I'm calling it The "Franken-Cankle" Incident aka The Time God Made Me Slow Down

 

 

  Ask anyone who knows me fairly well, and they will tell you I am a pretty "high-energy" gal.  At least, that's the polite way to say it.  I used to joke, many moons ago, that I could always get away with being speedy high in front of just about anyone because it just wasn't THAT much of a departure from my normal personality.  (I know...let that sink in just a little bit.  Yikes!)

    As far back as I can remember, I have been involved in just about everything I could get my hands on.  From extra-curricular activities as a kid, endless social activities as a young woman, meddling in other people's problems as an adult....(so glad I finally gave that one up!!) to trying to balance being a working Mom, wife, woman in recovery, business owner, runner, & theater enthusiast all at present....to say that I stay busy is the understatement of the century.   The fact that I have not written anything in 2 weeks speaks to how over-cluttered I have let my life get as of late.

    When I ponder the many character defects I have been blessed with, the inability to just "be" is definitely up there.   It is certainly one of the reasons I turned to drugs and alcohol.  Most of us drunks do not like to sit in the silence with ourselves and our feelings.  That said, since I got sober in August of 2013,  I have been actively trying to work on this through prayer and meditation.  Or at least, I have been telling myself I am trying.  In reality...not so much.    I often have friends and family make comments about how crazy busy I am and how they can't imagine how I do it, and on and on.  And I usually laugh it off and make some joke about too much coffee and then run off to my next "thing".

   Well, let me tell you what...all of that came to a screeching halt this past Wednesday at about 6am. 

    As some of you know, I like to dabble in running.  It has been a wonderful and sometimes hilarious outlet for me.  (You can read about my runaway Grand Champion Female Masters Win that was not a win right here.  I seriously can not make this shit up.)  Anyway, I had just recently made a serious commitment to getting up early at least 2 days a week to run, since there was no way I could keep up my running at night.  In order to get back to regular running, mornings it would have to be. 

  Let me set the scene.... I set my alarm for 5:30 am, popped out of bed when it went off, got on my running gear and out the door I went.  The weather was perfection.  I was having a terrific run. My running soundtrack is the shit.  I was literally thinking to myself, "this is not so bad!  I can totally do this 2 days a week.  Man, this is going to be great!"  Ugh.   Right around 1.5 miles, I was on an unfamiliar stretch of our 'hood thanks to a road block where they are fixing a caved in driveway courtesy of The Great Pensacola Flood of 2014.   A car passed me going the other way and then made an abrupt U-turn.  It was still pitch black out and every once in a while I get a little spooked and imagine this whole scene where I get abducted in the darkness and terrible things happen and I am never seen or heard from again.   (yes, I watch too much Criminal Minds.)   Anyway, the car is now coming up behind me...a little too close for my taste...so I move over into the grass and keep running.  I was actually looking over my shoulder to see what was up when, BAM!  (Or actually, POP.)  I ran into a hole and turned my ankle so hard that I felt and heard the sound.  And I was running with such stride, that I went flying another 10 feet or so.  Thank God it was on grass. 

  Two things went through my head right then.  First was, "you have got to be fucking kidding me!" and second was, "maybe it's not that bad."  (okay, 3 things...because the FIRST thing was what an asshole the guy in the car was.  I am pretty sure he saw my swan dive and just kept on truckin'.)   All of that took about .5 seconds because once the pain set in, I am pretty sure I was ugly crying like Nancy Kerrigan. For real.  I immediately dial my husband to alert him to my peril.  But he won't pick up the damn phone.  So, I dial it again.  I can SEE it ringing.  Why isn't he answering?!?!  OMG....this can't be happening.  (At this point I am straight up SOBBING.  LOUDLY.  WTF, people whose yard I am in?!?  Not to mention the 6 cars that passed by me while I am crumpled into a ball of hot mess on the side of the road.  People are jerks...glad I wasn't bleeding profusely.)   Anyway....so there I am...hysterically dialing the phone over and over....I think at one point I actually stood up to try and limp the mile and a half home...because WHY IS MY HUSBAND NOT ANSWERING?!?

   Oh.  Wait.  Maybe I should unplug my headphones from the PHONE!?!?!  Maybe THEN he could hear me and I, him?  Ya think??   Yep.  That just happened.   Le sigh.

   So the hubs comes to get me and we head to the ER.  I love our ER.  We have a great one in our little Hamlet-by-the-sea...and I think if you are going to go to the ER, between 6 and 7 AM is money. They took me straight back.   Like, zero waiting.  Great doctor, a few x-rays, the good news it is not broken and I am released with crutches (Or "crunches" as both my kiddos say) and a BOOT.  God bless the boot. 
 
    I say God bless the boot, because I ended up having to go to work the rest of the week.  Wednesday was my call because our CEO was in town for our Grand Opening and Ribbon Cutting.  The rest of the week was one of those feelings I had that if I wanted to keep my job, I should probably get my ass into work.  (the folks I work for are lovely...it's just that we are very busy and my job is essential to keeping everyone productive.)  So the boot is awesome because the crutches SUCK and I can almost put a tiny bit of weight on it as I try to hobble about my day.   Not ideal for my healing, but Mama's gotta work.

 Now, at home it is a different story.  I have to take it easy at home.  Because I have not been able to really keep it up and iced at work, I have been trying really hard to stay in bed, with it up and on ice when I am home.  We are on day 5 since the incident and I think I can safely say this is the worst injury I have had since I was a kid.  My ankle and foot are HUGE and purple.  It's lovely.  That is where I affectionately came up with "Franken-cankle."  It's hideous.  And painful.  

  Now...all my cards on the table, I must confess that I have always been an "Oh, I will just do it myself" kind of person.  I have been compared to the Energizer Bunny, the Tasmanian Devil, and pretty much any other "Whirling Dervish" type thing.   I go, go, go.  All.  The. Time.  And now?  I can't.  Literally.  Can not.   And it is so very hard, y'all!   I am not used to slowing down,  Or being waited on.  And I am especially not used to having to be okay with the way that other people do the things that I would normally do. (Mostly because they just do it all wrong! ha ha)  To say that this has been a humbling experience would be putting it mildly. 

  I do recognize that this is God's way of forcing me to slow down.  Apparently I did not pay attention to any of the small warnings that He sent my way, so he had to do that thing that I liken to being thumped on the forehead by The Lord. (or, in this case, the ankle!)  So, I'm listening this time. 

  Because here's the thing....not only do I see that I have been crowding my life with too much "stuff", but I also have discovered recently that I am not doing anything exceedingly well.  I am spread so very thin, that nothing is really getting enough of my attention...not my husband, my kids, my job, myself, and certainly not my time with God.   I have learned enough in my recovery, that if I am not "spiritually fit", then not much else is going to go well.   So, I am taking this time to heal, to pray, and to take a look at the things that really matter and give my best self to those things. 

   Do I think I am going to actually slow down?  Probably not.  My high energy, upbeat self is one of the things I am actually grateful for.  But I do think there's a big difference between high energy and frantic.  I need to take this time to learn how to be quiet (for at least a few minutes a day).   I so want to find better balance....and truthfully, don't we all?  

  So, as I sit here typing this blog, with my foot up and on ice...gazing at the (clean) laundry that is literally spread all over our room, thinking about the 7,000 other things that I should be doing right now...well, I have to just take a deep breath, be grateful for my many blessings and ask God to please keep me from hopping around our house on one foot.  "Oooooohhhhhmmmmmm.  Amen."

