Flashback Saturday: Hip Mom Rule #1

I started these Hip Mom Rules when I was pregnant with my second child. Now that my children are older, it's fun to look back on these rules and see how they've shaped who I am as a mom to three boys as we head into their late elementary and middle school years. I'll be posting a new Hip Mom Rule every other Wednesday and a Flashback rule on the alternating Saturdays until I catch up! If you don't want to miss one, go ahead and subscribe! It would make my day. :)

 Hip Mom Rule #1: It Still Matters
I knew I shouldn’t do it. I know better. You NEVER wear brown leather shoes with black pants. But, being 33 weeks pregnant and exhausted from a day of chasing around an 18-month old, I thought, “Who is really going to care what color shoes I have on when I can’t even see my own feet!” Besides, with a good-looking husband and a cute toddler, who would really notice me anyway?

Once we got to the mall, I became increasingly irritated by my poor shoe selection. I'm normally more pulled together than this. My husband looked great; my toddler looked adorable. And please don't misunderstand. It wasn't that I cared a bit about what others thought of my outfit; it was all about the fact that I hadn't taken time to dress myself confidently. I was suddenly and acutely aware of how little time I had been spending on myself as I addressed the needs of my growing family.

The thing with pregnancy and new momhood is that we tend to put others’ needs well before our own. By the time we catch a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, we barely resemble the put-together, hip women that we used to be. Instead, a bedraggled, exhausted woman stares back. At no time in my pre-baby life would I have let being tired prevent me from making at least SOME effort.

A hip mom won’t be “put-together” every time she walks out the door, but this hip mom will NOT walk out the door again just not caring. Therefore, I will not leave for Target in my sweat pants. I will not be in my pajamas when my husband gets home from work. I will not go three days without washing my hair, and then cover the evidence with an old, dirty baseball cap. Black pants, black socks. And if this means asking my husband to tie the shoelaces on the only shoes that match those  black pants, then so be it.

I want to be my best version of myself, and I see that as including being a hip mom. For that reason, I will continue fighting to maintain some semblance of my fashionable self in this new maze of dirty diapers, stained shirts, and perfume d’spitup.

A Flashback to When My Boys Were Little:

Note: This Hip Mom Rule was originally written my oldest (who's now 12) was three and the middle child was still the youngest. I am posting it, however, because the less I learned that day has been a recurring theme in raising three lively and entertaining boys!

Hip Mom Rule #17: Ask for help

Having written an entire rule about being on time, this is hard for me to admit – I was running late. I was supposed to be at my friend’s house for dinner at 5:00. It was 4:40 and we were just getting our shoes on. Knowing that it would take about 15 minutes to bike over there (and five minutes to get the kids into the bike trailer), I knew had to get moving. Just jumping in the car was not an option since the car was on vacation with my husband.

Well, as the luck of any hip mom sometimes goes . . . my younger son couldn’t find his sandals. He is two, so they could have been anywhere. After madly searching for a couple of minutes, we found them under his bed (that was a new one!). Then, after successfully getting both boys buckled into the trailer, I realized that the air on the trailer tire was a little low. Have you ever tried pulling 90 pounds of kids in a bike trailer with low tires? I pulled out the air pump and went for the tire valve. Oh, the tire valve. It was wedged tightly against the tire rim. Frustrated, I tried to pry it out with pliers, only to hear a quick “phssssp.” Not even a whole second long, and every ounce of air came out of the tire. I guess I should have taken the 90 pounds of children out of the trailer to relieve the pressure on the tire first?

Now I didn’t know what to do. The tire was far too flat to limp to the nearest gas station for air, and my wimpy air pump was getting me nowhere. I was about to give in and call my friend to cancel our dinner date when my neighbor walked over. “Why don’t you just ask Jerry to air up your tire?” Betty asked. “Oh, I could never bother him,” I quickly replied. Jerry is our professional cyclist neighbor. His bike is worth more than my car. I did NOT want to ask him to put air in the tires of my piddly little bike trailer. But as options go, mine were limited, and Betty wasn’t about to let me stay home when a solution to my problem was so obvious and close. So, with my well-intentioned neighbor watching to make sure I followed through, I walked my bike, bike trailer, and two boys over and timidly knocked on Jerry’s door. And, as is generally the case, he was more than happy to help out.

Sometimes we confuse being hip with being able to do it all ourselves, but things often come up that prevent us from getting it done. I could have stayed home (and almost did), but instead, I took a very small risk and asked for help. The payoff was great. My tires were filled by an expert, my bike trailer has never pulled more smoothly, and I got to have a fabulous supper with one of my hippest friends.

Now if I could just figure out how to make that bike helmet look hip . . . 

