Tag: wellness

BEFORE THE HUSTLE AND BUSTLE

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my little owl on halloween

This time last year is still so vivid to me, the way it felt to have a baby in my belly and the anticipation of what it would be like to have a new little person join our family.

On Monday, that little person, one Roux Huckleberry Baker, turned precisely 39 weeks old. 9 whole calendar months, exactly. And as cozy as it was to be pregnant during the Holiday Season, it is that much more delicious to have a squishy baby with whom to enjoy all the festivities. Especially a baby as magnificent as my tiny guy.

Practically overnight, he had a massive growth spurt. He woke up one morning last week and actually fit into onesies I didn’t think he’d wear until well after his first birthday. And the scooching! All of the sudden, he’s everywhere. Under the couch, next to the ironing board (the iron wasn’t on, but still!), one minute he’s playing happily under his gym and the next he’s all the way wedged between my desk and a basket of silks. I have a lot of baby proofing to do!

We have experimented with Baby Led Weaning, which is both fascinating and terrifying. On the one hand, it makes complete sense to me, and on the other hand, it’s challenging and risky. While I have been really pleased with the success we’ve had with foods like broccoli and sweet potato and even these little baked lentil quinoa cakes, a small hemoglobin test at yesterday’s check up showed that Huckle is rather anemic. We’re introducing fortified cereals and a liquid supplement with the hope such remedies will increase the iron in his blood.

To think this is the only hiccup we’ve encountered since his birth is a reminder how blessed we have been. He really has come so far. And he is so darn cute, it’s almost silly. On Saturday mornings, I’ve been taking tap classes in Balboa Park. I wear Roux in my Solly Baby wrap, easily one of the highlights of my week, and oh how the sweet old ladies in my class adore him! They kiss his sweet cheeks and fawn over him and all I can think is how lucky I am that this incredible creature chose me to be his mama.

Our days begin well before the sun rises, my Huckle likes to get up early. Once I resigned myself to our predawn routine, I came to cherish those quiet hours when nearly everything is still asleep except us two. We keep all the lights off and snuggle under covers on the couch, babbling to each other before I have to begin my duties for the day. As much as I love my job, and am grateful to have work that is fulfilling and meaningful, it’s getting harder and harder for me to head off to work each morning, feeling like I’m missing out on so many little moments that I can never get back.

Time is passing by faster than ever, we’re heading into the part of year that seems to happen at warp speed, and all I want to do is stop here for a little while. Be with my baby before he’s not a baby anymore, to enjoy my home and my family and this season. To somehow remember all the tiny details – the nuances of his voice and the myriad of sounds that are beginning to emerge, to capture exactly the way it feels when his eager little fingers reach up to explore the landscape of my face, the way he smiles at me when he nurses – because honestly, it’s as if it’s all happened in an instant. And yet, as I plan next week’s menu, I know it’s been a year, a whole entire year, since I prepared a feast in my kitchen with a bump tucked under my apron.

I’m going to try my best to take it slow this season, to live in to each experience, to treasure the time and marvel at just how bittersweet its fleeting can be.

BUT TONIGHT, YOU BELONG TO ME

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from a few days ago, when I wasn’t feeling well and he was my nurse

In my heart, I’ve always been a New Yorker. It’s been over a decade since I lived there, yet every year around this time I get really nostalgic for life in that magnificent city, and I miiiight have poked around Craigslist for apartments (ha!) in the midst of a “what if” moment last night. MAKE OF THAT WHAT YOU WILL, UNIVERSE.

But that is not what this post is about.

(more…)

MOVE IT OR LOSE IT

Posted on by Lynzie · 1 Comment

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image via

Endorphins might just be my favorite drug. I was reminded of their potency when, last week, I went to my first ever spin class at our local YMCA and felt better than I had in months for days afterward. So good, in fact, that I went to a different class at the gym the following day. I can still feel a tingle in my shoulders, and there is almost nothing as comforting to me as feeling that my body has been used with purpose.

