A year ago yesterday I had foot surgery. While my surgeon is impressed with the range of motion I have re-gained (more than I'd had for years prior to the surgery), I've had to accept the likelihood that the daily discomfort and intermittent pain are here to stay. It's quite likely that I'd experience far less of both were I to workout less, or not at all. That is not an option I ever plan to consider, as the main reason I opted to have the operation was to increase the flexion and mobility when lunging.
I traded heels in for flat shoes as a result of this procedure, and though I do miss wearing the bulk of shoes I can't yet bear to part with, being able to get low in a lunge and generally workout without impingement is worth sacrificing my inner fashionista. Cute shoes are great, but muscles are a far sexier thing to wear.
Sometimes I think that we forget that choices aren't always between positive and negative outcomes. I traded one issue for another with that surgery. At the end of the day, though, I will take the increased range of motion over being pain-free. I can still walk with no real issues and the discomfort is definitely related to arthritis, which I figure I better get used to. Had I not opted for surgery, my joint would have eventually fused to the bone and I would have had to deal with near total loss of mobility on top of the pain. Pretty sure I made the right choice on this one.
I still moan and groan about the discomfort, but ultimately I know it could be so much worse. This is a rationalization I need to apply to my current writing dilemma. I'm 10 posts behind and I just signed up for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month for those of you unfamiliar with the acronym), which means I'm likely to get a whole lot further behind. I hate falling short of a goal. Right now I am annoyed with myself for not being able to do it all. Heaven forbid I actually accept being human.
At the moment, I'm realizing that I've done NO planning for the 30-day writing challenge, and it begins Tuesday. As difficult as it is for me to do, I am going to have to put this blog on a sort of hiatus during November. That just means an overload of posts in December at over two a day. I'm determined to make this work and finish this round of 365 by the end of 2016. I'm also determined to write 50,000 words and finish the first draft of a book by the end of November. Carpal tunnel be damned!
I was in a funk yesterday. Despite being occupied and focused on work, life, and what-have-you, the weight of the day's significance did not escape my attention. My 18-yr old cousin, his girlfriend and two of their friends died in a horrific car accident 21 years ago. I have only heard about the accident detail over the years, I cannot imagine being the man who ran from his house and tried in vain to pull them from the wreck. If this day still has a somber feel to it year after year for me and my family, I have no idea what it is for someone who witnessed it all.
Jason was the kind of person you wanted to be around. Even as a little kid his smile would light up the room and his whole aura was happy. Sure, he had his moody moments as most teenagers do, but he had a zest for life that just emanated from him. It was natural and part of what most people loved about him.
While it was not the last time I saw him, my strongest, last memory of him was at my wedding reception just four months before the accident. He hadn't made it to the church for the ceremony and my aunt, uncle, and cousin Shonna were in Boston for Shonna's surgery. He walked into the reception and I swear the energy in that room changed. All of my other cousins, my sisters, and my step-brother seemed to instantly fall into a party kind of mode. Not that they hadn't been enjoying themselves up to that point - someone who shall remain nameless was buying them drinks, but when Jay got there so did the party vibe.
What I remember most of that night was seeing he and the rest of my family dancing up a storm. I was four months pregnant and exhausted, and I wished I could have had as much fun as he seemed to be having - and it was my wedding. The post party, from what I heard, was epic, although my mom and step-dad might say differently having to clean the mess left behind.
I gave birth to my first son, panged with guilt as it was just five weeks after my aunt and uncle lost their first born child. My bundle of joy came into the world amidst grieving and sadness, but the promise and possibility of this new life helped some of us heal. I will always know how long my cousin has been gone because it is how long I have been blessed with my oldest son. They never met in life, but maybe their energies passed during the time in between Jay's death and Brayden's birth. Of my two sons, Brayden has the same kind of smile that Jay had, and Riley, well, he's got a bit of the outgoing, party people energy my cousin possessed.
It's not reaching or kidding myself to see my cousin in my sons, as these things about them simply remind me of him in ways that instantly jog memories of him. They may not be evident to others who knew him, but they trigger thoughts of a person I loved and miss so much. As much as I wish he was still here, getting to know my kids, I will treasure every single memory I was fortunate enough to have with him. Eighteen years of fun, mischief and great times. Thank you for all of it, Jay <3
NaNoWriMo — to participate or not, that is the current topic on the brain. Given how difficult it has been to get caught up with this daily blog, I'm apprehensive about my ability to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Can I commit to this kind of challenge?
My mister brought this topic up a few weeks ago, as he is considering participating as well. I'm not much for competition unless it's by myself, but there might be something to gain in the way of accountability if we do this together. I may find it an added incentive to stick to daily writing knowing he's doing the same.
If there is one thing I don't like doing, it's failing. When I set out to do something, I take it seriously, especially if there is a time or frequency factor to meet. I have started book projects and they sit, untouched in varying states of progress. The idea of completing just one of them is tempting, but the fear of falling short of that goal is almost stronger. Maybe working at this alongside someone I love and respect will quell that irrational way of thinking.
All things being as they are right now, I can't deny that making the time to write has been more difficult than it has been in the past. When I do set aside a few minutes here and there, I barely produce 500 words. To meet 50,000 in a month, I'll need to be producing at least 1667 words a day. Knowing how I write, there will be days I hit 2500 and days I can barely come up with 1000. I might be able to settle into a routine of writing every day, but creatively speaking, that doesn't mean I will be able to focus and add worthwhile content in that specific volume.
Each and every year, since finding out about this challenge, I have wanted to participate. Each and every year I opt to wait until another year. This is incredible procrastination. I'm tired of being an example of putting things off, but I also don't like setting myself up to come up short. I'd say this man's influence in my life has, among other things, made the possibility of finally finishing a book project greater.
This internal struggle has gone on far too long, and it's beyond ridiculous now. Opportunities have sped by and I sit here actually thinking I need to contemplate the same thing again this year. It's time this cycle of putting this challenge off yet another year is broken. If I don't meet the 50,000-word count by the end of November, I will still have written more than if I pass on participating again. I can't say that it would be failing. I may not reach the finish line, but at least I'd be in the race.
I'm not sure how I will handle this blog and writing a novel in November. I suppose I'll never find out if I don't try. Here's to finally jumping into that pool and finding the motivation to keep swimming. The end product doesn't have to be great, it just has to be complete. Experiencing the feeling of finally finishing a story may just be the push I need to pick up the forgotten and neglected pieces waiting for attention and turn them into something better. I suppose I'm about to find out.
A friend shared a post that contained truths I wish all parents, married or divorced, knew and used. The detriment we cause our children by waging wars after divorce, or sadly during marriage does more than shake the foundation of their childhood. They are learning how to treat you, their siblings, their friends, and their future mates, and the examples they are deriving this behavior and information from should be free from pettiness and hatred.
Divorce sucks. Hell, an unhappy marriage sucks. That doesn't mean your children have to suffer. My ex-husband is a lot of things, but being a decent husband, ex-husband and father are sadly not any of them. I chose to get divorced because our home had become too tumultuous for our sons. In the early years of our divorce, it wasn't easy to bite my tongue about my views or feelings. I did the best I could because I knew that no matter how I felt about him, my sons should still see him as their father and respect him as such.
I became good at curbing my anger at some of the things he did and said while the children were with him. One of my go-to phrases was 'I don't agree with [insert whatever the ex said or did]' rather than call him names and attempt to demean him in front of my sons. My ex didn't make it easy - there always seems to be one in a divorce who doesn't. I lost count of how many times I wanted to shake him and scream 'what in the hell were you thinking'. Throughout my marriage and divorce, I had to run damage control. I would either hear him tell the boys something completely off-the-wall wrong or they'd come home telling me things he'd said. As frustrating as it was, it was a good practice in choosing my words carefully.
Despite the difficulties their father created for me, every birthday, Father's Day and Christmas I brought the boys shopping for him. It didn't matter that he rarely did the same, what was important was that their relationship with him wasn't tainted by my issues with him. I wanted their connections with their father to be about them and not about how I felt about him. This also affected how they viewed me. By putting my issues aside and making it possible for them to feel free to celebrate their father, I earned their respect and trust. They weren't unaware that I was at odds with their dad, but they knew it wasn't part of how they should feel about him and it didn't get in the way of their relationship with him.
Eventually, his own issues and antics caught up with him and his sons chose to stop seeing him. While I find this sad, I know that I did everything I could to provide them with an untainted view of their father. His irresponsibility, unreliability, and disrespect of me became apparent to his sons without any added outside interference. Since that time the three of us have had numerous discussions about him. Honest, frank discussions. They ask; I answer - without censoring myself. Here's the thing, though, I still choose to avoid name-calling and demeaning.
During our marriage, my ex was diagnosed/labeled by a therapist as a narcissist. While my sons knew something wasn't right and their own frustrations and emotional turmoil led to their decision to walk away from having a relationship with him, they didn't understand him. Even until recent years, when we finally had the discussion surrounding narcissism, they would have intermittent contact with him, get their hopes up that he was finally getting his life together and then be left disappointed. They will never have the kind of father-son relationship that they deserve and that saddens me greatly. My hope is that they have a better understanding of what their father is and isn't capable of as a result of his narcissism and avoid further disappointment. I think they have both come to the realization that any connection with their father will always be limited by his personality disorder and not because they aren't good enough.
