Why Am I Here?

Happy New Year! Just so you know, this will probably be my greeting through the rest of 2024 – and not just because my life is so busy that I don’t know what day it is. After yet another year filled with too much loss, I’m just happy to be here. 

I don’t know about you, but every January I find myself spending far too much time gazing at my belly-button. Not because I’m looking for a frosted flake (@Lauren), but because the cold dark days of winter make it hard to get out of bed. It’s either meditating on the meaning of life or binge-watching the housewives of wherever, and I’m no longer allowed to watch those shows because my swear jar is full.

So once again I find myself asking Life’s Big Questions:

Who am I?

Why am I here?

What is the meaning of life?

Where do missing socks go?

Why is reality TV so popular?

The answers may vary, but at least for this moment in time, they are –

I’m still trying to figure that out.

I’m still trying to figure THAT out too.

42.

They form the rings around Saturn.

No F-g clue. 

I lied. Not about reality TV. I don’t know why it’s so popular, but I’ve stopped trying to figure that out. 

I lied about not knowing why I’m here. I mean, I still don’t know my life’s purpose, but I do know two things:

1. My life’s purpose is not the same as a dog’s purpose (although I agree with Bailey’s assertion that “life is about having fun, saving others, finding someone to be with, not getting upset over the past or the future, and living for today.”
2. I have reached the age where I am supposed to start imparting words of wisdom, and I have set sharing them as one of my New Year’s intentions (according to Dorothy Chin Ph.D in Psychology Today, “intentions are a healthier, more motivating framework than resolutions”).

To kick things off, I’d like to share my first (and only) poem:

If Only

     We’re told

That we can do/be/have it all

if only we try

if only we dream

if only we believe

If only….

     We see

That we can succeed

if only we try harder

if only we dream bigger

if only we truly believe

If only…

     We learn

that we fall short in a variety of ways

that we should stop “trying” and start “doing”

that dreaming is a waste of time

that actions are more important than beliefs

that we could have been so much more

If only…

     We think

that we are not enough. We listen to the EIC, the voice that tells us we are not thin/smart/pretty/rich/young enough to do what we want to do. 

And so we wait, wishing and hoping and yearning for the day when we will be ___ enough to pursue our dreams. We tell ourselves that we have plenty of time – that when we lose those last 5 pounds, when we are better rested, when the kids are older, we will begin.

And so we find ourselves wasting our days, dreaming of the moment when we’ll be ready. We find ourselves at the end of our lives, wondering how time has slipped away, filled with memories of a good life, yet wondering what would have happened “if only.” 

We live from our head, instead of our heart. Our heart whispers of possibilities, of another life, a life where our dreams come true. Our heart tells us to believe in ourselves, to believe that we are enough. To take the gifts we’ve been given and use them for the greatest good.

Stop thinking and start believing – you can have everything you’ve always wanted…

If only.

Have a good week, and Happy New Year!

Love, Me

 

 

 

New Year, Same Me

image courtesy of moteefe.com

 

 

 

 

Happy New Year!

I’m a few days behind, but at least I’m writing again. I still have a huge boulder blocking my way, but I’m trying (very – just ask my family). I’m disappointed that adjusting to my new position meant putting creativity on the back burner, but a new year means a fresh start, and I am all about new beginnings.

A new year also means new resolutions. I’m a little tired of making (and breaking) the same resolutions (“lose 10 pounds”, “journal daily”, “eat my vegetables”…) so I started looking for new ones.

My search led me to this article on the history of New Year’s resolutions. According to insight vacations “The very first New Year’s resolutions dates happened over 4,000 years ago. The first recorded people to celebrate a new year were the ancient Babylonians. Their new year celebration was a 12-day festival called Akitu, which began at the start of the spring planting season in March.” 

I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer to wait until March to set resolutions. It would give me a chance to eat all the holiday treats before trying to “lose 10 pounds.” Then again, eating all the treats would mean adjusting that goal to 15-20, or making peace with being fluffy. 

