Nothing Sweet About Driving Like an A-Hole
I drive like an a-hole.
I’m aggressive, sloppy and often angry.
I justify this by saying I’m assertive, agile, and often the victim of
crappy drivers.
Insert f-bomb here.
The reality is I drive like an a-hole because I’m late for everything.
While the reason for this is a future blog post entirely, the point is the other day the voice in my head screamed ~
STOP DRIVING LIKE AN A-HOLE!!!!
The scream was so overdue. A few weeks ago I “assertively” navigated the highway at 5 AM in a hurry to meet a group of Sweetlife Adventures carpooling to climb Mount Bierstadt. I pulled into the designated parking lot to learn that one of the cars I “maneuvered around with agility” was one of the coolest adventurers ever, Jen P.
Fortunately Jen P is hilarious and gave me the well deserved razzing. I let my a-holeness seep in all the way up to 14,060 feet while hoping the high altitude oxygen deprivation would give her short term memory loss.
Jen P (far left) rocked the summit.
So here’s my point.
We all want to be the best versions of ourselves. And sometimes we realize we’re not. This ongoing journey is what makes life rich & spicy and allows us to fine tune our gifts. When we find an area for improvement, we have to dig deep to find the required strength to acknowledge it and commit to improving.
Driving rose higher on my (long) list of improvement areas.
In what ways do you want to be better? What can you do to start making it happen?
A big first step for me starts with car maintenance. Here was my dash that day –
Exhibit A: A-Hole Driver Inside & Out
Even the most cautious of drivers would pull out their inner a-hole when they realize they have no gas and long overdue maintenance. Helloooo?
I’ll be hitting the roads with a new attitude this week. If you get cut off by a gray Honda Pilot, feel free to give me the bird or shake your head in shame. But please know I’m trying.
Important Note: if I carpool with you, rest assured I am not a dangerous driver. I promise I am worthy of driving your child…just not borrowing your car.
A Day’s Yin & Yang
Spending an October weekday at a California beach is pure soul food.
A morning run on the boardwalk by myself (literally – didn’t see another person for the better part of it) provided me an hour with a wave-crashing soundtrack and my thoughts. I put one foot in front of the other and took deep breaths.
Halfway through, I saw this tree.
It reminded me of the Baobabs in Senegal.
Senegal made think of my sweet friend Peg.
Thinking of Peg, a master of going the extra mile to make a moment magic, made me run toward the tree for a closer look.
At the tree I saw the tide was out and the beach was perfect for running. *I had missed this opportunity completely because the night before, at high tide, the deep, soft sand convinced me my morning run would have to be on the boardwalk. All barney. No kahuna.
Now on perfectly packed sand, I watched the waves while my calves lit up a few degrees warmer.
I ran toward the Balboa Pier, marked by Ruby’s Diner.
Ruby’s Diner is packed with sweet memories, stretching from my childhood to my own children.
Outside Ruby’s Diner – 10/10/12
The memory reel played. The waves crashed. I ran.
Allowing my mind to wander felt good. Letting my feet follow was added adventure.
In sweet balance, later in the day I allowed mind and body to rest. It looked something like this. Simple. Real. Peaceful.
I will forever be grateful for this day’s yin and yang.
Sunset – 10/10/12
Sweet Smell of Ikea
Sunday was errand day. With just the girls, I thought it would be a snap.
Wasn’t that a cute thought?
Hudson’s last minute invitation to a buddy’s house left me with this ~
“Time for my A-game.”
With a to-do list 4 days long, my tactics didn’t exactly start strong.
Me: I guess if you’re going to cry, we’ll take back those fancy wedding shoes you just got. (*yeah right, you can just go barefoot in Aunt Jen’s 5-star wedding…)
Louder.
“I got her right where I want her.”
Me, with finger pointed (sad but true): SERIOUSLY Raleigh stop right now. I am not spending my day with a crying girl who…..INSERT CHARLIE BROWN TEACHER VOICE HERE…
Louder with added shriek and shoulder shrug.
“I own her.”
I blared music.
I took deep breaths.
I video’ed her. (hence the above photos. We’ve had some previous car ride debacles where the video has proven helpful on many levels.)
As the third born, Raleigh learned early on she often gets what she wants. Everyone is too busy. She knows the game. And she plays it very well. She is determined. She doesn’t blink in staring contests.
Finally, exhausted, I was thinking out loud.
Me: Should we have lunch at Ikea or Target?
Raleigh, totally normal voice: Target. Ikea’s food smells funny.
Stunned, I rolled with it. We dissected her dislike of the smell of Swedish fast food. We chatted about the pros of Target’s selections.
A simple distraction. A thought she could sink her teeth into. That easy.
