millions upon millions of stories, lines, thoughts, words float around and by me, compel me, interest me, inspire me, but if I don't actually write them down somewhere, they remain just that. Ideas. Forever imprisoned in my head instead of out there for all the world to see.

So here's one that's at least two months old, but cycles to the front of my head nearly every day in one way or another. The boy and my hubby and I were reading a "shapes" book, pointing to a shape, and Grif responding with the (usually) correct name. What follows is a perfectly perfect example of my child's loving heart, open mind and glorious, glorious soul. What follows is a reminder that life is good. What follows is a reminder to be thankful and present in how truly good it is.

Jim: What shape is this? [pointing]
Grif: A yellow star!
Jim: And this?
Grif: A diamond!
Me: Good job, honey!
Jim: What's this?
Grif: That's a heart. For mommy. Mommy is my whole heart.
[Jim and I look at each other over his head, stunned, immediately tear-filled, happy.]
Grif: And Daddy, you're my sun. My sun in the sky.

The shape of things indeed, no? 

Hide and Seek

So, obviously, my goal to post every day this year has seriously fallen by the wayside. Vacation, colds, now the flu -- life, if you will -- have gotten in the way. And I'm ok with letting them get in the way. I don't feel like I've broken a promise, or a vow (and no resolutions!) to either you, reader, or me (or Grif). I'm still trying to capture a shot of Grif every day, and if I occasionally skip that, I more than make it up with doubles. Either way, I'm still proud of my efforts here, even if I haven't totally stuck to my original intent. Either way, at the end of this year, I'm going to have a huge catalog of family pictures, family fun, and words and memories to remember it all by.

A few days ago, Jim and I were lounging in bed watching TV with Grif in the early morn. Winnie the Pooh came on -- which Grif has never seen or heard of -- and he laughed so hard. Pooh, he said, then paused. And then he chuckled loud and hard, before following it with, That's funny. And then laughed some more.  It was one of those silly, unexpected moments of actually hearing Grif grow up. We laughed for so long.

Today, Grif and I played hide and seek for the first time -- I really wasn't aware he even knew how to play. But I hid, and so did he, and then we would peak out at each other or "find" each other every few minutes. One of these days, I'll post his laugh here -- it truly is magical. We also went for a walk before lunch, taking the dog and getting out into the sunshine. I had to coax him into it, but once we got going, there was no stopping him. He had to run ahead, skip-running down the hills and then running back up the other side as we walked along our neighborhood sidewalks. It melted my heart to see him so happy and active and agile and funny. He turned around at one point to tell me, Mommy, this is so fun!

It's days like this that make me miss Jim the most -- regardless of the fact that it's those first days of any of his trips that are the hardest anyway (he left yesterday). I always feel like I've rushed around to get things done and catch up and take advantage of being able to get those things done cuz he is home. And then inevitably, I'm done erranding and cleaning and doing, and that's exactly when he has to leave. It didn't help that we were both still recovering from the flu alllll week, and now that we are both on the mend, we must part. Still, I can't wait to tell him about hide and seek. And the new park we found today. And the fun we had on our walk. And that I miss him. We miss him.

Loud and clear

So, oddly enough (for me anyway), I've been sick again. This time worse -- this time with what appears to be the flu. Which means I'm achy, headachy, dizzy, weak, tired, cranky, weepy, sore throaty (it's a word), feverish and all the rest. On top of which it's that time of the month for me, and Jim has been out of town (and sick as well) through it all. Poor Grif -- he never stood a chance.

Which is not to say I haven't had some bright moments -- Friday was good and Grif was a shining example of angelic good-boyness at a crazy overcrowded Panera. Then it was too beautiful, and I was feeling a small window of respite from my what I then thought was just a bad cold or sinus infection, so we went to the park... where I was once again amazed at his ability to latch on to another child and form an immediate friendship in laughter and play. It was a beautiful day, and we stayed through nap just because it was too tragic to think about taking him inside and fighting with him to go to sleep.

