It's official, folks. I'm a celebrity.
I traveled to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, for an extended weekend and was greeted at the resort with margaritas and a gift basket. When I turned for my first look at the ocean, it was the bluest water I had ever seen. Whales even floated by all weekend. I took long bubble baths in my room, which also overlooked the ocean. Quietness began to surround me. Sun settled on my skin. My life slowed down to the sweet cadence of Mexico time. It was amazing.
What was more amazing was the time I got to spend with Jamie, my very best friend in the world. She's the reason I was in this paradise. She got hitched. And, she invited me, bless her heart, to stand up next to her for her sunset wedding. It felt like old times to be with Jamie and her family. It's like we were 16 again and giddy with what life had to offer.
Finally relaxed, it was time to go home and get back to my life. While I missed by boys and hubby something crazy, I didn't miss the hectic pace that forever marches forward. Life is nuts here. I plan it, organize it and make it happen. I clean it, cook it and pack it. I write it, seal it and send it. Always more, always more. No rest for the weary, especially if you wear the name tag "mommy," "wife," or "woman."
I never realized how much I didn't like the pace of my life until I escaped it for awhile. I'm having a really hard time jumping back in. I don't like how it is, as sad as that may sound. Change, however, takes more work and I'm not sure I have enough energy. What do you put on hold? What do you cut out? What do you leave behind?
If I were a true celebrity, I'd get boozed up and make my life hazy. I'd travel to exotic locations further away from reality. I'd leave behind what is real and maybe pick it back up 20 years later in rehab. I'd get weirder, too. I'd also hate all those people with a normal life, who get the opportunity to know their kids and own a really messed up dog (p.s., I pulled one of my hair ties out of the dog's butt this afternoon...it's such a pleasure owning Zeke).
As it turns out, I'm just me. So, I guess I just have to take it one day at a time and try to see the beauty in what's around me, whether I'm by the ocean or exhausted, snuggled up with my kids. I can do this. I know I can.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Burnin' Ring of Fire
On Monday, Zeke (our sweet and non-listening dog) refused to get out of Jeff's truck. With Tuck in one arm and his hand around Zeke's leash, anger inspired him to pull Zeke out of the truck with all his might. Zeke landed, not on his feet as cats always seem to do, but on his hip. One shattered femur later, one pin in the leg, three medications, $500, and a scar that makes me want to throw up when I look at it....Zeke is home sweet home.
Anger is a funny thing. Many people have trouble controlling it and it can divide a home, a family, a life. People forget many things, but rarely do they forget anger at its ugliest. Jeff got angry at our dog and it fizzled out after the accident. Unfortunately, my anger still burns -- at Jeff, at the situation, at the expense, at Zeke in pain, at just one more thing added to my already overwhelming day. It burns me.
While I may not use physical force when I'm angry, as men tend to do, I let a few well-executed words fall from lips and pierce Jeff. It felt good in some sad way to have him hurt for the hurt he had caused. But what I've realized from this whole situation is that anger is just a vicious cycle that always swings around to hurt us. We give it or we get it. It only gets better, however, when we let it go.
Here's to hoping I can lay the anger down. Let it go. Pick myself up and carry on. This is life, my friends. Another day will be here soon.
Anger is a funny thing. Many people have trouble controlling it and it can divide a home, a family, a life. People forget many things, but rarely do they forget anger at its ugliest. Jeff got angry at our dog and it fizzled out after the accident. Unfortunately, my anger still burns -- at Jeff, at the situation, at the expense, at Zeke in pain, at just one more thing added to my already overwhelming day. It burns me.
While I may not use physical force when I'm angry, as men tend to do, I let a few well-executed words fall from lips and pierce Jeff. It felt good in some sad way to have him hurt for the hurt he had caused. But what I've realized from this whole situation is that anger is just a vicious cycle that always swings around to hurt us. We give it or we get it. It only gets better, however, when we let it go.
Here's to hoping I can lay the anger down. Let it go. Pick myself up and carry on. This is life, my friends. Another day will be here soon.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Old Ghosts
I'm a firm believer that people pass through your life for a distinct reason. Some stay awhile and many just keeping on moving. Loving relationships exist. Destructive ones do, too. I guess it's important to have a balance in all things, relationships included.
I came across an old friend this weekend. A first love, if I'm really honest with myself. While we parted ways years ago on the kindest of terms and wished the best for each other, it's always an odd feeling to come face-to-face with your past.
What I feel like saying is....
Well, hello. It's going to take me a few minutes to catch my breath.....I'm always astounded when our paths cross. We're complete strangers now though at one time you consumed my world. I loved you completely before I even really knew what love was. You look wonderful, by the way, though certainly not the boy I knew. Only your smile seems vaguely familiar. You loved me, too, right? I thought so. Thank you for that.
What I say is.....
