Photo by Melanie Thornton of www.melaniedramatic.com

 

I don’t do resolutions. Not usually, anyway. In my mind, resolution has always been a fancy way of saying “This Explains Aqua Net and The Bangs Wave in Middle School.” Yes, a New Year is upon us, but most of us won’t notice since check writing went by the wayside when smartphones and banks started going steady and writing the wrong year in the date line isn’t a thing anymore.

What we will notice is the sudden influx of newspaper articles and magazine covers telling us How to Lose Those Holiday Pounds and New Year? New You! articles and blog posts that are meant to inspire us into losing the weight we put on between Thanksgiving and Today because we humans like to celebrate with food made up of easily applied labels for convenient headline writing like the Rich Fudge Brownie that morphs into Bad Brownie, BAD and Other Mantras To Repeat While Sweating Our Asses off in Spin Class.

Or Mom’s Lasagna becomes Motivation for Sticking to Your Resolutions.

And you look in the mirror and hate what you see and promise to love what you will become and all of it feels right and okay and you don’t even think twice about talking about your fat ass and muffin top in front of your children because of the Aqua Net and Bangs Wave in Middle School. Thing is, many of us won’t stick to whatever promise we paid lip service to. I’m not judging. I’m not pointing fingers. Remember, I don’t do resolutions because I’m the one relating with you, right? Exactly. I’m merely pointing out that you will have long given up on trying to look like everyone else at the exact same time so you can cross that finish line together and high five and then start all over when the Halloween candy hits the shelves in August because that’s the cycle so many of us fall into.

Well, screw that.

No. No.

Fuck that.

This year, I’m trowing away the hairspray. I’m kicking my foot through the mirror. I’m dropping my scale in the trash. And I’m giving the middle finger to every media reference to Why I Am Not Good Enough Until because I.Am.Good.Enough.NOW, dammit.

I’m not making resolutions. Instead, I’m making Declarations that do not include an expiration date. I am stating Intentions for Inner Peace and standing on my soap box and speaking my Truth because resolutions are made to be broken and I’m broken enough already. I’d rather work on putting myself back together on my own terms and in my own way.

So here’s my List Declarations of Intention and Truth for 2013 and the rest of my life. Let’s sit down, read up, and then and sing Kumbaya in rounds while we tell each other how beautiful our spirits are because it’s all about being there for each other, y’all.

 

List of Declarations of Intention and Truth for 2013

* Before I start making resolutions to “better” myself, I will change my focus and make one to accept, love, & cherish myself as I am.

* I shall forgo any and all post holiday diets and shirk any health goals directly related to how “bad” I was over the holidays because food only carries the connotations, which we seem to willingly give.

* I shall refocus my health intentions, should I have any in mind, to be centered directly on how I feel physically and emotionally because I treat my body right when I feel good about myself. End.of.Story.

* I will ignore the media and its incessant people watching, paparazzi obsessed culture, which only serves to spread the false and unattainable ideals of perfection, thereby putting undo pressure on women of all ages to conform to a singular idea of how we should look and for which our musculature may not even fit. Unless I’m blogging, on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest, Google +, or in line at the grocery store to buy milk and I see a headline that pisses me off. Then? It’ s on, bitches.

* I shall refrain from using phrases like “I hate my ass” and “Wow, that’s a lot of fucking cellulite” when I happen to catch naked glimpses of myself in the mirror, especially when the five-year-old is anywhere withing hearing distance. What I say about myself is just as important as what she think about herself because what she hears shapes what she will think and she’s listening whether I know it or not.

* I will and shall reread the previous Declaration again. Because it’s that important. From my nose to my toes, I will lie through my teeth if necessary and convince the Littles in my life that Mommy thinks she’s gorgeous just the way she is now. Pretty cool, right? Cuz Molly’s mom down the street has serious self-esteem issues and hates her ankles. I think Molly is starting to develop a complex because if Mommy hates her ankles then something must be wrong with Molly’s. See? Now I’ll read it again. My words + her interpretation = Mama Thinks She’s Beautiful Just The Way She Is.