I also found a list of funny/absurd resolution ideas on the Cake Blog. Kate Wight included resolutions for kids:

• I will go to school with my clothes on backward and see if anyone notices.
• I will come up with the silliest face ever and wear it to school.
• I will sing instead of speak for a whole day (warning – I sing in the key of “off”).

For adults:

• I will pick fewer internet fights (I feel called out).
• I vow to communicate exclusively in memes.
• I will finish all the DIY projects I started and abandoned in 2019. 
• I will dance like no one is looking when I’m in a public place.

Because I am “a woman of a certain age” I was especially intrigued by her suggestions for seniors:

• I will eat dessert first at every meal (FYI dessert at every meal makes it hard to lose 10 pounds).
• I will use every single senior discount offered this year.
• I will masquerade as my favorite celebrity while shopping.
• I will share inappropriate jokes at the most awkward moment possible.
• I will dress up in costume for Halloween and go trick or treating (I prefer the 21+ tradition of “drink or treat”).
• I will not act my age.

 

 

 

 

 

 

After reviewing all my options, I have resolved not to make any New Year’s resolutions this year. I may, however, make a Peacock Vow. I know what you’re thinking. I do! It’s because I’m psychic…or psychotic (I can’t remember which, but if you see me coming towards you with a knife – RUN!!!). You’re thinking “What’s a Peacock Vow?”

According to insightvacations.com, in the Middle Ages “knights would make an annual “Peacock Vow” at the end of the year. They would renew their resolution to maintain the values of knighthood by putting their hands on a live or roasted peacock.”

I don’t know where to find a peacock other than the zoo, and I don’t think the zookeepers would let me into the pen to pet (or roast) one. Besides, have you heard the way they scream? (the zookeepers, not the peacocks). 

So, no Peacock Vows or New Year’s Resolutions, but not for the reason you’d think.

ICYMI, here’s the problem with New Year’s Resolutions

Remember – every day moment gives you a chance to being again, and you are perfect just the way you are!

Love, Me

I’m Trying

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again – I’m sorry that I’ve been MIA. I had every intention of returning to blogging after a short break, but you know what they say about good intentions…..

Which reminds me of a Darynda Jones quote:

image courtesy ofquotefancy.com

ANYWAY

I had no idea that my “short break” was going to last 9 months. Mrs. Kingsliegh may believe that “Time is a thief and a villain” but I cannot blame him. 

I would like to blame:

A. Writer’s block (or, in my case, writer’s ginormous boulder).

B. Grief (seriously Death, stop taking people I love – I have a whole list of people you can take instead).

C. Illness and/or death (not my own, so not really a valid excuse).

But the answer is

D. Adjusting to new jobs. Yes, “jobs” (not a typo). In the past 9 months I’ve been promoted twice. I’m not trying to brag (okay, maybe a little). After 12 years as a grunt I was moved to lead and then supervisor.  I went from peon to peer (pee-er?) because someone thought that putting me in charge of people was a good idea. It was weird and it threw me off my game. Of course, that’s assuming I had a game to being with – and we all know what happens when you make an assumption.*

But I’m back, and while I can’t promise that I’ll write on a regular basis, I can promise that I will try. I’ve always told my daughter that effort is more important than results, so the fact that I’m trying is good enough for me. Wait – that’s a lie (for those of you who are new to the page I lie a lot). “Trying” is not good enough for this perfectionist, but I’m trying to let it be enough for today. We’ll see what tomorrow brings. 

I’d like to leave you with my favorite New Year’s wish:

“May the best of your yesterdays be the worst of your tomorrows”

-Jay-Z

*Mitch Hennessey breaks it down for those of you who haven’t see The Long Kiss Goodnight

 

SH*T

image courtesy of love this pic.com

Please don’t be shocked by today’s title – I’m not swearing (well, not yet anyway). I’m just So Happy It’s Thursday. It’s been a long week. This week has lasted at least a month, which is only fair since this month has flown by in a day. This morning I realized that we’re almost a quarter of the way through 2023 and that there are only 276 shopping days until Christmas!

