Smile

Go ahead, do it.

No, really! Go ahead and smile.

Yes, even if you don't feel like it.

Your mom and Nike are right. Just do it already! You'll feel better when you're all done.

One of my favorite quotes from my favorite philosopher is:

"Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but
sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy."

This ancient piece of wisdom has now been "proven" by the scientific method.

Turns out, a bunch of those wackos in the ivory tower have been studying this stuff. And sure enough, just the mere act of smiling, even if you don't feel happy, changes the brain's functioning. Don't believe me? Here are a couple of links to check out:

One is more readable,

the other is written in all that scientific gobbledy-gook. Just skip down to the "Discussion" section.

I know! Crazy, huh?!

But really. You should try it.

I did a couple of days ago, when we were having yet ANOTHER gray day (I lost count of the exact number), and the mini-muffins had serious cabin fever which caused them to launch into frenetic physical activity every 2 1/2 minutes or so, and as much as I nursed, babied or bullied it, my right leg and foot continued to hurt like hell, even if I used the eliptical! I was in a bad, bad, state. For some reason, I'll call it Grace, I remembered this idea and went ahead and tried it.

Laughter, or just smiling, really is the best medicine.

Stretches of Silence

I thought I'd explain why I'm not writing.

I'm not running much and I've realized that I compose blog postings while I run.

No running = no blog posting.

Hopefully things will turn the corner soon.

When irony enlightens

With one kid attending a private college, another kid injury prone and growing like a week, two more kids growing like weeds and in child care five days a week, and the sour economy, there’s been a significant clog in my cash flow of late. I'm pretty crafty so I had this great idea of saving money by making gifts for my parents and Sis, which I did.

I found a quilt square that my Nana (Mom’s Mom) had pieced together a long time ago. This is the design but in red, white, and blue. I don't know the circumstances of, or plan for the project…..I wish I did. My mom gave it to me back in the day and even though I had a vague plan for doing something with it, it got lost in the many, many moves made over the years. When it turned up this fall while I was cleaning out a closet in the basement, I thought “Oh! This would be the perfect thing for Mom’s Christmas gift!”

The quilt square is old and fragile so I decided to frame it. That way it could be displayed but not damaged, unlike a pillow, which was my first choice. Unfortunately, the square is an odd size and it took me FOREVER to find a frame that would work, for a price I was willing to pay. But I did.

After lots of thinking and trial and error (translation, a LOT of time), it was done, it was perfect, and it was nicely wrapped. Now all I needed was a shipping box that it would fit into.

Of course I didn’t have anything like that at home so I spent a decent chunk of time running in and out of stores looking for a box. I found all the other stuff I needed, like packing tape and bubble wrap, but no box. I started to feel just a wee concerned, then thankfully a light bulb came on. I’m brilliant! I thought and I hurried over to a hobby store to the framing department. They’ll have a suitable box for Mom’s gift! I mean, they get frames shipped to them to sell surely they’d have a couple of those shipping boxes just lying around!

But no, they didn’t.

At about this point the blood pressure is on the rise because the deadline for shipping to arrive by Christmas is TODAY and I have to get this done NOW before I go see clients, because after that I get the mini-muffins from school and then there’s no getting anything done!! Aaaagggghhhh!!!

OK. Deep breath.

The lady at the framing desk suggested I go to UPS. Not only would they have a box to fit, they would wrap it up all safe and sound. I wouldn’t have to do a thing!
Spirits revived, I trot over to the UPS store and hand over the precious finished product to the perky ladies with Santa hats on. My shoulders start to relax down to their anatomically correct position while I fill out the shipping form. It’s all going to be ok.

Then the nice lady with the Santa hat on says to me “To get it there by Christmas, you’ll want to send this overnight, and with the size of this package, it will be $169.50.

“$169.50?!?! Are you serious? I could buy my Mom a cashmere sweater for that! What are my other options?”

