Proud Parent

Today my child made me so proud I cried...in public...at the local YMCA. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Those that know me know that I am indeed a crier. I am an emotional individual and I cry for lots of reasons: happiness, sadness, giddiness, anticipation, love, loss, pain. Today I cried because of pride. Not pride in something my child achieved, not because of something he accomplished or won or was first at or best at or even recognized for. I cried because my child learned one of the most important life lessons of all and I am certain it is a lesson that will stick with him for the rest of his life. I am proud of him and I am proud of myself as a parent for helping him get it right, at least this once.

I know I'm biased, but I believe my son has many merits. He is very intelligent. He is loving and compassionate. His sense of humor is often precocious and he abhors failure. Unfortunately, his intelligence coupled with his fear of failure sometimes cripples his willingness to try. As his mother this can be maddening, especially in relation to things I really enjoy. Water sports are a prime example of this. Not that I didn't learn the hard way: my first memory of being in a full-size pool involves my mother wading in after me in jeans and a shirt as my head bobbed between barely above and barely below the water and I attempted to use one arm and one leg to "swim". I jumped right into the deep end with only wading pool experience on my resume. I never became a swimmer, but I can keep myself from drowning, and I love being pulled behind a boat at 35mph on anything. But enough about me.

My son has been enrolled in multiple small group swimming classes with the end result of all of them being that he still won't swim in deep water without some sort of flotation device. He doesn't like to put his face in the water. He doesn't like water in his ears. He wants goggles. He "can't" hold his breath. He gets tired. Blah, blah, blah. Yet he wants to go to the pool and to the beach. I understand that he will never be Michael Phelps, or even on a swim team for that matter. We're at the point now where it's almost on principle that he needs to get over himself and learn to swim. We've been to the YMCA near our house for most of his lessons, some of which were taught by instructors from the fancy High Point Swim Club. In an effort to switch things up and make things fit better into my schedule, I enrolled Captain Awesome in lessons at the YMCA close to the gym. New place, new people. Change is good, right?

Yesterday was the first class and all the children were evaluated by the instructors. Most of the kids are on roughly the same level, with some being more daring and competitive than others. There is one standout, though. He's way bigger in height and girth than the other kids and, by my best guess, about four years older. If his size wasn't enough to make him stick out of the crowd, his lack of experience and lack of bravery sure did the trick. At the end of the class the students were supposed to jump from standing into the deep end of the pool where the instructor was waiting to give them a noodle they could use to swim back to the edge and climb out. Captain Awesome was having no part of jumping from standing the first time and instead chose to sit down and shove off from his rump. The big kid followed his lead. The second time Captain Awesome managed to lurch into a belly flop after much hesitation. Well, the big kid was having no part of that. The other boys began to stand around behind the big kid and snicker and point. As I watched, my son joined in and the snickering became jeers of "Do it." The big kid simply shook his head and sat down. I was mortified.

I waited in the narrow hallway for my son to come out of the locker room and observed all of the YMCA campers interacting with each other. I remembered how mean some kids I knew growing up could be. I remembered the few times that I worked to stop meanness or rumors or be welcoming and inclusive. I realized that it wasn't enough. There were plenty of things that I turned the other cheek to as a kid, and even things that I participated in that were wrong. Mean. I knew a tough conversation was coming but I know in my heart that my son isn't mean. I want to raise a man with Christian values that leads by example and will defend others against all the mean.

It WAS a tough conversation. At one point in the discussion I brought up that Captain Awesome had just as hard a time jumping into the water as the big kid. I immediately felt terrible for the way I phrased it. There were a lot of tears, a lot of "I don't know!" responses and a lot of suggestions for the future. It was one of those conversations that leave both parent and child exhausted and tiptoeing around each other for awhile. I really don't like when I'm left wondering if anything that was discussed will stick. I don't like those tough conversations and I hate when they have to be repeated.

When we entered the pool area today, I collected Captain Awesome's t-shirt and shoes and sent him into the water with a reminder: Be an encourager. I settled down with my book to "read" and to watch and to wait.

Instruction was given on the different strokes and the children swam laps (with noodles) and played games. Finally, with ten minutes left in class, the students lined up to jump into the deep end. Captain Awesome didn't do too much better than yesterday, unless you want to award style points for the belly flop. The big kid stepped up to the edge.

