My son, the super villian

Being the mom of a 5 year old, I'm constantly subjected to cute and amazing things my kid says. Most of it is endearing and heart warming, and at the very least makes absolutely no sense. It's adorable.

But every now and then, Rowan mutters something so inherently evil, I laugh nervously while secretly wondering if I need to start saving up for therapy. Or possibly start checking his closet for bodies.

You see, Rowan, being five (and/or the product of my DNA) has a flair for the dramatic. You tell him he can't have some Halloween candy, he throws his hands up in the air and says he's throwing it all away. You tell him he can't put a puzzle together because it's bed time, he says he will NEVER EVER EVER do puzzles EVER AGAIN.

I may or may not have uttered very similar phrases myself, and I'm 30 damn years old.

Last week, as I was getting myself and Rowan ready for the day, I gave him some juice and some cereal and instructed him to eat it before we left. I gave him fair warning. When it came to go time, however, he hadn't finished either one and we had a grade A meltdown before we even walked out the door.

As I was driving him to school, he had finished his meltdown but was sitting in his seat, silently sulking.

From the backseat, I heard him murmur "I will destroy the world."

WHAT THE FLYING FUCK.

The scariest thing about this statement, is that he did not scream it at me in typical preschooler fashion. No, he silently stared out the window for a minute, and then that phrase came floating up from the backseat, gripping me in terror.

Just today, I had made plans with a friend to meet for breakfast. All would have been well, except she was asleep and not answering her phone by the time I pulled up in front of her house. I sat outside in my car, texting her, but eventually gave up.

Rowan was not happy about this. He loves this particular friend, and was really excited to see her.

I tried to explain to him that she was probably still asleep, and we could maybe come back some other time.

To which he replied "I'm going to burn their house to the ground."

**blink**

Once again, he said it in his serial killer voice, while staring maliciously out the window.

I'm not sure what to do here. We had a talk about threatening violence upon others, and I've explained to him how WRONG that is... but he just smiled and said:

"Just joking, mom."

One weird tip to lose belly fat!

So here we are, at the beginning of week 4 on Whole30. We have 6 days left of this thing. I decided to base this blog more on some inspiration that I've gotten these last three weeks over how I've progressed.

Whilst browsing pinterest, I'm constantly inundated with pins from others they have pinned to their "weight loss" or "fitness" board. I see the same sort of posts on facebook. It's always a shot of a tanned and toned fitness model, usually in a sports bra and glistening with sweat. There is usually some inspirational quote photoshopped over the top, saying something along the lines of "hard work is the only way to results" or "strong is the new skinny" or "10 minutes of runnign is ten minutes longer than the person sitting on the couch." Relatively speaking, it is much easier on the eyes than a typical fashion model in at least it shows women who are fit and in good health. I would prefer using them for inspiration over posting pics of some anorexic celebrity and stiving to acheive that look. However, I still hate those photos. I hate them because they are still encouraging women to strive for something that the media and society has told them they need to strive for. Strong is the new skinny, so try to get six pack abs, a rock hard butt, and totally toned arms. Women are being subliminally told that they must achieve all those things to be attractive and it's total bullshit.  Eating healthy, having a good physical and mental relationship with food, and being active and fit enough to enjoy life and your family should be what all women strive for. Starving yourself, counting calories or carbs or grams of fat, and spending two hours a day in the gym doesn't achieve that. All it does is stress you out and maintain the control your body image has over you. Don't get me wrong, I've repinned and reposted my fair share of those photos but after taking a good long look at them and what they mean, I've taken them down.

Another disturbing trend among women I have come to notice, are all the fad diets that promise fast weight loss. "I heard if I only drink homemade juice for 30 days I'll lose 60 pounds!", "If I take this pregnancy hormone and eat less than 500 calories a day, I'll lose a ton of weight by summer!". 

Its bullshit. It's all bullshit.

I will say again: WEIGHT LOSS IS NOT EASY. Nor is it supposed to be. You aren't supposed to lose 60 pounds in a month, or two months. Even 3 months. Because the SECOND you stop drinking juice, or start eating cupcakes again, you will gain all of it back. Fad diets teach you nothing about eating healthy and maintaining that weight you worked so hard for. There is no "one trick" to a skinny body. It's a multitude of tricks and education and a strive for health over weight that will get you there.

My best advice: eat healthy. Do your research. Learn how food affects us biologically and psychologically. Stay away from crap our bodies were never meant to eat. Humans have inhabited this planet for millions of years, yet we've only been eating grains for 10,000 of them. Our bodies simply cannot process grains and dairy. But don't take my word for it, look it up!

For more info on Whole9/Whole30 and the paleo diet, including all the benefits and resources you need for your own research, check out www.whole9life.com

Roller Derby and the Empowerment of Women

Before I get started on this post, I'm going to preface this by saying that I am in no way singling out any one person, or even any one league. I still have lots of friends that skate WFTDA derby for other leagues and this is not a post to state how much they suck or how other derby is so much better. Those who are my friends on facebook are ones I trust and who agree with me to a certain extent.


