No Good Night Sleep

Started walking home last night, on Riverside Drive

For two nights in a row I’ve hardly slept at all. Last night started out well. I fell asleep at 10:30. But C. came into my bed at 11:15, calling, “Mom? Mom?” I blew my lid.

I hate yelling, but there I was, yelling, “Are you kidding me? I need a good night’s sleep! Unbelievable! Get back to bed!”

I believe in the future that yelling at children will be looked in the same way we look at hitting children nowadays — a relic of some misguided child-rearing dysfunction.

C. was just being a kid. She was teary. She was probably worried about returning to school after a couple weeks of Christmas vacay. I don’t know what was going on with her, because I didn’t listen. I had no compassion.

At 3 am, after tossing and turning, I tried to express my unhappiness to my husband but he was not as supportive as I needed.  He was watching the movie, Mean Bosses. The crazy-ness of his staying up all night (due to his Parkinson’s) contributed to my sleeplessness and, I believe, contributes to the family sleep dysfunction.

“I need a retreat at a convent,” I told my husband in the middle of the night.

I haven’t been writing much. I’m unhappy. “Maybe I should get on anti-depressants or go back to therapy,” I said.

“I know I should work out.” I tried to walk home last night, but it was too cold and I hopped on the bus when it pulled up beside me.

Happy New Year.

Loehmann’s Fitting Room

There’s nothing like a visit to Loehmann’s communal fitting room to motivate you to work out!

That’s what I was thinking last night  as I was trying on summer dresses, bras, and, bathing suits in Loehmann’s changing space — you can’t really call it a room. A room implies there are boundaries. And boundaries are in short supply.

At one point the friendly gal beside me reached over to straighten my twisted bra strap. That rattled me. But I laughed, “Gotta get a new sports bra ’cause after looking in the mirrors here, I gotta work out!”

“Oh, nothing new for me — I’ve had weight problems my whole life,” she told me. “I’m shopping for clothes for my new job. My first real job!”

“Congrats! Hey those are cute!” I pointed to her black pants.

That’s an unwritten rule in the communal fitting room — you can compliment an outfit, but  you can’t criticize it. And apparently you can straighten one another’s bra straps.

Although I was embarrassed by every one seeing every part of me, one consolation is that I can see every one too. (Not that I looked. I’m just sayin’!)

I tried to keep my eyes and my body to my little space, trying on four out of the five dresses hanging on the hook. All a bit snug.

I hope it’s not bragging to tell you that on most of my visits to the fitting room, just about every single item looks great on me. But not so last night.

Although the red dress, the last one, worked.

In the cashier line I barely recognized my fitting room mate with her clothes on.

I said, “Hey, I’m getting the red dress!”

“Great!” She smiled, happy for me. There’ s nothing like the banter about purchases and camaraderie between women who’ve been naked together.

“Good luck with your new job!”

“Good night!”

This morning I woke before the family and I ran for 18 minutes. I think I went a mile. Then I picked up bagels.

February = Month of Self Love? or Self Loathe?

bike riding in Switzerland last year. the layered look! (Shut Up! It was cold!)

It’s okay to hate your body. It’s not okay to love your body.

Or is it?

http://fitnesscheerleader.com A Twitter friend is encouraging women to talk about why they love their bodies during the month of February, a month dedicated to Valentines, flowers, chocolate, hetero love. I’m feeling squeamish about this.

Janice suggests we start with the words “I love myself because….” ugh! Now I’m feeling squeamish AND guilty. The good girl in me says, “Good girls don’t blow their own horns!” (During my workplace leadership academyhttp://gettingmyessayspublished.wordpress.com/2011/01/20/leading-with-positivity/ I learned there’s a book called, “Brag: How To Toot Your Own Horn Without Blowing It.” Sounds good!)

Another good girl, deeper down, says, “Oh go on! You want to model self love for your daughters and son. Besides, you do love yourself!”

I’m no expert, yet I know I’m not alone. It’s hard for me, and likely a lot of my friends, to take a compliment, accept our unique bodies, and discover that deep down we do love our bodies.

So here goes! Diving in! (Once you leap off the side of the pool, you can’t leap mid-air back to the edge!)

I love myself because I take good care of my body. I go for check ups regularly. I am healthy. (I had that little skin cancer thing last month, but got it fixed.)

I work out regularly. (I can practically run a 5K without stopping.) I ride my bike to work. I eat vegetables every night (almost) and fruits every morning (almost). I don’t drink too much (except on book club nights). I don’t smoke. I have a decent figure. I like my crow’s feet and my laugh lines ’cause they show I’ve lived and laughed and squinted.

I have pretty eyes, a laugh that my kids make fun of, a great smile. I have a certain creative thrift store style of dressing that I like. (See above. And yes, my daughters did submit me for the TV show, “What Not To Wear.”)

I have a lot of energy and enthusiasm. I can keep up with almost anyone on the dance floor. I will go so far as to say I can out-dance anyone, except a professional.

Best of all — My body made awesome babies! And my body nursed them each for practically a year! Yay me! I’m awesome.

Boy, that felt good. And now, I’m going to go hide. I’m going to find a hooded sweatshirt and zip up. I’m going to bury my face inside my turtleneck sweater (thrift-store style).

Because that feeling is emerging again:  good girls just don’t blog about how gorgeous they are. Or do they — Self love or self loathe? Let’s talk about it.