Leaving with my Sanity

I received some very good advice recently about my drama.  I feel the need to share this advice because EVERYONE has drama at some point, so perhaps it can be of use to someone someday.

In talking through the whole dirty business, I realized that there were two people causing my problems.  Yes, one was Crazy and all the mean things she’s done to me and things she says behind my back.  But, the other one is someone unexpected that I love, but who furthers the drama by constantly carrying news and gossip back and forth.  When I spoke to Crazy on Saturday, I urged her not to divulge information to this 3rd person anymore.  I reasoned that if neither of us talked about the other person to her, she couldn’t carry information (or misinformation) back and forth, thereby creating more problems.  I could see instantly that this was not a plan Crazy was apt to follow.  So I wondered what I could do, if both parties are going to continue this destructive behavior.

The advice I got was simple: remove yourself from the situation.  It sounds so simple and so easy to do, but it’s not.  It means that any time either of these women try to involve me in any drama, I need to both mentally and physically remove myself from the situation.  Mentally, I do that by confronting things head on in real time.  If someone says something offensive, I state that it was offensive and unnecessary and move on.  If the other person tries to bring up Crazy or anything that could induce drama, I have to say “I’ll leave the room if you continue to talk about this” and then I have to leave the room if they talk about it again.  How many times does it take before people learn that there are some things I won’t listen to?  And it becomes nearly impossible to hurt me if I’m removed from the situation.

Listen, I just want to live my life.  I don’t want to deal with other peoples insecurities and issues that they project onto me.  And, I suppose the best way to do that is to CHOOSE to be oblivious to them.  To choose not to care.

I used to say “I don’t care” a lot.  It was my ultimate dismissive comment.  I usually said it as a way to cut the emotional tie I had to whatever was going on.  As if I was actually willing myself not to care anymore.  I think I need to go back to those days.  There are some places where emotional attachment can only hurt you.  Leave those places.  Run.  Now.

Resolution #4: Sweat the Small Stuff

I know the saying is “don’t sweat the small stuff” and I agree with it when we’re talking about emotional states, but in terms of things that need to be done, the small things add up. I find that I skip the small easy things a lot. Probably because the fact that they’re small and easy makes them so easy to push aside. But, those small easy things can add up to some really big things in the long run. This is why I want to sweat the small stuff. I got to take the baby steps if I ever want to go anywhere.

Small stuff that I want to sweat:

Washing my face every night before I got to bed. How many magazines, beauty gurus, celebrities, models, etc., do we need to keep telling us that this is vital to the health and beauty of our skin before we listen? I’m guilty of thinking that if I didn’t wear makeup, it’s ok to skip washing my face (a splash of water doesn’t count). Nope. Even without makeup, the skins natural oils, dust, and pollutants are on your skin and those suckers need to be washed off. Is it really that hard to dedicate 5 minutes every night to cleansing and moisturizing? No. It’s almost ridiculous that I have to say this, but I got to do it.

Moisturize. Seriously, I need to slather it on. I’ve switched to a grape seed and argan oil combo for my face that I’m currently enamored with so I’m pretty good at moisturizing my face (also, I think moisturizing before makeup creates a dewy healthy look that I love), but the rest of my body is in a draught. I rarely use hand cream and even more rarely put lotion on my body. I shouldn’t only lotion up after showers, and I shouldn’t be so lazy that I only put it on my arms and legs. It doesn’t take that long and it feels oh-so-good when you’re doing it.

Take my vitamins. I was so particular about this during my pregnancy that I got one of those weekly pill boxes and I’d load it up for each day so it was easily accessible and I’d never forget. I recommend prenatal vitamins for all women, even if they’re not pregnant. It really does something for the health of your skin and hair. Mine never looked better. I also took an Omega 3 and iron because I’m anemic. Since I’ve stopped, I’ve noticed my nails chip often, among other things.

Keep blogging. I’m already doing decently with this one. Blogging is my outlet. In a life where I’ve become wife and mom nearly all the time, it’s nice to have a place to be just Shiva. It’s emotional, cerebral, at times artistic. Best of all, it’s mine.

Drink water. I used to be great at this. I believe in the power of hydration. You sleep better, your digestive system runs smoother, your skin looks better, you feel more energized. Water is amazing and so overlooked. But, lately, it’s hard to find time to sip between wrangling my daughter and having her steal my water bottles (apparently they’re more fun to drink out of than her sippy cups). I just need to be more mindful of this.

