I have a couple writing pieces featured on Mamapedia today!
Monthly Archive for January, 2010
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It’s often our first word. We learn how to use it often and with abandon.
Then, we forget how to use it.
We think saying it makes us weak.
We somehow correlate it with disappointment.
We don’t want to be impolite.
We think not saying it will make everyone happy.
Deep down, we all know it’s impossible to make everyone happy, but we’re capable of anything.
And everything.
So, we don’t care.
And we don’t say it.
We think if we don’t say it, we’ll have more power.
We group it together with other things we don’t want to leave on the table.
And leaving things on the table is unacceptable when success is at stake.
We say yes to the possibilities.
We say yes to power.
We say yes to too much.
And, by doing that we silently say no to ourselves.
What we really need to do is travel back in time to when we weren’t afraid to say it.
We were expected to say it.
We need to summon our inner toddler and shout it out loud.
Don’t take no as an answer, yet don’t be afraid to give it as one.
That’s the key.
Happy what? Happy Delurking Day! January 14th is known the world around (or at least on the Internet) to be Delurking Day!
Today is the day we coax all of you who read our blogs to actually comment on our blogs. I have a little secret to tell you: I can see you. Yes, I know you’re there. Through the magic of technology, I can see you sitting there reading, but I’d love to hear from you, too.
My friend Aimee has created a neat little icon that she’s sharing with the world:
So, please keep your clothes on, but go ahead and delurk!
It’s easy! All you have to do is comment!
I have another confession. I, too, am a lurker at times. Things get so crazy sometimes, that I zip through blogs, laugh out loud, wipe away a tear, and don’t have time to comment. So, in honor of Delurking Day, I’ll be popping in to say, “Hey!” too.
Do you have a blog that I’m not reading? Leave a link in the comments, and I’ll check it out and share the delurking love.
(If you include your blog link with your name, it should show up right away. If you put your blog link inside the actual comment field, the comment may take longer to appear on the website, so just be patient.)
So, in honor of Delurking Day show us what ya got.
So to speak.
I was picking Claire up from an impromptu playdate when her tears started. I’d needed an extra set of child-watching hands, and my friend had provided them. I’d done the same for her little boy on occasion, so it all worked out.
“I don’t want to leave!” Claire cried. “I want to stay forEVER.”
The tears were enough to break your heart, but I’d learned a long time ago not to take these things personally. I am so fortunate to be surrounded by people she enjoys.
“Oh, sweetie. If we don’t leave, we can’t come back!” I resorted to my old stand-by. It won’t be long before this doesn’t work anymore.
But, it seemed to do the trick. The tears were stopping.
“I know!” she said, wiping her face with her hand. “I can live HERE! Then, I won’t HAVE to go home, because I’ll already be here!”
“Oh, sweetie. We would miss you so much, and the kitties would be so sad. Poor Merlin and Jasper,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Plus, what would Grandma and Papa say if they came to visit, and you weren’t there?”
“Duh, Momma,” she said matter-of-factly. “We can make them a map!”
In fact, every time I ski, things go downhill, and I’m writing about it at Mile High Mamas, the Denver Post’s parenting blog today!
Go check it out!
Every time I ski, things go downhill.
The comments are closed here, but I’d love to hear from you over there!
“Do you think I need to double-bag this,” I said, holding one of the black garbage bags, one of its pointy ends swinging like a pendulum over my kitchen floor. “Or do you think the garbage truck will take it like this?”
“You probably should,” he said. My husband was always the voice of reason. “You don’t want the toxic stuff to leak.”
“I hope I don’t need a HAZMAT suit,” I muttered under my breath, not wanting this toxic mess to ruin my clothes.
“It’s a little late for that, but at least you’re wearing those,” he chuckled, pointing to the mess on my gloves and apron. “Be sure to check your shoes before you walk across the carpet.”
“Do you think they’ll even notice this is a body?” I asked. I’d seen too many of those television shows, the ones with the Q-tips and solutions that turn red or purple. “Or do you think the toxins will make this unrecognizable?”