I’m not sure why I go through periods where I’m not as active as others, but it’s never a good thing for me to stay still for too long. I tend to go a bit, well, crazy. How good I feel is directly proportionate to how much I move my body, and it is with that in mind that I chose “get my butt back to dance class” as one of my goals for this year.

My instinct, naturally, is to take ballet. I’m most comfortable – and also uncomfortable? I know, but that’s ballet for you! – at the barre, where each and every class begins with pliés. In my entire life, I have taken exactly two hip hop classes. It’s a style far from where I’m comfortable, and requires from me a different kind of flexibility.

So, with that in mind, I did that thing, the one where you go and do something that scares you, and I registered for hip hop classes, which begin this evening.

Between my broken foot and my unexpected and rather invasive surgery, there is a lot I’m still not quite able to do. I’m not even entirely sure hip hop is the answer, but I do know that just having dance class to look forward to has been good for me. Imagine what actually dancing might do!

I’m nervous, sure, but I’m also excited to try something new, something I’ve been afraid to try for a long time. A hip hop class is nothing compared to what I went through twenty-six Mondays ago, is how I like to look at it, and hey. I might just be the next ballerina turned b-girl, you never know.

HAVIN’ THIS DISCUSSION

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image via

There’s this great line in Paul Simon’s song Gumboots where he says, “Hey, you know, breakdowns come and breakdowns go. So what are you going to do about it? That’s what I’d like to know.” I try to remember this wisdom on days when I’m feeling more than a little bit crazy. Like today, for instance.

For weeks now, that Huckle of mine will. not. sleep. I spend what seems like hours just to get him to fall asleep for a cluster of minutes, at most. He hasn’t had a stretch of slumber longer than two hours, not even at night, and I’ve just about gone completely batty. I’m trying, trying with all my might, to keep it together and be productive, but after yet another night of very little shuteye, it’s hard not to feel utterly defeated.

To make matters worse, summer is slipping through my fingers faster than a handful of sand. I’ve done precisely none of the things I’d planned on doing with my kids during our break, mostly because I go through each day feeling like there is mush where my brain should be. But the thing that gets me most of all is how understanding those big kids of mine are, because let me tell you they are trying hard, their effort is more than evident. Sometimes they are more successful than other times, and this might go down as the Summer of Silly Sibling Squabbles, but we’ve got just about three weeks left to live into this season before it’s time to head back to school, and we could all use some fun around here right about now.

A couple of weeks ago, I was diagnosed as having a mild case of PTSD. The moment the words fell from the nice doctor lady’s mouth, I was flooded with relief, which is exactly how I knew her proclamation to be accurate. I’ve been struggling to cope with what I can only describe as a constant state of panic, which is only further exacerbated by exhaustion, unrelenting as it is overwhelming. It is so much more powerful than simply deciding that everything is fine, that I’m not falling apart and there is nothing to fear, but it’s also a matter of me actively pursuing a more relaxed and rhythmic existence, one that is balanced and infused with positivity.

Easier said than done, sure, but by golly, there has got to be at least some doing lest there be no progress. This much I know for certain. Aside from motivation, the biggest obstacle for me always seems to be patience. Some adversaries are more easily defeated than others, and the ones I’m currently facing are very, very other. The otherest.

Today, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, which is kind of a silly thing to say because how can you wake up when you aren’t even asleep?! But my point is, I was in an extra bad mood before even climbing out of bed to get the day started, which is never an ideal situation, when my sweet peach of a daughter looked at me with her giant green eyes and told me not to worry. It will get better, she said.

She’s right, of course. It will get better. I will get better. I have no other choice. My family deserves the best version of myself I have to offer, and they are worth every effort it takes to find her. I know she’s in here somewhere.

This is me, humbly, honestly, and with a whole lot of hope, admitting that I’m having a hard time. There is a giant, angry bull I’m facing, but the horns are in sight and there is nothing I want more than to find the strength to reach out and grab them.

