Haunted by the inevitable

At some point, we are all going to die.

Not like this is ground breaking news that we all didn't realize before, but it's a fact I never really focused on until becoming a mom. Maybe it's because before starting a family, I really didn't care if I met my demise anytime soon. Maybe it's because I feel like I now have something to lose. Whatever the case, I feel like I'm constantly haunted by the inevitable.

Now that my boys are growing a little bit older, my husband and I have more freedom to go out on our own leaving them behind with a sitter. We are enjoying date nights at concerts at The Aggie and Mishawaka and have even started to do some overnight stays at hotels in Denver. The freedom to enjoy these moments with my husband is amazing. Long gone are the days of being home-bound and bored with limits and restrictions that revolve around diaper changes, nap schedules and feeding regimens. Through time, the shackles of babyhood have been broken, leaving us to run free.

On our last kid-free adventure, we drove up to The Mish with friends for a concert. Music blaring, friends laughing, the warm wind blowing through our hair as we rode the twists and turns of the road hugging the beautiful Poudre River while driving up the canyon. Our kids at home with the sitter and safely tucked in their beds, I couldn't help but think how dangerous this trip was. At a moments notice, we could be in a head-on collision, swerve off the road and into the river, or a true reality, hit a deer.

My biggest fear is not knowing what would happen to my kids if both my husband and I were to die at the same time.

Most families are fairly normal. When you have your first baby, one of the most important steps in becoming a parent is drawing up a Will, laying out a plan of care for your children if you should expire earlier than you hoped. Normal families have Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, or some trusted adults named to take over and keep your kids safe. We do not. Without going into a long list of specifics, there is nobody I trust enough with my kids if I should die.

This fact recently hit me like a ton of bricks a few weeks ago after reading the news story in The Coloradoan. The one about the parents who made some very poor decisions, speeding and driving drunk down Lemay, only to end up in a fatal and gory car accident at the insurance office building. They left behind children with no plans for their care. Friends and family rallied to raise money to take care of the mourning children and their future was uncertain.

I can't even begin to explain how disturbing this was to me. Not that my husband and I make stupid decisions like speeding while driving drunk, but life is unpredictable. Anything can happen at any time. My boys could easily be in the same situation, parent-less and bouncing from house to house, or in foster care, while people manage the mess of the aftermath.

These thoughts are often buried deep within the halls of my mind, but every so often a door is opened and I'm tormented by what has surfaced. I don't care about an afterlife, meeting a maker or simply returning to dust. I care immensely about what happens to my children after I'm gone. And until they are able to care for themselves, I will always be haunted by the inevitable.

Kristin Mastre

So, I guess we finally have it right after all these years of not

A few weeks ago, I was able to join my husband in an all day Life Plan meeting that was set up by his workplace. I know, it sounds new-agey, which I'm not. And when I heard the words "life" and "plan" put together, I thought to myself, well, this is going to be interesting because everything I try to plan in my life never quite works out the way I intend.

My husband works for Otterbox, an amazing local company here in Fort Collins that is growing at a massive rate. His employment there has drastically changed our life for the better. This is just another example of that betterment. Otterbox really cares about their employees and everyone is given the chance to sit down with a life coach to develop this master Life Plan to figure out where they want to go in the company and how their skill sets will be best utilized. It's a fantastic tool for a business, but this plan also touches on personal and family life aspects...

The Life Plan experience, designed by Tom Patterson, is an intense two-day meeting that designs your total life strategy. It is heavily rooted in Christian beliefs where "God has a plan for you", which I don't buy for a second (says the Atheist in me.) However, I do believe in the importance of planning, having direction and focus in all aspects of your life. That's just common sense.

The first day is spent entirely on gaining perspective and understanding your story - where you've come from and why. You look for behavioral patterns and themes with life decisions you make. It's all about delving into who you are and what you do. I missed this day, but would have loved to experience it. I'm kind of a geek for insightful moments and gaining perspective.

The second day is nothing but planing and figuring out how parts of your life fit together. It's such a complicated, multidimensional experience with lists, circles, colors and 17 large sheets of flip chart papers covering the room from all four walls and to floor to ceiling. It all seems to flow along flawlessly. Each aspect of your life (Personal, Family, and Professional) is rated with a color: green = good, yellow = needs some work, and red = poor. It's just like a traffic light.

