Life Hack: Let the Sweat Dry First

Day 9. 

Today I completed my 9th BeachBody Muscle Burns Fat (mbf) work out in a row.  (I'm not affiliated with BeachBody in any way except as a paying customer.)

For the record, I have never, ever, ever, never worked out 9 days in a row in my 40 years of existence. Like ever.  Some of you understand that. Some of you think that's the craziest thing you've ever heard. 

However, 9 days ago, I dug my 3 sports bras out from the bottom of the bin they were buried in. (Yes, I only own three, because God blessed me with a set of girls that when pushed into a sports bra are just one giant shelf that I can rest dishes on. So I don't wear them except to work out.) I woke up, slid one on with a tank, shorts, tennis shoes, and logged in to BeachBody for the first time.  

It was leg day. If I had any muscles prior to this workout, they were in my legs.  I'm confident. I'm doing leg day. I'm squatting and lunging away.  And I'm sweating.  Like sweat--ing.  Sweat running down my face. Boob sweat. Butt sweat. I have never sweat this much except when sitting at all-day softball tournaments in 90 degree heat with 90% humidity. No exaggeration. (For the record, I sweat that much each day, and, according to the Facebook group for this program, so does everyone else. So, I don't have a gland problem. Also for the record, I couldn't sit down on the toilet the next two days without gasping in pain.)

When I finished, I was so proud of myself.  Yet so sweaty. And smelly. And gross. 

Here's where it gets interesting.

I decided to shower immediately after the work-out. It seemed logical at the time.

So picture this. 

I have removed every other article of clothing off my sweat-soaked and glistening plus-size body except my Nike sports bra. 

No problem. Right?

Wrong. 

I'm a crossed-arm over-the-head-puller shirt remover.  

So I'm pulling.  And I'm pulling.  And I'm puuullllllling.  The sports bra is maybe a third pulled up. It's still under my shoulder blades. I haven't broken that barrier yet.

I stop. I'm sweating more. I put my arms down. I take a breath. I think about calling my oldest to help but it's just too embarrassing to do so. I'm mostly naked. I just worked out. I can get my sports bra off for Pete's sake.

I take a deep breath. I pull and wiggle. I shimmy. I shake. I twist. I thank the Lord God above it was leg day so that my arms don't feel like my legs do. Jell-o. 

Finally, I feel the sports bra snap over my shoulders and swoosh over my head.  God. Bless. America. Freedom. 

Except now the puddle of gathered boob sweat has been released from the Nike dam and is running down my belly. Dripping on the floor.  Yeah, picture that people.  And I can't even make this shit up. It's all true. 

Seriously, the bra removal was worse than the workout. (Maybe exaggerated.)

Since then, I have realized after this struggle that if I wait an hour (even a half hour) the sweat dries and the sports bra comes off much easier without the David and Goliath struggle that occurred in my bathroom. I mean it's the simple victories in life. Really.

And while we are talking about letting the sweat dry, the same approach goes for saving my hair color. 

The first few days, I was washing my hair every day. For the past two years, I have NEVER washed my hair two days in a row. Who has time for that? And why did some genius invite dry shampoo if I wasn't going to use it?  I just kept thinking that I was going to have to color my hair more often and the husband would not appreciate that bill more frequently.

Well, ladies, if I let the sweat dry, I can shower and not wash my hair. Then, I can sprinkle in some dry shampoo and, boom, problem solved. Seem gross? Don't kid yourself. You do it too.

So there we have it. Let the Sweat Dry First. It saves the sports bra removal battle and the hair color.

Ain't Happy

"If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy."

Besides the fact that this cliché is grammatically incorrect (sorry, I can't help it), this phrase comes across as Momma being the center of the family, the unit which the family revolves around. It initially seems narcissistic. Selfish, even. And we all know that moms cannot ever be selfish (insert eye roll).

So why would I name a blog after that phrase? Do I think the word revolves around me? 

Ha! No. That's too much pressure.

I chose it because I have expectations. For myself. For my friends. For my husband. For my girls. For my students.

And, yes, it can be a double edge sword. But more on that later.

This is what the phrase means to me.

I like order and efficiency in my home and classroom. I hold myself and my family to that standard. If momma ain't happy about the order and efficiency, I expect my family to help with that. We do 15 minute pick-ups, we get things ready the night before for the next day, and we meal plan. I don't prefer chaos or clutter. It messes with my mind and stress level. 

I expect my children to not be assholes. If they are assholes to me, their dad, each other, or others, the 'ain't happy' momma comes out. I'm firm. I handle it. We talk about it. Sometimes time-outs are involved or removal of privileges. I. do. not. allow. it.  Honestly, 100% honest, I do not care if my children are valedictorian, the star athlete, the best musician, whatever. Would I like those things? Sure. However, what I care most about is that they treat others decently. They are accepting, tolerant, and non-judgmental. They give grace. They speak their minds with respect. Be a decent person. 