THIRTYONEDERFUL

Posted on by Lynzie · 1 Comment

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favorite candid shot from a lunch date with my handsome fiancé a while back

Tomorrow I will celebrate another birthday, and since I always seem to wax nostalgic about these sorts of things, I offer this here assortment of sentiments in honor of my thirtyfirst year.

Oh, 31. You were good to me, but you also kind of kicked my ass. I spent the entirety of these past twelve months not feeling exactly like myself, which is odd. And after all that’s happened, I’m not quite sure what myself is supposed to feel like. Between pregnancy and ongoing postpartum issues, I’ve gotten a little lost in the shuffle of things. But instead of freaking out about this minor identity crisis, I see it as an opportunity to grow, which is how I know I’m not just getting older, but wiser, too. Age is a blessing, thank you very much, and I think I’m starting to get the hang of this whole woman-in-her-thirties thing.

I accomplished a few personal goals that I’d been working toward for what seemed like forever, all three of which were finally ticked off my life’s to-do list on three consecutive days, just like that, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a little bit more like a grown-up. Also, this coming September marks the longest tenure I’ve had as a teacher at any one school, and even though my role has shifted a bit – moving from one subject to another – I’m more comfortable and confident in my career than ever. Working in the Waldorf movement inspires every other part of my life, and I’m very lucky to be able to do what I do.

To be brutally honest, nothing has aged me more in all my years than the delivery of one Roux Huckleberry Baker and the subsequent recovery therefrom. I woke up from emergency anesthesia to a body I didn’t recognize, one I’m still learning to claim as mine. I mean, even my broken foot hasn’t fully healed! In short, thirtyone was not kind to my physical self. But if there is one thing I know about bodies, it’s that you get out of a body what you put into a body, and I’m carrying that tidbit very close to my heart as I move into this next year.

Speaking of my heart, thirtyone was a mighty good year for love. The best year. That mister of mine, he’s full of surprises, which is precisely what made his marriage proposal so special. I had absolutely no idea! Seeing a sparkly ring on my finger every day still takes my breath away, I simply could not be any more over the moon madly in love with the man I’m going to marry. He’s one of a kind, and he’s a damn good father to boot. To all three of my kids, because that’s just the kind of guy he is. So, yeah. Our engagement is clearly the highlight of what was, quite simply, a furious and fabulous year of my life.

Any year that brings me a baby is going to be special, that goes without saying. And this baby, well, he’s all kinds of special. His wellbeing has occupied a significant part of my day to day, almost at the expense of my own, and in taking stock of things, it’s clear to me the ways in which I can afford to expand as a person. And if clarity isn’t a sign of maturity, then I give up!

Seriously though, I’m starting to feel like an adult and I like it. Because let’s be honest here, I couldn’t name one song on the radio if you paid me.

ON GETTING MY GROOVE BACK

Posted on by Lynzie · 2 Comments

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image via

There’s nothing like a good cry to get your thoughts really flowing, amiright? I, for one, have been weepy for the past week or so, which is to say that I’ve got more than a few things to get off my chest, and they’ve got to go somewhere, so here they are.

Emet turned eleven years old yesterday and I’m all kinds of nostalgic about the whole thing. For me, life pretty much started when I was eleven. That’s when things got really good, in the juicy, sink your teeth into living sort of way. To think that my baby boy is now a young man, an actual preteen if you will (if you say the word tween I will cut you), boggles my mind completely. He is easily one of the coolest people that I know, and watching him stretch into a body that is very nearly as big as my own is incredible. Soon he’ll rest his head on mine, and that gives me a pain in my heart that only a mother who’s watched her son go through the same transition can understand. I wouldn’t trade that pain for anything in the world. It’s beautiful, and I couldn’t be more proud.

I gave him deodorant for his birthday, by the way. So.