  

  

I did WHAT?

     

 

It has been one HELL of a week! My husband amicably parted ways with his employer of 4 years.  My littlest one got the flu. My 16 year old honestly thinks she is a wise adult and should be left to her own devices.  I accidentally cheated in a 10K today and am currently listed as the Overall Female Masters Winner with a finishing time of 39:01!  This translates into a 6:17 mile.  I am fairly certain that I could not run that fast if a pack of knife wielding psychopaths were chasing me. And to top it all off...the 'Pièce de résistance' if you will...is that I took my 6 year old to a birthday party at the local skating rink and while I totally ROCKED the roller skates, I LOST my glasses.  That's right.  My prescription glasses.  At the skating rink.  Who does that?  I literally was wearing them one minute and then realized (obviously)  later that I was no longer wearing them.  Le sigh. 

    Cut to this morning.  The Bayou Hills 10K/5K and one mile fun run.  Quick backstory....I started running with the C25K app back in 2012.  I sort of have a love/hate relationship with running. But, I mostly love it.  I have done a few half marathons and had a respectable Double Bridge Finish in 2013.  When I am running consistently, I probably average about a 10:30 mile.  However, 2014 was a hectic year with the purchase of our first house, going back to work, being heavily involved in our local theater....you get the picture.  And my running, sadly, took a backseat.  I did train enough to finish the Double Bridge 15K back in February, but not with a any kind of stellar time.   Then my favorite running buddy talked me into registering for the Bayou Hills 10K.  I did not run AT ALL in between races...a full month.  Not my brightest move.  Anyway, we got up this morning and headed to the run.  I was not feeling it.  IN MY DEFENSE...when I ran this race in 2013 with another friend, she mentioned at the start of the race that she was going to decide if she wanted to go for the 10K or not on the course....that there was a left you could take early on that would take you the 5K route instead of the 10K.  So, I had that little tid bit stuck in my head before we even started! 


    Also, and many of you may find this information SHOCKING, but the Bayou HILLS race course is, well....HILLY!  I know, crazy, right?  With all those damn hills, by mile 2, my "I have not run in 4 weeks" ass was DYING.  (also, this race does not give out medals.  If they did...we could have avoided this little debacle...because I would have pushed through for some bling.  Take note, Bayou Hills!!) 

   Anyway, when I came to the "fork in the road", I really did not hesitate to make that lovely left turn at the 5K sign and just truck on in.  (And by "truck" I mean I finished with my slowest 5K time ever!)  And I swear I never thought for a second that I was about to seriously fuck up ALL OF THE THINGS.

    Based on what my friend said back in 2013, (and again....I am totally blaming her.  Although she shall remain nameless) I honestly thought they would track my distance.  Yeah...not so much.  Do you want to hear the totally classic part???   They had the finish set up with 10K runners to the left and 5K to the right.  And as you were coming to the finish line, the race announcer would let people know the deal...."10K to the left...5K to the right!"  Loud and clear over the mic.  I suppose so the super fast 10K folks (who were just starting to cross the finish) didn't plow down the slow-ass 5K folks.  At any rate, as I was slugging towards the finish line, and happened to be on the left side of the course....the announcer guy politely shouted right at me over the mic, "5K to the RIGHT!"   Clearly I do not look like someone who would be sailing across the finish of the 10K at 39 minutes.  Anyway, I got my water and waited for my buddy to cross so I could take her picture...and then we left.  Of course, I posted a picture on Facebook confessing my decision to take the easy way and only do the 5K.

 Imagine my surprise (and utter HORROR) when a friend who is a serious runner (like, tri-athlete serious) commented on said picture/Facebook post with this...


"Did you tell anyone?  Because they just announced you as the Overall Female Masters Winner."

     I'm sorry....Wha?  At first, I thought she was joking with me...ribbing me for my slow ass 5K time.  Then I re-read it...and about shit my pants.  What????  O.M.G.  I died.  Of course, it made perfect sense that I would screw it up like that once it happened.   And apparently all I had to do to prevent it was TELL SOMEONE.  But, I did not.  And now, if you go to the website, you will see my name and info next to a time and an award that do not belong to me.  (I know this, because I have a friend that thought it would be awesome to screen shot it and send it to me.)  

    I immediately texted my running buddy, who was napping at the time...because, you know...she actually DID the 10K like we were supposed to.  She literally has NOT stopped laughing.  I think she has told every person she knows....and possibly some strangers.  While I do find the humor in the whole situation, I am not sure anyone is as tickled as she is. 

   She also just informed me that the gal who let me know on my Facebook page that they (incorrectly) announced me as the Overall Female Masters winner, (I am sorry....I really like saying it...even though it is hogwash.  Also, is it weird that I sort of want to toss the word "GRAND" in front of "Master"? No?  Ok.) Well, SHE was next in line.  Let me let that sink in....she was (not so) subtly letting me know that I stole her first place award.  I am cracking up, because I am certain when they called my name as the Overall Female (Grand) Masters Winner....she was absolutely thinking to herself, "Excuse me?  Um.....no. I know her. Not possible."   I literally can not stop shaking my head at myself. 

   Now, don't you worry.  I emailed the race folks right away.  Well....right after I texted my running bestie.  I let them know my mistake and apologized profusely.   I am certain the true winner let them know there was a grave mistake as well.  I have not heard back from them.  I really hope I am not banned from that race.  Or, if I am....hopefully that is the only one in our area.  I really love the Double Bridge Run. 
 It truly was an honest mistake.  And I really hope the rightful winner gets her prize.  But in the meantime, I have to laugh at myself.  And also, I am seriously considering getting this framed.  You know....just to pretend.

Fifty Shades of No, Thank You

 
I remember when the first book of the series hit the bookstores.  It did not take long for most of my girlfriends to start dishing about this "steamy hot" novel that was a MUST read.  Now, my middle daughter will tell you that I was a "Hipster" long before it was a thing.  Which is just to say that I have never been one to follow mainstream fads.  So, I did not run out and grab a copy.  I was one of the few, it seemed.   Pretty soon, Fifty Shades of Grey was not just a fad...it was a phenomenon.   By the time the 3rd book was out, I was honestly tired of telling other women I had not yet read even the first book in the series.  Finally, one friend who was (and still is) a huge fan insisted that I borrow her copy and read it.  I relented.  I picked up her worn copy of the trilogy and dove right on in.

   It's been a few years, so my memory is fuzzy, but I don't think I made it past the first third of the book.  I just could not allow myself to be swept away by anything having to do with Christian Grey.
 
  Now, before I really delve into my thoughts on this...I want to be clear.  I am not bashing, belittling or insulting anyone who loved the books, the movie or both.  You know what Salt and Peppa says..."Opinions are like assholes....everybody has one."  This is just my opinion...based on what I thought and felt while I was reading (or trying to read) Fifty Shades of Grey and the enormous popularity of the franchise. 

