BigBoy brought me coffee in bed, which was so sweet, but then he looked intently in my eyes and said, “Yep, you look old Mom.”  Great.  Hello, Forty.

Yes, I turned forty.  Yes, Four-Ohhhh.  As in “Ohhh my goodness, can I really be that old?”  Yes. I am four decades old.  Wow. Can’t hardly wrap my brain around that.

I know a lot of people that have treated this birthday as no big deal (they are mostly men).  I know it weighs heavily on others (mostly women).  Forty is a big milestone, it’s not jut another birthday.  It means something.  It’s another chapter.  It’s the other side of the hill.  I mean c’mon, we very likely could live another 40 years, right?  That IS the plan.

Last year I had dinner with two guy friends from high school and we were laughing at the prospect of turning 40.  Mr. PX90 had taken on a personal campaign of Fit at 40 and I thought, why not? I too could make a change in my health, a friend’s father had just past, my Dad just had stints put into his heart, and I was feeling deeply reflective on life;  feeling like I needed to make a change (see “pay now or pay later” to see where I’m coming from).

I have spent the last year eating better, learning more about food and how it works (or doesn’t) for my body, and I found an exercise program that I love.  So yes, I’m fit at forty and in the best shape I’ve been in the last 10 years.  In fact last weekend, I bought my first two-piece bathing suit in 13 years.  My recent visit to Palm Springs really did a number on me and I cringed at being the only woman in the resort pool who was wearing a one piece (and wasn’t pregnant). My friends thought I was a weirdo for wearing a beach cover-up walking to the restroom.  Really, it wasn’t necessary.  There was a lot more skin around the pool to look at.  No one was looking at me other than “what is that woman thinking???”  I need to get over my modest, Southern ways and show more skin.  It’s what women do in SoCal even at my age (which is ridiculous, I know).  I’m just subscribing to the notion that everything looks better tanned (even stretch marks).  So I’m doing it.  Somebody, please get me a drink, please. I’m gonna need that liquid courage.

And then I look at my lovely community of friends, neighbors and family and I am RICH.  I love the people in my life.  My girlfriends are smart, funny, diverse and priceless.  I am blessed to have two beautiful little boys that make me laugh and teach me so much.  My husband is patient and kind, and we’re learning together what it is to have a long-term committed marriage.  My relationship with my original family is good even though I don’t see them as much as I would like to. I practice acceptance and gratitude with my in-laws and that’s moving in a positive direction.

I have designed my work life to be inclusive of my family as a WAHM.  I am able to financially contribute doing work that I enjoy (community manager for small businesses using social media and marketing communications), which is cool.  And I can still drop off and pick up the kids and participate a bit with school activities, which I feel is important to be involved at that community level.  Do it while I can, I say. Pretty soon my kids won’t want me to be around at all.

So life is good.  I’m doing good.  I believe that I have the power to change the things that I don’t like and I know what I am at work on.  I’d like to write more.  I’d like to spend more time in my yard with my family.  There are things that I would like to buy and change about my house, but I know that will come in time.  Nothing is broken and all is well as it is.

My hope for you is that when you turn forty you too will say, “all is well.”  And you’ll continue to say that every birthday through the monumental ones and the insignificant ones.  And those years when you’re not feeling it, you figure out what you need to change and you go out and make a difference for yourself.  Because I believe we all can.  It just depends on how important it is to you.  When you’re truly sick of whining about your life then you’ll really do something about it.

I believe in the words, “if you don’t love your life then shame on you.”

Having a well-lived life is important to me.  It’s meaningful for me to be healthy, have a happy family life, live in community with others and be well in body, spirit and mind.  It’s not rainbows and butterflies, but I work at it because it’s what gives my life meaning.  It’s what’s true for me.

Turning 40 has been an opportunity to reflect on that milestone.  And all I feel is joy and gratitude.  I hope you’ll feel it too.

So one thing that has been a continuing source of dissatisfaction and emerging long sighs has been these age spots on the side of my face that have continued to darken, along with freckles I never had before, with the Southern California sun. No, I’m not naturally a redhead, so these don’t necessarily come with the territory. And yes, I wear a quality moisturizer with good sunscreen. I never leave home without it and when at the beach I put on more. These darkening spots and increasing freckles is just been one of those things.