Many choices were offered me but I kept refusing until the wrapping and shipping were under $50. I was told the package would probably be delivered on Christmas Eve, but there’s no guarantee, not with the storms and all, you just never know, this seems like a really important gift you want to get to your Mother for Christmas, are you SURE you want to send it this way? Ok, then please sign here indicating that you understand there’s no guarantee that it will be delivered before Christmas.

Ok then. It’s done.

wow.

Very disheartened, I called ONO and told him how my grand money-saving plan had been COMPLETELY thwarted, with a bucket-load of stress thrown in to boot. In his concise, matter-of-fact way he said “It’s a nice thing you did. Not many people make personalized gifts like that any more. I’m sure they’ll really appreciate it.”

Of course. It’s not about the money. Not how much you spend OR how much you save. How wonderful the Universe is to gently whap my head with a 2X4 of irony. I am sincerely grateful. Really!!

And Mom, even though you will anyway, I don't want you to have a moment of bad feelings. You were/are completely worth it.

Staring down Middle Age

A couple of days ago I turned 45.

FORTY-FIVE.

That sounds really, REALLY old to me. Like empty-nest-near-retirement old. Well, I'm close to that....I mean, I DO have a kid in college and another very close behind. And I AM thinking about retirement, every now and then, when I'm not thinking about how to pay for college. That alone causes wrinkles and gray hair!

But then I also have these mini-muffins and most of their friends' parents are 10 to 15 years younger than me. We do a lot of "younger people" stuff (not even sure what that is, but whatever).

I try not to think about it too much and usually there's just too much to do and keep track of to dwell on my aging.

Most of the time I feel GOOD (read "young"), but I do get a shock when I look in the mirror -- especially when I first wake up, and just before I go to bed, and at various times during the day. OK. Pretty much all the time I look in the mirror. Like John Mellencamp says: "I look in the mirror.....what the hell happened to me?!"

So, everyday I reach into my "don't look too old yet" arsenal and pull out the various weapons in there: the hydroxy skin cream, the tinted moisturizer with retinol, my hair stylist/colorist, "artful" make-up application, youngish-looking clothing (but not TOO young looking because I don't want to be a joke), glasses (when the bags under my eyes are especially heavy), and of course, a pretty good diet and exercise regime. Particularly running.

I do think both the teens and the minis keep me young. You have to be sharp and active to stay on top of it all. But the running gives me that little extra "something." It gives me challenges that I can overcome most of the time. And although I'm not very fast, I'm plucky, and I keep at it. Doggedly. Just like I will with all the rest of the stuff that makes up this life. A life that is very rich and for which I am very grateful.

So I'll stare down Middle Age, but with a smile. Because I'm pretty sure that's a big part of aging gracefully.

The commentators must have ODed

on Sarah Palin's folksy-ness. That HAS to be the reason because there is no other way she could be see as doing well at last night's debate.

I'm sorry, people, but you do not do well in a debate by consistently answering questions that were not asked.

OK. I'll give you that she came out on the offensive (not sure that's a good thing, actually), and that she didn't stumble on her answers. But if that has become the definition of doing well in a debate, then we, as a people, have sunk pretty low.

It's like a teacher asking a student to solve a math problem and the student proceeds to go through the spelling list. If you were a teacher, would you pass said student? Or would you suggest the student be assessed for a possible learning disability?

I'm just as disappointed in Sen. Biden. Although he managed to keep his answers "crisp" and "to the point," he let himself get hooked by Palin's non-answers. I guess I was hoping for a dialogue -- the kind of conversation that actually goes back and forth, wherein you hear the positions on each issue compared and contrasted. So sue me for wanting a higher level of representation!

In the long run, it doesn't really matter. I still know who I'm voting for.

A few words about Sarah

Govenor Palin has made a big splash in the political world. Despite our political and fiduciary differences, it does warm my heart to see a woman achieving success in a male-dominated field.

Out of curiosity, more than anything, I watched her RNC speech and I heard her now-famous self-identifying statement:

"What's the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull? Lipstick."