The next morning, I somehow rallied to take Grif to a birthday party we had been talking about all week, and again, felt better for the interim even though it was near-imposible to get myself moving (and presentable) for the 10:00 am party time. But here's the bonus, the payoff, if you will, even though the combined events (park and party) are probably what pushed me over (way over) the edge into full-blown flu and down and out misery.

At the party, and the park, Girf developed a new habit -- one that he repeated over and over and over. In the midst of loud, excited children, in the midst of all other cacophony and noise, in the midst of his focus and joy on playing or sliding or simply having sheer, innocent, good fun, Grif will call out to me, in his loudest, happiest, smile-filled voice:

MOMMY!!! MOMMY! He'll keep calling, until I answer, Yes, Grif (I answer with a smile on my face). And then the payoff, even louder:
I LOVE YOU, MOMMY!!!!!

Worth every nyquil, zycam, emergen-c, advil and excedrin migraine, don't you think? I hear you, honey, loud and clear.

Nothing and everything.

Nothing special happened today. It was just as hard to get up this morning as yesterday. Work was just as crazy as usual. Lunch with an old friend and working out after work were a little different, but nothing to write home (here) about. It rained a little, it was sunny for awhile, Grif and I had a good dinner, we played trains, read a book, tucked in, and fell asleep. It was a normal, simple, uneventful day.

Which is not to say it wasn't worth celebrating. Grif asked me in the car, how was your day, mommy? I laughed out loud -- how many times have I asked him that? And just today, he asked me for the first time -- and sounded so sincere, so interested in the answer that my heart was filled to overflowing. It was good, honey, how was yours? His answer -- it was good, mommy, thank you for asking. My cup runneth over.

So, thanks. Big, huge, full, full thanks. For my little boy, my husband, my health, my strength, my talent, my beauty, my life. Thanks for this wonderful, lovely, normal day. Nothing special happened and that's what made it so special. This day was everything. How was yours?

Reminders

I was going to blog about yoga. And the boy. (I know, strange and crazy topics.) I was going to blog about life, my thoughts, my worries, my crazy mind that wouldn't settle down this afternoon, my knee (which is strangely hurting me a ton all of a sudden), my blah, blah and gobbledegook.

But then I ran across this video. And I decided to blog about it instead.

Today is Valentine's Day. And my day started waking up to a wonderful, generous, funny, caring, intelligent man who is also my husband. And getting to wake up a sweet, hilarious, funky-haired, scared-of-sharks, grey-eyed little boy who is also my son. And it was filled with crazy work, procrastination, more crazy work (more procrastination), some writing, some indulging, some yoga, some mind wandering, some thanks, some celebrating, some realizing, some worrying, some hoping, some happiness, some fun.... and this. I posted it on Facebook as well, so if you ignored it there, I urge you to watch it here. And if you are too lazy or busy or disinterested to watch it, you can read it instead (but you'd miss the music -- the sweet Italian music -- that is so well chosen, and so perfect for conveying this message that I think you should skip to the good stuff and just push play below): 

Be happy
Show up
Follow your heart
Find a new perspective
Have a sense of wonder...
Find people you love...
Set goals
Help Others
Dance
Pamper yourself...
Face your fears...
Go to a museum
Exercise
Limit television
Get in touch with nature
Lighten up
Get a good night's sleep
Read books
Buy yourself flowers
Don't compare yourself with others
Don't beat yourself up
Be open to new ideas
Don't focus on negative thoughts...
...Focus on creating what you desire
Make time just to have fun
Keep the romance in your life
Make a gratitude list
Love your Mother Earth
Want what you have
Be true to yourself

My day ended with this. And I think yours should too.

Plus and minus

The beauty of vowing to both capture an image of Grif every day AND post about it here has its pluses and minuses. The beauty and the tragedy of sticking to one part of it and not the other. The good side is that I have pictures, great ones, silly ones, truly Grif ones from nearly every day this year (minus a few days from our vacation). The not-so-great side is that I do not have a corresponding post -- I was trying to catch up, then I was sick, then I was just lazy. Not excuses really, just reasons.

But again, the beauty of capturing shots every day is that when I don't have a post to go with it, it seems like a wasted image. A wasted opportunity. A chance missed. Extra incentive, I guess. So, because I was catching up, sick and then lazy, here are a few posts (images) in one. And a few thoughts as well...