* I shall Do (and Believe) as I Say and Do as I Intend to Do. Translation? If I say to you, my readers, that you are beautiful and wonderful and perfect as you are, I will believe the same of myself because one day mind will win over matter. If I say to you, readers, that no matter how today panned out, tomorrow is the Universe’s way of giving you a chance to try again when the sun rises? I’m on that train, too.

* I will address The Mess inside of my head and face it head on, feet planted firmly in the ground and hands on my hips. I’ll probably even raise an eyebrow for good measure. The Mess might suck. Dealing with it may not be pretty. But the only way around is through. And through it I will go. I’ll see you on the other side. That being said, let’s move on to the next item because they’re totally related.

* Fuck the gym membership. I’m signing up for therapy instead. Why? Because when training a puppy, positive reinforcement is key to success. The dog has to want to learn and believe in itself and it’s master’s love or ain’t nobody learning to roll over and play dead no matter how many Scoobie snacks being tossed its way. Translate that analogy to taking care of me and that means that unless I become my own master and love myself and believe I am worth it now, I’m most likely going to give up before I start because I won’t believe myself worthy of the work involved to get to My Version of Healthy later.

* I shall try to do more yoga, start meditating for ten minutes a day, and eat the right foods for my body not because everyone headline says it’s time to do so, but because these things are good for me always and make me feel better always.

* I will not beat myself up for missing a yoga session or a yoga week or even if I roll the mat back up and leave it in the closet for a few months. I will celebrate all of the good in my life instead and celebrate more when I find myself in Warrior Pose one day because I missed the feeling.

* I will stop doubting my worth, start believing in the value of my words and the message I share, and make things happen because fairy tales only have happy endings because the princess opened her eyes and walked into her happily ever after fully believing that she deserved it.

* I shall embrace the positive, accept the crazy, and deal with the bullshit as it comes because I believe I am strong enough, smart enough, and perfectly capable of doing so. Just The Way We Are. Right? Right. Rinse. Lather. And Repeat.

 

And there you have it, my friends. Words I can commit to. Intentions I will see myself through in the year to come and the one after that, too.

Who’s riding shotgun? We’re going for a ride.

***

I have also recorded a reading of this post as a vlog, which you can see here on Girl Body Pride. Happy New Year, my friends. I think 13 is going to be lucky.

 

It’s pretty difficult to schedule a public breakdown and not inconvenience someone in the process. That and my timing has always sucked anyway. So to hell with it. It’s time to deal with Shit I Would Rather Not since the Mayans lied and the world did not end. Obviously.

Instead of focusing on the crazy in my head, though, I thought listening to a reading of It’s a Book by Lane Smith might cheer us all up. All I now is, hearing a five-year-old call a donkey a jackass is enough to make me crack a smile. Go ahead and put my name in for Mom of the Year. I’m writing my acceptance speech now.

 

 

 

 

So this one time I copied a Facebook update and turned it into a blog post...

Wrapping paper? Who the hell has time for wrapping paper? Santa has a WORLD full of children to make happy.

THINK OF THE TREES HE IS SAVING!

The Husband is brilliant.

Santa will never again wrap a fucking thing in our house.

Merry Christmas. And you’re welcome.

 

 

The problem with my brain not automatically transmitting my thoughts and images into blog posts that publish themselves is that I end up so far behind myself that it’s usually not worth catching up. But that’s only when I haven’t lost my mind just a few days shy of my 35th birthday and learned that the local health clinic for general care no longer prescribes ADHD meds to anyone over the age of 18 citing “problems” when they were.

