Category: family time

With Effort…

Nina Chapman1 Comment

Hi friends.

Did you miss me?

I sure missed you. I haven’t written one blog post during my summer break. It feels weird but it was intentional for several reasons. However, the main reason was due to the fact that there was something that I’ve been needing to do but have been putting off.

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You see, I’ve had this project burning in the back of my head, a book that I’ve wanted to write for over 6 years. It was something that scared the crap out of me because…

1.) With effort comes the possibility of failure.

2.) Some of the content required me to dig deep and address the insecurities I had growing up in order to make my character authentic.

I knew that if I got into the swing of writing blog posts again, I would justify not finishing the book because I was writing something else. The blog has been my excuse for a few years now. For some reason this summer I knew that I couldn’t use the blog as a crutch anymore. In order to be happy I needed to fulfill a promise I made to myself. I needed to finish this book.

So I created a routine that allowed me the creative time that I needed to finish my project but also the down time I needed to enjoy with my family. My daily routine mainly consisted of a variation of the same thing. Waking up early enough to watch the sun rise, drinking my first round of iced coffee and soaking in the moment the world seems to come to life again…

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Then I would go to the gym and listen to music that matched the tone of my story and imagine all of the adventures my characters would have that day when I had the time to write it all down.

After the gym we always went on some sort of random adventure. Sometimes it was just Penelope and I since Bridget was working at a summer camp and Brent was busy checking things off of his list for Paramedic School. And then sometimes we all got to do things together.

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No two days were exactly the same. Usually after our daily adventure, and after I was assured that Penelope had been thoroughly worn out, I would either put her down for a nap or let her watch a movie and rest. While she was preoccupied, I would take the time to sit outside in the shade of my back deck, drink round 2 of some home made iced coffee and write.

And that is where I proceeded to write, and write, and write.

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I wrote more than I ever felt possible and the process didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would. I started the summer with 40 pages already complete and by the time I was done I had completed over 300 pages. The completion snuck up on me and when I was done I was in awe of myself.

I actually did it!

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I couldn’t be more satisfied with myself. This was probably one of my greatest accomplishments. Not because writing a book is hard (which, sometimes it is), but because I was so scared to do it. Once I committed to finishing it, the process was surprisingly easy. The book just seemed to write itself. The characters just kind of took over and took the book into a direction I never could have planned out in advance. It was like they had been waiting all this time for their story to be told.

Last year was rough. I was physically maimed, not able to even bathe myself or walk and I was battered and floundering mentally and emotionally as well.

So for the summer, my goal was to take care of myself (both mentally and physically) and it ended up being the best summer I’ve had since I’ve started my teaching career. I set some goals based on who I wanted to be. I created a routine that was both productive and fulfilling. And through it all I found that elusive balance that I’m always looking for, even if it was only for a fleeting moment.

Now that school has started I have to create new goals, a new routine and a new type of balance. I haven’t quite figured it out yet, but I’m getting there.

And so goes the theme of my life…

Redefining Health

Nina Chapman5 Comments

Hi guys! Long time no talk… er write.

I’ve been MIA because I’ve been busy well… living.

I’ve been known to go off the grid. I’ll “lose” my phone or let it die (and not charge it). And when it’s not lost or dead I’ll have half a dozen text messages that were semi constructed during the red lights I hit during my commute home. And by lights I mean just the one light. I live less than a mile away from work, so I don’t have enough red lights to finish my texts. They tend to be forgotten the moment the light turns green.

I’m one of those.

It’s really annoying for most people in the age of instant gratification.

But for the most part I’ve been busy with work and hanging out with my family. I’ve been rearranging my priorities. I’ve been giving myself head space, taking long walks and pondering life and how I want to live it. You know, the usual.

I haven’t written quite as much lately because I haven’t needed to. I’ve been getting my creative outlet through teaching. I spend a lot of my creative energy manipulating the education system in a way that allows me trick kids into enjoying school. This is actually pretty funny because in my latter high school years I spent the majority of my creative energy manipulating the education system by skipping school.

