Getting bigger in the trying, instead of the getting...

All right.

I feel like I'm in the middle of this weird personal revolution where I'm all tough and brave and like... want to beat up a grown man or something. haha. Not really, but I am bursting at the seams.

Thankfully, not literally.
I have finally gotten a handle on things and my Christmas/birthday/winter hibernation weight is going back down. I have been busting my ass for it, though, instead of banishing the use of chocolate chips in oatmeal and smoothies. I mean, seriously, oatmeal with chocolate chips and dried cranberries. Or oatmeal with chocolate chips and coconut. Or chocolate chips and almond butter. Or chocolate chips and bananas. Chocolate chips are just part of the family now. I'll up the resistance on the cross trainer and put on the Sex Pistols or something.

Okay, speaking of the Sex Pistols... I am positive that they never intended for their music to be listened to by a 32 year old mom on an elliptical machine in a gym while staring at a muted tv playing Wheel of Fortune and silently mouthing the answer to the before and after puzzle, "Ear Of Corn Syrup!"... but what am I supposed to do? I'm just old, now.

A weird side effect of being old is that I've started to find things like Johnny Rotten, cute. Like, he's just so young and full of energy and zest, and I can remember when those things were inspiring and exciting. And now, they just seem adorable. Young people have stopped being something that I feel the need to look cool in front of (obviously.) And they've started to seem either mildly threatening, (hello entering the Century 3 mall through the food court entrance after 7pm on a weeknight), or more often, just sweet and nostalgia inspiring. Like... I remember when I used to be the thing that people were afraid of. Teenagers are total douches, but they're just being young, aren't they? It's sweet.

Anyway, I was saying that I've been feeling weirdly in your face or something. I'm sick of keeping things to myself, or pretending like I feel a way that I don't. I'm tired of thinking that the world is just full of perverts and criminals who are just dying for a way in to fuck up my life. The world sucks, mostly... but unless I involve myself with it, it really doesn't matter to me, very much. Not on a practical level. My world isn't a terrible place and I'm not afraid of things.

For example, why are people so afraid of putting a picture of their kids on the internet? Not like... a naked picture or something. Just a picture of a birthday party or something? Why do we walk around as moms all the time pretending like a total sex freak is just waiting on the other end of a computer monitor to snatch up a picture of our child painting a picture or opening a christmas present and then... do what with it? Don't get me wrong. I am on the extreme end of safety and not letting people babysit my daughters because I really almost can't bear to let them out of my sight, let alone trust another capable adult with their lives... but I can't stand the notion that we have to be constantly on guard, watching for predators in the bushes who are just waiting for us to let go of our kids' hands so they can pounce. For fuck's sake, hold your kids hand, always. Keep her safe, but not because you're paralyzed with fear. Do it because it's the right thing to do and you're the mommy. I'm tired of being scared of things. I'm tired of being motivated by fear.

That's what I mean about bursting and wanting to beat somebody up.


Maybe it won't seem like a similar note, but... mommies, do you remember snapping back to life after having each of your babies? After I had scouty, I went through a crappy, empty phase where I just felt lifeless and disinterested. I'm sure most of it was just exhaustion and hormones, but I was just so. Blat.

And then out of nowhere, I just boinged back to life. I wrote 200,000 words about love and death and listened to Elliott Smith and took long bike rides and prepared the ground of my back yard for a garden.

Then, with Cheesy, the same bllllaaaaaaaaah thing happened after she was born, where I just didn't want to get dressed in the morning because what was the point? I was just going to get baby barf in my cleavage as soon as I put on a bra anyway. And forget about finding sex sexy! Oh god, I could barely manage to stay awake through The Biggest Loser, let alone muster up the energy to pretend to care about being romantic.

But then, all of a sudden, I just KAPOW-ED and I bought some new jeans and boots and I play Raw Power first thing in the morning and go for it on the stairmaster and... ahem in other arenas of physical exertion.

Everybody's always trying to tell me what to do. Don't you try, don't you try to tell me what to do.

haha, So wrong, but it's working for me, right now. I want to get out of bed in the morning because I'm going to be the best and coolest and toughest that I can be, which admittedly isn't very much of any of those things, but I'm still doing my best. I just read about how we think we're going to be happy when we finally reach a goal, but studies show that we're actually happy when we've made the decision to go after something. That reaching the goal doesn't actually matter, in the end. It's the attempt to be better at something that actually affects us. So, while I may never be young and dangerous again, I'll just recognize that I'm getting happier in trying.