Insanity.

          It's 10:05 at night and I just put my 10 year old to bed.  While I know I should be sleeping, I couldn't resist the urge to put my fingers to my computer keys and spout off.  In my defense, it's been awhile since I've had a good rant and furthermore, I have resisted the urge speak on this for quite some time.  Tonight,  I am purposely choosing to write while I am exhausted.  Because I am tired, I am certain that my sarcasm and sharp tongue will be the perfect combination to offend a few... perhaps many.  At the moment, I don't particularly care.  I may proofread this later and change my mind.  I wouldn't bet on it.

        It's 10:05 on a weeknight and this has become our norm.  I do what I can to make our mornings run smoothly.  We lay clothes out the night before to avoid morning chaos.  We do our best to eat a healthy breakfast.  We pack lunches in an attempt to avoid the rat poison they call school food.   On good days where we have an extra five minutes, we say a prayer with the kids before they head off to school.  The tired dog is drug out of his cage and fed and then we are off.   Like so many, we are gone by 7 or so in the morning.  Doesn't sound so bad does it?  I actually enjoy our morning routine and we've all gotten quite good at it.

          We all head  off to our designated places.  School, work, the office....wherever we are needed that day.  We venture out into the world with whatever we are dealing with.  We carry it with us and make the best of it.   Truth is I miss my family throughout the day.  I wonder what my kids are doing at school.  I ponder current things that are going on in their lives and hope that the advice we gave them days before was of use to them.   I long for a lunch date with my husband and if I shut my eyes tight, I  can actually remember a time not so long ago where that that was a weekly occurrence. 

         We all gather back at the house around 4:30 in the evening and it's all down hill from there.  I can't help but think of the 80's game show where people went into a store with an empty shopping cart and were given a certain amount of time to frantically grab what they could and go.  We're now that family.  I'm stuffing bottled waters,  fruit and granola bars in my purse like we may never return.  I'm packing books and ipads and things to do for my two hour wait.    I'm actually thinking of inventing a washing machine for the trunk of my car.  At least then I could get some housework done while I'm sitting in a parking lot doing nothing.  Sometimes practices run late and the last ten minutes  feel like hours.  I'm tired.  My kids are tired.  We're done.  We roll in late and as we pull into the subdivision, I begin barking orders because I know I'll be too tired to address anyone once my pants come off. 

         Anyone remember the STOP THE INSANITY lady from the 1990's?  Her name was Susan Powter and she was ridiculous.  She looked so crazy that she grabbed your attention (whether you wanted her to or not).  She never spoke, she just yelled.  (I confess that I bought her book-and clearly, wasn't able to stop the insanity).  Her platform was health and wellness and she attacked all the other diet fads and exercise programs by calling them insane.  Thus coining the phrase STOP THE INSANITY!  In a nutshell, she preached that there is no magic answer.  You actually have to stop eating crap and move your fat ass.  Makes sense right?

Ok, so where am I going with this? ....

           For the past several years, I have found myself looking around at other parents wondering if it was ME that was insane.  Was there something terribly wrong with me that I didn't want to spend every waking moment of my weekend watching my kids play sports?  Was I selfish for wanting to sit across from my husband at a candle lit table in a swanky restaurant rather than next to him in a fold up chair on a muddy field?  Was I a terrible person for thinking we could take a REALLY nice trip if it weren't for all the "EXTRA'S" that were thrown at us from school, sports, and church?  Was I the only parent who didn't live for the end of the year class party?  Was something wrong with me that I was a grown woman...ACTING like a grown woman who liked grown up things???

          I was sitting in yet another parent meeting for a sporting event tonight (never mind it's the week before Christmas) listening for something, ANYTHING I hadn't heard at one of the last meetings.  I didn't want to go.  In fact I swore I wouldn't but guilt got the best of me and I went.  I probably wouldn't be so irritated if it hadn't been one week before Christmas or if it wasn't dedicated to all the money that will soon be due.  Timing is everything people...

I looked around at others who looked happy to be there.  They came with questions and answers and ideas and the overwhelming urge to stab someone came over me.  It was then that it occurred to me that it isn't me.  I don't care if everyone else loves it.  I don't.  Not even a little bit...and I'm not sorry.  I'm normal.  Normal people don't live vicariously through their children and if they do, then lock me the hell up.  

It's not normal,  it's insanity.

            From this completely unnecessary meeting I drove my ten year old daughter to a "bonus" practice (you can't get upset if they call it a bonus because bonus means extra and extra is good, right)?  Practice began at 7:15 and didn't end until 8:45 pm.  Keep in mind we've been up since 6:00 a.m.  My daughter yawned and curled up in the back seat as I drove her to practice and dozed off as we pulled into the dark parking lot.  I almost turned the car around and brought her home.  I didn't though.  Practices are mandatory.  I dropped her off and ran to do a few errands that my schedule tomorrow doesn't allow for. Today isn't a busy day.  Today is normal.  We leave early and we get home late.  I try not to get too excited if a particular day is open.  I start dreaming of what I'll cook for dinner and what movie to rent before an email comes through to inform me that an extra practice or a mandatory meeting has been booked.

   

Let me stop you right there.  I know what you're thinking and you're wrong.  

            I love, love, LOVE my kids.  I love, love, LOVE supporting them in all their endeavors.  I totally enjoy watching my children do what they do and we have always taught that whatever you choose to do, you do it well and you do it all the way.  We teach dedication and commitment, and above all...to be a good sport and a team player.  You say you're going to do something...you do it.  I watched one of my kids practice several days a week for one position and then show up to games to play another.  Why?  Because the child he was covering for alternated between hang nails and headaches and never showed up.  The lesson was a two parter.  First, you are a part of a team and you play where you are needed.  The second lesson was "THIS is why you are dedicated and show up to every practice and game.  No one should have to cover for you like you are covering for him". 

          All I ever wanted to be was a parent.  I dreamed of having children and doing things with them.

Unfortunately, no one ever told me that there would be zero time to do the things I wanted to do with them because I would be inundated with things that I HAD to do for them. 

         I was fully aware that kids required time and money and I allotted for both of those things.  I was also aware that having multiple children would require additional time and money and so I allotted for that as well.   Never in a million years could I have imagined that my children and I would be mere puppets in the hands of others who dictated our schedules from sun up to literally HOURS after the sun went down.  It is insane and  I don't care what anyone says, it is impossible to keep up with the demands of school and sports these days and STILL be a good parent.  I signed up to be a parent and because I believe in doing things well,  I desire to be an exceptional parent.  These days I'm mediocre at best and it makes me angry.  I am better than mediocre but I am human and despite my best efforts, I am waving my flag and crying mercy.

       What's that you say?  Stop over scheduling them?  Ya, well here's the thing.  One extra curricular activity per kid is the equivalent to a part time job...on top of their schooling which inevitably takes a back seat - every. freaking. time. 

