Pink Bows & Stilettos

Recently, my husband just started a new job. It has truly been a blessing but did not come without its challenges. He has been a stay-at-home dad for all of my daughter's 22 months of life. While I can not be there myself all day to feed her lunch or make sure she has her nap, knowing he was there with her was the next best thing. She has had an incredible amount of stability throughout her life and loves being on a schedule. Of course, it is HER schedule, no one else's. Doctors and parenting books tell you to put your child on a schedule for eating and sleeping and pooping (seriously?!?) but she is incredibly stubborn and insisted on setting it herself. Therefore, it changes slightly with each phase of growth, but it works.  Now she is being uprooted and doesn't like it - not one bit. Her eating is erratic, her naps are almost non-existent, and she wakes up at least once a night for mommy's cuddles. It's like she needs assurance that we are still there...

I remember the first time I learned about the concept of a melting pot, what that meant to me. That we were a country of immigrants. That were a beautiful, and sometimes challenging, mix of ideas of cultures. That we welcomed diversity of thought and color, all under the notion of unity and "one people". I built my very foundation of history and politicial theory, and ultimately my college education, that America was a melting pot. I pursued a career that would help those less fortunate, that would support the idealists, and encourage diversity. I traveled around the world and saw evidence of our country's impact, both positive and negative, on other systems and people. But I held in my heart that they were not "other" - they were "us". America is so integrated into the sense of immigration creating a productive economy, and that by accepting people into our fold, we are becoming stronger, more unique, more beautiful - more American. That is MY AME...

I have a confession. I have worn my pants with the top notch undone the last two days. Why, you ask? Because the pants could not contain the additional carbs I have ingested over the holidays. It's my pants' fault, really. They just aren't doing their job. But if I was honest with myself, I just haven't felt "right". My back hurts, my hips hurt, my feet hurt. And now my stomach hurts. That one is new. I am completely and totally aware that it is not my pants, but me. Or rather, the bits and parts of me that I have added on the last couple months. Before Christmas break, I was headed to a presentation with a co-worker. She was talking about all of the cookies she had been making and just being around these foods prompted in her this need to eat healthy. All she wanted that morning was a protein shake. She said how funny it was that our bodies seem to speak to us, to tell us what we need...I added silently, "even when it's not what we want"...

I rang in the new year without fanfare, without balloons and confetti, without even a glass of champagne. Instead, I laid on the couch with my husband watching Harry Potter and trying desperately to stay awake until the clock struck midnight. There's no room for balloons and resolutions in my life. I gave these up long ago in exchange for an actual life, full of actual dreams and actual people I love. So there's that. HOWEVER, I do love setting a goal every now and then. My motto is, make it achievable and make it worth your while. Every January, my church does a corporate fast and I work hard at finding something to give up. A few weeks ago I heard very clearly in my heart of hearts that I needed my priorities examined. I already knew that because I felt like I was wading through sludge every day, the moment I woke up. It was weighing me down, sucking up my energy, swallowing my passion. I felt empty - worse than empty. Pathetic. Hopeless. It was silly, really, c...