Summer has taken hold of me and won’t let go.

It has picked me up with its salty hands and put me on solid ground. I can feel its hot breath on my neck and feel it cradling me and telling me that everything is going to be OK.

I’ve been incredibly blessed this summer with more love and understanding than I think I deserve. Friends are showing me the way to happiness. They are holding me and not letting me sink down in defeat. They are lifting me up and loving ME — imperfect, filled-to-the-brim-with-flaws ME. And I’m so grateful. So much so, that I feel the need to make a list.

My Grateful List of the Summer

* Seeing my kids cuddle in the morning and hearing the sweet words they whisper to each other.

* Old friends that get me and bring out my silly side, the part of me, if I’m totally honest, I love the most about myself.

* New friends that continue to amaze me with their depth, honesty and love.

* Discovering that making people smile is BY FAR my favorite thing in the entire world.

* Watching my daughter yell and tease the waves, feeling the power of the ocean in her tiny frame.

* Seeing my boy’s love affair with books grow daily and finding him reading in bed with a flashlight. “Just one more chapter mom.” The best.

* Watching my husband process my changes and see him trying to meet me where I am. I see it babe.

* Being trusted by a friend with a secret and feeling honored to have earned that trust.

* Speaking my mind and then having that person not got away. Huge.

* Watching my daughter finally find her courage to swim under the water and seeing the look of pride on her face after.

* Spending my summer days with no agenda, free to go where we wish and stay as long as we like. A privledge that we might not have again.

* Being loved.

* Seeing my son greet each experience with a sense of adventure and fun.

* Having two vacations at the beach — both filled with so many moments that I won’t forget.

* Having a mother that understands, accepts and loves me. Really huge.

* Writing. I’ve started a book and any moment I’m in that world, I’m grateful to be there.

* Kindness. From the friendly smile of my favorte grocery clerk Wayne, to the generosity of friends inviting us to dinner, swimming or a vacation with them, I’m surrounded by kindness.

I know I’m leaving out so much, but that’s the nature of summer. I’m taking a cue from nature and living in the warmth and light. I’m taking every experience that presents itself and drinking it all in. My cup of gratitute is spilling over. I have plenty to share.

So, if you need some, come over. I’ll pour you a glass.

Cheers friends!

So, if you’ve been around me for two minutes or read my blog, you know I’ve been battling the forces of darkness and not always getting the upper hand. It’s a crappy reality. But I just had a revelation. I need Mickey Mouse!!

OK. I know that’s a silly statement. Ridiculous, you might say. But, so what? It’s the truth. I need a trip to Disneyland. Like stat.

Our finances don’t make it possible, so… guess, what? I’m going to take a little trip, right here, to the happiest place on earth and I’m going be happy. You got that. Happy!!!

I want you to come, so let’s go.

I have this enor’mouse’ (hehe) bus that I’ve rented just for the occasion. We can all fit. There is this magic partition that allows all the adults to be on one side and all the kids on the other. Genius.

There are special “mamma” drinks for us girls and we spend the entire trip talking about silly things and giggling. Lots and lots of giggling. The husbands drink beer and talk about how adorable and cute all the wives are. We don’t even hear the kids. They are happily singing and eating organic snacks and being perfect. PERFECT.

So we get there in no time at all. “Wow,” we all say, “that was fast.”

We check into the hotel and they treat us like royalty. We have our own private floor with a personal chef, an entire playroom for the kids (including trampolines and every toy they can imagine). Oh, and the room is filled with new clothes for all, lots of chocolate and fun “adult” drinks. Yep.

We have a fun “restful” evening and then are ready to hit the park the next day. Everyone gets up happy and nobody is tired. Not even a little. We all get dressed in our cutesy matching t-shirts (because that would be cool, right?)

The park opens early, just for us. All the kids are feeling brave, excited and not the least bit whiny. We head first to Pirates of the Caribbean, because I love that ride. Everyone agrees that is where to start. On the way we pass and get our pictures taken with every character the kids wanted to see. Happy smiles all around.

The ride is awesome. Like always. We exit singing, “Yo, Ho, Yo, Ho, A Pirate’s Life for Me” at the top of our lungs. The kids ask US what we want to do next. Nobody argues. We head to Space Mountain and EVERYONE is tall enough, brave enough and there is NO line. We scream and laugh.