In other words, all you assholes too lazy to search out your own community meth lab in Someone’s Basement because you didn’t need a prescription have now left me scrambling to find anyone who can get me legal speed in a bottle with my name on it before I run out of what I’ve got. Also, I’m wondering exactly how ADHD is supposed to magically fix itself once the patient turns 19 or if that’s the reason Somebody’s Basements keep popping up all over the place.

Other highlights from the past week or so include a depressive fog so thick I could make soup out of it and driving two hours to see Santa and showing up three times at the post office for holiday crap after my meds have worn off. I’m pretty sure the staff looks forward to the next time I stop in. Or maybe everyone in Maine is just that nice and I haven’t picked up on the “Dammit, the crazy lady’s here again” vibe. Either way, you get the rest of the inside of my head in between the lines.

Time to ditch the desert and embrace the snow. We drove to Bangor for our licenses. And then let Buttercup get her own state ID card because it's always important to add things to the list of shit I can lose. Plus side that I hope never has to be addressed: I checked the box on organ donor for mine and hers. The Husband, apparently, wants to retain his self-indulgent self and keep both kidneys because he might need them if, you know, he's dead. Buttercup and I took two photos each and waffled back and forth over which one we each liked better. The Husband's word after one take: Perfect. Which is good cuz that means the therapy and confidence building we've been working on seems to be helping.

 

Best Santa Ever. Except for the one in Rise of the Guardians movie. Which makes this guy #2 on the list. Buttercup made sure to tell him where ti buy that cardboard castle she wants and then Santa gave daddy his business card that daddy gave to me and this means daddy is an idiot becaue he gave something No to be Lost to Captain Distracted by Shiney Things. Either way, Santa? Please take a look at the picture following this one because it's kind of all I really want. Sincerely, Me.

 

I once had my mind set on a finger monkey and wrote a post about it and someone pinned the image I found online before I even knew what Pinterest was. Ever since, I've had thousands of searches per day sending people to my blog who were most likely disappointed in the lack of finger monkeys. But that's okay, Santa. I've grown up a bit and realized I'd rather have one of these babies. Just remember to poke a few holes in the box to help me avoid any awkwardness when opening and having to feign excitement over my new stuffed animal as to avoid traumatizing the small child in the room who will most likely be ignoring the world after she opens the iPad I plan on stealing for work when the Internet is out and I don't want to peck out a blog post on my phone. PS: A keyboard for that iPad would be a sweet bonus, since I've been so good. Mostly.

 

I'm allergic to everything. This is not an understatement. Going out to eat is akin to playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded pistol, so it's sweet and rekindles my faith in humanity when a waiter like Gunner (at Bugaboo Creek in Bangor) is so obviously anxious in making sure our order is exact, triple checking with the cooks in the kitchen, and reassures me that he is certified in CPR. I enjoyed my salmon fillet grilled in a clean pan with olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic and my steamed vegetables. I also almost tipped Gunner in money and Xanax because he was that afraid he was going to kill me and I felt bad because I don't think he did much breathing while we were there. I think I'm in love with Gunner. Buttercup approves.

 

Pretty, isn't it? Even when the power starts to flicker and eventually goes out completetly and you begin to appreciate the insulation job on the house because the heat's out and then you start adding layers and wondering if the generator we ordered two weeks ago will show up before or after The Husband sends us off to a hotel...it's still gorgeous.

 

 

The power is out. The iPod is out of battery. And step away from Mama's iPhone if you want to live to see Christmas, my child. And lo, she is suddenly giggling and laughing and remembering what it's like to play with real toys like blocks and her own imagination. Not a bad deal, if you ask me. Pardon me a moment so I can go instagram this sweet moment and then charge my phone so I can oooh and ahhhh at The Cute with the internet and ignore the double standard because this is my story and I get to make up the rules.

 

We haven't had power since morning. The generator is keeping us warm enough. And I actually remembered where the candles were. A Christmas miracle.