I was a master I tell ya. I mean, I literally walked through the front door, waved to the office ladies on my way out, and made my way to my car which was parked in one of the temporary parking spots at the front of the school. So cheeky! I know.

The past couple of weeks I’ve also been busy redefining what health means to me. My perspective has changed quite a bit since my surgery. Right before spring break I was feeling particularly weak and unhealthy. I stumbled upon a Pinterest article on how to use social media to motivate you to live a healthy lifestyle. Mostly it consisted of women dedicated to attaining the perfect body.

When I first saw the before and after pictures I was super impressed. I followed them on Instagram and then slowly as I watched them pop up on my feed I began to notice what was really going on. Hidden behind their inspirational quotes about not giving up was a lot of loathing and self doubt. It seemed to me that the “Don’t Quit” theme started to warp itself into, “Don’t quit picking out the parts of you that you hate… because there is always something that needs to be improved!”

What started out as a motto of belief in oneself turned into a motto of “You’ll never be good enough”.

I soon discovered that these women were just using social media to scrutinize themselves. You could tell that they were relishing in the attention they gained from their success and were feeling the pressure from it. Through this they were beginning to lose sight of what it means to be healthy, constantly comparing themselves to these unrealistic standards.

Being a middle school teacher I can spot this type of desperation a mile away. These grown women were doing the very thing I try to encourage my daughter and all of my students NOT to do.

Instead of finding freedom in their newfound health they were chaining themselves to an unending torrent of selfies in which they judge themselves. I’m talking ab selfies, butt selfies, arm selfies, boob selfies, stretch mark selfies, food selfies… It’s never ending.

It made me wonder if that is what I had been doing all along and maybe that was why I was losing interest in my blogging journey. I mean, I’m not a huge selfie fan but look at the title of this blog. “Too Hottie For That Body” what does that even mean?

I’ve been thinking about my own journey and all of the self-deprication I’ve dished out to myself. I would make healthy choices in order to lose weight, end up feeling really good about myself regardless of whether I lost weight or not. But I would ignore how great I felt because I felt obligated to focus on the superficial end result. At one point I did it for you. I felt like I needed to apologize for being happy with myself the way that I was.

By putting my journey out there I felt like people were waiting for me to succeed and by succeed I mean posting a final AFTER picture of myself in a bikini.

With this vision in mind I would calculate how long it would take me to reach a certain number. I would come up with these restrictions that I felt needed to happen in order to obtain my goal. I would implement these restrictions, get pissed off by the restrictiveness of it all and then rebel against it.

I don’t think that’s healthy.

Maybe I was rebelling against all of these restrictions because deep down I knew it was shallow and unfulfilling.

I hate to break it to you but I kind of doubt I’ll ever post that bikini picture. Not because it can’t be done, but because even if I did get to that level of fitness I wouldn’t need your validation on it. I don’t have anything to prove. In fact, I like my imperfect bathing beauty look just fine…

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When I was in 8th grade I remember being in the locker room with a bunch of girls. Somehow we all started talking about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I thought about it long and hard. When it was my turn I said that I wanted to be happy. Everyone thought I was a weirdo, but it didn’t matter because that was truly what I wanted.

Over the past few months after my injury I’ve been thinking about that more and more. What does it take to be happy? Lying there with my crippled leg I wasn’t happy and I rediscovered that a true piece of the happiness puzzle is health.

In reality, true health feels good. I’ve learned how to tune in to my body and acknowledge what feels good to it. Real food makes me feel good, sweating on purpose feels good, sore muscles feel good, the sun on my face and a good endorphin pump feels good. Taking a deep breath and feeling grateful for that very moment… that, that’s what feels good.

I’ve decided that this whole diet culture has screwed around with my head long enough. Healthy is just a path you choose, it’s a road I’ll have to choose for the rest of my life. Because in reality, there is no end result… not unless you’re dead. And that’s kind of the opposite of what I’m going for here.

