His name is Murphy, and he’s a little bitch.

“The chance of the bread falling with the buttered side down is directly proportional to the cost of the carpet.” – Murphy’s Law

I’m late. Sawyer’s birthday was yesterday. I had promised myself that I would always get their birthday blogs posted on, or before their birthday, and for 9 years, I made that happen. Seems like a silly rule, especially because they won’t read these for almost another decade, but I know my kid. He will notice, he will say something. I WILL get called out, someday. But today, I’m practicing a little grace for myself. I tried to stay up the last few nights to write this, but exhaustion got the better of me, and I decided quality was better than timing. So, I’m late, and that’s just… life. Murphey and his law have set up camp and seem to have pre-paid for an extended stay. So, as we wait out his stint of pure chaos and stand by as he sets off random bombs at random times, we live on alert, with back up plans to our back up plans and take life day by day. We’ve learned to forgive tantrums, from the children and adults, as well realize that what gets done, gets done, and if that means rooms are messy, dishes are left, lessons and deadlines get missed, it is what it is. Only the most important things get handled, and what’s considered important today is very different to what was considered important 12 months ago.

The other night, the house was finally quiet. I was alone in my room around 11pm and the day had been a blur. Honestly, the last 2 months have been a blur. I’ve barely stopped moving, thinking, planning, doing in almost 18 months now, but the last 2 have been particularly stressful. I sat down, I closed my eyes and I exhaled and realized that I couldn’t. My chest was tight, it hurt to breath, exhaling fully wasn’t an option. Neither was inhaling. My vision narrowed and things got a bit hazy as I felt my heart rate escalate and I start to shake just a little from the inside out. I was starting to have a panic attack. The day was over, I was alone in a quiet room and the panic set in because I’m not supposed to fully exhale. ever. I’m no stranger to panic attacks, they don’t send me spiraling or create some onset of concern. They just are. They are a physical response to stress, fear, exhaustion, or excess adrenaline. Once they are over, I feel like I ran a marathon, and I’m tired. Sometimes for days. My chest feels the discomfort that you get when you inhale on a cold day, and the icy air fills your lungs, and you can feel that strain. That feeling will sit with me. It travels through to my back and I can breath, but it will stay there to remind me not to fully exhale. It’s my body telling me that it doesn’t know what to do if I stop holding my breath, if you relax completely, Murphy could leave his rented room, and decide to take a hammer to the pipes, or set the curtains on fire, and you could get caught off guard, because you’re too busy breathing. Stand at attention, be alert, be ready for action. Like a wild dog half sleeping outside it’s den, one eye slightly open, always ready. Just in case.

When I was younger, I would have these attacks while in the moment of the stressful event. During the test, while running late for your first day at a new job, in the middle of an argument with someone. They would come on as the adrenaline in my brain would spike. These days, its less common to have them in the moment of crisis. They tend to happen after, when I take a moment to be OK, which is better. It gives me the ability to handle them. Allows me to not make a crisis moment worse than it already is. Maybe it shifted with maturity, maybe I just learned to use the heightened chemicals to power through instead of panic, but that excess hormone needs to be used up eventually. It needs somewhere to go. I’m not clear on the science behind it all, but what I do know is that they are easier today than they were at 20. They don’t suck less, they are just easier. I don’t panic because of the panic. I consider that a win.

I suppose that’s a sign of adaptability, in it’s own way. Fact is, my brain over produces certain chemicals and daily medications sometimes just aren’t enough, and coping mechanisms sometimes are needed, or Xanex. Coping is healthier. Adapting is something humans do. Not because we want to, we most certainly don’t want to. But, we do evolve, sometimes individually within our lifetime based on experiences, and sometimes over generations, but it does happen to all living things at some point. It’s inevitable. I think the key is to accept that fact and try to practice some sembelance of grace with ourselves and others and their current abilities, because adaption will happen and it’s not always at the pace we want or need it to be. “This too shall pass” always seemed like a futile statment to me. It seemed like something people said when they didn’t know what to say, or were dismissing your crisis, as a crisis. But, maybe it’s more of a statement to wait for abilitiy to handle it, for the moment to panic and process, for lull between storms to regroup, for something to alter your perspective and alter whats considered a crisis. It’s a statement telling you to wait for the next the time that Murphey drops the buttered bread, but instead of being upset that its buttered-side down, assume it will be, have a reliable carpet cleaner on hand, and be happy it wasn’t peanut butter.

Sawyer,

This year, you looked at me and told me you hated life as virtual school dragged on, you went on medication for ADHD and had to handle side effects and moods swings and bordeom you didn’t know was possible. You watched me have panic attacks, and saw your dad get sick, and had to realized your parents are humans way earlier than most children do, and you froze when you saw your dad tear up in fear and frustration for the first time in your life, never knowing he had the ability to cry or that dad’s were even capable of being scared. You fought tears for no reason and struggled with understanding why there were feelings when the day had presented no real reason for them in that moment, and you had to accept changing plans and routines and responsibility you had never had before. You learned to wait, and you felt feelings of resentment and anger, and you learned to power through. The other day you made a statement that was both heartbreaking, but also pride-inducing, as our plans were cancelled once again, and as I braced myself for a melt-down from you, you simply said ” it’s ok… I figured that would happen. We’ve had nothing but bad luck for like 2 years.” It broke my heart that in the thick of your childhood, you have to do anything but just enjoy being a kid, but I was also proud of your for being able to accept the situation immediately, and although you had feelings, and you didnt ignore your disappointment, you were able to control it and find a way to understand the reasoning behind it and think about the other people involved and how much we are all doing to simply get through each day. In that moment, I simply said that ‘bad luck doesn’t last forever, this too shall pass.’ And although, I can’t predict the future, and I can’t tell you when or how, I do know that simply your ability to slowly tackle what’s infront of you and power through will make each of Murphy’s tricks less tricky as time moves along.

As you turn 9, my wish for you is that this next year is easier, not just by our luck changing, but by you finding your own coping mechanisms, whether they are 11pm panic attacks, or diving into a ‘Dog Man’ comic book to find a reason to laugh when life gives you nothing to smile about. It’s for finding a way to realize that sometimes Murphy shows up and he can be a complete asshole, but that accepting him as a part of life allows us to be better prepared in the wake of his destruction. This too shall pass, and when it does, don’t forget to take a few minutes to reflect, learn and know that it’s OK to not be OK for just a little while. Crying is a human response, regardless of your age or gender, and you don’t ever need a reason in the moment to be upset. Sometimes, you’re processing something that’s already over. Keep your world filled with things that make you laugh, and go to sleep reading or remincing on those things or moments, because that’s what will allow a bit of happy that will ultimately provide clarity to better handle Murphy and his bullshit tomorrow.

Your growth and maturity this year, especially the last few months, as been noticeable and impressive and I’m so proud with how much better you handled this year than you would have only a year ago. As you find your voice, sarcasm, coping mechanisms and happy moments, remember you’re never alone, we will always be here to help you clean up Murphy’s mess.

Happy 9th Birthday kiddo, you’re one of a kind and so much stronger than you know.

Love you to the moon and back,

Mom

“When you’re going through hell, keep going” – Winston Churchill

Forgiveness, Not Permission.

