Ritual Addiction

As I have gone through my (many) phases in life and my addictions have gone from playing with toys, collecting things, drugs, drinking, sex and what have you. I notice that the ritual of the addiction are just as important as the actual addiction itself.

For me when it was drugs, there was the major ritual of calling and trying to get the drugs. Then when you get what you want there is the set up. Setting up all the "accessories". Crushing and setting up lines, rolling up the dollar bill, or opening up the Bic pen ( some of yall know what I mean). Then the actual ingesting of the drug.

If it's a person or relationship that is the addiction, then the 20 million calls or texts. The projection of the feelings. The calling them up to offer sex, just to feel some sort of emotional connection to someone (whether reciprocated or not).

All of these rituals are part of the addiction and part of the lead up to the excitement as any other part of the chemical or emotional addiction. Now, I find it quite sad, but in the heat of the moment it was super exciting and absolutely necessary.

Dealing with addictions is difficult and many of us actually just jump from addiction to addiction without ever really being free. I am sorry I do not really have an answer for you here. I am a work in progress but mostly I just wish to be numb.

Old and Comfy

Why do we choose to hold on to things that are old and comfortable? The underwear we have worn a thousand times? The white T shirt with uber fray around the neck? The rude boyfriend that disrespects you simply by not respecting you?

Hmmmm. Some people stay together for the kids. What does that teach? That you want to win at all costs? Perhaps you want to prove everyone wrong? Whats the real cost of that. You end up teaching your sons how to be disrespectful and your daughters how to be disrespected, or vice versa.

Who wins in these scenarios? Nobody. The truth is we are not put here to win. What the hell are we put here for? Who the hell knows. Not me. I am the last person that should be explaining the meaning of life.

What I do want to say is just think about what your reasoning is behind staying comfy and is it really comfy?

Letter of Resignation

So... I recently (very recently) had to submit a letter of resignation, for medical reason, to my employer of 4 years.

This was not an easy decision. I actually cried for a few days. Stressed out extremely for a few weeks. Ate way too much, blamed it on the stress and almost sabotaged my four month weight loss.

I am not happy about this. I am better today than I was yesterday. Yesterday was better than the day before an so on. I still feel out of control and that is not a good feeling. Usually, when I leave a job, I know I can find a new one, it would just be a matter of time. This time, my body is not what I am use to and it's a little more complicated.

I know that I will never be what I was before but I have faith that I will be stronger than what I am today. I feel guilty that I am so upset about this because I know I am blessed and this could be so much worse. Still, I feel lost. I don't want to be a burden on anyone. I don't want to be the cause of anyone's stress. I don't want anyone feeling sorry for me. I want to be the hero. I want to be the one who gets the thanks and appreciation for a job well done. I miss my nursing staff. I miss my patients. I miss taking care of people. I miss seeing people taking their first steps after a major accident. I miss running pumped breastmilk to the NICU. I miss helping a suicidal patient get through the first 24 hours in the hospital. I miss so much that I can't even put into words. It's not only being a part of an organization that cares for people but it's part of who I am. I feel like a part of me is lost. Is gone.

Even though I have already thought up a new plan, it's hard to give myself time to get better. Probably because I don't know the time frame. There is something about having to give up that control that gives me anxiety.

So while I am super sad about having to end  this relationship with a great hospital, I have left the door open to going back at a later date in another capacity. My plans include a plan B, C, D, DD, DDD. Today, I will concentrate on my hand exercises, schoolwork and loving on my family.

No fan of the Follow up

I am not a fan of the "follow up" doctors visit. I can't be the only one. I can follow through without following up. For example, if the doctor says finish the antibiotic even if I feel better, if the doc says don't lift over 8 lbs for the next three weeks (okay, bad example since Juniper is about 22 lbs.) . I can follow through with the doctors instructions but chances are I am going to cancel the follow up appointment. Even after four children, I only made it to 6 week postpartum check ups for the last two. I felt okay. Its a baby not open heart surgery. I didn't have c-sections. I didn't need any pain meds at home. I didn't even want to follow up with bilirubin checks on Calvin and Juniper when they were born jaundiced. Why? I already knew to wake them every hour to feed them until the jaundice was gone. The doctor would have tried to get me to supplement with formula and I wasn't having it. I reluctantly made to my post op carpal tunnel suture removal but I really wanted to do it at home. If I had the strength to hold the little scissors I would have cut the stitches myself. Maybe I am crazy, but there is so much we can take care of from the comfort of our own homes. Perhaps I will join the essential oils cult.