I felt the anxiety emanating from this kid all the way across the pool. He was doing everything he could to muster the wherewithal to jump. He pumped his arms. He took a step back and then a step forward...and then a step back. He raised one knee high as though he was going to try a jump shot approach. Nothing worked. A few of the boys behind him started giggling and pointing. My heart was sinking. The next few moments changed everything.

Captain Awesome pushed his way through the group of boys, touched the big kid gently on the arm to get his attention, and said "You can do it." A couple of the other boys started scoffing "Do it!" Captain Awesome gave them a stern look, turned back to the big kid and smiled at him, saying "You CAN do it." loud enough to be heard over the others. Soon enough the other kids softened and became more supportive. The big kid didn't jump in from standing, but he did shove off from a seated position and swim underwater, holding his breath, which is more than any of the others had the gumption to do. Captain Awesome led the applause when the big kid surfaced.

I wanted to join in the applause, but I was too busy wiping tears from my eyes. The next thing I saw was the contagion of kindness sweeping the class. The boys were helping each other out of the pool, offering high fives and motivating each other. I was delighted. I AM delighted. And so very proud. The root word of "encourager" is "courage". Sometimes it takes courage to do what is right and encourage others to begin to realize their potential, even if that potential means they are swimming beneath the surface while you're still just trying to jump in. I hope that my son always has the courage to be an encourager and that I always have the courage to have those tough conversations. I want to experience more of the proud parent moments.

The Backup Date

February 5, 2016 was a Friday night, the night of my son's Valentine's dance at his elementary school. The automated phone tree voice message describing the event informed us parents that our children must be accompanied by an adult and that "students should dress to impress". I advised Captain Awesome before we headed to the school that the sweatpants he had on were probably not overly impressive. After a change of wardrobe for Captain Awesome and a phone chat with Captain Awesome's dad (my Punk), we headed out for an evening of, I dunno...(fun?)...something.

We arrived and Captain Awesome immediately started scanning the crowd for his BFF, the little ginger-haired girl he has been planning to marry since they were three years old. I asked if he was certain she would be there after a few minutes of fruitless searching among the sea of little girls all dolled up. He told me that she had said she would be there, so we got him some pizza from the concession area and sat down to eat it and wait. Among the ebb and flow of squealing kids and DJ announcements quite a few of Captain Awesome's other friends came up and spoke to him and two girls even asked him to dance. He very politely declined both invitations. Eventually he asked me to text BFF's mom to see if they were on the way. I sent the text and asked Captain Awesome if he wanted to dance with me or anyone else while we waited for a response. He didn't. He finished eating and we made our way to the edge of the dance floor where we watched and waited. Here is a picture of Captain Awesome and BFF at the dance in 2015:

Then the text came. BFF wasn't coming. She was at her cousin's birthday party. BFF's mom apologized to me and said she was sorry for not letting me know, she didn't even think about it. I wasn't worried, but Captain Awesome was suddenly looking far from awesome. He hung his head so low and suddenly seemed much smaller and younger than an almost eight-year-old. I tried to lift his spirits without making a big deal of the situation. I offered again to dance with him. I told him we could find the two girls that had asked him to dance before. Nope. I told him we could leave and cut a rug at home if he wanted to. "You mean dance in the kitchen like we did that one time?" Yep. That was exactly what I meant. Finally a smile as he grabbed my hand for the first time in a long time and we headed out of the building.

On the way home I suddenly remembered my freshman year in college. Homecoming game. I didn't have a date and while I never would have admitted it at the time, I was pretty bummed about it. My friends had dates but I did not. I remember getting a call from my dad a few days before the game telling me he was coming. My dad is a football fan, and I'm not even sure he was aware of my being dateless, so I don't think it was a matter of him trying to be my knight in shining armor. But even with my head throbbing and my eyes bleary the morning of the game (it WAS my freshman year in college), when I saw my dad he may as well have been dressed in chain mail and carrying a gleaming sword. We went to the game together and had an enjoyable afternoon on campus. He didn't stay long after the game was over and I still had to watch my friends leave for the evening festivities with their dates. Because my dad had been there, though, it suddenly wasn't such a big deal.

Captain Awesome and I arrived home and did exactly what we set out to do: we cranked up the music in the kitchen and danced ourselves silly. We laughed and twirled around and busted out some moves we certainly wouldn't have used on the dance floor at the school. I am not sure how Captain Awesome thought that night was going to turn out, or even what expectations an eight-year-old boy has when he thinks about a Valentine's dance at school, but I'm pretty sure dancing in the kitchen with his mom wasn't what he had planned. For me, though, that night turned out better than I ever could have dreamed it would. I know the time is not far off when I won't be able to make things all better that easily. Soon enough Captain Awesome will not want to be caught dead dancing in the kitchen with his mom. I just hope he always knows in his heart that I will ALWAYS, GLADLY be his backup date.