When we were going over the family aspect of Bill's life, every point was green, meaning that we had perfect balance. In our discussion, we concluded that our family life and our marriage is incredibly positive, strong and balanced, if I dare say near "perfect". It's never been better.

What an incredibly powerful moment for me. To see without a shadow of a doubt, right there on paper full of green circles, that all of the many years of hard work we've put into our relationship has paid off. We've reached our goal of a harmonious house and an amazing marriage. It hasn't always been this way, in fact, we've always been insanely imperfect and there were times we didn't think we were going to make it. It took many, many years of tears, stress, strife and counseling to get here. But we did it and only just recently. We couldn't be more proud of each other.

While this Life Plan was enormously beneficial and literally life changing for my husband when it came to his professional life at Otterbox, it was such a huge gift for me to be able to experience the second half and recognize the effort we've put into us and our family life. I don't believe God has a master plan already mapped out, but I do believe in us and the tremendous amount of work we've accomplished to get here.

So, I guess we finally have it right after all these years of not.

Kristin Mastre

I can do this

I can do this, I thought to myself as I was getting ready for the day. The morning went on as usual, making breakfast for the kids, jumping into the shower, getting everyone dressed and The Preschooler ready for school, making sure a diaper bag was fully stocked because The Toddler was coming with me to our monthly MOMS Club meeting.

I can do this, I thought to myself as I started the car, driving down the street and pulling into the school parking lot, waving "Hi!" to other moms dropping of their 4 year old kids dressed in dinosaur t-shirts and wearing princess backpacks. The Preschooler safe in class and ready to learn about bugs, I made my way to the meeting.

I can do this, I thought to myself.

I walked into the meeting, putting my business side first, conducting the meeting as the chapter president. I completely turned off the side of my brain that was thinking about what was soon to happen. I went over the upcoming activities that were planned for our group, park days, ice cream shop tours, a craft that my boys and I would probably skip because I can't stand glitter and glue. I went over the service project details, one where we were working on raising money for a non-profit that helps single moms gain independence and survive without the help of welfare.

I can do this, I thought to myself as our guest speaker was introduced to the group.

A sweet woman dressed in a chic purple sweater and cute high heeled boots smiled nicely as she talked about her job as a Forensic Interviewer for the Child Advocacy Center. She explained that she would talk about ways to help prevent sexual assault and talk with our kids about their body parts and safety.

I can do this, I thought to myself.

She talked about statistics, ways to talk to our kids about privacy and what to do in situations like sleep-overs. She was humorous with an intense topic, easing the room into more difficult questions. The wall that I had built going in slowly started to wear as she described the steps that happened after an assault was reported. Pieces began to fall after she talked about children sitting with her in a therapy room video taping their accusations of abuse for evidence in court.

I can do this quickly turned into Why? and How?

While some moms struggled with ways they were going to talk to their kids about body parts, unable to utter the words "penis" and "vagina" due to unbelievably strict Catholic upbringing, I struggled with ways to keep the wall up as it crumbled inside of me. The words "forensic interview" and "video taped accusations" caused a complete earthquake inside my soul.

Keeping a thinly veiled appearance of stability, I had an uncontrollable urge to ask, why? and how?

After the speaker completed her presentation and lingering people had been satisfied with their private questions afterward, I had tunnel vision. Watching her pack up her things and begin to make her way out of the room, I brushed off people asking me about business details on for the service project and what to do about trivial little things that I had no interest in caring about at the moment. Ignoring them much like I do with my children when they have questions at inappropriate times, I made the b-line to ask, why? and how?

"What are the steps that happen after a child reports an incident of abuse? How does it exactly work after the forensic interview"?

She rambled off the steps as if she were reading the text from a human resources manual.

"Oh, Ok." I said quietly. "Because my perpetrator is still out there and was never jailed".

Her demeanor quickly softened as she asked questions. The wall completely destroyed, tears welled up in my eyes as that old pain of why? and how? came to the surface. "I'm sorry. I thought I could do this", I apologized.

