just checking in

I realized today that I haven't even checked my Feed-Reader for over a month.  As in, I FORGOT to check it.  I guess blogging is officially dead, and it happened at the same time as my Instagram initiation.

It's 9:30 on a Friday night and Slice is still at work, so my house is quiet except for the 4-year-old's intermittent hallway trips, the dripping bathtub faucet, and the screaming kids in the neighboring circle.  We were planning on making a trip to Cedar City this weekend but plans changed when we all got sick.  It's an achy, feverish sickness that I am sincerely hoping to be rid of by tomorrow.

Baby Lucky turned six months old this week, and I turned 27! What a day. I got a little irritated when someone at church said, "in a few more years you'll be lying about your age!" because, when did this society decide it was unacceptable for women to age? And WHY are women still buying into the stupid notion?? I hope I never lie about my age, and I wish others would stop doing the "I'm still 29" thing.  It makes me disgruntled.
(But of course I find something to be disgruntled about!)

Life goes on.
My kids get a little educational experience from Ms. Frizzle,

Lucky misses naps sometimes, but we love her anyway,

We have yard sales that take weeks to prepare and execute (and then get rained out),

 And the children bathe all together for the first time.  Rub a dub dub.

This summer came and went much too quickly for my liking, as usual.  I never get enough s'mores or firework shows or pool days or boating trips, especially with these little ones who make it very difficult.

(Not to mention Slice, who usually crashes when he walks in the door.)

We had one big trip to Bear Lake for a reunion - blog post coming - and that's it. We haven't left the Basin for anything else in months.

So .... that's my life right now.

For the First Time in Forever ...

I've been exercising regularly.

Can you imagine? Me?

bum shot courtesy of MG

About a month ago I started doing T25 in the mornings with my aunt and cousin and sister. Turns out, that's the trick!  When I have a set time and people expecting me to show up, I actually do!  And it's fun!
(It also helps that I can have my baby sleeping next door with a monitor so I can work around naps.)

What I like about T25 is that it's a good overall workout, but still short and no-nonsense. One day we tried another Beachbody aerobic workout and the lady just about killed me with her annoying chatter. "I'm so excited for you to go shopping!" (Because that's why I'm doing this? Gag me.)  So, anyway, thanks Shaun T.

But of course I have more to say about this.  I'm getting excited about how good I'm looking - pretty good, BTW - and I'm thinking I can keep this up, maybe for a really long time.  That's good, right?

Then I come across this article and am reminded of everything I believe about my body right now. Because the short little article says it all in six-ish paragraphs: my body is not my masterpiece. I didn't create it, first of all. It was given to me with very specific instructions, all of which concern WHAT I DO with this precious gift.

It's been said before, but I'll say it again: my body made and housed and nourished and birthed three babies (without a single stretch mark! Knock on wood!).  It has nursed and carried and rocked little bodies through sleepless nights and long, wearying days.
Way before that, this body danced on stage and hiked in the dark and swam in disgusting golf course ponds.  It walked countless miles through the streets in countries across the globe.  It dug sprinkler trenches with a shovel (thanks Mom and Dad), weeded gardens, pushed a loaded handcart up a sandy hill, sledded and tumbled and roller-bladed.  It stayed up late, late nights in high school and college, and still managed to pull pretty good grades while working at least one regular job.

What I'm saying is, I don't want to obsess over my body, ever.  I don't want to cross that line between "health and fitness" and "gotta post a shirtless picture online!"  I don't want to see a piece of cheesecake and think only about what it will do to my waistline.  I don't want to spend my life wishing I looked different (or using enough makeup/procedures to make that happen).  I don't want to hate what life and time have done to me. I don't want to become that self-absorbed.

I want my life to be about what I've done and with whom.  I want to be healthy so I can enjoy everything there is to enjoy.  I want to teach my kids, like my parents did, to spend more time working on the "inside" than the "outside" of them.  I want to accept myself and help them to do the same.  I want to use this paintbrush to create a masterpiece.