         Everything is black and white.  There is no gray anymore.  You can't play a sport without committing to 4 sometimes 5 days a week.  It's not enough to pay out the nose for the sport.  We can't just say thank you for your time and monetary donation for your child to participate.  Nope, that's not enough either.  There are plenty of ways and angles to come at you...none of which I am interested in by the way.  Please, please, PLEASE tell me how I can purchase one more piece of "spirit wear" that I will never wear.  If you missed the deadline to order (on accident, on purpose or by choice), there will be 25 more opportunities to purchase or explain to your child why you don't love them enough to sport a shirt that has their name on it at games.   Next item on the agenda, Please, please, PLEASE tell me what night of the week I can have my child's team picture taken by a so-so photographer and if possible, make sure it's on a night that we aren't already there for something else.  I like driving to the park for a 20 minute photo shoot.  I mean all we've got is time, right?  

          What's that saying?  Bitter is the new black?  In case you aren't picking up the sarcasm I'm laying down, let me take it up a notch.

         I would step in front of a bus for one of my kids and I thoroughly love watching them grow and develop as people and athletes.  I have loved the kids and the parents on every team we have ever been a part of.   I haven't voiced my total disdain for what is so clearly going on for fear of parents gasping and starting a petition to get my kids to their activities because their mother wasn't committed enough.  I mean I sat in my car and read a book rather than stand on the sidelines memorizing plays and dance moves.  I can hear them now...."she got them to every practice and every game on time but when they scheduled that meeting on Christmas Eve, she got all pissy"!  

I mean I like it but not EVERY BLESSED DAY.  Can I be committed without laying my entire family out on the table and sacrificing every ounce of free time we have?

I didn't think so.

           Ever heard the term absence makes the heart grow fonder?  Why can't we give our kids a break so they are actually excited to start a season? There is spring ball, fall ball, summer ball, and now there's INDOOR ball for winter.  When I ponder that my growing children need time to rest and heal I'm bombarded with "we want to keep them active.  We don't want them to forget how to play".  I'm sorry...."WHAT?  They don't straddle their bikes and fall over come summer time.  They'll remember, I promise".

            There are two things I don't like in life.  The first one is when people try to make me feel stupid.  The second is everything else (well these days anyways).   There are dollar signs behind everything our children do.  I wish those in charge of their  schools and athletics would just come out and say it.  Stop acting like everything you're doing is in the best interest of the children,  It's not.  Children need rest and recovery and no one seems to be interested in their need for that.   Everything is about money and I loathe that our children are being used as income.  The reason there are year round sports are because there is an opportunity to make money off of our children all year long.  We are the ding bats that keep saying yes.  I totally support school AND extra curricular activities.  Furthermore, I support the coaches and team parents that help hold it all together.  It is a tedious and thankless job and I so appreciate their efforts.   I have the stamina for the what I signed up for.  It's the extra's that are really getting to me.  It's going to be the extra's that push me over the edge too.  This isn't about lacrosse, dance, or cheerleading.  Everything is manageable but when schedules start to collide, it is enough to KILL parents.  Every coach or leader wants a full time commitment.  I mean if I wanted an Olympic athlete, I would have gone that route.....or adopted a Chinese baby.  

           I don't want to attack sporting activities alone.  My gun is fully loaded and there are so many idiotic things I would like to address.  Can we talk about the class pictures that are taken not once but twice a year?  I love that the spring pictures are taken and then sent home with our children forcing us parents to say "why yes sweetheart, those are nice.  Daddy and I had a meeting, however, and we decided that we don't need any more pictures of you.  Take them back to school where they will be shredded".  Instead, we stroke a large check for the envelope of pictures and shove them in a drawer never to be looked at again.  The cute fall pictures weren't enough.  We are now the proud new owners of 500 photos of our child leaning awkwardly against a tree.

           I remember "senior night" during my last few weeks of high school.  Someone had put together a slide show and I loved it.  I remember everything about that night right down to who I was sitting next to.  It is one of my many fond memories from growing up.  Each of my kids have had not only slide shows throughout elementary school but 45 minute slide shows that ensured that every kid was shown from the front, the back, the right and left side, and in a group shot.  I mean is this necessary?

 These kids are doing in 2nd grade what I didn't do until 12th.  In giving our children everything, we are ruining their futures.  I mean what do they have to look forward to? 

           Bella has attended birthday parties for 9 year olds that trump anything I've ever had and I hate to admit that I have fallen into the trap of competing with the nonsense.  I am not one to try to keep up with others but I fear she'll be disappointed and so I take the bate.  It's crazy and completely my fault.  

           There are so many "fun" days at school that you need an app on your phone just to remember them.  Bring this to school day, bring that to school day, wear this color, wear that color, wear a hat, bring a stuffed animal, etc.  Hey here's an idea!  How about you educate my kids and leave pajama day to me?   We'll have it every Saturday and I promise..they'll turn out just fine.  It doesn't stop at school.  I used to pull in to the dance studio and drop Bella off only to have a tear stricken little girl come out because it was crazy hair day and I had forgotten.  It's not enough to pay tuition and get my child to class every week but now I get to feel guilty that I forgot to give her corn rose in the fifteen minutes I had between getting her off the bus and to her class.  At one point I contemplated keeping a box in my car that had pajamas, hair accessories, and a tutu and hats for wacky tacky day....just in case I forgot.  I mean really people. Is THIS what it's coming to?  

            I realized a couple of years ago that in order for my kids to see any of their peers in the summer, they had to be as tightly scheduled as they were throughout the school year. I was SORELY mistaken in assuming that summer was for relaxing.  Parents are rattling off camps like their abc's and it occurs to me that one of two things is happening.  The first is that the parents can't bear being with their kids for any period of time and the second is that their kids have to be stimulated every moment of every day (which is a cycle that is easy to break if you think about it).

         I will spare you my full opinion on the christmas elves.  There are quite a few rants out there (hilarious at that) and I needn't compete.  What I will say is this.  I remember when we moved here and my Tucker began asking for one.  I had never heard of such a thing and when I learned exactly what they were about, I mocked that NO person in their right mind would buy into such a thing.  Apparently, EVERYONE has bought into such a thing.  Some crazy (or brilliant...I haven't decided) woman conjured up the idea of taking the busiest month of the year and giving us parents ONE more thing to do.  Not once or twice but every flipping day of the month.  I really should send her a thank you letter.  She took children and their parents and sprinkled a little bit of guilty fairy dust on the little bastards and we all took the bait.  I no longer judge those who enjoy the elves.  I'm just here to say that I'm not one of the people who enjoys the elves.  I played along but it got ridiculous.  My kids would start leaving letters for Santa all year long because "so and so's elf already came.  She left a letter for Santa and her elf arrived the next day".  I'm like "SERIOUSLY?  It's July.  WTF"?  I had to look at Bella and ask the hard question "do you honestly think that Santa comes into your room every night of the year"?  The elves ruined Santa for Bella and so I hate them even more now.  She saw me hiding him one night at 3:00 am when I shot out of bed because I'd forgotten.  I came into her room, tripped, and the rest is history.  The Christmas elves stole two years of believing in Santa from my daughter.  I sure hope the $39.99 I spent on it was worth it lady....