Excusing myself from the room, she followed to talk. I told her about my story, about my own forensic interview and how it never went to trial. How my perpetrator violated me without consequence, moving on to enjoy exotic vacations in Mexico and build a thriving business. Meanwhile, I spent years in therapy asking why didn't I have anyone to protect me? and how did he get away with this? and repeating to myself, I can do this. I can survive.

I wiped away tears as she sympathized shaking her head saying "It never ends. It's a roller coaster where sometimes you're fine and other times you're not". Indeed. I was fine before today, the happiest I'd ever been in my life with a wonderful husband and two great kids, a rewarding job and a full social schedule. Then, in a matter of 45 minutes, a crying mess with old wound ripping open again.

Handing her card to me, she said she would email me. I thanked her and put myself back together again. Quickly building that wall back up, I thought to myself, once again, I can do this, promptly ignoring the unanswerable why? and how?, the questions I realized for the one millionth time that I'd never get solid answers to. I walked back into the meeting room assuming the role of chapter president again, finishing up loose ends before having to run out the door to pick up The Preschooler from school. I can do this, I thought to myself.

For the rest of the day, emotionally exhausted while my kids needed me for things; for lunch, for entertainment, for love, I thought to myself, I can do this. I can survive.

On the other side of the fence

I have a long family history of depression. My grandparents on both sides suffered with serious cases of depression and one from each side were severe alcoholics. My parents suffered the same crippling depression as well as alcoholism and drug addiction. Aunts, uncles, cousins -all have some level of depression. My sisters have dealt with it as well, on top of anxiety disorders and eating disorders. Every single person in my family, including myself, have dealt with it one way or another.

My first experiences with depression were the years that I lived in absolute hell in an abusive home when I was a pre-teen. It resulted with me running away twice my freshman year of high school, where my mom called the police to drag me back home, and then two suicide attempts after that. I eventually moved out when I was 15 to live with cousins I'd never met before.

After I graduated high school, got married and lived with my husband, my depression seemed to disappear. I had cut-off my mom to never speak to her again and helped my sisters through early escapes of their own. My depression was situational rather than a chemical imbalance (unlike so many other people in my family), so if life was "normal" then I felt "normal". While life certainly had it's ups and downs, I was depression-free until I became a mom.

After my first pregnancy, I had a pretty bad case of (untreated) post-partum depression. The combination of post-pregnancy hormones and disrespectful in-laws lead me into months of pain. Pain that I hadn't felt since those early teen years; anxiety and deep sadness that is almost unexplainable. It felt as though my heart was literally breaking to pieces inside my chest and every cell in my body dripped aching tears. After my second pregnancy, the post-partum depression was less, but still fragile in complicated family interactions. I was able to manage it, over come post-traumatic stress disorder and have since become depression-free once again.

I felt like my many years of personal experience with depression made me an expert in some kind of way. Years of therapy, a few (unsuccessful) trials with medications, and a lot of introspective writing were all my weapons. It was a monster I fought and won. Which is why is was so shocked and caught off guard when my husband began battling his own fight with depression and I felt like a failure, completely unsure of how to help him.

His depression is the general type that most of us deal with. One day sitting on the couch he told me how he felt. He should be the happiest person in the world; he has a great job that pays more than the bills, a happy home and marriage - everything he could ever want. But he had an unexplainable sadness. I had no idea what to do other than hug him, listen and assure him that it would be alright. There were always reasons behind my bouts with depression and thus, there was always a way to "fix" it. I frantically searched my mind for ways to fix the problem and after realizing there was nothing to fix, I felt lost.

I didn't like being on the other side of the fence. It was actually easier for me to be dealing with depression than somebody else. I knew I was a strong person and could win the battle, but watching someone go through their own fight was unnerving. I love him more than any other person on the face of the Earth, which makes this voyeuristic position almost unbearable. At this point, I realized how lonely depression was on all sides, not just for the depressed.