My sons have the benefit of many lessons in how to and how not to treat others. They have enough information and experience to recognize unhealthy relationships, people, and situations. If that is the good that comes from not having the traditional loving father influence, so be it. I made mistakes in the early years of divorce, but I am grateful to have corrected them quickly and within full view of my sons. I never played the victim or pitted them against their father, but I didn't allow the negative things he exposed my children to or said to them go unaddressed either. Regardless of how things were or weren't reciprocated, the example I provided will hopefully continue to influence how they treat others and equally important, how they allow others to treat them. In the end, it's all about the two of them and their well-being. I'm grateful I wasn't blinded by hate. I wish more people could say the same.
As a hair stylist with two decades of experience, I've been in my fair share of photographs. First haircuts, hair donation cuts and wedding updos all come with the expectation that there will be a camera lens present that will snap some serious unflattering photos. Honestly, this never bothered me as the main focus for the photos were my clients. It goes with the territory.
I do not, however, expect nor appreciate having a client SnapChat their way through the entire hair service, capturing me alongside their duckface pouty lip poses. I get that sometimes it's necessary for the person in my chair to be on their phone, texting or showing me a photo of what they want their cut to look like. That is completely different than sitting in the chair bobbing your head around while some attempts to provide a service you are paying for. I don't want my reputation adversely affected by a shitty haircut I had no control over because your ass wouldn't sit still and you insisted on continuing to look down at your phone and pose for photos with zero regard for my time.
There is an irritating side to doing hair that I will not miss once I have finally cut the cord on my fucking clippers. Don't get me wrong, my friends and family are great and I have no issues continuing to cut, color and style their hair - as a matter of fact, I'd have a tough time adjusting to someone else being their stylist. The clientele that comes with working in a salon or barbershop, while most often enjoyable, tend to expose people in this line of work to irritable behavior.
You do not have my permission to film, snap or Instagram my face, arm, body or what-have-you while I am trying to do my job. Unless there is a reason for photographs to be taken while you are in my chair, sit down and be still. I am not a backdrop or prop for your impromptu and inappropriate self-absorbed, selfie photo shoot. If you cannot be without your phone long enough to pay attention to the cut I am giving you, no, I will not go shorter and endure another 20 minutes of constant moving and posing into your phone.
This kind of rudeness is most often an issue with millennials...and in my experience equal among gender. Teenagers that are allowed by their parents to indulge themselves antisocial and narcissistic behaviors without redirecting them are the bane of this world. What is wrong with people? Teach your children to be respectful of the people around them and exist without having to document every single breath and action for social media to see. It's a fucking haircut. Unless it's your first or you're doing something incredibly drastic, put the fucking phone away and let me do my job without having to slouch and contort myself to reach and cut at the right angle.
Parents, do your kid's stylist a favor and take their damn phone away for 20 goddamn minutes. Teach them that sitting still is necessary, as is learning to interact with people in all professions and walks of life. Respect, consideration and being present are valuable and sorely lacking attributes in the world today. Can we please bring them back?
I am forever grateful my sons are aware of the world around them and how to appropriately interact with those in it. I hope that there will be more like them out there when they venture out to start their lives. If not, may the lessons and values they learned at home keep them from becoming part of the problem and instead willingly be part of the solution. Rant over.
I have always loved Halloween. Admittedly, in the past few years, I haven't done a whole lot of participating in festivities. I'm not certain I will this year either, but it isn't for lack of enjoying this holiday. Life gets busy and I don't take the time to adequately plan for the fun stuff like I used to.
When the boys were younger, I decorated the house, planned out their costumes months in advance and carved pumpkins. Ok, so my youngest son will never let me forget that I never let them carve their own. I never said I was the perfect parent. At least my kids had some amazing costumes.
This year might just be the time to get back into the Halloween spirit by actually participating in something other than handing out candy. Which, if I'm going to be honest, I haven't done much of either. I mean, last year I was in a lot of pain post-foot surgery, so the candy doling duties fell to the teen. This year, eh, he's got plans, so I'm sure I will be attempting to watch television and getting up every few minutes to oh and ah over trick-or-treaters. Oh wait, I'll be working :)
Prior to the actual day, I will be making the most of this festive time of the year. Despite my lack of belief in ghosts and hauntings, I will be taking a 'haunted' walk around town with my mister and friends. It might not be the parties of the past, but I think it has the potential to be even more fun.
For now, I will just sit back, wait and enjoy the return of the Walking Dead.
Lately, Sirus XM has been playing a lot of Metallica. Thanks to them putting out yet another collection of suck, I find I spend a fair amount of time channel surfing. Honestly, I don't really care for much of their music post-And Justice for All. I'm definitely an early years fan before they got all studio-fied.
Anyway, a couple of songs I hadn't heard in years have played over the past couple of days and I didn't change them. I think even if I had wanted to I wouldn't have been able to do it. And Justice for All reminds me of riding to school most mornings my junior year of high school with my friend Sam. We would crank it so loud the speakers in her little Ford Escort were blown, not that they were fantastic sounding anyway, but I think it's part of the reason I'm partial to old Metallica.
The Frayed Ends of Sanity and And Justice for All were two of the songs we played on repeat. Of course, in those days that meant you had to rewind the cassette and risk the car's tape deck 'eating' the tape. We often took the longest possible route from my house to school (a whole 1.75 miles) just to hear more than a couple of songs.
Sam was tiny but fierce. You didn't mess with her. She was all attitude up front, but she could back it up - she was a scrapper and I was happy to have been on her good side in those days. She died at 19, St. Patrick's Day 1991; just ten months after we graduated high school. While there are many mixed opinions surrounding the days before her death, the official cause was a massive brain aneurysm. She'd had it her whole life and one day it just burst. It is my feeling there were extenuating circumstances that led to that end - circumstances that were brought about by an abusive partner.
When she died, we were not on speaking terms. That is something that will weigh on me the rest of my life. Prior to my leaving for school in Pittsburgh, she had reached out to mend the fence. The falling out we had had was due to me speaking my mind about the guy she was seeing. I didn't like how he treated her; I knew he was abusive, both verbally and physically. I saw her as strong and I couldn't understand why in the world she would stay with someone who consistently gave her bruises and fucked with her head. I was so rigid in my perception of the world around me that I rebuked her attempts to smooth things over. She was still with that asshole, after all, and that I just couldn't watch him continue to hurt her and chip away at the friend I loved.
Seven months after her death, I moved to Virginia. The night I was raped - nearly 3 weeks after I arrived, the one person who stayed in my mind the entire ordeal was Sam. In my mind I was sort of praying to her, apologizing for not being a better friend. Wishing I had been more understanding and willing her to give me strength to make it through a nightmare I knew she had lived through once. Even after she had left this world, she didn't let me down.
Along with my innocence and sense of self, my wallet had also been stolen that night. The only thing I had of Sam, her senior photo and a heartfelt, handwritten note on the back was lost. Of everything that wallet, the only thing I gave a shit about was that photo. All of the photos I had, actually, but that one in particular. It was the last thing I had of her, proof that we had had one hell of a friendship, and I'd never be able to pull it out of the plastic holder and read her words again.
When I say that I have been blessed with amazing friends, it is for reasons like what happened when I came home for Thanksgiving, weeks after the rape. Knowing how upset I was over Sam's photo, my friends Chris and Kim had a copy made and gave it to me. I burst into tears. I'll never forget what Kim said when she presented me with it - she said she knew it wasn't the same because it didn't have what Sam had written on it, but she wanted to at least replace the picture. I still get overwhelmed with emotion when I think about it. At a time when I was vulnerable and couldn't keep anything in my head straight, this act of kindness reminded me that the people who were in my life hadn't changed and would always be there with whatever I needed.
Between hearing the songs that take me back to my time with her and the upcoming anniversary of the worst nightmare of my life and knowing her birthday follows just a couple of weeks later, well, she's been on my mind a lot. I think, were she still here, she'd likely think Metallica is just as lame as I do these days. It kind of makes me laugh, imagining what she'd say because her presence, sense of humor and loud personality are things that have never faded from memory. I miss the fuck out of her, but I am grateful I learned to appreciate and treasure the people I call friends regardless of the ways we might disagree. They mean more to me than being right and sometimes standing strong next to someone you love is the absolute best thing you can do.
This rainy weather makes me want to curl up on the couch and binge watch Netflix all day. Sadly, I have to go out in it at some point, and as much as the weekend promises a bit of relaxing, I'll be cramming in all the little things I didn't get to during the week. Today is already feeling like some serious coffee-fueling is mandatory.
My intent is to put a dent in the backlog of posts I have for this blog. I'd like to get caught up at some point. What would be even better would be having a bit of a jump by having a few posts set aside, but there's no point in kidding myself there. Just getting caught up will be an accomplishment.
Aside from the writing, there's baking to do. Fall is the best time to try out new recipes, at least in my opinion, and I've got a few that I'm anxious to tackle. Here's the thing; when you eat gluten-free and low-carb, baking is tricky. I've had a number of kitchen fails in this department, but when things come out good, well I add that shit to my collection of must make recipes.
