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The Point

Everyone has one — that moment where they realize that the issue that gives them the biggest blow to their ego, to their self-esteem is just not worth fighting any more.

I hit mine this past week on vacation.  For longer than I care to remember, I’ve had my fair share of self-esteem/body image issues.  I don’t know where it comes from, but I know I’m at the point where I’m moving past it.  I always dressed my for my size and I’ve tried to take care of myself the best way I can without denying myself the things that make me happy *cough*wine*cough*dessert*cough*

I dared to bare in a bikini while we were on vacation — the first time since pre-parenthood.  I went through all sorts of mix and match tops and bottoms and even subjected my dear neighbor to a fashion show for an unbiased opinion.  No one was as worried about how I look more than I was.

But I’m tired of fighting the low feelings.  I’m not going to wear a burka at the seashore.  I’m not going to waste precious beach time comparing myself to every body, young and old, strolling down the sand.  I can’t waste time worrying about it anymore.  So, I’m making the choice not to.

It’s a great feeling. 

When I was pregnant with Morgan, I was looking for really powerful and empowering quotes for a project I wanted to create for her.  I found this quote by Naomi Wolf that truly drove home what I kind of mother I wanted to be for her, and now for Coever.

“A mother who radiates self-love and acceptance
 actually vaccinates her daughter against low self-esteem.”

It’s my job to continue to booster that inoculation, and I don’t mind wearing a bikini to do so.

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IN: ON: June 27, 2010 TAGS: BY: Hilary
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And here we go. . .

The last few days have been spent wrapping up all of the loose ends that come with the end of school.  Never since my own grade school years have I experienced such a fervor that comes with the warmer weather, the constant inflow of artwork, school papers, and the need for snacks and gifts for class parties.  While both pairs of teachers the girls have had this year have done a yeoman’s (look it up) job of continuing to turn them into shining stars, the gift cards and potted plants we bestowed on them hardly seem like a fair trade.

Seriously, say what you will about public or private school.  It all comes down to the teacher. Exhibit A: Morgan can read, and I’m not just talking Dr. Seuss.  She’s reading all manner of street signs, tee-shirt logos, and I saw her thumbing through my Glamour magazine asking me what exactly are the 100 wildest Dos and Don’ts of Summer. As for Coever, this little biscuit knows the days of the week (as sung to the tune of the Addams Family, (which is HEE-larious) and she knows her planets, in order.  How old was I when I learned the planets in order? Hmmm, what’s today’s date? 
Anyway, school days are behind us and we have jumped into summer fun with both feet.  There is a bit of housekeeping that I have to address, however.  My blog entries have been coming in fits and starts lately.  We’re just busy, but that’s no excuse not to report on a major change in the Dixon household. 
Coever got a big-girl bed. . .
with Hello Kitty Sheets!
And she is BEYOND excited about it.  She finds a way to work it into daily conversation with just about everyone she sees.  Earlier this week, I took the girls out to find two other mermaids that have moved into the Downtown area.  As we made our way back to the car, we stopped at a crosswalk just outside our neighborhood FarmFresh Market.  Several people were waiting for the light to change, and one older gentleman was sitting on the lip of the post that has the crosswalk button on it.  Morgan asked me if she could push the button and I told her she needed to say “Excuse me” to the man so that she could reach it.  The man was very courteous, stepping aside to let her push the button and even complimented her on what a pretty girl she was.  He then turned to Coever and said, “And look at you!”, to which she replied, hands in the air like an old Jewish mother, “I have a big girl bed! With Hello Kitty Sheets!”But it came out more like, “Ihaveabiggirlbedwithhellokittysheets!”
The man just blinked at her a few times and said, “Okayyyyyyy”, picked up his groceries and crossed the street. 
Coever is completely crossing the threshold from toddlerhood into little person-dom.  She is constantly talking with her hands, insists on dressing herself (even if her shoes are on the wrong feet, her underwear is on backwards and she’s got both legs in one opening of her shorts), and prefacing just about every statement with “Actually,”.  She even got a haircut. 
Somehow, she got a stylist who had never “styled” (only cut) little girls hair, so the “after” photo. . . 
well, let’s just say, I hooked her up when we got home. 