The day continues, one ride after the next with so much fun and excitement. Peter Pan. It’s a Small World. Thunder Mountain. Haunted House. Splash Mountain. The fun just keeps going. Nobody gets tired.

We eat delicious, healthy food and everyone loves it.

The kids keep giving us hugs and kisses and saying things like “you are the best mom” and “thank you.”

At the end of the day we watch a private fireworks show in front of the castle. All the characters arrive and we dance and sing with them long into the night.

Tinker Bell gives me a ride on her flying wire. Mary Poppins and I sing a duet of “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” Prince Charming and I dance under the stars (making my husband a little jealous). Goofy and I hang out, just because. The kids run amok and end up eating fistfuls of honey with Winnie Pooh and bouncing around with Tigger.

Starting to feel sleepy we get a comfortable carriage ride back to our suite. The kids instantly, and blissfully, drift off to sleep with big smiles on their faces.

I sit outside on the balcony and it’s a full moon. My husband and I are alone and he professes his love so ridiculously that I giggle. Then we drift off to sleep in a huge bed and sleep as long as we want.

Ahh…that was fun.

Think I might do that again soon. Want to join me again? Maybe we will take a cruise next time, or travel to Europe. My treat.

There is so much ugly and pain. Sometimes it’s all I can see. And I hate it.

When I get in that place, I know it’s impossible to be around me. Everything is wrong and I fail to see any good. The weight of everything presses on me from all angles. I start to forget my breath. I start living in this place of survival. Just getting from one task to the other. It’s not pretty. And I hate it.

I start reading news stories and wallowing in the misery of the world. There is so much pain to live in. I start thinking of lives cut short, of abuse and anger, of mistakes and what-could-of-beens. Nobody can pull me out when I’m in deep. No rope. No kind words. It is only me. And I hate it.

But that’s just one side.

Yes, it’s hideous, disgusting, painful and cruel. But I have to go there. It’s part of me. I need to see ugly and feel the pain. I need its raw, unnerving truth to smack me in the face. It’s only when I get there that I can see what really matters and the place I want to live: beauty.

My life is easy. I’m a stay-at-home mother of two healthy, beautiful, amazing children. I have friends and family who give me more than I deserve. The intensity of that truth is just as powerful. It’s beautiful.

When I start drinking in the beauty and blessings, the darkness slips away for a while. I find my breath again. Moments become more alive and I see colors. I can let go of the guilt and pain of having so much and just feel thankful. It’s beautiful.

I was running this morning in the early morning light of 4 a.m. I could hear only my breath and the soft rhythm of my feet. I could feel my body awakening and coming back to life. The moon was winking at me softly surrounded by wispy clouds and stars. It was so beautiful.

So, today, I choose to live in beauty. I know the darkness is there and will always be. But I need some light. Bring on love, freckles, ice cream, swimming, silly dances, cuddles, crazy kisses, stuffy parties, pillow fights and connection.

Here’s to beauty!

Hope I didn’t lose all of you. I’m finding it impossible to put into words all the amazing, hard, beautiful and, yes, ugly things that have been happening with me. It’s just…so much.

As I grow and change and assert myself, there are some growing pains. I’m tilting sideways and not finding my balance yet. I’ve got people pulling on all sides. I’m split open. Torn. Bleeding.

I left my family for a spontaneous road trip with a friend. This is the first time I’ve left my family since my son was born 8 ½ years ago. We saw the ocean and breathed it in. I felt a sense of falling into my old self. Finding someone other than mother and wife. But it was fleeting.

I spent countless hours planning and creating a birthday for my beautiful now six-year-old daughter. It was a gorgeous, hot day filled with hiking, fairies, gnomes, costumes, good friends, laughs and fun. Watching my daughter grow continues to fill me with awe. She is wise, beautiful, a great friend, feisty, creative, deep and she breaks me open with her eyes. Those eyes. She climbs into my soul and I get lost just rubbing her back or touching that beautiful hair. And don’t even get me started on her freckles.

We celebrated the last week of school and I tried, clumsily and without really succeeding, to tell all the teachers at my children’s school how much I love them and appreciate them. I can never fully do that. They can never quite understand the impact they have on our lives. Knowing my children are loved, seeing the beauty of my son’s schoolwork and celebrating with both class parties, was beyond words. Having my husband share in the entire last day is even harder to explain.