  Yes, the writing is pretty terrible.  But I don't think the author seriously thought she was going to win any literary awards.  This was written and marketed as erotica, because, well....it IS.  And I have zero issue with that.  I am not offended by pornography in the least.  I will go so far to say it can have a proper place in healthy sex lives...either coupled or all alone. Oh!   And it was definitely racy!  But here is what I could NOT get past.  Christian Grey is an asshole.  He is a jealous, manipulative, cruel and slightly frightening man.  He basically stalks her and does things that, IMHO, would NEVER fly in real life.  But just because he is gorgeous, crazy rich and also a character in a fucking book...it is not only acceptable...it is romantic.  No, thank you.  And here's what really got me.  Anastasia is a naïve, insecure and pitiful woman.   He feeds on this tremendously.  And she willingly serves it up.  And I get to describe her like that, because I have been her.  More than once. Thank God it has been a long time and today I realize my worth and am with a man who cherishes me.   But it makes me sick to remember what it was like to be so foolish and desperate that you will absolutely put up with shit that is completely unacceptable just to feel loved.  Blech. 

  I will take a moment here to say a few things as an aside.  If you have never been in an abusive relationship, and I mean mentally as much as physically, then you probably have zero frame of reference to what I am saying.  And if that is your truth....I say "Bravo to you, sister!"  Because you are one of the lucky ones.    I also fully acknowledge that true BDSM is not  abuse.  (I think it bears mentioning that the majority of the BDSM community has completely renounced Fifty Shades of Grey.)

  At any rate, I could not get swept up in the "love story" because I was so pissed at how he treated her and how she not only let him, but invited him to do so.  Because he was Christian Grey.  Ugh.

  Well, I put the book down...returned it to its owner and moved on.  I honestly did not relay my feelings to very many people because I was certain I was in a huge minority and also felt like maybe I was going overboard just a touch because  of personal experience. 

  It wasn't until the movie was about to come out that I discovered that not only was I not alone, but there is a fairly significant movement that feels the exact same way that I do.  Don't believe me?  Just Google "Fifty Shades is Abuse".  It is worth a look, IMHO. 

  I want to be perfectly clear about my position.  I believe that there are plenty of grown women, in healthy relationships, that read the books, got quite the charge out of them, went to see the movie with their girlfriends, came home and ravaged their perfectly lovely husbands (you know who you are!) and will thusly go on with their lives unchanged.  Here is my problem....there is a whole slew of teenage thru young adulthood girls/women who view this story not only as romance, but as a road map for how a relationship should go.  And that is tragic.  I know quite a few 16 year old girls who are highly impressionable and came away from this series with a terribly false idea of what is okay....of what they should expect or accept from a partner.  And how they should be convinced to behave!  And that makes me sad.  (and before you blast me with "16 year olds should not read this series"...I agree.  100%.  But I know my friends and I gathered around a paperback copy of Judy Blume's "Forever" in the 5th grade, which was totally forbidden.  So, let's just move past that.)

 The most upsetting thing to me comes up when I discuss the book with a fan who protests that it is a "love story" and that by the third book it is this beautiful fairy tale because she "saves him"!  There's only one problem with that. It IS a freaking fairy tale!  Men like that don't get saved.  (with rare exception.)  Men like that make you think that you are the problem...that you need to change who you are to suit them. They treat you horribly, make a grand and amazing apology, promise to never act like that again, and keep that promise.  Until they don't.   It is a vicious cycle that usually ends badly. 

  I want to teach my daughters that they deserve to be respected, not belittled.  I want them to know, way down deep, that they are enough.  And I want them to have the strength to say "No, thank you" to something that they know is unacceptable...even if it is being offered to them by someone like Christian Grey. 
 

Anytime now, Fairy God-Mother!

 

I have let more time pass between posts than I would like because...well, LIFE!    Plus my job has been crazy busy...which is a good thing.  And then my husband got called out of town on a family emergency for most of this week through the weekend.  I always pause and reflect on what total bad-asses single parents are, anytime my husband has to leave town.  I know that everything is relative...and as parents, we do our level best to handle whatever life throws our way.  For example, I have a friend who has twin girls and she is totally rocking it.  I am in awe.   And I imagine she looks at the mom of triplets and feels the same.  And so on.  But what happens when sometimes you feel like you can't handle it?  What do we do when the insanity of balancing being a Mom, wife, employee, friend, confidant, chef, housekeeper, chauffeur, et al becomes to much?

  I ask this question, because lately I have been feeling like I can't.  Now, I don't mean I can't handle it in a "come and cart Mommy away in a straight jacket/here's your ticket to the Baker Act" type of thing.  I mean I just feel like I am doing a piss poor job of getting it all done.  Specifically, I am feeling behind the eight ball with the Littles.  I have one in kindergarten and one in pre-k.  When I get home from work, it's usually around 5:30.  If I am especially with it that day, I either have dinner in the crock pot or have thawed out whatever I am planning to cook.  This happens about 70% of the time.   I almost always have bacon, eggs and pancake mix on hand...so on the 30% days, we have breakfast for supper.  Not a huge deal.  Then there's homework for the kindergartener.  Not a huge amount, but he struggles with his reading, so he has extra books to read  every night.  And then there's a math website he has to spend time on.  At most, this is about 30 minutes.   By now it is probably 7.  Maybe later.  I have to clean the kitchen.  And maybe a touch of laundry.  My kids also like to play...sometimes even with their Dad or me.  And story time.  Then there's bath time.  Each on their own.  (I mean, not with the other....it is not like I just toss them in the water and wish them luck!)

  Did you know that the school says we are supposed to have them in bed by 8?  HA!  I wish.  If I am lucky, it's 9.  Some nights, if everything is clicking, we can make 8:30.  But honestly, some nights they are still fighting me at 10.  Well, not the boy.  He's usually out in 5 minutes.  But my little drama queen?  The night owl to beat all night owls? Yeah...she's like the damn Energizer Bunny some nights.  It's exhausting. 

  I have to take a moment to mention that I am lucky enough to married to a man who does try to help when he can.  I am such a control freak, that most of the time I insist on doing it myself.  But he does try.   (If I don't write that he will tell me that this entire post is about how he never helps.  And he really DOES.  He just has a guilty conscience, I think.)
  
  Anyway, at this point in the evening I usually realize that I have not packed their lunches, or folded the clothes, or cleaned out the cat box....etc.  I also (sometimes) like to have a bit of time to myself...to write, or visit with my husband, watch one of the few TV shows I record or even VISIT with my husband...wink-wink.    You know..."grown up" time.  ME time.  (It used to be "wine time"....but that always led to "drunk time"...and that often ended badly.  ha ha)  And yes, I do realize that when you have kids that you must give up a great deal of yourself for them....but I also believe it is essential to find a healthy balance.   I just have NO IDEA what that is. 

    I was talking with another Mom today who has 2 kids the same age as mine.  She's pretty fabulous and a working Mom like me.  We were sharing war stories and lamenting what it will be like when we have TWO in school!   With 2 sets of homework?  My head is spinning just thinking about it! LAWD.   Oh, AND we also have an amazing 16 year old daughter, who is very busy currently being 16 going on 25, and adds to the "fun" (read- stress!)  for sure.  Everything is relative, right?  Le sigh.

  Some days I pause, and while I am trying not to yell or cry, I will close my eyes and wish REALLY HARD for my Fairy Godmother to show up and wave her magic wand and instantly make everything better.  Do you know that bitch never shows? 

  I seem to recall that I did not get top marks in the "Uses Time Wisely" category in kindergarten.  Which probably contributes to my inability to get everything done in time.  That, and the fact that I tend to take on too much.   Plus, the control freak in me that I mentioned earlier probably wouldn't really delegate to any damn Fairy Godmother, anyway!  