He is overcoming that darkness that haunted me for years. With some tools of his own, he's not just sitting there suffering. But it is so incredibly uncomfortable for me to sit by and watch from the other side of the fence feeling helpless. Knowing that it's not a battle I can fight for him, grabbing a sword to get a few stabs in myself, all I can do is sit and listen. I don't feel like it's enough. I'd rather be the one fighting the fight.

I'm not the "fun mom"

There are all types of moms out there - the crafty mom who makes the kids' Halloween costumes and Christmas Stockings every year, the gourmet mom who makes homemade meals from scratch, the cool mom who is up to date on the latest trends and then there's the fun mom who does silly things like puppet plays and making tents from couch cushions.

I'm not sure what type of mom I am, but I know for sure that I am not the "fun mom". In the four years that I've been a pseudo stay-at-home-mom (a working mom that has the hours and responsibility of a stay at home mom?), I've never enjoyed imaginary play with dinosaurs and cars or crafted little creations from Play-doh. I've enjoyed reading to them and cuddling, for sure, and we have lots of laughs tickling and making funny faces, but the fun and silly part of parenthood has been left up to my husband.

I often wonder if the daily grind of diaper changes, potty training, tantrums and discipline have zapped me of all my "fun mom" material. Maybe that's why it's easy for my husband to be the fun parent; he's been gone all day and hasn't had to deal with any of the insanity. He comes home to kids excitedly running to the door yelling "DADDY IS HOME!", snuggles and video games, bed time stories...the fun stuff.

I also often wonder what type of mom my boys will think of me as when they are grown. Will I be the constant nag always telling them to pick up their toys? Will I be the neglectful mom because of the work I do? Maybe the tough mom because I have high expectations.

Whatever the case, I can't help but feel a bit guilty that I'm not the "fun mom".

Kristin Mastre

Refusing to hide behind anonymity

I've been blogging/writing for years, starting with our family blog that began when I was pregnant with my first son over four years ago. From the beginning, I've always been an honest writer. I regularly wrote about my fears as a new mom, the horrible childhood I had growing up, the challenges I faced in dealing with my in-laws, and my evolution as a woman during motherhood. Nothing was off limits to me and I put it all out there for the world to read (tastefully, of course).

I continued that same controversial honesty on my personal training blog that I started, writing about fitness myths, useless supplements and time-wasting exercises. It was a natural progression when I began my restaurant review blog, keeping up the honesty about the quality of food we were being served, even if declaring the Best Breakfast Spot in town to be mediocre was blasphemous.

One thing I've noticed with all of my blogs is that some people don't like to hear the truth, whatever it may be. I've had my fair share of hate mail from my honest writing. After writing about my traumatic childhood and the issues with my in-laws, I had to install comment moderation on my family blog due to the hate mail calling me names and ripping my experiences apart. It got ugly from people who stood behind the title "Anonymous".

I kept comment moderation on my personal training blog, learning my lesson from my family blog. It was a good call when I started receiving hate mail from people after writing about my dislike for the time-wasting abductor/adductor machines in the gym (seriously!). I did not install comment moderation on my restaurant review blog and I've already had one restaurant owner send an e-newsletter to their customer base telling them to comment on my blog after my honest and less-than-glowing review of the salty sandwich I ate there. I've also had a name-calling heckler, leaving me insulting comments on a review that I wrote because they didn't share the same opinion.

I've learned to let these anonymous comments roll off my back (sort of), even if it took me years to do so. I've never understood why someone would hide behind their computer screen to tear someone apart, someone they've never met and only know from their writing. I've never been motivated to leave nasty remarks on someone elses writing, even if I didn't agree with it. What is it about truth and honesty in my own life that makes others so uncomfortable? Is it touching on a nerve? Does the truth hurt, no matter where it comes from and no matter who it's for?

Despite the hate mail I've received, I know I can never keep the truth from myself and my readers. It's a core issue for me after living many years reeling from the aftermath of the dishonesty of others. Being less honest, only telling half of the story, isn't how I roll. This is my life, as imperfect as it is. Pretending otherwise doesn't change it. I may get hate mail, I may lose friends or readers from it, but at least I won't lose myself.