The Doctor may think that time is like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, time-wimey stuff, but I think that time is a four-letter word.

They say that time is relative. I still don’t know who “they” are, but if they’re right it must be one of those weird relatives you try to avoid at family functions. No, I’m not talking about your creepy “uncle” – I’m referring to grant-aunt Agnes. Agnes’ shoes rarely match, her hair is 9′ long and her house is filled with a variety of wildlife (mostly because she leaves the front door open). Aunt Agnes never seems to be paying attention, but she always knows when you’ve done something you shouldn’t – which is just one more reason that you should tell Aunt Agnes to go F herself.

Why do I think Time is a weird relative? Because it speeds up, slows down and even stops for some people. Once upon a time (2010 feels like a lifetime ago), Jeff Wise explained that time dilation is a side-effect of intense fear. Scientists have since discovered that the perception of time slows for athletes and, as reported by the National Institutes of Health, really does fly when you’re having fun. Even stranger, last year physicists and philosophers theorized that time may not exist.

Maybe we should blame the Mad Hatter. It’s been a while, and my memory is fuzzy, so I pulled the Sparknotes from Alice in Wonderland:

The Mad Hatter calmly explains that Time is a “him,” not an “it.” He goes on to recount how Time has been upset ever since the Queen of Hearts said the Mad Hatter was “murdering time” while he performed a song badly. Since then, Time has stayed fixed at six o’clock, which means that they exist in perpetual tea-time. 

I think the Hatter is wrong –  it’s not tea-time, it’s happy hour

image courtesy of Urby

So tell me, have you ever experienced Time Dilation?

Have a great day

Love,

Me

I’m Still Here

I realize it’s been a minute since my last post (Okay, more than a minute – I lied. Do I need to remind you that I lie a lot?). I said I would write on a more consistent basis – evidently I lied about that too. No, wait – I said I would try. I AM trying – just ask my family 😉

It’s been a bumpy couple of weeks. No reason to go into details, and nothing that requires “thoughts and prayers” – just life living up to its name. There’s a reason Life is a four-letter word.

But I’m still standing. That’s a lie (yes, another one. Did you think I was lying about lying?). I am sitting in the corner, and not just because my husband put me on a time-out for swearing at work. The good news about WFH is that my coworkers can’t hear me swear. The bad news is that my husband works nights, which means that he can.

ANYWAY

I have exciting news. I’ve developed superpowers.

I know what you’re thinking, and not just because I’m psychic (or psychotic. I can’t remember which, but you might want to hide the sharp objects). You’re thinking that having superpowers would be cool. I used to think so. I always wanted to be able to fly like Superman or manipulate time like Dr. Strange or even have have super-stretchy limbs like Mr. Fantastic (it would be really helpful now that I’m too old to put on my shoes while standing). Instead I’ve become Sue Storm, aka “Invisible Girl.”

I can see my reflection in the mirror, but it seems that other people can’t see me. I don’t remember being exposed to a cosmic storm, so I reached out to childhood friends for answers. Evidently it’s contagious, because it’s happened to them too. One of my friends shared that she was standing directly in front of a server who looked through her and shouted “Next!” Turns out there’s a simple explanation.

According to the New Yorker, part of the problem is that “the young can’t grasp that most older people don’t feel so different from their youthful selves.” I would have to agree – my husband and I recently celebrated 38 years together, which is weird, since I swear that I’m only 39.

I came across Pisana Ferrari’s 2021 article for cApStAn in which she covered a report on ageism and age discrimination adopted by the UN Human Rights Council in September 2021 “ageism may be to a large extent unconscious but is indeed socially accepted and pervasive” and that “one in two people globally have ageist attitudes about older people” (which begs the question – “older than what”?). She goes on to say that ageism seems to be the last “acceptable” bias:

“The past few years have seen increased attention drawn to issues of systemic discrimination. Racism, sexism, ableism, classism, homophobia, transphobia … are all being called out as socially, ethically, and politically unacceptable. ‘But in what appears to also be a recent development, we’re seeing the exact opposite happening with regard to age’, says Mat Whalstrom, a community activist based in San Diego. Usually only referenced in connection with employment law, he adds, age discrimination as a social phenomenon is being treated as innocuous, with replies of ‘Ok, Boomer‘ not only allowed to go unchallenged but treated as acceptable.”