Last but not least, and possibly most important, take time for me. It’s so easy to get caught up in my family. If there’s an opportunity to do something for myself I often pass it up to be with them. My hubby, however, doesn’t do this. I’m not finding fault with him. Rather, I think I need to learn from him. It’s ok to occasionally want to just do your own thing. It’s healthy. And now that baby’s eating solids and old enough to stay with dad, mommy can start venturing out more. I see a movie in my future.

The little things add up sometimes. And if you can make your life better in even small ways, the pay off will be huge. So what small stuff do you sweat?

Resolution #3: Yogalution

I love yoga.  Not like those super bendy pretzel type people who only eat raw vegan and do yoga like 8 hours a day and meditate another 4.  But, a normal persons, I-like-doing-dvds-at-home-and-the-occasional-class type of I love yoga.

I got into yoga 5 years ago when I was studying for the bar exam.  I really was just looking for a simple way to relax and unwind.  I bought a Crunch yoga dvd and started off with just 10 minutes a day, 3-4 days a week.  At the time I had a nice big bedroom with the perfect amount of space on the side to do my yoga.  As I started to get the hang of it, the duration of my workouts increased.  And as the poses became more manageable, I graduated to more complex series.  At the time, all I knew was that I enjoyed it.  It was challenging and required just enough concentration to quiet my busy mind.  But, over time I noticed that it was having other great effects as well.  My mood improved, not to mention the post yoga euphoria.  I began to slim down.  I noticed that I became more mindful of my eating habits (when you feel that good, you don’t want to ruin it).  I even noticed that when I jogged I wasn’t dealing with the exercise induced asthma that I always had- it seemed like my lungs could hold more oxygen. Yoga has a lot to recommend itself on, so why did I stop doing it?

Like any exercise, when you fall off the wagon, it seems to be harder getting back on.  You can recite all the reasons that it would be best to get back on that wagon, but doing it is a whole other ball game.  That’s me.  Hi.  I’ve been saying I’m going to get back into yoga for months now and it hasn’t really happened yet.  Well, actually, every Thursday I do take a yoga class at my gym, but that’s still far from the regular practice I would like to see myself doing.  And, I’m not trying to become a yogi.  All I want is to do a short practice 3-4 times a week, in my living room.  Preferably with my daughter behaving and playing with her toys nearby.  Too much to ask?  We’ll see.

Really, this is an extension of my previous resolution to take care of myself and my health for my family.  It’s a piggy back resolution, if you will.  But, I feel the need to state it separately so that maybe I’ll actually do it.  I feel more accountable when there’s someone to be accountable to, even if that someone is just Mr. Internet.  Today I actually started plotting out a way in which to work yoga back into my life.  The only problem is that it requires me to wake up earlier.  Eeek.  Currently, I put my daughter to bed and then take care of my own things before I go to sleep myself.  So, my daughter and I wake up together and my alone time is in the still of the night.  But, perhaps if I sleep at the same time as her and wake up before her, I can squeeze in more productive things.  It’s entirely possible that if I do that, the only thing I’ll be squeezing in more of is sleep.  Still, worth a try!

Give good face

My moms been telling me for years that I need to take care of my skin. And in my younger years I wasn’t half bad at it. What I especially miss are the nights I’d treat myself to a facial masque, mani pedi and a magazine. For now, with my demanding little one, those days are gone. But there’s no reason my skin has to suffer.

So, last night, I gave myself 30 minutes of quality tlc with my face. I started by washing with the new neutrogena naturals face wash, followed by its gentle exfoliater, making sure to massage the products soothingly on and wash them thoroughly off. Then I used a warm wet towel to open my pores and applied a deep cleansing masque, chocolate for a feeling of decadence. After 15 minutes I washed off the hardened masque gently with a towel. And, I tried something new for moisturizer… grapeseed oil. I rubbed a few drops onto my face and neck and followed with a little Argan oil.