          I had a few hours today and decided to put the basement tree up.  Turns out none of the lights worked.  Aggravating to say the least.  I had an hour and a half to kill while Bella was at practice tonight and decided to pick up some new boxes of Christmas lights.  Regardless of the 45 minutes a day we actually get to enjoy our home, I was determined to get this tree decorated (these are the things I actually WANT to do with my kids).  I pulled in at 9:15 and called Tucker down to help me throw some lights on the tree.  He calls to me that one of the brand new strands doesn't work and I feel a vein bulge in my neck.  I actually say out loud "REALLY God"? and quickly check myself realizing that my life is full of good things and God was not responsible for a strand of misfit bulbs. Tucker and I both stare at the half lit tree for what seems like an unusually long time.  I want to laugh and normally I would have, but not tonight.  Tonight  I stood quietly for a long while resisting the urge to tackle the christmas tree and shred the working lights off like the Grinch.  After reminding myself that I would ultimately be the one cleaning up after my tantrum,  I pulled the plug out of the outlet and walked upstairs.  

          These are not big problems.  I know that.  My last nerve however is wearing pretty thin and I am finally hitting the wall.  I have to believe by the faces I see at these activities that I'm not alone. Us parents are beat and all I want for Christmas is time off.  I have an abundance of energy and am usually quite happy about being busy.  This however, is just retarded.  I have attended a multitude of activities this past month and there has been no mention of Christmas.  Nothing.  Zilch.  Nada.  We are blowing past a symbolic and family oriented holiday and we don't have time for it because we are too busy filling the days with things that can wait.  Here's the thing people.  I am going to sum up this whole page with four words.  You ready?

IT'S ALL TOO MUCH.

Too many activities.  Too many meetings.  Too many parties.  Too many teachers gifts.  Too many emails.  Too many text messages.  Too many unnecessary things.  They are all good things so we accept them with a smile.  Newsflash....it is possible to have too many good things.  They wear us down just the same.

       I am taking my family back and I am hoping that I can get an "amen" or "I hear ya sister" because I feel that if enough people said "NO"....maybe, just maybe those who claim to be looking out for our kids might actually look out for them.  I signed up to be a parent and running my kids into the ground because strangers tell me I ought to isn't good parenting if you ask me.  

       I am looking forward to the next somewhat unscheduled week and am going to cram as much Christmas into it that I can.  I am ending this year the way I intend to start the upcoming one.  I am going to learn to say NO.  It might just kill me but not saying it is SURE to kill me.

We are family first...then we are followers...next we are scholars...then we are athletes. 

          

Three years ago today...

What a difference a year makes. Or a month. Or a day. Or in our case...an hour.

It was an ordinary summer day (June 15th to be exact) and I was basking in what appeared to be the perfect day.  I had accomplished the dreaded task of grocery shopping for the week and spent the remainder of the day cleaning my house.   I had fulfilled my motherly task of taking the kids to the pool and had come home to shower and wind down for the day.  Despite the Atlanta heat and humidity, my husband Matthew was making good on his  promise to take our middle son Tucker dirt bike riding.  He did not want to go and had made sure that everyone knew it.  He grumbled repeatedly that the heat was going to kill him and when I suggested they not go, was thrown a look informing me that not going wasn’t an option.    Tucker’s trainer would be  working that evening and had given my boys permission to ride while he was gone (a favor he had granted on multiple occasions).  Our eldest son Riggs had decided last minute to tag along and being the good kid that he is,  had helped with the daunting chore of loading up the trailer.  It wasn't until several weeks after the accident that it occurred to me that Riggs wasn't even supposed to have been there that day.  Go figure.

           I had made a point to bathe my daughter early that evening in the hopes of her falling asleep shortly after the boys had left.  In celebration of my productive day, I was preparing for a kid free evening in my quite and oh so clean house. Ironically, moments before receiving the phone call, I had updated my facebook status to that of having one of the best days I’d had in quite some time.  

Call me superstitious, but I haven't done that since.

          

           I have had several traumatic events in my  life and the minor details of those incidents always fail to leave me.  For example, on the night of the accident,  I remember the dress I was wearing. I hate that dress now.  It's unfortunate really because it was new. And cute. And expensive....and now i hate it.  It calls to me from my closet beckoning me to wear it.  I can’t wear it anymore.  Nor can I throw it out.  It serves as a reminder.  Of what, I don’t know.

          I remember that because Riggs had been helping load the trailer, he hadn't had a chance to eat when I had fed my other two children.  With the truck running and his dad and brother waiting on him,  he ran inside to grab a bite before leaving.  He ate a double decker peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then chased it with an enormous piece of vegetable lasagna.  I shook my head in disgust. My biggest concern that evening was that he would get a stomach ache from the nasty dinner he had just inhaled and be too sick to ride.  Laughable really when you consider what happened.

          The boys pulled out of the driveway and I exhaled breathing a sigh and muttered “I thought they’d never leave”.   I played with my daughter  for a little while and silently acknowledged that even given the night off, I didn’t have it in me to sit still.  Being my typical anal retentive self,  I got up and began sweeping my already clean kitchen floors.  I decided to clean out my vacuum in the process.  Sadly, this is what I choose to do on a free night from the husband and kids - but that’s neither here nor there.  In what seemed like a millisecond the sky turned black and a typical southern storm let loose.  Because I love the rain, I thought a storm would compliment my evening perfectly.  It then occurred to me that three wet boys would be back momentarily and all would be irritated that their plans had been thwarted.  

          I called my husband to give him the heads up that a storm was coming their way but he didn't answer.  I assumed they were either getting a few more laps in before it reached them  or that they were loading up the bikes.  Thinking nothing more of it, I went back to my cleaning. They had been gone one hour.   That's it, one hour.  

What a difference an hour makes.

I went back to cleaning when the phone rang.  Hearing the faint ring of the telephone, I turned the vacuum off to answer it.  The caller id had shown Matthew’s  cell number and I casually answered “hey”.  In the upcoming weeks, I would attempt to describe this conversation to others.  It would be impossible.  The feelings were so raw,  I could feel the pain and emotion as though it were standing next to me.  

          I’ve been making and receiving calls from my husband for upwards of twenty years.  There’s a routine, a dance if you will, and habits are formed.   I answered the phone casually and the momentary silence on the other end reached into my core and I knew that something was wrong.   I was paralyzed  upon hearing about five seconds of silence followed by the cry of my middle son Tucker.  I found it odd that he would be the one calling me from my husbands phone.   Mom's know their children's cries.  There are the cries of being hurt.   There are cries of hurt feelings. Cries of fear.  Cries of rejection.  There are even fake cries. But this was none of those.  It was a cry that I had never heard before and pray to God that I never have to hear again.  It was a pitiful.  

