There is a pretty cool movement afoot. It's women rebelling against the massive tide of pornified women being held up in advertising and fitness circles as being the norm. I am totally down with that movement. The airbrushed, photoshopped, sexy images that plague us when we are trying to go about our daily lives have entered our psyches as what is normal, desirable and right. The reality of women's bodies, particularly as they change and age, is being wiped out of our consciousness. What? Women DON'T snap back to a size 6 immediately after giving birth? What? Smooth perfect tummies are actually the exception and not the rule when it comes to women who have had babies? Poor men. They are being sold such a lie.

Anyway, I agree, these ideas are totally false, and should not be promoted in any way.

But you know what?

I don't love my post baby body. Like, at all.

And I feel guilty about that. Especially now with all the "love your body no matter what" mommy blogs all over the place.

I hate the literally torn muscles in my abdomen. They don't support my organs at all. I hate my stretch marks. They are ugly. There is nothing beautiful and nothing to love about the lumps and sags of the extra skin carrying my children caused me to grow, that I will never be rid of unless I consent to having it cut from my body.

It doesn't matter how much weight I lose, or how in shape I become, or how many miles I can actually run. My belly, my muscles, the skin around my middle will never be pretty to me. I don't care who I housed in there for 9 months.

I think we are doing a disservice to women to tell them they have to love it. No matter what. Because it is a result of our darling children.

I wish this had never happened to my body. I wish I could still take a crap without supporting my perineum because I have a prolapse. I wish I could look down at my belly and not see the literal scars on my skin left by the literal tearing of the underlayers of my dermis. I wish my intestines and other organs had a secure safe home and didn't flop about, kinking and causing excruciating gas build up because they don't lay where they are supposed to because my abdominal wall doesn't support them anymore. I have passed out from that pain before. It's not pretty. And it never will be.

Doesn't mean I don't love my kids. It doesn't make me less of a mother.

See, maybe  it is because I am at least 3 years out from having a little one who depended on my existence for her very sustenance, and I don't cradle her on my lap every night, nourishing her to sleep with my own body, that I can see that I am actually more than just someone's mom.

I am still someone's lover. I can see beyond the years of raising kids, now, as my oldest is nearing adulthood, and I can actually fathom it being just me and the man I am married to as the focus of my life. I can see that horizon, and I don't like the idea of living it with this body.

I am not going to pretend it's pretty anymore. It's not. I resent being told I should love it. Because I don't. And I really can't be arsed to worry about one more way that I am failing at being a woman.

It started with a butterfly.

Okay, back up, it actually started with Catherine. Of course it did, don’t all great Muse gig stories start with Catherine?

We met her in the queue, and she was fantastic, and lovely, and had so many fun stories, and lots of inside tips and information. She was a pleasure to talk to, and it was amazing to meet her. Someone with her level of experiences with this band could easily be jaded, or smug, or stubbornly quiet about her stories, but she was none of those things, and I hope when I am on my 105^th gig, I am as wonderfully sweet and kind, and still in love with this band.

So, anyway, there was this butterfly. We had been sitting around all day in the line, and we had made up our sign, and had eaten our dinner, and had taken all our stuff back to our car across the street. They were getting ready to open the doors and we were sitting under this tree that had been like our touch point all day. It was a funny little tree, that we had joked had gotten drunk. You see, it was covered in spring blossoms. He hadn’t gotten the memo that not only was spring over, but time had sped by, and not only had he missed summer, he was two days away from the beginning of Autumn! 

There were insects and honey bees crawling all over those blossoms all day. Anyway, my son said to the tree, looks like you got drunk and passed out, tree, and all your friends decided to play a trick on you and covered you in blossoms!

So, as we were sitting there, a butterfly came by. A big, orange and black butterfly whizzed just past us, and my husband, my son, and the nice guy (Hi Jordan, if you are out there! Hope you made barrier!) all noticed it fly by, and we all had a laugh that all we needed was a good stiff breeze, and we’d have Butterflies and Hurricanes.  My son remarked that maybe it was a sign. Silly boy. Of course they were not going to play Butterflies and Hurricanes!!

