Almost November.

I haven't written here in what feels like forever, and I know exactly why: since I've gone a little more public with this blog, I feel much more conscious of what I say in it. People might see it now. Real people. This has made me very conscious of the message I am putting out there -- what the words are saying, what the undertone may imply, how much to say about me, what type of message I want to send, where the balance is between personal-blogging and mommy-blogging and coach-blogging, where the balance is between sharing honestly and keeping some personal space, what direction I want this to go in general, if I have a direction for it at all. I'll think of something interesting to say, but just not quite be sure what to say about it.

So then: I say nothing. I can't find the lines, so I'm over-cautions not to cross any of them. But you know what? Not saying anything isn't a message I want to say, either. In real life, I am a talker, a sharer, and I will answer any question you ask me as honestly and completely as I feel appropriate. So as it turns out? Saying nothing is the exact opposite of any message I would want to send. Saying nothing is dishonest.

And I realized that to sit and think about where all the lines may be, I am just sitting and thinking; to find them, I have to explore and bump into them a little bit, see where the lines fall and if, by finding them, I would choose to move any of them elsewhere. I may find other lines I haven't thought of, and I may erase some that turn out to be unnecessary, but I'll never figure that out just sitting here thinking about it.

So here I am. Hi! I'm exploring my own public, online boundaries. And I'm going to continue to encourage myself to do so. November is coming up in three days (I know, right?), and with November, in the blogosphere, comes NoJoMo -- November Journaling Month, with the goal of posting one entry, every day. That's thirty days of blogging, sharing, and boundary-finding. I'm excited to see where it goes.

Uncomfortable, awesome new shoes.

So, let's say you're used to things being less than fabulous, then suddenly your world is shaken up and though it's rough for a while, you start to settle into something amazing... But like, amazing? What? What's this about? And you have no idea what to do with the amazing.

I've experienced this myself recently: at my awesome, flexible new job that I can leave at the office and never have to take home with me, I suddenly feel myself stressing out about work and deadlines and how am I going to get it all done and I realize that, um, hey. I don't have to stress out anymore. Apparently I am just used to being stressed at work and have no idea how to handle having it easy.

When I mentioned this recently a friend replied that she had experienced the same thing with her new relationship: she has no idea how to handle having a partner who actually wants to spend time with her.

I was thinking about this and realized it's kind of like buying awesome new shoes. They look fabulous on you, you're getting tons of compliments on them, you absolutely love them... but are you sure they go with this outfit? Normally you'd wear those shoes; do these shoes really go better? I don't know, maybe I should go with the old shoes. Besides, I'm not used to these shoes. What if wearing them too much gets them scratched up sooner? Maybe I should reserve these shoes for special occasions.

Is it like that with happiness, too? Do we just get so used to our old feelings that we're not sure what to do with the awesome new ones?

So: Do you wear your new shoes with pride and know that even though they're a little stiff right now, as soon as they're broken in they will be the best shoes ever? Or do you throw them in the closet until the old, scuffed shoes completely fall apart and you have no choice but to wear new shoes, even though the new ones are a little dusty now?

It's your choice, of course. But that's the cool part: You get to choose. There's no rule; it's entirely up to you.

The ice cream truck.

Ever since the last time we were able to catch the ice cream truck ages ago, Raiden has been asking when he'll be coming again. The other night while we were reading before bed, I heard it dinging! After a pause and a second "ding-ding" of confirmation, I dropped the book and told Raiden, "RUN!!", grabbed the husband's bank off his dresser and RAN outside myself... just as the ice cream truck was passing our house. I yelled, "WAIT!! WAAIIIIT!" and Raiden joined in screaming it behind me and the dude, who wasn't even one driveway away, did. not. hear us. I bolted for the next yard over still yelling for him and Raiden followed suit and still, nothing. He immediately started crying, out of sheer disappointment. I heard the ice cream truck turning down the street behind us and told Raiden, "Run to the back yard! Quick!" and we did, and again as he passed by on the opposite street we yelled and again, nothing, and again, Raiden started crying.

It's not a spoiled cry because he didn't get his way. He was really looking forward to the ice cream truck coming back, for weeks, and it finally came and we almost got it but missed it! Total disheartening, especially for a four year old when catching the ice cream truck is the adult equivalent of winning the lottery.