          Our Tucker has always been an amazing child.  He seemed to come into this world a star and since the age of two has had the ability to bond with just about anyone.  While I wouldn’t describe him as an emotional child, he has always been observant of others and of things that are going on around him.  As a little boy, he would come home from school and want to discuss something that he had heard someone say at school earlier in the day.  He would have pondered it all day and come to me to help him make sense of it.  He hated when others were hurt and empathized with them as though whatever had happened to them, had happened to him.  Because of his depth, he tended to exaggerate scenarios that others would think nothing of.  I would often talk things through with him but at times, it was exhausting and I would bluntly shut him down with “it’s nothing.  Get over it”.  It was as though he took that character trait into consideration (foreshadowing my reaction) before he began speaking.

          Through the silence,  I heard him try to compose himself.  "Mom, we had an accident. We got hit".  It all made sense now and I imagined my husband pissed off and standing in the pouring rain being the victim of a car accident.  "Ok. I’m on my way, where are you"? I sighed, and deep down I thought to myself “never a dull moment”.  With my head still swirling in the midst of my pity party, Tucker’s next sentence startled me.  "We got struck by lightning", and frankly, I found the statement ridiculous.  I snapped “What do you mean you got struck by lightning Tuck?  Put your dad on the phone”.  I was confused and admit that I may have even been a little annoyed.  "I can't”, he said.  “He's working on Riggs".

          Ok, you know the part in the movies where the room disappears and the main character's head gets huge and they are just standing in the middle of the room spinning?  Well that's me.  Standing in my kitchen, amid a pile of vacuum dirt. In the dress that I now hate.

          For the next 5 minutes I listen to my middle child pray that God doesn't take his brother.  He actually begs for forgiveness for fighting with him earlier that morning.  I say nothing and hear little as I try to make sense of the phone call.   I’m ashamed that at one point, I actually use this as a teaching moment and say to him that he should remember the way he feels right now for the next time he gets upset with his brother. I mean who does that?  In my defense, I still didn’t fully understand the severity of the situation or I would have never abused his vulnerability.  He would compose himself for a  minute at a time than wales through 11 year old tears "please don't take my brother.  I'll do anything".  He is talking to god of course but is using me as his witness....as if I have ANY control over the situation.  I don't. I am confused to say the least.  I am helpless and all I want to do is talk to my husband. But I can't.  He's working on Riggs, whatever that means.

           It is only later that I learn that while I am doing my best to calm Tucker, he is kneeling in the back seat of his dad’s truck looking out the back window.  He is a mere spectator  to the horrific scene that is taking place outside of the window in the bed of my husbands F-250.  He had been watching his dad give CPR to his brother in a wicked storm all the while fearing that they would be struck by lightning once again.  He is certain that Riggs is dead and being the stellar little man that he is, spares me the details.  Riggs was a pale hint of blue and his eyes were open (a sight that would haunt both Matthew and Tucker for almost two years after the accident).

          When my heart can't take anymore, I tell him that I need to go and that I will call him right back.  I am calm. I am eerily calm.  I phone a girlfriend and flatly asked if she could come over.  She laughed and and responded  "you do realize there's like a monsoon going on, right"?  I inform her that there has been an accident and that I don’t have time to discuss it.  Actually that had been a lie.  I didn’t want to discuss it.  I don’t know what was said next but she sensed the urgency and told me that she’d be right over.

          I called Tucker back with the hopes of hearing that all was well, but all was not well. Matt was still working on Riggs with the help of a neighbor who just happened to arrive at the right place at a very wrong time.   Bill was a gift from god that evening and our family will be forever grateful to him.  He had been down the road at a gas station and felt prompted to head home upon seeing and hearing the huge crack of lightning.  He felt the need to check on his house and was worried that it it been had hit.  When he arrived home, he stumbled upon the scene.  My husband was frantic and still working on Riggs in the bed of his truck.  The boys had been behind the house and far from the street.  Having no idea what the street address was, they could not call for help.  Had bill not arrived when he had, no one would have seen them and eventually, Matthew would have had to stop CPR.  I try not to think about that.   Bill sat and offered words of encouragement as Matthew went from pumping his sons chest to giving him breaths.  The situation looked grim but Bill held it together for the sake of my boys. 

           Feeling helpless and accepting that the situation was not getting under control, I  informed Tucker that I was on my way to them.  He shouted “no mom!” and demanded that I didn’t come.  For some reason, I took the order from my 11 year old.  At the time I thought that he was protecting me. Looking back, I  realize that had I left the house to come there,  I  would have had to hang up with him.  The fact that I couldn’t see what was going on granted me a calmness that allowed me to comfort him.  It was a calmness that no one at the scene could offer.  While I knew that things were bad, I didn’t know how bad.

          I saw the headlights shine into the woods behind my house and before my girlfriend even had the chance to turn her car off,  I opened my screen door and thrust my 7 year old daughter towards her.  My instructions were flat.  I pointed to a neighbors house and barked for her to take her there.  I must have made the arrangements with that neighbor before hand but to this day, have no recollection of doing so.   Oblivious to what was going on, my girlfriend scooped up Bella and left as quickly as she had come. 

          When each of my children were born, there was that moment before I began to deliver that my body would go into full blown convulsions. Regardless of the epidural which had taken  away any sort of pain, my body (and perhaps my mind) understood that something pretty major was about to happen and responded by shaking.  With each delivery,  Matthew would cover me with a mountain of blankets.  While the thought was nice, it never did any good. The blankets served no purpose because the convulsions were coming from the inside.

          The moment my daughter was out of site, my calm demeanor subsided and convulsions soon followed.  I recall bracing myself on my outdoor patio furniture for fear of my legs giving out.  I paused and allowed myself a moment to let the events sink in.  The trembling began in my legs than traveled quickly to my chest, my arms, and my hands.  I was shaking profusely from the inside out.   The moment ended abruptly when the phone rang.  It took me a minute before realizing that it was in my hand.  I answered it without saying a word.  Expecting to hear the voice of Tucker on the other end, I felt relief to hear Matthew.  Relief instantly turned to panic as I recognized that if he was talking to me...he was no longer working on Riggs.  It was more than I could bear. 

          "I did all I could", he spatted through tears.  "They pulled me off of him and took him from me.  They made me stop”!  He proceeded to tell me several other things but I had stopped listening after he told me that he'd done all he could.   I was aware of how long it had been since receiving the first call and knew that no one, NO ONE could sustain being down as long as my child had been.  In this moment, we are are fifteen miles apart and we are both certain that our oldest child is dead.  Matthew informed me that the paramedics had taken Riggs into the garage to continue working on him and told me that the lead medic was walking over to talk to him.  He told me that he had to go.  We hung up with one another and I collapsed at my kitchen table with the phone still in my hand.   I didn’t cry. I was numb....and was oh so glad that I heeded Tuckers advice and didn’t come. 

          There isn't a parent alive that hasn't had that moment where they can't find a child in the store for two minutes or watches the panicked face of an infant choking.  They will describe those two minutes as feeling as though it were ten.  Let me tell you what 40 minutes feels like.

  It feels like a lifetime.  