My darling “summer daughter” was here for 10 days and we tried to pack an entire summer into those days. They flew by. Although we did big things, like Marine World, Sun Splash and Pier 39 in San Francisco, my favorite moments were the ones when she just talked and I listened. She is 15 and growing up so fast. I loved hearing about her life, her friends, seeing her grow and find her path. She is an amazing person and I can’t wait to see what she does with her life. It’s going to be beautiful.

So much to be thankful for, yet, I’m not feeling happy and content. I’m more like a flower whose petals keep getting ripped off. Each one is beautiful and it’s wonderful to see the petals float up in the breeze and dance away…but there isn’t many left. What will happen when it’s only stem?

I’ve been haunted by my dreams.

I’m standing on the beach. It’s peaceful. I’m calm. A big wave pushes me down and I sink to my knees. I’m stuck. I can’t move. The waves start crashing over me and I can’t breathe. I brace myself as they keep slamming into me. Panic sets in and I wake.

I’m standing on a busy street corner and people are whizzing by. I can see them talking, but it’s like a buzzing sound. I can’t make out any words. I feel lost and confused. I try to talk, but my voice is gone. I realize then that I can’t move. I can just stand still and watch everyone rush around me. I panic. I want to scream. To thrash. To be seen. Then I wake.

There are more, but they are all basically the same thing. Feeling trapped and full of anxiety. I know these are growing pains and they are ultimately good for me. But I hate this.

So, my dear friends who read this, please be patient with me. I know I’ve not been present when we are together. I know I’ve been drinking too much. I know that you see it and feel it. Please know that I appreciate every kind word. Every hug. Every happy moment we share. Time will heal me and help me to see my path more clearly.

I just need time.

Oh, and chocolate.

“You are just gorgeous”

“You are literally glowing”

“You got your mojo back, can you help me find mine?”

These were said to me. ME! This week. Really.

I want to breathe these words in. Savor them. Keep them in my pocket.

Things are changing. It’s good, hard, beautiful and ugly. It’s life.

I’ve been writing about all these internal battles happening, but other things are happening that I can’t write here. Everything is happening for a reason, though, and that is to move me forward. I’m finding my voice and living the way I want. And it feels really good.

Have you heard the song “Brave” by Sara Bareilles? Why not? You should! I’ve been blaring it every morning while I make breakfast and singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs. My children think I’m crazy, but I can live with that. Just a sample of the awesomeness of this song:

Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live

Maybe one of these days you can let the light in

Show me how big your brave is

Say what you wanna say

And let the words fall out

Honestly I wanna see you be brave

So, I’m saying what I want and everything is changing.

I’m running. I switched, just this morning, to running at 4 a.m. (because, honesty, 6 p.m. is getting too hot and the people in my neighborhood drive me crazy.) It was joyful. Stars. Moon. No people. Cool air. One guy smoking on his patio, but he is ALWAYS there. The sky changing ever so slightly to a greenish hue on the horizon, the hint of the day to come. I can get used to this. I’m on week 4 of my program and now run a total of 16 minutes (broken up still with walking). Huge improvement. I’ve always wanted to be a runner. Now I believe I can.

I started guitar lessons from my dear, talented friend. This is also a dream of mine. My fingers hurt and I’ve only learned one chord, but I love it. I have something to practice and create on. I have faith that I will make that guitar sing and we will be awesome together. It will just take time and desire. I have both.

I’ve started writing. A lot. I’m journaling, writing song lyrics and even started a book that’s been rattling around in my head in various forms for years. It’s exhilarating to get lost in words. To take the images in my head and use language to translate them to paper. I’m using a pen and paper, not just the keyboard. I have missed the feeling of just letting the pen move across the paper, no editing, no backspacing, no cut-and-paste. It’s freeing.

I even did a little crafting this week. I’m planning my daughters birthday. She will be 6 (we are NOT talking about that). I’m making dozens of fairies and gnomes for her friends to “discover” on the hike by our house. Yes, it’s a hiking party. How awesome is that? Her idea! I love this kid.

Did I mention I baked cookies and bread this week too? I had started to HATE baking and cooking, but then my sweet friend told me how much she LOVES my bread. How special it is to her, and, like a switch, I love it again. I had forgot how much happiness homemade food can bring someone. No, I still don’t LOVE all the dishes and dirtiness of my kitchen, but I do enjoy making people happy.