So, after some minor irritation at some people who apparently saved places in line for about four people all day, but neglected to get them numbers, (which meant that we were actually more like, numbers 28 through 30, meaning, people who got there 10 minutes before the gig got better spots than the family who queued behind us all day, grrr…) we were let in, and made it to our spots at the barrier. 

Now, I had wanted Matt’s side, but part of me was conflicted, because even though I am a total Matt girl, whenever I pictured myself at the barrier, for some reason I pictured myself on Chris’s side. It turned out, by the time we got down to the floor the only part of the barrier left was Chris’s side, so we rushed over and took it.

We sat down, backs to the wall, and began watching the arena fill up. I heard a security person say they sold 1500 General Admission tickets, and I began to panic because the floor space did not look big enough to accommodate that many people. To this day, I think they oversold the floor, because we were packed in there like sardines, much more tightly than either of the other arenas I had been to this tour.

I am writing this days later, and the details have become a bit sketchy, but I will do the best I can. We quickly made friends with the people who were squished against our backs. Great people all around us, except for one guy who began pushing and shoving trying to start a pit with people who were not interested. He eventually left.

I don’t remember a lot from the first few songs of the set, because I was just in utter amazement of the visuals, and the pyramid, and the fact that Chris Wolstenholme is one sexy mofo, even more so in person. Like, pictures do not do this man justice. I could wax on here, but suffice it to say: He’s hot.

I remember dancing my ass off to Panic Station. I remember being a bit perplexed about the placement of Super Massive Black Hole. I remember also, watching Chris and singing the backing vocals with him for that song, and him looking down at us with this little smile. That was the first time I remember seeing him taking some pleasure in the crowd reaction. This became the theme of the night. Dom and Chris were interacting, laughing, shaking their heads in amazement at the crowd All. Night. 

During Time Is Running Out, the crowd was jumping, Matt commented twice on it. Nice bounce, I think was what he said. Plug in Baby was especially manic, with Dom taking an extended drum outro, that both Matt and Chris shook their heads laughing at.

At Knights, Jake held up his sign for the first time.  The crowd was absolutely mental for most of this song, singing the riff, jumping in time, and Chris made eye contact with us a few times. But the best part was at the end, when Dom is absolutely knackered, and doing the cymbal crashes. Jake was air drumming the cymbal crashes with him, and Dominic looked right at him, smiling, and then pointed his stick at him.

So, we got to the point of the show where we are able to chill and enjoy Monty Jam, so I knew the piano selection was next. As the piano  came up from the floor, I was searching for the megaphone, because I just knew it was going to be Feeling Good. We’d gotten a pretty standard set, and almost identical to our Vegas show, aside from having had both Map of the Problematique (Which ended with a jam: I think it was the 10100100 or whatever jam. Fabri and Kueller can correct that later I am sure, lol) and Hysteria (which was a nice surprise.) 

So, I figured Feeling Good would be up next, because they played Sunburn in Denver. When I didn’t see the megaphone, I settled in and accepted we’d get Eurasia, because come on.

But no, Matt said “This is an old one, sing if you know it” or something. In my head I was racking my brain trying to think of old piano songs they could pull out, that made sense, and my head was spinning.  It didn’t hit me that he was playing Sunburn at first.  I think the coolest part, and the part that once again, seemed to amuse Dom and Chris, was that THE CROWD KNEW IT. We were all singing along, we were all losing our minds, knowing how special it was to get this song. At the end I just started to cry. The girl next to me just patted my back and said “I know, right?”

