Sigh. Scary stuff.

Today, we applied for life insurance. In my mind this is a simple, essential way to take care of my family in the heart-wrenching case that I'm not here to do it myself.

Of course, that's always the reality, no one lives forever, I'm just more aware if it today.

I've never given death much thought. It happens, and I hope mine is as late and dignified as possible.

The difference now is that I have a family I love more than the air I breathe, the ground I walk on. Death doesn't particularly scare me, but not being with my family does.

With a little luck, some smart decisions and being blessed more than I already am, I won't have to worry about that for a long, long, long, long time.

Out with the old, in with the new!

So yesterday One Philly Daddy and I put out 9 (count 'em nine!) bags of clothes and books to be donated to a local charity. And our closets are still remarkably full. But that's a story for another day.

For some reason, donating clothes can sometimes have an emotional component, and it certainly did for me this time. I've been stashing clothes in a bag in the bottom of my closet as I come across thing that don't fit, I don't like, or just don't make me feel great. I got rid of things that just didn't fit my style. I'm a simple gal. Solid T's, an occasional stripe and lots and lots of earthy "grounded" colors, as my style was once described to me. Now, that's not to say that I don't appreciate the look of a nice leopard print or tried on a few occasions to pull off said print or bright color. I admire the look on others, but end up fidgeting and fussing when I try to wear it myself. So I finally am giving up the "maybe I'll like it one day" fantasy, and am just keeping the clothes that I forget I'm wearing. You know, the ones I feel so comfortable in that I forget what I'm wearing. That to me is comfortable and right. If I'm more aware of what I'm wearing that what I'm doing I'm just not comfortable and I'm probably not rocking the look anyway.

So, away go things that don't make me feel grounded, comfortable and happy.

One Philly Daddy's donation style was different, and involved going through each drawer and his closet in one night. Quite the undertaking, and much more observable. Since, you know, it was a giant pile in the middle of the bedroom.

For me, One Philly Daddy's donations were emotional too. A lot of it was stuff he just didn't like anymore, and he often said "I just don't need this much stuff!" A sentiment I support more and more.

But more significant was the fact that most of his single-funny guy-very humorous-occasionally offensive t-shirt collection got donated. (Not sure how that will go over, but hey, maybe they have a young male volunteer just dying for these T's!)

Now these are shirts that I told him would have to go once we started a family. No one wants to see a man at the park with his kid in a shirt about drinking! (Right?!?! Back me up here!!!)

But once they were in the pile to go away, it suddenly felt like the passing of an era, a milestone, a real moment in our lives. Like we were shedding yet another layer of ourselves to become more of what we are now, and to make room for what we will become.

Which makes me so excited! I'm more and more excited and comfortable with our roles and excited for the life we're living and planning.

All that from a donation of our old clothes!

Love, can it ever run out?

I've been thinking a lot lately about a conversation I had shortly after One Philly Son was born. The crux of the issue for the other woman was that she was pregnant with her second child and worried that she wouldn't love her second child as much as she loved her first.

At the time I scoffed at the idea. Love is one of those amazing phenomenon that grows the more you use it or give it away. The more I love the people in my life and the more I love my life, the more love I receive and feel. Ain't that awesome!

But, I've conjured up an alternate Mommy worry. (Which I know is nonsense, but worth voicing.)
What if I love my second (still unconceived) baby MORE than my first baby!?!??

As in, will this amazing, adored, fascinating creature I've been blessed with become old hat? Will he seem droll and boring? Or worse, an irritating distraction from the new and improved amazing creature I hope to be blessed with?

Of course not! I plan/hope to adore all members of my family for their own amazing uniqueness.

But it also seems worthwhile to ackowledge that nonsensical worry, as it will hopefully provide awareness and motivation to make sure amazing baby #1 doesn't feel dumped should amazing baby #2 come along.

Unfortunately this concern did not work for our dog, who definitely got demoted when baby came along! Oh well, we got her another dog to love her!

When I moved to be with One Philly Daddy, I left a town I loved. I had an immediate connection to the town, attended college there, returned there after a few years in Colorado.

