10 Trends From 2014 I Didn't Jump On



All about the bread, 'bout the bread, all gluten 

Most of 2014's trends were fitness trends, which means this post was originally titled 150 Trends from 2014 I Didn't Jump On. Instead, I capped it at 10, because the internet likes that. And in the interest of a fair and balanced review, I kept my exercise hating tendency in check. So, here are the Trends from 2014 that left me, meh.

1.) PALEO: While I love a good piece of butcher quality meat, no one is ever going to take my gluten away. I want all the glutens. Forever and ever, amen. The meat craze can go get crazy with someone else because I'm over here with a bowl of saltines dolloped with red raspberry jelly on my lap. All smiles and starch-comforted, how else is there to live?

2.) CROSSFIT: If CrossFit is the only way to be fit, then call me NoFit. No Interested too. I'll keep the reasons to myself, for three seconds. And then I'll tell you. I've had three children. Any sudden bursts of movement and it's not pretty -- not pretty looking and especially not pretty sounding. I also prefer to keep my bowel movements private and not witnessed in a warehouse.

3.)  UBER:  No, thank you. My safety is A-#1 priority in my life. I'm not calling a person I don't know (another way of saying *stranger*) to come get me and take me somewhere while they control the wheel.  Why? Because not everyone shares the same morals and values, that's why. Ain't gonna happen. No place is that important to get to. Two strangers in a car, one who is at command central while I'm in the back. Guess who holds all the cards? Hint: the one holding them is the one who's all in on this trend.

4.) DROP-CROTCH HAREM PANTS: I don't need a special cut pant to be trendy, my middle-aged butt already makes all my pants drop-crotch.

5.) PINK CAMOUFLAGE: I'm tough. But not really. I'm tough. But not really. I can't handle all that back and forth in my head. You are, or you aren't. I am, but not really... *and not only that, but you're not invisible, you know, not even in a pinkish way.

6.) THE WORD "BAE": This one wasn't my choice. I like the way it sounds, but my kids beat me to the punch and made it clear I was to never use it. No matter if they were present or not. As it should be, my bae... er, my children.

7.)  ELLO: Usually (always) I take awhile in starting anything new as it is. If it's something online, it could be weeks before I twist my arm and tell myself to get back into the 21st century. So, after Ello was splashed all over my Facebook feed with Jump Facebook's Ship Now! I took my trademark week and a half before I began googling youtube tutorials on Ello. Heh, it was gone. Just like that. Ello, good-bye.

8.) AERIAL YOGA:  Feeling weightless while suspended mid air on silk hammocks, sounds like the magic cure to free you from that which holds you down. Money, stress, relationships, too full a plate and not enough hours to get it finished. It sounds good, but I'm not paying for that. Not when I already have my own sensory deprivation tank slash floating on air unit. I call it my bed.

9.) BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH: Ah, this one was easy to pass on, strictly preference and the aesthetics of symmetry. Benedict may make others' grow dizzy at first sight, but I've never been one for a man with eyes up on his forehead. Nothing personal, just that I prefer a more quarter-planed face; eyes in this quadrant, and the forehead left just for that, the forehead.

And how could we forget:

10.) COCONUT OIL GARGLING: This was a close one. Remember, I called this trends I passed on, not trends I was nearly tempted with. This one almost got me. It had all the lure that calls my name: easy, effortless, no exercise involved, and cheap. Started by Gwyneth, all you had to do was buy coconut oil and gargle for 20 minutes, though the head of Goop would never call it gargling. The process was going viral under the practice of "oil pulling." Word games, making us conjure up visions of toxins being pulled from our polluted delicate systems via a coconut oil train. I thought about it, and then decided, 20 minutes? I can't even hold a smile for the camera for 60 seconds without my muscles spasming, how am I going to gargle for 20 minutes without ending up looking like Dizzy Gillespie for the rest of my life. But did I pass? In all honesty to you, no I didn't. I tried it. I now refer to it as the longest 20 minutes of my life.

I almost can't wait for 2015, imagine the trends I'll be able to pass on then. If I were a betting woman, I'd say all of them. Again.

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This Is 18

I once had a household of boys. They were pint sized and forever underfoot. My life was an endless existence of tripping over elaborate toy fire truck scenes and featured the indispensable me, in the middle of their Engine Company No. 9, my generous hip to waist valley made a wonderful holding tank for misbehaving and time-outed fire trucks.

Weeks and months and years of chubby cheeks to kiss and fall in love with over and over again with their velvety smoothness. Even chubbier thighs to raspberry when they weren't quick enough to get away from the sneaky mama alligator who hid behind the dining room chair legs to surprise them.

They would wake me too early, I never had the sleep I needed to take on the day. I would fix my small children breakfast, lunch, their dinner. Dressing them and washing them up and planning the activity for the day, everything was according to me. I had never been so essential in my life.

I am still in a household of males, but now, it's me who wakes them. When I ask what they'd like for dinner, sometimes the answer is "I fixed myself something already, thanks, mom." Dressing them? My clothing choices are met with rolled eyes and "you're kidding me, right?" And how is it that I've gone from knowing by blind memory every inch of their body, from the small pinpoint brown freckle on the outer edge of one's left foot to the pinkish quarter circle on the other one's left elbow, to not having seen their bodies in longer than I can remember?

After our first was born, I feared that if we had more children, I couldn't love them with the same interdependent existence that my first and I shared.

At seven months pregnant with you, our second child, the middle of the night would have me eyes wide open, asking what if, what if, what if I don't love him as much as my first one? But then, you were born, and the amazement I felt at seeing your face for the first time made me gasp, as if I had never seen a baby of mine before. I remember laughing when they gave you to me because I loved you so much that fast and how ridiculously incredible to love again like that.