Hey, how are you? How is the family? I'm great. Family's good, too. Yeah, it has been awhile. Take care of yourself.
I want relationships to stay the same, sad as that may be. If we meet having coffee, I would like to keep having coffee with you forever. If we became friends at book club, let's keep reading books to eternity. I don't care to change it. If I loved you once, I feel sad that love has slipped away, even when a grander love has arrived to take it's place. It applies to all that have crossed my path, friends and lovers alike.
How do I change this about myself? Well, I guess for one, I stop dwelling on the past. I take off the rose-colored glasses. Put away the daydreams about "what if" and "what could have been." And I stop being surprised when the past is standing in front of me. Because the truth is, people cannot love you forever. We just have to keep going, keep reaching, keep loving.
I came across an old friend this weekend. A first love, if I'm really honest with myself. While we parted ways years ago on the kindest of terms and wished the best for each other, it's always an odd feeling to come face-to-face with your past.
What I feel like saying is....
Well, hello. It's going to take me a few minutes to catch my breath.....I'm always astounded when our paths cross. We're complete strangers now though at one time you consumed my world. I loved you completely before I even really knew what love was. You look wonderful, by the way, though certainly not the boy I knew. Only your smile seems vaguely familiar. You loved me, too, right? I thought so. Thank you for that.
What I say is.....
Hey, how are you? How is the family? I'm great. Family's good, too. Yeah, it has been awhile. Take care of yourself.
I want relationships to stay the same, sad as that may be. If we meet having coffee, I would like to keep having coffee with you forever. If we became friends at book club, let's keep reading books to eternity. I don't care to change it. If I loved you once, I feel sad that love has slipped away, even when a grander love has arrived to take it's place. It applies to all that have crossed my path, friends and lovers alike.
How do I change this about myself? Well, I guess for one, I stop dwelling on the past. I take off the rose-colored glasses. Put away the daydreams about "what if" and "what could have been." And I stop being surprised when the past is standing in front of me. Because the truth is, people cannot love you forever. We just have to keep going, keep reaching, keep loving.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Heavy Cake
What do you get when you add 31 candles to a delicious, homemade birthday cake? A very heavy cake, my friends, because you have officially tipped over the hill.
Yes, I turned 31 on Monday. Birthdays don't make me sad. They do, however, make me reflective. What am I doing with my life? What have I done with my life? What can I do differently? It's as if the turning another number on my internal clock makes me realize how truly fast time flies. I feel 22. I act 24. And I look, well, old enough to never get carded. My Wii age is 48. Numbers are scary, huh?
So, to commemorate my birthday, I thought it might be nice to make a list of things I know now that I would have NEVER have known at 21.
1. Women need to stick together. Friends are what makes the journey worthwhile.
2. Why movie stars, especially those that do nude scenes, do NOT breastfeed. Sagging is not sexy, although it is the milk of life for our sweet babies.
3. Men will never come around to our way of thinking. They do not change nor should we.
4. Gym memberships are never worth it. Sweating with a bunch of other people, all running in circles, doesn't make you happy. It makes you depressed.
5. People you love do break your heart. You may break some, too. Hating people for things that are out of our control is a waste of time and energy. Move on.
6. Being a mother is the greatest and hardest job in the world. I am in charge of shaping another life and I can't even get myself put together some days.
7. You are what you eat. Big bellies don't lie.
8. I'm becoming my mother. All the things I thought I would never say or do because my mother did them and it got on my last nerve. I'm there. I'm her.
9. I need God in my life. I need the comfort and the unconditional love.
10. Age is a silly thing. If it defines your outlook, you're silly, too.
Thanks for all those birthday wishes, friends. You're the best. I hope you know it.
Yes, I turned 31 on Monday. Birthdays don't make me sad. They do, however, make me reflective. What am I doing with my life? What have I done with my life? What can I do differently? It's as if the turning another number on my internal clock makes me realize how truly fast time flies. I feel 22. I act 24. And I look, well, old enough to never get carded. My Wii age is 48. Numbers are scary, huh?
So, to commemorate my birthday, I thought it might be nice to make a list of things I know now that I would have NEVER have known at 21.
1. Women need to stick together. Friends are what makes the journey worthwhile.
2. Why movie stars, especially those that do nude scenes, do NOT breastfeed. Sagging is not sexy, although it is the milk of life for our sweet babies.
3. Men will never come around to our way of thinking. They do not change nor should we.
4. Gym memberships are never worth it. Sweating with a bunch of other people, all running in circles, doesn't make you happy. It makes you depressed.
5. People you love do break your heart. You may break some, too. Hating people for things that are out of our control is a waste of time and energy. Move on.
6. Being a mother is the greatest and hardest job in the world. I am in charge of shaping another life and I can't even get myself put together some days.
