January of 40

 My top 40  of January. I turn 40 this year. I will write about 40 moments each month that caught my breath, distracted me from the mundane, humbled me, and for all intents and purposes are what make turning 40 a wonderously intense and unbinding advengture.

1. I bought G a "Big Life Journal" for Christmas. The journal prompts are meant to be done with a trusted adult. Grant bought me Robin Arzon's "Hustler" journal for Christmas. So we sat down and journaled together for 15 minutes. Her journal questions prompted her to write about what she was really good at - she said dancing. It then prompted her to ask her journal buddy what they are good at - I clammed up and am embarrassed to say how badly I wanted to spit something out with confidence, to mirror her conviction in her own self worth. I might have said "teaching" - while the voice in my head fought off the not good enough narrative.

2. The "Wicked" 30 minute Peloton ride. I sang out loud. I cried out loud. I felt empowered once again by Elphaba's sense of doing what is right. I felt gratitude for a character whose narrative is both the unsteady and unsure AND the confident and righteous.

3. A good glass of wine and tacos at a friend's house - without a child around. 

4. Before we completed G's bunk beds, we moved her old bed to the attic and her mattress to the living room. We slept by the Christmas tree together for a night. I remember doing the same with my younger sister at the holidays. The magic of that practice - it's simplicity.

5. Hugging my friend Amanda, whom I hadn't seen in months! A friend who is real, who you can open your heart up to immediately without fear of judgment, who understands the struggle of both motherhood and womanhood, who I have always been able to be myself with, and who continues to amaze me in her wisdom, strength, and beauty.

6. Once, I slept in until 9:00AM -- and upon waking, I realized I had slept through the entire night!

7. Launching myself into my next chapter 170bpm. Movement is my medicine; it is my reminder of who I am. My heart was beating, I felt alive, I felt connected to my body.

8. Sledding with G. I sat in the sled with her and went down the hill with her. At the bottom of the hill, we just sat there, still. After all the work to get in climb the hill, sit down, get situated, while bundled up in so many layers - followed by a thrill of a short ride - the stillness at the bottom struck me. We sat, we laid back, watched the snow fall from the sky. And for a brief moment were just still.

9. We watched Cool Runnings. The jokes made me laugh out loud - reminded me of a simpler time of childhood. I cried for all the things I didn't understand in that movie as a child that I do now. I cried for all the things I know I will never understand, even as an adult, but that I have come to passionately need to fight for when it comes to race, equity, and love.

10. Seeing my students again after winter break. Their smiles, their energy, their stories.

11. Practicing the /r/ sound with G - she is trying so hard and I am actively watching her teach her body a new skill. 

12. Making and putting up G's new unicorn/rainbow canopy over her bed. I remember I used to take wood from the garage, and duct tape it to my four post bed to make my own canopy. This was in Mattawan. I hid away under the blankets I threw on top of the four posts. 

13. A quiet morning after a solid and strong workout. 6:09AM. Before the morning routine begins. Before the rest of the house wakes up.

14. A quick snuggle in bed at 6:00AM because it is the day of the week that I don't get up to workout - I walk, stretch, and take the extra hour to sleep. It meant I wasn't tip toeing out of the room quickly, it meant I wasn't fighting any voice for motivation first thing in the morning, it meant stillness. And I am learning that both movement AND stillness can be medicine for my body and soul.

15. Our moment of "spook" at 12AM when G was half sleepwalking and I opened the door to check on her at the exact moment she was opening the door. She screamed bloody murder and was paralyzed in fear. She ran into our bed and under the covers. It took 5 minutes to calm her down before we could laugh at the ridiculousness of the moment.

16. Watching the senior leaders look up prom dresses, talking about the styles, and shopping etiquette. 

17. Dancing with G in the living room when she was trying to "teach me".

18. Listening to G and her friend L talk to each other while they play. Friendship forming - imagination at work. They play "college". They set up their desks, they pack supplies, they go to class, they have boyfriends.

19. Snuggling with G in bed on a cold night.

20. A night out with my husband that we actually laughed and smiled. 

21. Disney on Ice with G- her and Eloise are sure that Minnie waved at them. 

22. G asked me, "why do you say 'I look fierce' to me?" It made me stop and think about why I have to say anything about how she looks at all. Can I break the habit now? Or is she already counting on the validation of her physical appearance to feel good about herself? I told her fierce meant she looked like she was confident and ready for the day. That she looked ready to learn, to be kind, and to do something 'cool' with her day.

23. When she chooses to wear a sports bra as a shirt  - I love her confidence.

24. A deeply needed conversation with  friend after one too many glasses of wine - a conversation that even the best of friends don't usually have. A conversation I wish women could normalize having from the moment they begin exploring their sexual lives. 