I love the town One Philly Daddy and I live in, and have nothing against it, I was just leaving a town that felt so much like home. Many streets had stories, memories of friends, cutting class to eat Ritas Italian Ice in the park, long winding walks home from the neighborhood pub.

The town we live in now has a lot going for it. A train station to the city, lots of restaurants and bars in walking distance, a real town feel with plenty of community activities. But for a time I still missed my old town.

Lately though, this town feels like home. I don't know if it's simply time, or starting a family, or accumulating memories, but I am getting fabulously wonderful warm fuzzy feelings.

I know and love people here. I have taken miles of walks with my dogs, husband, son and friends over the years. I can see the school One Philly Son may go too. I look forward to building more and more of my life here.

It's good to be home.

I think I just caught a glimpse of the side of me that terrifies my husband a bit.

It's just me, the dogs, cat, house and One Philly Son for the time being and I plan to take my time sorting out a good balance of housework, errands, educational field trips, play dates, down time and naps.

Today I changed and washed the sheets and they didn't feel grimy yet, so that was a victorious luxury in itself. The top sheet of the set I washed sat in the dryer too long ages ago and the thick hem at the top edge of the sheet has been a wrinkled mangled mess for years. It's bugged me for ages, but who has time to do anything about that?

Well, said sheets were done in the dryer while One Philly Son napped, so I did something crazy. I ironed that stupid hem!

Which is amazing since I haven't ironed, you know, clothes in months!

Part of me is really excited to not have that wrinkley hem any more and the other part of me is a little afraid of how happy that flat hem makes me!

Don't worry, there's still dust, and toys out in the livingroom. The list of things to fix or mend is long and (like everyone's) ever growing.

Working out is working out!

I've observed this time and time again, in my own life and the lives of friends and family members of mine.

Remove something that is not "working" for you, and SHAZAM! everything else seems to improve as well.

It could be a boyfriend, friend, way of thinking, client, way of life, city, etc, etc, etc. It is almost as if the weight of either trying to be something you're not or the effort of trying to make something work that just isn't holds you back. And once that weight is lifted (sometimes quite literally), the possibilities get greater and greater. The air is cleaner, the sky bluer, the grass greener, well...you get the idea.

I don't know if its spring, or my recent life-change or my recent post on just doing what you know needs to be done, but I attended one of my One Fit Mama classes today...and it ROCKED!

I've only taken a few classes, and while I loved them all and they were all great work outs, I didn't feel like I was leaving it all "on the court", so to speak.

Then there are those days when I can run the stairs, do lunges, push harder and harder, One Philly Son enjoys class (instead of escaping from his stroller), and I feel pumped. Today was one of those days. Yes, I was short of breathe and really felt winded sometimes and didn't love all the stair work...but I did it all. And I didn't hold back, I just kept pushing. Which felt great, since during my first class a few short weeks ago, I felt simultaneously like passing out and throwing up. I love the feeling of feeling powerful, capable, strong. Its addictive. So now rather than thinking the efforts to get in/be in shape are "wasted" if I get pregnant, I'm going to focus on maintaining that feeling THROUGH pregnancy, if and when we're blessed with another.

I know. Duh. So simple. And yet, I was too busy, tired, had too much to do, was stressed about this and that, and holding on to that idea of it being a waste, and I could not do it.

And that's ok. Cause I'm gonna do it now.

Here's an unexpected twist on my first day "officially" home with One Philly Son.

Tough love nap.

Only the second time I've done it, but both times involved less than 10 minutes of half hearted crying followed by, you guessed it, a nap.

When I was working from home, naps were different. When i first started I was still nursing and One Philly Son would fall asleep in my arms. Later, if he was fussy, he'd fall asleep in my arms. If I had to get work done, he'd fall asleep in my arms.

Trust me, I'm fully aware that this was not ideal, but it worked.

I needed him to sleep during conference calls, or at least not be crying himself to sleep when the phone rang, etc, etc, etc... Honestly it probably falls under the topic of my last post - knowing what needs to be done, and still not doing it.