Stop saying that CrossFit won't make you bulky.

I am sick and tired of all the CrossFit advocates crying foul and saying that CrossFit won't make you bulky. Athletes and coaches generally make these statements in response to the protests of whining women afraid of trying CrossFit (because they'll lose their clothes hanger style stick figures). These people are lying. CrossFit causes you to bulk up in so many ways that people just won't talk about. I know because I've experienced the bulking.

Endurance running used to be my fitness world. I ran at least six miles four times a week and usually one 10-20 mile run on top of that. I weighed about 120 pounds at 5'7" tall and wore a size 4 (sometimes a 2). My last race that strictly involved running was in December of 2012. So, a little more than three years of CrossFit focused training and coaching later, I weigh about 132 pounds on any given day, I'm still 5'7", and I still wear a size 4 (sometimes now a 6). I look much healthier. I have meat on my shoulders. My butt has, well, "lifted". I have something that resembles hamstring muscles to balance out the quads on my legs. My vertebrae no longer visibly protrude out of my lower back. Basically, I no longer resemble the smiling outdoorsy stick figure that you see on all the T-shirts with the happy dog. I am definitely more bulky than I used to be, but I don't think that anyone that sees me walking down the street in jeans and a T-shirt would ever refer to me as such. More importantly, most of my bulking up hasn't been in the physical sense of the term.

My self-confidence has put on some serious mass. Hearing that "3, 2, 1, GO!" five times a week and knowing that I can survive whatever workout I'm commencing has certainly helped me tackle everyday tasks with confidence. Knowing that I can pick up my 80 pound German Shepherd with ease or carry my 7-year-old son for any distance if I have to is also a nice thought. I can open jars in the kitchen more easily, too.

My focus has seen some positive gains. Working toward multiple short and long term goals simultaneously in the gym helps me focus on priorities outside the gym as well. Learning to put my head down through a rough metcon and chip away at the reps has made the evening chaos at the Giddens' house seem much more manageable.

Adaptability fibers in my brain are becoming increasingly large. So what if something isn't going according to plan? Making adjustments and working through situations as they arise, even just being THERE, IN that difficult moment without panicking is much easier for me than it used to be. You have to be able to shake off that missed lift or "No rep!" in life just like you do in the gym.

Computational math is so much easier now. Just kidding. I still have a front seat on the struggle bus when it comes to math. But as a coach my communication capabilities have developed quite a bit. Because CrossFit truly is for everyone my capacity to move words continues to increase. I must be sure that all my athletes know what they are doing, when, and why. I can only hope to continue to grow in this arena.

Undoubtedly the muscle that has put on the most bulky mass since I started CrossFit is my proverbial heart. I love my gym. I love all the athletes that come into my life because of this crazy fitness thing and I treasure the friendships I've made and the experiences I've had. The oft-used "#fitfam" seems trite until you experience it. People think we're cultish and weird. Maybe. We are a group that suffers together, succeeds together, we invest in each other and our communities; ultimately we are all striving to become better people and we are doing it together.

December 2012 and May 2015

I am sure you have gathered by now that I was thin and didn't need to lose weight when I started CrossFit. I needed to increase my actual, non-satirical physical muscle mass to improve my health. Can CrossFit help you lose weight if you have weight to lose? Of course it can. Can CrossFit teach you how to be healthier overall? Absolutely. If you or someone you know are thinking of trying CrossFit but are afraid of getting bulky, or you are afraid that it will be too hard or you aren't fit enough to try it, maybe you should change your way of thinking. If someone says that CrossFit won't make you bulky, tell them they are wrong and that you know the truth and you hope for all the gains. I don't know anyone who couldn't benefit from a little more CrossFit style bulk.

