And so it goes

Last month, I participated in the Workout to Conquer Cancer supporting the BC Cancer Foundation. I committed to moving my body every day in May. And I did it. 

Some days were better than others. On those days I would strap myself into the rowing machine and work hard for thirty minutes. I’d finish, sweaty and out of breath, and walk away on jelly legs feeling like a badass. 

And then there were the days when all I could manage was fifteen minutes of light yoga, or a leisurely walk around the park with the dog. Those days didn’t feel like a win in the moment, but looking back on the month I can see: those days were important days. Those were the days that I kept going, even when I was tired. Those were the days I listened to my body and didn’t force a workout. Those were the days I met myself where I was, instead of trying to make myself something I wasn’t. 

Last week when the opportunity to join a June writing challenge came up, I jumped at the chance to participate. I’m committing to blog every day in June. This is a big deal to me. I haven’t blogged regularly in a really long time and I miss it. I want to stretch my writing muscles and see if I can get back into the habit of maintaining this space I once loved. I’m putting it out here for accountability. I will see you tomorrow. 

Thirty Four

Yesterday was my thirty-fourth birthday which means I am now firmly planted in my mid-thirties. My morning started with Grady climbing into bed with me for a cuddle and Poppy spitting up on my hair. Hashtag: mom life.

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I had an appointment at the cancer centre, which had me feeling all sorts of twisty feelings but turned out to be great because I got good news and don't have to go back for six months. It was a very nice birthday present indeed. Plus my parents met me there to take care of Poppy while I saw my oncologist and they took me out for an amazing pizza lunch after my appointment. It was a day full of wins.

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Some of my favourite people brought some of my favourite food over for dinner and it was the perfect way to end a perfect birthday. I spent it with my family. I had messages and love from friends and family who are spread across the globe. I was gifted with sunshine, good health, and amazing people (and chocolate). I couldn't have asked for a better day.

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And So it Begins

Grady starts kindergarten next week which means this is my first "back to school" season as a parent instead of a student.  

Can I just take a minute here to worship my mama? I'm one of four kids, two of which (two of whom? Grammar police, what say you?) have birthdays in the first week of September (the same week we start school here in BC). My mom did back-to-school shopping and birthday prepping and rocked it all...before online shopping was even a thing. I am in awe is what I'm saying. 

Anyway. Back to my circus and my monkeys. We were given a list of school supplies Grady needs and months to collect them all. The newborn stage made those months disappear (the worst kind of magic) so here we are, less than a week away from the first day of school, and we're just starting our shopping. To make things even more fun, Poppy has decided that sleep is for the weak and has been waking up every hour like she's a newborn. We're holding on by a thread. 

Are you scrambling to get organized this week? Or do you have your school supplies purchased and labelled weeks in advance?  

 

Invisible

We'd had very little sleep the night before, and a few hours on the road in front of us, so after lunch I ducked into a coffee shop for the necessary caffeine while Shawn strapped the kids into their car seats.  It was the type of coffee shop with a twee name and mixed-medium art by a local artist hanging on the pristine white walls. The woman who made my drinks was (I guessed) in her early twenties and (I knew) impossibly beautiful.

I ordered our drinks and rolled my eyes at the $11 total ($11! For coffee! Get off my lawn!) and stood at the counter to wait. The guy behind me placed his order and stood chatting up the coffee goddess while she steamed milk and pulled shots. He was young and scruffy in that way that is supposed to look nonchalant but is actually very intentional. 

I stood waiting, invisible, as the young scruffy one told the young beautiful one about house parties and his band and something about a mutual friend and a hammock. She giggled at the appropriate places and coolly accepted an eager invitation to the next house party and managed to royally fuck up our drinks. 

We pulled away from the coffee shop and tried to agree on who would drink which drink. (They both tasted like melted ice cream.) I'll happily forfeit the killer eyeliner and the drunken ragers and the taut skin for my station wagon and babies but I'll be DAMNED if they try to take my coffee. 

It's an interesting thing to be invisible. It's not a bad thing, just a thing. I'm not a young one or a beautiful one or even an intentionally-scruffy one. I'm just me. And I love me. I love my wide hips that have birthed two babies. I love my stretch-marked breasts that make milk like it's their damn job (because it is their damn job!) to feed those babies. I love the scars that tell the story of beating cancer and the dark circles under my eyes that tell the story of my sleep-hating baby. 

My life is full and beautiful and enough. I don't mind being invisible.