My house is a mess. I forgot the ENTIRE chicken I cooked yesterday on the counter last night because I lost myself in fairy-making. I almost left the house yesterday without the kid I carpool with because I was writing in my head all morning. Didn’t give the kids baths last night, even though they needed them, because I wanted to snuggle with them longer.

I will take it. All of it.

To have creative energy back in my life…that’s everything.

I’m 10-years-old and having a sleepover at my best friends house. She is on the bed and I’m on the floor. She is angry with me.

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” she says. “It’s driving me crazy.”

“Sorry,” I automatically respond.

“What is wrong with you? Stop being sorry already!” she yells and playfully throws a pillow at me.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say while bursting into giggles and throwing another one back.

Truth is, I am sorry. Always so damn sorry.

I’m trying to stop cycles in my life that do nothing to propel me forward. During this process I’m demanding things that I’ve been missing far too long, things that I deserve and need in my life. But this feeling sorry stuff…it can go. Like, now!

I seem to hold onto pain and feel responsible, even when it’s completely illogical and wrong. The result is I feel powerless, overwhelmed and just so sad. And there is so, so much in this world to feel sorry about. It brings me to my knees. Often.

How do I change this pattern and start feeling empathy without personal sorrow? What needs to happen so that I can do something constructive and helpful, instead of looking on with a big, fat useless sorry in my throat?

I don’t know. All I do know is that things have to change.

When I wrote my piece for the Listen To Your Mother show, I had no idea that anyone would want to read it. I was worried that I was bragging and that it was just plain awful. It took so much inner struggle to get me past the audition process. But I moved on.

Then, after I was cast, the fear was so great that I almost bolted. Several times. But as the process went on, something changed. A sense of calm came over me that I can’t explain. When I finally stepped up to that microphone, I was not nervous. I had this sense that everyone in the room was rooting for me and that they all wanted to hear what I had to say. It was no time for sorry.

But, after all was said and done, I was sorry. Sorry for the stories that did not get heard. Sorry for the pain and heartache that was shared. Sorry that I have the privilege to make parenting choices, when others are struggling with life and death. Basically, I was STILL sorry that I was here and that I’ve had these blessing in my life when others seem to have been given so many struggles.

Sorry dripping with guilt.

Stupid. Pointless. All it serves is to rob me of MY joy and MY happiness.

ENOUGH! Let it go already! You are not required to live a life with your head bent in permanent sadness for everyone in pain. You are allowed to be happy. You should be happy. Everyone should!!!

So, guess what? SORRY – you are banished. I am ripping you from my gut and throwing you in a hole in my backyard. I stomp with both feet as hard as I can on your stupid, ugly face. You have no power over me anymore.

I don’t need YOU to be a good person. I can still feel love and be loved. I can hold my friends hands and hug them when life gets too hard for us. When life is terrible, my lovelies, I can help hold you up, but it will be from a place of strength and courage. I can love myself without finding meaning in my sympathy for others.

So I grow some more. I take another step in finding my voice and courage.

Be gentle with me as I navigate the road ahead. It’s scary and I might need to hold your hand. But don’t you DARE feel SORRY for me.

I still can’t write about Sunday. The words won’t come.

I can tell you it started with a freckled-face beauty making me breakfast and ended with me holding back that same beauty’s red hair as she threw up.

So, let’s talk about something else, shall we?

I’ve started running again. I’m using a program (couch to 5k) on my phone, so I run with my phone in hand and earplugs in. So… apparently all my neighbors think I cannot hear them. In just 5 runs in my little neighborhood I have overheard the following:

A husband coming home from work to his wife saying, “about time asshole.” Followed by the little 3-year-old girl repeating, “yeah, asshole” in the cutest voice ever.

Two women comparing how big their, ummm, to use the word they used, asses are. Yep.

A child, which I could not see, screaming in a very agitated voice “no, no, no, no…not the TACO!”

An elderly woman in her robe telling her even more elderly husband who was getting out of the car with a walker, “You are not funny. You are a dirty, old man.”

A full-blown fight between a husband and wife, as the children played close by, in which I could clearly hear “bitch” and “fuck you.” Ouch.

All this leaves me with the conclusion…we are all crazy. I run by these perfectly manicured lawns (mine is not one) and I often make assumptions. We all do. But life is freaking hard for EVERYONE.

So, I’ll just keep smiling as I jog by. Even as I hear a man say “be careful” to me. I know he means well, but it makes me feel like someone my size shouldn’t run. Like he is expecting me to have a heart attack, fall down or break something. Brush it off, Bridgette. You are getting stronger and he has no idea.