Tricky Territory

Nina Chapman4 Comments

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It’s three o’clock in the morning and I’m sitting in the warm spot on the couch where Scout was sleeping before he heard me sneak down the stairs.

He must have jumped down when he heard me bumbling around in the dark and is currently looking up at me groggily from his new lesser station in life on the floor as I type.

He’s probably wondering when I’ll come to my senses and go back to bed so that he can climb back to his warm forbidden spot.

But it won’t happen, not tonight anyway.

You see, he wasn’t the only one trespassing  throughout the night. Just one hour earlier Penelope had made her way into our bed where she initially snuggled the sucker who invited her in (Brent) and eventually made her way to the soft comfort of her reluctant mother (me).

I’m not going to lie, a part of me likes it too- the sweet warmth from her tiny little body. Then the other part of me (the part that got her boob elbowed five times and her hair pulled twice) just wishes the kid could sleep through the night.

Initially I tried to go back to sleep while I felt her wiggle and grunt next to me. But before I knew it my brain had begun to roil around in my head playing out all kinds of scenarios about life. What I had and hadn’t done, what I wanted to do, what I needed to do.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one pondering life because within the darkness I heard a little voice next to me say, “Mommy, did you know that I’ve never been on a roller coaster ride?” I giggled and made a mental note to take her sooner than later, but refused to fall prey to the conversation that would surely open the door to more sleeplessness.

I eventually put her back to bed, but I had given up any hope that I would ever go back to sleep.

Since going back to work after my surgery, I’ve gotten sucked back into my routine of all work and no play. I had a lot of catching up to do upon my arrival. When I’m not working, I spend my weekends preparing for the next week ahead.

There is no such thing as sleeping in at my house so I usually spend Saturday mornings meal planning and spilling coffee on my planner, while Penelope plays with legos.

After grocery shopping in my pajamas Penelope and I will then usually spend the rest of the morning making home made snacks for the family.

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Brent is in paramedic school now which means he doesn’t work on shift anymore. This also means I have a hungry man in my house at all times. Since packaged foods advertised as unprocessed packaged foods are so expensive I make my own. Here’s what is typically on my weekend repertoire…

1. Chewy No-Bake Cinnamon Cranberry Granola Bars

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Technically, I was only successful making these once. The other two times it wouldn’t stick together. But boy, that one time was tasty enough to make me keep trying until I get it right again.

2. No Bake Energy Bites

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This is Brent’s favorite post-workout snack. It’s also his favorite post-study, post-shower and post-watched-some-TV snack as well.

3. Baked Chicken Breast

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I’ve been roasting up a couple of pounds of chicken every weekend as well. I’ll use it throughout the week in dinners that require cooked chicken, salads for lunch and it also serves as another man snack for Brent who lives off of meat, and meat, and no bake energy bites.

4. Healthy Banana Bread or other muffins.

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I always make a batch of healthy muffins for an easy snack or breakfast for the girls during the week as well. We switch it up every week and use the heart shaped muffin tins that Penelope insisted we buy.

Despite the fact that I’ve been working hard at eating clean I’ve still gained a few pounds in the last month. I’m hoping that it is mostly just me building my leg muscles back up from after my surgery. I didn’t gain a ton of weight post surgery like I was afraid I would but I lost so much muscle mass my legs don’t even look like they belong to me anymore.

My first full week back to work I was scheduled to go to Outdoor Lab which is like a mountain retreat for the sixth graders. This is a right of passage for all of the kids who go to school in my district. I wasn’t cleared to go yet so my Girls on the Run co-coach offered to go for me. This meant I would have to teach her class… P.E.

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I actually had a blast that week “teaching” the kids how to play flag football. However, I wasn’t quite prepared for how to navigate the tricky territory of telling middle schoolers what to do with their balls. I winced every time I caught myself saying phrases like, “Okay guys, hold your balls!”

Bridget is a student assistant during the time that I taught gym and would come and visit me every now and then. I’m also pretty sure she came in to scope out a cute boy or two. So in that case, I did what any self respecting mother would do…

I embarrassed her by taking pictures.