In about a split second, my Mommy brain weighed the options of going back in the house with a disappointed, crying child and dropping the boring old "we'll try next time" crap that wouldn't do any good, or... running for it. I chose running for it. Reaching for Raiden's hand I told him, "Let's run. Let's try to catch him," and we took off down the street, hoping that I could cut him off while he was weaving through, catching him at the end of one of the roads as he was turning.

I didn't realize until we were three houses away that I was barefoot, and it dawned on me, too, that the white on Raiden's feet I had registered as shoes, were actually socks.

Oh well.

We kept running.

Raiden was crying all the way down the street, and part of the time after we reached the sidewalk at the corner. Another house or two down that street I told him, "We're trying, bud. We're doing our best." Another half-a-block later, he was laughing and saying, "This is fun!"

We totally lost the ice cream truck. Didn't hear him anywhere, but in my mind, I was thinking, okay, we'll go around the block the other direction to try and cut him off if he went to the next subdivision. I forgot that the way we were going didn't have any other cross streets for a while... they are all "avenue ends" from the other direction. But turning back meant admitting defeat, and my Mommy Brain said we had to at least try.

We didn't hear any more "ding-dings," but halfway through our escapade Raiden started explaining that the rocks we were stepping on were asteroids and started telling me all about asteroids, and that he had bat ears and the ice cream truck's bell would echo into his bat ears and he'd hear it. Around that point I realized that 1) it was very dark outside, and 2) the husband was due home any time. I could just see him getting to the house with the door left open, us gone, my phone on the counter...

Luckily, we made it home before he did. And when Daddy got home from Kung Fu shortly after, Raiden, instead of being disappointed, was excited to tell Daddy all about his adventure in chasing the ice cream truck, and that "We lost him, but we tried our best!"

And really, that was my goal.

(We also promised him that from now on, we'll leave a window open in the evening so we will hear the ice cream truck sooner, and be able to make it out in time. I also plan on keeping shoes by the front door.)

I'm so glad to see my son having experiences like this, at this age. How many adults get so attached to a specific outcome that they totally miss the fun along the way? In my mind, being barefoot and walking on asteroids is way better than getting ice cream.

Feelings as habits.

I remember reading something, or watching something, or in some other way learning something from somewhere (perhaps various somewheres; I am obviously vague on details here), about how feelings, and the chemicals your brain produces because of these feelings, can be addictive. Basically, the more you feel a certain way and then continue to feel a certain way, the more your brain and body get used to the chemicals being produced by those feelings, and wants to produce more of them.

I'm a big proponent of the awareness that you can choose how you want to respond to something, even choose how you want to feel about it, and make that happen. It's a pretty cool awareness thing once you get some practice at it. But what if your brain is so used to you feeling a certain way that once you no longer need to, your brain isn't sure what to do with that?

Let's say you're habitually angry due to stressful or unfair work conditions, and then you get a fabulous new job in a fabulous new place and everything is fabulous... but you're still angry, about nothing in particular, just because that's what you're used to feeling? Or you are habitually depressed, sad, or bored, and then you do a lot of work on personal growth and suddenly feel very good about yourself with plenty of things to do that you enjoy... but if there's the slightest trigger, you're right back into being depressed, sad or bored again, just because that's where your feelings, your mood, your brain, are used to going?

Of course, I also fully believe that both choice and your brain's chemical dependency on itself can work together. Once you realize that you do have the choice, that you do not have to feel any way you don't want to feel just because you do feel that way right now, you can retrain yourself -- your thought habits, your "default mode" as I've heard clients describe it -- to switch gears and feel something you'd rather be feeling. And then guess what happens: over time, you get used to feeling that way, your brain gets used to the new combination of chemicals it's producing, and you have a new "default mode."

So basically, you can teach yourself the habit of happy. How cool is that?

(And, hey, you know something that life, personal growth and empowerment coaches are good for? Helping you gain awareness of your habits, decide what you'd rather be doing instead, and get yourself there. For more information about coaching, you can visit my website, Life Spiraling Forward, and/or Like me on facebook. Because really, empowering yourself to choose who and how you want to be, is pretty awesome.)