I know for a Matt girl, this narrative is sorely lacking in Matt material. To be honest, he didn’t come over to our side very often. I was far enough down to where I had turn my head pretty far over to see him when he was on the thrust, and he rarely crossed the center of the stage over to our side. Some memorable moments from him were when he was playing the siren intro to PiB, and was dragging it out as long as possible, and when he rode the drum kit during Liquid State, and of course, the Star Spangled Banner which he also drew out as long as possible, making Chris stand and wait to hit the thrust for the beginning of Hysteria. As we were waiting for Matt to finish, the whole side of the barrier on Chris’s side began chanting, “Chris! Chris! Chris”

As you can probably tell, Chris sort of stole the show for me.

Anyway, long story short, you think that the guys are not noticing what is happening in front of them because, Chris especially doesn’t show much on his face. But the truth is, they notice a lot. More on that in the closing sentiments.

Anyway, so as the set was progressing, I realized I had no idea what to expect next. Madness got a huge reception, and I saw that it visibly moved all three of the guys. We made little hearts with our hands. But when it ended I had no idea where Muse was going to take us next so I was watching Matt carefully, and he was frantically running his fingers through his hair as he had been throughout the gig. He wiped his hands  on his pants before grabbing up his guitar. And I heard the first hints…

I knew what it was right away. I think I said “Oh my heck” (That’s my Utah Mormon coming out, lol) and Matt launched into Butterflies and Hurricanes. Jake held up his sign. Dominic saw it, acknowledged him.  It was a lovely few minutes of bliss, and I am pretty sure I was sobbing by the end of that one too.

I don’t really remember much after that until the end.

There was Starlight, ushered on by the massive amount of cell phone lights that lit up the arena like the night sky. Matt was exceptionally focused on the crowd, came over to our side, gave us some eye sex,  and was gone again. Survival was massive, pounding, Matt’s relentless grinding the guitar on outro was heavy and Chris’s bass was bone rattling. Finally, it was over.

Chris was fairly subdued for the whole  gig aside from the smiles and nods and laughing a bit with Dom, you wouldn’t think he had any strong feelings about the crowd in particular. But at the end, he was beaming at us, bowing, waving, saying thank you, walking around. He gave us a wave, and a thank you, and as he walked away he intercepted Dom who had come down as usual from his throne to say thank you in the mic. Matt was waving, and had already started walking back stage as Chris pulled Dom aside, and put his arm around his neck.

 I watched as Dom leaned in to hear what he was saying. Chris began pointing in our direction, as Jake was holding up his sign. The sign read “ Dom! Aspiring drummer seeks sticks!” I could tell he was saying “This kid right down here, with the sign” Dom was nodding as if to say “Yes, I see him.” And sure enough he jumped down, crouched at the edge of the stage and offered his stick to Jake, telling the security guard “This is for him! Okay? Got it?” Looking at Jake he said “You got it? Great!” We all screamed “Thank you!” and Dom smiled at Jake and said “Thanks, cheers!”

I looked up and saw Chris had walked to the other side of the stage, and as he turned around to walk off stage, he faced us and met my gaze. I blew him a big kiss. He put his hand up toward his heart, and cocked his head, giving me a bright big smile, and a thumbs up, and waved as he walked away.

Dom walked to the mic, told the crowd we were “fucking great” and promised that they’d be back. As he walked away, we got one more point from him and a wave, and just like that it was over.

As we were walking off the floor, and up the stairs, Jake said to us: “Oh. Mom. The Butterfly. Remember, we saw a butterfly?”

I started to tear up a bit. I thought about the tree. I thought how the silly tree didn’t even realize he wasn’t supposed to be brand new anymore, he wasn’t supposed to be bright with the freshness of spring at the end of summer, attracting the good things in life like the beautiful flutter of butterfly wings.

And I thought to myself, “What if I just decided that I don’t care that it is the proverbial autumn of my youth. What if I just decide to blossom, and attract wonderful experiences and beauty, just like that tree attracted the beautiful  Monarch that heralded the playing of Butterflies and Hurricanes tonight?”