Definitely an attention getter.

I can see how a lot of women from a certain generation would find that statement appealing. My mom, for instance, was of the generation that started the first tentative tapping on the glass ceiling. These women had to fight and fight, get snarly, and be just as mean as the men. I really do understand, and appreciate the hard work they did.



That still doesn't change the fact that a pit bull basically can't be trusted with the safety of small children or other defenseless creatures.

And no amount of lipstick can pretty that up.

With hands clasped and eyes raised to the sky

Coming home tonight after some retail therapy I happened upon NPR's coverage of Obama's acceptance speech. I almost switched to a CD but found the voice and the ideas melting away the ice around my political heart. Pretty soon I was sitting in the garage, engine turned off, because I wanted to hear every word he had to say.

A part of me couldn't believe what was happening -- I'd become jaded, and emotionally "unhooked" from politics and politicians -- but I decided to just go with it. After a while, I made a run for the house and the TV hoping that Carter and/or ONO would be watching it, or that TiVo was catching it. None of that happened but it was all good. The TV broadcast was a few minutes behind the radio.

By the end of the speech I was in tears. I know. Crazy. Those are usually saved for intense spiritual experiences and poop on the floor), but maybe that's why Rush Limbaugh and others are (disdainfully) calling Obama "the messiah."

Of course I don't think of him as the messiah, but I do think I experienced a redemption of sorts -- back, whole-heartedly into the emotional part of the political process.

Even after learning first-hand how incredibly complicated, slow and diluting the political process can be, I find myself half-believing, half-hoping that he'll actually be able to accomplish what he delineated in the speech. I'm mentally pleading with the Power(s) that be -- please, please, PLEASE, let him win! PLEASE let it be different this time! PLEASE let me be proud of my country again!!



But even if the Power(s) ignore me, this speech re-opened the place in my psyche for political hope.

Keep Hope Alive. Because without hope, the people perish.

Tagged

My friend Donita tagged me to share 5 interesting things about myself.

So....here we go:

1. I went to seminary for a year. (anyone interested in that one can ask for more info.)

2. I like bugs. Yeah, really! I think they're pretty cool. However, I do have a short list of bugs that really bug me: flies, gnats, mosquitoes, Japanese beetles (but even those are cool to look at -- I just hate what they do to my garden). Here's one of the coolest bugs EVER!



3. I really don't like to swim. I mean, I like to play around in the water but I don't like to SWIM swim so I don't think I'll ever be a tri-athlete. I could see myself as a duathlete, though, because bikes are great.

4. My parents were Home Missionaries for the Southern Baptist Convention. My dad was a Christian Social Minister and has a Master's of Divinity. So my sister and I grew up on the "mission field" as MKs (Missionary Kid) and PKs (Preacher's Kid).

5. I think Feng Shui makes a lot of sense and I would be happy to "Feng Shui" your house or bedroom.

Is it PMS? Or perimenopause?

Mother Nature sure has been moody lately.

Sunday was a beautiful, glorious day. The temps got up into the 60s and yes, I took the mini-muffins outside to play. We put on their snow/rain boots and they had a fab time stomping in puddles. I checked out my flower beds and sure enough! there were the cute little furled-up heads of my tulips peeking out! The rest of the day, I basked in the warm glow of hope springing eternal.

Today it's 28 degrees. With wind chill it feels like 15 degrees. And the forecast is predicting 4-6 inches of snow....with sleet mixed in!

Somebody PLEASE give her some hormones!

It's time for new glasses

I was browsing at TJ Maxx yesterday and was drawn over to the handbag area. I was immediately attracted to two very cool, but very different laptop bags. One was about $35. When I glanced at the price tag of the other one, I saw it was on clearance for $20.

What to do...what to do...I can't decide! I thought, "I'll just get both for now, it's only $55 for both. And ONO can help me decide."