I've also been considering what my holiday baking is going to entail. I thoroughly enjoy making up gift baskets of homemade treats every year, but the limited window of time in which I need to make it all would stress me out without a plan. I used to make a variety of cookies and candied items, though in recent years the lack of workable kitchen space has definitely caused me to choose what I make more carefully. Sadly, this year won't be much different. I have found a big downside to renting is that the kitchens are always lacking in space and functionality. Oh, and the oven in this house sucks major ass! Grrr!
The mister has graciously offered use of his oven, though I suspect this might be somewhat self-serving. No matter, it is highly likely I'd spoil him with baked goods and candies anyway, so it's a win-win as far as I'm concerned. The most challenging aspect of this holiday goodie operation will be making certain the package I send to my sister and family in Florida withstands the US Postal service.
Time for breakfast and then it's shopping for cold weather foods. I suppose it's a good thing I enjoy cooking, because I see a lot of it in the near future. Well fed, healthy and happy - what more is there in life?
There is a fine line between having fun and being mean. I find that it is often difficult to keep from appearing mean to those who might not understand my humor. It's true what they say, you can't please everyone.
I may have stepped over the line during a Live video last night on Facebook. Filming people without their knowledge or consent isn't something I do usually, so while I did do that a bit while in my hometown, I managed to preserve these people's anonymity. At least I tried to.
Yes, I intentionally act like a bit of a snooty princess and no, I don't actually mean half of what I say. When it comes to my hometown, it's a bit like having siblings - you can make fun of them, but anyone else risks getting their ass kicked. I'm exercising my 'birthright' and poking fun at the places and faces I grew up with.
For the record, as much of the things that have been said about my hometown that are true, there are an equal number of things that are not. I reserve the right to make fun of all of it, though I mean no detriment to anyone as a result. Maybe it's wrong, but exploiting it all in the name of entertainment is the way I choose to go.
Maybe it's because I have no reservations about laughing at my own shortcomings and faux pas, that I can put on my princess tiara and assume the role of judging tourist. There are a number of good qualities about Lewiston and the people who still call it home. A fair number of my family members still live and work there, and they know I mean no harm when I poke fun at the stereotypical traits long associated with the town. I'm certain that those who find my musing the most entertaining are those who call L-town home.
I enjoy exploring the humorous side of life and sometimes that can be walking a line between benign and harmful. I doubt I will stop taking advantage of the obvious material when I'm 'documenting' my lame excursions and outings, be entertained or move along on your way. A joke is supposed to make light of things, and while it can be taken too far, most of the time it is all in good fun.
I had not, until last night, watched any of the presidential debates. I loathe politics — more specifically, I loathe the state of politics today. I am not a fan of either party's offering, and while I freely admit that he is far worse than she, I cannot simply vote the lesser of the evils. In my opinion, the only way this rotten cycle of bad and even worse is going to end is if those of us who feel bullied into choosing between the two front runners refuse to play along with those rules any longer.
Overall, I'd consider my interests to be compiled of human rights and equality. It matters little to me where you are from or whether you were born here. If you are a caring, relatively positive soul, I want the best for you. I want the best for everyone, though there are some people out there who make it difficult to maintain an unencumbered impression. Life would be far easier to navigate if everyone understood that doing for themselves helped them enjoy life on a far deeper level than expecting others to do for them. Granted, there are situations where doing for oneself requires the assistance of someone else, but that is entirely different than expecting a handout.
Whether it is learned behavior or laziness, not being a contributing part of society is paramount to the decline of human kindness and decency. People with giving natures can only pay it forward so much before the cynicism and monotony creep in. I have an equally difficult time supporting a candidate that spouts hate and seeks to undermine peace as I do one that makes promises that fall flat because of years of flip-flopping on key issues. There will likely never be a perfect option for president, but out of all the people in this country, there have got to be far better people to choose from then who the Elephants and Donkeys have given us this go-round.
Voting aside, I happen to be in a relationship with a history lover who has watched all three episodes of the circus of the lame. I think I may have stomped my feet at the mere mention of the debates in the past, but he is generally interested and given he has no other irritable qualities thus far, I watched the first 10 minutes with him. Thankfully, my son was finishing his work shift and I had to go pick him up. I won't even comment on those ten minutes except to say I'm glad that is all I was subjected to.
It is absolutely wonderful to agree to disagree with someone and not have any lingering resentment or ill feelings toward each other. Being able to remain an individual while being part of a couple is how it should be. Amazing what the Universe serves up when you're finally ready to recognize it.
When my sons were younger, I was far more strict than I am today. They needed more guidance and discipline. It's a somewhat freeing experience to be able to put that part of parenting aside and focus on helping them mature and prepare for life beyond home. Once in a great while, however, I have to put my stern mom hat and reaffirm expectations and boundaries.
My youngest son has had far freer teenage years than his older brother. Due in part to where we now live, his interests and opportunities for socialization and fun are far greater than his brother's were at this age. I've always tried to treat my children as individuals with a modicum of equality. My oldest would sass back or step out of line, I'd spiral into a lecture and ground him and he'd behave. My youngest, however, this one has proved to be more of a challenge.
It isn't as though either of them has been a handful; they are actually better teenagers than I could have hoped for. That said when something does happen that warrants a discussion and possible consequences, I take my role as a parent seriously. It's been awhile since I've had to be the heavy and I can't say I enjoy it.
While my oldest son would do things full-on, my youngest is a bit less obvious. He will give me part of the details for plans, he chooses his words carefully being vague enough that he's created a loophole — in other words, he's sneaky. I had a sister who was like this growing up, so I've been prepared. When he gets called on something he typically smiles as though he's charming enough to make me forget that he was actually attempting to undermine my role. He may not have been able to carry out whatever prohibited deed he was intending, so I can't dole out the kind of punishment I might have if he had been successful, but I can take steps to prevent that kind of behavior down the road.
Something else this kid does that his brother didn't is harp on something I've already nixed. He's done this since he could talk. At no point have I ever caved and changed my mind as a result of his incessant "but mom" and "please" and he usually ends up with more of a consequence the longer he insists on badgering me about whatever he wanted to do. Still, even after a lifetime of this tactic not working he employs it whenever he isn't getting his way.
Last night, I said 'no' to a mid-week sleepover. Seniors do not have school today due to underclassman testing. It wouldn't have been an issue had his friend lived five minutes away, but the reality of attending a charter school is that your kid's friends are scattered in towns up to an hour away. Given my current workload, the prospect of carting him to and fro was one I wasn't in the mood to entertain, nor did I want to be without a vehicle. So, I laid out the disappointment in no uncertain terms and the bargaining and attempt to change my mind began.
I'm not an unreasonable person and I've allowed my sons a relatively relaxed parent-child relationship that doesn't negate the fact that as chill as I might be about swearing and pot, I will not be disrespected. Repeated attempts to wear me down once I've made a decision is a form of disrespect that I won't tolerate. After a solid fifteen minutes of back and forth about the issue, I turned to him and told him he was spoiled as all hell and the fact that I rarely say no should be something he takes into consideration. In no uncertain terms, despite his brother offering to bring him to his friend's house, I let him know that had he approached things differently - say by arranging his own transportation from the get-go, I might have said yes. The fact that he chose to be a spoiled brat and badger me like a five-year-old, he now was not only home for the night, but he wasn't going to have use of the car today either.
I have never believed that a rigid upbringing was the way to go. I set expectations early on and, for the most part, I've maintained them. While I am fully aware that the issues I've faced raising my sons, particularly as a single parent, have been mild compared to some, that doesn't mean that I let things like disrespect and spoiled behavior go unaddressed. Have I intentionally spoiled this child? No, but in allowing him to do nearly everything he wants because he's a good kid, I've helped create a sense of entitlement that makes him dig his heels in the sand. When the moments to correct this present themselves, I don't hesitate. Someone somewhere will be grateful this kid had a decent upbringing one day, and I will have to make one less apology for the adult I helped him emerge as.
I love that my sons have followed suit and work out somewhat regularly. Being a Beachbody coach, I have access to a wide-array of workouts, but these two seem to gravitate toward my favorites. It always makes me smile. Particularly because I no longer have to bribe or twist their arms to own their health and fitness.
If there was one thing I would change, it would be their choice in timing. I love my early morning schedule, but lately, it appears the boys do, too. For a moment, I feel a little irritable when one of them beats me downstairs, but that quickly dissipates because seeing them taking care of themselves is worth having to wait my turn. In an ideal world, we'd have a basement spacious enough for all of us to be down there at once. I'll take a healthy family over getting the first workout of the day in our tiny home gym.
Sometimes I wonder if either of them will maintain their routine when they are not living at home anymore. Getting your sweat on at home, by yourself is far different from going to a gym. I've done both and my preference is home. Much like work, I have a specific mindset that I don't like interrupted with socializing. Get in, do what I need to do and get out. Chatting me up just throws off my pace and frankly, wastes my time. I know people who love going to a gym, especially because of the social aspect. Whatever works for you, do it. I'll be over here by myself, happy I don't have to get in a cold car and drive anywhere.
Maybe part of my reluctance to socialize when I'm focused on training is due to that tiny part of me that grumbles and groans whenever I roll out of bed and change into yoga pants and a sports bra. It's rare that I am 100% charged for pushing myself six days a week, but I'm thankful that resistant part of me gets out voted every time. There have been days when I hem and haw and I get down there later than I want, but it's rare that I give in. Having my sons making the choice to start their day this way, despite the fact that they don't do it every day, is usually the kick in the pants I need on the days when that part of me is throwing a tantrum.