The result: this morning my skin felt and looked hydrated and refreshed as opposed to its usual dull and tired. And dare I say a little younger. Even my lips, which I also coated in oil, looked plump and hydrated. If nothing more, giving myself 30 minutes of tlc felt amazingly good. It was relaxing and comforting. I’m going to try to make this a Saturday night routine. Also, I’m liking the use of grapeseed and Argan oil as a daily moisturizer. Aside from being natural (unlike the chemical laced lotions and potions on the market) it gives my skin the extra hydration it desperately needs. And I’ve been hearing for years that a great beauty secret is using a simple oil as a moisturizer. I’ve heard of the use of olive oil, vitamin e oil, grapeseed oil and Argan oil. I picked grapeseed because it’s lighter than olive oil, odorless, and I’ve long been a believer in grapeseeds beauty benefits (check out the beauty line Caudalie which bases its entire line around grapeseed oil). I also picked Argan oil because of its reputed ability to keep skin clear, heal damaged skin and hydrate. And also because I’ve been using Argan oil for about a month over my Ponds moisturizer with great results. The dry patches on my eyelids and around my hairline have disappeared. The only draw back of oil as moisturizer is a little shininess but that’s nothing a little patting of a light powder can fix. For me, the pros outweigh the cons.

I’m going to try to stay true to my weekly tlc regime. But, more importantly, I’m going to try to make a habit of washing my face every night and moisturizing with oil. It’s just a few minutes of my day that can impact my skins future so greatly. Time to head off those wrinkles, ladies!! And, I’ll update you on my new oil moisturizing routine in a week or so.

Wish me luck

Show some teeth

What matters more, the resolution or how you get to it? I’ve got a resolution but it took some less popular means to get there. But I’m not sorry and I don’t regret it. I did what I had to do. Sometimes you’ve got to fight. Sometimes that’s the only way to get people to listen.

I was right. Everything I thought would happen did. There was a whole lot of bullshit. I showed my teeth. But there was a resolution. Sort of. And the lesson is: when I say I’m not ready, it means I’m not ready.

Push me and I’ll push you back

I’m headed into a bs storm tomorrow.  Just preparing with some nifty quotes.

So, tomorrow is supposed to be the “resolution” of all the drama.  Hubs and I agree that there is going to be no such thing.  For one, I’m not feeling resolved.  I’m not even slightly cooled down and it’s been over a month.  Second, these are not the kind of people who come with sincerity and integrity.  There’s about to be a whole lot of bullshit.  So, for me, the plan of action is: how to handle the bullshit.  Right now, I’m thinking I have to call it out.  Why play nice and beat around the bush?  That’s what I’ve been doing for 7 years and it’s gone nowhere.

I almost feel sorry for Crazy.  Almost.  Those who knew me in my younger years where my survivor instinct was dominant to my sweet little persian girl side know that I’m scrappier than I look.  My bite is worse than my bark, and I’m sharpening my teeth.

Really, at this point, I don’t care what happens.  The people who would “mediate” my drama are barking up the wrong tree.  They’ve sufficiently pushed me over the edge.  Too little, too late, in coming to my defense.  Too much, too soon, of making me shoulder responsibilities that don’t belong to me.

Take a word of advice.  Don’t do anyone any favors.  They begin to think you owe it to them.  They ask more of me then they are willing to give.  It’s my fault, for having shouldered the burden up till now.  I’ve made them lazy and expectant.  No one wants to be the bad guy, so they push me forward.  No one wants to regulate, so they ask me to suffer in silence.  But, I don’t owe them what I am not willing to give even my own mother.

Unfortunately, I’m learning that the only person who will defend me is me.  The only person who cares about my happiness and sanity is me.  Others would continuously crucify me to make their own lives easier.  I’m not going to lay down and wait for Judas to make his move.  I’d rather take direction from the famous female generals of Persian history on the modern battlefield.  ”No surrender.  No retreat.” Aparnik.

When Sorry Just Isn’t Good Enough

Sometimes sorry just isn’t good enough.  Sometimes an apology just doesn’t cut it.  Sometimes things are just broken, and you have to accept that they’ll never be mended.  So what do you do when everyone around you insists that you “have to accept an apology”?  I mean, do you really have to?

I’ve been dealing with a little chick drama.  It’s not new.  It’s been seven years of these ongoing dramas.  Always needless, always mindless, always petty.  And, I’m not really sure I can deal with it anymore.  How do you reason with someone who is all black and dead inside?  How do you weigh upon someones conscience when they don’t have one?  These are the things I’ve been wondering lately.