I trot happily up to a cashier and she starts scanning them in. I'm watching the register and see $200 come up. I say to the friendly, personable (insert sarcastic tone) 20-something employee "Oh, hey! That bag just rang up as $200!" She looks at me with utter contempt, and without saying a word holds up the price tag right in front of my eyes. It said $200.

Here's the bag I decided on:

Weighty Issues

I thought long and hard about writing this entry. It can be a hard thing to share in public because I'm not sure what kind of reaction I'm going to get. I don't care so much what strangers think, but I know for SURE that I'm going to get grief from certain someones in my life. But, I also know that most, if not all, of the women who read this have experienced at one time or another in their lives what I'm about to share. So here we go.

I'd been feeling pretty good about my body since I started running last spring. I hadn't lost oodles of weight, but then, I wasn't really trying to do that. It would be nice, don't get me wrong, but I'm a big fan of food and I don't do well with deprivation. But, even though I try to focus on being healthy, strong and active, I confess I have bought into the culturally based definition of beauty: young and thin. Well, at 44, young is certainly out of the question....you just can't stop time. But thin.....

I know I will never, ever be thin like what I think thin looks like. It's just not in my genetic coding. I come from sturdy stock. Even after more than 30 years I'm still in the process of accepting that.

I remember in 4th or 5th grade noticing girls that were thinner than me and wishing to look like them, specifically the backs of their knees. Sounds weird, but the backs of their knees had absolutely no fat and you could clearly see the tendons connecting their thighs to their calves. For some reason I liked that better than what I had -- fatty backs of the knees. So I was maybe nine or ten? Where the heck did that idea come from??? It's not like the backs of 70s super models' knees were featured in Seventeen or Madamoiselle. Maybe I simply found that more to my liking. I don't remember looking at the backs of my knees in the mirrors of my childhood home, but somehow I knew I didn't have thin ones. And I wanted them.

I certainly look at myself in the mirror now. Yes, I'm naked. Amazingly, I manage to do that without paying too much attention to the silvery landscape of stretch marks (from birthing 4 babies), or the boobs that look like tube socks with tennis balls in the ends (from nursing 4 babies). I focus on my shoulders, arms, belly button (I kinda like it...it looks like an upside-down crescent moon -- also from birthing 4 babies). And I'll look at my legs. I've always liked my calves (thanks to Mom's side of the family), and more recently, my thighs because I thought they looked more muscle-y from running......at least from the sides.

You've probably heard somewhere that when you get cocky about something, the universe will find a way to knock you back down. After all, arrogance isn't pretty. Well, the universe was very helpful to me with mine last week.

I was getting dressed and the mini-muffins and I were dancing to one of my fav '70s songs: Give up the Funk by Parliament (AWESOME tune!) It was a good day, the sun was shining, no one was cranky (yet). And then I glanced over at the full length mirror and caught site of the backs of my thighs.

OH. MY. GOD. Where the hell did all that cellulite come from?!? Are those REALLY my legs? I don't have my glasses on and I can still see it so it must be pretty bad. And yes, those are really my legs. I didn't even get to the backs of the knees I was so disturbed by the thighs!

What went through my mind after that fateful moment was far from compassionate or self-accepting: "I can't believe you've gone out in shorts like that! This year you're only wearing shorts that hit at the knees. And forget about a swim suit! This is what happens when you eat the way you do. Got a little cocky, huh? Thinking you're impervious to weight gain just because you ruu-uun."



And of course, every article of clothing I put on after that was assessed for how it fit -- "This is tighter than usual. I'm a fat cow."

And every time I looked in the mirror, either clothed or unclothed, instead of seeing a healthy, strong woman, I saw a large, dimple-thighed woman. It's a shameful admission but I've been in a state of self-loathing ever since. And maybe I decided to write about it publicly so I could see just how hurtful I'm being to myself and stop it.