Three years ago, I ordered my first Beachbody program and convinced my sons to do it with me. I had no real equipment and didn't have much extra cash to invest in it. A couple of dumbbells, a yoga mat and ball, and a couple of resistance bands rounded out the tools we started with. After that first 90 days, I knew my back was strong enough for more, and I was hooked on how I felt just doing Tony Horton's P90. From there, a friend introduced me to Body Beast with Sagi Kalev and I knew I'd found the program for me. It took a year and a half after starting Body Beast to decide to become a coach. In truth, I signed up for the discounts, but have come to fully believe in the company and what they offer.
I've just hit my year mark of coach status and I want to do more than just save on products and programs. Watching my sons benefit from healthy choices, it's difficult to not want to share that with others. I just have a few hurdles to get over with what that kind of role means and what I need to do to make that switch. Good thing I'm already used to pushing myself to get things done.
Ever have those days when you wake up feeling hurried, rushed...already so far behind? This is usually prior to a trip or some event that has been approaching. Understandably, it's just the excitement causing the feeling that I'm running out of time to either prepare or just get all the necessary stuff done before the clock runs out. And then there are those times when I'm legitimately running ragged from the moment my feet hit the floor in the morning.
Far from complaining, I have learned to breathe in between the moments I feel the most taxed and appreciate that I have a full enough life to occasionally make it a blur. I'm gainfully employed, well-fed and my sons have all they need and more. We have a good life, one that I worked hard to provide. It took hard work to get here and it goes without saying that it will take hard work to maintain it all.
There was a time when I grumbled about long hours and being tired at the end of the week. I can't say that I'd love working crazy hours constantly, but I'm not afraid of busting my ass whenever I need to. I am happiest when I feel accomplished and working diligently on multiple things usually provides that feeling that I've been productive enough to meet goals or deadlines. That goes a long way toward the next round of jam-packed work hours.
I can't imagine what life would be like if I didn't understand and embrace applying myself to the job at hand. Not taking the initiative to get things done seems like a waste of time and intelligence. There are so many character-building moments that can happen when you rise above the negative thoughts of being stuck doing one thing when you'd rather be doing another. The way of life is to work for those few moments of play. Unless you're independently wealthy or have no qualms living the life of a nomad, it takes a fair amount of money to balance out your days with the freedom to do things you choose to do.
Maybe I'm foolish to have so much of my self-worth and identity tied up in what I do for a vocation, or how well I do it, but it has only helped my sense of well-being and self-assuredness and that can't be a bad thing. I may miss out on things I would enjoy here and there, but when I am able to kick back and experience life beyond my home office it's pretty damned amazing. I'm fully present and aware of what it means to be fortunate, alive and free. That's about all I truly need to be happy.
Diner breakfast, coffee, shopping, and football. Ok, I could have done without the shopping, but the day was pretty much the best end to a weekend in quite some time. That might have been different if the Patriots hadn't added another win to their season, but thankfully all is right in New England tonight.
Life doesn't have to be full of epic weekend plans to fill a person up. Some of the most memorable times for me are the moments when nothing was planned and it all just happened organically. I think that is what I find so gratifying about the relationship I am in. Whether we have something specific to do or we are just winging it, it's always a good time. Being in the company of someone who is secure in themselves, easy going, honest and encourages you to be all of who you are instead of being picky about what you do, wear or say has made it possible for me to really appreciate all the things I couldn't see before.
Maybe it was the Kentucky Mules I had, maybe it's the high of another regular season win and having Brady back at the helm. It could be the dopamine surge from a rambunctious, purring kitten that likes to curl up and cuddle. Regardless of why I'm in a completely contented mood, the fact remains that I'm dating a man that is everything I hadn't realized I wanted in a boyfriend and it's about fucking time. Ol' Monday just doesn't pack the gut punch it used to after weekends like this.
I've had my nose to the grind for some time now. The hard work paid off in the form of securing work for the next year. When you're a writer that works on contract, there is no greater feeling than the consistency of a long-term gig.
There are some pretty great things about being a contract worker and there are some not-so-great things. The lack of security and steady flow of work can be worrisome. There are essentially no benefits like vacation or sick time, and often no health insurance. Thankfully, I have two decades of experience with no benefits as a hair stylist. Still, it's nice having health insurance, so I won't complain about the lack of vacation pay or sick time. I rarely use those things anyway.
Honestly, aside from those things, there isn't much I would change. The freedom to work from home and have a flexible schedule is nearly priceless for me these days. Sure I have deadlines that dictate my weeks, but ultimately I have more freedom than I would if I had to schlep to an office every day.
Knowing I don't have to worry about where I will find work for a good while I can concentrate on maximizing this freedom. I have managed to get a whole lot accomplished while working from home, but my own personal writing has suffered. I'm hoping that being able to just focus on work instead of also job hunting I will be able to establish a writing routine again. Honestly, the hardest part is just committing to it.
No matter what I end up doing, making the most of this next year is absolutely essential. My total well-being depends on it. At least that's how I'm choosing to look at it in the hopes it might just be the motivation I need to get back on the writing wagon. Here goes nothing.
When I have difficulties concentrating on writing, my first thought is often that I'm hitting a wall for topic ideas. More often than not I realize that I have too much going on in my head and narrowing my thoughts down enough to hone in on one thing just isn't going to happen. The thing about writing is if you sit still long enough, something eventually comes to you and you're off and running with it.
I wouldn't say that what I produce during those times that it's nearly impossible to fully focus is my best writing. I don't know that I would say it's my worst either. I'd love to be proud of everything I post, but the truth is that I occasionally hit 'Publish' and immediately have the urge to take it back. Like it or not, life isn't always the way we may have wanted and that includes the way we make use of the skills or talents we have.
In a perfect world, we would have all the necessary things that enable us to create whatever we create exceptionally well all the time. Of course, we aren't in a perfect world so much of what we do is flawed. Most of us are our own worst critics, but I freely own that some of my writing lacks oomph. Maybe it's the best way to feel great about my efforts when what fills the screen is rather good. Maybe it's just part of the process, I don't know. One thing I do know, however, is that those less than stellar days when I'm not in the right space to draft my typical prose I'm at least writing. Sometimes writing shit is the best way to flush out better ideas.
Most of what I share here are simply my thoughts, though I do it less like the diary-like entry I'm spilling here now. I am opinionated for sure, but much of what I write has some kind of experience behind it. No one knows the amazing whirlwind of parenting like a parent. I write what I know and what I'm curious about. The one thing I simultaneously know the most and least about is being a mother. The thing I wish I didn't know much about at times is surviving rape. Between these two topics, it's not surprising that these topics compose a fair amount of what I write. When you know something because you have first-hand experience, being passionate about it isn't hard.
Short of writing about these two topics endlessly, there are going to be days I just can't settle on any subject enough to write the way I want. I suppose it's good to find a way to be okay with that. At the very least, I've given myself a few points from which to aim higher the next time.
Angry doesn't even begin to describe the way I feel since hearing the Big Orange Buffoon's latest vile word vomit. How anyone can stand behind him and excuse these most recent demeaning and predatory remarks is beyond me. He has the same utter lack of integrity and character as most criminals, all with the attitude and mentality of a narcissistic, spoiled rotten brat.
To say that I loathe everything this jackwagon stands for would be the understatement of a lifetime. Every ounce of who I am prickles at the mere mention of him, as though the cells in my body can sense the complete evilness that emanates from him. I'd never find myself anywhere in the vicinity of where he is, I have zero desire to, and I feel absolute sorrow for anyone, male or female who has had their balance disrupted by such a blackened soul. Never mind those who have had the grave misfortune of coming into physical contact with him.
Only a wretched excuse for a person could say the abominable things this tantrum throwing ingrate has said. I cannot comprehend how in the hell there are enough ignorant and callous Americans to have landed us with such a hate-based, greed-filled Republican candidate. Much as I hate to quote Bill Engvall "Here's your sign" applies to these unfortunate, can't-possibly-be-right-in-the-head people. I mean, how many abhorrent things does this jackass have to spew before the misled see him for the waste of space that he is?
I loathe politics. Each and every election the corruption becomes more and more apparent, yet we continue to nominate increasingly sinister and self-serving candidates to represent our nation. Maybe it's fitting. We have never been a 'Great Nation' and until we stand up against the dark, cruel past and fight against those who precipitate the fucked up agendas our government has held for far too long, nothing is going to change. It will only continue to get worse.
It is 'We the People' who have the ability to make a difference. 'We the People' decide who is deserving to lead us, who has earned the right to represent us, and who is capable of helping us forge that kind of change. If the two front runners are any indication of what we think of ourselves and our country, no god can help us out of this mess.
That all aside, remarks toward women, such as the Orange Buffoon's are a plague on society. This kind of entitlement has commonalities with terrorism. To believe that you can just take simply because you want or are somehow deserving of it is wrong. To incite allegiance by using fear is tyrannical. It is not at all surprising to me that this vile excuse for a human being has said such abusively toned things and tried to dismiss it as 'locker room talk', as though that somehow makes it less egregious. He is an opportunistic virus that spreads germs of hate, disproportionate expectations and lies. He is a misogynistic, racist, elitist idiot who does not represent anything that is American if we are to believe this country could ever be better than it is.