“I understand what you’re saying, and your comments are valuable, but I’m gonna ignore your advice.” Fantastic Mr. Fox, Roald Dahl.

I have a love/hate relationship with the age of three.  I absolutely love the hundreds of funny and observant things this kid says on a daily basis.  I love watching him figure out life and finally be at an age where he can accomplish tasks, play games and do puzzles without endless frustration and help.  I love that he is little enough to want to snuggle in my lap and be carried in sleeping from the car.  I love that he still says words incorrectly sometimes and his sentence structures are often that of a foreigner learning a second language.  I love that simple things, like a package of fruit snacks, can make his entire day, and that he was finally old enough to take a tumbling class during which he learned how to hop like a frog, and as a result; for a week, I was a parent to a fictitious amphibian that catches flies with his tongue, but also still eats ice cream.

I hate the new found sense of negotiation and trickery.  I hate the arguments over which plate he deemed acceptable today and why he couldn’t help me chop vegetables with the sharp knife.  I hate the constant demands as we continually remind him to use his manners and say please and thank you, and the blatant disregard for pretty much anything I tell him to do the first 5 times I tell him to do it.  It was a challenging year for both of us.  The term “threenager” couldn’t have been a truer statement than it was in this house.

Three-year-olds are at a turning point where they want to know ‘why’ to, well, basically everything, but they aren’t quite able to understand all of the actual reasons and answers.  There is a disconnect between wanting to be given an answer, and wanting to accept an answer they don’t like as a fact.  As a result, debates over everything from what color the sky is, to why he can’t survive on nothing but gummy worms occurred.  I was forced to pick my battles and let him learn some things the hard way.  Watching a disaster happen that you knew was preventable is challenging.  Being the one to clean up the mess and deal with the aftermath over and over makes it an exercise in insanity.  But, its the only way some kids learn, and throughout our year of fighting and yelling and crying,  Sawyer figured out how to self-serve.  He learned how to sneak around the system to get what he wanted, be it by becoming more physically independent, or flat out lying to serve his agenda or avoid getting caught. He learned how to avoid the fight.

“Sawyer, eat your breakfast.”

“I don’t want toast for breakfast. I want ice cream”

“You can’t have ice cream for breakfast”

“Mom, I think you need to go take your shower now…”

This year, he learned which buttons to push to get my attention, and what to say to get me to look the other way for a minute while he tried to get away with something sneaky.  He became my sly, stubborn little fox that never takes ‘no’ for an answer. Then he realized that if he doesn’t ask permission, nobody can tell him no.

This year was tough for both of us.  Three is a hard age, and I spent most if it pregnant, exhausted and hormonal.  Then, I brought a new little person home that he had to share his attention with.  Needless to say, our relationship has had a rough patch or two.  I’m not intentionally a masochistic person, but getting knocked up the week he turned three was clearly not a logical decision.  But really, who could predict that overnight my sweet little boy would suddenly turn on me and every single conversation we would have for the next twelve months would be AT LEAST as frustrating as this one:

S: “Sawyer can do it!”
Me:”say ‘I’ can do it. ”
S: “but you cant do it mom, sawyer can”
M: “no, say the word ‘I’ instead of Sawyer. ‘I’ is for Sawyer”
S: “mom… ‘I’ isn’t for Sawyer, ‘S’ is.”

[ bang head on table].

During the conversations where he did fully understand what I was saying, he argued, negotiated or flat out refused to acknowledge whatever I was talking about.  I’ve watched his debates become more constructed, his retorts become wittier, and his defeat become an annoyed, labored “sigh” as he says “uuggghh…fine!” and stomps off.

But through all of this, I also watched him struggle to understand and accept our family changes.  I’ve watched him process emotions he never knew existed before now, and find ways to tough it out and grow.  I’ve watched him gain confidence in his ability to take care of things by himself and be so proud in the end that he will tell me ” I’m big now mom, I don’t need you anymore.”, as I cheered him on and found out what it feels like to be both happy and sad at the same time.  I watched him accept his little sister and love  her without question (at least on the good days) and sit patiently and play when she needed all of my attention.  I’ve watched him learn to communicate feelings with words instead of just screaming temper tantrums.  I hear him talk himself through things when he thinks no one is listening.  He will count down from 10 quietly and breath when he’s upset, as we’ve practiced before, and he will have conversations with himself as he tries to figure something out on his own before simply asking.   I’ve watched him get completely dressed, superman hat and all, all by himself.   I’ve watched him lose his baby face.

He watched me struggle.  He watched me cry through the hormones and listened to me scream out of frustration.  He learned my mood swings, and that it was best to let me sleep in the mornings and figured out how to get his morning cartoon on Netflix by himself. He watched me hold and love another baby the same way I hold and love him and he allowed it.  He watched me figure out how to answer some tough questions this year and listened patiently to most of the answers.  He let me hug him when I told him I needed to, even if he didn’t feel like it.  He told me not to be sad during countless moments of tears, and he told me he loved me even when I was yelling at him. He continued to believe in me, even when I didn’t.

This is the year I finally feel like I became a parent.  This was the year where it truly became about developing a person, picking the battles, winning the wars (and losing some).  This was the year of questions; questions about babies, and death and feelings, and human behavior.  This was the year of learning what it actually means to discipline your child and then follow through and not simply ‘redirect’ an action.  This was the year of watching him struggle physically and emotionally, and having to let it happen.   And he did it.  He overcame, he conquered and he grew.  This was the year of forgiveness, not permission, for both of us.

So Sawyer, my wish for you this year is that you never stop asking questions and pushing limits.  I hope that someday you find a balance  that allows room in life to challenge the rules,in safe ways, that will ensure the same amount of self pride I witnessed in you countless times this year.  Continue to forgive your (and others) mistakes and believe in your abilities.  When you come up short, ask yourself why it didn’t work out, find the answer and try again. Become a problem solver and never stop believing that you can do it.

We survived this year together and I couldn’t be more proud of you for being the one that never gave up.

“…he sprinkled me in pixie dust and told me to believe, believe in him, and believe in me…”-‘Lost Boy’, Ruth B.

 

Welcome to Wonderland/Nursery Pictures

“Maybe she’s a wildflower…”  – Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland.

She was due May 14th, Her induction was scheduled for May 9th, and she made her arrival all on her own on May 5th, 2016.  She’s decided that she’s not going to follow my timeline, schedules or plans for life from day 1, just like my first baby.  Her birth was a simple surprise that began a few days earlier, and hit full force while I was sleeping when my water broke, but she was easier on me than Sawyer and waited until after I had my epidural to let the contractions kick in, and came within a few hours.  She made that part easy.  She must have known that my pregnancy was miserable and she was trying to make it up to me.  She must have realized that every inch of my body was swollen and practically immobile and I hadn’t slept in months.  The night before she was born, she let me sleep. 6 straight hours.  It was equivalent to sleeping for a week at that point.  She knew I needed it.  Pregnancy and I are not on good terms.  I think the people that tell me they love being pregnant are lying assholes. Every time she moved I got a shooting pain to my lady bits and peed a little.  Every time I laid down I coughed until I choked and spent the last few weeks vomiting – seriously, who could love that?? But they are always worth it in the end; She’s sweet and snugly and healthy and insists on being held most of the time.  I’ve fallen in love all over again and having her here doesn’t seem new, it doesn’t seem like the foreign shift I was expecting, instead, it feels like I know her already and that she’s been here the entire time.   The adjustment is there, and it’s mostly Sawyers.  There’s no way around that. But for me, she’s familiar amazing adventure that affirms that nothing is impossible and that my little world is complete.  To make sure she had her own space when joining our little family, I had a little fun with her nursery and went with an “Alice in Wonderland” theme so she can start this life knowing that following your dreams can lead you almost anywhere.