   I know I write a lot about trying to be grateful.  So, I fully realize that I am truly blessed to HAVE a family to care for, food to cook, a house to clean, and clothes to wash.  I really do!  But, it can get overwhelming at times.  I guess the point is that we do the best we can and keep telling ourselves that a messy, unorganized house is a home filled with laughter and love.  Plus, you can always watch an episode of "Hoarders"...an hour of that shit and I am convinced I'm Mom of the Year.  Seriously. 

  And at the end of the day, when I am really looking for my Fairy Godmother?  I just look in the mirror. 

I don't like it when you mess things up!

   This is what my 6 year old proclaimed to me this evening, after I forgot to stop the drain in his bubble bath...therefore letting most of the nice warm water go straight down the pipes.  This left him with about 1/4 full tub of water before the hot ran out.    He was not pleased.    He had come home with  a tummy ache and I was so worried about comforting him, that I started the bath and poured the bubbles...but no dice on the stopper.  I was explaining this to him when he cried, "I don't like it when you mess things up!"  And that got me thinking. 

   Before I fell in love with my husband, I was pretty sure that I did not want to have kids.  Partially because they seemed like a pain in the ass, and partially because being a good parent seemed like a such a difficult job.  I mean, not only was I an only child... I was the only grandchild on BOTH sides of my family.  (I know, the jokes write themselves.)  I was pretty certain that I was too selfish to ever even think about being a good Mom.  Add to that the death of MY Mom when I was 17,  and that pretty much sealed the deal on my "No way do I want to do THAT shit" philosophy.

   But you know what they say....If you want God to laugh, make plans.  I fell head over heels in love with my husband...who I had been friends with my entire life.  I was 36 years old....and  I remember the first time I had that flicker of, "I think I might actually want to have a baby with this guy".  It about knocked me on my ass.  Something that I thought I would never, ever do....suddenly became the most wonderful and natural thing in the world.  Lucky for me, he was game.  And lucky for us, I was fertile.  And 2 years later, we were blissfully (mostly) married and had two beautiful babies.  Monkey and Squeaks.  A boy and a girl.  17 months apart.  Woo-Hoo!   What were we thinking?  (I have a few friends who have actual twins and I bow down to them.  I mean, seriously.  Parents of multiples should get some kind of freaking parenting award.  Really.) 

   I have said this before. I think the early days of child rearing are the easiest.  Yes, you are ridiculously sleep deprived.  And it is hell.  But it is pretty much a merry-go-round of feed, change, burp, rock, hold, get them to sleep....rinse and repeat.   It is when they start to really develop their own little personalities that shit gets real.   You are molding them into people.  And they start to repeat things you say.  All of the things.  And you notice that they pick up your best and WORST habits and traits.   I mean, my kids are awesome.  And I love them so much it hurts sometimes.  But there are days when I feel like I am actually on a hidden camera reality TV show called "Toddler Mind Fuck."   For Real. 

  The other night my daughter was doing her usual "anything I can come up with to keep from going to sleep" routine and she decided to play the hungry card.    I read one time about a Mom that would say, "the kitchen is closed" to her kids when they were begging for food and that would be that.  So, I figured I would give it a try.  But instead of saying "Ok, Mom", my child starts crying hysterically and screaming, "What?  Do you want me to just STARVE to DEATH?  Huh, Mama?  Is that what you want?"  I had to bite through my lip to keep from giggling.  We worked it out and she settled for a few sips of milk... just in case she was actually hungry.  Sometimes, she will call me back into her room because she has to tell me "just one more thing."  And I go.  But only a few times.   THAT is where my ass gets screwed over.  I am completely taken in with the notion that just MAYBE they are telling the truth.  I mean, what IF?  (Yes, go ahead.  Laugh.  Make fun.  I deserve it.)   I figure I will have learned my lesson by the time they are teenagers. 

  And my son is more dramatic than my daughter...as if that is EVEN possible.  His latest kick is proclaiming that today is "the WORST DAY EVER" when something does not go his way.  I finally told him last week, that if every day was the worst day...then each day was worse than the last and his days must be pretty crap.  He didn't really appreciate that.   Or there was this morning, when he was too tired to go to school and after telling him he had to go, I asked him to sit up so he could get his shoes on.  His reply?  "Mom!  Why do you make me do everything?"  I mean, the nerve, right?  You can't make this shit up. 

  Sometimes I look at my husband and I say...."what the hell happened?  How are our kids such little assholes?!"  And then I realize the obvious answer is because we are assholes, right?  Sometimes I get totally wound up in that feeling of failure that I can only associate with feeling like a bad mom.  Le sigh.

  But then, I go to the store.  And I see another Mom almost lose it when her kid won't stop standing up in the cart.  Or I read a Mom friend's post on Facebook about their little "angel" doing something like drawing all over the cat.   I read another Mom blog about how we are so hard on ourselves and there is no such thing as a perfect Mother.  I talk to my best friend who tells me that she went through the same thing with her kids when they were this age and it is going to be ok.  And then I realize that sometimes, everyone's kids are little assholes.  Ha ha. 

  The real prize is this, though.  I get to lie in bed with my daughter and talk about what she thinks the tattoo written in Hebrew on my wrist says.  And marvel at her guesses as they go from "Jesus loves me" to "Flip Flops are awesome to wear in the Summer."   I get to see the joy and pride in my son's eyes when he comes home to tell me that he learned 200 + 200 is 400, or read his book of feelings that says "I feel loved when... my Mom hugs me tight."    I get to tuck them in at night and kiss their sweet faces when they look up at me and say, "I love you, Mama."

 Because we are molding them into people.  I think (hope) we are molding them into good ones.   And I was right...being a good parent is incredibly hard.  Sometimes I think I am going to break into a million pieces with frustration.   But if I am in a good place, I can stop and  remember what Daniel Tiger says.  Hell, sometimes my kids will remind me and we sing the song together.    (You've got to love that, right?)   But, as hard as it can be...there is nothing like it.  When I think about my life before I became a Mother...I had no clue about what I thought I did not want.  And my gosh...am I grateful that I was given the chance to be a Mom...to all four of my kids!  Of course, I want to be the best Mom I can to them.  And I don't like it when I mess things up, either!

  But I am learning to forgive myself.  And to take in the good.  My word for 2015 is grateful.  Because no matter how tough things get, there are  always things to be grateful for.  So, I say let's gives ourselves a break.  We are doing the best we can.  Learn to laugh at the insanity and drink up the love.  Because it is all around you.  Even if, every once in a while, you are surrounded by little assholes. 

 

Apparently, my hair is old

 

  If you are a woman and a child of the 80's like me, then you must remember the Oil of Olay campaign that went like this...

     A beautiful, silver haired, heavily re-touched 50 something looking model would dash across the screen...dressed in the latest "Country Club chic" outfit from Lacoste, toss her sassy grey hair to one side, look at the camera in a playful come-hither way and purr,

"I don't intend to grow old gracefully.  I intend to fight it every step of the way."   

     She was actually far too fabulous and not nearly wrinkled enough.  (To this day we are bombarded with images that could not be further from reality.)   At the time, I thought growing old was some far off land...almost like a mirage...sort of there, but not really, and certainly nothing for teenager me to even consider.  But the older I get, the more I can hear that catch phrase ringing in my ears. 