          My friend quietly walked into my kitchen like she had a hundred times before and asked “ok, WHAT is going on”?   I can hardly form the words that my boys had been struck by lightning and that Riggs wasn’t breathing and hadn’t been for quite some time.   It seemed surreal.  Actually, I think it sounded kind of stupid.  Stupid or not,  it was my reality and I flatly stated the facts and told her that it wasn’t looking good.  I will be forever grateful to her for taking control of the situation when I literally couldn’t have coped had it been left up to me to do it alone.  She literally drug me to my kitchen floor and informed me that we were going to pray.  She pulled me to my knees next to the pile of vacuum dirt (another irrelevant detail I have yet to forget) and began to plead with god for a miracle. I remember for a second feeling guilty that I hadn't thought of that myself.  I had after all, listened to the prayers of my middle son, the least I could have done was echo his words. 

          I would describe myself as being extremely level headed and quite rational when faced with trials.  At times I regret,  I am too rational.  I pride myself on remaining calm in the midst of chaos but this moment was different than any other.  This wasn’t chaos,  this was my child.  My first born child.  We had barely said "amen" when I jumped to my feet and completely lost my mind.  The phone hadn't rung in several minutes and everything in my body told me that my husband was on his way home to tell me that Riggs was gone. I asked my friend to take me somewhere.  Anywhere.  I didn't want to be home to hear the news.  I realize now just how ridiculous that was.  Regardless of where I chose to hide, the news would have found me. In this moment, however, all I wanted to do was run away.  It seemed rational. In fact, it seemed like the only choice.

          My friend had enough sense to pretend that she would take me somewhere but told me she wanted to first call Matt for an update.  I begged her not to, there may have even been a struggle with the phone.  I don’t know.   She was in her right mind, however, and I wasn't.  She won.  She had gotten Matthew on the phone sooner than I had wanted and I put my forehead on the kitchen table to brace myself for what I was about to hear.  I remember pitying her for the position I had put her in.  Even in this horrific moment, I recall feeling guilty that she would have to be the one to tell me.  

          I listened to lots of “uh huh’s” and “ok’s” and assumed that they were masking the obvious.  A moment later, I heard the word stabilized and her promise to bring me there.   She mouthed that they were headed to the hospital and  this brought me a small amount of comfort.  A very small amount of comfort.  I had no idea what that meant, but it was better than the alternative.  They were transporting him to the hospital and as far as I knew, they didn't take the deceased to the hospital. 

           I left the dog out of his cage to roam the house.  I left candles burning and virtually every light in the house on.  I walked outside and mechanically climbed into my friends car.   We drove to the hospital in what was apparently one of the worst storms we have ever had.  I honestly don't remember.  If I recall, it was a rather quite ride to the hospital with the occasional promise from my friend that everything would be ok.  She eventually stopped talking probably realizing that there was a very good chance everything would not be ok.  I remember the feeling slowly coming back into my body and raw emotions turning into thoughts and worries.  I silently told myself to pull my shit together and as we were getting off at our exit, turned my head towards heaven.  With the attitude of a teenager, I smugly said "I haven't asked you for anything.  If you are even remotely aware of us, prove it".   I was talking to my parents.

My parents had passed away several years earlier.  My father passed suddenly and my mother lost her long battle with cancer.  They had passed away a little over a year apart leaving me little time to mourn for either of them.  Being the youngest of six children when they died,  I had always struggled with the void that was left in their absence.  I listened to others tell of beautiful experiences they had had with their deceased loved ones.  I had yet to be the recipient of one of these experiences  and I resented it.  If we’re being honest, I wasn’t mad at God for taking them.  I was mad at them for not making a bigger effort to “speak” to me or let me know that while they were technically gone, they still were with me.  My faith had been shaken and I had been dealing with that internally for quite some time.  I didn’t plead graciously.  I  reverted back to my sixteen year old self and challenged my parents with my temper.  This had always worked for me and so in sheer desperation, I became the child who shakes their fists.

On this particular night, my middle son and husband had called upon God. I on the other hand, had called upon my parents. 

One, if not the combination of the three heard our families prayers.

My son was alive.  Barely.

love makes the world go round.

It's been a weird month.  My intention was to blog about something entirely different but due to certain events that have transpired, I've changed my mind.  I like Valentines Day.  I know it's a commercial holiday and one that makes men's butts pucker as they succumb to Hallmark. I like it because it's a time for romance (forced though it may be).  What can I say?  I'm a sucker for romance.

The sermon this past Sunday was on the word love.  The speaker spoke on how many levels there are to describe the word love.  We can love pancakes and we can love a person.  Hardly the same thing.  As I sat and pondered this concept, it occurred to me how many different emotions can be connected to the word love.  I'm a sucker for emotions too...go figure.

I've been pondering the word love all week and not my love for pancakes.  I've been thinking about things that I sincerely love and the emotions that are affiliated those things.  As I think about the things that I love...I am overcome with emotion.  In no particular order...

I love knowing that there is something larger than me.  My entire life I have thought that I have known everything there was to know about a higher being.  I knew exactly where I came from, what I was meant to do while on earth and what I needed to do to return.  The fact that I thought I knew everything restricted me in many ways.  In this great and glorious plan of his, I am only one small person.  While I used to believe that I arrived here pre-wired, I now see myself having arrived as a clean slate.  Life happened to me (as it does to everyone) and in a blink, my perspectives changed.  I have come to believe that they were supposed to.  It's easy to know everything when nothing has happened to you.   I believe things.  I ponder things.  I hope things...but I don't KNOW anything.  None of us do.  Admitting this has been life changing for me.  I seek now more than ever.  For whatever reason, I grew up with the idea that my relationship with God was contingent upon my actions.  It has only been in the past several years that I have grown increasingly uncomfortable with this concept and I began fighting it.  For starters, I never felt good enough and it was hard to get excited to do better when I knew that the list he had prepared for me (or worse that someone else had), was close to impossible to master.  His love for me was tied to a good deed or a list of rules and try as I might, I could never measure up.  Having encountered several life changing events, I look back now and realize that I never sought his help....because I didn't feel worthy enough.  I considered myself to be a decent and good person who tried to improve daily.  It bothered me that despite my major accomplishments, I was getting tangled up in little insignificant things.   The talk that I heard just a week ago on the word love was life changing.  The lesson was that he loves me (on a scale that I can't even fathom) no matter what.  There is nothing that I can do to mess that up.  I have screwed up a thousand times in my life and I am certain I will screw up a thousand times more.  The fact that he knows that and is rooting for me anyways is comforting.  More importantly, it makes me want to do better.  Guilt and despair are never good motivators for change.  When we know that someone loves us and that they are proud of us,  we strive harder to do good.  We don't want to disappoint.  The emotion that is connected to my faith is that of PEACE.  