I’m internally struggling so much right now and working on bravery and strength. It’s hard and it sucks. So tomorrow I’m getting out of town. I’m headed to one of my favorite places, Bodega Dunes.

I will sit on the beach and bury my feet in the sand. I will watch my children go crazy running in and out of the water. I will feel the wind on my face and listen to the waves. I will breathe.

I will share food and company with some of the most amazing people I know. I will marvel at my children’s strength as they climb up and down the dunes and create things. I will sit around the fire and feel the warmth and crackle of its life. I will breathe.

I will snuggle down in the tent and let the night come over me. I’ll listen to the sounds of the woods and others escaping from their lives. I will try to forget and forgive. I will breathe.

I want to take a moment, since it’s Mother’s Day and all, to tell you a few things you might not know. Things that I have neglected to really tell you. It’s about time. So here goes:

* You are in every memory of my childhood. When I close my eyes and try to picture something from when I was little, it’s always you. Making my dresses. Cooking my meals. Girls Scouts. 4-H. Throwing me enormous slumber parties, even if we did Jane Fonda at 2 a.m. and drove you nuts. Turning the garage into a roller rink. Always saying yes to parties. Seeing you dance onstage as a California Raisin with your white legs. Taking me to the barn so I could ride my horse, even if you were tired. Feeding me soup when I was sick. Helping my best friend take a pregnancy test in high school. Watching “Annie,” “Willie Wonka,” “Goonies” and “Labyrinth” over and over because they are my favorites. Singing “Old Dan Tucker” as loud as we could in the car. Making me laugh. Always being available. Always. I never yearned for you, because I didn’t have to.

*  I can never fully appreciate the sacrifices you made for me. I know you gave up so much to care for us. You neglected your needs and went without so we could feel loved and have the things we desired. You were unhappy in your marriage, yet you stuck it out. For us. It must have been terribly lonely.

* Allowing me to find my own path as a mother. It has not been easy. I do things so different from you, and it must seem like a criticism. It’s not. I just have to find my own path. Do things my own way. I make mistakes all the time, and you are ALWAYS there. Never saying “I told you so” or “if you’d only listened to me.” Just being there.

* You continue to love me so fiercely. To be there for me, even when I’m selfish and self-centered. You just love me, accept me, allow me to be myself. There is nobody else that does that. Nobody.

* You love my children just as fiercely. You give them the space to be silly, crazy and insane when I just can’t take it anymore. They love being in your arms, snuggling, playing with your dogs and just being around you. Your Super Grandma, after all.

* Answering your phone when I call crying and can’t even tell you why. Just knowing I can hear your voice makes things seem somehow OK. Like I can make it.

* Always showing me how to be a better person. Taking in “stray teens” and loving them even though you know it will probably end badly. Loving your friends with every fiber of your being. You give so much and ask nothing in return.

But I also have a wish for you this Mother’s Day. I want you to start being selfish. Yes, you heard that right. Start being SELFISH! Stop worrying so much about me. Start living for you. It’s time mom.

You need to start demanding things in return. You are MORE than worth it. I know you think you’re too old to “live it up.” But you are not. You deserve to be happy. Wildly happy. You deserve so much more than I can ever give you.

I know you won’t listen. You say that we are your happiness. And that just makes me love you even more.  But accept this gift from me — let go of feeling you have to drop everything when I call. Feel free to tell me your busy. Shove off woman! I got shit to do!

I will never stop needing you, but you have done well. I’m good mom. You have done it. Now reap the benefits and start making me do stuff for you!

Happy Mothers Day from your adoring, loving and always in awe of you daughter.

I love you.

My first memory of clothes is a brown floral print dress with lace on the sleeves and collar. It had matching bloomers with lace around the legs. It twirled and I felt like a princess in it. I remember feeling special because my mom had sewed it. I can picture her cutting out fabric pieces at our yellow kitchen table with the 70s hippy flower wallpaper behind her. She made most of my clothes and I loved them all, especially my Annie dress.

Years past and I began to realize that homemade lacy dresses with cutsie buttons was not “cool.” I yearned for Guess jeans, LA Gear tennis shoes, shaving my legs and makeup. My mom did her best to hold it off…but eventually she had to give in. I can still remember my Guess jean jacket with a faded black lace pattern.