    Now, before we get too far gone, let me say this.  I know that 43 is not really "old".  My Dad is 83.  That is old.  And as much as I grumble about the aging process, I fully embrace the meme that I saw on Facebook not too long ago.  (side note...if there was a 12 Step Program for Facebook, I would TOTALLY need to join that shit.) It said, "Old age is a privilege denied to many."  Let that sink in for a minute.  Boom! Right?  So yes, I realize I should be grateful to grow old.  And I do hope on some level that I am, one day, a sassy, grey haired, wrinkly old lady....still fabulous, but hella wrinkled.  I am working to make peace with it. 

  When I was a sophomore in HS, I played one of the old lady sisters in "Arsenic and Old Lace."  I was either Martha or Abby.  I have no idea which.  But it was great fun.  And I remember doing the old age make-up every night to turn myself into this 70-80 year old gal.  You know what?  All of the wrinkles and fine lines that I DREW onto my face?  Yeah...they're here.  Slowly but surely making an appearance.  And that is sort of a bummer. 

  I should also clarify that I got my wrinkles the "Old Fashioned Way"...."I EARNED THEM."  (If you heard that in John Houseman's voice from the Smith Barney commercials of old, you are my favorite!)  Seriously...tanning beds, smoking, actual sun, not enough sleep, far too much booze and drugs....yes, sadly it is all there on my face.  Le sigh.

  Now, my Mom was very into skin care and make up.   She taught me well.  I have been spending far too much money on all sorts of magical creams and potions to delay the aging process for many, many years.   When I was single and made lots of money in Real Estate, I spent OBSCENE amounts of money on my skin.  Now that I am Super Mom, I opt to pay the electric bill instead of buying a jar of La Mer.  C'est la vie. 

      But, I still try to take care of my skin.  Oh, how I love Ulta and Sephora!   I always say that if I was independently wealthy, I would walk into a Sephora and just buy everything I could get my hands on.  I mean, seriously.  It makes me feel like the little girl with the stuffed unicorn in Despicable Me.  "It's just so PRETTY!!" 

     All joking aside, there really is an overwhelming amount of skin care and make up designed with the "Over 40" set in mind.   Some are good.  Some are great!  And, some aren't worth diddley squat. 
I often spend my lunch break, cruising the aisles at Ulta, looking from one product to the next...always trying to figure out which one is going to actually do something for me without my having to take out a second mortgage.  (My mother also taught me, "You get what you pay for".   Thanks, Mom.  This is true most of the time.  Oh, but I did read once that according to the best dermatologists, plain old Oil of Olay is the best moisturizer you can buy.)   Their labels say things like "anti-aging", "wrinkle-fighting", "line filling", "youth renewing"..etc.  It all sounds so promising.   

    Anyway, I was at Ulta the other day, and I wandered into their hair care aisle. And do you know what I found?  "Age-defying" shampoo and conditioner. And masks and treatments.   Seriously.   It's new.  Made by Pantene.  Says it fights the "7 signs of aging hair".   I did not know there were 7 signs of aging hair.  I read all 7.  Freaking depressing.  It's not enough that I am constantly being bombarded with a zillion different ways to make my skin look younger....Now you have to try and sell me something for my "Aging Hair?"  WTF?

    I know we all feel the pressure to look good.  And when you begin to age, looking good is supposed to equal looking young.  (and also thin, but I will write a whole separate post about body image another day!)  I fully admit to succumbing to the pressure.   I think it would be foolish to expect anyone to be completely immune to it.  But, try to remember this.  Old age really is a privilege denied to many.  And the laugh lines on our faces only show the world we have lived joyful lives.     By all means, take care of yourself and your skin.  Drink more water.  Get outside and move more.  Eat more green vegetables.  And learn to love what you see in the mirror!  Try looking at yourself every day and saying, "You are beautiful and fabulous.!"   It sounds so silly.  But it really does make a difference.  I promise.  So go ahead and grow old gracefully!  Be grateful.  But definetly skip the “Old hair” shampoo.

Super Bowl Sober Sunday

"But what if I'm not FUN anymore?!" 

   That was literally the first thing I thought about any time I would even consider giving up drinking.  I mean, how did anyone have any fun at all without being drunk?   ( I remember being around a few folks that did not drink at different times in my life and thinking to myself, "Those poor souls.  They must be the most boring people EVER!"   Seriously.)

   Everything I did was an excuse to drink.  Going to the beach?  The movies?  Bowling?  Company picnic? We must drink!  A reunion?  Working lunch?  Happy hour?  Girls night?  Bring out the vodka!  Football games on Sundays, ESPECIALLY the Super Bowl, were a God-send to a drunk like me.  I could start drinking early and get pretty shitty, and it was totally socially acceptable.  "Come on, Everybody's doing it!"   Towards the end of my drinking, I used to jokingly say, "I only drink on days that end in "Y"!"   Ha ha ha ha.  Wasn't I hilarious and cute?

 (As a side note, I think the culture of making jokes about being a drunk, seen most often on Facebook, do a real disservice to women who actually have a problem. I hid behind the "jokes" for a good while.  I mean, if all these other ladies are posting these hilarious memes about drinking too much, then I must be ok!  Right?)  Yeah, not so much.


  You see, I knew that I drank too much a few years before I started thinking about quitting.  And then it took me a few more years after that to actually quit.  Once I went to see a therapist because my life was a hot mess.  He suggested that I stop drinking "just for 30 days...to see if anything got better." Huh???  Riiiight.   I never went back. 

  Here's the thing.  I had a pretty great childhood.  No abuse, great parents, lots of friends.  But my mother was an alcoholic.  She did not die from alcoholism, but she drank until she was too sick to hold a glass.  That, coupled with an incredible desire to be liked, nay LOVED, by everyone I came into contact with...and you have a perfect recipe for an alcoholic disguised as "Party girl Julie".  (That was an actual nick-name given to me by the wife of the CEO of a huge company I worked for...and I thought it was a good thing.  Lawd.) 

    Looking back, I was "Party girl Julie"....and for a short while it was working.  (And I do mean short.)  But the bad decisions and dangerous situations kept mounting.  It is incredible to me when I recall all of the insane shit I did and how I was able to justify it all, never actually considering that alcohol was the problem.  I just wanted to have fun!   The problem was I never wanted the party to end. 

     I remember my husband saying to me, on more than one occasion, "Don't you think it's time to grow up?"  On the surface I was offended, but deep down I knew that he was right.  I love my husband for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that he knew he couldn't make me get sober...that I had to decide to do it on my own.   And thank God I did. 

     I am coming up on 18 months without a drink.  Which is incredible to me.  And I don't tell you this to brag.  I am telling you this because there was a time when I could  not imagine 18 days without one, let alone 18 months.  I had no idea how to do life without my mask of booze.  I thought it made me fabulous.  What it really made me was a terrible friend, employee, wife and mother. 

     But here's the awesome part.  Here is what I have learned thus far in my recovery.  That I am fun.  And funny.  And fabulous.  All without booze.  I laugh harder.  My friendships are more genuine.  I am most definitely a better wife and mother. I never have to wake up again with the shame of not knowing exactly what I did the night before.  I never have to lie to my bosses about why I can't make it into work today.  I never have to text any of my friends apologizing for my behavior at their party, hoping they forgive me.   My kids don't have to wonder why "Mommy has a headache" AGAIN.   I have an incredible program filled with amazing people and if I work it, I get a daily reprieve from my alcoholism.  I am more free than I ever dreamed was possible. 