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Dear Violet,

You have already proven your sweet nature to us with your snugly demeanor, as well as your assertiveness with your insistence on fighting any sort of schedule on a daily basis.  Your personality is already different than your brothers, and we are already preparing for all the new parenting challenges you will present us with as we attempt to adjust our lives and style to meet your needs.  Your big brother has a big personality (enough for 3 kids!) And I have a feeling that you will find subtle ways to outshine it when you need to and become comfortable hanging in the background when you don’t.  Please bare with us as we stumble along to satisfy both of you day to day and try and figure out when the rules should be the same and when we need to allow you to chase a white rabbit – It’s not always an easy call.  My hope for you is that you grow to be strong and independent like Alice and creative and and unabashed like the Mad Hatter.  May you always know that impossible things are to be believed,  white rabbits should be followed, and time can be frozen only in your dreams – so never stop dreaming.  But regardless of how your personality develops what adventures you choose, know that you are loved and supported every second of every day.  Welcome to Wonderland Violet Elora.

Love Always,

Mom, Dad and Sawyer.

Violet Elora Fuhrman. – Born May 5th, 2016. 9:44 AM.

Picture take: May 26th, 2016.

 

 

 

‘I bet my life on you…”

Now remember when I told you that’s the last you’ll see of me
Remember when I broke you down to tears
I know I took the path that you would never want for me
I gave you hell through all the years

So I, I bet my life, I bet my life on you…”

Imagine Dragons

I was 19 and unknowingly sitting in his chair.  It was a rundown upper flat on the east side of Milwaukee occupied by four guys, Doritos and no toilet bowl cleanser.  He walked in with a friend, noticed his chair was taken, sat down on the floor in front of the curb-side coffee table and proceeded to roll a blunt.   He was in a white hoodie and red Adidas pants and the ugliest pair of white Lugz in existence.  He had just come from work in the kitchen at a local restaurant, he took the black bandanna he had on off revealing his frosted tips in true “Justin Timerblake 2002 style”, and lit up.  He was everything I wasn’t.  He was everything I was taught to avoid and was afraid of – 5 years later, I married him.

It wasn’t love at first sight.  It was curiosity.  He wouldn’t have noticed me that night if I hadn’t been sitting in his chair.  He stayed for the duration of his smoke. showered and left with the friend he came with.  We didn’t say more to each other that night than ‘hello’.  I finished my evening there chatting with his best friend, who asked for my number at the end of the night and I turned him down and left.  I wasn’t looking to date anyone.  I was just getting, or about to get, out of a relationship with a nice, safe, comfortable economics and IT double major who was sure to amount to something. The kind of guy every mother loves. – I was bored.

A few weeks later, I found myself talked-in-to going back out to a party with the guys from that house because my roommate was dating one of them.  He was there, he barely looked at me for the first part of the evening.  We ended up at a house party where we paid $5 for a red solo cup to get in and ended up playing cards, ‘Asshole’ specifically.   It was apparently the most productive drinking game I’ve ever played.  I don’t remember who won.  Honestly, I don’t even remember who else was playing.  I remember the eye contact. I remember his stoic non-nonchalants that, at the time, I thought was disinterest and therefore a challenge – turns out, he just had no game.

Well, game or not – we figured it out and after 3 years of intense fighting, drama, breaking up, getting back together, late nights, drinking and fun – he proposed, I said yes, and we moved to the Chicago suburbs for a year while he went to culinary school and I planned a wedding and sold over-priced furniture to really, really rich people.  Our first apartment was full of Ikea and bright colors with apartment-beige walls.  It was small and expensive and some days, I still miss it.  That was the only time in our entire lives together where it was just ‘us’.  Between work and school, he was gone 7 days a week for 10-17 hours, depending on the train schedule and we were dirt poor, living on nothing but love, passion and a credit line I shouldn’t have been given at 22.

We married about  a year and a half later in October 2007 and by then, we had moved back to Milwaukee to be near our family, and he took an internship.  I waitressed for a while and we ended up living really parallel lives.  opposite schedules, long hours, no money.  Its an exhausting combination.  A million things happened to us on both ends. We stopped fighting, which most people think is a good thing, but for us, it was the worst thing we could have done. We built our relationship on arguing, passionate tempers and the challenge.  It’s what unknowingly drove us. It’s what showed each other how deep the love went.  it stopped.  We ignored it, and a million other things.  We barely saw each other for the better part of 2 years due to opposite schedules, so fighting seemed pointless and wasteful.  We bought a house, and had a baby, and got really good at hurting each other.  then something happened that I didn’t think would ever happen to us.  He asked for a divorce.  It was 2014.  I understood all of his reasons, but I just couldn’t believe that it was happening.  Despite all the distance and events and resentment, I loved him as much as I did the day he proposed.  I still felt the same way when we made eye contact during that first game of ‘Asshole’, and I always thought we would just be fine.  At some point, it would all magically come back.  All the hurt and damage wouldn’t matter and the growing up we had done together would just trump it all. – That was the hardest part.  He knew me.  We became adults together, we certainly weren’t when we met.  All of these things that had happened, all of our reactions and resentment – It was all from a place of immaturity because well, we were immature.  We weren’t grown-ups yet.  And when big real-life things happen at 25 – You react and handle them much differently than you would at 35.

Due to financial constraints, we lived together, but separately, for a year.  it was the hardest year of my life.  It was the most painful experience.  We had officially been through everything there is to go through together, aside from the loss of a child.  We had watched each other grow up. We graduated college together, and moved 4 times, bought a house, had a baby, a dog and 4 cats over the years.  We had faced illness both mental and physical and gone through personal conflict that would have broken most people.  And now here we were, like 50% of the rest of America, separating our life like it all never happened and looking to start over.

The financial stress was completely overwhelming.  We were in debt, and the house was in no condition to sell for a profit.  So, not knowing exactly how to proceed, we sat.  We basically just did nothing for an entire year.  We lived in the awkwardness and focused on being parents and trying to be friends again, because through it all, that was the biggest loss.  There were a few fights and then mostly just tears and a lot of time just spent trying to respect each others space and privacy as we both tried to move on.  We watched each other go out and come home late, we watched each other smile though it and try to make it amicable and easy.  We both knew that we had put each other through enough.  We just needed to find a way to stay family for Sawyers sake and be good parents.  And we did.