Until I saw a Living Social deal for an IPL Medical-Grade Photo Facial for $89 (a $350 value). I looked at the website and saw the before and after pictures and jumped on it. I think it took me less than 15 minutes to make my decision, which is rather impulsive for me. Kaestner Aesthetic Eye Center looked legit, particularly since it’s in the same building as my kids’ pediatrician and my eye doctor. I called and booked an appointment for three weeks out (evidently a lot of people had also jumped on the deal).

On the day of my appointment, I was amused by the attractive 40+ women coming in and out of the center wearing very expensive yoga pants and nice handbags. I was nervously observing details while I was completed my paperwork. The staff was kind, conversational and matter of fact. Laser treatment was just another 20-minute appointment. Thankfully, I took before pictures for my own benefit (and yours) because they plopped me in the seat and went to business. Everything was fully explained to me and away we went. Cold gel was on and zap! Zzzap! Zap!

Ask anyone who has had laser hair removal and they’ll tell you that it hurts. Well, an IPL Photo-Facial is laser treatment. It hurts. It is about the pain level of a tattoo. Some people rise to the occasion. I wince and whimper. Thank goodness they had a tube of cold air that I could hold near the treatment area so I didn’t have to ask the lady to blow on my face. Yes, for the record, I did ask the man who did my tattoo to blow on it while he inked away. The motto at that point in the treatment is, “no pain, no gain.” The good-hearted tech talked me all the way through it, and all in all, it took 30 minutes. I washed my face and applied a very nice high SPF moisturizer and I was out the door to go pick up BigBoy from kindergarten.

The only problem…my face was on fire. I looked fine. Not really red or swollen as I was told that some people may experience, but I was just dying to get home. Immediately in the door, I put a cold washcloth on my face and napped for a half an hour in utter relief. The rest of the day I was mildly irritated, but it was totally tolerable. The immediate and noticeable difference is that my freckles and spots darkened considerably and oddly, became subtly raised and grainy. Not quite a scab, but as the technician described like a fine coffee grain. By washing and mild exfoliation throughout the week the darkened skin came off. Today is Day 10 and you wouldn’t notice anything left on my face, but I do just a little bit.

I wanted you to clearly see the difference in my skin. In both pictures I’m not wearing any makeup and clearly demonstrate why concealer is a girl’s best friend.  Kaestner’s office  suggests 3 treatments for full results once or twice a year. I have booked a second treatment and would consider this type of maintenance on a yearly basis as long as I could secure the discounted rate. $350 a session is too much for me, especially if I’m going for two or more sessions. I don’t have the $80 yoga pants or handbags those fine ladies before me were wearing (and not that those are bad things! Please don’t hear that wrong. I like luxury.)

I now have a more even complexion and I am very pleased with the results. I will be going back for a second treatment to finish it up next month, but I wanted you to see the progress. If you are local, I would most certainly recommend the Kaestner Aesthetic Eye Center in Encinitas. You can also find them on Facebook (check out their FB giveaway for March!).

Why a smile and concealer is always a girl's best friend

Here’s to getting older gracefully and feeling good about it…cheers! And I’ll take another pour for putting up pictures without makeup and being open about my vanity work. Clink, clink and cheers again!

Swami Mommy Tiffany taking in the view

I’ve got my girl posse and we’re dedicated and committed.  Friday morning walks by the beach have already started.  We’re calling ourselves the Swami Mommies, since we walk right by Swami’s Beach. This is the best exercise because I’m with dear friends, we’re at the ocean and there is surfer eye candy galore.  This walk feeds my soul in so many ways that I walk with a thank you in every step.

However the coup d’tat in shrinking the MT was my first magical lesson of 2010.  On my vision board last year I put words like “Dance you way slim!” “Waist Loss” and “Have Fun. Stay Motivated.”  And within two weeks, I found a way of exercising and a community that I am head over heels about.  And the MT went away, quite quickly.

I started Jazzercise in January 2010 and I’m so crazy about it that I’m getting my certification in April to teach.  I’ve had a life long love of dance, so Jazzercise is the perfect exercise for me.  Look, I’m not exercising if I’m not having fun.  I know me; I just wouldn’t stick to it.  I’m not one of those gals that can get up at 6:00 a.m. for boot camp lunges.  Screw that.  Where’s the joy in that?  But if I can get my funk on and shake my groove thing during a class, then count me in!

