I was pondering this in my heart this morning as I was going through the dreaded routine of cleaning. I love a clean house and I used to quite love cleaning because, well, it gave me a clean house. But lately, it seems like a drudgery. There are so many more fun things to occupy my time. I’d rather be writing, or painting, or cooking and have a cleaning lady. But alas, I’m her. I’m her because I have the time and I don’t have to funds to hire someone else. But I digress….this is not what I was thinking about.

What I was thinking about was how many people I have told that I’m going back on the Whole 30 because I felt great while I was on it and I even lost 8 pounds. I didn’t do it to lose weight but as you reset and get healthy and eliminate cravings for poisonous food you automatically lose weight because your body is healing itself and let’s face it, overweight is a disease. 8 pounds is insignificant when, in your head (or at weight watchers) the goal was actually 40. Then again, 8 pounds is 8 pounds! Was losing 40 pounds even sustainable for me? Obviously not. At WW we all watched everyone’s weight. Sometimes we watched it go up. I quit when I realized I was going in the wrong direction. It works if you work it. But clearly my focus was elsewhere.

But Whole 30….I thought it was great and definitely effective AND healthy. And I thoroughly enjoyed it because I set aside 30 days to focus on nothing else but that really. There is no doubt in my mind that eating food as medicine and not stuffing my pie hole (I’m eating a piece of homemade apple pie as I type this) with poisonous addictive food is far better for me. But that took concentration and resolve and time and motivation which I am very often in short supply of. So I’m not sure I’m going to actually do Whole 30 again. At least not the rigid by-the-book Whole 30. Maybe a more realistic and reasonable Whole rest-of-my-life. Somebody suggested trying out the Half 60 but I’ve done that often without even knowing it. I think I’ll aim for continuous improvement.

For many weary strugglers, weight is more about health than image. But for me it’s been bit of both. I’ve done the Daniel Plan and the Tosca Reena clean eating plan (which did work BTW). I’ve done cleanses and fasts. I’ve worked my brains out (because clearly it wasn’t ‘my ass off’) at the gym and wrecked my knees and hips jogging. I’ve done the jube jube and popcorn diet (I made that one up myself). I’ve even been on the stress diet – by far the most effective but I don’t recommend it. Not worth it. When life gets better the weight comes back anyway. I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time wishing I was littler. Imagining what it would feel like to put my hands on my hips and feel nothing but bone. And a thigh gap? I’m rolling on the floor doubled up in fits of laughter at this very moment. Who invented that standard that’s driving our adolescent girls into therapy? And worse.

I’ve lost and gained the same 25-40 pounds 6 times in the last 30 years. Lucky for me I carry my weight well. Non experts usually would never guess my actual weight. Big bones is always a popular comment. Well, not really popular with me but still very often used. Ok so I won’t be prone to osteoporosis then. I have been struggling with being too heavy all of my adult life. Well not all, I guess ever since my first pregnancy and that baby is now 30 years old. I’ve always felt I was overweight even when I wasn’t. I look back now and regret the time I spent obsessing about it. But the world and its judges put so much pressure on women to be a certain size and I’m afraid I drank the KoolAid.  I mean let’s get serious, the last time I was a size 8 I actually WAS 8. At size 10 people wonder if I’m anorexic. I just have a heftier build. What can I say? Built for endurance not for speed. Plus the extra fat stretches out the wrinkles so that’s a bonus.

I’ve decided I am tired of trying to fit into the mold and 2008’s jeans and 1981’s bathing suit or even my wedding dress, which now fits my right thigh, by the way. It’s such an all encompassing battle and ain’t nobody got time for dat.

I’m thinking maybe it’s time to just let go of these unrealistic expectations I put on myself and quit managing my image and just enjoy life to the full each day. I know I will suffer the consequences of poor food choices and lack of exercise if I just throw all caution to the wind, so I’ll just try to be prudent and wise and give up on the obsessing. God cares if we are healthy but he doesn’t care if we are supermodel thin. Besides, I’m 60. That doesn’t mean I should let myself go but I think I finally have the maturity to realize there is so much more to life than thin. Hello? There are just so many more important and expedient issues and concerns to focus on in this life. I don’t really have the time to be totally absorbed about my weight and image AKA myself.  And who really cares anyway? I always think people are looking at me and judging me when really they are too consumed with their own insecurities to even notice what’s going on with me.