At Arms Length

Today I am going to talk about pushing people away.

We have all done it. Some of us have done it on purpose. Some of us are doing it constantly everyday without even noticing.

We push our kids away by not validating their feelings. We push our friends away by not taking their calls. We push our lovers away by using the excuse that we are too tired. When does enough become enough? Are we obligated to tell someone that we feel like we are being pushed away?

I would rather not talk about it. Why?

"I feel like you are pushing me away."
"I'm not pushing you away, I love you."

or

"Please do not push me away"
"If I was pushing you away, you would know it."

Oooookay. So, that would be the end of that conversation. When I was younger, I tried so hard to explain how I felt to my friends, family, boyfriend because I wanted them to know without a doubt that I was trying very hard to keep them around. I absolutely hate losing people that I love. Perhaps most of the time I hold on to people a little too much because of that.

Now I don't feel the need to hold on to people as much. I am busy with my kids and I would really rather be with them. I haven't been feeling well and I notice more and more who really matters and I matter to. So now that my circle is so small, I notice when someone pushes me away and it stings all the more. I'm older and I'm tired and I don't bounce back as quick.

How long before the push away becomes a throw away?

Loser at Love

By the time we are in our twenties, most of us have been in love... Or at least what we would consider to be love. Puppy love, high school sweatheart love. Whatever, love is love. By the time I was twenty, I had a baby and was living his father and I thought this was my life forever. It was not the end for me (Thank God!!)

I see a lot of my friends go through heart break and loneliness and trying to get their exes back. The ones who are not trying to get the ex back and still obsessing about the ex but pretending they are not. I just want to say... Get over it. Someday, when everything is falling into the right place you will find what you need and it will be everything you ever imagined and more. Much, much more.

I myself was not looking to fall in love. It hit me like a ton of bricks and I was smart enough to hold on for dear life. My husband is the most amazing, supportive, beautiful, strong, big, absolutely wonderful man to me and our children.

What happened when I met him? I became a loser. I lost so much crap that I had been carrying around from the past that I became new again. It was like being with a man for the first time and nothing or no one else could compare. It was like experiencing life for the first time. Everything was better with him. All of a sudden going to the store was exciting. A hamburger became more delicious if I was having it with him. Everything was better with him. I lost all the bitterness of past relationships. I lost the resentment for the people who were suppose to take care of me because now we had formed our own team. I lost the feeling that no one would ever have my back.

With him I was finally home.

I knew the minute I saw him that he was the only person for me and I let him know right away.

I'm not writing to brag about the wonderful life I have. I am writing this to let people know that there are second chances, and in some cases third or fourth chances. If you love them let them know.

His Biggest Fan

While I always like to think that I am my husband's biggest fan, the truth is I am not. This summer has been pretty warm. Downright hot. I have heard a few reasons why our central air doesn't work but the truth is it would take a lot of work to right the wrongs that have been done to our heating/cooling situation (I guess).

Our house is just a big hot stuffy mess. The kids and I spend the day sweating away. That's okay, I don't really mind it. It would be worse to hear complaints about a high electric bill from having the central air on all day. So we grin and bear it. It's freakin' summer, we'll do what we gotta do. We have a nice house. We live in a beautiful neighborhood. We have more than many, many people so I really shouldn't complain.

Enter Felicia the Fan. Felicia, as I have named her, is a big ass fan my husband has brought from I don't even care to know where. She is something you might see attached to a pole inside the Costco while you check out. I hate her. I hate her so much I named the bitch. My husband loves Felicia. He positions her this way and that way. I have to hear her loudness at all times while he is home. Sure she helps circulate the air around the house. Thanks.

The worst part is the dang thing is on all night. I'm sure the noise and air help him sleep during this heatwave. Me? I lay there awake, grinding my teeth at the noise which I can not stand. What's a wife to do? He's the one who leaves early every morning to work outside the home. He needs his sleep. So I stay there in the cold, noisy room, grinding and chipping away at my teeth until mid fall when the weather cools down a bit and I can finally say....