 

It's 3 a.m. and the dogs are barking like mad, which is unusual because we are renting a house on 8 acres and there's usually nothing to bark at. Turns out it's the plow guy and turns out it's the first of two times he'll be plowing the quarter mile driveway because it snowed like mad up here. Note: wearing fuzzy socks while runnin down carpeted stairs is not recommended. I slipped and basically louged down four stairs using my tailbone as a break. Cue up the next photo please...

 

If things work out the way I'm hoping, I'll eventually be famous for writing things that piss off my family because Mexicans suck at airing dirty laundry and Dr. Ouellette can be secondarily famous or being the guy who had to press a vibrating device to my tailbone to determine if the pain level meant I had just bruised or broken my ass bone. Right now, the general consensus is that I bruised the living shit out of it, which is impressive considering the padding I've got "in my trunk" right now. There's ice packs and peppermint oil and homemade salves and Dr. Ouellette pointing to the exact part of my ass that I shifted out of place when I fell down the stairs. I'm on a strict regime of no activities that could result in my further damaging my ass bone, which means ice skating and roller skating are out for right now. But I do have another date with Dr. Ouellette and the vibrating machine. You know, just to be sure...

 

And then I run out of steam. It’s 2 a.m. and I have words to write for the other site that doesn’t pay the bills but means the world to me and my sanity. I have more to share here. Until then, Happy Christmas Eve.

 

I’m exhausted, going through a pretty major depression I’m still working on pulling myself out of, and should have been asleep two hours ago, but I’m here sharing words instead because they are important. Clorox is sponsoring the Suena sin Limites (Dream Without Limits) Scholarship Program encouraging Latina teens and moms to dream big for a brighter future.

In partnership with the  Hispanic Scholarship Fund (HSF), Clorox has a special mission: to offer scholarships to college-bound Hispanic high schoolers and to Hispanic moms whose plans for their own education were interrupted.  Scholarship entries are due on December 21, so if you are just seeing this for the first time, pretend you aren’t aware that the program launched in September and let’s focus on the Me Being ADHD thing, so work with me here. You can thank me later for not posting this on Thursday.

Six mothers and six high school seniors planning to attend an accredited U.S. university during the 2013-2014 school year will be provided with a $10,000 scholarship to help them to advance their education.  To be considered for the scholarship, applicants must submit an essay detailing their life and academic goals, and their plans to achieve them by responding to the following questions:

  • What are your educational aspirations, what are your plans to reach them, and what support are you seeking to make them a reality?
  • How will this scholarship allow you to make your biggest dreams a reality, and how will your transformation allow you to give back to your family and community?

“Clorox is proud to partner, yet again, with the Hispanic Scholarship Fund to launch the ‘Sueña Sin Límites’ scholarship program,” said Jay Stilwell, Marketing Manager at The Clorox Company. “By awarding six $10,000 scholarships to moms who wish to continue their education and six $10,000 scholarships to high school seniors enrolling in university, our hope is to help them achieve the goals they’ve set for themselves, their families and their communities.”

“It is never too late to earn a college degree,” says Frank D. Alvarez, President and CEO of the Hispanic Scholarship Fund. “With this program, Clorox demonstrates our shared commitment to the success of Hispanic students and their families, and supports our goal of placing a college degree in every Latino household across America.”

Applicants who meet HSF’s full eligibility criteria can submit an application and upload their essay at http://www.hsf.net/Clorox.

The 12 scholarship recipients, chosen based on HSF’s selection criteria and the quality of the essay, will be announced publicly in May 2013 by Galilea Montijo at a community event in Miami.

For more information on the “Sueña Sin Límites” scholarship program and the HSF events, visit www.SueñaSinLimites.com.

 

For more information about the Hispanic Scholarship Fund please visit: www.HSF.net  www.HSF.net.

You still here? It’s Tuesday. You want to win this scholarship. Put down the iPhone, tell Mami you’ve got to hang up and talk later, and just apply. Four days is plenty of time to dedicate just a few moments to dreaming about a life without limits.

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