If you were to ask me what the single greatest thing in my life is, I would say my husband.  There wouldn't be moment of hesitation.  There are many things that I don't have but at the end of the day knowing that I have an amazing spouse makes those little things I don't have seem insignificant.  I married Matt fresh out of high school and the day of my wedding I remember thinking "Crap.  What if he isn't the one"?  While many people have that love at first site moment, I admit freely that I did not.  I cared deeply for him but I was nineteen.  I didn't know squat.  In our "you and me against the world" mentality, we moved to Las Vegas.  Over the next thirteen years, I watched my husband grow into an amazing man.  He wowed me with his work ethic and he still wows me with his talent (he still doesn't know how good he is at what he does).   Having had no example of what a father should be like, I watched in amazement as he gushed over our two small boys.  I would go out of town for a weekend and not lose a moments sleep over them being in his care.  He would be the first one to buy Supercross tickets and take our little guys to the races.  He would carry their sleepy bodies in and put them to bed after a long day at the track.  This tradition is still carried on today and he has yet to miss a year where he doesn't take them (of course he punches them in the arm to wake them up when they get home now) Our daughter came along and he has set the perfect example for her on how she should expect to be treated.  If my sons are half the husband that their dad is and if my daughter marries someone exactly like her father, I will be pleased.  I hesitate to "out" my husband but I highly doubt that his buddies will be curling up with a glass of wine reading my blog.  For 18 years now, Matt has consistently shown me that he not only loves me but that he adores me.  To me this is far superior to the love at first sight moment.  Love at first sight fades.   He is always making an effort to win my affection.  He will send texts throughout the day to let me know that he is thinking about me.   He is an amazing gift giver and has great taste (lucky me).  He is notorious for coming home with a "just because" or "I thought of you when I saw this" gift.  He is thoughtful.  If a women's house is her castle, than he works hard to make my castle nice or if nothing else, keep it clean.  He doesn't question what I do or why I do it.  He supports me in everything and tells me that if I'm happy, that's all that matters.  If I am angry with someone, he is angry with them too.  He doesn't need the story either.  He is in my corner at all times.   I have often said that if anything were to happen to my husband, I would need a straight jacket.  He is my rock and he has been given many (TOO many as far as I'm concerned) chances to prove to me how solid he is.  I remember him riding his Harley to the hospital when I had Tucker and climbing into my hospital bed with me so we could watch Saturday Night Live together.  Fast food in hand, he made it quite the date night.  Twelve years later, we curled up in a ridiculously small hospital chair together as we sat in Riggs ICU room.  We attempted to sleep as machines beeped and buzzed not knowing what the outcome of our situation would be.  The only peace I had that night was that of knowing that whatever I would  be going through, Matt would be there.  Somehow this made it seem bearable.  With our latest scare, I spent two long weeks in the hospital and my rockstar husband held the fort down at home while I was away.  He did a better job than I do (which really pisses me off) but it was one less thing I needed to worry about during the chaotic time.  He drove the hour drive to and from the hospital daily and never knew what kind of mood I would be in.  At times, he would arrive to a weepy and depressed wife.  At times, he would arrive to doctors and nurses cowering outside of my room because they were afraid of me.  He would lighten the mood and get us all back on the same page.   At other times, he would arrive to the wife he is so used to.  The one who would be demanding that he wash her hair because she wanted to flat iron it.  Whatever he arrived to...he was up for the task.  He makes me laugh and together we have laughed ourselves through many a hard times.  I decided early on that I would never have a bad marriage.  It has not been easy, but it has been so worth it.  It makes my heart hurt when I see or hear of people who are in unhappy marital situations.  I feel for everyone involved...especially the children who are growing up without a healthy example of what a happy, loving couple looks like.  I feel like I owe our children the "how to manual" on making a relationship work.  Life is hard enough on it's own.  It's important to have someone next to you that always has your back.  I love the above quote on love.  There are far, FAR too many mediocre things in life.  Love should never, EVER be one of them.  When my marriage is less than perfect, I will not put my sword down until we work through whatever it is we need to work through.  Matt claims I am stubborn.  I think I'm passionate about us.   I believe that too many couples get too far gone before they start working on things.  It is important that we address things when they are happening so those little splinters don't become too painful to remove.  (My expectations for marriage are impossibly high...so I guess my husband is long suffering too)!   I have never had to question my husband's love for me.  When I ponder my marriage, I am filled with GRATITUDE.  I am a lucky, lucky girl.

Hopefully your barf bags aren't too full.  Moving on...

That quote is profound to me and scares the crap out of me at the same time.  I tell myself that I worry too much and when I see something like that, I fear I don't worry enough.  I love my children.  Until you become a parent, you will never understand the blessing or the burden that comes with parenthood.  While I hate to exclude you, it is a club that can't be joined until you have experienced the love that comes with having children.  There is that moment where you are handed your newborn and time stands still.  You study every detail of this perfect creature that has been handed to you.  If they are less than perfect, you aren't capable of seeing it.  You fall in love.  As these little people grow, they become more difficult to manage.  They ruin carpet.  They break things without so much as an apology.  They make a trip to Target seem like something that should be an Olympic event.  You are exhausted mentally and physically...and you wouldn't trade it for anything.  If you're really crazy, you'll decide you want to add to the insanity and throw another child or two in the mix.  You are after all a parent and logic has become something of the past.  While I am still having a difficult time grasping how old I am (I like to remind myself that I began having children very young), I have found myself with teenagers and will say again that it has been at times a challenging adjustment.  We find ourselves amidst other big people who have thoughts and feelings and opinions.  It is like having house guests (that you love) that never leave.  Ever.  Regardless of whether or not you are good parent, you will always doubt yourself.  I believe if you are doubting yourself that you are in fact a good parent.  We sit up nights talking with our kids.  I lay awake at night and ponder if I am doing things right.  I worry about them while they are at school or when they are just down the hall.  The stress of parenthood takes its toll.  It takes its toll on your sleep, your mental and physical health and your marriage.  After two nights of little sleep earlier this month while "dealing" with a child, Matt stumbled into the bathroom one morning.  We gave each other a half grin as if to say to one another "you get the car and I'll get the luggage".  Matt put his head down and mumbled "I don't want to be a parent anymore".  I couldn't have agreed more.  It is hard not to resent the very people that seem to steal time away from my husband and yet we created the little joy suckers together so we know that we are a team.  A moment after his declaration, our bathroom was filled with kids who needed hair gel, a flat iron and validation.  The down time is brief and then we are at it again...raising these little people that we hope will one day do great things.  It is a heavy burden and one I am thankful for.  My kids FULFILL me in ways that very few things or people can.

As I reflect on my friendships, there is a common denominator among all of them.  For starters, they get me and love me for the hot mess than I am.  Secondly, they have seen multiple versions of who I am and loved them all equally.  I don't have to explain myself to them which makes it comfortable.  Perhaps the single most important attribute is that they make me laugh.  As I ponder each relationship, I can remember at least one time where I laughed uncontrollably with them and a ridiculous bond was formed.  You know the hard belly laughter that once it comes on seems impossible to stop?   I have had full conversations by texting pictures with friends.  I get quirky things from girlfriends almost daily that cause me to chuckle where ever I might be.   I have had a friend straddle my chest for an hour as she attempted to put my nose ring back in (all the while laughing so hard my nostrils were flaring making it impossible).   I remember a crowded elevator where a friend and I got the giggles and laughed uncontrollably for the very long ride up.   The awkward silence from our fellow passengers only made it worse and as our very sober selves stepped off someone said "I'll have what they're having".   I have sat on the floor of the Victoria Secret dressing room with a friend in bombshell bra's laughing so hard that we thought for sure we would pee ourselves.  I have girlfriends that are just fun and easy to be around.  I try not to take myself too seriously and my friends need not either.  I am fair game.  If I slip and fall down, I expect them to laugh at me.