Anyway, we have found three more mermaids in our continuing Norfolk Mermaid adventure.  We have a book called, “There Goes a Mermaid” and the girls are determined to find each and every one in the book.  They’ve enjoyed spotting the mermaids and comparing the photos I take to the photos in the story.

 

From top to bottom, they are the Tiger Mermaid at the zoo, the Literacy mermaid at the Virginian Pilot, the mermaid at the Botanical Garden.  I don’t know the name of the fourth one, but she’s got a lot of crystals on her torso and clamshell bra, so Morgan dubbed her, “Crystal”. 
 I can’t put a name to this one either, but I will say that this is one and Crystal two of the more elusive mermaids.  Sometimes they’re there, sometimes they’re not.  It’s ridiculous because these mermaids aren’t small and they definitely aren’t light.  They’re being moved, but by whom, how, and why remains a mystery.  I was really nervous when I took the girls — on foot, no less –  to check out the last two.  I had seen them the day before as I was running errands around town, but just knew in my gut that now that I was prepared with kids and camera in tow, they’d be gone.  
There are a few mermaids that we’ve found that aren’t in the book or that are in the book but are now MIA.  And then there are some that are affixed to the roofs of buildings or high up on the side of a buildings.  I’ve tried to convince the girls that getting a picture of them underneath the mermaid or even just finding the mermaid is a victory, but they want to invest in some grappling hooks, carabiners, and harnesses.  I suppose I should be grateful they’re really into this.  We’ve got quite a collection of photos and if we can all agree on a stopping point — these mermaids are like weeds, I tell ya! You think you’ve got ’em all and a new one pops up! — I’ve got a great idea for photo book and hanging collage.  
So, the summer finds us scheduled and more scheduled.  The girls are registered for all manner of camps and sports activities.  We’ve got church camp, VBS, gymnastics, and soccer. We’re gearing up for our first family vacation in a few weeks and we’ll have the kiddie pool and sprinklers going in the between times. Busch Gardens is on the books and I’ve poured through Tidewater Parent, ripping out ads for the numerous festivals in and around our area. I even got some arts and crafts projects to keep us busy.  Yes, I’m breaking out the arts and crafts (I’m also going to make a reservation for a rubber room, just in case). 
The girls are at an age where things like diapers and naps can’t slow us down, so I plan to make the most of this summer. And first up on our extensive Summer o’ Fun 2010 checklist? 
Sleeping in. . .

  

  
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IN: ON: June 12, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Just Scraping By

So, I’ve been kicking sending the girls outside every afternoon ever since the weather got nice again.  They are starting to enjoy the great outdoors and blessedly, we live on a street with lots of kids their age, so there is always someone outside for them to hang with.

Today, the girls and another little boy were outside playing “King and Queen and Princess and Prince and Witch” (whatever that is) between our house and the little boys’ house about 4 houses down.  I know we don’t live on Sesame Street or in Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, but I feel pretty comfortable having them outside while I’m inside.  I’m definitely within screaming distance.  Plus, more often than not, I end up on the porch swing with my Coke Zero and my laptop so I can keep an eye on things.

Anyway, this afternoon, the girls were in and out and in and out and in and out of the house.  First it was “I’m hot”, then “I’m thirsty”, then “I gotta pee”, then “I’m going to be in the backyard” and so forth.  I told myself, the next time they came in, I was just going to call it a day and shut the door behind them.  And yet, they didn’t cross in front of the house for a while.  For about 15 minutes, I didn’t hear anything, which, when you have a 4 and 2 year old is never good.  Just as I get up to go see, I hear Morgan screaming for all her lungs are worth.  She is sweating, flushed in the face, and holding her right hand in her left hand as though was broken.