I never thought that being poor and in financial ruin would ever be a blessing.  It had been a huge struggle for years.  But at this point, I can say that everything really does happen for a reason.  If we had been able to afford to live apart, we wouldn’t have had that year of simply trying to be friends and remember why it was we became partners to begin with.  We had to take the time to sit and stop worrying about what we were getting, or not getting from the relationship, let go of that resentment, because it no longer mattered.  We had to stop and talk each other through issues in our own lives, simply as just friends and family that knew each other – without the hindrance of it being “my job” or “his job” to sit and listen to our daily grievances.  We had to take the time to stop tip toeing around things that annoyed us, because we didn’t want to upset each other.  Funny thing is, when you are headed for divorce – you care a lot less about pissing each other off and just say what you think.  I learned more about him in that year than I had in the previous 11 cumulatively.  And about a year later, he asked if he could stay.  I took a few weeks to say yes, but mostly to give myself time to get over the anger that all of this had happened and appreciate the fact that it did.  We hit the proverbial reset button.  There were of course discussions after the initial one, but ultimately, I knew there was no way I was going to let him walk out now that he had told me he didn’t want to.  There was a huge sense of relief and fear all at the same time.   Relief that the dreaded ‘move out’ day would never happen.  Relief that I would never have to explain to my child that ‘daddy doesn’t live here anymore’. Relief that the only person I had ever loved to the core of his existence wasn’t indifferent to me.  Fear that we would fall back into old habits.  Fear that the things I had taken the year to figure out personally, would go out the window.  Fear that the things I realized were fundamental ‘needs’ I or he had in a relationship wouldn’t be given out of sheer differences in who we are as people.  Fear that he only wanted to stay because it had become easier than starting over would be.

But, at some point, we both realized that we had finally grown up.  We finally had gone through everything there was to go through.  We had seen it all.  And as we listened to other friends going through divorces or break ups steep in the hate and resentment and mud-slinging, we realized that neither of us ever felt or desired to be that way towards the  other.  We had both given reasons to hate each other over the years.  It would have been possible, easy even.  Our friends actually didn’t understand why we didn’t some days.  And I think when we realized that our love and like of each other was actually purely genuine and from a place most people don’t grasp, all the ‘stuff’ just seemed less important.

The older I get, the more I realize that relationships and people don’t need to ‘work for me’ in the way that I initially thought. It’s not about what you take from it or it brings to you, its not about putting a quarter in the relationship bank when you do something nice, its about that human being and realizing their journey and wanting to be part of it.  Each person has their own journey, they don’t completely combine when you marry someone.  They simply cross over when you need the support.  The life events you experience may be the same, factually, but how you perceive them is often incredibly different.  Accepting that that’s the point and realizing that it’s OK when their perception and experience in something is different than yours is what makes it worth it.  It isn’t a sign of distance or incompatibility, it’s just a fact of life, and the ability to see that, and try and understand and join them within it is what creates a bond and love that can’t be broken.

Divorced or not, we would have had that, and it probably would have been to the detriment to other relationships we would have attempted for a long time.  But when you became an adult with someone in such an intimate, yet independent way, no one one the planet will ever know you as well or be able to really see things the was you see them like that person can.

It’s been a little less than a year since we reconciled, and it’s taken this long to both find time and the words to write this out, and it still has me in tears when I think about that year.  But we are OK.  Probably better than OK, he drives me bat-shit crazy and we fight.  And for most relationships, that might be a sign of marital discord, but for us – it’s how I know we have a heartbeat.

“I’ve told a million lies, but now I tell a single truth; there’s you in everything I do…”- Imagine Dragons.

Perfecting Chaos

We Fear Rejection, prize attention, crave affection and dream of perfection. – Ms Mr, Salty Sweet

I started this blog three years ago today.  It was an experiment in writing, in putting myself out there, in overall basic communication. – Something I’m not the best at verbally.  It was  started the same time I started my LLC for marketing collateral design and I decided I needed practice writing and putting personal work out there for all to judge and see.  Nothing’s more personal than basically publishing your inner monologue.   If I could do that and become OK with it, then I could handle the rest of the rejection, criticism, corrections and re-do’s that were sure to come as I changed careers and stumbled along the way.  It was a way for me to work on practicing and perfecting skill sets I knew needed work. I’m not a perfectionist – but perfection was always the goal in that. I had no idea that it would evolve into periodic  posts that would develop a small following and be a place I document thoughts, moments, family history and life lessons that would become not only therapy for me, but would strike personal conversations between friends,  colleagues and neighbors.  It has become an ice breaker for intimate discussion with people I otherwise would have shared nothing but pleasantries.

This forum evolved for me from a positive, up-beat “here’s how I see life” space to a place I can complete a thought and share a few different aspects of life — from motherhood, to random stories, and mental health.  It has gotten me through the birth of my first child, learning to become a mom, a complete career change, two jobs and being diagnosed as BiPolar 2 after a year of postpartum depression.   It has taught me how to organize and process and find meaning and purpose in life’s hiccups, changes and momentous events.  — All too often, we go through life one day at a time and don’t take time to notice what has just happened.  And when something big happens – good or bad – we tend to get through it and simply move on, never realizing how it has just changed us.  This has provided a place to put it all, read, re-read and share with those that care to read.

The posts that get the most vocal and generally the most ’likes’, ‘hits’  and ‘shares’ are the ones about Sawyer’s childhood.  They are happy and comical, something most people can relate to.  People like to share in others joy.  People like to remember that we can and should be learning from the innocence of our children.  They like to be reminded that the small, temperamental people in our lives are who we all wish we still were  – easily amused and not afraid to say what we want in life, because at 2 you’re biggest want is generally a cookie.  These posts also don’t make anyone uncomfortable.

The heavier posts, the ones about mental health, depression and lifes harder lessons; those don’t seem to get shared often.  They get a few silent ‘likes’ and any thoughts on them are shared with me privately, as most people aren’t overly comfortable talking about things like that. – And that’s why I do.

In today’s world of social media we have the ability to share every happy moment of life publicly. It has created a stigma that if you’re not thrilled with your career, your life ever has an upset, you can’t afford bi-annual vacations, or your kids aren’t perfectly dressed and behaved for that perfect family photo – you’re doing it wrong.  I don’t subscribe to that anymore.  I don’t even strive for it.  Perfect doesn’t interest me.  Honestly, it bores me.  And I don’t think it makes you happy.  I think it makes you really good at faking happy, because your life is perfect – you have nothing to bitch about.  So, you take to facebook and post perfect pictures of your perfect children and bitch about silly things like Targets lack of your favorite brand of paper towels, because you want people to think that THAT’S you’re biggest problem.  If it is, I am happy and sad for you all at once.

But here’s my reality…

My child isn’t perfect.  He’s loud.  He’s sassy, he’s stubborn and infuriating.  He’s also full of personality for 2 years old.  I often wish he would settle down and just be content looking at books and not jumping on my couch or coloring on my cabinets, and I feel like a bad mom when I can’t control him.   But I also know that I won’t ever have to worry about him being scared to raise his hand in class. I already know that he will be the kid that welcomes ALL the kids to come play, because he just wants to be friends with everyone.  He will be the one that not only sells lemonade, but develops a marketing plan and promotes it a week in advance, door-to-door.   He will be the kid turning a summer job cutting grass into a landscaping company purely because he’s bored.  At 22, he will be the motivated intern that will talk to anyone that will listen to his ideas, and won’t think twice when offered the opportunity to study abroad or travel the world for a year.  He has too much energy and personality to be content with status quo.  Boredom won’t ever be an option for him. So, I grapple daily with the fact that for now, he’s messy and destructive and exhausting, I struggle with the fact that he’s always the one on the play date getting into trouble and running off, but that I wouldn’t really want him any other way, because his fearlessness will pay off.  This is what makes him great.  This is what makes him perfect.