I guess, I know I’m not a perfect person.  But, I know I’m a good person.  I have a conscience that doesn’t let me intentionally hurt anyone unless provoked.  I have a moral compass that doesn’t allow me to infringe on someone else’s beliefs.  I have the manners to treat others with due consideration.  I wouldn’t be able to be cruel to someone else.  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.  I would feel guilty.  I would feel ashamed.  So, I wonder, the person who has been intentionally and maliciously poking me for the last seven years… where is her conscience?  When she says hurtful and offensive things, doesn’t she feel bad?  Or guilty or ashamed?  Where is her heart that allows her to be so malicious to someone who does her absolutely no harm whatsoever.  Does she not have one?

I guess she’s no more than a schoolyard bully.  And, from what I remember from grade school, you have to punch the bully back to win his respect.  So, what do you do when the teacher forces the bully to make an empty apology? Are you supposed to accept knowing that tomorrow you’ll be right back into the same cycle of bully and bullied?  Or is there something you can do about it.

This is what I’m trying to figure out.  People keep telling me that I need to accept the empty apology headed my way.  I know that it won’t help.  Something else needs to change.  Something needs to give.  A sorry just isn’t good enough.

Mini-bestie

There is no way to truly describe how amazing my best friend is.  I could try, and I’m going to in this blog post, but it won’t cover it.  Really.  We jokingly say to each other “I love you so much that if you came to me and said you killed someone, I’d say, ok, let’s get a shovel and figure out where to bury it.”  I’m not sure it’s really a joke.  I think we might just take it there for one another.  Not so much because we’re into supporting coverups of murder or anything like that.  More so, because we trust each other and know each other so well that we know that murder was probably a long time coming.  Just kidding.  Kinda.

My best friend and I are the product of the kind of late night haze of exhaustion and existential conversation that so many people experience in college.  We just happened to be in the right place at the right time.  Willing to listen and be pushed against without severing the dialogue.  Those kinds of conversations, the ones with complicit honesty and brutal compassion are the kinds that change your world.  There’s a reason people say that your college friends are the ones that will stay with you always.  They are the ones that see who you are going to be; they witness the evolution.  They aren’t tied up in who you were, like childhood friends.  And, they don’t have the limited view of you that you only show your adulthood friends, once you’ve learned to protect your privacy.  No, college friends have seen you raw.  They know where you’ve been, where you’re going and how you’re getting there.  And they still love you anyway.

I’ve always known that my best friend was like family to me.  I always knew that I was lucky to have her.  And, yet, somehow she’s even surpassed what I knew to be even more than what I could have ever hoped.  She’s never made it a secret that she isn’t crazy about the idea of marriage, and she’s always insisted that she doesn’t care for babies.  But, you wouldn’t believe it if you saw her with my family and with my baby.  She is Khalleh B (Khalleh means mothers sister in farsi).

My little one adores her khalleh B.  The only other person who gives her as much unbridled attention and love as her khalleh B is my mother.  It’s a free for all of adoration between them and it just makes me so gooey and warm on the inside.  That’s love.  When a person who doesn’t care for the traditional family scenario, or kids in particular, comes into your family and cherishes as you would.  I call my daughter her mini-bestie.  Because they are… besties.  Somehow her love for me has transferred onto my wee one in the purest way possible.  How can I say how lucky that makes me feel.

Listen, seriously, I could go on and on about how amazing she is.  I could tell you about all the letters and notes of inspirational quotes and pep talks she’d send me while I was in law school.  I could tell you how she’s run herself ragged for my wedding, or at my daughters first birthday (seriously, she did more than I did).  I could describe her unequaled loyalty.  I trust her with everything that’s most precious to me.  But, to me, there’s no better way to describe how precious she is to me or what a huge part of my life she is than to say she is my baby’s bestie too.

I wish for my daughter her very own bestie that is as close to her as blood, like mine.  But, until then, I’ll gladly share my bestie with her.

How I Met Your Father

One of our favorite shows is How I Met Your Mother, a sitcom that’s one big flashback of how a dad (in the future) met his wife. But it’s been several years and we still haven’t met the wife. Of course, where would at least 7 seasons and syndication come from if it were that easy. Unlike that show, I can tell you how I met my hubby (baby’s daddy- that’s where the title comes from) in one neat and tidy blog post.

I love our story. I really do. It means so much to me because so much of the things I believe in are wrapped up in it.