Then junior high hit. I remember LOVING my first day of school outfit. Peg-legged jeans with a purple shirt, matching elastic-banded purple socks, my hair piled into a high side pony tail with my matching purple hair scrunchie, purple earrings that looked like safety pins and white Keds. Oh, yea, and purple eye shadow. Ready for the big leagues.

How wrong I was. Yes, there were a fair number of girls dressed just like me. Color-coordination was the thing. But the “really cool” kids wore torn jeans, frumpy plaid button-up shirts, dark black eye makeup and the hair…high. Really high. How did they do that? It was like a lions mane.

I spent the next two years fighting my mom to let me dress like that. Trying so hard to make my straight, fine hair do that crazy mane thing. Following the pack as we all loved New Kids on the Block. Always a step behind.

My very best friend was always a fashionista. She did not try to look like the trend of the day, but created her own style. I would borrow her clothes and try to pull it off. But it didn’t work. It wasn’t me. Where did her confidence come from? How did she do it?

Around my sophomore year in high school I realized it was not happening. I started wearing baggy shirts and hiding myself in my clothes. I made sure the colors would not stand out. My fashion style became “don’t notice me, OK?”

Then I started putting on weight and the heavier I got; the more I wanted to hide.

The funny thing is, that I have always LOVED clothes. Even when I was 250 pounds and couldn’t wear anything remotely “in fashion.” Even though I’ve never had a “fashionable bone” in my body. I love and appreciate clothes.

When my first baby was born I often would go to the mall by my house. I would wear my son in a sling and just look. I would go into the stores sometimes just to feel a fabric or see a texture closer.

I still do that. But I rarely buy anything. I get clothes from places like Target and the thrift store. The most important qualification is that it fits and hides me. My favorite, and most worn clothing item is a big, black, safety-blanket sweater that swallows me up.

A few years ago I stumbled onto this TV show called “Project Runway.” I started recording all the episodes and would watch them when nobody was around. It was my little secret. Just finished the current season finale last night.

It’s hard for me to understand why I love this show and fashion in general. I’m something of a hippy/environmental girl. My birthday is Earth Day. My babies wore cloth diapers. I own lots of tie-dye. I recycle. I even have reusable paper-towels. So, yeah, I’m kinda serious about saving the earth.

Yet, I love fashion.

Here are the reasons I should NOT (and they are really good!):

First, the whole message the media sends to women about how they look is just WRONG. We are supposed to be thin, have white teeth, dress beautiful at all times, be perfect housewives/mothers/executives, never feed/eat any junk food and always act classy. So, so wrong. See the current JERK at Ambercrombie & Fitch.

Then there is the human element. In order for us to have all this cheap fashion, the companies that we buy clothes from outsource to countries where they exploit their workers. Just look at what happened recently with the garment factory in Bangladesh. 900 people died. That’s unacceptable.

Then there is the environmental impact. Rivers running red and horrific air pollution in China. All so we can have cheap t-shirts from Wal-Mart. Shame on us! Not to mention all the pollution in our own country. Synthetic fibers made primarily from petrochemicals. Water shortages. Pesticides. The list goes on and on.

So, where am I going with this?

I’m on a bit of self-discovery kick (if you hadn’t noticed).

For the last month, I’ve been on a hunt for my outfit for the Listen To Your Mother show. That’s right. A month.

My dear friend, the one that was always the fashionista, was in town and took me shopping. She tried so hard to help me see myself as beautiful. “To celebrate my curves.” I just couldn’t quite follow her. I tired.

Then I started going into the stores that I’ve always admired from afar and trying stuff on. I was so worried nothing would fit. I kept thinking, “You don’t belong in here.” But, I have to tell you, putting on a $350 dress can change a girl. Really. Now, I can’t afford said dress (even though I bought it, but later returned it). But I did realize a few things:

* I don’t have to wait to be skinny to wear nice things.

* I feel more confident when I put together an outfit that works.

* I am not condoning or ignoring what happened in Bangladesh/nor personally polluting the planet by buying a new dress.

I finally found a dress that I LOVE for the show. It’s flowy, pretty and a bit more affordable. I found some fun shoes too. They even have heels.

Now I don’t think I’m ever going to become a fashionista. And, really, I don’t want to. However, I do want to enjoy my clothes. I want to put something on and feel like it’s an extension of me; that it reflects who I am and what I’m about.