The music is great and the community of women that go to the classes are lovely.  They are women of all ages, shapes and sizes and they are there to get funky, just like me.  And no one has special workout clothes on.  So I didn’t have to go out and get a new workout outfit, because it’s (thankfully) not like that.

This is a big year for me.  Yep, I turn the big 4-0, so I’m taking on Fit at 40.  I want to (and do) continue to feel good about where I am in my life, particularly as I move into this next decade.  In watching my parents age and seeing older people’s health decline, I want to be sure to do my body, mind and soul right – to live with vitality and grace.  And taking care of myself with my Swami Mommy walks and Jazzercise classes twice a week is a great step in that direction.

I’d encourage you to take a look at Jazzercise.  It’s no longer leg warmers and jazz hands.  We dance to all sorts of music: hip hop, pop, alternative and jazz.  You don’t have to know how to dance, but you do move your body to a beat.  And when I eventually teach, I’ll encourage my students to get low and get funky.  Most of all, I just want it to be fun.  Jazzercise is for Every Body (one of their slogans).

Jazzercise often runs signup specials, but this month is pretty sweet – $20.11 for the month.  They are franchised so every location may have different sign up prices, but at our Encinitas Jazzercise it runs about $40/month (However, I know that Jina, the owner of Encinitas Jazzercise, meets or beats ad specials from other gyms.)  I go twice a week (one week night & Saturday mornings), which is about what I can handle with all our family activities.  I’d love for you to come join me!

Do you battle with your bulge?  Have you found an exercise that brings you joy?  I have found what works for me and it takes care of my heart, my muffin top, and my (funky) soul.  Here’s to finding what works for you and sticking to it this year!  Cheers!

And just for the record, I am not getting any kick back or incentives for promoting Jazzercise.  I’m just talking about it because I love it.  That is all.  Thank you.

So I went to see my HMO-covered doctor after I suffered through a third month of those volatile womanly symptoms.  Three months was enough.  It was gross and I couldn’t afford two days every month whimpering in bed like a baby.  My general practitioner is also a gyno so I knew that I could see her for this kind of stuff.  I should say that in general, I do like her.  However, during visits she is typically rushed, always attempting to be personal, but mostly missing the mark.  I don’t dislike her, but I don’t have much love for her either.

I told her my story, my family’s confirmation and she said dismissively (I’m telling you I was WAY sensitive), “Well let’s just see about that.”  I was given the paperwork for blood work to be done at another location.  However, when looking at the panels they were to run, she left off testosterone.  Um, if I’m having my hormones tested, doesn’t it make sense to run testosterone?  Like maybe I have an imbalance of it?

That didn’t sit well with me.  I also remember during my birth class a little factoid that saliva tests are more effective when testing hormone levels, not blood tests.  We did not do a typical birthing class.  We were EDUCATED to the n^th degree.  Practically tested on loads of information regarding natural childbirth.  Let’s just say that we were well-prepared for anything that could possibly happen. (And we still ended up getting a c-section on number 1, by the way.  However, went all the way with number 2!!  But those are stories for another time.)

I was toodling around on Twitter and saw PureNaturalDiva’s link to hormone deficiencies.  Yep, I was most certainly deficient given the survey on her site.  So I contacted a naturopath out of a whim when I received a marketing email.  In our conversation, Dr. Laura thought that I was pretty young to be hitting perimenopause (not pre- since I still am having my period), but it was certainly in the realm of possibility.  It could also be a uterine fibroid or maybe I’m just out of whack since having kids.  According to her, hormonally women get out of whack, particularly after having kids, but we don’t know what’s wrong because we just accept our severe ups and downs and symptoms.  Her solution to all these ailments was to start using a personalized natural hormone cream and all the bad things would go away.  I kind of pictured her with unicorns, waterfalls and rainbows instantly.  But sure, I’d go for a full evaluation.

Our meeting was two hours long.  That was surprising because typically with my GP I was lucky to get 15 minutes.  Dr. Laura asked involved questions, not just the date of my last period.  She asked about my eating habits, use of drugs and alcohol, my sleeping patterns, and the kind of shape of my poop (evidently your poop tells a lot about a lot of stuff).  She asked about my sex life, what I did for work, how I felt about being a mother, etc.  The evaluation was thorough.  I felt as though she really cared about my well-being and we share the belief that all of these factors (food, sex, mental health, sleep, etc.) are all interconnected and have some effect on my body and how it operates.