Sometimes that’s all we need to back out of our dark place. A tasty thought shift. A focus on the bottom of Maslow’s pyramid.
As we entered Ikea hand-in-hand, I took special notice of the smell.
It was kind of funny.
Private Birthday Adventure
Once every 365.25 days, we are given a day that makes us smile inside and out.
With the help of some dear friends, this birthday adventure was the perfect celebration of health, happiness, and friendship.
Overlooking Red Rocks.
A nice long hike.
Lunch al fresco.
Lovely views, near and far.
Happy birthday sweet Monica! xo
Sweet as a Monkey’s Butt
Our oldest two kids did their first triathlon on Sunday.
Proud finishers – our buddy Karson, Hudson & Briggs
On Saturday, our daughter was doing a bike warm-up. She said she was going to do 5 laps around our block. When I saw her stop after one, I asked why. In a busy alley full of kids, she replied loudly “I have monkeybutt.”
Some important notes ~
*If needed, learn more about monkeybutt. (least crude definition available)
Yes, Baboon Butt would be more accurate.
*Hudson is our first born. She is a reserved rule follower. She is sweet, polite, and never wants to disappoint (to the degree that she’ll suppress a cough when she is sick so we don’t worry.) She does not seek center stage.
*Since diaper days, we’ve used the term monkeybutt regularly. Clearly to our kids, it’s a widely understood state of being. I’m hungry. I’m hot. I have monkeybutt.
Hudson’s monkeybutt declaration was matter of fact. No shame. No concern for who heard the private nature of the situation.
I’m torn how I feel about this.
I grew up ordering dunkntoast eggs at restaurants and receiving the odd stare from the server. Mom would jump in and explain “over easy.” No real harm done.
Dunkntoast eggs.
Will monkeybutt be Hudson’s dunkntoast eggs? In many ways – no harm done, right?
Well, unless she’s answering the Word of the Week in class.
Word of the Week: Irritating
Hudson: Having monkeybutt is irritating.
Errr….
All of us have a special language that is part of our family culture. Do you have terms (crude or otherwise) that seem natural and appropriate until you take them to the outside world? Have you ever had to find replacements?
Side note – Hudson’s sweet friends clearly love her, monkeybutt and all. These were waiting when they came home.
Riding off into the Sunset
A ranch, sweet couples, and Mother Nature’s A-game made for a beautiful Adventure Date Night last night.
Are we really minutes from Denver?
The ride up Mount Carbon with Wrangler Cliff at the helm.
Lovebirds at the top.
Chow time – Sweetlife style.
Kerry & Jason riding off into the sunset. Love.
The Sweet & Sour Juggle
I’m kind of a good juggler. (It’s random and not that exciting, but read more here if you’re curious.)
By definition, as a juggler you find dropping balls super annoying. And disappointing. And a reflection of your ability (or lack thereof).
There’s nothing sweet about dropping balls. Real or metaphoric.
The last few weeks, some unexpected “adventures” (trying to being kind here) made me drop balls left and right. Like New Years Eve & Groundhog Day throwing up on each other. It was annoying, disappointing, and, I obsessed, a reflection of my lacking ability.
But then the other day, through the clarity of a much needed run, a wave of warmth rushed over me. I realized a few really important things:
A lot of balls stayed in the air with helping hands. Through ties of blood, law, or blackmailable shenanigans, the people who always say they are there for me, were. They caught my stage dive and threw me back up. There are so many thank yous to share but suffice it to say, I’ll forever be front row at their shows.
Balls that did hit the ground haven’t rolled away. Some balls did drop. They hit the ground. Nothing earth shattering (as feared), just a solid plop. And then they waited patiently by my feet. With a little tlc and a gentle toss, they’re ready to get back in the flow. And slowly, one by one, they are.
The show goes on…and the audience can’t see backstage. We see the people around us and we write their stories, as seen through our own lens. There’s great beauty and great danger in that, but either way it reminds me to give the benefit of the doubt to the grumpy person who cuts in the Starbucks line whenever I have the strength to do so. She may really need that hot drink to deal with the hot mess of her backstage.
Maybe what I’m realizing is we can be thankful for our involuntary enrollment at the school of hard knocks. With some digging, we graduate with a little more strength and gratitude, go back on stage, and keep trying to take life by the balls. (ba-dum-cha)
Behold the Sweet…Beauty?
What is your reaction to these?
Exactly. Mine too.
Yes – these are the bad boys Briggs will proudly be sporting on his first day of second grade. Good luck Ms. Silva.
These would not have been my first choice. Or 44th. But he loves them. He is fast and proud and just plain cool. He is somebody in these shoes.