 I have story after story of funny things that happened while I was in the hospital and I half wonder if my selfless friend who stayed with me so often rushed there daily for mere entertainment.   My sisters (who are my closest friends) came to my rescue when I was down and out and did for me what I could not do for myself.  I have a very hard time allowing others to do things for me and my  friends have taught me the value of accepting service.  Throughout my trials, I have come to learn that my true friends are there because they want to be and not because they have been assigned to be.  The hard times I have experienced in my life have also revealed my true friends.  Because of this, I am thankful for those trials that allowed me to see just how strong my girlfriends were.   The love that I have for my friends makes me feel BLESSED.

I love my life.  It is not perfect and at times it has been down right hard.  I have come to understand that in order to fully live, I must love all aspects of my life, not just the pretty ones.  Maturity has taught me that it is my trials and what I have learned from them that have led me to happier times.  I am grateful for every difficult thing that has happened to me for it has made me who I am today.  While I don't think I am necessarily destined for greatness, I do feel that it is a sin to waste the life that I have been given.  I have always been a rule follower and yet I think it is crucial to question and explore and wander off the beaten path once in awhile.  In my quest to stop and smell the flowers, I have wandered off and found so many things that I might have otherwise passed by.  Very little  has changed in my life but my attitude towards it has and that has made all the difference.   My messy life is still the same but I have learned to embrace it as mine and no one else's.  It is a pity to live for others... 

We have often said that regardless of what our children choose to do with their lives, we want them to be happy.  For the many things I will be accountable for when I get to the other side, I believe that what I did with my time will be among the most important.   I would like to think that questions will be fired  at me such as "were you scared"?  "did you learn from that"?  "did you have fun"?  "did it change you"?  "were you true to yourself"?  I hope that I will be able to say yes to each and every one of those questions.  The day you stop looking over your shoulder is the day you start really living for yourself.

I am HUMBLED when I contemplate the life that I have been given.  I take the responsibility to live it well seriously.

As I pondered all of the things that I love and that bring me joy, it occurred to me that not one of those things are things.  They are relationships.  The relationship I have with myself and with those around me.  The older I have become, the less my happiness is tied to material things.  I have come to learn that objects fade while relationships deepen.  I look around our less than perfect home and have learned to love the scratches, the dings, the water leaks, etc.  The people in my life that I adore put them there and one day they will be gone.  I have often pondered those I know whom have lost a child or a spouse.  When I catch myself getting upset over something silly, I try to remind myself that tripping over a pair of shoes or skateboard is a blessing that I have been afforded.  My blessings are abundant and found in the simplest of things....if I am just willing to look for them.   I love the word love.  I use it often but could do better to use it more.  If the people in my life don't know how much I love them than the blame is on me.  I need to do better.

I love Valentines day because the romance of it is so far from my ordinary life.  It's nice to take one day out of the year and just love the things you love...better than you normally would.  More times than not, my expectations will leave me feeling unfulfilled.  I create pictures of how things should be and yet they rarely are.  It is at these times that I have to remind myself just how beautiful my ordinary life is and embrace it.

Clean Slates.

         

I love quotes.  My husband would say that I was capable of carrying on entire conversations using nothing but quotes.  Perhaps I should thank my ADD for this love.  Articles and books, while informative, require a lot of time and thought on my part.  Quotes give me a few lines to read and much to ponder.  Words of inspiration call to me from my bathroom mirror and my fridge (two places I spend a lot of time frequenting).  While applying a bit of lipstick or grabbing a water on my way out the door, I am left with a thought to stew over as I start my day.  I like it.

As a young girl, I was never comfortable with messing up.  If I started a paper and didn't love my handwriting or the way something sounded, I would crumple up the lined paper and start over.  I don't think I have ever written a rough draft in my life...each line had to be perfect or I couldn't move on.   If I didn't like the way my hair was turning out on a Friday night, I would jump in the shower and soak my head in an attempt to get it right the second time around.  The idea of having another chance has always appealed to me.  When it came time to buy our first (and later our second) home, it had to be new.  I needed a fresh canvas to work with.  I already knew what I wanted and anything different than that frustrated me.  While I would consider myself creative,  the idea's in my head of how things were SUPPOSED to look made it impossible for me to work with anything that might be pre-existing.  Sadly our realtor discovered this after days of showing us existing  homes.  I could walk into someone's foyer and if I didn't like their color scheme or could still smell what they cooked for breakfast, I was like "I'm good.  I'll just wait in the car".

I have always loved New Years and the idea that I had a clean slate to work with.  Just ask my Christmas tree.  I try hard to embrace whatever is going on in my life WHILE it is going on so I take on the holiday season with as much passion as I can.  December 26th, however, I'm over it.  I'm clawing at ornaments on my tree like a wild animal and yanking down garland with very little regard to how difficult it will be to revive it come Christmas next year.  I've baked, I've eaten, I've partied and spent too much money.  The day after the birth of our Lord and Savior,  I'm done.  I'm ready for clean.  I'm ready for goals.  I'm ready to be a totally different person come January 1st.  Is it me or does anyone else find this concept funny?  Eat like I'm going to be shot at sunset for tomorrow I intend to starve myself....so stupid.

Admit it.  You do it too.

  I started a blog last year and while I enjoyed the writing part, I could not for the life of me figure out how to lay it out the way I wanted to.  The fact I couldn't get it to LOOK the way I wanted it to is the reason there is only a handful of entries.  The perfectionist in me shy'd away from doing something I really wanted to do because I couldn't get past my fear of failing on the designer end of it.  I am not one to ask for help but I decided to tackle this obstacle (my inability to ask for or accept help from others) before the ball dropped and 2013 arrived.  This was a shot of confidence for me and propelled me into the new year with one goal already under my belt.  I put myself out there, admitted my COMPLETE lack of understanding where technology is concerned, and reached out to one of our good friends who is a computer guru.  I picked this particular person because I knew I wouldn't throw myself on the floor of his office and behave as badly as I had when my husband had attempted to help me.  In essence, I set myself up.  I purposely put myself in a situation where I would be forced to learn what I needed to.  I asked, he graciously offered his time to me and the end result...I can now focus on writing and not worry that my layout is atrocious.  Yay!  Regrettably, the pictures are still of us and perhaps I'll hit our friend Joe up for another lesson in photoshop and in making us better looking.  Until then.....

In the process of helping me, our friend asked what the purpose of the blog was.  Crickets. The old me would have begun sweating bullets and concluded that the fact I didn't have a purpose for writing one meant I shouldn't do it at all.  I thought about it and stated "I don't know" and that's the truth.  I  don't know.  I have always, ALWAYS, had a lot to say and have more opinions that one person should have (it's a curse really).  For me,  it's a form of journaling for my friends and family and at other times, a place to just vent.  I in no way think that my thoughts are of the utmost importance or believe that I'm going to change anyones life by spouting off in a blog.  Plain and simple, it makes me happy.