I was sent home with a saliva test kit that I was to do within the next 48 hours.  Chewing on cotton balls is awful and still gives me the heebee-geebies.  I had to chew until moist (ick!) every four hours over a 24-hour time period.  It was a strange kind of torture.  But I did it.  Within a week I had my “custom formula.”  Oh yeah and could you please dial down the sweet cravings and increase sexual desire?  Okay.  Good.

So here I am two months later and I have almost no symptoms.  I no longer feel sick, overly emotional or run to the bathroom in fear of a red blob falling out of my clothes.  [sorry, that was gross]  I have typical mild cramping, but I’m not gripping the heating pad to my belly asking for my mommy to rub my hair.  It is now resolved with two Tylenol and another glass of pinot noir (like I need an excuse).

Dr. Laura’s natural hormone therapy also came with nutritional counseling, customized homeopathics and nutritional supplements.  This is a process of self-care that I’ll be attending to for some time.  I’ll be tested a few times each year and I’m sure adjustments will be made.  Right now, twice a day (at 7:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m.) I apply cream on soft tissue areas (neck, inner arm, elbows, wrist, behind knees, etc.).  I also take two homeopathics (Field of Flowers is amazing!) and one supplement.  Sometimes I feel like Samantha from Sex in the City 2 (“My creams! My creams! They took my creams!).  If I don’t do my creams twice a day at the scheduled time, I am hot flash city.  There is a noticeable difference!

Sounds a little hippy-drippy?  Yeah, well maybe.  But I’m much better off for it.  I would encourage you, if you have these symptoms, to consider a naturopath while you are exploring your options. There may be natural plant-based solutions that can ease your curiosity, discomfort, and possibly your symptoms.  This holistic approach may be the alternative you are looking for when considering synthetically-produced hormone treatments via a pill or even surgery.  Get informed and do what feels right for you.

Still hormonally yours (just not as gross or crazy),

Not Just Another Jen

Anyway, back to the boobs…

It’s this time of year when I think women down here look their best.  This is the land of beautiful people, after all.  A lot of women have a deep golden chestnut tan after eeking out what ever beach time we’ve had with our kids or time spent outside.  The rug rats are back in school and we’re back to our usual routine away from the frizziness and frazzle of summer vacations, camps and odd schedules.  We’re getting our groove back and a lot of women look good doing it.

This is also the land of cleavage.  People eagerly put it on display here.  Sometimes it’s a bit much for this modestly raised southern girl.  But really, who am I kidding? I grew up in Texas where everything is big, especially the hair and boobs.  Well anyway, Southern California is like boob central.  There are a lot of fake ones that look marvelous and at times I have to admit I’ve even been envious because they look that good.  However, us ladies of differing shapes and sizes know a good bra is a girl’s best friend to “her sisters.”  We’re not all blessed or can afford an excellent doctor.

(c) Brazilian Miracle (*see below note)

But the ONE THING that kills a look…[you know that sound they use in t.v. or movies of the record player scratching…”rrrrrrirk”…insert that sound here]…is crinkles.  Yes, chest wrinkles in the cleavage or on the decolletage.  I think I’m going to start boob bombing these women with moisturizer.  Could you imagine if you saw a woman randomly slapping another woman’s cleavage with cream?  That would be awesome.  I could start a YouTube public service campaign for keeping our girls fresh looking.  Men would love the idea and totally tune in.  If anyone ever sees this, you have to tell me because I think it would take off like wild fire.  It’s so tacky.  I love it.

And look, I’m guilty of it too.  Occasionally, I’ll get crinkles.  I see them after I wake up, but you know I’m moisturizing the shit out of that area because it’s so incredibly unattractive.  And we have the power to do something about it.  I don’t want to see you in your cute outfit with your boobs out to here all made up if you can’t take care of your ta-tas and keep them nice looking.

Let me also disclaim that those of us who spend a lot of time in the sun have more skin damage even though we may slather all sorts of sun screen throughout the year.  And some of us are biologically predetermined to wrinkle more than others.  You’re not off the hook either, ladies.  Do your part and moisturize.

* I do not endorse or support the products associated with the pictures.  I’ve never tried them.  It was just a good picture and I wanted to give them credit.  However, I think any botanically based moisturizer (absent of petroleum products, PABA, nasty ass preservatives or animal products…did I get them all?) will do just fine.  Just do it.