When is it finally too much? Wake the fuck up America!! Remember what morals, values, and human kindness are worth and let's start demanding our politicians exemplify all three.
I maintain that I belong in Ireland. If not year-round, then at least part of the year. Until I get back there, I'll be pining away for it every time I see a photograph or catch a whiff of peat moss.
I'd say I've made this a well-known fact because I am often tagged in photo posts of the Emerald Isle, and friends send me travel deals via email on the regular. Having been to that incredible little country only increased that feeling of longing I've had for most of my life. Now that I know how much like home being there is, my impatience has grown. I can barely stand the wait to finally find myself standing on Irish earth again.
This morning my youngest son received a phone call that was ultimately a wrong number. What I found fitting is that it was a call from somewhere in Ireland. The Universe is prodding me, don't you see? All these little reminders of that island that captured my heart are just its way of telling me I'm overdue to return.
I think comfort often gets overlooked by many of us along the road of life. We all experience it, but freely admitting we enjoy it isn't always easy. Who wants to be seen as unadventurous or boring? For years, comfort or being comfortable was synonymous with being afraid of change in my eyes. Without question, this had much to do with my own experiences of upheaval anytime I started to settle into a comfort zone.
Until the past couple of years, I would get antsy when an area of my life would fall into a steady, reliable kind of rhythm. I'd gotten used to shitstorms rolling in from every direction, so being comfortable meant being unprepared. The first thoughts were always negative, fueling the belief that being comfortable was for people who couldn't keep up with the rest of us. I shake my head just typing that out. Thankfully, embracing the calm periods between storms has brought contentedness I would never have known if I continued to err on the side of pessimism. Quiet times shouldn't be wished away; there are benefits in being able to slow down and revel in peace regardless of the potential for upheaval at any moment.
While there are likely more people out there who find it hard to leave their comfort zone than those who cannot fathom ever sitting with it for more than a moment, I'm not one of those people. Sure, I like having a routine for most days, but I haven't been big on really being present and laid back enough to fully enjoy as much in life as I ought to have by now. I'm far better off than I was a few years ago, but allowing myself to settle in and become comfortable has just started to happen more often.
It's likely this has more to do with my age and how I choose to perceive things than anything else. Striking balance and finding peace have a way of creating possibility. Without either of those things, I might never have reached the point in my life when I would make the kinds of choices that allow for the space to be comfortable. I might not have realized that the only real way of experiencing the best things in life to the fullest is to allow yourself to risk losing it all in the next breath without becoming defensive.
When you aren't focused on what you might lose or what could go wrong, you have more time to appreciate how life can be, more focus to recognize that something you might have overlooked before is really far more beneficial than you could have imagined. We spend so much time planning for all the things that can and often do turn out different than we expect or want, that we miss out on just enjoying the moment we are in while we are in it. Sometimes it makes the most sense to just let yourself relax and find comfortable in whatever situation we happen to be in. If things change and we have to adjust, fine, we can deal with it when that happens. Until then, it might be better to allow ourselves to take a break from the constant future thinking and embrace the present.
My youngest son has a serious problem. Binge watching shows on Netflix. Oh, I know, many of us binge watch shows these days. But most of us don't repeatedly binge watch the same three shows over and over again. I believe I have seen some episodes of The Office, How I Met Your Mother and Parks and Rec at least five times. It's out of hand.
It might not be a huge issue if these shows didn't have a ridiculous amount of seasons. The theme songs haunt me in my sleep, I hear them so often. I essentially plead with him some days to watch anything but those three shows. Once in a blue moon, he listens.
This kind of distraction is almost as bad for my writing concentration as having to endure the YouTubers he follows. I get that they were great shows, but how many times can a person watch them? It's like it's 1980-something and I'm back at home where my younger sisters are watching Dirty Dancing on repeat, reciting the lines with the characters.
I had thought, at one point, that I'd like to watch The Office from the beginning one day, but now I have absolutely no desire to do so...ever. The funny has worn itself thin and I loathe Michael Scott more and more with every episode he streams. And the worst part is, he's doing the same thing with American Horror Story, too!
Yes, the horror of my days is truly tragic. Bahahaha, I'm so fortunate to have these kinds of problems. Despite the minor irritations of seeing/hearing the same episodes of shows over and again, I'll take it all to enjoy the presence of my son and all his adorable quirks.
Where in the hell did the week go? I'm not wishing the weekend away, but damn, feels like it was just Monday. I don't think I will ever get used to time passing so slow some days and faster than I can process on others. And never when I want it to happen that way.
If I'm on vacation, spending time with people I love, or simply enjoying life it always seems to rush by. Waiting for something, having nothing in particular to do, or enduring a painful life lesson all drag on incredibly long. Maddening at best, as I would love for that feeling of time standing still to have taken over for a while during some of the best moments in my life.
Of course, this isn't the way time works. The unpleasant or less than enjoyable moments in life seem to last forever because in the midst of them we often focus on how much we'd rather be doing something else, essentially brooding about it. Negative thoughts, no matter how small they may seem, often perpetuate the opposite of what we want.
Arduous tasks and mind-numbing meetings don't have to drone on for what seems like ages. We might not be able to do much in the way of slowing down our perception of time when we are having fun. Positive thoughts and energy get us moving and thinking, lightening our whole life experience when we are in that incredible space, so apart from stepping back to appreciate a moment, it's likely always going to feel as though it went by too fast. Those moments we'd rather pass on then endure, however, we just have to learn to get creative about how we perceive them.
It's all too tempting to think about all the things we'd rather be doing or even where we will be at the end of the day/moment. More than half of the time we don't even realize we are the ones responsible for how painfully slow the minutes seem to be passing. We aren't focused on the here and now, so what's to come seems as though it may never arrive. I'd love to spend my days doing only the things that I enjoy, but then life would be over before I know. I can choose to focus on some aspect of whatever less than thrilling task I'm in the middle of that isn't altogether awful. It may not bring about the end of the day at the speed with which those fun days pass, but it certainly takes some of the drag out of it.
Whenever I find myself wishing time would speed up enough to get me to the next enjoyable experience, I take a step back and appreciate the opportunity to grow and see things with a less critical mind. My mindset has the most to do with how I experience everything. I can't reserve the open, positive energy just for those moments that are easy to enjoy, I have to draw it into the ones that require more effort. All the minutes and hours between those that we look forward to shouldn't be wished away. Finding a way to value all of it is the best way to truly live and enjoy this existence to the fullest.
Ah, the awkward struggle of youth. Nothing ever goes right and everything seems hellbent on pushing against you. Crazy how much negative energy is generated by the cycle of disappointment when you haven't quite figured out how to stop it in its tracks.
I remember all too well how frustrating disappointment was, and how I seemed to be in a cyclone of shit all the time. I was bitter, jaded and had an enormous chip on my shoulder. That lasted into my mid-30s. Can't help but shake my head a little at that.
My oldest son is going through his own version of that cycle at the moment. While I try to be empathetic and understanding, I'm not altogether sure he's hearing any of the advice I'm is giving. Maybe we all have to go through it for ourselves, figure out what works and what doesn't before we can practice being more positive and less easily consumed by hardships.
There is little point in getting frustrated with either of my sons because they tend to overlook my mom advice. I wasn't exactly willing to follow my own mother's words of experience back in the day. She did say something that stuck with me, however. One day, it will all make sense and you'll remember what I told you over and over again. I may not have wanted to hear her at the time she was imparting her wisdom, but the words did stay with me until I was ready to really hear them.
This is the best I can hope for with my own two children. They will go through hard times that seem like the end of the world, and to them it will likely feel like it. I have to remind myself often that their emotional range is subject to what they have for life experience. They won't learn how to cope, deal, process and move on if they don't first have to find their way out of a tough situation.
I've watched them grow over the past two decades and I have no doubt they are going to grasp the concept of being more positive far sooner than I did. This gives me hope in those moments I'm trying to be a voice of reason and they just aren't in the right space to hear me. No matter what they may do or not do with my words at that moment, everything I've taught them is churning around in their head and they are making choices and changes based on all of it. I may not be able to change their circumstances when I'd most like to spare them from the struggle, but as long as they reach out to me for advice they won't immediately put into use, I know they'll be all right.
I'm sure there would be a number of people who would judge my parenting methods harshly. Honestly, I'm good with that. I understand having an opinion about how someone else's chooses to do things. While I understand, I don't have to let it alter the way I raise my sons. If people don't like it, fuck 'em.
I know that everything in that none existent yet still hovering just out of reach enough to mess with you parenting handbook would say not to encourage foul mouthed or off-color humor in your children. You know, the same book that just the thought of its very existence somehow made you feel horrible the first few times you let your child cry or eat that slimy ass cookie they'd been gnawing on but dropped on the carpet because you weren't fast enough to grab it out of their hands and frankly, you just didn't want to deal with the screaming and crying that would undoubtedly ensue if you had. The handbook that we all wish we had access to and despite not, still seem to find a way to recite dos and don'ts out of it about how other people do things all fucking day long. Yeah, that handbook.