That being said.


I started playing roller derby a little over three years ago for a huge league in my area. I had seen their championship bout a couple of years prior and fell in love with it. I loved the outfits, the attitudes, and the fact that these women were accomplishing an amazing thing while simultaneously flipping the bird to conventional attitudes. Fuck, those women were awesome. They wore ripped tights, booty shorts, they had great makeup.  They skated around the track with an intensity and rebelliousness I admired immediately. I knew I had to do it.


I joined the rec league with high expectations. I poured my heart and soul into derby. Six months later, I decided to try out for Fresh Meat.


Lo and behold, I made it.


My hopes rose even higher, with the prospect that I was that much closer to getting on a team. My ultimate goal. The thing I wanted above everything else in my life. Literally. As the days went on and my Fresh Meat career  lengthened, I put derby above everything else. I was skating 4-6 nights a week, participating in 2 committees, and going to every single bout put on by our home teams. I was basically home long enough to cram food in my mouth and leave again. My family life suffered, my friendships suffered. I couldn't complain, though, because "everyone has lives outside of derby, you're no exception." as I was told by coaches and leadership at the time. I nodded and grinned as big as I could, because it was true. I was also told that the league supports skaters with families and busy lives, and I wholeheartedly believed it. Because a league that says it supports and empowers women couldn't possibly be unsupportive of women with families and kids and lives, right?


Right?


Right around my one year anniversary on Fresh Meat, my enthusiasm became harder to come by. I had been through 2 or 3 drafts at that point, and hadn't been picked. But I wasn't going to let that get me down. I gladly rolled over and exposed my belly to the league again. I pushed harder and invested everything I had, mentally and physically into the league, because that's what was expected of me. Anything less and I was deemed "not dedicated". I saw it happen multiple times to other people. There were no good excuses for missing practice. We had an 80% attendance policy, but were expected to use that 20% as "emergency padding" in case something devastating prevented us from getting to practice. We were told that if we showed a consistent 80%, we would probably still not get drafted. We needed to be at 100% or higher to even be considered. I was starting to become a husk of a person, my obsession with getting onto a team becoming the only motivation to attend practice. I didn't care about having fun anymore (I wasn't), I didn't care about being empowered ( I wasn't) and I certainly didn't care about the amount of dedication I thought it took to get to the top. 


As my second year anniversary approached, I had made it through 6 drafts. I had watched as spots opened up on teams, only to be disappointed when a vet skater came back and took that spot under the new "immediate draft" policy. I listened as others would fawn over visiting skaters, begging them to transfer and join their team instead of focusing on the talent that was waiting on Fresh Meat. I tried to ignore it when skaters from other leagues told me team captains had visited and attempted to recruit. From the outside looking in, it seemed our league was hurting for talent. While attending a training committee meeting, I overheard the head of that committee tell another skater that "If someone gets on FM who doesn't show potential to join the A travel team, they are a waste of our time." Verbatim. If you were not a talented skater from the get-go, you were considered a waste. Our travel team was consistently in the top five rankings in the nation, so our league was focused and dead set on being number one. They trained their travel team hard, and that trickled down to home teams, and then Fresh Meat. Nobody cared if you weren't having fun, they needed to be number one and they were willing to steamroll anyone who didn't show enough potential to get them there. It no longer mattered how much heart and soul you had for derby, how hard you pushed yourself, how much personal improvement you made, or how bad you wanted it. Home team skaters were no exception. Only the best ever got rostered, and in some cases, only the best were allowed to scrimmage, rendering the less talented skaters even more useless by not getting any game time. We were still expected to shut up and show up, though. We were expected to sell tickets to events we were not skating in. We were told not to cry if we weren't drafted or rostered because that showed we were poor sports. 


That year several aspects of my personal life turned themselves into a crisis. By the summer I was in full on crisis mode, trying to deal with some pretty bad shit. Derby finally took a back burner to my personal life. My attendance was abysmally low, because dealing with my crises was more important to me than showing up. I was informed in August that I was no longer welcome on Fresh Meat due to my poor attendance. I was devastated. Not only was I trying to pick up the pieces of my personal life, but the one thing that offered me solace in that time was being taken away. I appealed to the board, and was told my appeal would be considered at the next training committee meeting a month away, and in the meantime I should come to practice as normal. By then, my life had started to stabilize and I was able to dive into derby once again. During that month, I did EVERYTHING. I went to every practice, every bonus practice, every team practice, even if I didn't get credit for it. I wanted to show them my dedication was back in full force, and it was. During the meeting, I stated my case. I said my personal life was under control again and I was ready and willing to give derby everything I had. The committee consisted of several team skaters and two FM skaters. I answered questions, and agreed out loud that in hindsight I should have communicated more about my struggles. In my head, I was still wondering what good that would have done, however. Everyone has personal problems and I know I would have gotten a "suck it up and show up to practice anyway" speech. I was not empowered, no one gave a shit about me because I didn't fit the social mold, I wasn't a super star skater, and god forbid I put something above derby for once. 