Sure I can feel my flesh jiggle as I walk. I know I’m only fooling myself if I think my long hair is camouflaging my double chin. Nobody is going to get a chance to place wide load signs on my butt because I carefully and strategically keep it covered. I’m the quintessential butt coverer, in every way. I was overjoyed when they invented tall boots with neoprene over the calf so I could wear them without cutting off my circulation.

In more recent years, doctors (my new hero… Dr. Oz) and fitness folks have emphasized lifestyle change. Rather than a time limited, food eliminating or combining experiment with the thin promise of incredible (and temporary) weight loss by next Tuesday, we are being encouraged to actually change our lifestyle on a daily, lifelong basis. I’ve gained much knowledge from reading (Dr. Mark Hyman) and trying (Whole 30) and this will be the basis for my evolving lifestyle. I will endeavor to make exercise and good eating part of my life – not a 30 day experiment that consumes my entire soul.  It’s slower but wiser and in the end more successful. More peaceful. Less anxious. More realistic. Less frustrating. More forgiving. Less demoralizing. More sensible. More, more, more. Less failure. Less, less, less.

All this to say… I’m giving up. I’m letting go.  I’m getting off the treadmill, so to speak. I’m setting myself free. Free to be me. Free to not meet the worlds unrealistic standards of perfection. Free to not let the number on the scale define my worth. I’ll still eat wisely 80% of the time but I’m going to enjoy my 20% of indulgence. I’ll still try to workout regularly because I know how good it is for me but I’m not going to beat myself up because I missed a workout because I was tired or needed to meet a friend for coffee.  Its life.  I actually quite enjoy physical activity which is a blessing since I love to eat and I know that it makes me feel so good even though it can hurt so bad. But I have more important and more expedient real life issues to focus on. My November TO DO list will not have ‘lose 25 pounds by Christmas’ on it anymore.

How many stories have you heard about women that long to conceive and once they either adopted and/or stopped stressing and worrying about it ….. it happened. Or those women desperately looking for love in all the wrong places and when they finally let go, love found them? At 60, weight loss is not on my radar anymore. Health is.

I said I’d keep you posted. My interview for this morning was cancelled …. at 9:30 last night. Lucky for me, I hadn’t gone to bed already and subsequently woken up early and killed myself to get ready to go downtown with Mike at 6:30am and not find out until I was downtown on this chilly, rainy day, all dressed up that I had absolutely no where to go. And by get ready, I mean try on ten outfits until I found one that was professional but not threatening. Classy but not provocative. Comfortable but not slobbish. Do my hair so no grey strays peeked through. Do make up so I looked younger and brighter than I feel. However, I had already spent a couple of hours researching the right answers to all the behavioural and circumstantial questions I was going to be asked and somehow connect them to the job description I was given and then- I got the email. This particular phenomenon had never happened to me before. Not sure what it all means yet.

So I decided to live in my own bubble today. I slept in … well stayed in bed… as I listened to the rain pelting the roof of our deck right outside our bedroom window. I pulled the warm covers closer around me and took in the softness of the pillows and cozyness of the bed. Mother Nature finally dragged me out of my cacoon and the iciness of the ceramic tiled floor I had to walk over wrecked my little moment in time. I made myself a leisurely breakfast and then repeatedly opened the pantry door to peruse the organized cleanliness that now exists due to my spontaneous urge to haul everything out of it last night and put the good stuff back, switching the location of absolutely everything so no one will be able to find anything anymore. In my experience, kids and husbands can’t seem to find most things on the best of days…at least now they have a legitimate excuse. I think it was pre-interview jitters. I needed to do something distracting.

I am writing this as I sit in front of my studio computer watching ‘You’ve got Mail’ and ‘Sleepless in Seattle’…listening to all the great music of their sound tracks, munching on taco chips and real cheese, still in my pyjamas, browsing Pinterest, house to myself… it’s like I’m in heaven. Bliss. Nobody can make me forget reality like Meg and Tom, unless of course it’s Steve Martin and Dianne Keaton. I’m feeling a slight bit guilty as everyone else in the family is out working but not THAT guilty. I mean, hey, if I hadn’t been laid off I’d still be getting up every morning and be at work myself and loving it. Thriving. Being at home was not my choice. However, enjoying being at home is.