The Tuesday prior to our trip, my Dad had his first doctor visit in probably 25 years Welcome to Medicare physical exam.  My Dad didn’t even get to ask the doctor the list of questions that my sweet Mom had made up for him.  His blood pressure was so high the nurse practitioner thought he was about to explode.  He had to go to the hospital right away.  A bit strange to my Dad, for sure, since he’s been feeling that way for such a long time.  While my parents were here for Christmas, we expressed our concern for his inability to climb the stairs in our house without being out of breath.  He is just 65.  My brother and I knew something was up.  You couldn’t go through our childhood with that many sodas (Dr. Pepper at 10-2-4 comes to mind), cookies and Miracle Whip sandwiches.  My Dad is old school, grew up in Texas, and even if he ever had health insurance, he probably wouldn’t have gone to the doctors anyway.  Yes, my parents are two in the 37 million Americans without health insurance because they can’t afford it and never worked for companies very long that had coverage.

To make a long story short, Dad had three stints placed in his heart and one artery is completely collapsed.  While I was assured that this is no big deal, practically out-patient surgery (“even President Clinton had this done and look, he’s fine”), I was still a bit shaken up.  I mean, it’s MY Dad.  We’ve had a bumpy road of father and daughter, not the traditional hero worship/Daddy’s little girl affair.  The past has been forgiven and I’ve let go of it, now we’re at a great place of mutual love and respect for each other.  I want this time to endure and build memories from.

Fast forward to the Village Inn (similar to Denny’s) in Apache Junction, AZ.  Mom, Dad, BabyD and I are having breakfast together.  Seeing Dad eat pancakes, eggs and greasy sausages had my heart sink a little.  Let’s not even talk about the cheeseburger and fries consumed the night before.  Killing time before the memorial service we tour my college campus and my old apartment building.  My dorm isn’t even there anymore (it’s been torn down and replaced with fresh, new residential living) and my apartment building is now gated.  Conversations with my parents about old boyfriends, roommates, and drama have me feeling heavy and that this past life in Arizona is so far removed from who I am today.  This jen has come a long way, baby.

I am touched by the turnout at Steve’s memorial, even with the torrential and odd downpour.  This service is for a man that while I was growing up often scared the shit out of me when he yelled at us kids.  As an adult, he was the guy that would flip you the bird, shove his middle finger in your face and say, “Want to see where the scorpion stung me?”  He was a Vietnam Veteran, a father to a dear and lifelong friend, a husband to one of the nicest ladies, and my Dad’s old golf buddy and farkle adversary.  We shared some great time with him and his family while we were young.  Steve died after a year-long battle with cancer.  I looked over to my Dad during the service who was bouncing Baby on his lap.  I see that he has tears welling up in his eyes.  He says to me before the 21 gun salute, “we’re going out front.”  I get it Dad; things are a bit too intense right now for you.  They are for me too.

So fast forward to this week, I feel like the Universe has really been speaking to me.  I’ve been all emotionally clogged, didn’t write all week, and feeling ponderous.  I know that the blahs have been with me too long and I need to move on.  What do I need to learn, see or hear here?

Well, Sicko was ready for me to pick up at the library to view and Oprah (the one time I turned the TV on during the day) did an episode on Food Inc. and Michael Pollen, the author of The Omnivore’s Dilemma, was a guest.  The messages from both the movie and television show that I watched really altered my thinking and made a big impact on me.  The first prevailing message was “pay now or pay later.”  You can spend more grocery money and brain power (i.e., conscious thought or in common sense terms “paying attention”) on the food you put in your body and how you care for your life on the front end or you can pay more money and emotional turmoil on the backend when you’re sick, need medication and treatment, and still have to suffer through the medical and insurance systems.  Nutrition, exercise and mindful thinking or health costs, disease and insurance nightmares later?  Don’t care well for yourself on the front end of your life then you’ll suffer on the backend.  How much more plainly should I put it?  Wherever you go, there you are, right?

The second prevailing message is we are a “Me” nation, not a “We” nation.  We’re vastly concerned about how much national health care is going to cost us individually.  We need to be praising the possibility of our parents and children being well cared for.  We need to be affirming our health and the goodness that it is to take care of others (those we know and those we don’t).  Instead, we’re putting our energy on fussing and fighting about it.  That disturbs and saddens me.  We have the opportunity to raise the bar on our humanity. I pray that we make the leap of faith and institute a national healthcare program. If we did then we would save lots of families from worrying about how to pay for their new medications (just like my Mom & Dad).  It’s pretty simple for me at this altitude.