He's growing up so fast. He talks clearer. Says new words and phrases every day that I've never heard him say before. He's taller. Faster. More agile. Smarter. More dexterous, more receptive, more open. More loving, more caring, more affectionate. He's changing so quickly, and I love to see how he grows to become more of the person he will (hopefully always) be. It's interesting, this motherhood thing. Barbed with trials and sorrows, blessed with all-encompassing love and joy. It's something I didn't expect. Couldn't expect. But is so very true, every minute. Its own brand of beauty and tragedy, I guess.

We've all been taking it easy this week -- I think we all needed it. Getting back to being a family. Getting back to "we three." Back to our schedules and routines. Back to normal, with just the right amount of naptime, TV-time, and playtime indulgence. It's been good. It is good. And that's worth celebrating here as well.

Now off to be lazy for just a bit longer. We've (I've)(you've) earned it.

Resilient

Resilient. It means to recover or adjust easily. What's interesting (and frustrating, and heartbreaking, and puzzling, and relieving) is that Grif is both totally un-resilient and resilient at the same time. We've been away, and he obvious did not adjust well to that. He's still not adjusting well, I think, and we're feeling the backlash of that even these fews days later as we settle once again into our normal, everyday routine.

But totally, 100%, fully, completely resilient? That's Grif too. And perhaps true of all three-year-olds. Crying one minute, fine the next. Upset and concerned at once, then completely joyous and happy and laughing a moment later.

We talked tonight about the dentist (our first appointment tomorrow, fingers crossed) and he seems open to that (if there are presents, which I suspect there will be, given the reports of this dentist). And we talked about swimming -- which last year he could not get enough of, but when I talked to him about learning to swim soon, he was resistant, worried that he if goes in the water, he will just "go down and disappear forever." He actually said those words... and my heart started to hurt with the thought that he was actually worried about (and could coherently picture) disappearing forever. But then the very next moment, his toy snake fell into the water... and was swimming. And he saw it. And he got it. And he was so very excited about his snake's tail just swimming in the water, back and forth.

Resiliency. I think it's what makes 3-year-olds so totally, utterly loveable. It makes us forget (and forgive) the tantrums and fits and innocent meanness. It's what makes us better parents, better people, knowing that if you can just wait out the storm one more minute, the smile on his face and the laughter from his heart will melt, melt, melt you.

A bit of a break

So for the first time, I know in a way how my husband feels when he returns from a trip. We were away from Grif for 10 days, and suffice it to say, he changed a ton during that time. I swear he was talking much, much more and definitely more clearly in that short week and a half apart. It was disconcerting almost. And, to top it all off, I'm beginning to think we may have been away for too long for his age. Do I regret our Colorado trip? Absolutely not. But it was hard on Grandma, and really hard on Grif. All of which made me sad -- he schedule was so disrupted, he had real trouble sleeping and now he's back-slid more than a little when it comes to his calls of nature.

Which is not the point. The point was perception -- I get it a bit better now. When Jim comes home after being away, I understand his sometime frustration that routines and patterns have changed. That Grif seems less interested in playing with him. That Grif seems a bit more inclined to throw a fit or have a meltdown. It was kind of an eye-opener, and one that I'm not likely to get another chance at. It hurt my heart a little, to see how fast that little boy changes, both adapting and resisting. But for as much as it was hard on him, it was so very necessary for Jim and me.

And the break from my daily blogging? Easy to forgive the breaks. Not so easy to get back into the swing. Ah, vacation. How effectively you wield that double-edged sword. Love you when your on, but killer when trying to recover when you're over. Makes me think there's something to be said for home. It's where the heart is, after all. Most definitely.

Epic.

Ok, so here in Colorado, everyone's buzz word is "epic." That run was epic. That party was epic. That lunch? Epic. It's said in reverence, or excitement, or awe. Consider it the CO version of awesome or amazing or wow-worthy. I've heard it a lot in the last few days. But it wasn't until today that I finally got it.