When I operate in my bubble it’s a lot like Maxwell Smarts dome of silence. I hear nothing just the beat of my own heart. In my bubble there is nothing evil or horrendous going on in the world. There are no hurricanes or floods, no questionable political leaders, no people dying of anything, no financial stresses, no depression, no homelessness, no terrorism, no human trafficking ….just beautiful, comforting, feel good thoughts and feelings. Only good vibes. In my bubble there is hope and healing. There is music and truth (the Word). There is prayer and laughter. There is peace and joy. It is well with my soul. The pollution of the world can’t get in. Maybe that’s why I love my bubble so much.

But I also know I have a responsibility to fight for peace, freedom and justice for those that can’t fight for themselves. I have a responsibility to encourage, support and serve others. I must leave my comfort zone and spread love, kindness, and generosity. So I can’t spend too much time in my bubble. But my bubble is a wonderful reprieve where news is not watched, radio is not on, newspapers not read, phones not answered and fake internet news not grabbing my attention. I think I’ll spend the night in my bubble. I have to go out in the world tomorrow so I’ll have to burst it then.

Oh yes, I have to phone the HR gal from the cancelled interview company tomorrow morning so that could go either way. But I’m not going to think about that tonite. I’ll think about that tomorrow, after all, tomorrow is another day.

Wow….two interviews this week. What is this all about? How did this even happen? I was just minding my own business and not even looking for a job really.  I was planning on retiring in poverty and obscurity. Now I have to put the high heels back on and forge ahead. I was loving the Nikes and my walks. Loving sitting on on my beautiful deck reading and writing. Loving spending hours in my kitchen cooking and listening to my new found play lists on the 8tracks app. But such is life, we do what we have to.

Our last night at the lake. The kids and I sit out on the dock in the hallowed evening. Mike has retired early in preparation for the long drive home. The night air is warm as we sneak down to the dock but the longer we sit the cooler it becomes as we begin to sense a slight chill signifying the onset of cooler evenings. We marvel at the stars. How clear the sky is. How bright those distant balls of fire are. We observe shooting stars and airplane lights. We are pretty sure we see the actual Milky Way. Andrew is pointing out constellations using an astrology app on his iPhone which he brought down as we used it’s flashlight to keep ourselves from falling in the water. The brightest stars reflected in the water. You sure don’t see that in the city. The cottages across the way all have their lights on and these lights are mirrored in the now dark navy water. I feel so small and insignificant and yet marvellously blessed to be able to tilt my eyes upwards and observe our tiny section of the universe. The water is quite still, yet we can feel the dock moving underneath us. A rythmic sway as we ponder the vast and beautiful night sky. We reminisce about doing this twenty years ago and discovering that Andrew needed glasses as we lay on the trampoline in our backyard, pointing out the Big and Little Dipper and shooting stars while Andrew could see none of what we were seeing. He can tonight. In fact he appears to be our resident astrologer.

This last day was the hottest day we’ve had all week. We spent the entire day on the dock and in the water and under the sun. Between swimming, paddle boarding, kayaking and floating the four of us did it all. And Lexie did all several times. I paddle out to the middle of the lake where the water is smooth and serene and I enter into my own little safe and secure bubble where I can pretend nothing evil or unjust is happening in the world beyond this pond.  Stresses and problems forgotten for the moment and I breath deeply and inhale the fresh, sustaining air. Luckily there is no smoke today. It’s amazing how sound travels across the water as I hear muffled conversations coming from most cottages. The sounds of laughter and squeals coming from docks where other families are having fun. I paddle my way to the mouth of the small lake and contemplate wandering into the larger lake. I’ve got nothing but time and sunshine so I follow my instincts. Once out on the larger lake I paddle past campgrounds and recreational fishermen catching some quiet time as they drift slowly in their boats with their lines cast. These are the lazy hazy crazy days of summer.

We have dinner on the veranda tonight. I basically cooked up all the remaining food we’d brought out. Mike BBQ’d fresh steaks and leftover hamburgers. We boiled up the rest of the corn on the cob and baked the potatoes we bought at the tiny market at Sun Peaks resort. I made broccoli and cauliflower with cheese sauce and used up the rest of the salad fixings for a vibrant nutritious salad and we cherished our last supper together at the lake. As some of us were sipping our wine, my aunt’s pet squirrel, Neville, even dropped by for scraps. Not shy at all, he walked right up to the table and tilted his head, stood on his hind legs as if to ask where his plate was. Well if he hadn’t let Mr. Bluejay eat all the sunflower seeds Connie put out for him….