The most ironic part of the casual prejudice and dismissiveness in the phrase used by Millennials and Gen Z is that they are also victims of ageism. Pisana Ferrari’s mentions that “there is growing evidence of ageism directed against younger adults from population-based studies, which suggest that in Europe it may be more prevalent than ageism against older people.” 

Karma? Perhaps, but I believe we need to speak out against prejudice in all forms. Instead of growling “Kids today!” or “Ok Boomer!” we should learn to listen to and learn from each other. Without my twentysomething daughter, I would never have learned how to insert a gif. Without me, she would never have learned to work a manual transmission (full disclosure – she still can’t drive a stick, but neither can my husband).

Realizing that I’m invisible has been disconcerting and disheartening, but it takes a while to understand and embrace your life as a superhero. Just ask Peter Parker.

So tell me – What’s your superpower?

Have a great week!

Love,

Me

back when people could still see me

On Love, Loss, and Laughter

Editor’s note – Today’s post was originally published in 2017. Today marks 6 years since I lost my brother of heart. That’s a lie. I didn’t “lose him “- he’s not a sock, or a set of car keys.

Today marks 6 years since my friend died. It seems like yesterday.  

I know what you’re thinking – “Where the hell has Tracey been and what kind of writer doesn’t write?” (or, as my EIC would say, “If a writer isn’t writing, doesn’t that mean they’re not a writer?”)

In Hell. Literally (Ok, maybe not literally). A stuck writer. That’s what kind.

Grief has eaten my brain, and stolen my creativity.

I lost someone a month ago who was incredibly important to me. Well, I didn’t’ “lose” him. It’s not like he was a set of car keys, or a sock that disappeared from the dryer, or my mind.

Sorry for that. I have a habit of trying to compensate for emotional issues with sarcasm and lame attempts at humor. Let me try again.

My friend died a month ago.

Wow. There it is, in black and white. The phrase I’ve avoided. I know it’s hard to read, but trust me, it’s harder to write and practically impossible to believe. Timothy Leary was right when he said “Death is the last taboo.”  Nobody dies. They “pass on” or “leave us”, “slip away” or “go to a better place”.

I call bullshit.

My friend died.

Three words. So simple and so misleading. Here’s how dictionary.com breaks down the sentence:

My – belonging to or associated with the speaker.

Friend – a person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection, typically exclusive of sexual of family relations

Died – to cease to live; undergo the complete and permanent cessation of all vital functions

The thing is, Mario wasn’t just “my” friend. He was EVERYONE’S friend. Yeah, he was THAT guy. He was charming and funny, smart and kind. No matter where he went, he always ended up surrounded by a group of people who were jostling for position and vying for his attention. Mario, like my mother, seemed to believe that there is no such thing as a stranger. Strangers are simply friends you haven’t yet met.

He was my friend, but he was more than that. There are friends, and then there are people who are so much more than simply friends – we call these people our “family of heart”. We might not be related by blood, but we are joined by a love that is even stronger than family ties. Mario was my friend, my mentor, my brother of heart.

I met Mario when we were young and foolish, hopeful and fearless. He was dating the woman who ran the booth I worked for – the woman who would become one of my very best friends. In a blink of an eye, they were married, and raising 3 kids.