Well here we are, I don't need to work, take a call or get back to my laptop. But One Philly Son does need to nap before a family function tonight. And now, the few minutes of crying no longer feels like something I have to prevent, manage or avoid. It is a temporary part of my son learning to get himself to sleep for a nap. Bed time at night has worked for months without holding or rocking. He goes to bed,occassionally fusses, but goes to sleep. Only for nap time on days I worked from home did he fall asleep in my arms. So I know we both can do it...it was just a matter of doing it.

So now that my primary focus is on being Mom, instead of Worker/Mom, I feel like I'm making better choices already, and it's only the first day.

Weighting to see...

So life is full of dilemmas.

My current one is admittedly laughable, but a dilemma none the less.

Here's the situation: I'm not in as good of shape as I'd like to be. I consider myself moderately healthy, and have been sneaking in WAY more vegetables than I knew possible. My arms and legs remain thin-ish and toned (chasing and carrying a 22 lb bundle of love will do that). BUT my middle keeps getting softer and squishier.

I know exactly how to fix it. Eat less. Move more. It really is that simple. (I'm also hoping that a reduction in my stress level may result in fewer mindless sugary treats - my major weakness- being shoved down my throat).

Here's where it gets tricky, and when I know I'm my own worst enemy. I'd like to have a second child someday, and will obviously gain weight. So I tell myself the effort to get in shape will be "wasted."

Yes, I know that is ridiculous.

Health and saving are two things I feel should always be a priority. If I'm healthy when I get pregnant, my pregnancy, delivery and recovery will be easier. My baby will be healthier. I'll probably be happier and more able to cope witb stress.

And yet...

So my story really isn't about excercising or losing weight, but that fantastic phenomenon when you have all the data, you KNOW the smart thing to do, and you probably want to do it. And yet...you don't.

I'm not sure of the answer or the solution, but it is interesting to ponder. I'm well aware of the roadblocks I put in my own way, while I have many reasonable explanations, I realize they are all junk and if this was really a priority, I'd be doing what needed to be done.

I've felt out of control of many of the details of my day to day life and it fascinates me that my response is to give up further control by losing myself in ice cream and thoughts of "when such and such happens, I'll ...". Even though I've known all along a regular work out would give me greater strength to deal with the uncertainty.

Whatever happens, I'm 1000% (yes 1000) confident I'll be motivated to act before things are too out of hand or there is a real health concern.

I think understanding why I'm acting this way will translate to other moments I find myself paralyzed by my own inaction. So I'm going to give myself just a little more leeway, to see what happens. Will the removal of a major stressor cure my sweet tooth? Will I wake up with energy and the urge to work out?

Who knows? But I'll keep ya posted!

Today was my last day physically going to the job I've gone to for 5 1/2 years in downtown Philadelphia.

I have a few more days of work, but not at the location I called "work" for all those years.

Cleaning out my office, files, and desk filled me with all kinds of emotions and reactions.

I remember moving to the area to be with my then boyfriend of one year (now husband of going on 4 years). We were sure we wanted to be together for the long haul, but this was still a big step. My new job involved supervising, something I'd never done and wasn't sure I could do. The women I had the privilege of working with are some of the finest I've ever known.

I remember planning my wedding from my desk, and the bridal shower my co-workers hosted for me at the office. They gave me white silk roses in a vase that have been in my office since the day of the party. I gave them to our receptionist today.

I remember my sister coming in from Kentucky a few days early to surprise me at my office days before my wedding. She and I ceremoniously changed my nameplate from my maiden name to my married name. It was a moment I'll never forget.

I remember promotions and working harder than I've ever worked for a supervisor who trusted me and empowered me as never before.

I remember being pregnant and working on one of the largest events I've ever had to coordinate professionally. I was trying to convince everyone, including myself, that I could be the same worker I'd always been.

I remember feeling proud, accomplished, overworked, appreciated, special and invisible at various times. This is the longest I've been with any employer and by most standards, I was a success. My achievements were many, and I can be and am proud of my work and accomplishments there.

Life changes, and I am eager and excited for the next chapter, but I'm also happy with and proud of the chapter I'm closing.

Things are changing. In a big way.

By the end of the week I will be laid off.