Today, I did something waaay out of my comfort zone. And I did it alone. Epic. Today I hiked 30+ minutes, above 11,500 feet, to get to the top of a mountain. Epic. Many times during this hike, I wanted to turn back, give up. Especially when I came over the first hill, ski boots trudging and heavy skis over my shoulder, and realized that what I thought was nearly the end of the hike was not even halfway. And I was sure that I couldn't do it. No way. But somehow, someway, I kept going. And kept going. And made it to the top. Epic. Today I hiked to 12,000 feet, just to ski some different terrain. Because I wanted to. Epic.

Today, I almost decided not to ski at all, cuz I'd be going by myself, skiing by myself, and doing it all with a very tired body and mind. Today, I went anyway. Epic. Today I heard song after song, some of which I had forgotten, all of which brought a huge smile to my face and a skip to my step (and ski). Epic. Today, I rallied, when I'd rather have slept. Today I hiked, when I'd rather have given up and gone back. Today, I remembered what it was like to be me -- strong, beautiful, healthy, free, amazing me. Epic. Epic. Epic.

And today as I drove back down the mountain, Into the Mystic blaring on the radio, I was overcome with gratitude. Tearful, overwhelming, fabulous gratitude. For my wonderful life, for my amazing family, for my good, good health, for this truly epic day that I had given to myself.

I think more of us deserve truly epic days like this, don't you?

Taking a journey

So I missed yesterday's post in the craziness of our friend's giant 40th birthday party (the reason that prompted this trip in the first place). But both this pic and the top are from yesterday, so in my mind, that counts.

Where do I begin? Let's keep it simple, else I could wax poetic and ponder the thoughts and words swirling in my head for much too long, and probably still never get them all out properly or fully. I've long considered Grif's godmother my spiritual advisor, but I've always known that one of Jim's friends exuded that same quality of peace and spirituality and coolness and wholeness and sheer giving. It's why I've always been so attracted to her. It's one of the many reasons why I love her. And it's why I opened up to her so easily, why I trust her, and in a not-so-round-about way, asked her for help.

Last night, we talked. Really talked -- talked about her former job, and one that she is very active in as a part of her lifestyle and being. And for as much as I feel I am in control of my own breathing, my own life, my own role as a mother, if you've been following along (or if you're a mom yourself), you'll know how often and how easy it is for me to spin out of control. Lose my temper. Yell. And for as much as I know exactly what Grif will do in a certain situation, for as much as I don't like the way I've reacted to it in the past, I find myself over and over again powerless to change my reactions to him and it. Yoga and spiritual healings and my daily gratitude and work on this blog go very far in maintaining my health, both physically and mentally (and spiritually!). But that's all they do -- maintain. I needed something to break out of the maintenance phase and finally get on the path to fixing what ever anger/guilt/sadness/despair/grief/impatience issues I have, the ones I let surface much too often, the ones I can't keep from coming out.

And well, suffice it to say, thanks to Val, I think last night I started that journey. That journey of discovery and acknowledgement, of acceptance and forgiveness, to heal and change. I don't know where it will take me, or how I'll get there, but now that I have a direction, I know it's coming. It reminds me of that Shawshank quote, "It's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain."

Oddly enough (or not), I got a note from the universe yesterday that said "What do you fear now? How will you use it? You're welcome, the universe." I think that sums it up.

Feelin Good

So before we left on this trip, I made the commitment to keep up with my yoga practice while I was on vacation. And after a long, long day of traveling, and a long night of barking dogs and dueling guitars, and landing and playing all in a much higher altitude, I wasn't sure that I'd be able -- physically or mentally -- to make it to yoga today. I was worried about my fatigue, my choice of yoga studio out here in CO, my crazy, crazy, crazy sore body from training, and did I mention the altitude? The altitude was already kicking my butt, and I was planning to go to a hot yoga class and try to breathe for an hour? I had to be kidding.

But I wasn't. The studio was awesome -- I felt the yoga love as soon as I walked in. The class was amazing -- and even more importantly, I felt just as amazing. The teacher was fun, the class full, and much cooler than I expected (thank you, Moksha, for upping my tolerance for hot hot hot studios). My breath never got away, my muscles never got too fatigued, we never did anything that I wasn't already well familiar with. And I did all the vinyasas. All of them. And they felt good. Really, really good. I can't wait to go back on both Sunday and hopefully Thursday. 