     And before you roll your eyes and throw up a little bit in your mouth from all of my gushing and gratitude, let me also say this.  Life is still hard.  I still have days where I am overwhelmed with feeling like a failure as a parent.  My husband and I still fight about silly stuff sometimes.  And big stuff, too.  I have days where staying in bed sounds like a really super idea.  Shit is HARD.  But I don't have to pick up a drink to get through it.  Just for today. 

     I decided to write about this today, because I was thinking that only a few years ago, a Super Bowl Sunday without alcohol was unimaginable.   Today I am going to enjoy great food and my family while we watch the game. Without shame, guilt or any bad decisions.   I decided a long time ago that I wanted to be completely transparent about my recovery, in the hopes that I might help other women like me. 

      Now, I can only tell my story.  I can only tell you how it was for me.   It is not my place to judge anyone else or how they live their life.   Shockingly,  I still struggle with this at times.  I mean, honestly, if people would just listen to me, they could get their shit together.  (I have the best ideas, dontcha know?)  ;)

   There's a saying that I learned in recovery that I love.  (actually there are LOTS of sayings in recovery that I love.   Apparently we are fond of incredibly deep, yet catchy phrases to help to teach really good life lessons.)  I digress....it's "Keep your side of the street clean."  It means, you just need to do you.   (Great advice, but tough for a know-it-all like me.)  So, I am not writing this to judge anyone.   But I can share my "experience, strength and hope" with y'all.  Maybe someone out there needed to hear this today.  If only to plant the seed.

     So, if you are struggling with your drinking, know this.  There is help out there.  And life is not only fun without booze, it can be so much better without it.  You will laugh again.  You will have a good time.   You CAN live every day without being trapped by your drinking.   Reach out.  And don't be ashamed.  You are not alone.  There are lots of fun and fabulous women just like you.  Probably more than you think.  And we are here to support you.  And the best part is that we are always here, if you ever decide that you have had enough.  No judgment.  Just love.  And since it's Super Bowl "Sober" Sunday....Go Seahawks!  xo

I want ALL of the stuff!

   Being a parent is hard, y'all.  I honestly had no idea how hard.    I mean, before I had kids, I was chock full of advice for all of my parent friends.  I knew EVERYTHING about what was required to be a good parent.  And I had no problem doling out said wisdom to most any of them that would listen. Like, a lot.  YIKES.   (And YES, I have since apologized to my them multiple times.  Lucky for me, they are pretty forgiving.) 
   And then I had my son.  And 17 months later, my daughter.  Seriously the greatest thing I have EVER done.  Like most parents, I had no idea I could love these tiny people so freaking much!  It still astounds me. 
   You know what happened?  All that glorious parenting knowledge went right out the damn window!  Oh, how different parenting is when you are in the trenches.  Everything I was certain that I would or would NEVER do?  Yeah, whatever.  I mean, caring for them when they were little babies was exhausting, but didn't require as much skill, IMHO, as when they start to become little people...with their own little personalities...which are usually GLORIOUS manifestations of ALL of your bad habits. I will write a looong blog post one day about that shit.   Egads! 
   Some days, I feel like I am totally nailing the Mom gig.  Knocking it out of the park.  My kids say things like, "You are my best Mom" and  "I am so glad God picked you to be my Mommy!"  (I know, right???)   I am overflowing with wise words, hugs, laundry and lunches.  Other days?  I am pretty sure that I am the WORST mother that ever lived.  Like, EVER.  On those days I get "You are the WORST Mom!" and "I wish so-and so's Mom was MY Mom."  (Ugh, right?)  
   On those days, I usually cry...and lean on my husband. I feel frustrated.  And totally overwhelmed with failure.  I pray.  I read www.handsfreemama.com or momastery.com/blog a lot.  (You must check these ladies out.  Rachel and Glennon are both amazeballs!)  And then I try to remember that I am doing my best.  That I am imperfect, and that's ok.  That my kids know that I love them with ALL my heart.  And that forgiveness and grace are a beautiful thing. 
  On the days that I'm nailing it... (or at least I THINK I am)...My kids make me laugh.  So much.  The Littles are both smart little whipper-snappers and they come up with some pretty funny stuff.   Today was no exception.
   I picked up the monkey from his BFFs house today after work.   These boys are thick as thieves and I absolutely adore his family.  They are good people to the core and are incredibly kind to us.  They are also fairly well off.   Now, we are not poor by ANY stretch of the imagination.  If I had to take a shot, I'd say we are solid middle class folks.  We ain't rolling in dough, but we don't really want for much.  And I am totally fine with that.
    I am trying, in my middle age years, to remind myself to appreciate what we DO have and not fret so much about what we don't have.  And I am really trying to teach our children to do the same.  It is easier said than done, but I believe that gratitude for your blessings will carry you a long way.  And I say this to my kids on what feels like a daily basis.  And yet, at 4 & 6 & 16....they all still pretty much just want what they want when they want it.  Which brings me to today's little anecdote. 
   The boy and I were talking about his day and he was majorly lamenting that his best friend gets a fairly substantial new toy every time he has a "green day" at school.  Now, we JUST started doing Dave Ramsey.  And I don't ever want to saddle my kids with the whole, "we can't afford that" line.  So we tell them that we have to budget for everything, especially the "extras".   I already know that I have spoiled them more than I should.  But I am trying to teach them (and myself) new habits.
   So we are driving and  my 6 year old son is doing a pretty good job of wailing and complaining that his friend gets everything and he gets NOTHING...he even had the nerve to say we are bad parents because we don't give them everything they want.   (Have I mentioned that my kids are dramatic?  NO CLUE where they get that from!) I was trying to explain to him that there will always be kids who have more than we do and kids that have less and we need to be grateful for what we have instead of being mad about what we don't have.  (Sound familiar?)
   I told him that  being a good parent was about giving your kids love and time....food and shelter...and teaching them how to be good people.  I went on.  And on.  See, when I think I am NAILING the Mom gig, I tend to ramble quite a bit, spewing at my kids all sorts of wonderfully wise words, most of which, I think, go right over their sweet little heads.   Just ask my hubs...he will confirm the fact that I probably speak to them for 10-15 minutes sometimes and I most certainly lose them somewhere around minute 2.  Le sigh. 
  So I am laying down my wisdom for my precious son.  I conclude my little life lesson with this GEM. 
"Son, what really matters in life is how much we love each other.  It's memories and moments..playing games and taking trips.  At the end of the day?  Stuff is JUST STUFF."  BOOM!

  He instantly answered me with a very heartfelt, "But I LOVE stuff!" Followed by a more emphatic, "I WANT ALL OF THE STUFF!!!!" 
  
  I think I am getting through to them. 

I Stand Corrected

  Well, it's been one whole week since I set out on this little "I'm gonna write a blog" adventure and I have to say, the response has been incredibly cool.  My friends have all been super supportive and encouraging, I have received really cool messages from folks I have not heard from in ages and my hubby is uber proud. I think my very favorite reaction thus far has been that of my 83 year old Dad, who after reading my very first post, just looked at me and said, "Wow.  That is a LOT of personal information to put out there."  Thanks, Dad...I think?  