No Photos

If a tree falls and there is no one around to hear it... Does it make a sound?

If my baby has a birthday and no one takes a picture... Did it really happen?

You bet it did. It happened on Saturday. My beautiful baby gal turned one. One year old. Her first ever celebration. We went out with the whole family and had a blast. All of the kids had a great time. No one fussed. No one cried. No one melted down. No one begged for a toy or candy. No one took a picture. No one posted to social media. No one died. Not in our group anyway.

It is possible to go through the day actually looking at your children through your own eyes instead of the camera/camera phone lens. People have done it since the beginning of time. Sure, I felt bad at first but seriously its not a big deal. As a mom, there are going to be millions of things to feel bad about later.

We didn't keeps the phones and cameras locked up or anything. It wasn't a decision we made at the start of the day. We were just having so much fun that we didn't think about it. It's a major step in the right direction.

Awkward

The older I get the less likely I am to tolerate bullshit. I do not want to deal. I do not want to make small talk. I don't want to look in the face of the people who give me a tension headache and pretend I like them. I do not care of they are family or not. 

So, recently I decided to get together for my daughters birthday. It is not a party. I just told a few people to meet up with us and have a little fun. Just like my son's birthday that just passed, I only invited a few people who have kids and would be fun. Well, my sister decided to invite... AND PICK UP... a couple of people I did not need there. Don't get me wrong these people are a big part of my life. Well... WERE a big part of my life. The thing is, they were not very nice to the main person in my life. So while we don't carry around any bad feelings, we don't really have any good feelings for them either. I do my bit out of guilt, and I do not want to ever be rude to someone who I do love. 

BUUUUUTTTT, this is our daughters deal. Me and my husband and OUR family. So, I will be by my husbands side the whole day. I did not have a party because I do not want to host and make that small talk. So now what? I'll tell you what, now I will have to tend to my kids, the three small ones and my husband and "they" will be waddling around somewhere behind. Now I'm the asshole that I never wanted to be. This is the whole situation I wanted to avoid! 

The worse thing about it is then the following week, I'll get bombarded with "Are you mad at me?" "Did something happen?" "I feel like you are avoiding me." That's because I am and I have been for a long time now. This may sound super petty to some people but to someone who has been used and manipulated their whole life by people who now, conveniently, have no memory of any of it, this just makes perfect sense. 

Walk in my shoes, or on my hands

My first ever job was administrative assistant at a small bank. One of my duties was assisting Human Resources with whatever they needed. In a short time, I became a regular part of the HR team. Sometimes I handled disability claims for employees.

I was a jerk.

I totally dismissed Carpal Tunnel as a lie. I was taught to delay their paperwork in case they changed their mind and decided to get back to work. I was told they'll change their tune once they find out they will get much money. I was told that Carpal Tunnel is what lazy people say to get out of work.

This is the attitude I adopted. This is what I chose to believe.

Fast forward many, many years and here I am off work for more than a year because of my own Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. I'm one month post op from surgery and I still fear I am not back to normal. I have pain that is sometimes unbearable. I have to set my baby down crying because it hurts to carry her. I'm a mess.

The first time I actually talked to my doctor about it is when I was 6 months pregnant and my hands were completely numb. This was 2-3 years after symptoms started. I couldn't handle the heavy physical demands of my job. I was trying to put compression stockings on a patients who was newly quadriplegic and I was useless to him. I couldn't dress him and I couldn't get him into his wheel chair. I could barely bathe him where he lay in bed.

I cried my eyes out. I literally bawled on my doctors shoulder. I had been suffering for so long and I couldn't do it anymore. If I can't help my patients and care for my family who am I? I stopped wearing makeup because the brushes would either slip out of my hand or it would cause unimaginable pain to hold them. A makeup artist not able to do makeup. My life made no sense.

So now the tables have turned. I received a call from my hospital's HR department telling me I've been on medical leave too long. I'm not protected by FMLA because they've challenged my work status. "Your position was re-filled more than a year ago, so your best bet is to resign."

