Seven Sentences for Sunday: The 48th Birthday Wish Edition

  1. Our neighbors had a baby so I dropped off flowers and a Panera gift card and today they flagged me down to give me a thank you note. Ezra noticed the note when they got in the car and said, “Who sent you a message via carrier pigeon?!” I guess they don’t see handwritten letters very often. Haha.
  2. In my twenties I used to be paranoid that people would know if I’d just had sex, like I somehow radiated the JBF look. Now as I’m in my late 40’s I have no qualms about a quickie in the morning and then running carpool an hour later. I guess being 47 means realizing that people really don’t know or care. 
  3. One of my simplest pleasures is learning something new from one of my engineering articles and passing that tidbit on to my mom. She loves receiving those texts and is always enthusiastic with her replies. I hope I have 25 more years of those exchanges!
  4. I hit up Kroger this morning for their $5.99 sale on seapaks as well as their 33% off Halloween candy. Got stocked up on salmon, cod, and tilapia as well as bags of snickers, Twix, and skittles. Had to get in before the crazy church crowd terrorizes the public. 
  5. Sundays seem to be my catch up day with my BFF. We text over football about our weeks and all the progress we have made toward our goals. It’s nice to have a sympathetic ear when the world gets to be too much. 
  6. I’m not sure if it’s my bipolar or my neurodivergence, but I have half a dozen active projects in various stages of development and at least 50 more simmering in my brain. My brain can be a lot sometimes. 
  7. It’s the start of my birthday week! I’ll be 48 on Wednesday and my birthday wish this year is for it to be the year I start menopause. It’s about time and I’m about done. Let’s just finish it already. 

I love you all, some more than others. 💜🌻

Smile Because It Happened

I am sitting here at the Say Yes to Jess studio for Ez’s senior portrait session and Jess has supplied Ez’s favorite snacks of cool ranch Doritos, Dr. Pepper, and Sour Patch Kids. A playlist that Jess curated of Ez’s favorite bands is over the loudspeaker and I am on the couch in the adjacent lounge area letting Jess do her thing with Ez, only jumping in to help light my child on fire for a pic. It was surreal, but the pic came out amazing. 

Since this is the last senior portraits that I’ll have to attend, I find myself looking back through all the pictures of Ez over the years and I am oddly happy. There aren’t any tears because this is a season of joy. Their whole life is in front of them and they have eight short months before they’ll be a graduate. I am pretty much done with the raising part of parenthood, except for teaching them to drive. Soon I’ll be in the role of who they turn to for advice instead of shunning the pearls of wisdom I try to drop in the car on the way home from Leaves. 

I had a hot chocolate date with my friend Tracie the other day at this new cocoa lounge in Loveland. We are the same age, but she started her parenting journey about 10 years after I did. Her daughter is in 3rd grade now and Tracie was telling me she can’t believe how fast it has gone so far and soon enough she’ll have a graduate like Ezra. She mused that she would be a mess when her daughter graduates and asked if I find myself emotional at times with the reality of the coming year. I wonder if it’s weird that I am not. 

Ez has grown so much over the past few years, and especially over the past summer. As they prepare for college next fall, make the step toward getting their license, and wind down their high school career, they will mature so much more that who I am describing now will only be a shadow of who they will become. You would think this would make me sad, but I can’t wait to watch them spread their wings. 

My bff likes to quote a line attributed to Dr Seuss, “Don’t cry that it’s over, smile because it happened.” I live by that quote and try and remember all the beautiful, funny, poignant, and difficult moments that have led to this point. I embrace the changes in my role as a mom and am proud of the people my children have become. Ez may be the last, but they are making their mark in their own way. This season is ending but with comes the dawn of a new season and I am blessed to be able to experience the changes. And I’m smiling because I have been lucky enough to have watched it happen.