  This week has been a crazy one at work!!   The kids both had busy school weeks, I totally forgot to send Monkey with candy he needed today for a 100 days of school celebration on Monday and Squeaks did not bring her Sound Box today for "N" day.  (Sam was happy to let me know that she was able to show her "nose" and "nails" so it was ok.  And Spencer can bring the Skittles on Monday.)  Still feeling like Mother of the year, over here.   Why do we do that to ourselves?  I don't know about you guys, but I am harder on myself than anyone else could ever hope to be.
 
  Speaking of mistakes...

   My husband was kind enough to point out to me that I did NOT, in fact, get our money back for the "beautiful and buzz free life original blog debacle."   Excuse moi?   Apparently, what actually happened is that I got our money back the FOLLOWING YEAR, when they charged me for my second year of blogspace.  Whoops.    (Hubs is having a FEILD DAY with my little error,  because his nickname for me is "Columbo" thanks to my incredible memory.  I am going to let him have this one.)

    I have discovered that writing a funny Facebook status update is MUCH easier than writing this blog.   But, I just joined Twitter and  trying to be devastatingly clever in 140 characters or less is kicking my ass!  I am determined to figure it out, though....because I desperately want to be hip.  (If YOU are hip and do the Twitter thang, then follow me @sobersuthrnmama.  All the cool kids are doing it.)

  I do a lot with our local community theater and tomorrow night I have been asked to reprise my Gypsy Fortune Teller character at Mall Ball, which is pretty big fundraiser here in town.   It should be a good time.  I get to speak with a fun accent, be totally outrageous, and pretend to tell fortunes to many, many people that have had free booze all night.  I am certain I will return with some good stories!  And if you are local and have tickets....stop by and let me tell your fortune!



 
  

 

And on the "Seventh Day", I rested.

Ha Ha!  Just kidding.  I never rest on Sundays.  I used to LOVE Sundays.  What did we used to call it?  "Sunday Fun day" (read...we can start drinking at noon on the beach and it is perfectly ok!) 

I can't imagine many Moms that are able to rest on Sundays...Unless you are rich and famous with "people" to take care of all of your Sunday stuff.   Wait....let's all close our eyes and take a minute to imagine what that would be like....Ahhhhh....very nice. 

Now, back to realty. 

Sundays. 

I was lucky enough to be able to (have to?) quit my job as a retail manager after Samantha was born because the cost of fulltime child care for 2 was so high, that the amount of money I would net was laughable.   It was 2010, I was 39 years old and was going to be unemployed for the first time since I was 15.  I had worked retail for a long time.  If you have ever worked retail...you know it is not for the faint of heart.  And I was a manager for a particular chain that sells lotions and soaps and stuff.  Did you know that people get CRAZY about lotions and soaps and stuff?  Seriously.  I always wanted to say "Lady...it's just lotion.  I am sorry we discontinued your FAVORITE scent.  I am pretty sure your life isn't actually OVER.  Oh, and here's a thought. PICK A NEW SMELL."  Lawd.

But, I digress.  (which I tend to do from time to time.  Just come with me.)  The thing is, being a stay at home Mom is hard work.  Two babies under two is close to insanity...and mine were 17 months apart!!   Everything you have ever read, or experienced firsthand, about being at home ALL DAY with wee ones, it absolutely true!  You rarely shower, and are covered in partially digested baby food, from either end of the baby.    Grown-up TV is a distant memory. ( I honestly could not tell you the last time I watched the Today Show) Adult conversation is non-existent and the lack of sleep is astounding.

However, while staying home and taking care of the kiddos is a HUGE and difficult job….there IS something wonderful about being able to stay in your yoga pants all day, eat lunch with your littles, and cuddle up and watch Sesame Street.  And nap.  If the Mommy Gods are smiling on you…you can always catch a nap.   Then, when the kids get a touch older and one goes to pre-school…there is a certain amount of respite that I definitely took for granted.   While I was no lady of leisure, staying home with the kids had its perks.   Then the inevitable happened.

Squeaks reached pre-school age and Buddy was starting kindergarten…and guess what?  It was time for Mama to go back to work.   I had been out of the work force for over 4 years and my experience was mostly retail and outside sales, with some Real Estate and mortgage lending tossed in for good measure. (I also worked as an actor/singer/dancer at a really great theater company in Texas in my 20s….but the market for middle aged former actor/singer/dancer ladies is thin.)   Anyway…the thought of going back to that certain special lotion store (or any retail, really) made me want to stab myself in the eye.  But I had no idea what I could do without a real college degree.   (4 years in school + working towards a degree in theater +  lots of partying and fun times+ taking a job at a theater before I finished= No college degree.  Cue sad trombone.)

I truly believe God had a hand in my path back to work. Almost at the exact moment I started looking,  I literally found the perfect job, doing something I really enjoy, working for a super company and for people I like and respect, in a field that I had some experience in, and (the BEST part)…it wasn’t retail.  (Angels sing right here.)

I went back to work in August.  So it’s been 6 months.  And I do LOVE my job.  But going from staying in my yoga pants and not really having a schedule to getting up extra early for work and getting  the kids to school…well, let’s just say it has been an adjustment.  My darling husband, being the ever supportive partner, likes to sing the theme to “Welcome Back, Kotter” to me on the mornings when I am having a particularly difficult time.  (Didn’t I tell you?  He’s a peach.)

And now, instead of having all day to do things like laundry and dishes and dusting and mopping… (Wait…who am I kidding?  I don’t dust)…well, now I have to find time to do it AROUND my work schedule.   Which usually means the weekends.  More specifically, SUNDAYS.   For a while, I was trying to do laundry at night after the kids went to bed…which resulted in my staying up late, watching my favorite recorded shows (shout out to Criminal Minds, Walking Dead and Grey’s Anatomy…WOOT!) and eating ice cream…sometimes until 1 or 2 in the morning.  It was great in theory…but not so much in practice. (One of my best girlfriends told me that I needed to start calling my yoga pants  my “ice cream pants”…because I really only ate ice cream in them and never actually DID any yoga.  I heart her. )  

So, now, the majority of the housework has to happen on Sundays.  And I have to start fairly early in the day…because there’s a SHITLOAD of stuff to do.  (Oh, and BTW…I have a filthy mouth.  It’s one of my only remaining vices.  At first I was going to do the cute little asterisk thingys *** in place of spelling out the actual curse words, because I might offend someone.  But then I thought, “Fuck it.  It’s my blog and I curse.”  So, there you go.) 

No, Sunday is not a rest day.  And I like to bitch about it.  But, the truth is, my family has a home.  And food.   And clothes.  And love.  Most days it is messier than I would like.  But I always try to remember, when I am buried under mounds of laundry, dirty dishes, pet hair and DUST …. that we have much to be grateful for.  And to take a deep breath.   And maybe try to sneak in a nap.

Well, Bless Her Heart!

Hey Y'all! 

I've been kicking around the idea of starting a blog for about 17 months now.   I enjoy writing a great deal and some folks have even said they find me funny...

So,  when I got sober back in August of 2013, I decided RIGHT THEN that I was going to make blogging about my sobriety my mission.  If you happen to be friends with someone when they get sober, you will find that most of us think we are going to save the world, become a rehab counselor, feed the homeless, start a charity or some sort of other far out thing that we will neither have the time nor the energy for in our early sobriety.   So there I sat, a full 6 hours sober, pretty hungover and sort of with the shakes, having just told my sweet husband (much to his relief) that today was the day.  I told him that I knew I was an alcoholic and that I had to stop.  He asked me if I was serious.  I think more than once.  I assured him I was very serious.  We hugged.   So with all of that and a big kiss, I sent him off to work, both of us excited, scared and really more bewildered than anything.