Somehow between the tears and the flying snot and Coever’s reassuring pats to Morgan’s knee and foot (??), Morgan explains that she was running and that she fell down.  First of all, ol’ girl is in flip flops and cardinal rule of the flip-flop is that you don’t run in them unless you just are dying to make out with the pavement.  Second of all, if she was skidding on pavement, I’m thinking her knees are going to look like she went over them with a cheese grater. And yet, everything looks like it did when she left.  So what’s the problem?

“My haaaaaaaaand,” she wails, offering up her dirty palm where there is the tiniest road rash and dangling flap of skin.  I’m talking dime sized scrape here.  She’s acting like she’s got a rib poking out of her side.

So we march upstairs to the bathroom where I proceed to run her hands under the faucet.  Cold water + small wound = more screaming.  Despite my calm and my maternal doting, she wasn’t having it.  When I pulled out the witch hazel and a cotton ball, she hollered like I was coming after her with a meat cleaver.  The little skin flap that was covering the wound had dirt and grit in it; it had come come off.  I reached for the tweezers and Morgan yells — “NO!! NO!! Not the tongs!!!”

Oh, my poor, sweet girl.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Tongs? I guess from her perspective, that’s what they must look like.  Still, I’m trying to be Florence Nightengale and she’s looking at me like I’m Mola Ram.  Seriously, Morgan opened her mouth and gave a big “Waaaaahhhhhhh”.

Suffice it to say, we got the boo-boo all cleaned up, put on the Neosporin, and topped it off with a Princess Tiana band-aid (of course).  And she carried on throughout, but as soon as that band-aid was in place, Morgan clapped her hands together gleefully, turned to Coever and said, “Let’s go back outside!”

So they went.

And I shut the door behind them.

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IN: ON: June 4, 2010 TAGS: , BY: Hilary
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If You Give a Mom a Moment. . .

If you give a mom a moment, she’ll probably take a deep breath before picking up her “to-do” list.

Taking that deep breath will make her wrinkle her nose at the stink wafting out of the diaper pail.

Once she’s taken out the bag of dirty diapers, she’ll probably collect all of the trashes from the rest of the bathrooms.

In the master bathroom, she’ll notice this morning’s towels laying in a pile on the floor.  She’ll replace the old towels with clean ones and decided to run the dirties through the laundry.

Not wanting to run half a load, she’ll strip the beds and empty the hampers.

Once in the laundry room, she’ll see that she is low on detergent, so she’ll head to the kitchen to grab the magnetic pad off of the fridge to make a grocery list.

She’ll write down detergent, open the fridge an check to see what else she need to pick up.

With her head in the fridge, she’ll spy the chicken breasts she took out the night before to defrost for dinner.

Thinking of dinner makes her hungry and she’ll realize that the breakfast table hasn’t been cleared.

She’ll clear the table, crumb the table, and wipe down the table.

All of that cleaning has given her an appetite and she realizes that she hasn’t had breakfast.

She’ll brew a pot of coffee and reach for her favorite mug, but the mug isn’t there.

She’ll open the dishwasher to find it wedged between a milky sippy cup and peanut-butter smeared Hello Kitty plate.

Once she has the dishwasher off and running, she’ll de-crumb the kitchen counters and sweep the kitchen floor.

Sweeping the kitchen floor will remind her of Cinderella, which will make her think of the Princess themed birthday party the kids will be attending this week-end.

Thinking of the birthday party, she’ll head to the hall closet where she keeps emergency party gifts.

On her way to the closet, she’ll wind her way through two coats, four pairs of mis-matched shoes, a doll-carriage, a doll missing its head, several books overdue at the library, and a Netflix DVD.

She’ll reseal the DVD in the envelope, slide the library books onto the mail table by the door, strap the headless baby into the carriage, place the shoes at the foot of the stairs to be taken up on her next pass, and hangs the coats in the closet.

Once in the closet, she feels around for the party gift and gives herself a pat on the back for her proper prior planning.

A pat on the back makes her think how nice a massage would be, so she decides to add that to her “to-do” list.

And chances are, before she reaches for that “to-do” list, she’s going to take a deep breath, if only for just a moment.

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IN: ON: May 30, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Post Pending

Seriously, I have started and stopped and started and stopped this post at least half a dozen times tonight.