Today marks the anniversary of discovering the presence of a certain tiny guy, and hell if my body hasn’t been through the ringer. Between a difficult yet beautiful pregnancy, a broken foot, and a surgery that scarred me in all the ways, the time has more than come for me to give myself a little bit of attention. I put aside a lot of creative and delicious endeavors due to the distraction that is having a baby, but my oh my what a magical distraction. Still, there is a lot of change involved, and I might not be the quickest when it comest to adaptation.

But a year is long enough, if you ask me. My Huckleberry friend is twenty weeks old now, and doing wildly better than expected. He’s off the preemie charts, just barely in the case of his size, but he’s off them altogether and that is something. My recovery is clearly going to take more than me just waiting for it to happen, an oddly familiar theme, so doing something about it is really my only option.

Getting started is always the hardest part, why must this always be the case? I shake my fist at you, momentum! It usually takes something radical like a thirty day writing challenge or a couple dozen miles on my bicycle, but without fail, it takes some kind of daily maintenance and I have not been committed to anything on the regular in a very long time.

Except breastfeeding. Breastfeeding forever. We’re a little over one month away from solid food and the fact that my newborn baby is that close to being six months old? Crazy, I say. Just plain nuts. But breastfeeding is not for me, it’s for him. And I need to do something for myself.

My big kids, they left this morning for a little vacation with their relatives in Los Angeles, and I’ve decided to dedicate this time to carving out a few new habits and hobbies for myself. My beautiful friend Kate wrote this thoughtful essay about refining her morning routine which really resonated with the struggle I have been experiencing personally. I have no routine to speak of at present, and I think that’s partly why I can’t seem to get anything done. I haven’t found my rhythm yet.

The plan is simple, really. To get up, get out, and get moving, is the basic idea. Little walks around my beloved neighborhood, a gentle swim at our local pool, a few trips up and down my favorite secret public staircase that’s right across the street from my house, these aren’t exactly difficult things to do. Neither is finishing the few essays I have still lingering in my drafts folder, or even preparing and photographing a couple of the new recipes that I’ve developed recently. And yet, I can’t seem to accomplish any of it. So for the next five days, while my big kids are away, I’m committed to doing at least one thing for myself every single day.

Like writing this here manifesto. I do declare this to be the year of loving myself, of not letting life get in my way. Because when it comes right down to it, I spend an awful lot of time taking care of others, and methinks I’d do a much better job of it all if I actually spent a little time taking care of myself. Furthermore, I want to set a good example for my children, for them to see the importance of personal practice, to always feel that they are worth the effort, and, above all, to never forget that they are the guardians of their own well being.

A NEW PRACTICE

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pardon the poor image quality, but this is one of my all-time favorite shots

I have rebellious chi, is what I learned from my very first acupuncture appointment.

You see, my next door neighbor is the greatest, and when he found out that I wasn’t feeling so well, he insisted that I see his acupuncturist. Being the no-nonsense kind of guy that he is, I was surprised by his enthusiasm for alternative medicine, and I took his recommendation to heart.

I think I told the good doctor that I was nervous at least a half-dozen times during our initial consultation. Needles aren’t really my thing. Except tattoo needles, but that is an entirely different subject.

As it turns out, acupuncture is exactly what I thought: little needles and being still. What I wasn’t expecting, though, was the almost immediate sense of relaxation that resulted. I’ll admit that I have a long way to go before I’m able to fully surrender to the experience – I talked myself out of ringing the bell to call for assistance on three occasions – and I only feel slightly foolish for allowing a silly thing like fear keep me from something that is truly beneficial in maintaining equilibrium.

Today was the first time in over two weeks that I didn’t taken a nap. Not that I didn’t want to take a nap, napping happens to be one of my signature talents, but that I didn’t need to take a nap. A small miracle, I say.

My assignment for the week is to spend more time meditating, in an effort to harness my individual energy.

And by “spend more time” of course I mean “start”.