My mental state waxes and wanes.  I am not always happy, but I’m never bored.   I don’t always know why and I don’t always react the way everyone else thinks I should or wants me to.  And though some days I would give my left arm to have life just be easy, I try to remember that there’s purpose to this: I can read a room full of people in less than 5 minutes, I can tell when someone is upset within one word – text or verbal, and I can figure out most people within 2 meetings.   If I went through life like everyone else, I wouldn’t have developed this.  I wouldn’t be able to be the voice of reason when my best friend comes to me panicking or my husband overreacts.   I wouldn’t get away with calling things as they are and challenging the bullshit in life and still have friends and be liked by coworkers.  I wouldn’t be the one playing ‘Switzerland’ in inter-office debates or be the friend people talk to.  My occasional arrogance wouldn’t be warranted or welcomed.  At this point, it’s been earned and was worth it to be able to be these things for the people I love.

I can’t afford fancy vacations and a huge house in some well-off neighborhood, but as a result of doing my best to give what I can for my family; I have found myself in a neighborhood with people who are in the same boat.  We watch out for each other.  I’m in a spot where the neighborhood kids come in and out of my house like they live there and my kid can go outside and play and I know the bigger kids will watch out for him.  If I need a Saturday morning sitter for an hour, I can walk outside in the summer and anyone out there will be happy to watch him while I run an errand, and they know that I would do the same.   These people know that if they come into my house, they will find me folding the explosion of laundry on my couch in my PJ’s and dishes in my sink.    I’m in a place where these people have become friends and we all help each other out because we are all working full-time and making ends meet and have a little bit of chaos in our lives.  We all need help; we know it and we don’t judge.  Sometimes the concept of a little privacy is nice, but I would take things the way I have them over an acre lot, not knowing my neighbors and worrying about the lady across the way judging my landscaping, any day of the week.   It’s real. It’s human.  It isn’t a life of pleasantries and keeping up.  It’s a life of down-to-earth love and genuine care for other people.  Its takes a village, and I have one.  And there isn’t a vacation on the planet that could be better for Sawyer than that.

Sometimes it takes stepping back to remember what you’re grateful for in life.  This blog has allowed me to do that.  It has forced me to write things out, and rewrite them until I get into words exactly what matters in life.  It has created conversations with people who let me know I’ve stirred something or touched someone or had an effect.  It gives it all a bigger purpose.  Sometimes that’s the best thing that can come out of daily grievances and major life events.  They aren’t situations; they aren’t simple events that are just ‘over’ when you’ve survived it.  Not if you don’t allow them to be. Not if you find a way to give it purpose.

Thank you to all that have commented, shared, liked, read and engaged in conversation with me throughout this odd experiment I call a blog.  It’s made a difference.  Here’s to three more years of finding the enjoyment and purpose in this chaos I call life.

 “You were put on this earth to achieve your greatest self, to live out your purpose, and to do it courageously.”
― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

What Happens In Vegas…

“Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays , the graduations, the weddings, not the great goals achieved.  The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave.  Our lives are measured by these.”

~Susan B. Anthony.

They tell you that to be a successful blogger, you should post consistently, daily even.  I don’t do that.  I don’t even post monthly.  I don’t have the time, and quite honestly, I’m not that interesting.  As much as I love to hear myself talk, I find it hard to believe that I would attract followers documenting and publishing random observations and mundane tales of my suburban life.  I do my best not to bore you with the details.

As a result, my posts are sporadic.  I try to write with intent and purpose.  I do my best to feel that either I will or one other person will walk away with something at the end, even if it’s just Sawyer one day reading these and making some little piece of his life make sense to him.  Sometimes I think I succeed at that, sometimes I don’t.  It’s not without effort.

In fact, nothing about my life is effortless. A good portion of it is without success; but absolutely nothing is without effort. Even this entry has required effort.  More than most.  I’ve started writing it about six times now and haven’t been able to put into words exactly what I’m thinking. So I’ve decided to simply tell you about my first trip to Las Vegas.

I stepped off the plane and immediately relaxed.  It was perfect.  The air, the weather, the distance.  Everything else would just have to wait.  It was a much needed break, even if it was only for three days and even if it was for work.  I was with six people that I barely knew.  Six people that barely knew me.  Six people that didn’t know the chaos that is my life.  Six people that didn’t know that I live in pain and have chronic health issues.  Six people that didn’t know that I am bipolar. I was getting three days to just be me.  So that’s what I did.    It was the most therapeutic three days of my life.

Most people leave Vegas with stories of drunken debauchery and secret regrets.  Most people come back and tell you how they rode the mechanical bull topless, won and then lost 10 grand, or blacked out in a $3000/night hotel room with Mike Tyson’s pet tiger.  I’m going to tell you how two nights in Vegas changed me – and did it without the mechanical bull.

It had been a particularly overwhelming week for me.  I was unsure about leaving Sawyer for more than one night.  I worried that I’d miss him.  I worried he’d miss me or that I’d feel guilty I wasn’t there or that his schedule would get horribly disrupted and he wouldn’t understand why.  – As it turns out, Grandma bought him all new toys for his sleep over and he didn’t even notice I was gone until day three.  – I could breath.  I was stressed about a few other life issues and a little nervous about my first trade show in an industry that I barely knew.  I met the group down in the lobby, being the last to show up and a little frazzled that they were all waiting for me.  I needed a drink.  I made that immediately known and they were happy to accommodate. The night started out with whiskey shots and then the best burger I’ve ever eaten. .  I laughed for three days straight.  I was the person I was 10 years ago when I didn’t have countless responsibilities and have the weight of the world on me.  I felt like nothing my but myself.  Not someone’s mom, not someone’s wife, not a home owner, pet owner or psych patient.  I just felt like me; the best version of me, and that was exactly what I wanted these new people to see.  As it turns out, I don’t have much interest in gambling, so I stuck to drinking and chatting.  I’m much better at that.  –  Then during a conversation, someone said the words “I don’t think I believe in depression.”  I smiled and then blew my cover.  I said, “…before you go any further I should probably tell you I’m bipolar…” A few questions started getting asked and then I did something I never do… I unloaded all of my life’s problems on a total stranger.  I don’t know why.  But after a night of Vodka-limes, instead of my usual canned and vague responses, I simply told the truth in detail.  I was mortified the next day, but this person sat and listened, and at the end of the conversation said something simple, obvious and profound enough to strike a chord with me.  He said “…you seem like a nice person.  You should hang out with other nice people, and you’ll be ok.”  To be honest, I don’t even remember exactly which stories I told him in completion that would warrant those exact words. I only remember bits and pieces of the conversation.  But I remember that statement. I remember waking up the next day and going to my trade show and realizing I was surrounded by genuinely nice people that knew it was my first time in Vegas and just wanted to show me around.  No agendas.  Just relax, enjoy the city and the company.