Um, well that's not gonna happen. I love my hospital. Maybe I could stay on in another position? I don't know. Being a person on medical leave is not an easy thing. It's not Club Med. It's not Club Medical Leave. I'm not lounging around in a bikini (yeeeesh). I'm sweating through pain and struggling at every turn.

There is no real end to this story, no resolution yet, but I'm open to suggestions.

Perception is Reality

There is a bright light shining in my eyes. It's overpowering me. I cannot look away. I cannot move. I'm paralyzed. I try to wiggle my way out. What is happening to me? Am I dead? Where is my mommy? I see people. Wait. I think they are people. They are blue, they have no mouths or noses only big shiny plastic eyes. What the hell is going on? I want to scream but I can only cry. They are coming at me. They are hurting me. My face burns. Why would my family let this happen? Where is my mom? Are these things killing me?

This is a recurring nightmare that I have had since I could remember. It is actually my first every memory that I can recall. Imagine that! I asked my mom over and over again what it could be. I have told my brother and sister again and again for like 30 something years and of course they laughed at me. I was convinced I was abducted by aliens and put through some sort of experiments. 

The explanation is a little more simple, of course. When I was a kid, I decided to make a "yellow brick road" out of magazines and skip all over it. I fell and bashed my head on the big ol' console tv in my parents house and had to go to the hospital for stitches. Sooooooo, what I was remembering all this time was me in the Emergency Room (circa 1979 probably) getting stitches. 

The point of me telling this story, which I tell often, is not that I wasn't abducted by aliens. The point is that little kids go through brand new things everyday. They are looking to us to explain and react with care and consideration to their feelings. We have to offer age appropriate explanations and actions so that they can be secure in that what they are going through is valid. If they are scared, sometimes it may seem silly to us, but the way they (with our help, sometimes) work through their fear is much more important that we think sometimes. It can mean the difference between them facing challenges or shying away from them in the future. Of course all kids are different, but if you spend enough time you'll know what I mean. 

Living A Lie

"You're really not an idiot, Sandra, You just choose to live like one." that was from a doctor I saw in my late twenties when I decided against his plan of care. Shocking? Not really. I spent most of my early life trying to explain my symptoms to people who thought I was making them up. There's no way I could have all of those symptoms at once, right? Sores inside my mouth and nose, hair loss, headaches, chest pain, sore muscles, rashes, face swelling, joint stiffness, unexplained fevers. Well, it was too ridiculous to give it any attention.

Many years and doctors visits later I'm still here. Same symptoms, older body. The only thing I've learned to do is to be better at hiding it. I know I will not be able to do this forever. I know it is not fair to me and to the people around me but it is what I choose to do. So I accept the label of being fat and lazy. I accept that I have to pretend like nothing is wrong when I am a wreck on the inside. I can pretend to a certain extent that it doesn't hurt when I get a hug or I have to carry my kids for extended periods. 

Last year when I was pregnant with June, I mentioned to my OB/GYN how being pregnant was the happiest time of my life. How having a baby makes me feel the strongest and healthiest ever. Her response was eye opening. She said that it was probably because when a woman is pregnant her immune system is weakened so that the baby does not become confused with something she needs to fight or expel. This lowered state of the immune system made my system closer to a normal one so my body wasn't constantly fighting.

Just because I don't walk around with a diagnosis on my sleeve doesn't mean I am not suffering. Just because I choose to not be on a million different prescriptions doesn't mean I'm living like an idiot. Just because I choose not to tell everyone or anyone what I am going through doesn't mean I don't have some heavy shit in my mind and heart. I have a good life that I am very thankful for. I wouldn't trade it in for anything in the world. I am blessed with a beautiful family and a wonderful husband that is a rarity in this day and age. 

Be kind to one another, we are all fragile in different ways. 

A letter to The Fat Girl

I've watched you pretty closely since starting out nutrition class. At first, I was relieved when you entered because it meant I wouldn't be the biggest person there. Then week after week, I noticed different things. I love your cool nails, gel mani I presume. You had the coolest handbag, even if it was made of AstroTurf. You had short hair, which I don't have the guts for. Then today, you walk in wearing a crop top and piggy suspenders. Piggy suspenders for Pete's sake.