25. G and her friend "working out" with me in the basement. They each had their own "workout space", weights, and were asking me "watch me, look how strong I am - look what I can do"

26. Dancing in the kitchen to "Greatest Showman" with G and her practicing her British accent.

27. My very real, very mournful tears at the basketball game. This was the first time I truly sat with my grief over losing something I absolutely loved with every part of my being. I realized in that moment, in the four years since my spinal chord injury - the cauda equina - since December 12, 2019 when I could no longer play basketball in the way I loved ever again, I had NOT once grieved. I had moved right over it to move forward because I couldn't face the grief. I cried. I miss the movement, the freedom, the teamwork, the effort.

28. Makinng a list of things we can do to make the world a better place with G. She wrote down and brainstormed with me. Her list is as imperfect as the world around us. 

29. Teaching about Shakespeare - sharing my knowledge that I learned on my first abroad trip with students to England. Sharing photographs of The Globe and Stratford. 

30. Women in Lit Fest - the textiles exhibit, the makeup exhibit, the "what if we dressed without the 'male gaze'" exhibit. I am blown away with how I have never put together the significance of knitting/sewing and the impact of women's lives and how it has always been a fully woman's space. The blankets and scarves we have from grandmothers - the skills we were taught from women before us.  We have blankets from Aunt Marie, Grandma Corrine (the last she ever made), from Grant's grandmother. I learned to crochet from my grandmother. The quilts that Sam made - each signifies an incredibly prodigious moment in life: our marriage, G's birth, my cauda equina spinal cord injury. The student who created the project had never met her great grandmother but was recreating a pattern from a picture she had seen. The threads we weave amongst each other are subtle, strong, and important. The patterns we create for one another as women are deeply important. Let's focus more on these kinds of patterns - the ones that connect us, strengthen us, hold us all together; rather than the patterns of diatribe and competition.

31. The same day as this inspiration and epiphany occurred about women in textiles, a dear friend gave me a scarf. The first she had ever made. Again, it reaffirms the imperative practice of stitching our lives together with our history of strength, rather than pulling each other apart.

32. I have a 5 year question-a-day journal. On January 18 the question is :"what are you worried about?" This year I wrote, my daughter, my next steps in my career and having enough confidence. The last 4 years were variations of "my body, this pain, worrying about am I making it worse? is the numbness worse? why am I hurting?". What a relief and commandeering back of brain space to NOT have the worry and pain taking up my head space. It has been a LONG time, longer than even I realized, that I have been in pain, constantly worried about my body and what I should/can/cannot do physically.

33. My favorite rides on my bike are the ones I can outloud to when I am all alone in my house. I had a morning to myself and I did a Greatest Showman ride. G has been all about the songs and I have been revisiting how much empowerment I always have felt from the song, "this is me"; and the freedom and escape that comes from a dark room, headphones, and the knowledge that nobody can hear me singing is unparalleled. 

34. Every so often there is a song that takes you back. The emotional connections we have to music is real and so it makes sense that the songs from our youth, the formative years we call teenage years, is so powerful. The Savage Garden music has such a powerful impact on me for nostalgia. I have been working on accepting and just being with the other versions of myself, all my versions - even those that did NOT make any sense, then or now- and the music takes me back to those girls, young women, and women that I have been.

35. We had birthday cake for my in laws - G added her "cha cha cha" with gusto after every verse. The unencumbered joy in being extra of a 6 year old. May it always serve her.

36. My colleague purchased a full coffee maker for our LTAC office (to replace the keurig) and each morning when I walk into the office, the smell is comforting, the good mornings are supportive, and the comraderie is real and felt and appreciated. 

37. The smiles on my students' faces when I say good morning or hello to them as they walk into the room. Even when they are forlorn and the quick "hey, you OK? Let me know if you need a minute" - and the look they give back to me. The care, the joy I have in sharing that space of learning with them.

38. The fact that our Christmas tree is still up on January 28 - because G really loves it.

39. The moment of frustration and overstimulation when I was trying to organize her cookie order - over 150 cookies - and I kept coming up short a different type of cookie box. G kept asking me questions about which cookies were ours, which she could open, and was playing aggressively with Beau. 

40. G came home and told us how the boys at recess told her that she "sucked" at soccer, but that she kept playing anyways. She told us it made her feel bad and embarrassed. She said she just really wanted to play soccer. It put me back to ALL the pick up games at the park, at the gym, with my Dad, that I had to play with the boys. I told her that, as long as you ignore their jeers and keep trying, they just let you play. And pretty soon they learn from you too.