The Backgrounds We've Been Given

Sometimes I fancy myself a bit of an artist. I like to paint things. I prefer my subject matter to be dogs and babies. Honestly, there are lots of things I've never tried to paint, mainly because I'm not sure I'm good enough to. I like to work from pictures and I usually need pretty good pictures to work from. I can fudge a few things here and there, but I'm not good at completely filling in the blanks when it comes to portrait work. I'm usually pretty timely in getting pieces finished unless I'm working from a poor quality image. Then I struggle. So, imagine my chagrin when it took me two years...yes, TWO YEARS to finish a portrait based off of this little sweet pea's picture:

She's gorgeous. The picture is of excellent quality. What on earth was my problem? I can certainly make the excuses that I had many other things going on in my life during those two years. That wouldn't be a lie, but it would still be an excuse. Being a wife and mother, my responsibilities at the gym, trying to better myself as a coach and athlete, and a very fuzzy puppy I brought into our home for service dog training certainly take up the majority of my time. I also had a few commissioned pieces come through that were bumped to the front of the line since this one was being done as a gift. There was also this one time, at band camp...the time I had to start completely over because while Captain Awesome knows better than to touch things that are on my easel (learned THAT the hard way), one of his friends did not (learned THAT the hard way, too). But even with all those things it shouldn't have taken me nearly that long to finish.

Somewhere along the line I realized why I was putting off finishing the piece. The little sweet pea in the picture above has a beautiful older sister. I created a portrait of the big sister, too, using a close-up of that peanut when she wasn't much older than Sweet Pea. Peanut was wearing a black shirt in her picture and the background was black. I lightened up the background of Peanut's portrait in order to keep the piece from looking like a hand and head floating in space. Part of me wanted Sweet Pea's background to match Peanut's background. The two might be hung in the same vicinity in the home, after all. The problem was, I had no way of knowing the exact combination of colors I used for Peanut's background. Many many layers usually go into a portrait that is painted in pastel. Never mind the fact that I finished Peanut's portrait over seven years ago. I remember I used some colors that I thought would bring out her eyes, and that pink might have also been involved. I asked the girls' mom what she wanted me to do for Sweet Pea's background. She gave me carte blanche power to make the decision. That means she was no help whatsoever...none. It's okay. I still love her.

One day I was sitting at my easel and I was looking at the progress of the portrait. I began studying my reference photo and trying to just create a tint of the main background color. That didn't really do anything for me. I added a few other colors. I still didn't like it. Shouldn't the background be similar to Peanut's? Finally I added the dark shadow behind Sweet Pea's head. As I added that shadow, before I could blend it away and lighten it up, I realized that it was that shadow that made Sweet Pea's eyes jump out at you with all the innocence and wonder. That shadow behind her made her skin appear soft and new. I darkened up the whole background and was eventually satisfied with this:

Well there you go. Not only did I grow as an artist, I learned a little something about life when trying to complete the two year journey of Sweet Pea's portrait. Sometimes the very best background for you is the one you're given. I've dealt with some pretty dark things in my life. Lots of them. I get the old "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" adage, but it's more than that. It's not just about being an optimist, or feeling stronger, or enjoying the challenge. Those dark shadows behind you are what make your light shine for the rest of the world to experience. Embrace the shadows and work to emerge from them to the forefront of YOUR portrait. Thanks, Sweet Pea.

"Badass" and other things CrossFit has taught my five-year-old.

"Was he good for you?" I asked my husband upon returning home from a Ladies' Night Out at our CrossFit gym. "No...." began his explanation of how, in my absence, our five-year-old son referred to a video about his favorite game as being "badass". Yay. The incident was handled by my husband and I didn't have to deal with the tears and apologies and the face being hidden behind the hands since my son was already in bed. I just got to giggle and be glad it was someone else's turn to handle it. You see, this wasn't the first time our sweet, intelligent child had dropped a verbal bomb. I vividly remember nearly crashing the car the day my son asked me from the backseat: "Mommy, what does 'pussy' mean?" The hard part about this is that I don't even have to ask my son where he hears these things. I know exactly where he hears them. He hears these things at a place I purposefully take him to between one and seven times a week...the gym.

A CrossFit facility isn't like a typical gym. We all know each other, we all workout together in small groups, we like to push each other and we like to goad each other. We're like one big, sweaty family. Because my husband and I co-own the gym with another couple, my son spends quite a bit of time there among an extremely wide array of "family members". I have learned that I will have to stomach some of the bad to balance out all the good my son experiences at the gym. Some people might wonder what sort of good things a five-year-old could learn at a place where he also learns such foul language. Quite a lot, really:

1) Women of all shapes and sizes and ages can be beautiful and strong. This may seem like a strange thing for a little boy to be learning. It may seem like a strange thing for the mother of a little boy to care that he learns early on. I think it's very important. He sees real women being praised for the effort they put in, not the number printed on the back of their britches. He sees real women being heralded for moving weight, not losing it (although he sees that achievement celebrated as well, as long as it's the goal of the athlete). He sees a camaraderie between women of all backgrounds as they work to complete a common task in the gym. Most importantly, he sees men of all shapes and sizes and ages cheering for all the women in the box and fist bumping every one of them that hits a PR or reaches a personal goal. Women are celebrated for their strengths and accomplishments far more often than they are objectified for their "assets".