It all sounds pretty dramatic. But you know, there’s a reason I am attracted to the drama and beauty of Muse. It helps me make sense of my life, my emotions, my experiences. I don’t play an instrument. I can barely read music. I don’t know much about the technique and theory behind the music that moves me so. But I know what touches me, and makes me feel hopeful and connected to all the good things in the world. I am blessed to have had wonderful experiences with some of the people that bring that to my life, and this is one of those moments that I will call back on when life begins to wear me down again.

And I could not have been more blessed than I was that night to have shared this wonderful experience with two of the five people I love most in the world.; the love of my life, and my amazing oldest child. Until next time, Muse, and there WILL be a next time!

My Little Girl’s Shoulders

My beautiful little girl has a very strong pair of shoulders. She’s always been active, she exercises often, and has recently entered into a dance class, where precision and movement will only enhance those muscles. She uses her shoulders to carry her baby sister around sometimes. They are useful for waving, riding a bike, and turning cartwheels in the yard. Her shoulders serve her well.

Despite being strong, they are very small. They are delicately formed, and beautiful to look at. She’s a slender girl, and though she is very strong, let me tell you what my strong little girl’s shoulders are not strong enough to bear.

My little girls shoulders were not made, nor were they ever meant to hold the weight of your young boy’s sins.

Let me explain. In the midst of the uproar of the Miley Cyrus MTV VMA debacle my Facebook page and many online news outlets were scattered with commentary on decency, modesty, and similar topics. Most every single one made the same contention: We women need to treat our sexuality with more respect so that our male neighbors, sons, nephews, and fellow human beings aren’t needlessly inundated with reminders of our sexuality.

I find this disturbing on two levels. One, this assumption boils men down to mindless animals incapable of thinking beyond what turns them on. Two, because men are animals incapable of thinking beyond what turns them on, we need to temper our behavior, appearance, and attitudes to make sure we don’t “tempt them” beyond their ability to bear.

Hogwash. I am an LDS mom of four. I have two boys and two girls. I teach my girls to make clothing choices appropriate to the activity they are participating in. But I admit I am not terribly worried about my daughter’s clothing. I feel that makes me the minority in my cultural bubble. I teach both my boys and my girls that sexual response is normal and desirable, and that it is to be used judiciously and between a husband and wife.

 But I also teach my BOYS, that regardless of what they find attractive and arousing, they are NEVER to think of women or girls in a way that demeans her status as child of God. 

Even if she is making mistakes. 

Even if she offers.

 It is always his responsibility to control his own actions and appetites and feelings.

Reading the many responses on Social Media this week has brought me to tears, and made me begin to question the way society and our church is handling this issue. My daughter is inundated with mixed messages every single day. 

She watches the pretty girls at school who look like playboy models get the boyfriends.  Message: This is what makes girls lovable. Do this. 

In church she hears that girls who dress immodestly are tempting to boys, and being too pretty and alluring is leading her fellow brothers in Christ to sin.  Message: His sins are because you look too pretty. Don't do that.

I can’t, and I won’t align with either of these messages. We need to move beyond the way we teach our young women modesty. We need to make it less about sex, and more about self respect, propriety, and reaching our goals.

I totally and completely expect my daughter to mess up and be confused and maybe make a serious mistake as she grows up and finally becomes comfortable in her own skin. I expect her to, in a desperate ploy to get noticed by the boy she likes, wear a skirt that might be a little too short, or to wear a bit too much lip gloss. 

Moms of boys, my daughter will try to attract your boy. I think that is pretty normal. So you better teach your boy that he’s going to be sexually aroused at some point while looking at my daughter, selfie or no selfie. And I hope you choose to teach him that sexual arousal is a normal part of life, and gives him no excuse to objectify my daughter. 

My daughter’s bare shoulders are no excuse for your son to violate his Priesthood covenants. I will do my best to teach my daughter to temper her earthly appetites and passions. You teach your sons the same, and we should be just fine.  

There's a mirror right in front of my treadmill at my gym. The first day I braved the little torture device, I was very uncomfortable looking up at my reflection as I walked. I didn't want to see myself huffing and puffing and jiggling all over the place.