Kristin Mastre

When babies bring out the crazies

Sitting on couches in comfortable living rooms, children laughing and playing, coffee from the closest coffee house in hand, playgroup conversation is fairly predictable. There's talk about diapers and discipline, what's going on around town, the upcoming preschool and kindergarten registration panic of OH MY GOD! What school are you taking your kids to!? There's chit chat about the next cooking club and what dish we'll bring for Mexican Night. Eventually, someone mentions family members, usually their Mother-in-Law.

This is about the time I wish my coffee had been spiked with some Baileys. While some people exclaim that they have the best mother-in-law ever, always helping out around the house, spoiling their kids with gifts and sugar, watching their children on the weekend so that they can spend some adult time with their husbands, I sit back nodding with a smile thinking about how lucky they are. How absolutely, incredibly lucky they are to have a normal family. The family where everyone gets along, where everyone helps out and there are unicorns, rainbows and bright rays of sunshine. We got stuck with a twisted Brothers Grimm fairy tale with poisonous apples and gold spinning dwarfs trying to steal first born children.

I don't know what it is, but babies bring out the crazies in some people. It certainly happened in my family. I never had a great relationship with my Mother-in-Law after her hurtful words many years ago, but it never mattered since we were in different states and I was fine with pretending that things were decent during holiday visits. They were short visits, after all. Then during my first pregnancy, also the first grandchild in the family, it got worse and all hell broke loose. The crazies came out, and it wasn't by my post-pregnancy hormones, either.

There was baby snatching and passive aggressive comments about breast-feeding and my post-pregnancy weight, name-calling and Grandma calling herself "Mommy" to my kids. Basically her world was falling apart because the expectations she had as a Grandmother were not quite the expectations I had as my child's mother. It's been an ongoing monster-in-law mess.

I often sit back and wonder how all of this happened. Knowing others that have less-than-fabulous in-laws and are in similar situations, I catch myself questioning if it's a generational difference. Are the mothers of today too independent for the mothers of yesterday? Is there really a power struggle between the two women because older generations were used to their mothers and grandmothers taking over? Why on Earth would the birth of my children bring out such insanity? Whatever the case, it is what it is, the damage is done. All I know now is what kind of Mother-in-Law I will not be and not to have those same expectations. I will not go crazy over someone else's baby and hope that I will not be thought of as the fairy tale villain when everyone else is living happily ever after.

Kristin Mastre

The empty bed

It's late.

The kids are tucked snugly in their beds, the house is eerily quiet. I'll be going to bed alone tonight. And the next. And the night after that.

The doors are locked, the dishwasher loaded and running. I avoid it, that empty, cold, companion-less bed. The only comfort coming from the neon blue glow from the TV, the same TV I resisted for years saying that we didn't need one in the bedroom. Now, I'm the one that needs it in that bedroom.

I imagine my husband is on adventures, staying at lavish hotels, sleeping in, eating at amazing restaurants, drinking and laughing with his business clients. I'm here at the computer, resisting sleep to the point of exhaustion so that when my head hits the pillow, I'm out cold in two seconds flat. Because that's the worst. Tossing and turning, alone. Closing your eyes, waiting. Waiting motionless for sleep to overcome your body.

I pride myself as being an independent, capable woman who has the personal philosophy "if you want something done, you've got to do it yourself". Yet, I need him. To sleep. For comfort. Because the dark stillness of the night is unpleasant and lonely. The loud gurgles of snores that annoyingly keep me awake at night are missed, now that the silence is deafening.

In the morning, the sun rises, the birds sing and the warmness of life fills the bedroom. I forget that I'm alone until my eyes open and I see the empty pillow next to me and my body feels the cold space stretching across the other side of the bed. The routines of the day begin, the loneliness subsides as I take care of children, work and mingle with friends.

The cycle repeats at the end of the day as the kids are tucked snugly in their beds, the house is eerily quite and I see the empty, cold, companion-less bed.

The Chicken or the egg?

Kristin wonders if I'm crazy to keep myself busy of if I'm busy to keep myself from going crazy. That was my facebook status update sometime last week. I have been so busy, especially last week. It got me thinking. I tend to take on a lot - activities, responsibilities, obligations - do I do this because that's just how I roll or do I do this to escape from everything else?

I still can't tell.