2) Fear of failure prevents success. I can't tell you how many times he has seen missed lifts. I can't tell you how many times he has seen people struggle to get a pull-up or muscle-up and fail. He has seen people cry. He has seen grown adults pitch temper tantrums to rival those of any sleepy toddler (and make the colorful vocabulary of the most gnarled sailor seem pale by comparison). But nearly every time he sees those same people try again. They may not succeed the same day, they may not succeed that month, but they aren't so afraid of failure that they don't try it again.

3) How something is said is just as important as what is being said. Coaches tend to shout cues at people who are in the middle of a workout to remind them of movement standards or correct a potentially injurious movement fault. More than once my son has heard a coach shout the same cue five times to an athlete who appears to either be ignoring it or not understanding it. Another coach comes along, changes the wording of the cue slightly or draws the athlete's attention to a different body part and BOOM. Problem fixed. I have seen my son get the same look on his face while trying to ask for something as my husband gets when trying to coach someone through a complex lift. Certainly not always, but I think more often than is typical for a five-year-old, my son thinks about the best way to say something before he opens his mouth.

4) Praise is powerful. Everyone has a better time when the progress of the athletes is acknowledged. Coaches, athletes, spectators, EVERYONE smiles when advancements are recognized. I have overheard my son volunteer a "Good job!" to his friends when they are succeeding at something new or different. I know he hears these things at school and at friends' homes as well, but I know he hears it quite often at the gym.

5) Human beings can't thrive in a self-imposed bubble. My son has always been very slow to warm up to new people and new situations. The first 14 months of his life were pretty rough medically and I think that may have something to do with his suspicion of all things new and different. Being at the gym he's able to see that the people who ask coaches for help and discuss techniques and strategies with other members are the people that continue to progress and accomplish goals. People who come in and keep to themselves don't benefit from the input of others. Thankfully, aside from the previously mentioned goading (that takes place on a routine basis, yes, but all in fun), input from others is mostly constructive and encouraging.

6) Self-imposed bubbles aren't good, but people have to learn self-reliance, too. Newbie or seasoned veteran, ultimately every athlete who walks into the gym has to put the work in themselves. No coach or other member can lift the weight for them. No coach or other member can practice the rope climb or the handstand for them. We can help each other up when we fall, we can shout encouragement, but we can't make someone break a sweat by doing their work for them. I was trying to help my son with his first box jump not long ago, and I helped him a little too much. He ended up knocking his ankle into the box as I lifted him too far forward and not high enough. No physical damage, just injured pride. Through tears he told me "You should have just let me do it myself." He was right. He hasn't tried it since, but when he does decide to try again I will let him rely on his own two legs and his own perseverance.

7) "Hard work, dedication, dedication, hard work" has become the catch phrase of a popular television show trainer. This is the most constructive thing my son is learning through his visits to the gym and through the journey our family embarked on when the gym opened almost one year ago. My son is seeing how hard we worked to get the gym going, how hard we are working to keep it going, and how dedicated we are to our members and to the tenets of CrossFit. We have a Chinese restaurant near us that we occasionally get takeout from. The owners' children are always there in the evenings and on the weekends, sitting at a table and doing their homework or playing games. The first few times I saw them there I felt bad for them. I thought how hard it must be on both the kids and the parents to have them there in the restaurant all the time. Then I realized that the children were seeing exactly what it was their parents did when they weren't home. They saw that their parents worked together for a common goal that provided for their family. Most children today have no idea what their parents do when they leave the house. They have no idea why their parents might be in a bad mood when they get home from work. Some of those kids might take it personally. I'm now in the lucky camp that can actually talk to my son about what goes on at work and he'll understand, even at his tender age. Certainly there are some things he doesn't need to be concerned or burdened with, and some things I have no desire to discuss with him; but if I tell him I'm tired because I worked hard that day, he has a general understanding of what I mean. I don't always want him at the gym with me and I know he doesn't always want to be there. I also know that he knows why we ARE there.