As we went around the room, each of us saying what we got out of the class and our plan for long term success, I have to say you shocked the hell out of me. You decided against the weight loss surgery you have been prepping for the last 12 weeks. You said, you didn't want to lose your identity or your support in the "fat awareness" community. I get that. I am a wife, mother, student and I really don't know what else. I'm not quick to remember my identity. What I do know is that I am not a fat girl. I am not this fat girl. I am not the fat girl that I have become.

I can't wait to go under the knife and be released from this LapBand that has been digging a hole in my stomach for years. I can not wait to cut back those layers of scar tissue that have been my undoing since that useless things was placed inside me. I do not want fat people support. I want to be healthy. I want to fit in EVERY ride at the carnival. I want to run after my kids. I want my parts to be high and stay dry.

I thank you for the courage to be different, I thank you for showing your confidence. I even thank you for staying fat. It takes all kinds to make the world go round and I am not the one to fight the big is beautiful fight. I am not beautifully big. You are. In a few weeks, we graduate from this program and go our separate ways. I hope your life is fulfilling. I hope you change the world. As for me, I am taking my second chance and running with it.

Daddy's Girl

Not a single day goes by that I don't think about my father. My father was an amazing man. I remember the last day I spent with him. I mean, I remember every single detail of that day. It was a good day. After he passed away, I tried to remember when was the last time we told each other how much we loved each other and I came up blank. I have no idea when was the last time he told me he loved me or if he ever did. I knew he loved me. I never felt empty without hearing him say the words because I know every action and every thought he had was for his family.

One thing I do know is that my dad was proud of me. He was proud of me and satisfied that I had gotten married before he passed. I guess not just that I had gotten married but that I had found a good husband. He even said it, "I can die now because I know that you are taken care of." That of course, was about 4 years before he died but he was very proud of me for finding a good man. Some people might find that weird or even sad. That is what my dad is proud of me for? Yup, and I didn't mind at all. My dad struggled his whole life, pretty much since the say he was born to survive and to help his family in any way possible. He never wanted any of his kids to struggle and I'm sure watching me raise my first born alone was heartbreaking for him. So, I am glad I made my daddy proud, in any way I possibly could.

The Minimizer

It seems like lately I have been downplaying everything. I pretend that I don't need help with the kids, that I have a handle on stuff when I really don't, that I am not in any physical pain and that I am not in need of any personal connections.

Isn't that what I am suppose to do? I'm mommy, I'm the wife. I'm not suppose to be another problem to fix. Which I am not, nor do I want to be looked at that way. So, for the most part I say nothing. I give up. I pretend that I had a good day. I pretend that I didn't even mind giving up my frosted mini wheat cereal, that I don't care that I haven't tasted a Scotch in over 5 weeks (FIVE FUCKING WEEKS!!). I just sit and wait, like the plants I've forgotten to water. I'll wait for someone to put their phone down and look at me through their eyes like they use to.

Hi! Remember me? Your friend, your aunt, your sister, your coworker, your whatever. I'll never tell you I need help, nor do I want anyone in my house messing with my things and kids but just smile at me once in a while and hug me a little longer than usual and I'll do the same.

Inside Out

Someone once told me "Don't compare their outside, to your inside." I didn't fully understand that back then but now... I get it. I don't expect my life to be easy and believe me it hasn't been. Growing up I looked at everyone else around me and I thought all of my friends had it better than I did. When I think about my childhood and look at family photographs, one thing that is constant no matter what age I was is the anxiety that I always felt. I grew up with my adrenaline always pumping and my stomach always upset. I invited a sense of doom into every situation. I can remember a few specific situations, but for the most part I don't remember anything but that stress feeling. 

Being constantly gas lighted through my childhood led to a feeling that I was never normal. I learned how to mistrust any feeling I was experiencing, even misinterpreting them in almost every situation. 

I was told that life is easy for other people and I'm the only one who has a hard time with anything. That's quite a hard lump to swallow for a little kid. 

So now, as an adult, I look around sometimes and I see how other peoples lives seem so effortless and I have to once again not compare. I see someone on the outside. A quick moment in their lives, when they are having a good day at the zoo or a quick trip to the Farmers Market. I have no idea what is on the inside. I don't know what their daily life is like or if they even wanted to get out of bed. I don't know who has money or marital problems. I don't know if he or she has a drinking problem or high cholesterol. 