ON BEING GRATEFUL

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At the beginning of June, I made a conscious decision to stop waiting for happiness to find me and to just go out and find it for myself. I started writing. I started riding my bike.

I let go of expectations about what I thought my life should be like, and instead embraced the life I have.

The result of making this simple shift in thinking (and doing) has been a tangible feeling of connectedness: to myself, my family, the Universe. I feel whole. Or, at least, a whole lot happier.

As we were driving home from our adventures at LegoLand yesterday, I had this moment where I realized that even though my life isn’t really all that different than it was a month ago, it’s better. It’s better because I’m thankful for it. All of it, even the bad days. Which, by the way, are rare these days and I can’t help but wonder if I really did manage to write my way to wellness?

Today I woke up flooded with gratitude for these last few years. They have taught me so much about myself, the depths of my sorrow and the heights of my joy, and more importantly, just how resilient I am. I can say that I have never been happier than I am at this moment, and for that, I am truly grateful.

In other news, not only did I find the pictures I was desperately searching for, I found along with them a veritable trove of treasures from when my sweet boy was young. Oh, what a glorious time in my life that was. Even still, I wouldn’t trade those days for the ones that are yet to come. All of this to say that I’ll be back tomorrow with something truly special.

THIRTY ON THIRTY

Posted on by Lynzie · 2 Comments

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I have thirty days left of being thirty. How did this even happen?

I’m definitely one of those people who thought things about thirty, about what it would mean to be thirty, and what my life would look like when I finally turned thirty. And while, over the years, expectations surrounding this monumental birthday shifted, never did I imagine that I would spend my thirtieth year struggling to reclaim myself.

Needless to say, thirty came without as much jubilation as I had anticipated and, quite frankly, I can’t quite bear to see it go out the same way. Because what thirty did come with was a certain kind of renewal, a surprising excavation of previously undiscovered potential combined with the release of a lot of negative energy. This year, I have loved and been loved more deeply than ever before, and I appreciate my life a lot more than I used to. I’m pretty sure this is what it feels like to be an adult.

Which is not to say that I’m grown up. I’m not. But I’m getting there.

Here’s a little secret. This very blog began, with humble tumblr roots, as a daily writing experiment. I wanted to see if I could write and publish something every day for thirty days, and I did. It was the first time I had ever done that, and it was the beginning of one of my most prolific periods. And one of the happiest.

In honor of this year, this strange and beautiful year, I have decided to dedicate the next thirty days to the very same goal. Writing and wellness have always gone hand in hand for me, so it seems a rather full circle sort of way to acknowledge it all – the fact that, eleven months ago, I was as depressed as I’d ever been and now here I am, ready to write. On a daily basis! Oh, I have waited a long time to get to this place.

Thirty years, to be exact.

HELLO. AGAIN.

Posted on by Lynzie · 2 Comments

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I miss blogging. There, I said it.

But oh, it’s true. And it’s ridiculous that I haven’t just up and started writing again. Only, I seem to have gotten rather shy?

It’s hard to come back from anything, I suppose. And for a long time, I felt like writing would only make me more sad, because that’s how sad I was. I use the past tense lightly here because, quite frankly, I’m still kind of struggling, but in a better-ish sort of way. Thanks, San Diego!

Living in Oregon taught me that, while I’ll always have a hole in my heart the size of New York City, I truly am a California girl. Moving back to California has taught me that there is a lot more to happiness than good weather.

I came to pieces little by little and putting myself back together seems to be a remarkably similar process. Writing was once at the core of my daily life, and it was then that I felt most connected, inspired, and productive. More than just writing, though. Sharing my story. And learning from the stories shared by others. There is endless amounts of wisdom woven into the many individual, complex, and human stories that live on the internet. And there is community. It’s really pretty great.

Therefore, in an attempt to shake off the last of the heaviness of those grey Pacific Northwest skies that apparently tried to swallow me whole, I have declared enough with this nonsense and back to it already.

I mean, really.