For the past week I’ve been paying attention to what I put on. I’ve been combining my clothes in ways that I think look nice. Wearing jewelry that has been stuffed in a box under my bed. And people are noticing. Not just my clothes, but me.

“What’s going on with you?”

“You are glowing.”

Taking a little time for myself in the morning is actually making a difference. I feel more confident and I’m standing up for my needs more. Good stuff.

Even though I may not like it, clothes make a statement about you to the world. You are judged by how you are put together. It’s a fact. It also says something about how you think of yourself. If you feel “worthy” of beautiful things. And I do.

I’d love to start researching American-made clothing and support local sewers. I want to invest in clothes that make me feel good and that I can feel no guilt about wearing. I found the, Ethical Fashion Forum, and plan to explore that further.

One of the fellow LTYM cast members just concluded a fabulous blog called Foxy Like a Crafter. Sad to find it now that she is done, but happy it’s there. I’m going to read/look at every post in time and see her journey. I admire her greatly and know I can learn from her.

As I grow and start accepting and loving myself, clothes are going to be a big part of that. And I want some help. So, help a girl out. Let me know where you get clothes. How did you find your style and what motivates you? Tips. Tricks. Share. I need you!

SIDE NOTE: When I first envisioned this blog, I thought I’d mostly be writing about my children and mothering. It’s funny how it’s turning into something else. I’m going with it, because I need to work through this stuff and get it out. Thanks to those reading and sticking with me. Much love.

Not my week. Wanted to get in my car and drive away. Far away. Leave all my chores unfinished. Even leave my kids. Not forever, mind you. Just until I could breathe again. Until I didn’t feel like I was buried alive. Maybe until someone told me how to fix things. Make it all OK again.

Totally self-centered behavior. Insane, really. I have friends that are going through some intense things. Hard, impossible things. Yet I complain and whine like a 2-year-old. Ugh.

While I’m still battling out of that dark place, I do see a light. I had moments yesterday that were so beautiful that I was brought to tears. Yet…that dark voice was still there. I still found time to complain and find fault. Double ugh.

So today I NEED to revel in the beauty. To magnify and focus on those moments of joy and love. To see the light.

My children attend a Waldorf school and part of the curriculum involves seasonal festivals. One of the most beautiful is May Day. Everyone comes dressed in white and makes crowns of flowers for their heads. It’s a celebration of spring, life and renewal.

The eighth graders perform the Maypole dance. No. Not that kind of pole. What’s wrong with you?

It’s an old tradition that dates back thousands of years. It always make me so happy to see these 13 and 14 year old kids, dressed in white, skipping and dancing. There is something so innocent and transformative about it.

When my mom arrived, I saw her from across the field. She looked beautiful. Dressed in a white gown with pearl buttons down the front and cute white sandals. Radiating love. My home. I flagged her down and then skipped, barefooted across the field to embrace her. “Your crazy,” she says. “I know.”

After the celebration we went to a wedding reception for my beautiful sister. Our relationship is hard to explain. We are not blood relatives, or even related by marriage, but circumstances have brought us together. She is one of the most radiant and upbeat people I have ever encountered. When she walked into the room, she glowed. Here she is with her new husband and her second mom. Magnificent.

My kids don’t know how to NOT create things. I wasn’t sure if I should be proud or horrified as they quickly rounded up supplies, including dirt from outside, to create new centerpieces for the table. And, yes, my boy wore a tank top to a wedding. It was a luau, and seeing as he didn’t have a Hawaiian shirt, he insisted he dress like he was going to the beach. Sigh.

Then my crazy kids just HAD to dance. Smiling. Laughing. Falling. They even laid in the middle of the floor making snow angels and giggling as the gold streamers tickled their faces.

Even though nobody else was dancing, Lola twirled around the room. She added some round-house kicks to her dance routine. She then grabbed my hand and led my out to the floor. We twirled and did silly kicks. Her smile was so huge. “Kick off those shoes so you can dance properly” she said. I did. We twirled and spun. Throwing our heads back we laughed.

Lead me Lola. Lead me out of darkness. I’ll follow you.

After the wedding, we went to grandmas. They wanted to spend the night. Bunk beds.  Digging in the dirt. Movies. Dog kisses. Blanket cuddles. Wrestling. Jokes.

Grandma led us outside to her oasis. “The baby birds have hatched.” Little beaks open to the sky. Feed me.

Yes. Feed me. Fill me up. I’m coming back…