But what really cemented my choice, what really made me thank the universe that I did the work and motivated and went and practiced this amazing class, was the closing song the teacher played as we came down for our last shivasana... it was a song I've long, long loved. One that has always brought a slow, sensual smile to my face right before I my heart bursts out into song and joy and fun and love and light. A song that was a Jeep song. A singing song, a breathing song. And because the universe is good, and my life is as well (and grandma unknowingly kept up my daily Grif photo promise), because technology is so, so fine, I can share that lovely Nina Simone song with you. I share it with you here. Enjoy. Smile. Revel. Sing. 

Long time coming

So begins our vacation. We’ve been away from the boy before, and I’m not usually one of those overly emotional clingly mom types who cries and wails whenever we leave the “baby” -- granted, this is the longest we’ll have been away from Grif, and the longest he’ll have stayed with grandma, but that’s not what had me in tears. Cuz yes, there were tears when I walked away from Grandma’s car, his little life of toys and clothes and bunny and dog filling up the back of her car. What choked me up had to do with, as usual, time. 

I’ve finally come to a point in the year where the freelance work is done (but hopefully more coming down the pike), so no outstanding work or obligation or task is pulling me away from the boy’s constant cries of “come play with me, mommy.” The holidays are over, the baking, shopping, wrapping and traveling are over as well -- so much so that everything is put away and stored for another year. Most of the laundry is done, caught up, as is the house in its current state of “pretty clean.” The packing and prepping and double-checking for this trip is complete as well... and so this afternoon came the time to finally, fully relax. The time when I could finally put everything down, not have anything pressing me to get done, the time when I could finally focus all my attention on the boy... and then we left. 

Which is not to say that I’ll be in any real crazy insane working mode when we return. Sure, they’ll be the obligatory unpacking and putting everything away and the new batch of laundry to do, but time-wise, I’ll still have the same (luxurious, glorious) copious amounts -- no upcoming events, no crazy side-work, nothing to prep and pack for. And maybe, hopefully, after some time away, time where I can catch up on sleep -- lots and lots of sleep and napping and movie watching and yoga and hanging with friends and skiing and all the rest this lovely, magical place in the mountains brings -- hopefully I’ll be more refreshed than ever, so the times I’ll have with the boy will be that much more fun and focused and free. He deserves it, and so do I. 

But for now, I miss him a little. I miss the time that I’ve already wasted trying to get to this point, sometimes at his expense. I miss his smell and his little face and his heart-melting laugh. But I’ve missed my pilot too, and with the craziness of editing and working and holiday rush, we’ve missed spending good time together as well. We’ve missed each other, and for this trip, I’m so thankful that we have the time to recharge and relax with each other, for each other. So for as much as I miss the boy and the fact that this “down” time could be solely dedicated to him, I know -- and am soooooo very thankful for -- this time is just for the pilot and me. Cool, no? 

Packing up

There was a moment today when I didn't think I would make it. The amount of work I needed to get done, the writing project after writing project, on top of the packing, organizing, cleaning, and all the rest, seemed totally insurmountable. I was sure I'd have to bring more that a little of "real" work home, to complete over vacation, and I was both upset and sick at the thought of that. And I'm sure it showed... I'm famous for that. And then there were the nerves I was feeling about my training appointment today -- the last way I wanted to start off my vacation was with disappointment and frustration....

But somehow, I got the writing done. Most of it was even done really well, turning out much better than I expected. And as a writer, that's often the magic of just putting your head down and plugging through -- at the end, you come back to the surface and realized you churned out something worthwhile. I love it when that happens.

And the training? Went great. I'll be sore tomorrow, but now more than ever, I'm committed to working out and losing weight before an April wedding and before our May music fest. I'm even taking yoga clothes so I can "get my heat" on along with a few vinyasas while on vacation. The skiing... well, I just hope there's snow. I'm psyched to get back on the slopes, if even for only two days.