It was a unanimous vote. 

I was out. 

Even the two FM skaters voted me out. I cried harder than I had cried in a long time. Derby was all I knew at that point. I was invited to keep volunteering and try out for Fresh Meat again in a couple of months. I laughed, and I laughed hard. It just went to show the attitude of that league. "We'll keep you on Fresh Meat for two years, make you feel like shit the whole time for not being super talented, and kick you out when you have a crisis in your personal life, but please keep volunteering and doing shit for us and maybe we'll consider you in the future sometime"


In November that year, myself and a handful of other girls, some of them whom had also left that league, banded together and started our own league. A Renegade league. We wanted to bring back the showmanship and the campiness that is embedded in derby's roots. We wanted to bring the fun back into derby, for EVERYONE, not just a select few. We wanted to empower all women again. Anyone who wanted to skate with us would be welcomed into our fold and not judged based on appearance, social skills (or lack thereof) or talent. We planned to have a cohesive and respectful relationship with the flat track derby league in our town, and planned on presenting ourselves to the Executive Director as soon as we had a drawn out business plan and got ourselves organized a bit. Word spread like wildfire, though, as it does in derby, and soon I got a call from her asking what the hell we were doing. I explained to her what our plan was, and how we wanted to offer a different derby option for anyone who wanted it. I told her that flat track derby has been going a different direction than a lot of people had expected, and we wanted to be there for those that don't want to be a jock. She advised me that if it was showboating and campiness we wanted, we could probably have special bouts or something to entertain the fans. I respectfully told her that with a league that laughs at and mocks fishnets and themed bouts, it couldn't happen. That league was too far absorbed into being “athletic” and getting into the olympics to let anything like that happen. We later received an email stating we are attempting to start a competing business and the league skaters would be expected to sign a non compete agreement so that they couldn't skate with us. We were then openly mocked on social media. Friends of mine who were still in that other league told me about several skaters that couldn't stop badmouthing us. Is this really the roller derby women want to join? A league that considers anything different from them illegitimate? Is it really so wrong to have different ideas and goals for roller derby than what is set for you by your league? Why would anyone want to stay in a league where they are openly mocked and ridiculed? One of my good friends, when experiencing frustration during a skill plateau (which is common and normal) was told to "put on her big girl panties and quit crying about it." Does that sound supportive or empowering in any way? When I hear "I don't wear derby skinz, I only wear athletic gear now." following by a snort and giggling gossip after that person walks away, my faith in that league officially goes down the toilet.


I have had more fun in the 8 months I have been skating renegade than I did in almost 2.5 years of skating flat track derby. Yes, we are still a baby league and we have our issues just like anything else. But all of us still remember what it's like to first start out. People who don't show crazy talent right off the bat are encouraged instead of condemned. We don't have tryouts, we don't have Fresh Meat, and the only thing that keeps a person from getting rostered is if they haven't reached a point where they are safe to bout. We just recently implemented an attendance policy, but it's not set in stone and if a skater is struggling, she feels safe enough to come to us to work it out. We don't care about winning as much, or being number one. We care about everyone having a good time and playing some motha fuckin roller derby. Just because we skate Renegade doesn't mean we skate dirty, dangerous, or we aren't athletes. We train clean and mean. Our first priority is safety and fitness, our second is the show. 99% of the haters that criticize Renegade have never even watched us skate. Our first bout is coming up on October 19^th, and I can honestly say I am honored to skate with each and every person on my team, regardless of how they look, and regardless of how they skate. 

Birthdays and whatnot

So two weeks ago, I turned 30. In the weeks leading up to my birthday, a lot of people exclaimed "Say goodbye to your twennnnnnnntiessssss!" in a sing-songy voice while waggling their eyebrows at me. I mean, honestly, I'm pretty sure I left my twenties behind when I had a kid at 25. So I would just laugh along with them, maybe throwing in an "OOHHH UH OH!!!" here or there.

So in all reality, I don't really feel that much older. I'm sure most women will hate me for saying this, but, I haven't really aged since I was 14. I have grown much MUCH wiser, (not really) but looks wise, I still got it goin' on.

It's like staring into the past, present, AND the future!

On that note, here's a list of things, besides my age, that prove I am getting older:

My porch lurking
When Mo and I are schlumping on the couch watching a movie at night with our door open, enjoying the cool breeze wafting over our glistening rolls poking out from under our clothing, (how's THAT for imagery, huh?) and we hear some kind of ruckus happening outside, we'll peel ourselves up from the couch, shuffle over onto the the porch, and sit there staring menacingly at whoever has the balls to raise their voice while walking down the street. We do this for two reasons: to monitor any possible foul play in the neighborhood, and to witness any possible drama going down.Ten years ago? I would jump up in hopes something cool and exciting was happening outside my door and I'd want to participate. Now, we just stand there and attempt to intimidate. We are two years away from "GIT OFF MY LAWN".