Yes, my son sometimes hears words that I would prefer he didn't hear, and that I would certainly prefer he not repeat. Yes, my son sees some things at the gym that would be inappropriate in any other context. But my son could see those same things on primetime television and HAS heard the same things on satellite radio. I have decided that the positive lessons he learns about health and fitness and self-worth and community at the gym far outweigh the moments that test my parenting panache. In fact, I think we have quite a badass thing going.

Stop taking it personally!

I'm not big on New Year's "resolutions".  They've never really gotten me anywhere.   A few years ago I set a New Year's "goal" for myself instead: to run a half-marathon within the year.  That went off without a hitch.  The next goal was to beat a certain time in the half.  Success!  That goal had a secondary goal...the full marathon.  Accomplished!  Twice, even!  The next year, 2013, the goal became to beat a certain time in the marathon.  Life looked to be getting in the way.

My husband and I opened a CrossFit box with another couple and I suffered a fairly serious knee injury during an obstacle race in March.  Running quickly ceased to be my main fitness focus, especially since I couldn't do it for six weeks.  Once I started back it was slow going.  I began to feel as though I had let myself down.  The same old feelings of self-doubt that would creep in when a New Year's "resolution" of old didn't last were working their way back into my head.  It didn't matter that once I began to heal I was actually performing better physically and beginning to look like I was in the best shape of my life.  Thankfully, in the early fall, right when I realized there was no way to accomplish my goal for this year, I realized that I ALREADY HAD accomplished my goal for this year.  Looking back at the runs I logged in my phone app, I saw that I had in fact beaten the 4 hour time I set as my 2013 goal in 2012.  WHEW!

There is a woman I admire very much and like to call my friend (She lives in Connecticut; we met through dog training and now also have CrossFit in common.) that also sets an annual goal for herself.  The difference between her goal and mine is that she stipulates that the goal must push her outside of her comfort zone.  I think that's amazing and has the capacity to be both so simple and so complicated at the same time.  That's why I'm adopting the idea.  My goals in recent years have only been to improve at doing something I loved doing anyway.  This year, my goal is to stop taking things so personally.  Sound simple?  You don't know me very well.

I always take things personally.  As a young child, it was the problems in my family.  As a student, it was an inability to maintain a job, a full class schedule, too many extra-curricular activities, and be everyone's friend.  As a dog trainer, I took every lack of compliance by an owner personally, and I personally failed the few dogs that I trained that ended up needing to be rehomed.  I can't even stand to think about the dogs that didn't make it in the professions that I originally mapped out for them.  As an artist, I still take it personally when I feel too many revisions need to be made on a piece.  I'm failing at capturing that "thing" on canvas or paper.  As a runner and a martial arts student, it was not progressing quickly enough or not understanding the components or progression of a form or training plan.  As a wife and mother, every less-than-stellar dinner, every time a week goes by that the vacuum cleaner isn't put to good use, and every challenge my son shies away from are personal failures.  There are other things in the wife and mother departments that I take way too personally, but that would be an entire essay in and of itself.  In CrossFit I take it personally as an athlete when I don't perform as well as my coaches (or I) think I can.  As a coach I take it personally when I see athletes get frustrated or impatient or misunderstand movements or worst of all: hurt themselves--no matter how minor the bruise or scrape.  I could honestly go on...and on...

While I know in hindsight that most of the things I took personally as a child and young adult were not the direct consequences of my actions or inactions, I have a very difficult time seeing that while in the moment.  So in a quest to become a better wife, mother, artist, and CrossFit athlete and coach, I'm going to set a goal for myself this year that WILL push me outside of my comfort zone.  I'm going to work really hard at not taking things personally.  I believe that there will be immediate positive changes in every aspect of my life by unshouldering some of these burdens that were really never mine to bear.

I foresee that as a wife I can become a better friend to my husband because I won't take it personally when he comes home in a bad mood.  He will feel more able to open up to me about the events that *ACTUALLY* pissed him off or hurt his feelings because he won't misread my interpretation of his behavior as *ME* being in a bad mood.  Wow, that's even complicated to write...

I predict that I will be a better mother because rather than wonder where I've failed my son when he gets nervous and shies away from new people or activities I can focus on what he needs to hear or see in order to rise to the occasion.  I will understand that others may be looking at me to set a parenting example (one way or another) for their own predicaments, not judging me and flinging me down the ladder of their private mental caste system.