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“Oh. Em. Gee. Mom… What are you doing?!”

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“Ehhhhh… I’m going to act real awkward now.”

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“Just kidding. You can’t make things any more awkward for me. I’m in middle school! Nice try though.“

While I was teaching gym the other P.E. teacher told me that they had old spin bikes sitting in a closet that nobody uses. Later on that day I was talking with our facility manager about the bikes and asked if we had one in our make shift teacher lounge gym.

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The next morning I came in to find that they had joined forces and put one of the bikes in my class room to help me with my recovery! Isn’t that the coolest thing ever?!

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The kids think it’s hilarious when I get on it during class discussions. I also thought I could let the kids take turns using it when they need a little brain break. I hop on it during my planning period and check my emails on my iPad on it first thing in the morning.

My limp is almost completely gone now, but I’ve been warned not to over do it for fear of a set back in my recovery. It’s almost been three months since I had my tibial tubercle osteotomy. It’s hard not to be impatient. I’m so ready to be normal again.

Post-Op Hysteria

Nina ChapmanLeave a comment

 

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I’m trying to go with the whole Thanksgiving vibe and say that I am grateful for my good health and I appreciate the fact that in the not too long future I will have two functioning legs to go along with my strong and able body. The bullshit faker in me will also tell everyone that I have a whole new perspective on life since having the ability to walk taken away from me. That this tibial tubercle osteotomy was a blessing in disguise because I needed to stop and appreciate the little things.

But I’m not really feeling it this year. Instead I’m going to go old school Thanksgiving. Think pilgrim pulp fiction style. The kind where you aren’t satisfied with the kindness of others and you want what you want and you won’t be grateful until you get it. Because the truth of this whole situation is this…

I hate it. I HATE IT. I HATE IT!!!!

If I could kick my leg freely without popping a screw I would definitely perform the melt into the ground groaning fit that turns into a twisted screeching mess that heaves its fists and feet into the unsuspecting carpet. I imagine myself to be the damsel of hysteria who would contort her face and pull out her hair in her despair.  I want to scream until my throat is sore and my face is red and sweaty. Then, maybe just maybe after getting that all out, I would be okay with sitting down for another two weeks while everyone else merrily goes about their business.

I tried to throw such a fit during Thanksgiving preparations…  I kept accidentally flinging mashed potatoes around the kitchen while trying to balance my crutches and whip potatoes at the same time.

Brent suggested I sit down and I managed to stomp off toward the couch downstairs (quite a feat considering I only have one good leg for stomping with). Once I made it safely to the couch I hurled each crutch across the room one after the other so I could revel in the sound of each individual crutch rattling as it hit the ground. Once I lugged my leg safely on the ottoman, I let out a grunt of frustration, followed by another more obnoxious one because the first grunt didn’t do justice to the amount of frustration I felt.

That wiped me out for a good hour where I remained with my jaw drooping open thanks to the pain meds, looking at the tv but not really watching it. Behind the catatonic facade I was planning my next outburst. I just needed to gather my energy and resources together.

Feel sorry for my husband, feel really really sorry. He has been my man servant throughout this whole thing. He not only has to deal with my tantrums but he also has to clean the house, take care of the kids, and prepare for paramedic school (which starts first thing in January- super big deal).

I cry every time he has to help me out of the shower because I don’t want him to see me this way. He doesn’t seem to mind but in my head there couldn’t be anything less sexy than seeing your wife helplessly sitting on a plastic chair in the shower. There just something too… geriatric about it.

I cry every time I make it back to my bedroom to wrestle my clothes back on. Tears are kryptonite to my husband. He can’t stand them. When he sees them he has to fix whatever is causing them, and if he can’t fix them then he gets super frustrated. There is nothing he can do, but hoist my leg out of the tub, help me out until I can sit on the toilet and watch me cry. Poor guy.

In the mean time I’ve been taking leg selfies so I can see the progress in my healing.

I had my surgery on Thursday November 12th. I was super nervous that morning and could feel the insides of my stomach contort as we drove to the surgical center. Before I knew it I was naked under a flimsy hospital gown wishing they would just hurry up and knock me out.

