There are two pictures hanging in my house. One hangs in my room, my then one-year old daughter, Sienna, expressing pure delight and joy. The other hangs in my living room and it is a photograph taken of "The Steps" in the piazza of Cortona, Italy.
The second photograph is special for a few reasons. One, it was a wedding gift. Two, the photographer and gift-giver is Al Hurley. My history with the Hurley family began the day I was born, they played a huge role in my life, and they are forever friends.
The third reason is the location. The steps of Cortona, Italy, are where I fell in love.
When I was fifteen years old, my beloved Uncle Albert and Aunt Susan invited me to go to Italy with their family for three weeks. Their excuse for inviting me? So I could help watch the kids, of course. The real reason? They wanted to give me the gift of an unforgettable experience.
In July of 1999, Uncle Albert, Aunt Susan, 77 year-old Great-Uncle Henry, 7 year-old Olivia, 3 year-old Albert Joseph, and I embarked on an Italian adventure. As you can imagine, with such a wide variety of ages and people, the trip was far from perfect, but it remains one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life.
You see, we didn't get to Italy, and then spend 2 nights in 12 cities. We arrived in Cortona at the most charming, exquisite, rustic, Tuscan farmhouse you could possibly imagine. We unpacked, we settled in, and we made it our home for the next three weeks.
Our first meal was prepared by a radiant Italian woman. I was tasting flavors and eating dishes I never knew existed before. Nearly every night, we ate beneath a grape-vine entwined trellis on a stone table that had been in that exact spot for who knows how long. It was culture shock of the best variety.
Almost everyday I walked in to the town of Cortona, feeling as independent as I've ever felt. I would sit on the steps in the center of the piazza watching the people of this small town, listening to their unfamiliar chatter, and basking in the wonder of it all.
We would take day trips to places with beautiful names like Monticello, Montepulciano, Parma, and Siena (yes, that's where "Sienna"s name comes from), but always coming back to our Cortona.
As I write this so many images are flooding my mind, but I am struggling to find the words. My simple writing can not do my memories justice.
On one of our last evenings, Uncle Albert and I took the now-familiar path in to town. We sat on the on the steps of the piazza, had a glass of wine (even me), and talked and laughed and watched and learned.
At the end of three weeks, I was devastated to leave. Cortona felt like home. I felt the town had adopted me as one of their own. As the car pulled away from the stone walls, I cried, but I vowed to come back.
I had fallen in love. I fell in love with Italy. I fell in love with Italian food. I fell in love with gelato. I fell in love with Cortona. I fell in love with lavender. I fell in love with piazzas, and I fell in love with those steps...the steps that made me less ignorant, less naive, and more curious, more passionate.
I've been back twice, gratefully, but I hunger for more. Every once in a while, I have this overwhelming desire to just pick up and go...this feeling that I NEED to go...this urge to be there in my special place on the steps of the piazza...this overwhelming rush to slow down and experience life, culture, adventure, life-changing food...to stop and smell the lavender.
Until then...Ciao, Bella.
In January, Matt and I had our first meeting with our architect to start planning and designing our dream home. We are in love with our piece of property, so our hope is that in 2016, we will be able to knock down our current house and rebuild.
Doesn't it sound like fun?
But eight months later we have gone around in circles until we ended back at square one. The problem isn't that we don't know what we want, the problem is that we EACH know EXACTLY what we want...and our visions are worlds apart.
I would be blissfully happy in a craftsman style bungalow complete with tons of charm, character, and quaintness.
Matt, on the other hand, would be on cloud 9 if I would only assent to the ultra-modern, stainless steel bachelor pad that he wants.
What does a marriage of those two visions look like? Beats me. And our poor, sweet, patient architect...I feel like we've sent her on a wild goose chase trying to capture each of our idyllic images for our dream house.
Two days ago, I couldn't even sleep because my mind wouldn't stop turning. I felt discouraged and hopeless. I didn't see how we would ever find a style of house we both could truly love.
And that's the thing, the truth is, I don't want Matt to just say, "Fine, do whatever you want, Dara." I REALLY don't. My greatest desire is that we find a perfect compromise. But I don't want either of us to feel like we are settling. There's a difference.
After being emotional and distraught for two days over this, I finally came to my senses (I'm just sorry it took so long). This is not a problem. Yes, it's a large investment. Yes, it's our forever house. Yes, we should be thoughtful and attentive. But this is not a problem.
Last night it was so clear how blessed I am to have a "problem" like this. Matt and I have the opportunity to plan, design, customize, and hopefully actually build the house of our dreams! How could I have lost sight of that? How could I have let the natural frustrations of this process overwhelm the spirit of humility and gratitude I SHOULD have?