I've learned to compare me to me and also remember that there is always room for growth. I've lost that itch to get my grass as green as the neighbors (the drought, man, the drought). I've learned that my best now is not my best ever and my best ever has yet to come. I don't want to know every ones issues, knowing people have problems will not make me feel better about my own life. For now I thank God we are not Inside Out. 

No Hippy Chick

"No, I'm not a hippie. Yes, I eat meat. Yes, I wear deodorant." This was an actual answer to a question addressed to me by one of the mommies waiting with me for our kids after school. She had just asked me about Juniper's short pants and where I got them. When I told her that they were cloth diapers and explained to her that I decided not to buy disposables for my baby, the look on her face was classic. She was both grossed out and curious. The car wreck effect. Morbid curiosity, they call it, right?

"How to you wash them?"
"In the washing machine"
"Where do you keep them?"
"In a basket"
"Does she poop in it?"
"Yes"
"OMG! Do you breasfeed her?"
"Yes"
"How is that?"
"Fine"
"Wait, are you, like, a hippie? Do you guys wear deodorant and eat meat and stuff?"
WTF? Now mind you this was like a forty year old woman. At least she looked it. Was she serious or just being a jerk? I really don't know. Would she not sit with me at lunch because I cloth diaper my kid? Is it really that big of a deal? I don't think so but what do I know. I've never really cared what the next mom was doing. Except for Gwenny Paltrow, of course.

Goddamn Baby Fever

There are ladies in this world that end up with a baby in their arms. This is my sister. Where ever we go, birthday party, mall, friends house, you name it, somehow she ends up with a chubby little baby in her arms. I was never that girl. I never wanted to hold the new babies. I never wanted to babysit. I never even thought I would have kids. Then I fell in love and got the Goddamn baby fever. I had my first son when I was just 18 years old and although that relationship ended badly, my little guy was the best thing that ever happened in my life. Fast forward 15 years or so and I fell madly in love at first sight. We met and I got pregnant almost immediately. We had a baby boy, then another, then the gal, then the tubed got torn and burned and sent to sit on separate sides of the classroom.
I think about having another baby everyday, even though I know I cannot. I think about being a surrogate for another family, even though I am forty and almost died during my last delivery. If I could I probably would risk having another baby. When you really think about that, it's a sick kind of thought that I would risk leaving behind the kids I have and possibly another newborn just because I have baby fever.

I have never ever known any greater joy than being pregnant. All of the stretchmarks, the pain, the hemorrhoids, the peed pants, it was all the best time of my life. Nothing can match the excitement of waiting for your due date (or passing it, in my case) and going through the greatest labor of all. The most powerful feeling of your body pushing forth the greatest creation and the greatest gift, it just makes everything else melt away. I would give anything to experience this again. I can only hope that one of my children will let me in enough to experience the gift of their children with them. Perhaps it will be my only daughter. I guess we will see... I wouldn't have let my mother in, but that is a whole other 50 pages.

The Darnedest Things

I will never forget the first time someone ever called me fat. It was the first day of school and I was starting 3rd grade. I was walking to school and my friend "D" was inside the school gate. He yelled "SANDY!!! DON'T COME BACK IN THIS GATE IF YOU GOT FAT!! WHY DID YOU GET FAT!!" I...was.... mortified! I pretended like I had no idea what he was talking about but it broke my heart. I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had probably doubled in weight that summer. Here's the skinny, so to speak. At the end of second grade, I was bone thin, I was pretty and smart. I had long silky dark brown hair and sometimes my mom put vaseline on my lips in the morning so it looked like I wore lip gloss. I was a happy gal. My mom was of the thicker variety as was my older brother and people would always comment on how thin I was. Mommy hated these comments because to her it meant that I was unhealthy, therefor she was a bad mom. Sounds legit, right? Well that summer she heard about these soy shakes given to kids for good nutrition. It was all the rage in the ghetto. So I was fed three shakes a day, give or take, along with my regular food. It was a sad spectacle and no one intervened. I remember my nose being pinched until I swallowed the shakes down on the days I refused. By the time I was ready to go back to school I was fat. So began my fat girl life and fat girl tendencies. Self loathing and shame ruled my world. Then by the end of 3rd grade I got titties, and that is a whole other ball game.