I spent time learning a little bit about them and put my problems and life on the shelf for a few days –I got a little perspective.  Those few simple words of advice were more meaningful to me than all of the words shared by family and friends that know me.  They were impartial, they were simple, and they were without cause.  They didn’t come with a lecture or a psychological evaluation of my deep-seeded issues stemming from childhood.  They were too the point and in the here and now.  Life is too short – don’t waste time on people that aren’t nice to you or don’t make you feel good.

I know this isn’t new advice.  It shows up in some fashion in the form of an E-gram or cute quote on my facebook newsfeed twice a week; but until it is stated to you in a way that is directly related to your life, and in an environment that isn’t showing you each tie that you have to each unhealthy aspect of life, it gets dismissed.  I think all too often we fight for things that aren’t healthy anymore, remembering then only the times that made us feel good, not always admitting that memories are in the past and the present should be evaluated with what’s really there and what the likelihood of a positive future may be.  Letting go is painful.  It’s the hardest thing for me to do personally.  But sometimes it’s just the best choice.

Be a better person tomorrow than you were today and surround yourself with people that are just trying to do the same.  Rid yourself of those that aren’t. Then stand back and watch.  Watch how other people act, watch what comes back from simply being a little better, a little more caring, a little more selfless and a little less self-centric.  This is harder than it sounds and less practiced than I think most would like to admit.

I think this person walked away understanding a little more about what actual depression is. When you’ve spent most of your life battling it, it’s hard to grasp that a large majority of people have never experienced it.  But for those that haven’t, understanding that depression is not simply the opposite of happy is a hard sell.  Happiness is a daily choice. Who you spend your time with is a choice.  Who you let upset you is a choice.  Depression is not.  That comes from deeper places, sometimes it comes from chemical places in your brain that aren’t always controllable.  Someday, I may experience a perfect life.  Someday I may get myself to a place where I never worry about money, and my relationships are healthy and my family is thriving.  I may wake up one day and realize I have it all. And if and when that happens, I will still battle depression. I will still have bad days and bad weeks. I will still need to be medicated to keep myself in line.  But I will appreciate it.  I will understand the difference between life as I know it and having it all. I will know the difference between wants and needs and I will understand the difference between chosen happiness and depression and I will learn to embrace them both with some form of grace.  I’m not there yet, but my step today is hope that I shed a little light on mental illness that night and returned the favor of enlightenment during conversation between two strangers in Vegas that left footprints.

“Some people come into our lives…leave footprints on our hearts and we are never, ever the same. “

~Flavia Weedn

“Listen to the Musn’ts…”

You’re only given one little spark of madness, you mustn’t lose it – Robin Williams.

There have been many moments the last two years where Sawyer suddenly stopped seeming like a baby and turned into a little boy.  None as definitive as the last week or two as a whole.  My baby suddenly changed. He got big.  He became not only independent by will of mind, but by physical ability and determination.  He no longer waits or even asks for help.  He’s pretty confident that he doesn’t need it anymore.  I probably should just start enrolling him in colleges, maybe help him apartment hunt.  As far as he’s concerned – He’s got this.

He will be two at the end of the month, and with this upcoming birthday, I look back at the last year and the entire thing was a blur.  It went faster than any other year, and there have been so many changes in my life as well as his.  Every day he has done something new, and every week gotten bigger, all the while, every month seems to have brought another drastic change or adjustment to my life outside of his world.  – He hasn’t noticed, I’m considering that a ‘win’.

Throughout all of these changes and growth, I have done my best to enjoy and notice his differences as much as possible.   He has been my rock and my reason the last 12 months.  No longer just being a little life that I need to care for, but he is now a little person that can make you laugh, cares when you’re upset, and who’s wants are no longer always needs.  That’s the biggest difference.  Year one was about needs, and nothing more.  Year two has been about learning to distinguish them, and picking the moments you want to help teach him the difference.  It’s also been about embracing his individual personality.  He’s squirrely, headstrong and happy.  His tantrums are back-arching, shrieking  protests and his opinions are plenty.  He will tell you if his booster chair needs to be wiped down before he gets in it, however, he will sit in a pile of dirt in the back yard and play until he’s covered.  He will open and empty every drawer in the house, but an open door needs to be closed before we can leave the room.  He now smiles in a way where he scrunches his nose at you, and only does this when he knows what he’s smiling about his silly.   His identity as a ‘little boy’ is no better demonstrated than it was 3 minutes ago, when he found a dead fly in the windowsill, picked it up, proudly proclaimed “Bug!”, told me it was “ucky” and then went to put it in his mouth before I quickly intercepted. – This moment adds another to the list of “things that weren’t phrases before I had a child” with “we don’t eat dead flies”. For your amusement, other notables on this list are:

• “I want to eat your feet”
• “Don’t pull on the dogs penis”
• “Don’t chew on the windowsill”
• “Don’t drink from the dog bowl”
• “Don’t lick the shopping cart”

I’m sure there is at least one new ridiculous statement that comes out of my mouth per week.  Sadly, most of our conversation consists of “nos”, “don’ts” and “stops”; as keeping him alive and safe is now a much more difficult these days.  When I can, I try and mark the moments where he says or does something that I have nothing but praise for or that makes all the frustrating moments worth it.  In particular, I always tell Sawyer that I love him more than anything in the whole world.  He now almost always repeats “whole world!” when I say that, and it gives me hope that that statement is sticking every bit as much as all the ” nos and don’ts”.  Then the other day, he gave me that moment that every mother waits for, he said out loud that he loves me.  I actually remember wondering what that moment would be like and how old he would be when it happened while I was pregnant.  I think I even mentioned it in a previous blog.  Well, Thursday, August 7th 2014 – I was leaving and I said ‘ I love you’ and he said ‘ love you’ in response and gave me a kiss.  I actually teared up.   Those moments make the times when he’s repeatedly blowing a whistle, using my bathroom break to crack eggs on my dining room floor, or acting like I just killed his dog because I took away the sharp scissors he was using as a drum stick, make sense.    Most would say it makes it worth it, but they do more than that.  They clarify the relationship, the intent and the general nature of all of his two-year-old goodness.  He’s a little boy.  A little boy that has his dad’s sense of immortality, his aunts level drive, his mothers stubborn independence and his very own outlook and capacity on life and love.  The first 2 years I’ve been watching  him to see who’s traits he inherited, and where I can see myself in him – learning more about us both every day.  And as the days approach ‘two’, I see less of what everyone else has contributed to him and more of who he is all on his own.  A little boy who prefers to play with the big kids, that gets verbally nervous during the climax of a cartoon, will drink bloody mary mix out of a sippy cup if I have one I can’t share, and spends his days contemplating how to conquer and get to wherever it is I’ve attempted to lock him out of (usually successfully).  He’s becoming more than just a toddler doing ‘toddler things’ , but more a toddler doing ‘Sawyer things’.  Suddenly why he does the things he does makes sense, and when they don’t that’s when I know he is doing nothing more than just being himself.

So Sawyer, last year, my wish for you was that you learn that it’s not about the path you choose, but how you choose to travel it.  This year, when you blow your candle out all by yourself, I will be making the wish that despite all the no’s, don’ts and musn’ts — you never lose your spark.