First, I was going to talk about how I’ve decided I really need to be in a music video (not in a video-vixen) type of way, but, like, learning really serious dance moves, going to a destination other than Norfolk, and having wardrobe and make-up styling that makes everything else look like the cosmetics boat at Walgreens).  I think it’s the dancing that is really making me want to do this.  I peeped out a few minutes of DWTS while I was folding some laundry the other day and Nicole Sche-here-hahe- Pussy Cat Doll chick was killing it.  And I thought, “Pfft! I could do that!”  — yeah, I said that about a nurse taking my blood pressure and look where that got me.

Anywhoodle, thinking about dancing made me start thinking about Mo and Co and the myriad of  the summer plans we have finally hammered out.  In the coming weeks, the girls will be doing the following, which includes, but is not limited to Vacation Bible School, FPC camp, soccer camp, gymnastics camp, a week with the grands, a week at Martha’s Vineyard, and an art camp (relax, relax, each “camp” is really just 5 half days. I haven’t shipped them off to Swiss boarding school — yet).   I realized I needed to finish registering the girls for the aforementioned camps and finding all the requisite uniforms/gear/assorted paraphernalia that goes along with it.  I stopped typing to get on the ‘net to complete the various registrations and shop for shin guards, Sambas (how cute are they going to look!), leotards and so forth.

All this cyber shopping and deposit confirming made me kind of stressed in an end-of-the-day-and-I-still-have-a-billion-things-to-do kind of way, so instead of digging the buy-one-get-one Coldstone coupon out of my wallet and throwing the girls in the car, I opted for a glass of wine.     The girls were already upstairs in their beds, and I had no where to be. What’s a glass of wine or three between me, myself, and I?

Foolishly, I had opened a Pinot Grigio instead of a Riesling and let me tell you my friends, that makes a difference.  The sweeter the wine, the less likely I am to need a snack to go with it.  The Pino activated my sweet receptors, which forced me (really) to head to the pantry. Searching, searching, searching. . .I’m nothing if not well stocked.  I dumped some Trader Joe’s granola-esque trail mix into a dish, pulled up a cushion on the sofa with my wine glass and kicked on the TV.

Netflix has recently gifted me with another set of episodes from my newest addiction, “Lie to Me.”  I want to say I’m loving it, but it’s more like an intense crush.  The premise, a guy who can read micro-expressions in people’s faces in order to determine whether or not they are lying, is pretty unique.  The lead, Tim Roth, is stellar, but the rest of the cast is kind of meh.  Maybe because I’ve been watching one episode right after another, it’s gotten tedious.  I think I need that week in between that comes with watching regular network TV in order to fully appreciate it.

Once I had maxed out that disc, I put in the next P90X work-out disc for the morning and started moving the furniture around so I wouldn’t have to do it at 4:45am.  Yes, I am still grinding it out with Tony in the mornings.  I think I’m hitting a wall.  It’s week 8 and my motivation is going down, down, down, down. I’m at the point where I’m waking up before the alarm, but it’s still a struggle to get upright and down the stairs.  I will admit, I always feel better after I did it, but before and during, P90X can suck it.

So, I started my night-time routine of prepping for the morning, which included throwing in some laundry, taking out some laundry, making lunches, setting out breakfast stuff, setting out gym bags and tennis bags and school bags, putting out the recycling and charging my phone.  I remembered that I was going to upload some songs from iTunes, so I fished out my USB cable to plug into my computer.  When I cleared the screen saver, I saw where I had begun to finish — or was it start —  this post.

Whatever.

Any time I can get some words on a page in a fairly cohesive grouping, I’ll take it.

 

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IN: ON: May 27, 2010 TAGS: BY: Hilary
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Table for Two

The other day it rained, and rained, and rained. The kids were like the little boy and Sally from “The Cat in the Hat”, “too wet to go out, too cold to play ball, so we sat in the house. We did nothing at all.”