Thankfully, I lost the desire to follow any such guide through parenthood, as I have never been one to walk a straight line or listen to direction well. I wouldn't say my sons have been my experiments, but they have certainly provided a lesson or two along the way. I can't imagine how they might have turned out if I had such a book because I'm pretty sure they are about all the goddamned awesome I could ever handle in my life.
Because I didn't have access to the rules of parenting and missed out on Parenthood 101, I had to wing a lot. Granted, much of what I have used over the years is either a direct plagiarism from my own parents or some bastardized version of what I remember as a child. Still, these two gems are freaking shiny as hell and the value they possess is damn near immeasurable.
My kids regale me with stories about their day often. I'd likely nod off if their delivery of these happenings was free of any color. The fact that they can use some of the most incredible variety of cuss words to convey the mood of whatever they are attempting to get across is proof positive that I didn't fuck up completely. They know how to employ the proper use of profanity, can keep their audience (whoever they may be) engaged and haven't made me want to drink myself into a coma yet is a pretty good indication that rule books are for sissies. Parenting off the cuff? Yeah, I'm pretty sure I've got that covered. Anyone who thinks I've done it wrong can keep their nose in their supposed copy of the parent's bible and out of my real-life experience. I'll take the inappropriateness, cursing and political incorrectness from my sons any day of the week and call it a job well done - I mean, if some fucking misogynistic, bad-hair wearing, out-of-touch, womanizing egomaniac suffering from delusions of grandeur can be a presidential candidate, then my fucking kids can fucking swear and share tasteless jokes all day, every day. I'm pretty sure nothing they do or nothing I've neglected to do as a parent could ever come close to being as appallingly awful as that asshat is.
Saying goodbye to people we care about is rarely easy. When they are leaving, say moving, it is tough to avoid nursing our own sadness over the loss of their regular presence in our life. Even if your interactions with a friend have been intermittent at best, their importance in your life doesn't typically wane. So when they relocate thousands of miles away, well, it takes a bit of adjusting, to say the least.
Someone I consider a good friend is moving west with her husband, a former co-worker of mine. Actually, it is because he and I worked together, side-by-side for three years that I became friends with his wife. In the interest of keeping work life separate from social life, she and I did not become friends until after I had left that job. Of course, there was an instantaneous connection. I adore her — I can't imagine who wouldn't.
Over the years, we haven't seen one another often, but when we do have the time to connect, I'm always left more buoyantly happy for the encounter. This woman is passionate about motherhood and I love that she manages to still fall in love with her husband over and over again. So few people know how to navigate a successful marriage, but these two have done it well. Hardships and difficult times have only strengthened their bond and this is something I cannot help but admire.
I don't often miss the job I left all those years ago, but I do miss the fun, off-the-wall conversations I had with my co-worker. There was rarely a dull moment in that newsroom and it was because of the never-ending cache of obscure, geeky, scifi, and satirical topics this man shared on a regular basis. Not to mention his love of football — though our choice in teams certainly clashed. A Broncos-Patriots matchup will always make me think of him. We are both naturally 'loud' people and I like to think that all the shushing that was directed at our corner of the room was more about jealousy that we knew how to make deadlines while still having fun. I mean, does anyone envision a newsroom as being quiet?
In a few short weeks, they will be gone. This amazingly fun couple, who I wish I had spent more time with, particularly since I moved almost an hour away three years ago. While I cannot change this, I am forever grateful that I was able to create the memories I do have. At the very least, staying in touch will be possible, thanks to social media. I will be following these two with special interest for years to come.
In life, when it comes to the people I have met and befriended, I almost always strike gold. No matter how long someone is part of my life, there is almost always a lesson or benefit derived from the relationship. I've come to realize that whatever the depth or involvement of a particular bond, every person deserves their worth to be appreciated, as well as recognized. Scott and Hadley, life has been that much fuller because you've been a part of it. Thank you for your friendship and may your new adventure in the Rockies bestow the kind of blessings you so richly deserve.
Stardate 94360.1: I love Star Trek. Particularly, the Next Generation. Patrick Stewart is by far my favorite, though I must admit that I am watching the series from the beginning, once again, to see how many times I can see the weird leg-lift-swing sitting thing Johnathan Frakes does as Commander Will Riker. Episode three and I have yet to see this much talked about action that has filled compilation videos on social media.
The one thing I have noticed is that the theatrics and cinematography certainly evolved over the seven-year run of this series. Myself, I am a fan of the first season for the unapologetic nod to the original series via over-dramatization of some situational encounters. Even with the sometimes over the top seriousness, these actors are some of my all-time favorites and I cannot imagine this series being anything other than the amazing awesomeness that it was, is and always will be.
The reality that Gene Roddenberry created with both the original and Next Generation series wasn't one of perfection, it was one of hope and a better world. At least that is the way I have always seen it. Without a doubt, the world this incredible, talented soul wrote into existence presented concepts and possibilities that are well within our ability to bring about in our own reality. The stories and situations are akin to a detailed roadmap that anyone can follow.
So much of what takes place on the pages (or screen, depending on how you choose to get your Trek fix) resonates with anyone who has been entertained by the stories. Beyond the hokey characters, the somewhat dated perspectives (male-female interactions) the message of acceptance, positive change, and betterment comes through with little effort to see it all. To be better than we were yesterday, be more open and to sow more seeds of good than bad.
As a child, I wanted to live on the Enterprise and grow up in the world than captivated my attention every time an episode graced my television screen. Not much has changed since those days stretching out on the floor in front of the boob-tube, chin propped on upturned hands. I may be long grown up, but if given the chance, I'd most definitely choose to board an Enterprise class starship if it meant immersing myself in Roddenberry's world.
I finished the weekend ahead of this cold, which means I didn't let it win. It doesn't always work out this way, so I will enjoy it. There was a whole lot of indulging in foods I shouldn't eat and while it was fun, I am not tempting fate by inviting any lingering germs to seize an opportunity to knock me on my ass. It's back to my typical routine — as difficult as that may be.
Over the past month, I have felt completely out of sync with my days. The normal day-to-day structure has all but disappeared, leaving me with the feeling that I am playing catch up. Whether it is house cleaning, errands or this blog, my ability to streamline activity alongside work has been lacking. Of course, this is a result of my own over-committing tendencies, so I can't really complain much.
At some point, I really should adopt a more doable attitude rather than trying to fit everything in at once. It seems that no matter how often I arrive at that same conclusion, I never seem to put it into practice. I'm not sure if I'm a glutton for the punishment of stress or I just simply function better in high gear. Whatever the case, I'm happy that at least I manage to keep moving and nothing overly crucial is left undone or forgotten.
I think that the remainder of this year will be spent assessing my time and how I allocate it. Fulfilling all that I have obligating myself and my time to is first on the list, making certain I don't continue the cycle of taking on more than I should in the future. If I manage to succeed in that, it'll be the sign of great change coming. A near miracle, as well. Until then, I suppose kicking colds before they set in too comfortably will have to be enough to keep me going. If I'm going to run myself ragged, I can at least be healthy doing it.
I am not unique in my lack of enthusiasm over getting sick. Unless there are some fairly serious mental and emotional issues going on, no one likes being under the weather. There is far too much precious life to live to be sidelined with a cold or some other nasty virus. Personally, I'm a little annoyed with my body for not keeping up the fight a bit longer.
Both of my sons and my boyfriend had nasty colds, which I was grateful to avoid. This was over the course of the past month. My youngest just finally shook the last of his cold a few days ago. I though I was in the clear. I was wrong.
I felt great after my morning workout yesterday. Energy galore and I was getting shit done! Somewhere around mid-afternoon I got the chills and a headache from hell. Sinus pressure and a cough — I don't have time for this. Even after chilling at home for the night watching a movie and Luke Cage with my Mister, I'm not back to myself.
Why can't my body conquer this stupid virus while I sleep? I mean, what is with this whole 'running its course' thing? I don't care how old I am or how many times I've had to deal with a cold or being sick, I will never find the patience to sit back and let whatever ails me take over my health. It may not be the best approach, but fighting it until the end (even if it's just mentally and all attitude) makes me feel less gross somehow.
Currently, I'm just dealing with the onset, but I refuse to take it lying down. Operation Make This Cold Your Bitch protocol is in effect. Fluids, rest, vitamins and a relatively normal routine — just keep swimming. I could stay home, but frankly, every other person out and about is sick with something. I'll stay away from people with weak or compromised immune systems, but the rest of y'all...sharing is caring.
After years of saying the same thing every morning, you'd think my son would get it by now. I know, he's a teenager. He apparently is more typical than I realized as he has no common sense early in the day.
His morning routine consists of chomping on his breakfast while watching his favorite YouTubers on his laptop. Honestly, I don't understand the appeal of watching videos of people either playing video games or ranting on about who knows what. Maybe it's just me, but these professional vloggers have the most annoying voices on the planet. Again, the appeal is lost on me.
My consistent plea is for him to simply use his headphones. That's it. The easiest solution to an enjoyable morning for both of us. Despite this being what I see as a no-brainer, my child insists on letting the nerve-grating commentary filter through the house at far too loud a volume. Earbuds or headset — it matters little to me, just plug the damn things in and continue to be entertained by things I will never appreciate, so I can have my coffee in peace.