I am excited to move forward and determined to handle the "problems" this project dishes out with grace and gratitude. I will not neglect to remember that it's far better for me to store up treasure in heaven instead of here on earth.
I have become boring. It's sad, terribly sad, but true.
And it's hard to admit, but you guys know my blog is where I work my issues out and lay them out for the world to see!
I discovered this shocking revelation just the other night. I couldn't shake this sense of discontentment, this feeling of being bored, this concept that my days, my weeks, my months are the same. Monotony was boring me to tears.
Naturally, I looked around me for something or someone to blame, but sadly, I realized it was me. I.am.boring.
You might be shaking your head, claiming that I'm being too hard on myself. You might even think I'm tons of fun. But I'm not...just ask my husband. Ouch. That was even harder to admit.
You see, even on our date nights, which we do regularly and I genuinely look forward to, by 9 o'clock my eyes are glazing over as I try to follow what exactly it is he is saying.
After the kids go to bed, I am rarely, if ever, in the mood to discuss the things we need to discuss...easy, little things like what to do for Sienna's birthday. But I am so apparently exhausted, that I refuse to engage him in conversation about trivial matters, let alone deeper or more intimate topics.
Now, I know what you're thinking again. I have a ball of boundless energy in my almost-four year old, Sienna, and two destructive tornadoes in the form of my 21 month old twins, Price and Maddox. Of course I'm exhausted. I am smack dab in the middle of one of the most challenging seasons in parenthood...the toddler stage...and I have three.
And now you're remembering this relatively successful fitness business I run from home, and you are desperately trying to make me feel better about myself, patting me on the back, and saying, "It's okay that you are so drained. Anyone in your position would be."
And maybe you're right. But I don't think my marriage should take the fall. I don't think Matt should receive the short end of the stick at the end of everyday. I don't think this "tough season" is a good enough excuse to justify my boring behavior.
In fairness, it's not just Matt who has been deprived of my former magnetic personality. The thought of leaving my house after 8pm for a girls' night is often the LAST thing I want to do. And scheduling play dates remains elusive due to my boys' nap schedule.
So instead of waiting for the children to grow up and for this season to pass, I am going to create the spark I've been missing. I have decided to be fun again. I am going to loosen the reigns on my schedule and drink some coffee in the evening if I must. I am going to put girls' nights on the calendar and meet Matt for surprise lunch dates.
Doesn't it sound fun? Don't I sound fun?
I'll keep you updated on Operation: Fun Dara. Stay tuned!
Being a mom is hard. It's draining. It's exhausting. Someone always needs something. There are constantly hands grabbing you, reaching for you. "Mama" rings constantly in your ears. Diapers are never-ending. And feeding them? Don't get me started.
Some days feel like an eternity...heck, the two hours leading up to bed time can feel like an eternity. I've never been so physically worn out and emotionally drained as when I have a day at home with all three kids by myself. Seriously. Never. Not as a Division I college athlete, not as the wife of a major league baseball player, and not even the summer I competed in a fitness competition.
Tantrums and attitudes, bribery and negotiations, and whining...lots and lots of whining fill my days. Sometimes I could just scream. And sometimes, unfortunately, I do. Sometimes I just want to quit. But that of course is not an option (also unfortunate). There are moments when I am POSITIVE that if I have to pick up one more cheerio off the ground, I'll officially lose it.
And then Price will toddle over with his bow-legged, pigeon-toed gait, and crawl in to my lap, book in hand.
Or Sienna, out of the blue, and unprompted, will quietly utter, "I love you, Mama."
Or Maddox will spontaneously give Price a huge hug and kiss.
One perfect moment in the midst of seemingly never-ending imperfect moments...makes it all okay. One hug, one act of sibling affection, one mischievous grin brings everything back in to perspective.
In those perfect moments I could nearly cry because of God's grace.
In those moments when I allow myself to sit back and just take it all in, I am overwhelmed with gratitude that these are MY babies. I get to keep them?! I can hardly believe it.
In those sacred 10 seconds before everything goes back to chaos, I think of the women who struggle with infertility or the mamas who have lost a child, and I can hardly breathe.
So when Price is playing in the toilet, and when Maddox has poop on his fingers, and Sienna hasn't stopped talking for three hours straight...I hope to be able to take a deep breath, and quietly say:
"I am the luckiest girl in the world. I can't BELIEVE I get to raise these beautiful, brilliant children and love on them all day, everyday."