I had quite a few "extracurricular" activities going on; a night out for margaritas and dinner with some friends one night, wine and cheese with others another night, cooking club, writing group, workouts all in addition to the kids activities of sports, playing at the park and a baby shower. At almost every function, I was asked "How do you do it all? You are so busy! Do you ever sleep??" Jokingly I would respond "It's the 6 cups of coffee I drink everyday", which really is the truth. Many times I ask myself this same question. How do I do all of this? I just do, I guess. Because I don't know what else I would do if I didn't.

Sometimes I think I would be absolutely miserable if I wasn't busy. If I was at home doing "home stuff" with the kids, lounging around in pajamas, coloring, playing with play-doh and watching them play with cars for hours on end - I would go nuts. Boredom doesn't sit well with me. I tend to get bored easily, but when I'm bored I'm left alone with my thoughts which, depending on what's going on, could be a bad thing. The busier I am, the less I think, the happier I am. Maybe being busy is my drug. Much like how some escape through drugs and alcohol, I escape through groups, clubs and friends.

Weird.

What's even more strange is when everyone is asking me how I do it all, in my head I'm thinking, if you're not as busy as I am, what are you doing all day?

Kristin Mastre

Equal but not the same

Parents with more than one child will often say how their love for each kid is the same. That is one of the biggest fallacies of parenthood. Anyone who tells you differently is lying not only to you, but themselves. The love a parent has for their children is not equal at all. Children have different personalities. They are different people. Thus, I love my children differently.

First, let me preface this by saying that "differently", "not the same" and "not equal" do not mean more or less. I do not have a favorite and I do not love one son more or less than the other. But, my love for The Preschooler is completely different than my love for The Baby. I'm positive that it's this way in every home with every parent, but it's an unspoken topic for fear that it may be interpreted in the wrong way. I think it's something that needs to be brought to the surface as many mothers expecting their second baby are uneasy about this transition and often worry about the possibility of having a different love. It's nothing to be afraid of. In fact, that different love is special and shared only with each child it's intended for.

I started to notice the difference in my love for my boys when The Baby was only a few weeks old. I would often reflect on my newborn experience with The Preschooler and felt like the second go around was completely different. It was different not just because I had more experience or more confidence, but there was a different feeling of love. It continued as the weeks went on until I realized that it wasn't going to change, that this is the difference in love.

My love for The Preschooler can be described in many ways; Intense, fresh, new, fascinating, consuming, exciting, among many other wild descriptions. I liken the love of a first born child to that of a first boyfriend or girlfriend. You are almost obsessed with it. That love changes your life. I'm sure that the type of love that I share with The Preschooler is reflective of his personality and the stage of motherhood I was in at his birth. If I had to choose a holiday that best describes my love for him, it would be Independence Day with it's fireworks, summer heat, picnics and it's intensity or New Years Day with it's parties, anticipation and hope for the future.

My love for The Baby can be described differently; mature, comforting, familiar, relaxed, snug and sweet. My love for him feels like we've known each other before and we've been reunited. Or almost like he's an old soul. There is definitely a feeling of Deja vu, but on a deeper level. Again, it may be reflective of both his personality and the place I'm at in motherhood. For The Baby, the holidays that best describe my love are Thanksgiving with it's warm fireplaces, delicious foods like mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie and it's familiar comforting feeling or Valentine's Day with it's sweetness, adoration and celebration.

Is one holiday better than the other? No way. I don't want to think about how the joys of my life would be without fireworks or pumpkin pie. Each holiday brings with it something special that makes the year complete. Just like how both The Preschooler and The Baby add something special to our family that makes us feel full. I'm also at peace knowing that my love is in fact different. It makes each individual relationship special in it's own way. I love knowing that The Preschooler and I share a bond different than the one I have with The Baby and vise-versa. I'm happy that I love my boys differently.

Kristin Mastre

Nothing like Samson

As a second time mother, I clearly remember some of the pitfalls that occur during the first few months of motherhood; the lack of sleep, the dramatic change in lifestyle, the loss of your sense of self. First time moms are caught by surprise but after that, you know what to expect when it comes to finding balance in your role. Or so you think.