As time has worn on, I find that far from being uncomfortable with that mirror, I can't stop looking at it. I walk very fast on the treadmill, and brave short, running intervals as I start to feel ready. My cheeks flush a very pretty shade of pink when my blood gets pumping. My skin sort of glows a bit when I sweat. My hair, too short still to form a neat pony tail, sort of flows freely around my face. I lift it up and hold it atop my head as I walk occasionally, singing quietly along to the music on my iPod.

Damn. I look pretty. What a revelation.

Since I have been on a regular exercise program for a week, now, I thought I'd share some thoughts I have had about the concept of body hatred.

I have been doing 20 minutes of cardio a day (I am down to a 20 minute mile. I know that doesn't sound very good, but believe me, for the girl who never could run, even at her most fit, this is a good thing.) and doing some exercise to strengthen my non existent core. My attitude about my body over the last week or so that I have been committed to losing weight has surprised me.

I thought that once I got going I would feel so self conscious about myself around all these fit people at the gym, that I would be motivated to work my big butt off all that much more. I thought that it would spur me deeper into self loathing, so that I would be motivated to change myself.

First of all, the only fit people I see at my gym are the trainers. And that's because my one if particular is in her 20s and hasn't had any babies yet!

Secondly, and this is strange, I am actually finding my body less repulsive than when I first started. I haven't lost an inch around my waist. I haven't lost a pound. But I find myself sort of admiring the curve of my hips when I see them in the mirror, instead of focusing on my stretch marks. I feel less like engaging in that negative self talk that led me down such a dark path over the past year. Instead, I look down at my legs and think "Oh, wow, look at that calf muscle! I am so lucky I can walk!" or "Hey, my bicep is actually performing pretty well with these weights!" When before, I would have thought only about my skinny ankles, or how flabby the underside of my upper arms are.

Now, I have a ways to go before I can look at my belly and think "Hey, what a great asset!",  but, I think I am actually seeing it for what it is now instead of seeing the warped version I am used to in my mind. I am not thin, yet, but I actually have a pretty well defined waist. I couldn't see that two weeks ago.

I am actually feeling more energetic, and very grateful for every part of me. I have a heart that pumps blood and lungs that take oxygen to my cells. My hands soothe my children's owies, my legs carry me where I need to go. All the hard work of moving my body has made me incredibly grateful for it.

You know, perhaps body hatred is a fairly new phenomenon because our ancestors didn't have modern conveniences that eliminate the hard work of day to day living. Who had time to hate your thighs, when you were busy scrubbing clothes at the river, or gathering that night's food, or milking your cows? All you knew, is that your body was carrying you around, helping you do the tasks throughout the day that keep you alive. What is not to love about arms to hold your babies? About the breasts that nurtured them through infancy?

Exercising my body has given me a taste of that hard work.  No, I haven't lost anything yet. But I sure have gained a whole lot.

Well. It's been a (very) long time. Two years actually. Over the past year or so, I kept thinking, boy I really should write something of these experiences I am having. I kept promising myself I'd catch back up, and then something else would happen, and I'd say "Maybe when it all settles down."

It never settles down. Seriously.

It pretty much has been a year or so of hell. I sank into a deep dark place. A lot of aggravating factors came into play. I nearly left the church. Again. I was on the brink of something awful. I ruined Thanksgiving when my parents came up to visit, and I didn't even really notice that my behavior was all that off...Our car died, we were pretty much broke for a year, 1/2 of our family caught strep (some of us more than once), and I am pretty sure I lost my mind. Like, not getting out of bed for days out of my mind.

Sigh.

I got into therapy, quit my calling (that is an interesting story in and of itself, and let's just say I am still healing from being the Cubmaster.), and got a job.