But packing? I'm still behind on. Cleaning? None done. And I'm rapidly, rapidly losing steam (blaming most on my post-training fatigue and nausea-laden exhaustion)(and a mini spat I had with the pilot)(I hate it when we do that). But for now, here's to making it this far today, which was much, much father and much better than I thought I'd be. And that's something to be proud of, no matter what is still left to do for the night, no matter how I feel physically or mentally. I'm just sooo thankful to even be going, so thankful that we can go and recharge with each other, in that most wonderful, amazing of states. Here's to vacation. And Colorado. And me. And falling asleep one more time with the boy before I leave him for over a week. Goodnight, all. See you soon.

Acknowledgement

So, I think it's worth noting that as of today, I have posted more blog entries in this first month of 2012 than I did in all of 2010 and 2011. For the past three weeks, it's been an interesting journey, finding shots to take of the boy each day, finding time to sit down here at this computer every day, finding heart to write about something new and poignant and blog-worthy every day.

Some are better than others. Some have made me sit back, after re-reading, and smile in awe and wonder, at my talent, at my life. Some have made me sigh. Some cry. Some are just ok, and even more importantly, I'm ok with those that fall into the realm of mediocre. Only a few have garnered any comments, and I'm ok with that too. Although I do wonder if anyone is following along... or if this will all just become something amazing for Grif and me to look back and read together someday. Either way is perfect.

So here's to writing, every day. And to forgiving myself and being easy on myself if I choose to break that cycle this week -- as we go on a (for me, MUCH-needed) vacation to Colorado, I'd love to promise that I will continue these daily pics and daily posts. And I truly intend to try. But if for some reason I miss one, or choose to miss one, to take a little break, a little breather, I'm not going to beat myself up over it. I'm not going to go crazy trying to take time to post something just to check off another day. That's not what this has been about.

Instead, I'm going to relax. Unwind. Sleep in. Nap. Hopefully do some yoga in Longmont, hopefully doing some skiing in Salida, hopefully see a few movies, and I know catch up with good friends and generally enjoy life. And we'll just see what the rest of the time brings.

So if you've been following along for the last 20-odd days, here's to you too. And if you're reading along and looking back, my future self, here's to you as well. To these and many more. Cheers!

Yoga lessons

I've talked before about my favorite yoga teacher, Joe. Even before Rachel at the Yoga Bar (who has brought a whole new level of light and love and understanding and peace to my life as a whole, not just my yoga practice), there was Joe. I've had good yoga teachers in the past (Katherine, way back in KC who introduced me to real yoga in the first place), but it was Joe who really taught me what yoga was, what it meant to practice yoga, how to practice yoga, what it meant to be a yogi. Truly, fully, completely. It was Joe that brought that gentle wisdom and breathtaking enlightenment to my practice, and my life. It was Joe, and the studio he taught at, who brought gave me yoga again at all. Even when Joe left last year (moving to a new city to start anew with his wife and little girl), I channeled him in most of my practices. I quoted him to others. I thought about all the things he would say and teach and tried to keep them present in my mind, tried to keep them part of my life. And then he came back.

He's only back for awhile -- til April, is the current rumor. And this time, before he leaves, I'll be sure to take the time to finally tell him how much he has contributed to this change, this understanding, this appreciation and fulfillment that yoga brings to my life. I'll express my gratitude for his guidance and gift.

In the meantime, I'll continue to revel in his quiet calm, his slow way of talking and teaching, his gentle yet oh-so-important reminders. It occurred to me tonight that these reminders are not just for yoga, they're about life. And in the wake of a really good practice, I thought them worthy to share. So take a breath, and listen...

Joe always stresses the importance of no judgements, no opinions during practice. To just observe. To acknowledge the changes, invite them in, and let them move on. How refreshing to think we could do this in our everyday lives -- about ourselves, about others, no judgements, no opinions, just acknowledgement. He talks often about the body, the breath and the mind, how when we are distraught or overworked or losing concentration and focus, to just come back to the body, breath and mind. Come back to our breathing. How wonderful it would be when things in life get really crazy and rough to remember to come back to our breath, and focus on the beauty and strength of our body, our breath and our mind. To just let the rest go, the things that make us crazy, the things that make our brains circle around in a frenzy of thought, the things that make us judge ourselves and find us wanting... to just let it all go with one cleansing, prana-filled breath.