I wrote “yes!” on the leg that I supposed to have surgery on and rung my hands together while I watched them give me a nerve block in my leg.

Brent gave me a kiss as they wheeled me away. The next thing I new I was laying in my own bed admiring my Britney Spears socks (aka compression socks).

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The next day was a disaster. The pain meds made me throw up continuously and the only container I had to catch the mess was a glass bowl. This then made Brent gag which then made me throw up harder and simultaneously yell at him to stop gagging. It was awful… again, poor guy.

Later that day I managed to keep everything down long enough to take a nap. Brent left to get anti nausea medicine and I woke up feeling woozy. I didn’t have my handy glass bowl and couldn’t maneuver my body fast enough to make it to the bathroom. Even if I could make it to the bathroom I had no way of leaning over the toilet effectively. Fortunately,   my friend KJ kindly came over and retrieved some crackers for me to eat so I could ease the urge to puke every where.

After I learned how to keep the pain meds down I spent the first week in bed. 12240234_10207681127416880_2602744032673377177_o

Scout was very worried about my condition and yelped every time I got up to go the the bathroom on my crutches.

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My friend Andrea came over at one time and relieved Brent of his care taker duties so he could fit in a workout at the gym.

She brought me a goodie bag including her Keurig so I could fetch myself a cup of tea while safely seated on my ass.

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She also helped me safely take a shower which, entailed a lot more naked Nina than she had anticipated after my shower chair broke. After the shower debacle was over she put me safely back to bed. She kindly fetched me a snack and painted my toenails before I drifted off to my pain-med induced sleep.

After a week my dad flew in to help Brent with all of the duties that lay solely on his shoulders.

It was at this time that I finally got out of the house long enough to capitalize on the freedom motorized wheelchair grocery carts provide.

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I even snuck off to the movies to watch the new Hunger Games Movie with Bridget and my dad.

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Despite those snippets of freedom, I began to feel confined in my circumstances…. literally. My leg and foot was bruised and swollen. At one point both my knee and my foot had a muffin top.

I would wake up in the middle of the night and my leg would swell into my brace until I felt like it was about to explode.

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Then came the muscle atrophy. I was not prepared to see my leg muscles dwindle away as fast as they did.

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I’ve been going to physical therapy which pretty  much entails having the therapist rub the crap out of my leg to try to get the swelling to move, a few quad contractions and icing and electric shock stuff.

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I am proud to announce that my quad has refused to give up hope. Most people’s quads shut down after a surgery like this. I was able to flex it and my Physical Therapist was super impressed. She said she’s never seen someone with quad skills like mine after a tibial tubercle osteotomy.

The worst part about this whole ordeal is not being able to do anything by myself. I have to rely on people to do everything for me. Sitting on the couch and watching Netflix on a snowy day sounded like paradise a few weeks ago, but the only thing I want more than anything is my independence back.

I can’t wait for the day that I can do whatever the hell I want- without the support of crutches. In the mean time, I’ll just continue to have my little temper tantrums you know… just to keep me preoccupied.

 

Jalapenos In My Pants

Nina Chapman6 Comments

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I’m trying to organize my life, but it isn’t working because apparently I don’t have that skill set.

I can organize other things. Work things. School things. My pantry. But life things… not so much.

I’m like an idiot savant. (I’m not even kidding.)

Take for example my phone. I have no idea where it is right now and honestly I’m not too worried about it communication wise. I’m just concerned about the pictures on it that I wanted to use for this blog post so that I could pretend like I’m one of those bloggers that actually has their shit together enough to make you hate me a little. When in reality I’m just planning on using those pictures to distract you from my short comings (if that’s what they are) by wowing you with photos of my amazing garden because that is something I used to suck at but have some how mastered this year.

I shouldn’t have told you my scheme because it turns out my phone wasn’t really needed since I had already posted those pictures on facebook. I had posted them on facebook so that I could show everyone what a wonderful mother I am. You know, watering my garden, playing with bubbles, stuffing home grown jalapenos in my pants…

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It’s beautiful.