This is not a financial, career or personal crisis. One Philly Daddy and I have made specific financial decisions regarding the size of our house, newness of car, etc so that his salary is enough to live on. Career-wise I've felt without direction and unsatisfied since my return from maternity leave in November 2009 (which makes
it seem like a really long time). Personally I welcome the opportunity to focus on my family.

But there is the question of my fire, my groove, my zest. By no means has the past year-ish been bad, it's been quite good actually. I've loved being a Mom and growing closer to my husband and growing our family. But I've struggled with my place, my role, trying to make the best of a situation that changed out of my control, and influenced all facets of my life.

I am proud to report One Philly Daddy
seems to be in his groove - working out, eating well, wildly productive. Which I envy since I feel like I've been bounced around a bit with my work situation. I can be strssed, feel pulled in very conflicting directions and unmotivated to focus on eating well, working out, etc. In short, my day to day life hasn't matched up with my vision for my life. And it's been hard.

So I'm hoping I find my groove, my stride, my zest.

Sometimes life's most precious moments are the simple ones, with pajamas instead of fancy dresses, sippy cups instead of steaks and wine, and no photographers, just the mind's eye to preserve the perfect memory.

Tonight my family sat down to do a relatively simple thing - watch a movie, in this case Despicable Me. One Philly Son has never sat through a movie, so the wisdom of this decision was not clear from the beginning.

But he loved it, and it is an adorable movie that One Philly Daddy and I enjoyed as well. It was a perfect evening.

And then it got better. One Philly Daddy said "this is his first movie, so we should buy it, and then we can watch it and Big Fish on Christmas"

The back story is that One Philly Daddy and I do not own movies as we rarely watch them and rarely want to watch a movie twice. But our first date was Big Fish, a kooky movie about love, and when it was clear we wanted to spend our life together, we bought the dvd of Big Fish and occasionally pull it out to watch. Anniversaries and special nights. It always takes us back to the beginning and fills us with excitement for our future.

So when he said we should buy Despicable Me, I saw a family tradition, a future unfold, with visions of loving hours on the couch together, growing children, the passing of time as we grow, learn and love together.

Yes, it was a perfect moment.

There's a quality of mine I hope I do not pass on to One Philly Son.

Being nice.

Specifically being nice at the expense of his own needs.

Let me explain. Now that we venture out to public play dates, we occasionally (a lot more often than I am comfortable with) are confronted with children who want the toy One Philly Son has selected. I appreciate the parents who step in and say to their child "no, honey, you can't take toys from others" and am appalled at the parents who don't notice or intercede.

I have been conflicted and uncomfortable with how to react as the parent of the child who has had "his" toy yanked from his hand. I don't want to be rude, so even when the other parent apologizes and returns the toy, I make a joke, say it is no big deal and maybe even discount my son by saying something like "he'd probably get bored with it soon anyway."

Wrong life lesson, Mommy. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

The lesson I fear I teach is that his boundaries can be crossed, someone else's needs are more important than his, and that niceness is more important than standing up for himself.

I'm going to have to practice a few new ways of handling this situation, but my goal is no longer to prioritize preserving the ego and dignity of a perfect stranger, but rather to teach my son respect and pride. For others and himself.

It's not my goal, but I bet I gain some in the process as well.

Tonight I'm caught thinking about the fragility of life, the ripple effect one small change or event can have.

I adore my son and wish him a happy, secure, successful life full of joy, love and confidence. But I know there will be tears, heartache, pain and hurt.

Part of me has the urge to try to prevent this inevitable pain, but I am forced to admit that my greatest growth and strength came from my times of great pain and turmoil.

So what really is the best thing to do for my son.

For a variety of reasons and circumstances, today was One Philly Son's last day at his day care. A day care he thrived in and loved. A day care I trusted and appreciated.

And I'm afraid the changes may lead down a path I wouldn't choose for my son.

I've lived long enough and through enough to realize that all new beginnings, no matter how wanted and longed for, come with a period of fear and self doubt. That first step down a new path is full of uncertainty, fear, and excitement.