Packet-free.

Oh, man. My world is full of changes right now. Good changes! Just changes, in the middle of which is a busy schedule, so though things are fabulous right now -- really! -- I still find myself looking forward to August when all the dust settles and the changes can become routine. I've been discovering recently that I do better with routines, and when they're thrown off, so am I.

(If you're curious: I started two new jobs, the little one started preschool, the husband is out of town for training, and next week I will be out of town being a hippie at the Great Lakes Retreat in Michigan.)

And none of that has anything to do with what I actually wanted to jot down today.

Today, I am doing just a little more to do just one more little thing to help us eat a little healthier and save a little money.

My son -- I love him -- asked to make "that bean soup I like" (and I like that I have a 4 year old who specifically asks for bean soup), so I promised him I'd look at the recipe, make sure we have everything we need for it, and that we would make it tonight. I knew we had all the beans, but I knew we did not have the packets of taco seasoning or ranch mix. And I also knew I didn't want to buy them; the reason we don't make the bean soup more often anyway is that I don't like all the chemical ingredients in the packets of seasonings, not to mention that they're $1-2 for basically 3tbsp of cheap spices plus all the crap added in.

So today I decided that instead of going to the store and cringing at myself as I bought more maltodextrin- and MSG-ridden flavoring packets, that I would look up homemade recipes for them myself.

I have done this. I've emailed myself a few versions of each recipe just in case we want to experiment and see which one we all like better. Also, I'll admit it, I specifically picked one of two of the combinations to save because I knew we already had all the ingredients for those at home and I wouldn't have to stop and buy anything else. This may sound like a money-saving adventure, and sure, I guess, it is, but really? I just don't want to have to stop at the grocery store on the way home from work.

Have you ever done that? Everyone stops at the grocery store after work. It takes at least three times more time than I'd normally spend just running to grab something at the store, when I go there after work, and I'm hot and I'm tired and the people make me overstimulated and I feel like I have to rush even more to get out of there relatively quickly and that makes me stressed and forgetful and frankly? It's not worth it.

So now I don't gotta. I'm saving us the MSG and fake ingredients, I'm saving us a few dollars, I'm saving the trash I'd throw away from using a packet of seasonings, and I'm saving myself the hassle of stopping at the grocery store.

Hey, motivation is motivation, right?

In the mean time, I'm learning to be less dependent on one more unnecessary convenience. And my kid will get his bean soup.

It'll be fun next time.

Sometimes, having coaching skills is awesome when you're a mommy.

Admittedly sometimes I feel like That Mom when I talk about this... mostly when my coaching school, iPEC Coaching, will post something on facebook asking something along the lines of, "When was the last time you used X coaching skill?" and I'll chime in, "Yesterday, with my 4 year old!" But I did. Because it's awesome. I'm teaching my pre-K things that I've seen adults have a hard time figuring out; then again, adults have to re-learn and break existing thought habits, while my 4yo is just now forming those thought habits himself.

For example: We were at the park one day playing on the big-kid equipment after fattening up some of the geese nearby, and the pole. Oh, that pole. It was out to get him. He'd worked with Daddy the time before, learning how to reach out and grab it, then jump and wrap his legs around to slide down. It was scary, but with Daddy's help, he was brave and went down the pole by himself! Once. And then he remembered that it was scary, which is what carried over for him during this visit. The pole is scary. He was scared. I tried cheering him on but frankly, I'm not Daddy, and Mommy cheering never has quite the same effect as Daddy cheering (just like Daddy's bedtime songs aren't quite as good as Mommy's).

Several minutes were filled with a back-and-forth of "I'm too scared!" and "You can do it! Just count to three and jump!" before we finally decided that it was okay, we would try again next time.

As we started walking home, the 4yo was repeating to himself, "I was just too scared. That was so scary. The pole was too scary. I was really scared." So I told him, "Raiden, what you're doing right now is called psyching yourself out. Do you know what that means?" Of course he didn't. "Psyching yourself out means that you're telling yourself that it's scary so much that you're making it even scarier for yourself. The more you tell yourself 'it's too scary!' the more you'll believe it!" I think he said something along the lines of, "Oh." I went on, "But, did you know that you have the power to change your own thoughts?" "I do?" "Yes, you do! You can choose to stop saying it's too scary, and start saying that you can do it! Can you say, 'It'll be fun next time'?" If there were a way to articulate a whiny tone through text, I would do it, but since I can't particularly think of one, I will simply tell you that in a whiny tone and with a slouchy stance, my child did, in fact, repeat, "It'll be fun next time..."