Mike, Andrew and I had driven out through the mountains to my aunts lovely lodge on the lake last Thursday with a car loaded with snacks, baking, food for the week and emotions expectantly excited for long hot days on the dock surrounded by water, loons, jumping fish and good reading material. My aunt Constance prepared the Four Seasons room for Mike and I. Wallpapered like a forest with a screen door opening onto the deck and a huge picture window with a comfy leather chair and ottoman close by, we had the best room on the premises. In the past, this is usually my mom’s room but since she did not join us this year, it became ours. Perfect for sneaking out to the dock at the crack of dawn with my bible and a couple of inspirational books. Also perfect for reading and writing long after mike has gone to sleep, as I sit in the leather chair with my feet on the ottoman, legs wrapped up in a down throw, screen door open listening to the haunting calls and cries of the loon. Friday is hot and quiet and we have the lake to ourselves. Saturday is smokey so we drive into town to accomplish some of my aunts errands and check out the lush and colourful farmers market. I’d have bought all sorts lucious things had I been at home. I happen across a marvellous find at VV. An exquisitely crocheted white and pink floral Afghan. I cannot believe someone has ditched this beautiful piece of craftsmanship only to be found amongst the junk at VV. So I grab it, it’s quite heavy, pay for it and B-line for the car as if I’d stolen something. Lexie flies in on Saturday night to join us. Sunday is cool and rainy so we hibernate inside with puzzles, books, blankets for napping, sketching and snacking and writing in my comfy leather chair, my favorite music serenading in the background. Just being together, once again, as family enjoying a relaxing vacation day is more than enough. It’s more than we deserve. It’s a blessing.  Monday and Tuesday are hot and we spend the days on the dock and in the water from 7:00 am on.

It’s become tradition to drive into Sun Peaks resort for pizza and ice cream one evening. We do that Monday evening and the kids engage in lengthy conversation with the young owner of the ice cream shop.  The pace of life at the resort is slow and unhurried on an August Monday night and the rest of us saunter the Bavarian streets and shops as the kids give the young German shop owner advice and suggestions for her impending move to Vancouver.

The talks we have, the watermelon we slurp down on the dock, the bike rides Mike goes on with my aunt, patching the family size floatie we brought out three summers ago, the neighbors new pup Annie, all add up to another memorable summer experience. We had the lazy, definitely the hazy and inevitably the crazy days of summer all wrapped up.

True confessions. I was THAT mom. You know the one. The one whose daughter’s waist long, lemon juice tinted hair was always perfectly coifed for school and church – and camping and play dates etc. Not to mention the nail polish at 3 and the pierced ears at 5. The mom that never failed to bring homemade and exquisitely decorated sugar cookies or cupcakes (sometimes both) to her kids classes on their birthdays. I was upset when they informed me in middle school I had to stop. ( The kids not the teachers.) That mom that always volunteered to help the teachers decorate their bulletin boards or decorate the teachers lounge. Yes I was the one that made pies for the schools grand opening picnic and they ended up being auctioned off for $125@. I was always available for field trips to the Zoo, Chinatown, Banff, Grotto canyon, skating, curling, swimming, the Science centre, Circle Square Ranch – i should have been on salary. I even had one of the students yank my sleeve crying ‘teacher, teacher…’. Speaking of science, I designed most of Andrew’s award winning science projects… often enlisting Mike to carry them off. I overheard Andrew say to his friend once ‘I wish my mom wasn’t so creative – the pressure!!!’ I was a homework fiend. I always loved homework, always have, still do and was always chomping at the bit to see what mark I got (I mean what mark the kids got). It has been said that I really didn’t need university since I graduated grade 12 three times. Once in 1975, once in 2005 and once in 2008.

I was THAT mom who sewed her kids clothes. Who made her daughter matching coats and dresses every Easter and a new dress for the first day of school and of course for the Christmas concert. I cut my sons hair in the style of the day. I always decorated the house and the food for Easter, Birthdays, Father’s Day, Canada day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentines and very often St. Patrick’s since we are Irish Stewart’s, apparently. I was THAT weirdo who made heart shaped waffles, heart shaped pizzas and heart shaped full-pan chocolate chip cookies on Valentine’s Day. At Easter I found a new way to hide chocolate eggs every year. I made a big hoohaw out of every single holiday even making a few up of my own, such as ‘first snow of winter’ holiday or ‘cousins are coming to town’ holiday. We once created a red carpet on the sidewalk for their arrival one summer.