7. You are what you eat. Big bellies don't lie.
8. I'm becoming my mother. All the things I thought I would never say or do because my mother did them and it got on my last nerve. I'm there. I'm her.
9. I need God in my life. I need the comfort and the unconditional love.
10. Age is a silly thing. If it defines your outlook, you're silly, too.
Thanks for all those birthday wishes, friends. You're the best. I hope you know it.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Woe is Me
I'm feeling sorry for myself this weekend. Tuck has been sick with a viral infection. Temperature, fussiness and, of course, breathing problems. We've been giving breathing treatments around the clock, which is exhausting, and then we canceled our birthday dinner for this evening. I just couldn't thrust my sick kid on grandparents, kind as they may be.
On top of all of that, I feel way behind at work. When does a girl catch up? I love a fast pace, but it would be nice to feel like all projects are moving forward. I hope I don't drop any of the balls I'm juggling.
Then, I start to worry. I begin to panic. Fear sets in. I let myself sink into this rut of self-loathing and, against my better judgment, I break out my best china for a pity party. No one is invited, of course. Just me. Exhausted. Mean spirited. Ugly.
It's only when I look outside of my own life that my thoughts start to gain perspective. I see others that are struggling with things I cannot imagine -- extreme poverty, death of a child, cancer, losing a job. It's eye opening. It makes me understand that we all have fears, something that scares us terribly, that makes us want to hide from under the covers.
This poem by Dannye Romine Powell says it all.
Everyone is Afraid of Something
Once I was afraid of ghosts, of the dark,
of climbing down from the highest
limb of the backyard oak. Now I'm afraid
my son will die alone in his apartment.
I'm afraid when I break down the door,
I'll find him among the empties---bloated,
discolored, his face a stranger's face.
My granddaughter is afraid of blood
and spider webs and of messing up.
Also bees. Especially bees. Everyone,
she says, is afraid of something.
Another fear of mine: that it will fall to me
to tell this child her father is dead.
Perhaps I should begin today stringing
her a necklace of bees. When they sting
and welts quilt her face, when her lips
whiten and swell, I'll take her
by the shoulders. Child, listen to me.
One day, you'll see. These stings
Are nothing. Nothing at all.
###
Feeling sorry for yourself is worth nothing, I've discovered. I still do it, unfortunately. Tonight is a perfect example. I'm feeling better though. I really am. Perhaps getting these feelings out is all I needed. And some sleep. Sleep would be nice, too.
On top of all of that, I feel way behind at work. When does a girl catch up? I love a fast pace, but it would be nice to feel like all projects are moving forward. I hope I don't drop any of the balls I'm juggling.
Then, I start to worry. I begin to panic. Fear sets in. I let myself sink into this rut of self-loathing and, against my better judgment, I break out my best china for a pity party. No one is invited, of course. Just me. Exhausted. Mean spirited. Ugly.
It's only when I look outside of my own life that my thoughts start to gain perspective. I see others that are struggling with things I cannot imagine -- extreme poverty, death of a child, cancer, losing a job. It's eye opening. It makes me understand that we all have fears, something that scares us terribly, that makes us want to hide from under the covers.
This poem by Dannye Romine Powell says it all.
Everyone is Afraid of Something
Once I was afraid of ghosts, of the dark,
of climbing down from the highest
limb of the backyard oak. Now I'm afraid
my son will die alone in his apartment.
I'm afraid when I break down the door,
I'll find him among the empties---bloated,
discolored, his face a stranger's face.
My granddaughter is afraid of blood
and spider webs and of messing up.
Also bees. Especially bees. Everyone,
she says, is afraid of something.
Another fear of mine: that it will fall to me
to tell this child her father is dead.
Perhaps I should begin today stringing
her a necklace of bees. When they sting
and welts quilt her face, when her lips
whiten and swell, I'll take her
by the shoulders. Child, listen to me.
One day, you'll see. These stings
Are nothing. Nothing at all.
###
Feeling sorry for yourself is worth nothing, I've discovered. I still do it, unfortunately. Tonight is a perfect example. I'm feeling better though. I really am. Perhaps getting these feelings out is all I needed. And some sleep. Sleep would be nice, too.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Must Love Dogs
People are funny about dogs. Dogs are funny about people, too.
After almost a year of not having a dog, we decided to take the plunge again and get a puppy. I'm crazy, I know. I just love dogs, I really do, but they are work....a lot of work. Zeke is an American Bulldog. He looks exactly like the dog on the Little Rascals movie. He's got a white face with one eye patch, which always makes him look sad. At 14 weeks, he was 35 pounds.
Zeke is a lot sweeter than our last dog. The boys can do almost anything to him and he just wags his tale. He's full of love, but as stubborn as they come. For instance, he likes to poop inside. I'm not sure why, but he has a gift for holding it when we take him around the neighborhood. The minute he comes inside, he circles our table, and let's loose. Maybe he's shy about outdoor pooping.