Yes – beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Of course the fact I’ve spent 2 seconds thinking about this is ridiculous. The obvious concern is covered – our child has sturdy shoes to protect his feet. I am grateful. Let that be enough.
While we take the first day of school photos next Monday, I will behold the sweet beauty in the proud smile on his face.
That is more than enough.
(But just between you and me, I will be trying not to look down.)
Sweet Jar of Happy
The cool(er) temperatures in the mornings this week are a gentle reminder that a transition is approaching. Fresh routines. School. Sports. Schedules.
I recently saw this posting on the Facebook Page Homestead Survival, at it’s core a blog dedicated to emergency preparedness and homesteading but full of many sweet ideas for sharing gratitude and living in the moment. Always looking for opportunities to keep our daily life full of adventure and enriching experiences, this will be a great way to honor the seasonal flow.
Happy Jar
What you need:
- Mason jar
- Scraps of (recycled) paper
- Pens
- 10 seconds every now and then to share your thoughts
Start the school year with an empty jar. Each day jot down things that made you happy and pop them in. Everyone in the house can play – drawings welcome.
Making that glass jar half full will be a constant reminder of the happy around us each day.
On the last day of school it will be a treat to open. All those scribbles of joy will be mini sponges allowing us to soak in the happiness of the year.
Often something so simple can mean so much. Do you have any special fall or back to school traditions to help with this time of transition?
Sweeten the Taste of Fear
Trying something new is scary.
Often our natural reaction is to avoid feeling vulnerable and exposed. Duh, right?
Except we know those are exactly the types of experiences that help us grow. Learn. Be better.
It was this (annoying but true) perspective that inspired my first triathlon last weekend – the Tri for the Cure.
Hugely motivated by the sweet friends who were willing to hop on board (for similar reasons or just because they ROCK) I still felt major panic.
Now that it’s (happily) over, I’ve been reflecting on a few key things that made it work (aside from the awesome early morning hairdo).
Whether it’s a race, new hobby, or old lingering fear, these universal tips for tackling the next “no-thank-you-but-yes-I-kind-of-want-to-but-I’m-really-scared” challenge may come in handy.
5 Ways to Sweeten the Taste of Fear
1. Declare It
Say it. Say it loud. Spray it if you need to. Tell anyone who will listen. It will become a self fulfilling prophecy and you’ll have people to be accountable to everywhere you turn.
2. Rally the Troops
Ask (beg or bribe) others to do it with you. Having friends/family/co-workers engage with you offers sweet opportunities to incorporate the preparations into your regular routine, providing a sense of normalcy (Kirsten and I often combined our early morning swims with breakfast meetings). You also get to cross-motivate, share stories, and complain about required sacrifices.
3. Do (but don’t overdo) Due Diligence
Gather information. Ask for tips. Watch youtube videos. Get comfortable with what you’re taking on. But also be careful not to gather so much info you get overwhelmed.
My bike was doing just fine until I learned details about tire pressure, freaked out and ending up with a flat tire at 7 pm on the eve of the race. I really doubt the extra 10 psi I was concerned about made even a 10 second difference.
*Speaking of information – for anyone considering a triathlon, Kirsten found this great Triathlon Training blog post from Healthy Tipping Point. Good stuff.
4. Get organized
Get your supplies ready in advance. Practice setting up if needed. Geek out on this to minimize any day-of anxiety.
There was a huge sigh of relief as I took this photo. Kind of like that oddly warm & fuzzy moment when you sit down on the plane for a big trip knowing you did all you could and you’re S.O.L. on anything you missed. Love that feeling.
(*Huge thanks to Jen & Mason for the compression socks that kept the blood flowing at 5 am.)
5. Sit in the Fear
Even with all the prep, training, positive affirmations, and killer pink knee highs, a moment arrived while waiting to enter the water when the fear really kicked in. Seconds from jumping in, a Blake Lively look-alike in pro gear grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me in the eyes and said “You’re going to freak out for 15 seconds. Just keep swimming. It will be ok.”
She was so right (except it was more like 15 minutes). But I was ok. I knew I was going to be scared and when it happened I was able to just sit in it and be scared. I kept swimming (thank you breast stroke) and let the fear percolate. And slowly, like all things in life, it passed.
Sunday was a day of growth. Good stuff. Topped off with a sweet celebration at the end and the bonus aspect of modeling how to take on new challenges. This one definitely involved our village.
Proud of mommy (or excited to get to the sweet jumpy castle at the after race party?).
Huge congratulations to Rachel, Kirsten, & Carla (who ranked 2nd in her division!!!) for rocking this day!
Share with us – how do you sweeten the taste of fear?
Sweetly,
kristi
SweetTalk 