Killin’ It or It’s Killin’ Me

See that? That’s the Stay at Home Mom version of a Gold Star Perfect Finish. A toddler lunch.

If a part of you is saying “Oh that could be better. Is that organic?” See that little X on the top right of your screen? Click that and be gone with you. This is a major win.

Dang. Gone are the days when I would add my finishing touches to a report or project and send them off to my managers for approval.

I would anticipate the “Thank You” reply from them like mother-effin Christmas morning and be like “Yeaaaaaaah I made those excel cells purplllllle and grouped those columns like a Boss. I ROCK THIS.”

Now I get to watch as Toddler takes my well thought out project and turns her nose up at the prospects.

This is my life.  I still sometimes wait and admire my handiwork and expect some big-brass-boss-guy to come by and say “Way to go! Keep up the great work. That lunch has healthy fats, calcium and protein.”

I get off on being awesome. I am awesome about 15% of my day, some days. Other days I feel like John Wayne with tits.

Yesterday, not only did I feed my child and keep her alive – I cleaned my house, wrote two blog entries, did the usual social media plugging (like I am a pro…HA!), took Toddler for her flower girl dress fitting, had supper on the table at 5:30pm and still managed to hit up my bootcamp class. HELL YES.

KILLIN’ IT.

Some days, It is Killin’ Me.

I look for approval everywhere. I have no idea if this was something I groomed as a child, or if I just am naturally that effin’ insecure that I feel the need to be please others. I certainly went a long time without pleasing myself. — Wait… that sounded dirty. Moving along…

The only person I really get gratitude from is my husband. He is food driven so I just have to have supper on the table and he is happier than a pig in shit. He is my soulmate and I can not believe he puts up with me – that is another post altogether.

If you have ever met me in person you know I am an extrovert. I think sometimes extroverts are the ones who strive to make other people happy. We want to be liked. We want to be admired sometimes. We want everything that is awesome to be awesome because we deemed it so. We are a self-centered and self-depreciating all at the same time.

It can be a horrible feeling.

For instance, I will create a painting, post it to Facebook and get 100 likes. I will bask in the attention for a while and feel a sense of fulfillment for a time.

I will still think that painting is garbage three weeks later.

One hundred people liked some aspect of that painting, and I still do not find it worthy to put a price tag on it.

When is it enough? When can I stop putting so much value on the opinion of others?

I know this is something I have written about before, but it rears its ugly head daily for me.

I still feel the need to be encouraged and appreciated. I need a good ol’ pat on the back sometimes and for someone to tell me that I am doing GREAT, or even just OK. Other days I need to be taken down a peg or two. That’s fine.

Just tell me when I can breathe and relax and everything I have done to this point is exactly right.

Tomorrow my child’s lunch may be a cookie and a yogurt tube.

Please tell me I am still Killin’ It.

As always (even when you don’t feel like you are Killin’ It)…

Love yourself,

Allison

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Back Deck Breakfast

I have been waiting for this my entire life – a back deck of my own.

I woke up this morning to a brand new spring day.

Someone close by is mowing their lawn, so I can even smell fresh cut grass.

We ate breakfast outside and I sipped my coffee absentmindedly and drank in the gorgeousness of the outdoors.

A wonderful gift from nature today.

The birds are singing their songs and the bees are collecting their nectar.

It is a sweet reminder of the childhood I had.

I have always loved the outdoors. Even when I felt like I didn’t get enough of it, I felt like there was some kind of magic in the woods, or maybe something being whispered in the waves.

When I was young, I thought I must have had some sort of special connection to the earth or maybe there was a little bit of magic in me somewhere. I thought I communicated with animals and I had the ability to change my situations with mere thought alone.

I was an imaginative child.

As an adult I have realized these things either have faded, or were child’s play.

I am no different than my neighbour – but we are all unique.

I have no telepathic or psychic abilities – although some friends would suggest otherwise because I am very good at reading people and predicting outcomes.

I can’t wave my hand and change the direction of the wind.

I don’t have the power to cast enchantments.

But, I don’t have to.

I don’t have to be magical in order to see the magic in everyday life.

Magic isn’t some sort of spell or conjuring.

It is a feeling.

It is the oddity that we are all here at this exact moment.

It is the moment the sun warms your face.

It is the feeling of ecstasy when you have those full belly laughs and when your cheeks start to hurt from laughing so hard with someone you love dearly.

It is the glorious feeling of a back deck breakfast on a sunny Wednesday morning.

Love yourself,

Allison

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Why Waking Up?

I was telling my husband about the idea of this blog a while ago and I told him what I wanted to name it. He said “Waking up 30? But you are 32 – what does that mean?”

I find it a bit difficult to describe what Waking Up Thirty means to me without absolutely blowing your minds with dullness, so I will try to be as clear with as few words as possible.

There is a legend that says that a woman awakens on her 30th birthday. She is more sexually aware, self-aware, worldly, her true self, blah blah blah.

Well, what-the-hell?

I feel like 30 was probably the least favourite of my years, even 31 was not that great. Yes, I had a lot of wonderful life events going on –  we had a baby, moved – fun things happened… but I wasn’t fully there. (I did/do have some health issues that caused some problems. They are getting better, so let’s just leave that there.)