Seriously. Put a bright red wig on him and he looks like my twin.

I leave parties at 11pm
When I was planning my big nerdy thirty party, I decided to open the evening with some private room karaoke, and end it at a bowling alley/lounge. Most young people wouldn't even be thinking about getting ready for a night out until at least 9pm.

Not me.

I started getting ready at 3, and I was at Voicebox at 5pm SHARP. Let me just repeat that, so that it really sinks in: I STARTED MY PARTY AT 5PM. That is just only slightly worse than hitting Sweet Tomatoes at 4pm for the early bird special.

Leading in to:

Bedtime
I turn into a pumpkin at 11pm. Oh, I've tried staying up until all hours of the morning like I used to, but at this point, I don't even know what 3am looks like anymore, unless it's 3am and my 5 year old is crawling into bed with me, asking to watch television and complaining his legs hurt. Also, the other night I caught myself thinking: "I should bring my water bottle to bed. Mmm, nah. I will just be getting up all night to pee." I SAID THAT, YOU GUYS.

What in the fu.....

My opinion of young people
I'm not saying I'm that old crotchety person scowling at little kids just yet. I'm talking about my general opinion and attitude towards people in the age range of 16-25. I have reached the point where I want to smile knowingly when they talk to me about inane, shallow shit and say something wise like: "Oh my child, you have much to learn." I'm that annoying "just you wait" adult. I just want to impart all my wisdom upon these poor innocent souls, even though realistically I was JUST THERE.

My general condition after practice
Now, I have never been the athletic type. I didn't play sports in high school. BUT, I did skateboard, and I skated a LOT. Street, vert, anything I could put my wheels on. As a 16 year old, I could skate for 6 hours, drink a slurpee, and spryly jump up to skate some more. And barely feel anything in the morning other than a shade of soreness in my thighs.

Not so much now.

I go to a 2 hour practice, even if it's just endurance and I'm not getting bashed around, and I feel like I was hit by a freight train almost immediately. The next morning, I'm wondering who the fuck picked me up during REM sleep and proceeded to throw me around my room. I can barely walk the next day. Plus I'm so dehydrated my skin starts peeling off. My youthful days of athleticism are gone, my friends. All that's left is an empty, panting shell.

Must... remember... to drink... more... water....

New tattoo time!

Just a quick blurb before I head to work:

We finally finished the "Alice" piece we started over a year ago. If you like this work, it was done by none other than the beautiful and talented Betty Marie. If you like what she does, head over to www.steadybettytattoo.com and hit her up. She's crazy talented and this tattoo is a masterpiece, in my opinion. A brilliant, brilliant masterpiece. But that may be just because it's on me.

Things that piss me off

Searching for my glasses.
I'll be the first one to admit, I am not an organized person. For some damn reason, my brain refuses to remind me to put stuff in the same place every time. ESPECIALLY SHIT I NEED TO SEE TO FIND. Hence, the pickle I put myself in when I have no contacts in and I can't see an inch in front of my face. For those who are blessed with good eyesight, guh'head and blur your eyesight on purpose, to where you can no longer distinguish shapes. Now look for something you really need. YOU ARE NOW FEELING A FRACTION OF MY FRUSTRATION.

"I know they are here somewhere"

Well written, well thought out, hilariously clever, and consistent blogs
Only because they are more well written, more thought out, and more hilariously clever than mine. Also, they post regularly instead of just during a full moon. And truth be told, I love funny blogs, I just feel like less of a writer after I read them.

This is essentially my face when I read funnier blogs than mine.

Incidentally, this image is from one of the funniest blogs of all time and I 

follow it religiously. Check out www.booksofadam.com

Carbs

Oh, carbs, you nasty little minx, you. I hate you, I really do. NO. I TAKE IT BACK, PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! Carbs make me fat. Carbs slow my athletic performance down. Carbs make my brain fuzzier than it should be. Eating carbs for me is like how I imagine a bad one night stand with Zak Bagins would be: momentary euphoria and bliss, followed by intense feelings of regret, remorse, and self loathing. I fervently wish I could say "I had such a bad day, I can't wait to go home and eat celery and swiss chard to just MELT my stress away." Instead I come home and inhale an entire pizza like I've never had one before.  

I swear this is the last Books of Adam image I am going to use.

The underwear I'm wearing at this moment

Every time I stand up, I get a wedgie. I pull it out, do my bizness, and sit down, only to repeat the process again. And yet, when I pull those undies out of the dryer, do I think to myself: "Nope, I will never put on the wedgie panties again." or do I think: "Maybe THIS time I won't have any problems."? I never claimed to be the smartest person on the block.