Mario and Virginia were playing house and being Responsible Adults while I was still trying to decide how to style my hair. It took me longer to grow up, but eventually I got married and had a kid of my own. I am incredibly lucky to have had their help in raising my daughter. Mario was a perfect example of a father for my spouse to emulate, and Virginia was the same for me. Their three kids are amazing people, despite the fact that their parents have a twisted sense of humor (It gave me hope that our daughter wouldn’t be Permanently Damaged). The fact that they were still wildly in love with each other even after 35 years together was inspiring – a testimony to the power of True Love.

Mario’s kids asked us to write down things that we learned from him, to list our favorite sayings or quotes. I couldn’t think of anything at the time. I’m sure people remember a lot of “Mario-isms”, but I can’t remember anything other than him saying “OUTSTANDING!” when things would go less than perfectly, or when someone would do something that was extraordinarily stupid. But here are things that I learned from him:

Be kind. Mario was nice to everyone – no matter what they believed, what they looked like, how they dressed, how much money they made (or didn’t make). He was one of the popular kids, but he wasn’t one of the mean girls (which is not to say that he didn’t enjoy a little CCC* when warranted). He went out of his way to be kind to people who were often overlooked or ignored. He was even nice to the weird kid in the corner (What? No, that wasn’t me, why would you think that?).

Be polite… We disagreed about many things (politics, religion, and whether the Three Stooges were funny). As strong minded (or, in my case, hard headed) individuals, we agreed to disagree. Having friends with opinions which differ from one’s own makes life more interesting.

but don’t be a pushover. (does this one really need explaining?)

Keep learning. Mario was always reading, always trying to better himself. As Albert Einstein said “Once you stop learning, you start dying.”

Make people smile… Mario would do almost anything to get a laugh (that’s not exactly true. There was no “almost” about it).

by embracing your inner weirdo – In a world where everyone worries about what others think/we struggle to fit in, to be normal (please note, “normal” is just a setting on the washing machine), Mario stood out as someone who just didn’t give a flying f…

Don’t whine. (Aka “Suck it up, Buttercup”) The past few years were incredibly hard physically and psychologically, and yet, Mario was always smiling (or maybe it was a grimace). His outlook could best be described this way:

Be strong… Mario was in a lot of pain, but he never let it stop him from doing the things that he needed or wanted to do. Long days at work which required hours of driving? Every day. Trips to Yosemite, to hockey games, to shows and soccer games and even a longa** Christmas parade? NP. The thing that stands out most is the fact that, whenever I came to visit, no matter how much pain he was in, Mario always stood up to say hello.

but don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it (TBH I never heard Mario ask for help for himself. He was always asking for help for someone else).

and always offer help to those who need it. In a world where people rise above the masses by putting others down, Mario lifted people up.

Those are the things I’ve learned from Mario’s life. What did I learn from his death?

That “Only the good die young” is not a meaningless phrase. Neither is “Life’s a Bitch, and then you die.” That we need to find make time for those we love. When I was a kid, I thought nothing of knocking on my friend’s door, and asking if they could come out and play. We lose that ability when we grow up – we get busy with life – with school, with work. We worry that our houses are too messy for guests, or that our friends are too busy for us. We SCHEDULE our lives and our visits, instead of just “popping in to say hello”. We text and skype and send messages via snapchat or twitter. We brag about the fact that Facebook has allowed us to “reconnect” with old friends and family members, but we don’t take make the time to see each other “IRL”. WE NEED TO STOP THAT, RIGHT NOW.

What did I learn from my friend’s death? Life is short, and none of us is guaranteed tomorrow. Mario’s younger daughter got married in November. At the reception, he asked me told me to stop by after work for a “beer and bitch” session, but I assumed it was the whisky talking, and that we would have a chance to catch up “soon”. Please believe me when I say that “SOON” DOESN’T COME SOON ENOUGH.

I know this was a long post, so, in the immortal words of Inygo Montoya “let me sum up”. What did I learn from Mario?

Live fearlessly, love fiercely and laugh at all that life throws your way.

And, oh yeah, always pet the puppies.