We all have our way of welcoming the new day and it's best if we carry it out without dominating someone else's space. For me, I like a quiet start. I have a routine that works for me and doesn't impede anyone else in my home. Every morning I make the bed, change into whatever I'm going to workout in, then head downstairs. I wash my face, put my eyes (contacts) in, brush my teeth, and yes, pee. Then it's off to the kitchen to fill my water bottle and get the coffee going. I sit with my laptop and peruse the web, often at least starting a blog post. All of this is done making virtually no noise.
I have never been a bubbly morning person. The older I get the easier it is to drag myself from the comfort and warmth of my bed, but I still need a quiet introduction to the day. Right now, my son is sitting beside me with his laptop on his lap, empty cereal bowl to his right and both thumbs tapping away on his phone. I don't particularly like that he is so technologically dependent, but am I not doing the same? Neither one of us is up for riveting conversation when we first awake, and routine (providing it isn't adversely affecting those around us) is a good thing.
When I skip any of the things that comprise my early hours, it will occasionally throw the rest of my day off a bit. Were either of us, no, both of us capable of carrying on engaging dialogue first thing in the morning, my preference would be to set aside distractions and talk. Since we all need ample time to rouse ourselves into a space that is adequate for socializing and interacting with other humans, I'll settle for the kid just using his damned earbuds without me nagging him to do so.
I have an aversion to politics. This includes debates. I don't see the relevance of staged discussions that are more often than not mired in lies.
The argument that we must vote for the lesser of the evils will never sit well with me. When I vote, I want to vote my conscience, not for the boob who's less offensive. I do research my options, though not as much as I probably ought to. The thing is, in order to do our due diligence when it comes to getting to know more about our candidates, their track records, and their agendas, it would be a full-time job with mandatory overtime. This is the reason stumping and debates exist.
My problem with this is that someone else (many different someones) are pre-packaging what they want us to know. Granted, this is essentially what it takes to even run for public office — but how are the pictures that are carefully crafted the same as being truly informed? I just don't think the current state of politics is based on anything besides corruption and greed, so trusting all the so-called examples of a front runner's experience and likelihood to be the best for a particular office isn't something I'm willing to do.
Ok, I get it. Things don't get better and they don't change if everyone buries their heads in the sand. That isn't what I'm suggesting. For me, watching debates is like a kid being forced to eat the vegetable they hate the most. It might have some benefits for his health, but the stress his body goes through attempting to resist at first, and then eventually succumbing to the pressure and choking down each and every bite until his plate is clear just isn't worth it in the end. Forcing myself to sit and watch two proven liars supply answers to questions that are supposed to gain the voting public's trust, and more importantly, their votes, isn't worth the irritation and anger that will rise up inside me and black out precious positive energy.
I don't expect any candidate — for president or any other public office, to be perfect. There are always things we as voters will have to weigh and decide if we can live with or without. The thing is, the two most likely options don't possess enough in the way of redeeming or admirable qualities for me to cast my vote in their favor. It's far too much of a compromise with either of them then I'm comfortable sitting with. My conscience would take too long to recover were I to adopt the 'lesser of the evils' approach when I close the curtain behind me in November.
There is absolutely nothing good about Trump. Everything about him is slimy, twisted, arrogant and just downright evil. He is toxic in the most obvious ways, yet the amount of people who are choosing to believe in him is jaw dropping. Clinton, well she may have a decent quality or two, but it isn't enough to sway me in her direction. I don't trust her. Despite having the common ground of being American, white, female and mother, she does not, nor has she ever exemplified strength, femininity, or trustworthiness. When it comes to these candidates, there is not a better choice. There's only marginally less awful in my opinion, and that, at least for me isn't remotely good enough.
Somehow, I will continue to go about my life resisting the insistence that I consume that hated vegetable. I am certain I can continue to thrive by getting better nutrients elsewhere, and it won't compromise who I am in the process. There are many other options out there, and I'm certain I will like some of them quite a lot.
Apple picking is one fall activity I have never tired of. My sons no longer want to accompany me, but thankfully I have other people in my life who also enjoy it. This past weekend was the first time I'd ventured to an orchard I'd never been to before. While the familiarity of my usual choice was missing, the experience of walking through rows of apple trees was much the same.
I grew up running around an apple orchard. My mother worked in one before I was born, packing apples. Her first husband worked there, as did his father. I remember my then-grandfather giving me rides on the forklift, touring the cider press room (that smell is something I won't ever forget), and seeing the large crates of apples stacked high all around. There is no other smell quite as intense for me, bringing me back to my childhood, as the smell of apples in an orchard storehouse.
I have little doubt that my love for baking with apples is because the house fills with memories of growing up. Of course, as much as I love inhaling the heavenly aroma of baking apples, eating them raw is my favorite. Right off the apple tree.
There's an unwritten, widely accepted, and frequently utilized practice of testing the apples while picking them. Each and every time I find myself in an orchard, I make certain to try one or two of the season's offerings. Fresh apples are always the best, and you can't get much fresher than right off the branch. I rarely eat apples any other time of the year, simply because they just don't taste as good. Low-carb diet or not, during apple picking season, I will get my fill of this near perfect fruit.
Years ago, I pulled myself away from all the 'news' channels, stopped reading article after article about whatever tragedy or big news was the media's focus, and was able to concentrate on living a more positive, proactive life.
By no means am I an activist or even a good example of being the change I want to see in the world. I just know that weighing my mind and soul down with half-truths and sensationalized events is no way to contribute anything positive to the world around me. Instead of letting myself be barraged by all the negativity and slanted views, I'm putting my energy into being a better version of me than I was the day before. This includes being more than tolerant of others; I can't allow the urge to judge people to take over and add to the already tenuous climate we live in.
I grew up during a time when equal rights only seemed to apply to select groups. Women were still expected to be somewhat subservient, and like now, were not compensated at the same rate of pay for the same effort as their male counterparts. There was no equality among races, homosexuality was still viewed as unnatural and wrong, and transgender was barely talked about. Despite how it may have looked, we were undergoing some incredible changes as a society, paving the way for some of the breakthroughs we've experienced recently. Marriage equality, the beginning of transgender acknowledgment, and women, well, I suppose we've made a few gains here and there. We are still receiving less pay for the same job as a male is paid. While we have made forward progress within the military, the average working wife/mother is still pulling double duty as homemaker — after putting in a full day's work. That isn't to say that this is as prevalent as it was 20 years ago, but household duties like cleaning, cooking, and family caregiving are still largely seen as a woman's 'job'.
I can't say as I have seen much in the way of notable change when it comes to race relations. I know there have been positive changes in some parts of the country, but other areas are still mired in the 'us against them' mentality. I want to see a day when the color of someone's skin, their gender, their sexual preference and their cultural heritage aren't seen as wrong. We can't base our opinion of others on these factors, it makes absolutely no sense and just fuels the fires of hate and aggression. Far too many people have died in the name of fear, hate, and intolerance. How am I any more acceptable to the world around me than someone who's skin is darker or someone who follows a different religion? How does my gender still limit my professional progression in life, or dictate how I am treated? Why does the color of someone skin still determine worth, innocence/guilt, or trust?
The practice of discrimination has got to end. When crimes are committed, they are carried out by people who lack integrity, a moral compass, and the will to live an honest live, not because of the color of their skin. We tell our children to be wary of strangers because you cannot tell who is 'good' and who is 'bad' simply by looking at them. How is it as adults we've forgotten this? I cannot base my knowledge, fear or apprehension on the appearance of a person — and that includes the color of their skin. We need to start seeing the world in a better light. There will be times when we look past some outward aspect of a person and they wrong us anyway. That does not mean we jump to the conclusion that all people with this or a similar aspect, trait, defining characteristic are the same as that one person. Let's start shedding old fears and outdated thoughts about one another. There is no hope for a better world if we cling to hate and negative energy.
My child brought home a bag of candy corn today. I love candy corn. All I have to do is smell them and I'm doomed. This time of year makes it tough to avoid sugar overload.
Aside from the intense chill in the air, I rather enjoy most things about fall. Candy corn is just one of the many things I look forward to and luckily it's the only one that isn't good for me. I do wish I had a bit more self-control when it came to that orange and white confection.
Flannel. This might just be my favorite fall attire. Since I loathe being cold, flannel is almost priceless. And flannel won't throw my carb count out the window. I might miss my flip flops, but my many cozy pairs of slippers are great at consoling my feet until warm weather welcomes them again.
Fall is the perfect time to heat up the oven and bake. The only problem is that I have to resist the urge to eat everything I make. Thankfully, there are get-togethers and holiday parties for me to bring most of cookies and breads I bake to. Comfort foods in general, are something I enjoy making. Stews, roasts, and casseroles are among my top choices. Warmth, from the inside out.
None of these enjoyable things makes me hate the colder weather any less, but they do make it easier to tolerate. I get through the fall and winter because of the feel good energy they all bring with them. If I have to endure the falling leaves, dropping temperatures and shorter days, then it's better to have some coping tools to get through. I don't hate fall, after all, it prepares me for the frigid and white, drab months that follow.