I understand, my brethren.

Victory rolls

I get lots of compliments on my victory rolls when I wear them out in public. People love them. What they don't know is the fucking commitment it takes for me to get them that way. It's about 45 minutes per roll of screaming, frustrated grunting, rolling and unrolling, and pieces of hair sticking to my fingers when I FINALLY get it and pulling the whole damn thing apart. I am not good at victory rolls, you guys. When you see me with the finished product on my head, you are looking at someone missing a piece of their sanity.

Expectation                                 Reality

People who don't find sarcasm very funny

Get over yourself.

Whatever predator is out there eating my chickens.

Fucking stop already. This isn't KFC. I know circle of life and all that shit but if I catch you sneaking up on my chickens again.....

Not ending my blogs the way I want

Speaking of funny and well written blogs, (this is not one) how do people end blogs like this? I sat here for six minutes trying to think of the perfect way to tie this all together in a neat little concluding package, but I'm drawing a blank. So instead, I will leave you with this picture that really confused me when I googled "funny".

I can't think of a clever title, so I'm just going to make an old school horn noise: AWOOOOOOOGA!!!

In the last two weeks, I attempted several paleo meals with 90% success! All of my meals came from PaleOMG and they were REALLY GOOD, with the exception of one. I made Honey Dijon Pistachio Encrusted Steak, and it was REALLY GOOD. I also made Bacon and Spinach Stuffed Chicken and it was also REALLY GOOD. The last thing from that blog I made was Beef Spare Ribs and it was NOT REALLY THAT GOOD, BUT OK. Honestly, I am pretty sure it was an ID10T error, as my crockpot was turned up too high and it sucked all the juices out of the ribs and made them dry as the bones they were stuck to. I followed the recipe exact, but I think if I had made 3X as much sauce it would have been better.

Also turned down the heat.

Ok, moving on!

Riding that there paleo train, I also joined a gym that's basically called "Edge (not quite Cross Fit but Kinda Like Cross Fit) Performance Fitness". I have been to two classes so far and I gotta say, it's pretty damn amazing. It's not an open gym like 24 Hour where you just go whenever and work out by yourself. There are group sessions at designated times with a trainer who watches and corrects/makes adjusments as necessary. There are usually several stations that each person spends a couple of minutes at and then rotates. And it kicks my ASS! You guys, I'm gonna get buff so fast. It's hard to get into a routine, however, especially considering what a busy person I am. I'm learning to make time for the gym, and hopefully soon I'll be there 4 days a week. Now if I can only work on that self control in the office, when days like today happen and I have easy access to homemade cinnamon rolls, cookies, and homemade pumpkin cake stuff. Days at my office are going to totally negate my days at the gym and those jelly rolls are gonna stay firmly slapped onto my sides.

Not to mention, my station partner in crime was an old dude, estimated age between 78-202 and that badass was charging up the stairs, throwin' dem' ropes, and pounding that medicine ball better than most of the younguns in the joint. I was shamefully shamed, in the most shameful way. I'd like to say I was inspired, but I wasn't. I was shamed.

This weekend, myself, Rowan, and my bro and his wife are stuffing ourselves in a rental car and driving down to southern Idaho for my grandma's birthday. And by stuffing, I mean sitting comfortably in an Infiniti M37. Yep, we picked that little number up last night and I gotta say, it is PLUSH. I am hella excited to drive that thing for 16 hours this weekend, and I don't say hella, EVER.

Go ahead. Bask in it's glory. BASK IN IT, I TELL YOU!

It is by far the nicest car I have ever driven. Now, how am I going to convince the ol' ball n' chain to buy one for me?

In the roller derby world, things are moving steadily but surely. I'm eternally happy that I can finally get to practice every week. We were invited down to SoCal to bout against the Renegades down there, and I really want to go, but I'm unsure how I'm going to get there. I think it would be fun to go with Mo and have a pleasant weekend in another city but plane tickets are OUTRAGEOUS! If we can swing a last minute fundraiser to go, I may be able to. But I get the feeling I'm sitting this one out. Boo.

Until next time, puppies.

My foray into paleo, toddler past life regression, itchy skin flakes, and other boring things no one wants to read about

Whenever I see a bandwagon of any kind, my natural tendency is to RUN. RUN FAST THE OTHER WAY. Being a 4 on the enneagram, I also tend to get highly superior about avoiding said bandwagons and tend to proclaim this loudly in case anyone didn't hear me the first 8 times I said it.

I also tend to be highly annoying.

That being said, I have avoided the whole Crossfit/paleo phenomenon as long as I could.

"Crossfit is a cult." I said.

"Paleo is unhealthy and boring and expensive." I said.