~She Silverstein

“Slugs and Snails an Puppy-Dog Tails…”

“Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.”

– Ancient Proverb

This is only my third post this year.  You can say that life has given me a little more than I can handle on a daily basis and I’ve had little time to write, let alone enough sleep to put any thoughts into a coherent sentence.  I also seem to have lost my hormonal muse, and have settled into taking life day by day and have had no time to over-think it.  – Basically, I’ve become busy.

However, Sawyer is going to be a year in six days, and I felt I needed to find a way to wrap up this year with him in a documented way.  I find it bitter-sweet that he is too little to create memories yet. These have been some of the most memorable months in my life because of him, and it’s weird that he’s been the focus, but will remember none of it.  He’s become such a little person the last two – three months as he’s transitioned from baby to toddler.  He has opinions and thoughts and a daily agenda that only he seems to know about.  It’s hard to grasp that each of his thoughts are passing thoughts, and leave little trail.  However, on the plus side, he will have absolutely no recollection of the time I got distracted before buckling him in to his high chair and he fell out.

His first year of life really seemed to be focused on simply keeping him alive; and to be honest, I’m a little proud of us for being able to do that.- I’ve killed a lot of plants in my day.  Therefore, this first birthday is a big deal to me.  It may not be a day he will remember, but it’s the day my baby is no longer a baby, and the term “parent” changes meaning. We are no longer the people that simply provided him life and are here to make sure his basic needs are met for survival, but, in addition, we are the people that need to start molding his personality, thoughts and actions.

This is a new challenge, as keeping him alive is becoming increasingly harder with his new mobility, strong will and sense of curiosity.  For him, the entire world is one big play pen, where dog food and pennies are scrumptious new tastes and textures, not just a choking hazard. He’s turned into a little boy. Nothing seems to be off limits, the word “No” is incredibly selective, and my mad-face is apparently hilarious.  Yet, every day he surprises me in a new way.  This morning he decided that instead of getting into things when left to his own devices, he would crawl over to his book case and page through a few by himself in his room for about 20 minutes.  This is new focus for him.  He’s never given anything that type of “quiet” time before.  It gave me hope that there may be a few moments of sanity I can enjoy over the coming months.

It’s the little things that you learn to hold on to in order to get you through the day now.  It’s those moments of discovery, the small victories of each day that become large triumphs and reasons to celebrate.  It’s the rare times I tell him no, and he actually stops and re-directs himself, and the look on his face when a new connection is made and he suddenly sees something he never noticed before.  It makes you recognize that life is a series of building blocks, things don’t happen, they are built.  Each curious attempt, whether it be mine when giving him pickles to see if he likes them or his when he reaches for something new to see what it feels like, are little stones of accomplishment and knowledge that help develop a person and a life; in my case — a little mischief-making, mess-finding curiosity-satisfying boy.

I am a fatalist.  I truly believe that everything in life is meant to happen the way that it happens.  It isn’t always pretty, and we don’t always understand why.  But I believe that the people that come into our lives are there for a specific purpose, the relationships we build and the struggles we endure are there to feed and further our souls in one way or another.  This belief system offers an immense amount of comfort when needed and allows me to justify and explain things I don’t understand.  But it also hinders my ability to see and appreciate the small things that truly develop the structure.  The daily activities that may not be part of the ” big plan” – I have a hard time thinking anyone’s soul needs to like or dislike pickles for a greater purpose – but these little moments of curiosity, knowledge and accomplishment all help develop the person, so they can in turn, help develop someone else.   Every mother hopes her child grows up to be something great, and defines his greatness by his occupation.  “My kid will be the next president of the United States!”.  Of course I hope he decides to become something professionally that will create financial security in his life and provide opportunities for him.  However, I think my greatest wish for him is that he develops into a person that serves a million littler purposes that are greater than his ability to comprehend.  Be the child that helps the kid up that was just bullied by someone else.  Be the listener his friend needs in a time of crisis, challenge the girls he dates to be better people, while he in turn does acts to become a better person himself.  –  I don’t want him to grow up to simply be a doctor, I want him to grow up to be happy and satisfied with who he is, and truly understand that everyone has worth and a soul and understand that the moments in life that truly matter are the ones where you have touched someone else’s soul and helped them in a way they will remember and take with them.

So knock over those blocks, learn to love pickles, and experience the difference between the dogs ears     and the cats and what happens when you pull them; because these are all the little curious moments in life that will help you develop a strong foundation, a tolerance for the bitter and a gentle touch with others.   Happy 1st Birthday Sawyer, when I help you blow out your candle this year, you may not know to make a wish yet, but my wish for you will be that you grow up to learn that It’s not about the path you choose, it’s how you choose to travel it.

“Faith,Trust and Pixie Dust” -Peter Pan

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
― C.S. Lewis

The count down to my 30th birthday is upon me.  This is not an excited, cross the days off in anticipation, countdown.  But rather a “you have less than 30 days of your youth left, better make time to do something stupid while it can still pass as cute” countdown.  Yep, I’m about to reach the age where it’s no longer endearing to see the 20-something financially struggle to make it on her own, and where each cookie consumed is eaten without thought, and the empty box is significant of nothing more than the fact that I need to buy more cookies.  No, now cookies have become magical.   They’ve gained the ability to reincarnate themselves and find a new home, usually around my thighs, chips and all. It’s almost spiritual really, they each have a second chance at life, which they seem to greatly value and fight for as they set up camp.  What used to be a few nomadic chocolate chips that occasionally stopped to rest, has now turned into a retirement resort for all things delicious and consumed. I’ve become Boca for Oreos.

30 feel’s much more significant than the other milestone ages did to me.  I never thought I would actually be 30.  This is not a morbid statement of an assumption that I wouldn’t make it to 30, but rather one of blissful naiveté and disbelief that it would ever actually happen me.  But, here it is, in all its “you’re officially old” glory and I can’t help but realize how ridiculous the last decade has been and be a little relieved that the next 10 years will likely be a different kind of exciting.  20 seems like a lifetime ago, living in my first apartment with an old high school friend, working part time as a server at a fast food place…the same job I had in high school, and celebrating my birthday in our apartment where no one would catch me drinking  a Miller Lite.  My biggest responsibility was taking care of my pet hamster, whose cage was rarely clean because I “didn’t have the time.”

At 20, I was still in a hurry to grow up, to be taken seriously, given responsibility I thought I wanted and obsessed over the 5lbs I had put on since high school.  At 30, I wish I could freeze time to keep my baby a baby, have a weight loss goal that still has me lying on my driver’s license, and would happily give up some responsibility in exchange for eight hours of sleep a night.  The last 10 years were spent working towards the next goal, ‘finding myself’ and attempting to be an adult, when I obviously wasn’t one.

I think my 30’s will be the decade of finding Neverland; trying to learn to relax and play and fly.  I want to stop looking for all the answers and believe in things like I did as a kid. I want to teach Sawyer how to make wings out of cardboard boxes like I did as a child, and then  jump off the front stoop, determined to take off, and never get discouraged when it doesn’t work.   I want to find a way to put my skepticism aside without turning such a blind eye that I lose the things I learned in my 20’s.  I want to find the balance between tangible and intangible so the line between them blurs and I begin to fully understand and accept the unbelievable as fact when needed.  I want to re-gain that child-like ability to not be worried about or focused on anything other than what I am currently doing and carry enough faith in the concepts of magic that fairy-tales can come to life again.