If I had to be away, I bought all the groceries and cooked all the meals. Organized all the clothes, left daily notes and treats hidden under pillows and in pockets, arranged sleepovers and carpools and after school care so everything would run like clockwork and my little darlings would not be inconvenienced or lacking in any way.

I made amazing LEGO structures. I made all the puzzles. Played all the games. Watched all the Disney movies. Played with all the Barbies (elevating this obsession with homemade Barbie house and clothes). It was always my idea to go to TOYS R US. I was as enthusiastic and obsessed as they were to collect the most valuable and rare Beanie Baby Bears. I made cozy quilts and duvets for the kids beds and don’t get me started on how I decorated their rooms.

Yes I was that lunatic that made my kids homemade lunches everyday and loved it (most of the time) as well as picked them up from school with after school snacks in the car. Last day of school before Christmas and summer was always lunch out and a movie and shopping. I was having a blast! Forgot your lunch at home? No problem I’ll go home and get it because you, dear sweetums, are my life.

I was THAT over-the-top mom that threw her kids themed birthday parties every year. (It was for me, not them really). I LOVE planning events and stuff. I thrived on surprises. Setting the mood. Camping? More like glamping.   I cooked for a week preparing homemade food and baking to take with. Made sure we had all the cozy clothes and rain gear, games, waterguns, swimsuits and floaties, s’more ingredients, flashlights for everyone.

I was THAT mom who tossed the kids towels in the dryer just before they got out of the tub so they’d have warm and cozy. I did the same with their sheets and blankets on cold winter nights. I made them quilts for no reason other than a labor of love. That and the fact that I got a kick out of cutting good fabric into tiny pieces and sewing them back together again in a different design.

I was a baseball mom until I realized Andrew spent all of his time catching flies in his cap (I mean real flies not pop flies). I was a dance mom. Lexie began in in ballet. Loved attending the Nutcracker just to see her move up the ranks each year. When I realized ballet wasn’t going to be her thing I switched her over to figure skating. I was THAT mom that sat through every session and practice with snacks and encouragement in spite of the fact there were icicles hanging off my nose and stayed up to ungodly hours designing and sewing skating costumes. Drive to the neighbouring town for competitions… no problem. Next up? Irish dancing. Yup… spent a month of evenings designing and sewing a Feis competition dress. Those Irish dancing dresses were over the roof pricey.

We did a staycation one summer due to lack of funds and I took the kids to every site and activity that Calgary had to offer. The Stampede, Butterfield acres, Calgary Tower, Lake Sicome, ice cream in Cochrane, Johnsons canyon, the Zoo, science centre, LRT ride just for the experience, Heritage Park. Movies, picnics, city pools. We did it all. Several other summers I bought seasons passes for a Heritage Park and we went at least once a week to ride the  caterpillar and eat candy until we were too dizzy to walk home. Bought the kids a baby Sheltie pup for Christmas and put it in their stocking. I’m not even kidding.

I could go on but I won’t as even I’M getting tired and nauseated. Why did I do all this? To make memories. To show love. To live vicariously. To have fun. Because I could. But I’m only human, there were times when all of this was a bit much and the appreciation shown was in no way commensurate  to the effort, expense and emotional energy invested. I truly did it out of love and not for recognition but people continued to marvel which was totally embarrassing, if truth be told. Often I’ve felt I had to tone things down a bit so I didn’t make people, and by people, I mean other moms, feel bad.

Be grateful that I wasn’t also a THAT mom that was in tiptop shape and arrived everywhere in my ‘leave little to the imagination’ Lulus and Nikes with perfect makeup and hair and designer bags. I thought I would cut you some slack and be a slob. I couldn’t be super mom AND super model both. Ain’t nobody got time for dat.

So when you run into other moms and women who operate at this level, just let them be. They are not trying to make you look bad or elevate themselves. Maybe they are just having fun and getting the most out of life and trying to leave their kids with good, whole and healthy memories. Love them.  Maybe they are insecure and trying to prove themselves. Love them. Maybe they are kind and generous with lots of energy and ideas. Love them.

And if any of this was damaging, I plead ignorance. I thought I was doing good. If nothing else I sure had fun. I miss those neurotic days said no mom ever.