After my first son was born, I was quickly sucked into Mommyhood. I was his mother first and foremost, everything else took a backseat. I was busy in the routine of breast feeding, diaper changing, cleaning up spit up, not showering, not working out, not taking care of myself and not paying much attention to anything else. The first sign that I was loosing Me was when I flipped out over my husband making a trip to Home Depot after work to pick up some screws. After being housebound with nothing to do, that trip without me was as if he went out for a steak dinner and I was left home with Spaghettio's.

The next sign was when we moved to Fort Collins and he had plans to go to a concert with our brother-in-law. I was LIVID that here I was - at home taking care of the house and our baby while he was working and then he had the freedom to run off to party at night. In that very heated argument that night, he said the words that needed to be said. "You need friends". So true.



That night I joined a moms group and it forever changed my life. I got ready for activities on almost a daily basis (showered and put on make up!), made friendships that will last a lifetime and with workout partners, I found my gym mojo again. I found Kristin once again and tried my best to keep it that way by writing, cooking, working out and many other interests.



One thing I began to notice was that the pendulum was swinging in the opposite direction this time around after my second son was born. I was determined not to let myself go, to get lost in motherhood. I made it a point to be dressed and presentable most nights when Bill came home from work. You'd think the only thing missing was my heels and pearls. I started working out as soon as I could so I could get back into decent shape. I started cooking the family dinners again and decorating the house. I did not want to be a frumpy house wife with two kids, even from the get go. But, it slowly started to happened again and all it took to realize this was a hair cut.



Not too long ago, my husband purchased some time for me to visit a salon in town so I could get my hair done. Without his effort, I would have continued on my ragamuffin ways until God knows when. All I know is that I wouldn't have made the time for myself, let alone the financial commitment. I had my appointment in the morning, leaving my baby with him (awake!) for the first time since he's been born.



Fortunately, I wasn't that far gone but now I see that I was beginning to slip. It was a chore to get out of the door to workout and it had been that way for quite some time. My husband took on the personal trainer attitude and literally guilted me out of the door on an almost nightly basis. I was still going out with friends and got myself ready for activities with the kids. I still made major efforts in our marriage. However, I think if I was left to my own devices, we would have had many more pajama days than we did.



After the stylist handed me the mirror, I could not wipe the goofy grin off my face if I tried. I was thrilled. Not because I liked the cut (even though I love it), but because I realized that after 24/7 pony tails for months on end, I was starting to lose sight of Me. I was once again lost in focusing on everyone else - being the "wife", the "mom", the "personal trainer", but not taking much time for "me". Seeing the pile of hair on the floor was shocking. I had been neglecting myself for much longer than I thought.

I’m lucky that all it took was a simple hair cut this time, but it sure was eye opening on how quickly you can get lost focusing on so many other people and forgetting about your Self.



Kristin

Kristin Mastre

Kristin Mastre is a wife of 10 years, a mother to two boys (The Baby and The Preschooler), a friend, a Personal Trainer and a Writer. Kristin has been blogging for years, starting with her family blog in 2005. Her personal blog has been highlighted on NewParent.com and various other parenting blogs around the world after writing about the challenges of pregnancy, parenthood and the adventures of raising two boys in the Rocky Mountains. She began writing a health and fitness blog in 2007 that had posts published by Fox News, Reuters, USA Today, iVillage, and a multitude of news stations across the country. After noticing that there was a lack of food bloggers in Fort Collins, she decided to throw her hat into the ring in May of 2009.

Kristin is one of the top food writers in the City of Fort Collins, writing for the website FeastingFortCollins.com. Every aspect of the roles in her life revolve around her love of food in some way: date nights with her husband, finding kid-friendly places to eat with her family, a night out on the town with her friends and helping her training clients find healthy food choices to achieve their fitness goals. Being an honest writer, she'll tell it like she tastes it.

When not dining out at one of the many restaurants in Fort Collins, you can find her in the gym (working off the food review calories), doing fun things with her boys and the moms group that she is the chapter President of, meeting with the Reality Writes women and trying to find the perfect balance of it all.

Click here to see all of Kristin's posts.