*Catty Corner Commentary

It’s “Meh”day*

Twisting Suburbia

Actually, it’s not. Today is Wednesday. It is. Trust me. I know that the pandemic and lock down has messed with our minds and that time has become a big ball of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, but it’s Wednesday. I think. I mean, I thought yesterday was Wednesday, but (checking calendar) yes, today is Wednesday.

Wednesdays are usually dedicated to News of the Weird, but today is also my brother’s birthday. This may be confusing to those who know me, because I only have one brother, and he used to be younger than me (now that he’s 50 he gets to be the older sibling). I’m talking about my other brother.

Mario was not my brother by blood, but he was my brother of heart, and today would have been his 63rd birthday. I miss him more than ever and I’m just not in the mood for weird…

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What, Me Worry?

I need to confess something.

I know what you’re thinking. For someone who is decidedly non-Catholic, I spend an awful lot of time confessing. Maybe I should convert. Do you know the difference between Jewish guilt and Catholic guilt?*

ANYWAY

Confession time – I am a worrywart. 

I could blame my daughter (hey, she’s not here and she probably won’t see this post). There are so many things to worry about once you become a parent. Kim Bongiorno read my mind:

Once you have a few years under your belt as a mom, the constant barrage of new-mom worries usually fades a little. If it didn’t, all of our heads would eventually get so full of question marks that they’d explode, and there’d be no one to remember to take the damn recycling out every other Tuesday morning. That being said, it’s not like we never worry at all anymore. They still slip through on a regular basis, but now lean more towards being wildly specific concerns you never thought you’d fret over. Here are common worries a typical mother might have on any given day:

1. Is it medically possible for a LEGO get permanently embedded in my foot? (maybe not, but the scars last forever!)

2. Why are my kids growing up so fast? What will I do when they leave to go have their own families? WHAT WILL I DO IF THEY DON’T EVER LEAVE TO GO HAVE THEIR OWN FAMILIES?

3. Are my kids doomed to failure if I don’t learn the new math? Because there is NO FRICKIN’ WAY I am going to try to learn math all over again!

It’s nice to know that Mom Worries are a “thing”, but although I’d like to blame the girl, I don’t want to lie (look, I don’t know what’s happening, but it appears that I no longer lie all the time. Should I be worried? Next thing you know I’ll give up swearing and beer).

I have been a worrier for as long as I can remember. Fortunately, thanks to menopause fog/Swiss cheese brain, I can’t remember back very far (memories of the hellish days of high school have faded away). 

My not-quite-New-Year’s Resolution is to break the worry habit. Bad habits are hard to break, but I have found several things that have helped me so far, as well as two others I want to try. 

1. I stopped labeling the habit. Calling a habit “bad” means that you are doing something bad, and therefore are a bad person (it’s the transitive property: if a=b and b=c, a=c). 
2. Yoga and meditation. I am well aware of the  “woo woo”/hippy-dippy stigma attached to both of them. I worried that I was turning into a stereotypical Southern California suburbanite. As it turns out “just breathe” is an excellent way to put the brakes on the downward mental spiral.
3. Exercise. I still think “exercise” is a four-letter word, but that’s okay – I love four-letter words. It will never be my favorite, but I can’t argue with the power of the endorphin rush or the calming nature of birdsong and puppies on the trail. 
4. Going outside. Didn’t you hear me say that birdsong and puppies are calming? So is the feel of grass (or sand) on bare feet – just don’t step where the puppies have been. 

The Washington post suggested two new-to-me tools:

Locate worry in your body

Worry keeps you in your head rather than feeling emotions in your body. So, when you find yourself worrying, pause and refocus attention on your sensations. Look for the usual signs — heart beating faster; weakness; warmth; stiffness; a dry, constricted throat; rapid breathing; or butterflies in the stomach. Explore them. Maybe move your body to see if that changes how you feel. Stretch. Sit up straight. Breathe. Practice riding the wave of your feelings. They will rise and fall, even without you doing anything.