 I was a stay at home mom at the time and the kids were, thankfully, still sleeping.  I jumped onto my laptop and googled the usual...."women and alcoholism" "am I an alcoholic?" "How in the F**K do I stop drinking?" (Okay, I didn't really Google that last one, but I was certainly thinking it!)

I was amazed at the sheer volume of websites, blogs, and message boards for women alcoholics.  I spent the next few hours pouring over ones that would become my favorites...totally wrapped up in the words of women who were JUST LIKE ME.  It was truly a miracle.    At that point, I was convinced I did not need AA, because they were a bunch of crazy, scary homeless people.  (I was way wrong about that on both counts, but that's a story for another day.).   So I made two decisions.  One, I was going to get (and hopefully stay) sober in the comfort of my own home, wrapped up in the beautiful cocoon of online women's recovery AND I was going to write my own amazing and inspirational blog about my journey to fabulousness via sobriety!!     Never one to dilly dally when I make up my mind, I named the blog, bought and paid for a word press domain and decided I was going to write the Best. Sober. Blog. Evah.

And all before my husband came home for lunch!

Can I tell you  that I never wrote one single damn word?

Le sigh.

You see, I had to create a Gmail account first.  And instead of going with a familiar email address, I wanted to use my brand new blog name, in all it's glory.  Are you ready for this?  I  named it "a beautiful buzz free life" .com!  Yes, I was heady with my newfound sobriety.  I mean, seriously.  It makes me laugh so much today.  I was filled with so much happy righteousness.  Ha!

 So, I set up the email, chose a password (also a new variation on one of our usuals....am I smart or what?) and designed my perfect "pro-recovery/look at me get sober and kick-ass" website. I could not wait to show it to the hubs!

Now, let me say this about my sweet husband.  He is (mostly) a PEACH.  Seriously....I got very lucky when we fell in love after being best friends for 30 years! (yet another story for another day). 

So, the poor guy comes home for lunch, half expecting me to laugh and say, "Hey- about that whole quitting drinking thing?  Just kidding!"   Fortunately for us both, I did not say that.  Instead, I greeted him at the door with a huge hug and a kiss and said, "Ohmygosh honey, you won't believe what I am going to do!  It's going to be so amazing!  And it will help me stay sober!  AND I can help other women get and stay sober, too! I going to write a sober BLOG!  Eeeeeee!  What's that?  Is it a free blog site? Um, no.  Please.  You know I ONLY do things in the most expensive way possible. (thank GOD that ended up being a trait that gently subsided with my sobriety)  What's that?  How much?  Oh, that's not important! Let me show you!  It has the best name!  Are you ready? "

He was not ready.  Partially because I had just spent $100 on the domain that we really did not have.  And partially because when I laid the AMAZEBALLS name of my blog on him...."A Beautiful and Buzz Free Life" .com....well, let's just say his socks stayed firmly on his feet.    Jay is always VERY supportive of just about all of my endeavors.  (yay!)  He is also ALWAYS totally honest with me.  (not yay!) 

He literally was like....are you sure that's the name?  I mean, you already picked it?  And paid for it?  I mean, it's ok but...

Wait, what?

So, he's laying the truth on me and I am slowly crumbling into a puddle on the floor.  But then.....like any good alcoholic that is, oh....say 9 whole hours sober....I got MAD.  So mad.  "How do you not LOVE it?" I screamed?    "Don't you remember what I used to always say?  'Everything is better with a BUZZ'???  That was like my life's motto!  It's perfect.  And I LOVE it.  And you suck if you don't!    (we will address the fact that I was still clinging to that credo as a 41 year old mother in another post) 

He quickly recanted and reassured me that it was a wonderful blog name and that he was extremely proud of me.  (good man)   He went on to say that I was an excellent writer and he agreed that it would be really wonderful for me to blog about getting sober.  Hooray!  My first major sober crisis solved.  And I didn't have to have a drink to get through it. 

The day went on...Jay went back to work.  I played with my beautiful babies....filled with the remorse over what a crap Mom I had been to them up to that point and overwhelmed with the JOY at what the future would hold for us...that I would be the perfect mother as a sober mother.  (at this point I was under the serious disillusion that getting sober was going to fix everything...my life would be utter perfection, ripe with all good things and void of anything unpleasant.  Bwah ha ha.  Also, a good story for another day.)

Anyway....fast forward to that evening.  The kids are in bed.  It's my first... "gulp".... night without my beloved wine.  I was a little shaky but strong in my resolve.  And what better way to make this alcohol free evening fabulous than taking a crack at my first sober blog post?  Right?  Right!

So....I settled in at my desk and opened my laptop.  I typed in my blog address and went to sign in with my brand new Gmail address.  I typed in abeautifulandbuzzfreelife@gmail.com and put in my password...just bursting with excitement.

Error. 
What?
Let me try that again.
So I did.
Nope.
F**k
Did I type it in wrong?  Crap!
Still not working.
WTF Google??
So I try another password...because we have several variations of a few different ones and I could not remember which one I used for certain.
And no....I did NOT write the damn thing down. 
Shush.

I type a new one in. Nope.   Then another.  Nada.   And Again. 
Nothing. 
Denied.  I can not get into the back end of my blog. 
Then I start to panic....was my blog name "A" beautifulandbuzzfreelife???  Or had I left off the "A", in a much more casual and cool "beautifulandbuzzfreelife" fashion?  I had absolutely no clue.
So I tried it that way.
Nope. 
And again. 
Are you f**king kidding me?   At this point, I ponder if this ridiculous stress is enough to say to hell with this shit and go buy some vodka.  I quickly decide it is not.

But seriously.  How did this happen?  So I try to retrieve my password....or change it...or SOMETHING.  But...you have to KNOW your email address to get INTO it.  Funny how that works.

In all my euphoria and excitement, I had neglected to write anything down and was now completely and utterly f**ked.   Yep.  That just happened.  (I can sometimes be a little flighty and careless...shocking to hear, I am sure.)  

I could not even bring myself to tell my husband for at least a week.  But by that time, I had made peace with my blunder...fully embracing that fact that I did not have the time to blog about my journey to a new and sober me....What was I thinking?  I was too busy trying to get there... in addition to being a full time wife and Mommy.  Shockingly,  he was not as "fine with it" as I was.  But I did manage to get our $100 back about a month later. Around that time, at about 35 days sober,   I discovered some really cool people that I ALREADY knew and  liked, who just happened to be sober alcoholics.  And they invited me to a meeting.  And I went.  And I discovered all sorts of wonderful things...but, that is... (say it with me) "another story for another time".

My goodness, I have many so stories to tell you!  And I really think we are going to have some FUN!   Or, at least, I am pretty sure I am.  I certainly hope you won't be a stick in the mud.  ;)

So, here I sit....17 months later....finally starting my blog.  And yes, I pondered the name for long time.  And I am starting with a free one.  And I wrote down all the email and password info.  And even though my life is so much better today, I am still a hot mess.  Oh, you'll see.  But as I sit here and type this and I remember that woman....scared, excited, so full of hope, but totally overwhelmed, and utterly ashamed...I smile really big and I just think, "Well, bless her heart!"