But don’t let it fool you. If you look in my house you will see that I have maxi pad “stickers” stuck to various pieces of furniture and a bedroom door that is locked from the inside with no one on the other side to unlock it.

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I’m not sweating it though because I have long mastered the art of jimmying every lock in the house open thanks to YouTube… and Penelope’s penchant for locking doors and then shutting them. (Thank you hoohoohoblin, you have been invaluable to me.)

I was so excited to spend time with my kids this summer but now I’m over it. Teens and Toddlers don’t mix. They’re driving me crazy and that might make me a shitty mom for actually saying it out loud. But you know… it is what it is.

On a daily basis I have to endure a mashup of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme song and a Spotify Five Seconds of Summer Play list playing in the same room at the same time. All the while both of my kids are talking to me at the same time about two different things (Penelope: “I want milk! Mom, I want milk! Mom, Mom, Mommmmmy! I want milk!” Bridget: “Chemical Romance’s concert tickets are only fifty dollars… I want to get my nose pierced. Izzi said it would be cool…”

Then I will have to tell Penelope that no she can not stick her finger in the pencil sharpener while I pour her milk (too late… shit where are the bandaids?) and Bridget that no she can not wear those shorts to Izzi’s house (because they look like underwear) and both of my children will simultaneously let me know how displeased they are with me in their differing but equally annoying ways (Penelope: “Mommy I don’t like you. Go away.” Bridget: huffy-breath–sullen-glance-eye-roll-silence).

I can’t take it anymore.

Honestly, I just want a moment to hang out with me. Just a moment. It could even be in the bathroom… pooping… without someone talking to me through the door crack.  Or maybe even just a conversation… talking in the mirror and enjoying how hilarious we are together, the reflection and I. We’ll ignore the sounds of my children as they waft under the door, toddler whining and teen whining so alike yet so different, and we’ll just spend some time together. Me and I looking into each others eyes and not at the blonde mustache that seems to gleam on my face now that I have a tan. ( I should really get that thing waxed.)

We’ll just. Be.

It’s my dream vacation.

Yet, at the same time I feel so guilty about it. I’m coming to terms with the fact that summer is almost over (teacher standards). I have to pay attention to emails again and plan lessons again and move classrooms again. And I’m really excited about it and yet I feel bad for welcoming it. I have less than a month left before I have to go back to work for good, and a stark realization has hit me…

I haven’t done any of that healthy stuff for me that I had planned on doing over the summer, aside from the occasional vagina killing class spin class, a few sessions of yoga and a salad. Instead, I got lost in the art of taking care of my kids.

Weight loss has not been a priority because honestly I didn’t want it to be. I didn’t want to commit to it. I wanted to just hang out with my kids. I was busy not having a schedule and committed to being non-committal. Then there was also that whole business of me not hating myself enough to create an urgent need for a whole “Overhaul Yourself” Campaign. Because let’s face it, those are usually triggered during times of self-loathing.

Unfortunately, this summer I’ve been pretty okay with myself. Don’t get me wrong, I am seriously flawed but I am TOTALLY okay with that… and that makes it really hard to find the motivation for any kind of self-growth.

I’m not sure that’s a good thing. In fact I’m pretty sure that’s arrested development.

I’m developmentally arrested due to my high self-esteem. 

What the hell does that even mean?  <—- (That’s not a rhetorical question.)

But I guess the time has come, before I know it another school year will be upon me and along with it other stresses. I needed to mentally get to a good place. I’ve done that and now it’s time to get there physically. That requires, organization… which also requires communication… which means, I might need to find my phone.

Where is that damn thing?

That leaves me with the ultimate debate…

Should I get up and look for my phone some more OR I should watch another episode of Girls because it’s too inappropriate to watch with kids around and I’ve finally found myself alone in the house during a time of the day that isn’t meant for sleeping?

You know what they say…

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Yeah, I know! I know that’s not what they meant… but I’ll take what I can get.