There was a time I feared that those feelings were in some way an indication of the future success or failure of my new path, my new life. But now I know, that it's just life. Making a change probably should come with fear and uncertainty.

I'm ok with being afraid and unsure, but I also plan on feeling hopeful, excited, and looking forward to the coming changes.

So I'm feeling hopeful that this path leads to continued joy and blessings for my family.

One Philly Daddy and I subscribe to the philosophy that it is crucial to provide the very best that we can for One Philly Son (and any future additions). Of course, I imagine most parents feel this way.
We live in a great school district and have hoped to afford a larger house within said school district. But also agree, whatever One Philly Son would need,we would do our best to provide, whether that means tutors or classes or whatever. We have memberships to the Philadelphia Zoo, Please Touch Museum, and Sesame Place. I take him to storytime at the library and plan to sign him up for music or tumbling classes in the Spring.
This past weekend we went to The Little Treehouse and a Valentine Party with Elmo at Sesame Place.
All of these activities are fun, but also expose One Philly Son to the ideas of play, imagination, sharing, socializing, boundaries, and much more.
But they cost money too. One Philly Daddy and I are very, very blessed to have the means to provide these activities for our family, and I'm aware of how lucky we are.

Beyond financial means, there is also the philosophical outlook that we have in common. We do not subscribe to "children should be seen and not heard" or "spare the rod and spoil the child" or any of those. For us, love, affection, honesty, and trust are building blocks (we hope) to a great person.

As we left Sesame Place yesterday I asked One Philly Daddy if he thought it was "worth it" since One Philly Son will not remember any of these early year efforts. He responded that of course it was, and that if it didn't matter then it wouldn't matter anything that happened the first three years of anyone's life. And the professional consensus seems to be that those years are crucial for developing the foundations for trust, communication, health, and even things like interest in reading and eating vegetables.

So we'll continue carting One Philly Son places that make him smile, excited and happy. We'll remind him slides are for going down, to share, take his turn, to not throw things and to be gentle with others. We'll read books and put veggies on his plate everyday.

The price of admission is well worth it.

Have you noticed you have more energy to take care of what you have to do when you take care of yourself?

This is a lesson I learn and re-learn often, but I just read a Scoutie Girl's blog about fitting in her personal creative projects, not just her work ones. Her goal is to not lose her personal goals in the face of her professional success and abundance.

Which is a very noble cause, in my humble opinion. I'm always impressed by how renewed and energized I feel after I do something for myself. Whether it's yoga, drinks with friends, painting my nails or just catching a chick flick, it almost always works. There was a time I thought of those things as a waste of time, taking me from what I "had" to do.

Actually, the opposite is true, and taking care of me gives me strength and motivation for taking down Christmas decorations, 3 loads of laundry a day, dishes, bath time with One Philly Son and getting myself to work. Of course this means sometimes walking away from something that "has" to be done for something infinitely more important - me.

Don't forget to put some me time on your schedule, you'll be glad you did!

Here we are, a week into the new year already. Does it still feel shiny and new to you?

Nothing really has changed in my life, but the things have been set in motion to bring change in the near future.

And I'm that cool nervous excited for it. I'm about to embark on an entirely new path, one I previously felt I couldn't walk. And now I'm eager for the change. (Don't worry, I'll fill you in when I can.)

I'm sure a part of me is merely romanticizing what life will be like when things change, but I honestly do expect positive change for me and in me. Already I can feel some of the frustration fading. We have two dogs, one whom must be kept on a lead because no matter what alterations we do to the fence, he escapes. Well, on Friday in the midst of a snow storm, he managed to get off his lead and pranced, hopped, ran and gallopped around the yard. One Philly Son was alone in the house but watching through the screen door as I chased after our dog on my slippers (without socks. In the snow. While my son was alone in the house.) A few weeks ago I would've felt frustrated, boxed in and resentful. I would've been harsh with my dog, which always makes our other dog cower. So I would've felt guilty.

All because my plate felt full to brimming and spilling over with obligation and responsibility.

On the day in question, I laughed.