Independence Day

Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, Independence Day! When I was a small girl, I would dream about my own independence day. A day when I would be grown up enough to move out on my own. I knew what I would do when I grew up, but I did know I wanted to smoke cigarettes (I don't...anymore). I longed for the day when I would be ready to walk out the door of the house I grew up in. I would only look back to tell a few people off. I mean, I had speeches ready. Now, today, more than twenty years after all that planning my adrenaline still pumps thinking about it. When I go visit those same people on the weekend what I feel towards them has changed. What once was anger is now pity. When you are let down and betrayed by the people who were entrusted to protect you, something inside you dies and is never brought back. 

Your friends become your family. Strangers who you meet and are interested in you become the wonderful gift and you do anything possible to keep the conversations going. Now, I am forty, with kids of my own and when I visit those people who were suppose to show me the way I see a waste. All the time they wasted trying to appear to be something they couldn't even understand. I see delusional human beings, who would never admit to some of their deeds. I see people I no longer feel obligations to. People who can no longer guilt me into giving up my own life, they can no longer hold me back. It's not a sad thing, believe me, I forgave everyone a long time ago. So this Fourth of July, I will be thinking of my own Independence. While they will be there with me, I am free. 

Fighting Water

If there's one thing I have learned over the years it is CHOOSE YOUR BATTLES WISELY!! In almost every relationship I have had, I have picked a stupid fight. I'm talking stuuuupid! I have actually regretted starting a fight immediately after speaking. That was long, long ago. My husband would never tolerate that behavior. I don't even know if I have ever won or lost an argument with my husband because I usually back off. I know... I know... what a weak ass woman right? Wrong!! It is more important to me that we live in harmony and talk things out when we are feeling the need to than for me or him to raise our voices just for the sake of winning. Does it feel good to back down. NO! As a matter of fact most of the time it burns my ass to do so, but, I have a secret weapon. Fighting water. Yes, I fight the water. I have an imaginary argument and get my point across with water. Shower or washing dishes usually, but an occasional pre-drought watering of the lawn and garden has also relieved some tension. Lately, there has been many a pot and pan that has felt my wrath! I just have the conversation in my head while scrubbing the shit out of some plates and what not, and voila!! Everything is all peachy. Try it! Have that imaginary conversation in the shower, the one where you cuss your boss out. I guarantee you'll feel better after and it will improve your relationships.

Slitting My Wrists

Slitting my wrists, or as the medical folks call it, bilateral carpal tunnel release surgery. This is what will be happening tomorrow morning. So far, I am not at all nervous. I'm excited about getting better, getting rid of the pain and the tingling. I'm excited about opening a can of tuna all by myself, like a big girl. The things that frighten me will come after surgery. My hands will be bandaged and I will need help for a day or two. Who will put on my bra? Will they give me purple nurple because there's nothing i can do about it? What if I get my period immediately after? What if I'm too old and I never get my period again? What if I don't nurse Juniper for a while and she gets use to the bottle? Silly? Yes, but that's how my mind works.

The kids are going to grandmas (I think) during my surgery, which means they come back with a bad attitude and a sense of entitlement. Thankfully my husband is strong as nails and checks us back into reality real quick. He's the best! Since he will probably be the one putting my bra on... I'll brace myself for the purple nurple. 

The Juggler

Soon after meeting my husband, he went through a juggling phase. Literal juggling! Anything and Everything went flying through the air. Bocce balls, Christmas ornaments you name it. I am not a juggler. Yet, here I am trying to balance being a wife, mother, health care worker, makeup artist, business student, etc.

I have never been a believer that we can have it all. Perhaps that sounds a little old fashion or even sexist, if you dare. I feel when I try to have it all, or juggle, one and eventually all of the balls gets dropped.

So, what should I do? Give up on it all? Drink? Well, I keep on keeping on. Wear one hat on top of another like the Mad Hatter that I feel like and continue to do my best. Sound a little Pollyanna? Maybe it is. Maybe I am. This is my life and I am a happy camper (please don't take me camping!)

I have a wonderful husband and smart, beautiful kids. So here we go...