I was so tired of seeing posts by friends who started crossfit, as it seemed like EVERY FUCKING POST was about Crossfit, and what they lifted that day, and other numbers that made sense to nobody. And they were all accompanied by that stereotypical picture of them posing next to a chalkboard with those same ridiculous, non sensical numbers, usually flexing. Wonderful, you are the best at exercising. Get over it already. (are you sensing that superiority yet?)




Today, the only thing stopping me from joining Crossfit is money. I honestly can't afford the monthly payments they want. Say whatever about Crossfit people, they get results.

However, one thing I've tentatively started trying is paleo. After reading about the extensive health benefits of this lifestyle, I'm slowly working my way into it. After gaining over ten pounds since the beginning of the year, I definitely need to do something that I can lose weight in a healthy way and support my athletic lifestyle. (Yes, derby girls are athletes. We train with the best of them and we drink with the best of them. You can do both. I said so.)

Grains, even whole grains, wreck havoc on your system. They cause all sorts of allergies and gut problems, not to mention your body basically treats grains like sugar and they spike your glucose level, only burning the carbs and not the fat in there.

I know myself better than to immediately jump into this, as I am wont to do. I've been browing paleo websites looking for recipes that are easy and don't have any crazy ingredients that will go to waste in case I hate the food. I found a great paleo blog called PaleOMG and I'm learning you can eat paleo and not want to stab yourself repeatedly in the mouth with a hot fork just to taste SOMETHING. I'm going to try her recipes and see how it goes. I will update this blog regularly, because I know that is what people really want to read, all the things I ate.

Also I'm lying about that last bit.

Moving on, I've been thinking a lot lately about some of the strange shit Rowan says to me. Granted, he's only 4.5 so he says a LOT of strange shit.

Gems such as "I named my poop Larry!" and "

But a couple of things he's said made me really re-think my opinions about reincarnation. I don't want to get all hippy dippy on everyone, but really, is this a possibility? Or is my weird kid just getting weirder... at any rate, he's said random stuff like "One time, when I was a girl..." or talks about siblings he's never had or parents that are definitely not us. He's never straight up said "Before I was born when I lived with my first family, I died." or anything, but I'm now wondering if it's likely he had a life before this one? Ahhhh I don't fuckin know.

And lastly. You guys. My tattoo fucking ITCHES. Is this normal? I've had a lot of tattoos, and they've all taken about a week to get past the itchy, flaky phase. I've had this one for over two weeks now and it's shed more skin than a fucking boa constrictor. It's GROSS, dude. But hey, no one can ever tell me I'm not dedicated to my league, right? Right? Guys?

An open letter to the future mother of a boy

My dearest friend,

Someday, your little man is going to call you his best friend.

He is going to show you everything about his world.

What he found outside, the scribbles on his scrap paper, the dog across the street that barked at him once and scared him.

He's going to end up sleeping in your bed every night.

You're going to complain a LOT about that. But secretly, you're going to hope it never ends.

And you'll be heartbroken when it does.

He's going to embarrass the fuck out of  you when he poops on the front lawn.

He's going to make you prouder than you've ever been when you watch him ride his bike for the first time.

He's going to scream at you, tell you he hates you, and attempt to run away but only make it a block.

Only to tell you he loves you, that very same evening.

He's going to bring you shit from outside. And you're going to LOVE it, even if it's just a clod of dirt. You're going to tell your husband you're throwing it out, but you'll end up with a secret stash.

He's going to insist on a bandaid long after his wound is healed. You're going to keep putting one on there.

He's going to get really sick. You'll end up taking him to the doctor. You'll lose sleep at night, because your instincts won't allow you to sleep while your child is sick. Every tiny noise from his room will wake you up and you'll be going in there all night just to make sure he's breathing.

While he's an infant, you're going to be terrified of SIDS and all the other monsters waiting to take your child from you. Stay strong. It sucks. But you get through it.

While he's a toddler, you will have to learn when to protect him, and when to stand back and let him learn his own lessons. You will misjudge this from time to time. It's ok.

You're going to say and do silly shit you never thought you would do, and surprisingly, you're going to laugh your ass off while you're doing it because he is laughing his ass off too.

At some point, you'll probably endure him getting seriously injured, or have to be put under for some reason. It's the world's worst feeling, seeing your baby laying there unconscious while the doctor works on him. I'm not telling you it's going to be ok, because it won't. You're going to cry and not let go of him for hours and hours. That feeling will pass, but not entirely. You'll remember it forever.

Every now and then, a news story or article about something horrible happening to someone else's baby will strike you the wrong way, and you're going to sob uncontrollably and want to never let go of him. It's ok, it happens to everyone.

You're going to love him like you have never loved anything in your life. Your love is going to be fierce, it's going to come out of nowhere, and it's going to make you a great mom.

I love you. Congrats, mama.