I'll admit, I wasn't on board at first. I couldn't see the point and questioned the comfortability — right up until I spent a half hour throwing caution to the wind. After months of seeing advertisements and consistently avoiding displays while shopping, I finally caved and bought a bralette. I'm hooked ;)
Bras are, in my opinion, torture devices created for maximum irritation and discomfort. Sure, they serve the purpose of preserving the uptight, female body-shaming societal norms we've grown accustomed to living with. They reduce the amount of jiggle produced when women walk, laugh and most definitely when they run. The claim of support has long been proven false, yet we cannot break with decorum for comfort sake. That would just be silly. Why on earth should women be comfortable?
The bralette — at least the one I am currently wearing, it a far less confining version of the contraption we know as the bra. I didn't think these were meant for women with any measurable amount of breasts and to be fair, their capacity to cover parts effectively does have limits. While I know this is hardly a solution to the woes of underwires, pinching fabric and straps that refuse to stay put for all women, the bralette has given me a reprieve from constantly adjusting uncooperative bands and hooks. Yes, I've found my new favorite article of clothing, and I couldn't be happier.
Sometimes it occurs to me that I can be a little too hard on other people. I'm a no-nonsense kind of person, for the most part, so in the thick of just-get-it-done and buck-up-honey, I often forget that my life has given me tools that others haven't ever used. This is not to say that I feel superior; more that every so often I am faced with the reality that I am not like a lot of people.
It is knee-jerk for me to saddle-up and ride, no matter how much life might kick, buck and try to throw me to the ground. Dealing with others, this is sometimes interpreted as harsh and uncaring, which couldn't be further from the truth. The delivery might not be appreciated or understood by some, but the emotions and thoughts behind my words are rooted in wanting the best for whomever I'm interacting with at that moment.
I was born with a bit of a stubborn streak. That tenacity mixed with some rough times has a way of changing a person. I got knocked down a lot from an early age. I could have let it all wear me down, but it only made me more determined to get back up and keep going. Maybe it isn't always the best approach, but I have no doubts that I can overcome anything because of it. That doesn't mean clearing the hurdles I face and will continue to face is any easier. It just means that I spend less time worrying about tripping and falling flat on my face than someone else might.
Failure and falling down aren't things I'm afraid of anymore, at least not often. I can't see the value in wasting my energy being embarrassed or feeling like I'm not qualified or good enough. If I put my all into something and it doesn't work out, or I fall flat on my face, I can always try again. Not to mention there is usually something of a lesson to be learned, all I have to do is focus on the experience and not the disappointment. By the same token, if I didn't put forth my best, I've gotten a great reminder of what you put in directly affects what you get in return.
This near black and white view works well for me, and for some of the people in my life. I just find that sometimes I need to remember that not everyone is able to process the information produced by experiences as quickly or in quite the same manner as I do. From my point of view, I see it as being easier to leave the non-essential distractions of inadequate feelings and the fear of making another mistake behind, but some people need to feel their way around their life. Sometimes that means surrounding themselves with the not-so-great feelings and aspects of an event gone awry until they've learned that those aren't the things that were important in the whole experience.
I don't know that I could slow my own approach to life and failure down, but I am aware that I can't expect everyone to operate at the same pace. There is something to be learned from engaging with all types of people, and with this I believe I will learn to be more empathetic and less matter-of-fact. The benefits of being able to continue pushing forward while finding the best way to support those who prefer to consider the entire emotional package of days gone wrong in the way they need - yeah, I think there's immense value in that.
Nothing irks me more than a person who doesn't do their job. Particularly when it impacts me being able to do mine well. We all have off days and make mistakes, but when the well-practiced do-nothing-while-looking-busy people of the world start trying to throw someone else under the bus to deflect their own shortcomings, I have a supremely difficult time shrugging it off.
I know that there is nothing I can do about someone else's actions and I can't let their choices get the better of me. It's just not easy to embrace that practice when a whole afternoon is turned inside out and my productivity tanks because someone failed to do their job. The extra energy my irritation creates doesn't have to be all for naught. With a little of the right music and the will to focus, I can usually dive in and start digging my way back out.
While I don't like being set back, I also don't like appearing unprofessional. Patriots' football is a totally different story, I mean I don't want my ability to remain collected and focused at work to be thwarted by some jackwagon dumping their half-assed efforts on my plate fucking up my flow. Sure, inside I'm seething for a few minutes, but the rest of the world doesn't have to witness it. That is reserved for the lucky few who are closest to me. Poor, unfortunate souls.
Today didn't end the way I had anticipated, but few things in life play out according to plan. During the few final hours, I realized I'm a whole lot better at what I do than I originally thought myself to be. I was able to turn the shit show I was handed into something useful, and I know that when I hand my work off to the next person who needs it to do their job, they won't be tossing back a Jameson like it's the elixir of life because I fucked up. They'll be drinking it because it's whiskey and whiskey is good.
Call me selfish, but I'm oh-so-happy my youngest son is eating meat again. For two years he was a pescatarian, which made my job cooking meals far more difficult. It was hard enough working around my own dietary restrictions and not forcing he and his brother to always eat like me. Add someone else's choice to eat selectively into the mix and it was like a damn restaurant in my kitchen.
His reasoning for the resistance to eating meat was moral, which I respect. His choice to let go of some of his hard lines on that morality came from a mix of not achieving his physical goals and finding he was getting sick more often. As a child who was raised a meat-eater, I don't believe he was diligent enough or prepared enough to succeed long-term with this lifestyle choice. And yes, selfishly I am relieved.
My household has one person who can eat damn near everything, one who is allergic to and intolerant of several foods, and one who wrestles with the ugliness of how we get beef, pork, and poultry. I get where he was coming from, but from a busy, working mother's perspective, I just didn't have the time to consistently shop, prep and cook three different meals all the time. Even with his help, it never got easier. When you don't abstain from meat in your diet, it is quite difficult to make certain you're incorporating enough alternative sources of protein and nutrients in your child's diet.
I realize that people manage to do this all the time. They have members of their families with allergies and have to follow strict protocol when preparing everyone's food in order to avoid cross-contamination. For me it was just too much. My own ridiculous food issues keep me on my toes, so having to be even more focused on someone else's — yes, even my child's just became too challenging. I imagine if his health was dependent on it, I'd have figured out some way to make it work, but when a pescatarian gets most of their nutrients from foods a gluten intolerant/onion allergic person can't eat - there aren't many options for single entree meals.
We are now suspecting that this same child may have developed an onion allergy like me. He has yet to be tested for it, but all the symptoms are nearly identical to my own. This, in effect, rules out nearly all vegetarian pre-made foods (be they frozen or at a restaurant) if they contain vegetable broth, stock or are braised. Part of me suspects that he understands the difficulties he faced if he continued with his dietary choices if all his food had to be made at home.
I love to cook, but the past two years have taken the enjoyment out of it. Even eating has had little appeal far more often than I could have imagined. Being able to maintain the energy and time allotment needed to cook and prepare everything from scratch and having to get creative with substitutions and alternative ingredients requires more patience, hours in the day and assitance than I have. It isn't as though I'm taking shortcuts, our food is still prepared at home, from scratch more often than not. The ordeal is just less overwhelming when there aren't so many variables to consider.
For over a decade, I have been reading labels, asking what is in a dish, informing waitstaff of my onion allergy, and more recently avoiding gluten. As tough as it has been, I realize there are others who have far more restrictions and the demands of providing sustenance to themselves and their families are constant. I admire and at the same time feel for these people. When your whole enjoyment of life, health and well-being hinges on the food you consume, it is impossible not to obsess over everything you and your loved ones eat. Life shouldn't revolve around the fear that the wrong foods might accidentally be ingested, but sadly in a GMO world, allergies (and serious ones) continue to rise. It's become a more common place thing to understand and be aware of cross-contamination and that, people with restrictive diets aren't just being picky eaters, and as great as that is, the fact that it's necessary is just downright sad. When it comes down to thriving and minimizing physical pain and adverse reactions, I suppose the morality of eating meat is something many of us can't afford to consider.
Waking up is less easy when sunrise happens after 6 a.m. At least for me, it's difficult to rouse myself when it is still so dark out. What is odd to me, is that I get up at essentially the same time every day, the fact that there is now a lack of light welcoming the day doesn't seem like it should make that much of a difference. It's the only factor in my sleep-to-awake routine that has been altered, so clearly it is the likely culprit in the slow start my days have been experiencing the past couple of weeks.
Once I'm up, it's business as usual, but setting both feet on the floor and hoisting myself out of a warm, comfortable bed is now a full-on process. This is one of the many reasons I resent the colder months. I enjoy daylight immensely, it is something of an energy reserve for me. I typically don't need a clock when the mornings greet me bright and sunny.
I don't feel as though I require more sleep these days, but despite getting the typical 6-7 hours, I could sneak in another 1-2 without trying. This might not be an issue were it not for me trying to get my workout in before I taxi the teen to school. Coming back home to get ready for work and then being able to dive in makes for a far smoother day. If I don't workout early, it is hard to fit it in during the day. Despite working from home, my schedule isn't as flexible for that kind of thing as you might think.
As we get farther into the fall season, my hope is that mornings will resume the ease I have grown used to. I will embrace sweaters, socks, and shoes again, though the cooler temperatures won't likely be appreciated no matter how long I'm allotted to adjust. Adapting to change, no matter how subtle, sometimes takes more concerted effort — even then, there are times when the challenge just becomes part of the routine.