I know that if I like what I see in the mirror it's because it somehow matches the current definition of beauty. Or I've at least made peace with that part of myself (like not looking at my boobs or hips). But I don't think I'd like the look of cellulite even if Gisele and Kate Moss were covered in it from head to toe. I can see plump--really I can. There's a universal appeal to the curved shape (think faces, flowers, nice boobs and butts, etc.) And there were certainly periods in history when plump, voluminous women were preferred, like during the mid- to late 19th century.

But bumpy, rippley curves? I don't think so.

Ironically, I was listening to a mindfulness CD last night and Jon Kabat-Zinn said something like "You are large. You contain multitudes." He was, of course, talking about how each person has the capacity for being connected to the infinite, not about having large bodies. But it gave me a nice reframe for thinking about myself as large.

Check #6 off the list

So I ran in the U of I Armory last night. It was just too dadgum cold to run outside. Ohhhhh I can't wait for spring!

Compared to outside, track running is pretty boring, at least the running part. However, track running can be quite interesting, especially when it's on a university campus.

At first I was a little intimidated and self-conscious being significantly older and heavier than the average track user. I just KNEW I was going to have to be in the "slow jogger" lane. But then I just started to notice things.

"That guy doesn't really move his left arm at all."

"Hey! Blondie! You need a proper running bra. Seriously!"
"How does he run so fast all hunched up like that?"

"Every time I come around this curve that guy starts doing pull-ups.. ..hmmm....Oooohhhhh. It's for Blondie."

"Her butt is bigger than mine.....I think. Yeah, her butt is definitely bigger. You know, that's quite a booty for a white girl...budonkadonk!"

It really helps the laps go by. All 38 of them.

Waiting....

for someone to tell me to STOP messing around with my blog layout/design. I can't quite find the one the I really, really like.

Someday, hopefully sooner than later, I'm going to switch over to WordPress and use a domain name I bought a few months ago: Sounds like Cake (get it?!? My last name is 'Haake,' and you pronounce it like "cake.")

I'm not sure what's keeping me from making the switch except the thing that keeps most of us where we are, even though we're not too happy with the place....comfort with the familiarity and, to be honest, laziness.

Watch for future changes.

Zuma is the Devil

After many attempts at discovering the TRUE identity of Satan, I believe I have found him.....it.

I have never been much of a gamer, but this one, introduced to me by Carter, has taken up residence in the part of my brain that was formally reserved for chocolate, shopping, and potato chips.

I'm stunned by the amount of time I'll waste playing this stupid game!





It's become a "joke" in our house about my "dates with the frog." (There's a frog that spits out balls that, aimed correctly, will break chains of balls the same color. The goal is to break all the balls so you can go to the next level and break MORE balls. See?! That sounds really stupid, doesn't it!)

So I'm thinking about why I play this game, why I'm drawn to it, and realize that I don't really think it's FUN, not in the colloquial sense anyway. It's not about a sense of accomplishment, either. I mean, unless you're 11 years old, who wants to brag about beating the 8th level of Jaquar Zuma?

Maybe it's about the sense of detachment and escape I get while playing it. My world is pretty darn intense, what with the muffins, and the clients, and.....well, that's enough.....and every once in a while, I just want to "check out." I can usually do that by running but I've only been able to go about twice a week lately. Is this a way of "taking care of myself?"

Is this an oxygen mask I put on myself so that I'm able to take care of my kids? You know, like they tell you in the safety precaution section of plane rides: "In the event of a loss in cabin pressure....first secure the mask over your face and then place masks on children and others in need."

Hmmmm. This probably isn't what I'm thinking about when I encourage clients who are wive/mothers to be sure to take care of themselves. I'm thinking things like meditation, exercise, quiet reading, contemplation, peaceful walks in nature....that sort of thing. I can hear it now: "Sounds like you're pretty drained from taking care of everyone and everything. You know what would really help? Zuma!"

Wow. BIG reality check! Those are all things I'd LOVE to do, but come on!! They're not too realistic for day-to-day life. Unless you're a monk. Or a hermit.

Hmmm. Maybe Zuma isn't the Devil after all.