These were rhetorical questions. Eventually, the poison, venom and acid would turn inward and destroy its host. I knew that by the time the garbage truck arrived, all that would be left of this toxic person was a few bags of goo and a load of laundry.
I’d been struggling with my decision to dispose of this body for years now. My brain knew that keeping this toxic person in my life would have ill effects on me and every member of my family. I knew that this poison would seep into all facets of my life. But, my heart wasn’t ready. The history I had with this person was powerful, but it was just that: history. Any chance for good times in the present tense had been completely destroyed by the poison. All that was worth saving were the happy memories of the past, and those were on the brink of destruction as well, if I stayed this close for much longer.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Was it? Or did that even matter? The more I shared my story with others, the more of the same stories I heard in return. I wasn’t alone. I knew I had to make a life-changing decision.
It was possible to dispose of a body. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be worth it.
My brain had been tugging me down this path for a long time. My heart had been tugging back. What I’d forgotten to figure into the equation was how much my heart needed this to be done, too. The thought of my daughter thinking it was okay to live like this scared me to death. Allowing someone to treat me this way is never acceptable. Allowing someone to treat my family this way is never acceptable. Getting rid of this toxic person was the right decision, and as soon as my head and heart were on the same page, I started the process.
I’d done it. I’d taken matters into my own hands. I fought the battle and won, and what I was left with was a toxic body on the floor of my kitchen.
I’d done most of the work already. I’d chopped it into more manageable pieces. It had take a lot of energy, but I’d put it all in garbage bags. All that was left was to haul it to the curb.
As I stood looking at the mess, I realized that I was just a few garbage bags away from having this toxicity out of my life. My family wouldn’t be exposed to it anymore. We could get on with our lives, breathing easier…literally, without the toxic fumes.
“Can you help me with this?” I yelled over my shoulder to my husband, as I started dragging one of the bags toward the door.
“I can get the door for you,” he said. “But you have to do all the lifting yourself. I wish I could do it, but you know you have to do this part yourself.”
He was right. He’d always been supportive of me, but the disposal was most effective if I hauled the bags to the curb myself.
So, I did.
As I struggled to get the last garbage bag to the curb, I realized this was the moment I needed. This was the moment my brain had been seeking for years, and this was the moment my heart was too afraid to feel but needed so desperately.
As I stood looking at all the garbage bags slumped on the curb, it felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Who knew that a toxic person could weigh so much?
I practically floated back to the house. I checked my shoes again. I mopped the kitchen floor. I wiped down the sink. I threw a load of clothes in the washer.
I have my memories of a happier time, and they are safe from the acid. I have a future free from poison. For once, my current state is not clouded by a toxic mess. My husband, my daughter, and I can live in the toxin-free environment we deserve.
As it turns out, disposing of a body is not as hard as I thought it would be.
Just don’t send the Crime Scene Unit to my house with their little Q-tips and magical fluid, or I’ll have some major explaining to do.
Well, it’s been 4-months since I hurt my knee. The doctor said it could take 6-months for it to heal. It’s not back to 100% yet, but I decided to try The Shred again.
You see, I could tell I needed to do something. My hips have started hurting again. I threw my back all out of whack doing strenuous work…you know, like rolling over to smack the snooze button. Really. That’s crazy!
It’s time to get back into The Shred. It was the only thing that worked for my hip and back pain. I’d stopped doing it when I hurt my knee, and I was fine for a while. Well, knee pain or not, let’s just see what I can do. No more excuses!
Is it just me, or are excuses like an unopened bag of Doritos? I can avoid an unopened bag of Doritos. It takes a lot of concentration to avoid an opened bag of Doritos. When I’m focused, I can do it, or have just one chip. Really, I can. One chip is fine, when it’s really just one chip.
But, when I’m weakened already (by physical pain, like by a knee injury), I cant ignore an unopened bag. I open it, and then an opened bag of excuses are just too hard to resist. I shove one after one into my mouth, and I get orange excuse dust all over my fingers.
And I love it.
I crave them.
Give me more!
…and a napkin!
It usually takes something else to snap me back to reality. Tweaking my back this week is what did it for me. Fine. I’ll start The Shred again. I’ve done it numerous times in the past, and it was awesome for me. I saw results! I think I saw too many results, so I felt I could slack off.