When I picked him up from the vet after snipping off the family jewels, the vet chuckled that I was his owner. He had thrown up two matching kid socks and one, plastic snake. She bagged them up, while giggling, and out the door we went. Two days later, he stuck his head through the top of his kennel and almost choked himself to death. I continue to find plastic animals littered in doggy leftovers on our kitchen floor.
He snores. He farts. He scratches under the bed until I want to kill him.
He's kind. He's gentle. He loves almost everyone (well, except for Jeff) and the kids adore him.
As I write this, he's managed to get the sheets off the bed and is chewing loudly on the mattress tag that just won't come loose. He doesn't even respond when I yell his name. I have to wonder how this dog, of all the dogs in the universe, made it to our house to live. I do believe it's a love/hate relationship that's going to last a lifetime.**
** No animals were hurt in the writing of this blog post.
After almost a year of not having a dog, we decided to take the plunge again and get a puppy. I'm crazy, I know. I just love dogs, I really do, but they are work....a lot of work. Zeke is an American Bulldog. He looks exactly like the dog on the Little Rascals movie. He's got a white face with one eye patch, which always makes him look sad. At 14 weeks, he was 35 pounds.
Zeke is a lot sweeter than our last dog. The boys can do almost anything to him and he just wags his tale. He's full of love, but as stubborn as they come. For instance, he likes to poop inside. I'm not sure why, but he has a gift for holding it when we take him around the neighborhood. The minute he comes inside, he circles our table, and let's loose. Maybe he's shy about outdoor pooping.
When I picked him up from the vet after snipping off the family jewels, the vet chuckled that I was his owner. He had thrown up two matching kid socks and one, plastic snake. She bagged them up, while giggling, and out the door we went. Two days later, he stuck his head through the top of his kennel and almost choked himself to death. I continue to find plastic animals littered in doggy leftovers on our kitchen floor.
He snores. He farts. He scratches under the bed until I want to kill him.
He's kind. He's gentle. He loves almost everyone (well, except for Jeff) and the kids adore him.
As I write this, he's managed to get the sheets off the bed and is chewing loudly on the mattress tag that just won't come loose. He doesn't even respond when I yell his name. I have to wonder how this dog, of all the dogs in the universe, made it to our house to live. I do believe it's a love/hate relationship that's going to last a lifetime.**
** No animals were hurt in the writing of this blog post.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
And So It Begins
Technology hates me. Okay, not true. I'm the one that loathes technology. I guess I'm never sure if it's worth learning because, quite frankly, it will be gone tomorrow. I don't text. I don't Facebook. I don't even Twitter. I hear about all these wonderful tools from friends who have learned to stay e-connected. I still write them letters because I feel bad.
If I'm missed on the world wide web, no one has mentioned it. I have kind friends, I know. After all this time, I've decided to start a mini blog and a friend even sent me a link on how to get started. I'm not even sure what will happen when I hit "publish post." And I guess if blogs are out by the time I figure it all out, I'll just move on. It's the writing that matters most.
I asked my four-year-old what I should title my blog. I was at a loss on how to put an umbrella on all these ideas I might be generating on my 10-year-old computer. He said, "battery brains." What?!? "Well, I got no ideas right now because my brains are out of batteries."
Oh, well, that makes sense.
Moms are the same way, I think. We organize the entire world and we are often scattered. When we finally use the last minute of our day to do something for ourselves, we're often at a loss. Words fail us. Thoughts fall away. Our brains are simply out of batteries.
I can't speak for every mother, but I miss that spark. I miss it so much that I feel sadness when I think of its going. So, I'm recharging, folks. I'm re-emerging. I'm sending something out that may have no return except the satisfaction of knowing it's mine. I own it. I keep it safe. I strike the match.
If I'm missed on the world wide web, no one has mentioned it. I have kind friends, I know. After all this time, I've decided to start a mini blog and a friend even sent me a link on how to get started. I'm not even sure what will happen when I hit "publish post." And I guess if blogs are out by the time I figure it all out, I'll just move on. It's the writing that matters most.
I asked my four-year-old what I should title my blog. I was at a loss on how to put an umbrella on all these ideas I might be generating on my 10-year-old computer. He said, "battery brains." What?!? "Well, I got no ideas right now because my brains are out of batteries."
Oh, well, that makes sense.
Moms are the same way, I think. We organize the entire world and we are often scattered. When we finally use the last minute of our day to do something for ourselves, we're often at a loss. Words fail us. Thoughts fall away. Our brains are simply out of batteries.
I can't speak for every mother, but I miss that spark. I miss it so much that I feel sadness when I think of its going. So, I'm recharging, folks. I'm re-emerging. I'm sending something out that may have no return except the satisfaction of knowing it's mine. I own it. I keep it safe. I strike the match.
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