And, because I'm me no matter the situation, I expect my students not to be assholes. I parent and handle classroom behavior in the same way. I don't know how or care to know how to do it in different ways. I am a little less harsh with my students and try to figure out what approach works for each student, but I expect the same. My students should be thankful they don't have to live with me (although I'll have my oldest in class this year, so poor her).

Randy Pausch in his book The Last Lecture says, 

While I'm not a coach and I don't really yell in my classroom, I say to students if you aren't meeting expectations and I don't say anything or ask questions, it means I've given up. I'm not everyone's cup of tea as a teacher. I've found in 18 years that most students either love me or hate me.  However, I will say that I have not ever given up on a student. Ever. Even when they yell at me, swear at me, stop completing their work, walk out of class....whatever. I have not given up.

Part of Momma being happy is self-care. I cannot give, give, give to everyone else and not take care of myself. That is part of it. Some would view it as selfish. Whatever. And, in full disclosure, I'm not always so great at this part and sometimes (more than I should really) I lose my shit. But I do like to wear pretty clothes, do my hair, and put on make-up in fun ways. I like jewelry and nail stickers. I get manis and pedis. Perhaps, I'm high maintenance....vain...but I like those things. And I do them for me. Not for anyone else or because I feel I have to in order to fit in. Trust me, my husband doesn't care if I color my hair and put make-up on. My friends still let me into their homes when I'm wearing leggings, my unwashed hair is in a messy bun, and I'm wearing no make-up. And if people judge me for my appearance (cuz there are those people in my life), our relationship is not one I'm giving tons of energy to. Outside of my appearance, I work on self-care of my mind. I read. I try to read for at least 30 minutes a day....even when I have a large stack of papers to grade or the laundry needs to folded. And, recently, I've started exercising. (That's a whole different post.)

So, there. That's why this is the title of this blog. Momma being happy is about meeting expectations and some self-care. Not because I think I'm the most important person in the world, but I care about how my children, my students, and I live this life.

Bitch?

The set-up:

A colleague and friend left teaching for a job outside education. The end of May, teachers were allowed back into our classrooms to prepare them for summer after being out of school for 10 weeks because of Covid.  

This departing friend, 2 other colleagues, and I were chatting in the departing friend's classroom before saying 'until we meet again.'  I do not even remember the specifics of what we were discussing. 

In the conversation, I called myself a bitch.

My departing friend asked why I called myself a bitch. Her expression was more one of curiosity than concern. We had worked together for years. She knew me.

"Because I am one. And I do it before others can," I replied.

The explanation:

I am a strong woman.

By strong, I mean that I am vocal. I speak my mind. I say what a lot of people are thinking but no one else really wants to say. Brené Brown in Dare to Lead discusses that in meetings people come to expect and rely on certain people to perform certain roles. From my perspective, I'm the person who speaks up...whether in a high school teacher staff meeting, whether in my groups of friends, or whether in family decisions. I say it how it is. I don't really know another way.

By strong, I mean that I am passionate. I usually only participate in or do things that I believe in...teaching, parenting, friendship, marriage. I breathe those areas. I research those areas. I work hard every day to be grounded in my values (courage and love) and to spread those values passionately. My husband has referred to that as "being on my high horse" (which I was totally triggered when he did. Pissed.). I view it as invested. 

By strong, I mean that I am not really interested in others' opinion unless they are in my circle. (I call that my one-inch box....more on that later.) Rachel Hollis says in her book Girl, Wash Your Face, "Someone else's opinion of you is none of your business." Um. Amen. A-freaking-men. I used to do so many things (so.many.things.) because I tried to meet others' expectations. Screw that shit. I now do things and make decisions based upon courage and love. If someone doesn't agree, ok. One of my bestie's husbands recently texted me, "In all walks of life, each decision we make will make someone else angry. We must do what we believe is right at the time. [I] would rather live life the way I want to and make people mad, then try to be someone I'm not."  I couldn't have said it better myself. I also have so much growth to make in this area, yet I have come a long way.

By strong, I mean that I rely on other people for support, love, and encouragement. Trust me, I still need to grow in this area and it isn't easy to do at all. However, I have an amazing husband who is always my rock when shit gets real. Plus I have my handful (my core group of friends) that answer my FaceTime calls even when they are driving and I'm bawling my eyes out, that come out to my house at a moment's notice with their toddler and ice cream, that text repeatedly until I can call them.  Those people. I have worked 40 years to find those people and I'm grateful every day that I have.

An observation:

I will say this (though potentially unpopular). A female who is vocal, passionate, uninterested in others' opinions, and relies on others is a bitch. She is gossiped about by other women behind her back or on social media. She is told to "watch herself." Men want to know "who she thinks she is." (Yup, all happened to me.)  

However, a man with these qualities is a leader. (Well, except for asking for help part....that's viewed as a weakness in men...unfortunately.)

I'm not saying I don't like men. I love them. I'm just saying this is a societal truth.

Last definition

So I'm a bitch.  And if that means speaking my mind, feeling invested in how I spend my time, filtering who I listen to and value, and asking those same people for help....then, ok, I'll be a bitch.