It was funny, afterall, and I now feel my energy, spirit, time and love will be spent in a way that feels worthwhile to me. I felt free to laugh, and roll with the day, rather than weighed down by things. Things that were not serving me, adding to my sense of purpose or joy, or supporting my ideal life. These things remain present, but just the knowledge that I will soon be rid of them was enough to put a smile and a laugh where a scowl and a curse used to live.

I can't think of any better proof that I'm doing the right thing.

Back to reality

Today I, along with many of us, returned to reality. That is, I went back to work (some of you went back to school) after a long holiday break. Personally, I was out of work for 13 straight days, and had loads of quality family time.

I realized something while on my break. Being a full-time SAHM (that's stay-at-home-Mom) is not nearly as easy as I once imagined. I once imagined SAHM meant a clean house, home-cooked dinner every night, and loads of time for undivided attention to the child(ren).

Yes, I've been working from home, but being a working-from-home-Mom I didn't really get a real impression of what being a day-in-day-out stay at home Mom would be like. It was easy to blame challenges of the day on trying to be a worker-Mom/caregiver/house cleaner/cook.

But let me tell you, full-time, 100% Mom ain't easy. Not that I ever thought it was, but here's the essence of what I learned.

It's not about you/me (the Mom). What I could accomplish in a day, the mood of the day, the events of the day were dependent not on me or my plans, but on One Philly Son.

Talk about an "aha!" moment. (Or "duh!". Either works...)

The journey of the SAHM is (somewhat) to manage a world in which you are not in charge. I mean, not really. Sure, you can set the parameters of nap time, meal time, play time, TV or not. But throw one ear infection in there (as we did) and things can get thrown out of whack.

Still, its something that intrigues me. More and more a traditional role of Mom and homemaker (feminists, look away!) appeals to me. I can see the fleetingness of time before the kid(s) go to school. I can understand the desire to be the one to teach colors, numbers, and letters. I can see the joy and happiness of being with  your child(ren) every day, all day. I am drawn to playground and coloring books, to lazy breakfasts spent talking about yellow bananas and green grapes and round bowls.

I also have a greater appreciation and understanding of the frustration that may accompany the career path of SAHM. No, it is not easy. But, oh how rewarding!

During the time I was home on break, One Philly Son seemed to develop in leaps and bounds. We went to the Please Touch Museum not once, but twice and he loved it. He started responding to One Philly Daddy and my verbal communication more and more. One Philly Daddy said "give me your pacifier" and One Philly Son DID. One Philly Daddy said "come here and help put your coat on" and One Philly Son DID! When I mention taking a bath, One Philly Son not only goes upstairs to the bathtub, but also signs "bath." He's also consistently signing "more" and "eat." I think "milk", "drink", and "play" are not far behind.

I have no idea if these developments have anything to do with me being home for a long stretch and being able to focus solely on One Philly Son or if it is a coincidence. I have no idea if he's been doing these things all along and I just finally noticed.

But I am grateful that I was here and present and aware of these things as they happened.

I've made a monumental decision.

Using One Philly Daddy as my inspiration and muse, I've decided to give up chocolate for 2011. For those of you intimately aware of my eating habits and coping skills this is a big deal!

One Philly Daddy is giving up something in 2011, and it got me to thinking. Sweets and chocolate have long been something I enjoy but have no real control over. As a child my paternal grandmother would give us multiple shopping bags of candy at each holiday. Christmas was chocolate Santa's and boxes of candy canes. Easter was hollow bunnies, Peeps of all shapes and colors, peanut butter eggs, a giant chocolate coated coconut egg, with m&m's of the appropriate color for each of us. Sweets were not something we had in my house, so when they were around, we binged. I mean, really binged. What is probably an entire family's worth of sweets was ingested by each of us in a matter of days. At every holiday. For my entire childhood. How we handled the sudden influx of thousands of calories, I'll never know.

As an adult I managed to enjoy sweets and chocolate and solved my lack of self control by not having it around. But, still, when sweets are around, they are eaten with gusto.

