A day in the Westy at our favorite lake!

Hi! I’m gonna start out with my name is Monique, I’m a mother of 2 girls. Haylee, 4 and Laylah, 2!Donald who is my partner & the father of our children!!

I wanted to share our day at our favorite lake! Where we are able to park the Westy, pop up, hammock up, & hangout!

We are up in Northern N.h! Surrounded by mountains and beauty. (We prefer warm weather winter can be rough!)

When summer is here we go everywhere! The girls love it, we love it, everyone’s happy!! We enjoy traveling. We cannot always do that, so we make peace and happiness with what we have an take advantage of what’s around us!

We are doing what we love! Always outdoors, in the summer traveling or by the water!

So, bare with me as this is my first blog! I plan to do some vlogging as well! Enjoy our pictures!

Half-Marathon; Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love My Body

Inspirational!

The Z-Axis

I’ve never told anyone these things. My parents, my sister, my friends – no one. So heads up. You’re the first to know.

For the last few years, I have grown, slowly but steadily, to despise the way my body looks.

When I was a kid, I was always told how skinny I was. I didn’t break fifty pounds until I was eight years old. In high school I was always the smallest – height and weight – of my friends. I grew up knowing, somehow, intuitively, that ‘being skinny’ was something good, that it was something I should maintain. In high school, that belief was confirmed and reinforced by magazines, friends who were constantly ‘dieting’, and my school’s insistence on athletic rigor and social ostracism of students who didn’t fit the body ideal. But I was always warned that, as a woman, ‘my time would come’, I would have kids…

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Holocaust Day, my children, & my mind’s eye.

Emily L. Hauser - In My Head

Occasionally, on Holocaust Day or some other, random day, I will look at my children, and see them on a train.

See them starved. See their clothes in shreds. See them with blank eyes and sores on their faces, their hair matted, all joy, all light, gone.

My mind doesn’t allow me to go far down these paths (a fact for which I am eternally grateful), but it peeks down the path, toward the incomprehensible at the other end, and then I recoil in pain and tears.

If for no other reason that I know that I am not, really, seeing anything.

My mind providing me, unbidden, with an image it imagines to be something like Jewish children at the time of the Holocaust is simply me overlaying a hundred thousand photographs on top of my beautiful children’s faces. It’s nothing like actually seeing it. It’s not being a mother…

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