I was once the mother of babies who squirmed to be out of my arms and let down, who then grew into children who'd wiggle free of my hands impatient to run in the park, and zoomed into teens who began taking phones into their rooms to talk privately. This, from a time when I could carry all three of them at once.

And today, I am the mother of a second adult child.

This is 18. The pudgy hands and creased wrists of yours that I memorized now have fingers longer than mine. My laundry basket is filled with your jeans whose inseams rival that of your father's. From boy to child to man, where if I hear a voice in the house, I'm tricked about who's home, is it you? is it your father?

This is 18. I watch you, my second boy, confident, happy, liking who you are. When I see you laugh with friends at school, or the ease with your smile when you greet everyone, it takes those words that creep into my heart, the ones that tell me You could have done more, been more, worked harder, for them, and shows me, that this life is good because you've come to believe what I've whispered in your ear since you were first mine: You're wonderful. You're beautiful. I can't wait to see who you'll be!

When do boys turn into men? It seems, overnight.

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Happy birthday, my beautiful son. You're wonderful. You're beautiful. I'm so glad you're here.

 

Christmas, Again

This was our second Christmas without my mother.

We set a place for her near our tree, her wedding picture alongside a lit candle, before we began our Christmas Eve. It has been 16 months since she passed away, and moments of her still sneak into my day. It's a surprise where these snatches of memory come from—I can't trace what coaxes these thoughts out, because I will be in the middle of something unrelated to anything my mother did, like washing out my son's lunch box, and then I'm suddenly standing, remembering how she never liked driving in icy weather.

Sixteen months, and I don't miss her any less, and I don't miss her any more, than that first holiday without her.

People ask me if things are easier for me this year. I know, or at least I hope, that they mean to soothe me when they promise, “You'll get over it.” My hope is that I never get over it. I don't want to not notice that she's gone from my life. I don't have as one of my goals, to get “over” losing her.

There is a fear of sadness, I can feel it from others. An uncomfortable vibe that reflects fromthem, to me. I'm sure, seeing me, lips trembling, voice cracking, eyes tearing, it can't be easy to witness. But there is a beauty in sitting, giving attention to someone when they tell of how they love and miss, dream of and wish for, that person that is now gone and forever absent from their life. Right there, that moment when I listen to them, I can picture the place in their heart.

 

In the beginning, my children were afraid of sadness, too. They would get nervous and interrupt when I'd begin to talk about my mother, asking for reassurance, "You're not going to cry, are you?" I would answer honestly, "I just might." Then, I'd add, "but it's important that you let me finish. It's all right if I cry. Don't let it scare you."

 

I began a lot of stories this holiday week with the words, "My mother used to..." My children listened, no one stopping me with the worried question, will you cry? They know, I love telling stories about her, the memories of the life we shared together. If I break into tears, they're no longer fearful. They let my emotions run their course, slowly then peaking, then ebbing away. Happy that I had ears to hear her name. I don't always cry, more often than not, I do tell a story with my voice even and unwavering.

 

If tears come to my eyes when I talk about my mother, it's not always because of grief. There is pride, too, in being her daughter. If a tear or two drops, it's from the love for her that overwhelms me. You think you feel love for someone when they're breathing next to you. There is no way I can prepare anyone for the heart explosion of what you feel at their loss.

Just as there is more than one kind of tear, there is more than one way to celebrate the holidays. The commercials on TV and radio show us what they ideally are: full dining rooms gathered with family and everyone home. But the mourners celebrate too. With achingly less volume, and more quiet, with less words from our mouths, but hours of replayed conversations once had. We are loving, remembering, and lingering on memories of the ones we will love forever.

If you know us, the mourners, ask us how we're doing. Give us the chance to say their name, to let who they are fall off our tongues and float into the universe.

Don't be scared to let us speak.
Don't hush our tears, or cut our words short.

As uncomfortable as raw emotion is to see, be our friend. Take our hand, and don't break eye contact, let us tell you the words we carry.

Grief is a gift. I'll never be over not having my mother with me and I don't want to be.

 

Allow us to give our sorrow, words. It helps to keep our hearts from breaking.

 

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the over wrought heart and bids it break.”

-William Shakespeare

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When Christmas Comes Around

When I sit down to write on this blog, I think of you, the one who will be reading the words here. Some say they write for themselves, and though it's true that I can't imagine a life without writing, there is a lot that goes in my personal journals and has never been read by anyone. This online space that I am fortunate enough to have cultivated here, is tended to with the promise to myself that anyone who clicks over, doesn't leave without feeling a part of how we are all in this together---sharing lives and moments of laughter, love, hardship and hope.

I want you to feel inspired, motivated, maybe discover a new point of view, and more than anything, less alone.

With a heart bursting with gratitude, I thank you for reading this blog. You have changed my life, and I wish you could feel the joy you bring with your support and encouragement.

Happy holidays, my friends, and may you have moments that fill you with everything you need.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for being part of my life.

 

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That One Christmas You'll Always Remember

Some remember stacks of gifts under the tree, others recall having someone special home with them. We share holiday stories of finally getting the puppy we asked for or the dollhouse we dreamed of.

My most sparkling Christmas was of a night when I had everything I wanted.

I am honored that our local public radio station, WUWM, allowed me to share it with their audience:

http://wuwm.com/post/essay-magic-memory#.VJW8OcMDqVc.facebook


Merry Holidays and the Happiest of New Year's to you, my friends.

xo