I want to help my Dad through this time; let him know that he can make changes that will extend his life.  I want to create more memories with my Mom & Dad and my family.  I refuse to believe the saying that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  It’s never too late to care – as a father, a daughter, friend or a nation.  Because the Beatles always speak the truth to me, I’ll close with a song.  Cheers!

Try to see it my way,
Do I have to keep on talking till I can’t go on?
While you see it your way,
Run the risk of knowing that our love may soon be gone.
We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Think of what you’re saying.
You can get it wrong and still you think that it’s all right.
Think of what I’m saying,
We can work it out and get it straight, or say good night.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend.
I have always thought that it’s a crime,
So I will ask you once again.

Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong.
While you see it your way
There’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

Life is very short, and there’s no time
For fussing and fighting, my friend.
I have always thought that it’s a crime,
So I will ask you once again.

Try to see it my way,
Only time will tell if I am right or I am wrong.
While you see it your way
There’s a chance that we might fall apart before too long.

We can work it out,
We can work it out.

I want to give thanks to my girlfriends, Bryn & Tiffany, for the additional support and encouragement this past week.  Also thanks to Mama Kat.  While this isn’t a Whrrl story, it did help motivate me to write it out.  Cheers girls!

There’s some level of acceptance for me to get to, but I’m just not there yet.  I know that I need to and will lose the 10 pounds that I gained over the holidays.  Hell, bathing suit season is right around the SoCal corner.  And I know that if you saw me you’d say, “Shut up. You look fine.”  I’m just saying it’s all perspective, sister.  I want to feel good about the outside from the inside.

I need an immersion of reassurance.  That’s certainly what I found when I read Mary Beth William’s Mom’s First Nude Shoot.  It’s a story of how she got naked with her other 40-something, mommy poker friends for a photo shoot in Time Out (NY) magazine.  The story wasn’t about her feeling empowered (however, I hope that was a byproduct of the experience), but more to the point of having the courage to be looked at, and a level of vulnerability, grace, and acceptance of who she really is.  Yep, that was a courageous act, not just disrobing.  I’m not ready to play poker with those girls, but I really like the acceptance piece.

Maybe I need to go to Harbin again.  It was always a hideaway where I was confronted with nudity and reassured that I’m normal.  A trip to Harbin reminded me that there is a WIDE spectrum of body shapes and sizes, and I have no room to complain.  Sitting (naked) in those hot springs was always a good reset button on my body-mind-spirit.  Maybe I just need another trip to San Francisco again, where I always felt Nirvana “Come As You Are” is a theme song (but not the psycho gun part).

I want to feel comfortable in my skin not just for me, but on behalf of my boys.  Not that I go around parading my nudity, nor do I want to quickly cover or chide them for coming into my room when I’m getting dressed (well at least while they’re still young and it’s not weird).  I just want to feel proud of my body, all that it’s gone through, and all the strength it’s needed to get through this life.  I do love my life and I want to love my body.  It’s done good.  I want to be thankful and I am, I just want to remember to be more “hot stuff” and less “ugh” when I look in the mirror.  I think Husband most of all would appreciate the “hot stuff” part.

Yes, I’m doing my Sanity Friday three mile beach walk.  Yes, I’ve been going to Jazzercize for two weeks now.  I’m taking the positive steps to physically feel better about my body, which will likely produce great results for the psychological side.  I guess when it comes down to it, I just want to see more of what’s real (thank you Lizzie, thank you Bonnie, and yes! thank you Leonard Nimoy) and not so much of the pretending and pretentiousness that’s out there.  Like if we could all get naked, and go, “oh, there you are” with all the bumps, scars, rolls and moles that we all have.  Does this make me some kind of weird nudist?  Really, I just want to know that I’m normal.  Then again I’m not just another jen.  So who knows.

I too, MB, want to be real, vulnerable, and courageous.  I have the faith that when I leap, I’ll land (possibly bruised, battered, but never broken).  But I see your rub, it’s the initial fear, the doubt, and the shitty internal dialogue that is there.  I think I just need to strip down, take a long real look, breathe in acceptance, and say “thank you.”  It is just boobies after all and they’re mine.

But first I need a drink and listen to Joan again.  Cheers friends!