I just didn’t feel fully connected. I had really felt grounded and awake in my late 20’s when I was focusing on myself – getting healthy and being a bad-ass-bitch all around.

IT WAS GLORIOUS.

Then 30 came and went. Pregnant as fawk.

Then 31 came and went. Post-part-em bullshit.

Then 32 came and I was like,

“WAKE UP 30! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? YOU’RE LATE.”




I have slowly been poking that Dirty Decade in the ribs for the past few months. It isn’t easy. I have almost forgotten some of things I once loved. No wonder 30 didn’t want to come out to play. I was boring.

I think women are often bombarded with feelings that once your 20’s are behind you, it is time to shut up, sit down and eat the pasture grass. Beautiful and talented actresses get less leading roles in movies. Models basically retire. Working women often have to make the decision to either have children or keep their high-demand jobs.Generally we are told that our fun days are over.

I ain’t down with that.

I have come to realize that passions don’t just die with age. You can be in your 30’s and still learn. You can still discover something new within yourself, or you can ignite old flames.

So, I said – always the rebel – that I am going to do what I WANT. Screw society’s ideals. Screw the notions that 30 is a downhill ride in the back of a semi.

I started painting again. I started playing music again. I started letting go of my reservations that make me feel like I can’t accomplish something I have a passion for.

I started waking myself up.

I started a blog too.

I am learning new things:

  • How to keep my mind in tact while being a stay at home mom. (My kids are relatively easy, it is the day in and day out that drives me off the edge.)
  • How to make time for myself even when the guilt tells me not to.
  • How to love fully and not be resentful for the things I lack.

I don’t have it all together. I have none of my shit in the same wheelbarrow. I make rash decisions – like buying chickens when we have no mother-effin clue how to raise those. I paint over perfectly good paintings because even though I liked them yesterday, I didn’t like them today.

I am working on my patience, honesty and judgmental tendencies.

I am working on it. I am working on everything. I am a work in progress.

I don’t want to be satisfied with just being. I want to learn and I want to grow daily. and the only way I know how to do that is with practice and time.

I have eight more years with this 30 thing. I call it the Dirty Decade because I like playing with words and I feel like the 30’s can be such a time of self-reflection for so many… and that self-reflection can be freakin’ terrible.

Here is to laying it out, not letting any fear of failure take away my passion and just keeping it real.

Love yourself,

Allison

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Tired Eyes

You like the closeup of my eye up there?

That’s full makeup me – ready to take on the day!

Taking a picture of myself really puts my ego in check.

I can look like a million bucks in my bathroom mirror and then I take a natural light selfie and all my Lookin Good Bubbles deflate.

 I think I have been tired for going on 3 years now.

 It started with insomnia during my last pregnancy.

Pregnancy induced insomnia happens to a lot of women. Allegedly it is a way of preparing us for the sleepless nights that our spawn bring with them.

 Once I had our last babe, I thought I would at least be able to sleep when she slept – and I tried.

What I didn’t know was that I would develop a different kind of anxiety that I had ever experienced before.

Of course, I had the usual, “OMG I need to check to see if the baby is breathing! She slept for two hours!” type of panic moments.

This anxiety was not that.

I wanted to be perfect. Perfect Mom.

It never happened.

However the desire to be perceived as having all my shit together caused me great panic and it was a lot of effort! It was so much effort that I didn’t want to leave the house.

Every detail of my day and every decision was like a life or death situation.

I negotiated with voices in my head.

“Are you sure that is the right decision?”

  — “Well, it is better than the alternative.”

“But you could be doing so much better.”

“You need to try harder.”

It got so bad that my anxiety kept me awake at night. Being kept awake at night while you have a non-sleeping spawn is not the best cocktail for saneness.

One night in particular I remember getting up for the eleventieth time to get the crying babe from her crib and I completely collapsed.

I fell into the overflowing laundry hamper in our bedroom. Thank mother-eff I wasn’t on top of my laundry game.

I was exhausted.

I am not sure why I did this to myself. I am not sure even when I started getting better, but things are better now.

I don’t freak out if my child is given chocolate. Hell, she eats a cookie before 10am some days.

I am able to leave her with other people for a few hours – that was a huge milestone for me and she is actually going overnight to my sister’s tonight while we go out on a date. HOLY EFF.

In retrospect, I should have asked for help. When I say help, I mean professionally.

I already had a history of anxiety and depression. I think it was aggravated by post-part-em hormones and the stress that comes from being responsible for a fragile new life.

There are so many of us who go through issues like this alone.

We may or may not have a significant other who helps us raise our children – we might even have extended family that helps here and there- but we keep our mental states to ourselves.

 Why?

 Why is it so taboo to tell someone how we are feeling?

 Is it because we feel like a nuisance?

 I feel like I would be much healthier right now if I had of gotten help earlier.

I am finally feeling better with some time and other health issues are being addressed, but I wish I could have taken a look at myself and pushed my pride away and made a doctor’s appointment.

 If you are feeling overwhelmed, it is normal, but it is also completely OK to tell someone.

If you feel even more so that shit is not good – get help. Please.

 My body is still catching up.

To go from hyper-alertness compounded with less sleep for a couple of years, I think it is going to take quite some time to feel 100%.

I am going to have tired eyes for a while.

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