I know for certain that I will be both a better wife and mother when I quit beating myself up about the amount of dog hair on the floor.  Everyone is better off in a messy house as long as the kid is happy and the dog has enough mental and physical stimulation.  Besides, I already know that I spend way more time cooking homemade clean meals than your average mom these days.  At least we're all getting the proper nutrition to help fight off the virus lurking in the laundry pile!

My art will benefit because, well, Picasso and Escher and Dali (and whoever was the first to paint dogs playing poker--because you know there was no other reason for that outside of making the artist happy)!

CrossFit will make me a better athlete when I learn to recognize that my coaches really do just want me to get better when they shout those cues at me.  They aren't being judgmental.  Exposing my weaknesses should only arm me to defeat them, not defeat myself.  I will become a better coach when I learn to read between the lines of the protests, or lack thereof, from athletes and understand that we are the same:  we all take it too personally for our own good.

Lastly, I am confident that my faith will grow and I will develop a stronger relationship with God by not taking things too personally.  God doesn't look down on me and say, "I think I'll see what someone else can do to make Vanessa feel bad today."  I need to stop taking things so personally so I can give something to others around me who might need just that very something.  Here's to 2014!

Mid-Life Niche

I have really been struggling to find my new niche lately.  I'm closing in on 40 and I'm trying really hard to figure out where I'm supposed to go next.  Such an odd place I'm in!  There is no mid-life crisis or anything crazy going on.  In fact, I'm in a better place in my life right now than I can recall in at least the last ten years.  I have an amazing son, the best husband and family anyone could ask for, and a greater will to live according to God's plan than I've had since high school.  No, probably ever.  I'm simply struggling with what to "do" now.  My world today reminds me of something I heard recently about a jelly jar experiment: the more choices consumers were provided with on a jelly jar display, the less likely they were to make a purchase.

Prior to my son's entrance into the world I was always a dog trainer.  That is what I "did" and I couldn't imagine even the remote possibility of doing anything else.  I think I was pretty good at it, too.  Once my son Parker was born I put his needs first and dog training became something I did a day or two a week to get out of the house and maintain my sanity.  I still had a passion for working with the dogs, but I found that working with the owners too much made an already tired mommy an exhausted and frustrated mommy.

When we moved to North Carolina from Georgia for my husband's job I thought at first that I would take my time starting a new dog training business, working my way close to full time once my son entered kindergarten, just as supplemental income.  Within six months of our move I had found a wonderful preschool for Parker--and a renewed love for running.  After all, Parker was only in school for three hours three days a week to start. Enough time for a good run and shower, but not enough time for a dog training appointment.  That's what I told myself, anyway.  About this time I started enjoying some moderate starving artist level success selling prints of my dog portraits.  I began to think that if I could do THAT it would be awesome.  I could work when Parker was asleep at night, still be involved in the dog world, still keep the house, and have some semblance of an outside identity that would earn us a little extra cash.  Maybe I could continue to train dogs every now and then, too.

Fast-forward 2 1/2 years to the beginning of 2013.  (Yes, 2 1/2 years.  Let's just say I fell into a good mommy groove.)  My husband decided to open a CrossFit box with his then coaches and now business partners.  Wanting to support my husband in his decision and enable him to do what he loves and keep his job that pays our bills, I became "Queen Gopher" (self-appointed) and subsequently addicted to CrossFit.  I love our box, our members, and the fact that I have visible trapezius muscles and can do pull-ups for the first time in my fairly athletic life.

For the past few months I've been trying to part with dead weight so that I can be the best mother, wife, and person I can be.  I've been working hard at deciphering the messages God is sending me.  Right about now I'm wishing someone would send me a Rosetta stone.  I've been commissioned for six portraits and had four dog training inquiries (with ZERO advertising) in the past two months.  To top it off, today one of my coaches told me she thought *I* would make a good coach.  I think I would enjoy coaching, although *I'm* not sure I would be particularly good at it.  I used to enjoy training people to train their dogs.  Coaching CrossFit would be sort of like training people to train themselves.  You can't give someone the desire to be more physically fit.  Maybe some people can INSPIRE others, but while I know I'm not that person, a good coach can give someone that has the desire and inspiration the tools to realize their goals.

Parker starts kindergarten in a little more than a month.  I guess it's time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up...

How do I find my mid-life niche?!