Still, I cheered him on. "There you go! The more you say it the more you'll believe it! Can you say it again?" With a similar whine and slouch, he repeated, "It'll be fun next time..." I cheered him on some more, and after a dozen or so more times (because what four year old doesn't love to repeat himself and repeat himself and repeat himself and repeat himself and...), it became enthusiastic.

So the next time we went to the park, do you think he was able to go down the pole? Well, no. It was still scary. Because, let's face it, he's four, and that's a big jump for a 4yo. But he also did not stand there telling himself how scary it was. He tried, he just couldn't do it, and he told himself, "It'll be fun next time."

Since then, he has asked me a couple of times in similar situations, "Am I psyching myself out?" If I confirm that yes, he is (and comment that it was very big of him to recognize that), he'll stop and change his phrasing to how fun it might be next time. And that's way better than sliding down a pole.

As within, so without. Or vice versa. Or...

As you may or may not know, we have moved into our new house (which previously belonged to my late grandparents-in-law), but still haven't sold the old one.

I've gone through a lot of different emotions over the old house being on the market and moving to the new one over the past three years (three. years.) that the plan has been in the works, mostly stagnant. It started out, "But I love this house and I wanted to stay here forever and I don't like the new house because it's boring and this one has character and I don't want to get rid of it... but it's very financially responsible to do so;" morphed somewhere along the line to, "Okay, it'll be all right, we've given this house all we can and now it's time for someone else to take care of it," with visualizations of the perfect new owner and how much the new person would love the house and fix it up and do all the things for it that we just weren't able to do; and eventually became, "I'm done being in limbo. I'm mad at you, house. You need to sell now. We're outta here. See, now you'll be alone because you didn't attract a new owner," and my wish for the Universe has gone from a visualization of the perfect owner to something more like, "Okay, Universe, just find someone else to make the house payment. Don't care how. Make it happen."

It hasn't yet, but that's not where I'm going with this. What I'm getting at is: I am currently in charge of mowing two lawns instead of one, and due to the "doneness" I have come to with the old house, it's something I kind of roll my eyes at and say FINE and do it but I'm not happy about it.

The last time I was mowing the lawn at the old house, I realized about halfway through that even though I am frustrated and, okay, I'll admit it, a little resentful that I still have to take responsibility for the lawn at a house I would like to be done with, that the actual process of mowing the lawn itself was very comfortable and familiar. I know the spots where I need to go slower to get through the thick patches; I know the areas where I can go faster due to the grass being thinner and drier; I know that if I angle the mower just right over the curb we don't have to use the weed-eater as often; this is the spot where I'll just backtrack a few short rows to even it out into the longer rows in a minute; mowing the area between the sidewalk and the road as part of the bigger yard rather than its own section makes it feel more doable and less long and horrible. It's very familiar, and even still slightly enjoyable to find a new, better, more efficient pattern to follow to let the job feel like it's getting done faster.

Even though I am tired of having to do it.

And as tends to happen, being the type of person who tends to think about the things I'm thinking about, I thought bigger. I know that "thought is cause" and that "as within, so without" and in general, that what is in your mind creates the world around you. So I wondered: what's in my mind (within) that is creating a situation in which mowing the yard is still comfortable and familiar yet the house it belongs to won't sell (without)? What else could be going on in my mind in which I am feeling comfortable with something I would rather like to get rid of? (Oh, as soon as I asked myself that, I thought of about a dozen possible responses.) And as such: what do I need to resolve within myself, to allow something different to be manifested outwardly?

What about you? What frustrations do you have in your life right now, that you would like to see change, shift, disappear, or evolve in some way? What qualities does that situation have? What other mental conflict could be similar to that situation? And how ready are you to change it within yourself?

The cool thing is, even if resolving something within yourself doesn't result in the outward change you would like to see manifested, you still grew, and something even better may come of that.