On being a Mommy Martyr

Being as involved in the natural birth/parenting world as I am, I am constantly seeing great articles about giving birth at home, cooking organic food for your family, not vaccinating, and homeschooling. What I don't see however, are enough articles and posts about the self-sacrificing rut I like to call "Mommy Martyrdom".

Many moms, and especially first time moms, throw themselves into the worlds of their children with enough force to knock of their pantyhose. Myself included. When my son was born, I became a stay at home mom. I quit my job, and filled my days with OMSI, playdates, the Zoo, the Children's Museum, parks, strolls, activities, you name it, I did it. My kid was my whole world. He became my identity. I was no longer "Cierra", I was "Rowan's Mom". Whenever I left the house, I had the giant diaper bag full of snacks and other assorted items I would need throughout the day to make sure my kid was content. I didn't even have my own purse anymore. I spent more time getting him and all his crap ready than I did on myself. I became "that mom". You know the one I'm talking about. Don't even pretend you don't. The mom in the grocery store wearing gross jeans, an over sized sweatshirt, hair up in a ratty ponytail, no makeup, and glasses. Rowan was already a pretty great kid in public so I never had to worry about looking out of control, but I definitely looked like I had given up. I did everything around the house as well. I spent hours making my own baby food, I kept the house as clean as I could, I tried to find wholesome and educational things to do with Rowan. If I got sick, I would simply buck up and plow through it. It would take me three times as long to get better, but I didn't have the luxury of calling in sick and taking a whole day to rest and heal.

And little by little, I lost myself more.

The person I was before I was a mom became a shadow. I rode motorcycles  I belly danced, I spent time with my single, non-parent friends. I took classes, went on hikes, painted. I did STUFF. I did lots of STUFF. All of that got put in the closet the day Rowan was born. I rarely did anything for myself. Everything I did was for my family. If I did spend time away, I spent most of that time checking my phone, making sure everything was already. I was wracked with guilt for being away from home. I felt like I was abandoning my family by going to a birthday party or having a drink with a friend.

I think I finally "woke up" around 2 years after I gave birth. I finally did something for myself and joined a roller derby league. Slowly but surely, I started gaining my identity back. I started taking extra time to put on makeup again. (and fuck you to anyone who wants to give me shit about that. It makes me feel GOOD.) I tossed out my ratty clothes and started buying cute, new clothes. I would go to events and try to ignore that nasty feeling that I should be at home, and when I actually got home, it turned out my family functioned just fine without me.

I will admit, I delved into it a little too much at first. I spent too much time away from home, and trying to find a balance between my social life and my home life was really hard. Especially considering my derby league wasn't exactly the most supportive environment to those who have kids. My requirements for getting drafted to a team were strict, and made it really hard to fulfill while still making my family a priority. I eventually got the handle of it, though, partially due to leaving that league and helping start a new one, one that caters more to families and busy lives and still makes it possible to skate. I learned how to say "no" and make my family a priority, but also stay involved and help the league.

My whole point to this blog post is: Do not sacrifice your identity to become a mother. You can be a GREAT mom (or dad!) while still maintaining your sense of self. Your kid is NOT you. You are you. You have wants, needs, interests, passions, and talents. Utilize all of them. In fact, your child will grow up watching a parent who is independent  self sufficient, and does what they need to do to be happy. And they will emulate that. Make your facebook picture an actual picture of you, instead of a picture of your kid. Post shit about your day or what you are doing, not what your kid is doing. Stop sacrificing your health and happiness for your kids' happiness because guess what? They're going to be happy anyway! Stop worrying about looking like a mom, and be yourself again. I'm covered in tattoos, I have crazy hair sometimes (I even had a mohawk for awhile) and I have gauged ears. I wear makeup every day, even if I don't leave the house. I'm goofy, I dance with my kid in public, and I laugh at people who choose to scowl at me for not being a "normal" mom. I play roller derby, I've been an extra on a tv show, I take photography classes, I'm even considering trying Krav Maga and Aerial Acrobatics.

And I love it. I love my life, I love my happy, healthy, unique son. He's goofy and silly with me.  It's much more fun being this way than before, when I was so stressed out about being the perfect mom. I can never be the perfect mom, I will fuck up from time to time. I will make mistakes. Even today I caught myself berating myself because Rowan has a cavity and I don't brush and floss his teeth twice a day. Whatever! I try the best I can! Those teeth are going to fall out anyway and when he's old enough, he'll be brushing his own damn teeth!

Get your fucking identity back, it's the best thing you can do for your kid, I promise.

So, a lot has gone on in the days since I posted last. Commenting on a friend's blog sorta reminded me I have one of my own. Usually I try to make them somewhat lighthearted but this one won't be.

Over the summer, I worked my ass off and lost almost 40 pounds. It was amazing. I eliminated all simple carbs from my diet, worked out at least an hour a day, and within a couple of months I had already dropped 20 pounds. It was amazing. It gave me motivation to keep going. Once July hit, I was at my smallest I have ever been, even before having Rowan, at 129 pounds.