Worse, I've realized lately that my choco-binges are becoming more and more emotionally driven. Rough day = chocolate. Used to be a few Hershey kisses would satisfy me. Recently, I think I could've polished off a one pound box of Ashers, if common sense didn't prevail. I've even torn the house apart in the wee hours of the night to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies (the mix from the store, I'm not that crazy...) And lunch at work, well, does a bag of Party Mix and the chocolate du jour sound healthy to you?

Here's the sad part. I hardly enjoy the chocolate anymore. Its not a treat, its not something special to be savored, I'm not sure I taste it. Its something to be shoved down my throat in massive quantities to distract me from whatever's going on that day.

And this year, there's been plenty to be distracted from. Merger at work, poor economy, motherhood (which I love, love, LOVE. But I still haven't figured out how to shower everyday that I am home with him. And forget working out, reading, shaving, switching out my summer clothes for winter clothes or any of those other luxuries...wouldn't change a thing, adore One Philly Son, but parenting, it's a smidge time consuming...)

So I'm giving up chocolate. But its also symbolic of a move toward greater health (more real food instead of the processed crap; time to exercise, meditate, or whatever it takes to make me feel healthy), peace (see again meditation, etc) and happiness (ahem, work situation). For reasons beyond my control, this past year has left me feeling invisible and tired (again, ahem, work). Its not a feeling I love. And I know that indulging in chocolate is really not facing the facts, confronting them and DOING something about it. Its sticking my head in the sand. Or in this case a family size bag of M&M's...with chocolate covered pretzels...and Oreos...well, you get the idea.

Not only is the chocolate not a good coping mechanism, it is not physically giving me the strength, focus or nutrients I need to live my life. There's a reason its not one of the food groups.

So I'm giving it up. Not just because its chocolate, but because of what it means....I'm actually looking forward to it. (For now. Ask me again Jan 3rd...)

I attended a training at work recently that involved an excercise writing our personal mission statement. The purpose was to create our professional mission statement, but I was intrigued. How often do we ponder our life in respect to goals, purpose, our MISSION?

I gave it a shot, and here it is:

My personal mission is to thrive in life with passion, purpose, and integrity; to provide a loving, joyful, fulfilling, peaceful, abundant existence for me and my family that pays the highest respect to each unique individual and their personally defined highest potential.

The beauty of a mission statement is that it can and should be examined and changed as needed to evolve with the situation. For now, I like this one for me.

So what's your personal mission statement?

I've been in a funk the past few days. I worked two long days Thursday and Friday last week, while battling a stomach flu which carried into this week (I think...killer headache and nauseous but nothing...happened, if you know what I mean). Then I had a long (but fun) day Saturday, including an overnight stay with One Philly Dad and One Philly Son with my sister and mother. First on Saturday we had a Holiday party (even if it was sort of depressing) where it was nice to catch up with folks I don't see often enough. Then an awesome 40th birthday party, complete with an Ace of Cakes cake. The day involved nearly as many hours of driving as it did of sleep.

Since then, we've taken it kind of easy - some grocery shopping, a nice family dinner out but nothing too strenuous. Still...

My post yesterday was hardly insightful or meaningful. I was just feeling blah.

I'm not sure if its that fact that I'd been reminded at the Holiday Party of just how hard some people have it, or the strange dichotomy of the hardship of the Holiday Party followed by the opulence of the birthday party, or just pure exhaustion... but I was in a funk.

Lucky for me, the clouds seem to be breaking and I can see a bit of (metaphorical) sun peaking through. I don't know if it was the bacon-cheeseburger with fries, the kick-boxing workout One Philly Daddy drug me through or finally getting caught up on some sleep that turned the corner.

Sometimes these things just happen.

Having a funk of a day and letting it ride itself out was a skill I had to learn. Having a parent with an unaddressed and untreated mental illness left me haunted for years...every mood and feeling needed to be evaluated to see if it signified my inevitable fall into (forgive the phrase) craziness.

If I could count the times One Philly Daddy has told me that everyone has down days, sad days, days when they feel fatter, stupider, uglier, poorer, (etc) than everyone else...well, I'd be counting pretty high.

So, in a truly ironic twist, these days, a funk is something of a victory. I'm sad, I'm bummed...I get over it.

How was your day?