Beachbody coach or not, I struggle when it comes to consistently eating well. I have compiled a list of 5 reasons that I struggle to maintain a healthy nutrition agenda.
1. I am a girl with a big appetite.
I've never understood those people who just forget to eat. I am usually planning my lunch before I've even tasted my breakfast.
In middle school, I used to bring the largest lunch of all my friends and was known (and gently teased) for finishing off what another kid couldn't eat.
In high school, when I was challenged to eat a whole medium pizza (8 slices), I did.
At a buffet, I am nearly always the first one to pop back up for seconds.
When Matt and I split a meal, it's half and half (never mind the fact that he is nearly 100 pounds heavier than me)! Poor Matt never gets to FINISH off my plate the way most men get to enjoy the leftovers of their wives' meals.
Let me put it this way...I have literally had very real ideas of creating a spin-off of the show "Man vs Food". I, of course, would call it "Little Girl vs Food"...because who wouldn't tune in to watch a petite, muscular, seemingly lady-like gal CRUSH some food? I would watch that. And that just goes to show how big my appetite really is.
I love to eat and I can EAT.A.LOT.
2. Cheeseburgers are my favorite food.
Why is this a problem? Because I know other women with big appetites, but it seems a few of them actually prefer to fill themselves up with salmon and broccoli and salad and quinoa.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy healthy food...but not as much as I enjoy a HUGE, greasy, bacon cheeseburger (with fries of course). OR a large pizza with extra cheese. (Is anyone else hungry yet?)
When people ask me what my favorite kind of food is...the answer is easy. Bar food. Literally, the kind of food you find in a sports bar is my favorite food. Could I choose a worst genre of food? (Do foods have genres?)
3. I am very content with how I look and am sitting at my ideal body weight/size.
Again, why is this a problem? Because I'm not motivated. I am one of those lucky ones that can get by with a little unhealthy eating and maintain their weight and physique.
So if I can maintain my weight even when I make poor food choices, why would I be motivated to choose the grilled chicken and veggies over the steak and baked potato?
I am working on capturing the idea that my food choices should not be based on how I look, but on my overall health. And I'm trying...I really am! But I'm not totally there yet.
4. I, too, fall prey to emotional eating.
When I am stressed and overwhelmed...these are the feelings that drive me to eat. In those moments, carrot sticks and hummus don't cut it. I want the chips and queso. I want the pint of Ben and Jerry's Half Baked (the best flavor) ice cream!
After a long morning of being a mom, feeding the kids lunch, entertaining them outside, and FINALLY getting them down for a nap...the ONLY thing I want to do is curl up on the couch, watch the Bachelorette, and snack on something unhealthy. Like I said...these are my "confessions".
5. I am not an excellent or creative cook.
It's really not my idea of fun to admit publicly that I am not that great of a cook : ) I am getting better, but man, I just don't enjoy it that much. It overwhelms me to look through recipes, find a healthy meal, put in the time, and then HOPE it turns out delicious, or at least edible enough that your two year old twins don't spit it out and throw it on the floor. Is that so much to ask for?
Cooking just doesn't come naturally to me. At this point, I am unable to look through my cupboards and refrigerator and just WHIP something up with the ingredients that I have. My mind doesn't work that way. So every meal takes a lot of planning and preparation, and frankly, I find it exhausting.
So now you know. I struggle. I am far from perfect when it comes to eating 100% clean, balanced, well-portioned meals all the time. But I am working on it. I am striving to be better. I am slowly changing my mindset and perspective on food and what it means to me.
So stay tuned for updates and my tips and tricks for eating healthy...even when you are a "girl who loves to eat"!
I mentioned recently that I had been in a workout rut. I was bored, unmotivated, and weary. After hopping around from program to program, I decided to take it back to my first Beachbody love, P90X3.
Tony Horton's P90X3 is intense and challenging. This program will not only lean you out, but they will make you more athletic. You will be more dynamic. You will be able to do things you have never done before.
When my twin boys were two months old and my daughter was just over two years old, I joined my first accountability group and relied on P90X3 and Shakeology to mold me back in to the body I knew before I was pregnant with twins. I relied on this exercise program to give me back control over my body when I felt like I had zero control over anything else.
Tony Horton made me feel like "ME" again. He made me feel like I was more than just a nursing milk machine mama. He gave me back my confidence and my six-pack. He reminded me that I used to be athletic and competitive...and that I still am! He trained me in a way I've never been trained before using resistance training, cardio, yoga, agility drills, kickboxing, yoga and balance skills.
P90X3 is the whole package. I can't wait to review each workout here on my blog and dive in deeper to what make P90X3 so special to me. After all, you never forget your first love.