First of all, my hubby and I went to the same university. Technically, all the same universities. We were at the same undergraduate in sunny southern California. We were there the exact same years. We were even in the same school (social sciences). We walked in the same graduation ceremony, but we never knew each other. We didn’t meet until law school a few years later. Now, the fact that we didn’t meet in undergrad is weird for us even now. We frequented so many of the same places, took some of the same classes, were even at the same halloween party once. We even think we may have “met” once when he was hanging out with some friends of mine who he was working on a project with, and I remember thinking “what a jerk”. Lol. After so many shared experiences we don’t even share any mutual friends. It’s strange how we have all the same memories of college, just completely separately. We talk about how odd it is pretty often since we’re still really close to our college friends, none of which overlap. But we always come to the conclusion that it was a good thing we didn’t meet then. We were both immature and didn’t have what it took to make a relationship work. If we had met in undergrad, I’m sure we would have liked each other, but I’m equally sure that we wouldn’t have lasted. He was in the phase of life where he though all girls liked jerks. I was in the phase of life where I was more difficult and less understanding.

After undergrad, hubby went straight to law school in the bay area. I took a few years off and eventually went to the same law school he was at. When I got there, he was in his third year and the president of the student bar association. This is how I met him.

Before I had made my final choice on law schools, I attended a few prospective student receptions. Since hubby was the SBA president, he gave a little speech at his law school. I sat in the audience with my mom and thought he looked really handsome in his three piece suit. At the meet and greet afterwards, I spoke to a few professors who worked in areas that interested me. When I was done, I went to gather up my mom and leave. She, however, insisted that I go speak to that “nice young man over there”. I told her that he was only a student, and I’d already spoken to the professors. But, she insisted. “He seems nice, maybe he’ll help you” she said.

By far one of the funniest memories is this meeting. He so quickly turned his attention away from the guys yammering for his attention and focused on me. With a deep professional tone he began talking to me, but when he found out we went to the same undergrad his voice changed completely. By the end of the conversation he had given me both his number and email address so confidently that I was sure he’d done it many times before. He, however, claims it was the first and last time.

I’m not sure what I expected to do with his contact info. I kept it, but didn’t use it. About a month later I moved into the city ready to start school. Everyday I went to the second floor computers to check my emails. Randomly one day I had to go by the administrative offices on the third floor. Afterwards I sat down at the third floor computers. I began to compose an email to the handsome SBA president. As I typed his email in, he sat down next to me. It was a crazy, random coincidence. I looked over at him, he noticed me, and that night he took me out for coffee.

Everything about our story makes me believe in fate. I feel like we were meant for each other. But I also believe that sometimes timing is everything. We were both ready and mature enough to appreciate each other and the special bond we had. Also, mother is always right

There’s part of me that’s tempted to go on and on about our story from there, but that’s more of a novella than a blog.

Mother knows best

I don’t know where I’d be without my mom. I think we all like to think that we got where we are in life on our own, but I know how much my mom has influenced my life for the better. And, this is beside her constant support in everything I’ve ever done.

Through the years she’s perfected the perfect combination of giving me my freedom and pushing me to do more. This, to me, is part of her brilliance as a mom. She let me make mistakes or wander where I shouldn’t. But, she always knew the perfect time to jump in and push me in a different direction. She always says that I was a good girl because I always eventually listened to her advice. But, I would argue, you’d have to be an idiot not to follow the path she so painstakingly lays out. It’s like choosing between being the wicked witch under the house or Dorothy on the road to Oz (I guess that makes my mom the Good Witch).

It’s not to say that I’ve always been the perfect kid. I’ve given my mom her share of worries. I’ve rebelled. I’ve disagreed with her. And, she’s always let me. But, I’ve also always realized that she has my best interest at heart and that she’s often a better judge of what’s good for me than I am. She told me to become a lawyer. She thought I should go talk to that nice young man (who became my husband). She steered me away from countless bad influences, but only after I had an opportunity to see for myself what was so bad.

I guess the reason I’m so awed by her is that she protected me and guided me without suffocating me. And, it would have been easy to become overprotective and overbearing after my father died, but she didn’t. She never did the thing that was easy for her, but always what’s best for me.

Now, my baby has all that amazingness in her life. Grandma lets me be the mom but she’s always carefully advising and planning for her granddaughter. From afar she sends recipes she thinks baby would like, looks at carseats as baby gets older, and prepares a room in her house just for baby. She respects how I want to raise my child but always suggests what she thinks is best. I thank God every day for her. And I hope my daughter gets to enjoy her grandma for many many more years to come. Me, I’m taking notes.