Hip Mom Rule #16: Challenge Yourself to Realize a Dream

I got roped into it innocently enough. I was out for lunch with a couple of my girlfriends when the conversation shifted to a triathlon they were training for. It was several months off, but they were already in the middle of a serious training schedule.  “That sounds like a lot of fun!” I enthusiastically said. “Was I interested in doing it, too?” my hip friends asked. I was kind of interested in doing it. It had always been a long-shot dream of mine to complete a triathlon, but it was a silly dream because I don’t really swim. I know how to swim, but it’s more in a way of survival than in any kind of competitive form. Honestly, I have NO form, competitive or otherwise.

After a little bullying from my well-intentioned friends, I found myself registering for a triathlon that I was pretty sure I would cop out of at the last minute. Still, I went shopping for some hip goggles and a swim cap to complement my swimsuit, fully aware of the fact that I had never worn either one in my life and had no idea what I was doing (how in the world does one make a swim cap look hip?!). 

A couple nights later my friends called and invited me to the pool to practice for the triathlon. I agreed it was probably a good idea to get a couple laps under my belt before the tri in eight weeks. I hadn’t actually swum a lap since I was in college, but I’m pretty fit and determined and figured I could wing it. So, after spending five minutes trying to figure out how to put on the swim cap and how to adjust the goggles, I gingerly toed the water, and jumped in. The good news is that I didn’t drown. The bad news is that I spent a full two minutes clinging to the edge of the pool catching my breath, after one lap. I was going to have to take this swimming a little more seriously if I was going to survive the race.

For the next seven weeks I trained like I was in the army. I ran and biked one day. Ran and swam one day. Swam, biked, and ran. I worked harder than I have for many years, all the while trying to ignore the little voice in my head that was insisting that I was going to drown on race day.

“Well, if I’m going to die, I’m at least going to be hip about it,” I declared to my husband as I pulled out my new racing bra and racing pants. It was the night before the race, and secretly, we were both really proud of my pursuing this dream. “Might as well give it the old college try.”

And I did not cop out. I did not drown. I did not die. Unbelievably, I didn’t even come in last! I set a difficult goal, and I accomplished it. And this hip mom has had an extra spring in her step ever since crossing that finish line.

Ten Things I've Learned as an Outdoor Runner

1.       In my teens and 20’s, I ran for competition. In my 30’s I ran to control my weight. In my 40’s, I run to keep my heart healthy. I have loved running the most in my 20’s and 40’s. Apparently, running to control my weight isn’t as much fun.

2.       I prefer running outside during the winter. Here’s a truth: I don’t want to be hit by your car any more than you want to hit me. When people are too busy or lazy to shovel their sidewalks, let’s just agree to share the road.

3.       A running partner can be a great thing; however, if in Minnesota, be sure to choose a timely running partner. Waiting for her to show up in summer while the mosquitoes swarm in to drain your life blood is not fun. Likewise, standing around in -10F temps? Not going to happen.

4.       I have a lot of running gear. Treadmill junkies have it easy. They only need gear for a 70F gym. I have to have gear for temps ranging from 105F to -10F (that’s the coldest I’ll go. Back in the day, I might have ventured out in colder temps, but this girl is too old for that now). 

5.       Running outside has made me a better driver, particularly when looking both ways before I turn. Just this morning I nearly sent a women to the ER with a heart attack when she turned at the last second and nearly hit me.

6.       I know the law about pedestrians having right of way, and for some reason, I’ve taken it upon myself to educate all drivers who encounter me at intersections while I’m running. It’s harder for me to break stride and sit at the corner while you turn than it is for you to wait the 4 seconds it takes me to cross the street. Just be patient.

7.       I don’t see running as my social time. It’s not my me-time. It’s not supposed to take a huge chunk of my day. Outdoor running allows me to decide to go for a run and be out the door in less than 3 minutes. Depending on how far I go, the entire endeavor can easily take less than half an hour. The benefits from a run long or short will last me all day.

8.       I want to run for my entire life. For that reason, you will never see me training for a marathon or some other race that will require my posting huge mileage. It’s not sustainable for me. I typically run three 8-min pace miles 4-5 times a week. It works for me. More importantly, it is enough to keep my heart healthy and my mind happy.

9.       Once I learned that it was the food I was eating that was preventing my losing weight, I began to enjoy running on an entirely new level (see #1). I used to say, “Well, I ate that extra piece of cake, so I’d better log a couple extra miles” and then see no difference from the run. News Alert! You can’t outrun a bad diet. Taking the pressure off of my running to control my weight has brought a joy to running that I haven’t experienced since I ran competitively in college. 

10.   I kind of think people who run on treadmills are wussies. Don’t get me wrong: I’m glad you’re running, but deep down in my secret “I know I shouldn’t say this out loud” place, I think a real runner has to have contact with the ground while battling the elements to be able to call themselves runners. And yes, I did just go running straight on into a 25mph. And it was AWESOME. J