Make worry concrete and contained

Next, tune into your worried thoughts. Treat yourself like a friend who needs you to lend an ear. If you have a jumble of thoughts, what’s the one that rises to the surface? You can also schedule worry time: Pick a specific period of time to worry (for example, 15 minutes). Write down all the worries that pop into your head and describe them clearly and concretely. Consider the negative outcomes, as well as the positive possibilities. Only worry during worry time. It might surprise you to find that during worry time, you become bored of worrying and stop early.

I worry less knowing that I am not alone. According to this recent article form the Los Angeles time, worry and anxiety are on the rise – ok, anxiety and depression. Whatever – I guess I lied (so much for giving up that bad habit). There is discussion as to whether mental health issues or on the rise, or if they just appear to be because there is a greater awareness of and willing to talk about them. Personally, I blame all the bad and sad blasted by the news outlets 24/7. Which reminds me of the thing that has helped me the most:

5. Turning off the television/radio/phone. Limiting screen time isn’t only important for children. Decreasing the amount of time we spend listening to/watching stories of disasters/violence/hatred is vital to our mental health. I’m not suggesting  you bury your head in the sand (and not just because the sand will get into your eyes and nose and make breathing difficult) – I’m saying that we don’t have to listen to the same story 10+ times in a 24-hour period. Seriously. Where’s John Krasinski’s Some Good News when you need him?

Lastly, don’t forget the wise words of Mark Twain (or George Washington or Will Rogers or any of the other wise worriers from our past). 

Better yet, we should all be more like Alfred E Neuman

*Same guilt, different food

I’ll leave you with the cutest worry warts I’ve ever seen. I need these for my desk – looking at them would make me stop worrying and LOL.

image and sculptures by gesine kratzner

My Mother, Myself

Our daughter came home from college last week for a quick visit (and to get new tires). She had to work this morning and it was still dark when I met her in the living room. 

“Why are you awake?” 

“I wanted to give you a hug good-bye.” 

I’m pretty sure I heard her eyes roll, but she hugged me. I didn’t want to let go. 

I’ve said it before, and I have no doubt that I will say it again (and not just because stress and age have turned my brain into Swiss cheese) – I never wanted to be a mother. I was perfectly content being a DINK (Dual Income No Kids) and was looking forward to living my life as Fun Aunt. 

Contrary to popular belief, people who are childless by choice don’t hate children. That’s a lie (I told you; I lie a lot) – some of them do. I did not. I loved being an aunt to my brother’s kids and “auntie” to my friends’ children. It was perfect – I could hold the baby until it cried or needed a change and then hand it back to mama! Trust me, there is nothing better than being able to walk run away from a toddler tantrum. Well, that’s a lie (yes, another one). There is nothing better than spending the day getting the kids hopped up on sugar and caffeine and then dropping them off at home with a noisy toy or two. I may not have been a good aunt – but I was fun!

And then the rabbit died. 

I became an accidental mother in the days when women had bodily autonomy, and my husband and I spent time discussing our options. We decided that we didn’t have any. We had watched our friends raising kids and decided that we’d give it a shot. After all, we thought, how hard could it be? 

<pauses to let the parents finish laughing>

For those of you who aren’t parents – well….I don’t want to scare you, but I don’t want to lie (which is unusual for me, I know). It’s hard. Think of the hardest thing you’ve ever done and multiply the level of difficulty by ten thousand. 

What’s so hard about parenting? Let me count the ways:

1. There are too many decisions to be made before the baby comes. You have to figure out what to name the baby (I am still waiting for someone to name their son Justin Case or Justin Tyme), how to decorate the baby’s room and how to HAVE the baby. You can have a duola, a doctor or a midwife. You can have the baby at home, in the hospital or in a bathtub. You can have a C-section or an epidural or choose to have a “natural” childbirth (is there anything natural about passing a watermelon through a small opening? Men should try pooping out a cantaloupe before telling women it’s no big deal). 
2. They’re with you all the time. Unless you live like a celebrity and can afford a nanny or four (or have family members who live close enough to help) you are legally responsible for your child 24/7 until they are 18 and emotionally tied to them until the end of time. 
3. Your schedule is not your own. Oh, there are people who claim that they had their baby sleeping and eating on a strict schedule the moment they brought them home. THEY LIE. Need a nap? Pray that your baby is tired. Need to take care of “bodily functions”? Learn to evacuate quickly or start wearing Depends (TBH, you won’t have time to eat, so this may not be a problem). 
4. Babies don’t come with an instruction manual. Yes, there are parenting books and plenty of online resources – all of which conflict with each other. For every book that says letting a baby cry themselves to sleep sets boundaries and establishes a sleep cycle, there are 3 that insist it creates attachment issues. Here’s the thing: every baby is different. Even babies within the same family may require different parenting styles. Find what works for you, and then tell those who are ‘just trying to help” to STFU. Seriously. Look Aunt Agnes in the eyes and tell her to go F herself. She may clutch her pearls and leave in a huff. It’s okay. You can blame post-pregnancy blues – and if she doesn’t come back, that’s okay too. 
5. You hurt for your children. When they fall off their bike, you second-guess taking off the training wheels. When they fall and break their arm, your bones ache for them. When they get bullied, and battered and heartbroken, it crushes your soul.
6. You question every decision you make. Nobody wants to screw up their kid. What’s the first thing a new mother says (after “OMFG that hurt, you’re never touching me again”)? “I’m not going to make the same mistakes my parents made.” Instead, you make brand new ones, and you regret them until the end of time. 
7. You turn into your mother. It’s inevitable. Hopefully it will help you realize that your mother did the best she could with the information she had at the time. 

I didn’t want to be a mother, but I’m very glad I am. My biggest regret is that I didn’t know how hard it was until after my mom was gone. It’s okay – I know what she’d say. Karma, after all, is a bitch. 

So tell me, what are some of your best parenting tips and tricks? 

Stay safe out there

Love, 

Me

 

my mother made parenthood look easy

Who Cares?

image courtesy of University of Gloucestershire

I want to apologize for disappearing again.

I want to, but I won’t.

That’s a lie. If you’ve been here for a while, you already know that I lie and swear more often than some, not as much as others. If you’re new here – Welcome to my circus (my circus, my monkeys). I lie and swear, and I apologize more often than I should. According to this article from psych central, “over-apologizing is motivated by trying to manage the other person’s emotions and make them feel better,” explains Hamsher. “Even if you weren’t the one to cause harm because you’re uncomfortable when other people aren’t happy.”

The article goes on to say that

Excessive apologizing could be tied to mental health conditions like:

• depression
• social anxiety
• generalized anxiety disorder (GAD)
• obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD)
• borderline personality disorder (BPD)
• post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)

That’s me – a people-pleasing procrastinator and recovering perfectionist who struggles with depression, social anxiety and ADHD aka

I’ve talked before about my struggles with the black dog. I love dogs, but this one bites. He may not carry rabies, but his toxin kills creativity. I’ve spent the past two weeks binge-watching shows on Netflix and playing on my phone. On second thought, maybe I’m not depressed, I’m a teenager (it tracks – definitely dealing with hormone shifts and frustrations with the ‘rents).  

The good news is that it’s been a long time since he showed up. So long, in fact, that when I realized I was spiraling my personalities started singing to me. 

The song made me laugh, which stopped the downward spiral. That’s a lie (WTF? Two in one post? Someone needs a time out). It slowed the spiral. It’s still a little grey, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Fingers crossed it’s not from an oncoming train.

On this Mental Health Monday I wanted to remind you that if  you’re struggling with mental health issues, you are not alone. Anxiety and depression will keep you isolated and tell you that nobody cares about you or your life. They lie more than I do.

Who cares if you’re hurting? I do, and so do the people who love you. Reach out when the skies turn grey. Asking for and accepting help does not make you weak. It’s one of the bravest things you can do. 

Most importantly – if you or someone you love is having a mental health emergency, dial 988 or text HOME to 741741.