Then everything came crashing down.

The depression that had been lurking in the dark corners of my conscious mind suddenly made it's appearance. I won't elaborate as to what, since I only want my closest friends to know, but there was a situation that I engaged myself in that, I believe, was partially caused by my depression and the thoughts that were circulating around in my head. I don't blame my mental illness completely, but it certainly made things worse than they would have been, had I been in a normal, healthy state of mind. I look back at myself and who I was then and I don't even recognize that person. Pictures from that time period show a happy, thin person, but all I see is that darkness lurking there behind my eyes. It all came to a head in November, after I moved out of my house and left my family. I had started cutting again in September, right after I moved out. I had so many intense emotions, and so much internal guilt for what I was going through, and I had nowhere to put any of it. I was punishing myself. I finally cut myself so bad, I should have gotten stitches but didn't go to the hospital. I told a friend of mine, Mo picked me up and took me to the ER and I landed myself in the psych ward. From there, the nurses recommended I admit myself into an intensive outpatient therapy program at Providence, and I started going to group therapy every day, six hours a day, 5 days a week. I did that for 8 weeks.

The first few weeks were rough. I was numb, I felt no joy in anything. I was constantly berating and punishing myself for my feelings. I was conflicted about moving back home, I couldn't trust my own feelings anymore because they had betrayed me so bad for so long. I cried nearly every day, at the drop of a hat. Any feelings of happiness or joy were completely squashed, because I felt I did not deserve them. I  had several crisis meltdowns, in which people tell me they had whole conversations with me that I do not remember. The things I said to them didn't make sense. It was a struggle to get up every day and go to therapy, but somehow I managed it. Maybe because I felt like I had nothing else. I had ruminative thoughts swimming through my head: "You're a terrible person. You're a failure as a mother and as a wife. You're selfish, lazy, stupid, and fat. Not to mention ugly. All you do is cause pain and suffering to those around you. You fuck up everything good that happens to you and it would be best for the world if you took yourself out of it. Rowan is going to grow up fucked up as well, just like you, if you stick around. It's better if you were not here because everyone you know would be much happier without you." I felt heavy, just walking around and holding my head up was an effort. I wanted to lay down and die. Just curl up and let myself go. I cried because I didn't do it.

Slowly, slowly, I started pulling out of it. A combination of many skills and tools I learned from therapy helped me keep the meltdowns at bay. I still felt joyless, but I didn't feel hopeless. I moved back home in December. I got a car. I got a job. Things started looking up. Mo and I started attending couple's counseling together to try to work out issues we had suppressed for far too long. Life is not any easier than before, but I have learned perspective and context, and now it seems more manageable.

My depression is back in its corner, lurking. It is still waiting to come back out, and sometimes I let it. Sometimes I get so tired of keeping it at bay, I just give up and let it consume me. Those days, I sob, I cry, I punish myself (not physically anymore) and I berate myself. I still struggle to find joy in my every day life. I am envious of people who naturally find it without effort. I have to work really fucking hard not to explain away the little things that are supposed to give me joy, like my family. I will literally find a reason to convince myself not to have happiness in those things. It's more of an effort to remember why those things bring me happiness than to explain why they don't. And it's all about me, not them. If I find happiness snuggling with Rowan, the thought "you are fucking him up right this SECOND by being near him" is always there. It's a fight to push that away and enjoy the moment.

Maybe someday it will get easier. Maybe someday I will finally be free of the need to physically injure myself to place my emotions somewhere. Maybe someday I will be able to feel joy and happiness freely, without convincing myself I don't deserve them. I really hope so.

There is a lot of heavy stuff in this post, which I almost didn't write because of the personal nature of it. But I firmly believe we need to be more open about mental illness and the effects of it, and I want people to read it and come away with more understanding of what goes on inside a depressed person's head. The world needs to know more about mental illness, it NEEDS to be talked about, not shushed away like it's the 1950's and something to be ashamed about. Depression happens in about 25% of Americans. That means 1 out of 4 people you see on the street are struggling with the same thing I just wrote about. Half of Americans are currently in counseling for one reason or another. Depression, mental illness, etc, are all part of our daily lives. It's not something to be ashamed of, or something to hide away and pretend it isn't there. It's something that needs to be openly discussed, as if it were normal, because it is. If less people were ashamed of their illness, there would be less people suppressing their feelings and more people seeking help.

There are SO MANY good resources out there to get help for depression, anxiety, PTSD, etc, that nobody should be going without if they need it. Hell, there were homeless people in my outpatient therapy, so it can be done regardless of income. NAMI (National Alliance for Mental Illness) is free, and there is a group therapy for any mental issue you can think of.

Life will get better for me. I know that now, in my rational mind. I have a hard time remembering it during a crisis, but I am positive I will get there. I just need to be patient with myself and lean on my loved ones to help me get there.