Shred? Schmed! Who needs the Shred!? Look at me flex!
After being successful in The Shred, you can slack off. But not for very long.
So, what was in my delicious bag of excuses? First off was the knee injury. Truth be told, I could have tried to modify The Shred to get something out of it. But, I didn’t. That proved to be too hard for me to do. Some can. I couldn’t.
Another tasty goodness in the bag? My husband talked me into getting a new television system in our bedroom. This would be perfect for me to do The Shred in there! That seems like a non-excuse, right?! The high ceilings and plenty of space would make it perfect! The problem? I don’t have an advanced degree in whatever it takes to figure out his remote system. I consider myself to be a relatively intelligent person, and I can show you how to run the system downstairs, which, technically qualifies me to launch the Space Shuttle. I’m not kidding.
But this one? This “easier” system? No clue. I learned my lesson long ago, that if you don’t know how to use a system, poking random buttons is rarely a good idea. So, I just let it go.
Of course, now that my knee is feeling somewhat better, I could go all the way downstairs and use the system that I used when I did the Shred all those times before. That, I’m afraid, would be too easy. Plus, these excuses make such a delicious crunch when you bite into them; don’t you think?
Well, today, I ran out of excuses. The bag is empty. There was just some orange dust in the bottom of the silver bag, taunting me.
I summoned the energy I had when I started this journey last year, and I did Day 1 of the Shred. After taking notes (what? don’t laugh), I remembered how to play a DVD upstairs. Claire helped me get out my mat and my weights. I gave 20-minutes of my life over to Jillian, and it was awesome.
Of course, just as I put the DVD into the machine, I found an unopened bag of excuses. I ignored it, pushed “play,” and pushed through the cravings.
Getting back into this routine really does feel great. My knee is a little tender, but my hips and my back will thank me for this. All of the other benefits of a daily exercise routine will help me ignore the unopened bag of Dorito-like excuses.
And, I won’t get orange dust on my fingers anymore.
Last night on Facebook, one of my old college friends mentioned he was moving to a new place. Among the comments of congratulations and comments about not being able to help him move, someone mentioned Beave’s Pizza (in the form of payment for said move, along with a six-pack).
Oh, and it’s the college that’s old. Not us. Just for the record.
Anyway, Beave’s Pizza was a local pizza place that delivered to our college campus. They’d bring around these coupons for awesome deals on pretty good pizza.
All the memories started flooding in: The late nights, the crazy antics, the touching moments, the bonds that were created and have lasted all these years. I did what anyone would do. I, too, posted something about Beave’s Pizza on my Facebook wall, and the memories were left to burn a little brighter for just a little bit longer.
So, whattya say? Wanna go in on a large with me? I have a coupon:
Read the journal entry! It's the day before my 19th Birthday!
I wonder if they’ll check the expiration date?
Did you notice the new blog header? Here’s the full version:
Three Shadows on the Beach
If you’re in a FeedReader, click on over and check it out.
This is a photo from The Great Road Trip of May 2009. I love the expression on Claire’s face. You can barely see it beneath her blowing hair, caught by the ocean breezes. This moment was captured by the camera and melded with our shadows. This was our first experience dipping our toes in the Pacific Ocean as a family, and it was awesome. Was our big 12-day adventure really back in May? Was May really that long ago?
Well, not today, it isn’t. I was tired of looking at the snow, as beautiful and sunny as it is here, I want to go to the beach…
…so let’s go!
Grab your sunscreen.
Grab your swimsuit.
Grab your flip-flops.
Meet me at the beach…if only in our minds.
Last night at dinner, Daddy and Claire and I were chatting. All of a sudden, it hit me that I hadn’t really told her out loud that she was going back to school on Tuesday.
So, I told her.
A scream of pure joy escaped her lips. Her face lit up. She was genuinely excited. Her reaction made us all laugh out loud.
Today, as I dropped her off and signed the sign-in sheet, I felt that same joy.
She loves her class. She loves her teachers. She loves this time to be her own person…
…and so do I.
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