How amazing that would be, no? Thanks, Joe. Thanks for the reminders.

So much, turned around

Today was uneventful, no big crazy editing project to complete, no mountains of laundry to do, not quite time to start packing and organizing for our Colorado trip, although I've shopped and prepped for our return already. I made a small mess in the kitchen, but Grif helped too - we made pancakes for breakfast and chili for the super bowl, and then decided to skip out to lunch (at, in Grif-speak, Pa-ner-ro) instead of staying inside, and where Grif was truly an angel. Ate all his lunch, stayed right by me, was simply a good, well-behaved, adorable child. High marks for a three-year-old boy.

Which says something for his adaptability -- poor guy, he's born the brunt of my quicker-to-explode-that-time-of-the-month-temper all by himself the last day and a half, but in the true magical nature of children, they both remember too much yet are sooo quick to forgive. Remember when you yelled at me? Yes, Grif, I'm sorry, I shouldn't yell like that when I'm mad. It's not nice. I'm sorry, honey. It's ok, mommy.... total forgiveness, complete and unencumbered.

So tonight, as we lay in his bed, and he was doing his usual toss around fidgety thing -- the thing that keeps him awake when he so obviously is exhausted -- I started to lose my temper again (on this, the last and worst day of those headachy, volatile, emotional days of the month), and from out of nowhere, this child of mine did something different. For the first time ever, he asked me, mommy, do you love me so much? He's told me that, stated his love (so much) already a thousand times, even though that "I love you so much, mommy" is something relatively new... but this, this questioning, as if he didn't know, or else just wanted to hear it, was a first. And it, as expected, floored me. Checked my anger like ice water on a fire. Gone, out, suddenly, completely. As if he knew, somehow in his little heart and soul, knew exactly that this was what I needed to hear to bring me down off that (silly) stormy mountain I was mentally ascending, as if he knew it would cut right to my heart and bring back only what was important -- my love for him, his for me, and deep, deep, deep thanks for this life that has brought both.

Mommy, do you love me so much? Oh honey, yes I do. With all my heart.

Dream a little dream...

Today, I had a startling, almost overwhelming moment of clarity and hope. The perfect words -- clarity and hope -- the hope I felt was deep-seated, overpowering, going so far beyond being moved to tears, it hit me hard enough to make me gasp in true wonder. I had a realization, so clear, so sharp, so real. And although it's going to sound ridiculous (in its obviousness), I guess it was because I'd never articulated it before, never fully acknowledged and admitted it before. Never hoped it with all my heart and all my focus and all my love and gratitude and strength and force before.

I realized that for all this crazy, unpredictable world has to offer, with all its twists and turns and tragedies, hidden and obvious, imagined and real, possibly being the last year we have to live (if you believe the mayans), I had one clear wish for the future.

Today, as I looked at my sweet child -- who drove me to tears this afternoon with his typical, fit-throwing, screaming, non-napping three-year-old self -- that I couldn't wait to see how his life turned out. To see how he grew up. What hearts he broke. What people broke his. How he handled both. What he grew up to be, and look like, and act like, and become. How he would move as a teenager, as an adult -- how tall and lanky, or sleet and lithe, powerful or quiet, or both. How long his hair would be, how much grayer his eyes would become. How good he was at sports, or what books he liked to read, or what his first car would be. What he would remember from his childhood. What he would remember about Jim. What he would remember of me. What our marriage and life together would have taught him. Would he travel or stay close? Would he grow up here or in Colorado? Would he sing? Would he dance? Would he build or tear down? Would he be strong and smart and healthy and kind and good? Would he create, or discover, or solve, or help, or fly, or fight, or serve, or sacrifice? Would he cry, or laugh, or rage or...

Please, I thought to the universe, whatever happens to us all, to this wonderful, mixed-up world, whatever destiny or chance is out there waiting to unfold, please let me get to see that. I can't wait to see that.