As I have viewed others blogs and tried to gain an understanding of their content, I have discovered that people want to share what they know or what they have learned.  Women who have shed 200 pounds want to design your menu for the next 6 weeks and show off their killer abs by taking a photo of themselves in the bathroom mirror.  I mean good god girls, does NO ONE have a friend that could take a picture for you???  Sorry. It drives me nuts.  (See? Opinionated doesn't even begin to describe me).  

I fumbled through life several years ago and as I look back, I am overly aware of what a train wreck I was.  The only apologies I have made are to those whom I may have hurt in my attempt to just survive.  That being said,  my behavior was a direct result of how much I was actually dealing with and for that, I refuse to apologize for who I was.  I have learned that I was precisely who I was supposed to be at that time and had I not been that person, I would not have arrived to where I am I today.  By the way, I LOVE where I am today.   I have learned to embrace those people who knew I wasn't quite myself (but loved me anyway).  At the same time, I had an abundance of people who really didn't have anything to offer me (because they didn't know me) but had all sorts of opinions on how I should be living.   Life had thrown me some serious trials (trials that were completely out of my control) and while I endured them well while I was IN them, the garbage was piling up inside. My heart was like a bad episode of Hoarders.  I just couldn't let anything go.  

I wanted to kind of start a new blog (my clean slate complex) and so I had to lay a little foundation.  That being said, I vow to no longer speak of my parents deaths or of harder times.  These things launched me into where I am now but I'll be the first to say that they are tired topics and focusing on them does not serve me in any way.  One of my goals for this year is to always look forward and I refuse to waste another minute on what if's or if only's.

I have not lost 200 pounds and I don't really care what you are having for dinner tomorrow.  I am, however, in a really, REALLY good place.  Like exceptional.  Like my head hits the pillow every night and I have not one regret.  I not only love but adore the people in my life and give thanks for them daily.  My spouse, my children, my friends, my siblings.  My relationships are unique with all of them and they each have so much to teach me...if I am just willing to learn.  I smile a lot and laugh louder than I should.  I am deliriously happy and I want to embrace it because I know that hard times will come again.  Perhaps that is what I want to share  in this blog.  My life was hard there for awhile (as is everyone's) and I can look back now and see what I learned through the process.  Perhaps others can learn from me...if not they can laugh at me.  Either way, I'm good.

I attended a lecture many years ago where the topic of goals was being discussed.  The speaker pointed out that if we were to take only goal a year and focus on it that we would be damn near perfect at the end of our lives (provided we lived a long and healthy existence).   This really struck me as true.   As I pondered my childhood resolutions that had followed me into my adult life, I realized that my unrealistic expectations were the the reason I wasn't achieving any success.  While I am all for dreaming big...reality has to at least be invited to the dinner table or we are doomed.

This is the first time in years (and I do mean years) that I haven't felt completely defeated in my quest to be a better person.  This is the first year since I was twelve years old that I haven't sat down and scribbled a list of things I wanted to accomplish in the upcoming year, feeling like the past year had been a total waste.  This year,  I actually looked over my shoulder and thought "not bad".

I believe the ultimate goal is to be happy and in some demented way, we think our goals will bring us the happiness we so desire.  If we could just lose twenty pounds, our lives would change forever.  If we made a little more money, we could help others out and that would bring us joy.  If we had a better marriage than our children would be happier...there is always a reason why we could happier.  And as long as this is our mentality....there always will be.

You know that part in Mr. Mom where Michael Keaton is dropping the kids off at school for the first time and the snarky car rider lady is yelling "you're doing it wrong!" at him?  Well, today I am that the snarky car rider lady and I am here to to tell you that if your happiness is attached to New Years resolutions...then "you're doing it wrong"!!! 

 The key is to be happy and every other goal will fall into place.  Promise.  

It is entirely possible that I am the last one to learn this oh so valuable lesson but learning this ONE thing literally launched me into an entirely different life.  The lesson?  It is totally ok to be happy.  It is not a huge sin to take care of myself and now and again to be a little selfish.  It's ok to analyze your life every so often and take out the things that don't seem to be working.  I have spent a great deal of time reviewing my life and trying to determine why these irrational feelings drove me to do the things I did.  It may have been my up-bringing, my faith, or the fact that I'm a woman and programmed to put everyone before myself.  I don't know.  It is possible that had I not gotten as down as I was, I would have continued to go through life on auto pilot never realizing that I could do, have, or BE more.  Lying face first on the pavement literally forced me to learn this invaluable lesson.  I guess for that reason and that reason alone, I am grateful for the time I spent on the ground.

I tend to be longwinded...I am working on this but make no promises.  

-We all come here free spirits and the people in our life shape us into who we are and who we will become. Make sure you surround yourself with good people.  It makes SUCH a difference.  If people make you feel bad or if you find yourself explaining yourself over and over to them...they need to go.  My husband calls this trimming the fat and there ARE ways of doing this graciously and without being too hurtful.

-Be kind to everyone.  Assume that everyone you meet has some horrible struggle they are dealing with and don't hesitate to give love to strangers.  (Not the kind of love that could get you arrested but rather a nice word or if nothing else a smile).  It will make you feel better and hopefully your kind gesture will get passed on.

-Don't hesitate to change your thought process.  A few years back I began to ponder if I was doing things because I WANTED to or because it was what I was raised to do.  We are all shaped by those who influence us and the lines can get very blurred.  The death of my parents in some ways allowed me the freedom to pose that question.  If no one was going to be disappointed in me, would I stay on the same path?  What I learned was that I was completely comfortable with who I was but was always looking for acceptance from those who were the least likely to give it.   No one knows you better than you.  Do what makes you happy (within reason of course)...

-Try new things.  Studies have proven that the happiest of people are those who are always evolving.  Take a class.  Make new friends.  Do something completely outside of your comfort zone.  Do not coast through this year  the same person you were  last year. It's lame and practically guarantee's feelings of boredom, complacency, and defeat.  If you are afraid to step off the cliff, remind yourself that you can always come back...I'd be willing to bet that you won't want to.

-If you are being self righteous. Stop it.  If you believe that being a miserable person or in a miserable situation is some sort of sacrifice for something better...you are wrong.  Being a happy and fulfilled person allows us to do and give so much more to those around us.  Choosing to be unhappy (and yes, it's a choice) is actually an incredibly selfish thing to do.  Happy people have more to offer their friends, their family and the world in general.  Being happy is a public service really...everyone wins.

If exercise makes you happy...go for a run.

If work fulfills you...then keep your eyes open for new opportunities.

If you've always wanted to try something...try it.

If you want something that someone else has...ask how they got it and be willing to learn.

If being fat makes you depressed...then stop eating.

If you are in a bad marriage...fix it.

If you have financial issues...learn to be happy with less.

If you don't know what in the heck you want, might I suggest that you make finding out your one and only goal for the upcoming year?  This one resolution makes the others totally obtainable...