And I feel like a new person. I am still healing. I still have (a lot of) bad days, and quite frankly, I am still deciding what kind of person and who I really am. Some parts of my life just don't seem to fit me anymore, and I am really struggling trying to make them. I don't know how it will all work out, but it is and will continue to be a pretty scary path.

You see, I have always felt like there were two different sides of me constantly at war with each other. The super responsible, rule following, peacemaking, almost painfully good girl. And the rebellious, independent, wanna be rock chick. I don't know how to merge these two people and sometimes it causes me extreme discomfort in my personal relationships. I sort of feel like I have to hide one or the other depending on who I am with.

Not really sure what to make of it, but it sounds like something I need to work out with my therapist.

Anyway, I'd love to spill some of my guts about what is happening in my head, but something tells me this isn't the right venue. I want to talk about how I never thought that having social problems with people at church could dim the light of my testimony. But I know I can't. It's not all clear in my own head, i am not sure I need the extra input from someone else's head right now. But let me just say that I will never mock and roll my eyes at people who say they've left due to being offended again. It was so much more than just "being offended". Wounded is a good word. I have a hard time showing my face around these people, and I simply feel absolutely defeated.

Not sure that's the best environment to feel close to God. I know it's never felt the same since.

I'd also like to talk about how crushing boredom, I have found, is actually a pretty good indicator of depression. Who knew. God, I am bored. But again, not sure I am ready for any judgments and advice on that yet, either.

So, I can mention what has happened in the last year or so. Jake finished 8th grade and is off to high school next year. He's discovered the drums and is in the pit for marching band in the fall. Angelice just finished 5th grade and is off to middle school next year. She's wearing a bra now. I don't know how to accept that. She needs braces, and wants to play the clarinet. Ben finished first grade, and boy aren't we all relieved. He is a slow starter, that boy, and worked his butt off all year to catch up to reading at grade level. Now, he's actually reading ahead of grade level, and we couldn't be prouder. Holly is a helluva spitfire. She's 4 now, and "not a baby anymore, momma." We butt heads a bit, but she is the cutest thing ever, and the light of my life. I would be insane right now if it weren't for these great kids.

I got a job and credit that and therapy with my ongoing recovery. Something about earning my own money, and deciding for myself what to with it has made me feel like I can go on.

I have also developed a pretty hardcore addiction to music. I could go on for days about the new bands I am listening to, and what their music means to me, and how I have felt solace in the lyrics and melodies. How  finding beauty in something has given me the hope to continue getting better.

So. There's a bit of an update. I have quite a lot on my mind lately, so I might be back here more often. Naw. Let's not get carried away. LOL.

While the Children Run Wild

While the children run wild, my husband studies his chemistry. While the children run wild, the two of us get some much needed alone time. During their screamfests upstairs in their rooms, I frantically start more laundry and hunt down shoes before getting ready to head out to Pack Meeting.

While the children play raucous games of tigers or cops and robbers, screaming at the tops of their lungs, arguing about whose turn it is to hold the Nerf dart gun with the laser light, I am desperately trying to throw some dinner into the oven, wash the dishes from lunch and breakfast, clean the bathroom, all at the same time.

Why do I let my kids run wild? Why do I let them destroy the top floor of our apartment? Why, oh why, do I not race up the stairs when one of them begins screaming, when I hear a thump, when someone's crying?

Because I have finally learned my lesson.

I cannot control everything. I cannot solve every argument, nor should I. I am very busy. I run a household where 6 people live, sleep, eat, clean themselves, play, do their homework. It takes time and energy to keep it organized and running. If I didn't leave my kids alone for 20 minutes, I would never have things for them to eat off of. If I didn't ignore that thump or that argument, I would never get dinner made. Or get a shower. Or have clean laundry.

So, I am DONE worrying about what the neighbors think of my screaming kids. It's who they are. We are loud. We express our opinions. My kids enjoy playing rough sometimes. They don't give in when they want something. And I have 6 loads of laundry, 2 loads of dishes, three big bags of trash to take out, and three meals to make. Sorry. They're going to scream.