I guess I already know that you can’t really go backwards, and I don’t specifically want to re-live my childhood as a child.  What I want is to re-live my childhood as I am now… so I might have a better chance of appreciating and enjoying it. My husband’s new found way of dealing with stress is to color.  — When I say color, I mean exactly that.  Color.  With crayons and a coloring book. I personally think this is fantastic, and it’s one of the main reasons I love him.  I bought him the big box of 120 Crayola crayons and a giant hot-wheels coloring book for Valentines day.  – I know, I’m a hopeless romantic.

Coloring is pretty genius actually.  It’s a complete escape. No need to create or worry about the outcome, just 20-30 minutes of complete mindless activity.  If you think about your day, how many minutes in an average week do you spend on something that requires no true thought and renders no anxiety in any way?  There’s a reason that most of the people I know take something to manage their mental health.

For some reason, I feel like 30 come’s with a lot of pressure.  Maybe it’s not really the age, as it simply is the point in my life that I’m at.  I want to do it all.  I want to be a good mom, spend quality time enjoying my child.  I want to own my own business and be successful at it.  I want to have a clean house. (which in all honesty is the most far-fetched thing on my list).  I want to have time in the day to walk the dog and sleep more than five hours, work out, cook dinner, and actually assemble the baby book.  I want my friends and family to be able to come over without the mad scramble to pick up and I want to be able to take an hour out in my life to get a massage and not feel guilty about it.  Unfortunately, with a full time job, only 1/3 of the things on my list get accomplished each week.

I guess what I’m saying is I need there to be two of me.  I am splitting at the seams most days just trying to juggle everything at once and not drop the ball. I makes me wonder how everyone else does it all.  I have friends that do.  They do it all and make it look simple and I wonder what kind of magic they are using to make it all happen.  Most days, I just do my best to just get done what I can, and try to not obsess over the things that don’t; have faith that the necessary things will get done; and trust that someday I will get to sleep again.   The other days Iwonder if I should just skip this birthday, bust out the crayons and watch Peter Pan.

Being a child is to believe in magic everywhere…
“…but even Peter Pan had to grow up one day.”
― James A. Owen, The Search for the Red Dragon

Enjoy Life; Eat J-E-L-L-O…it has fewer calories than a Christmas cookie.

“The past is a ghost, the future a dream, all we ever have is now.”

~ Bill Cosby

As the year draws to a close and the last of the Christmas left overs are consumed and the good dishes are put away for yet another year, I have been reflecting on the past 12 months in an effort to make the appropriate resolutions for the next.  2012 was both the hardest and best year of my life.  It offered change I could never have prepared myself for.  My life began changing in September of 2011 when I exited my career in hotels and vowed to myself I would never return.  After that decision was made and a new job was had, it was as if life turned into one giant mudslide wiping out everything I had known and was accustom to on a daily basis and presented new options, challenges and offerings that I had barely considered let alone prepared for.

This past year was one of self-evaluation, re-organization, re-definition and learning to embrace change.  Extreme lows followed by extreme highs and a new daily reminder of what really matters in life.  It has reassured my faith in fate, while also re-confirming my belief in miracles and that life’s journey is really about developing our souls through experience and trials. The avalanche of change that made up the past year left me dealing with things as they come with no plan or structure.  Anyone that knows me, knows that this is the exact opposite way in which I prefer to handle anything, so you can say that this year threw me for a loop on every level.  In an effort to embrace this change, while being true to my obstinate self I am creating a list of resolutions and have chosen to share them publically to possibly secure a greater chance that I will hold myself accountable.  In the past I have often viewed resolutions like cookies.  If no one sees me eat them, it never really happened and those calories didn’t really count.  Since my hips have decided to teach me a lesson in truth as of late, I figured I should find a new approach to this new-years resolution thing.  So, without further ado; My 2013 Resolve:

Financial

Save money.  Pure and simple.  Pay myself first, stop buying stupid shit on a daily basis, realize that it’s OK for the baby to wear the same outfit twice.  Whatever it takes to somehow come out of 2013 with more than $3 in the savings account would be a decent start.

Pay off bills.  This seems to be a bit of a conflict of interest to the last resolution, however, if I could have half of the hospital bills paid off by the end of the year, I would be willing to be flexible on the $3  savings minimum requirement.

Physical

20 pounds: gone.  Enough said

Tone up.  Build enough muscle up to find sitting upright to be less of a challenge for me than it is my 4 month old, while also eliminating the cellulite that seems to now make up my legs post-baby.  I’m a little worried at this point that without the cellulite I might be down a few limbs, but I’m willing to take that chance.

Practice Yoga 3 times a week.  In a class, at home, while driving… whatever it takes to fit it into my crazy schedule.

Work

Build my business.  Find the time to put the effort in and don’t be scared to say “yes, I can do that”, even if you have absolutely no idea how… That’s what business partners are for.  Goal: consistently be completing a minimum of 1 job per week by the end of the year.

Develop my skill-set.  Learn to do more with the tools I have and research and find new resources, then learn how to use them.  Generally just get better at what I do a little bit, every day.

Life

Play.   Realize that it is not a waste of time to read a book or spend 2 hours making funny faces with the baby, even if the laundry isn’t done and the house looks like a bomb went off.   The mess isn’t going anywhere, but eventually the baby won’t have any interest to play with me anymore.

Watch the every episode of the Cosby show.  It’s hilarious and it will save me money on parenting books.

Practice my violin. 15 years of lessons was a waste if I can’t even play the basics.  Goal: re-master Vivaldi’s Concerto in G major  (which happens to be one of maybe 4 pieces of sheet music I can still find)  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6b7WH9Le-E

Read and finish at least 3 books.  Only one of which can be “50 shades of Grey” the other 2 need to be something on this list: http://thegreatestbooks.org/ in an effort to not get dumber.

Walk the dog at least more than once every 3 months.  The pug is fat and feels neglected since Sawyer took his spot on my lap.  And it wouldn’t hurt me to walk once in a while.

Drink more.  This is probably the exact opposite goal most Wisconsonites should have this year, however, I’ve never been a big drinker, and I think if I consumed a drink or 2 on a more regular basis, my ability to relax and accomplish my other goals will be more likely.  It’s really simply a means to a more successful and happier end than a specific resolution in itself.  I’ll try and keep it regulated to various types of clear liquor.

Change the daily baby goal from: “keep him from crying as much as possible” to: “make him smile every chance you get”   All babies cry, but not all of them have a reason to smile. Be his reason to smile.

I could continue on with lists of things I would like to improve upon in 2013, but I think I will keep the list to an achievable level and do my best to embrace what 2012 taught me and let the rest of the chips fall where they may. If I’ve learned anything from the baby it’s that goals are good, but sometimes you fall face first if you reach too far,  it’s the simplest things in life that create the biggest smiles and messes will happen every day, so dry your tears, clean them up and move on to a  toy that makes you laugh.

“Peace Begins with a smile” ~ Mother Theresa

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