This post included in Real Life’s Your Life Your Blog

Where am I these days? Am I lost? No. Well maybe a little bit. I’m working on finding my way through a storm.

Am I okay? Yes, but weary. I need to find my peaceful waters. I am close. I can feel it.

So, how do I get there? Writing. I can feel my way through. It always helps to write what’s working first. There are undeniable, beautiful things in my life right now. So I’ll start there.

Holy cow (as Drew is fond of saying right now)…Encinitas is simply beautiful! I thank god often for being able to enjoy my life here. The ocean, blue skies, palm trees (f’ing palm trees – sometimes I want to gag, sometimes I want to giggle) and the completely sublime weather. (I swear if I had a dollar for every person that complains about the weather here! There are so many complainers and I COMPLETELY do not understand what there is to gripe about!) It’s summertime and it couldn’t be more spectacular weather. Hell, I’m taking the boys and going to the beach today for a few hours. Not bad, eh?

Those boys – I was laid off in January and the blessing is that I’ve gotten to discover who these gorgeous little blondie boys are. I have two: BigBoy is 4 ½ and BabyD is 1 ½ . To me they are simply stunning and often they take my breath away with their smiles. It’s funny that I once couldn’t even think of myself as a mom and here I am blown over by two half pints. The boys are the best gift I’ve ever received – and wow, they are a gift that keeps on giving.

My husband – I’ve got a good’en (as Grammy would say). And I should be WAY MORE generous with him than I am (god help me). Husband is reliable, trustworthy, tall and charming, can carry on a conversation and is witty, he’s handsome and sweet-hearted, handy and a super-duper Daddy. He’s also a thick-headed guy sometimes who needs to slow down and listen and think more with his heart. But isn’t that most men? He’s my husband, we’re so married and we’re going the distance because I love him madly. And yes, I am challenged. It’s what I asked for I suppose. (cue Aimee Mann “You’ve got, what you want. You can’t hardly stand it.”)

These are the things I know to be TRUE. You should also know that I am a woman of faith. Not like in god with a capital G (tho I’m not opposed to using that word because it’s how most of us label our belief, but I’ll use a small g, thankyouverymuch). Maybe it’s more that I believe in Magic, but not like the capital W (tho I don’t rule that out either). It’s more that I believe in the beautiful, simple, small miracles. I believe that the world works, good triumphs over evil, words and thoughts can shape and shift reality in a blink of an eye. It’s a tingly feeling that makes things happen. It’s like all the good of Disneyland when you’re a kid and letting go of my adult cynicism of marketing, money and mouse ears. As my friend Victoria would say, it’s getting in the flow.

So what’s my problem? Like many of us – financial strain, of course. Finding what’s real for me as related to my next career/job. Ideally I want work that is authentic for me, a real expression of who I am. Can I just do a job and be thankful for a paycheck? Maybe, I just need to get over myself. I dunno, you tell me. This all leads me to my biggest struggle – many families’ dilemma. Do I work to put my kids in someone else’s care? I love the people that care for my boys, please don’t get me wrong, but often it’s just about equal: my pay would pay for day care and that’s about it. (and when I say day care, yes, BigBoy would go to preschool). This seems too crazy to comprehend.

And if we can make this work and I can stay home, will I finally lose my identity under a load of laundry? It could happen, trust me. For god sakes, I already drive a minivan. Sometimes I even am repulsed when I think of myself driving 80 down the 5 freeway with my venti latte in one hand and singing Madonna at the top of my lungs (Oh the cliché! Oh the horror! My kids may not play soccer yet, but it’s coming!)

I also will be going to hell (if I believed in hell) because I care about how I look. Vanity is a sin, isn’t it? It’s strange to live in Southern California where people barely wear clothes and 40 IS right around the corner! Really, I just want to feel good about myself, but aging in getting in the way. I know…from the inside out and all that stuff. But have you looked in the mirror lately and said, “Where did that come from?” The real question is where is it going?

And another thing…I need more sex. Let me be clear – with my husband. You know the emotional clogging that gets in the way of really letting it go? (women, back me up here) Well we’re in need of emotional Drain-O! And I struggle here. You’d think with all this writing and putting it out on the internet, I wouldn’t have a problem talking with my husband, but I do.

And that brings me back to the beginning…I write because I can’t afford therapy right now. Writing will help me find my calmer waters and fix my drains. So have a drink with me and let’s toast to the sea!