You all know how much I loathe love arts and crafts. After school, I raided my scrapbooking box and pulled out all kinds of stickers, scrap paper, glue dots, and crayons. I was going to have the girls make some birthday cards for the birthday parties they have this week-end.  They preferred to just cut and paste and cut and paste.  Who am I to stand in the way of artistic expression?

Five minutes later, when they were bored of that, we moved onto dress ups, Play-doh, Barbies, and tea party.  I was steadily running out of ideas, the rain kept coming down and I really wanted to stave off putting on the TV for as long as I could.  I told the girls they needed to read some library books until dinner was ready.  That bought me about 6 minutes and the biggest stroke of genius I’ve had in a long time.

I pulled their activity table into the middle of the kitchen, put their Anywhere Chairs on either side, and laid out some satin napkins.  I put out two port glasses filled with milk and two crystal candle holders with some stubby candles left over from the Nor’Easter.  I called the girls to the table for dinner and told them how excited I was that they were going to join us for dinner.

The look of bewilderment on their faces evaporated as quickly as it arrived once they saw the spread on the table.  When I offered them a choice between hot dog or grilled chicken, Morgan snapped her napkin across her lap and said, “I’ll have the chicken, please.”  Coever insisted on the hot dog.  Their respective entrees came with corn on the cob and cucumbers with hummus.

Once plated on some real dishes (i.e. not plasticware) and served with their tall port glasses of milk, you would have thought Morgan and Coever were some society ladies taking afternoon tea.  The kitchen was filled with “Why yes please” and “Oh isn’t this pleasant” and “Let’s have a toast”.  I knew I took a risk with the candles and the glasses, but smack my face and call me Rosie, those two were ever so mindful of the potential to set the house on fire or impale themselves on a shard of glass.

If they toasted each other once, they toasted each other half a dozen times, each more vigorous than the last.

For dessert, the kitchen offered a choice of chocolate pudding or a Popsicle.  Didn’t the little diva (a.k.a. Morgan) request her pudding to be served in a bowl, on a saucer, with a spoon and some cool “huh-whip“?  Coever opted for the Popsicle and refill of milk, natch.

When they had dined sufficiently and lapsed into a nice post-dinner conversation about what to do next, I had to shake my head and smile.  Something as routine as dinner can be made totally brand new with the addition of a few simple touches.  I’m glad they enjoyed it.

Maybe next time, they can leave ol’ Mom a tip. . .

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IN: ON: May 19, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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Bringing the Racquet Like Venus and Serena

Awwww, yeah.  The Golden Girls were not ready for me yesterday.  Finally, after the longest week ever, I came off the bench and was ready to play some tennis.  What made my return even sweeter is that for Mother’s Day, DH and the girls got me the racquet that I have been coveting for the past several months .

Say “Hello” to my little friend.  I haven’t had a new racquet since the mid 1990’s and even that was only the second racquet I’ve ever had.  I was long overdue.  This racquet, the Wilson K Factor KBlade is the triple truth!  Combined with the fact that I’m retaining and actually using the pointers I’ve picked up in my lessons, I had those biddies thinking twice about having me run back an forth all over the court.  
One of the ladies, easily in her late 60’s tried to get cute and slam a return of serve right in my face, but I took a slight side step, pronated my wrist and punched the ball back out of her reach down the alley.  I suppose turn about is fair play because she was gunning for me on the next point.  My partner served the ball, the old broad returned it to my partner who does nothing but lob.  She sent it soft, slow and easy over the net where my opponent had enough time to file her nails, re-tie her shoes, and adjust her Depends before smacking the crap out of the ball . . .right. . .at. . .me.  Somehow, she sliced at it, so the ball dropped, but it didn’t lose speed.  Too bad for me, I mis-judged the angle and moved my racquet to the right instead of the left. That joint where your ankle and foot meet?  Yeah, it’s been tattooed with Dunlap 4.  
I keep telling folks, don’t sleep on these older ladies.  They like to play and more importantly, they like to  win. They do what they have to in order to do both.  That’s the last time I buy that, “I just got off my oxygen” bullshiggity!

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IN: ON: May 19, 2010 TAGS: , , BY: Hilary
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