Heart of Fool’s Gold

As the seasons change from summer to fall and then again from winter to spring, I tend to get a little manic. Not full-blown, Destiny! of yesteryear psychotic manic, but my mind goes a little fast and I have to battle some demons that are resurrected at that time of year. I thought I handled this season’s change marvelously, deftly telling the demons to quiet themselves, and allowing my brain to create a flurry of thoughts to be used as future essays, blog posts, book ideas, or just facebook anecdotes. I have a lot to work on this winter. I also realized that I might not be completely through this season of mania, as evidenced by an internet interaction I had today.

This morning during a break from editing physics, I opened my facebook to find a notification that someone had commented on a comment I had posted on a public page 3 days ago. My comment, which was in response to a news article, said simply “Pritzker is going to take the president to the United States Supreme Court and after that, The Hague,” received several likes and had honestly been forgotten because the days just replace each other when they consist of carpool, editing physics, engineering, and law, and maintaining a relationship with The Mayor. I clicked on what would then consume me for the next hour. Some random woman whom I do not know posted, “You all need to step away from the Pringles” under my comment. I was aghast. What the hell was this attack about? I thought, do I handle this with grace and say, “Jesus loves you, even if no one else does…”? But she attacked not only me but my kids. So I responded quickly and said, “Is this supposed to be a fat joke? Because I can lose weight. You unfortunately can do nothing about that face, those teeth, and that ugly personality.” That’ll show her, I thought. Ugly is as ugly does.

I went back to physics and finished my article; before switching to engineering, I took a peek at my facebook again (what can I say, it is a ridiculous addiction). Another notification. This time she said, “Aww, so you guys choose to be fat.” Well, she can just eat a satchel of richards. Lady, you do not want to fuck with a wordsmith. So I unleashed a tirade that would make any venomous teenage girl cringe. “Oh you poor thing…And you choose to be hateful. I’m sorry your kids hate you and your parents are disappointed in you. I hope my name flashes through your mind when your doctor gives you your diagnosis. Bless your precious heart.” Was I proud of this outburst? Admittedly, a little. Fuck with me and my kids, I will fuck with you so hard mentally that you won’t know what hit you. I pushed post and waited… Soon I was rewarded with a little red bubble. “Who is hateful now?” So I quickly replied, “You come after me unprovoked and when I bite back, you are offended. Go cry in a pillow.” Another quick notification with a simple, “You are crazy.” Your goddamn right I am, tell me something I don’t know. So I sealed our interaction with a kiss and simply replied, “Oh dear. Did someone learn the hard way not to pick fights with strangers on the internet? Have a “blessed” day. I’m sure you will.” A southern lady threat, how I learned growing up.

I rode this little high into thrifting with Ez and relayed my interaction to them, which they agreed she deserved it, even if I did cross the line with my threat of a “blessed” day and an unknown diagnosis. As the day wore on, I expected the little guilt pangs that normally come from one of my outbursts, but they never came. I might still be a little manic, but more astutely, I am pissed. I am so pissed that they (and they know who they are) can spew hatred from their mouths and when they get the first inkling of a pushback, they play victim. I am so pissed that our country takes an already marginalized community that constitutes 1% of our population and villainizes them from their positions of power. I am so pissed that truth no longer has a place in our media.

After dinner, I was finishing up an engineering article and Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold” came on Spotify. I heard the lyric “You keep me searching for a heart of gold…” and I wondered if it was my angels saying they were disappointed in me today. Should I have responded to that stranger with love? Maybe. Did I tarnish my heart a bit with my tirade? Perhaps. But gold is malleable and soft. I am not. I will fight for my kids rights. I will fight for the rights of marginalized communities. I will fight for truth. And if Stephen King has taught us anything, you best not come after a wordsmith, because we will decimate you. A heart of gold, perhaps not. But a living, beating heart filled with blood that bleeds my truth. You’re goddamn right.

Something Just Like This

I take a deep breath in and exhale to the count of eight. The forces of the Universe wash over me and I find myself pulled in infinite directions at once. Before panic sets in, I immediately center myself and take another deep breath, holding it and mentally repeating my goal for this meditation session in as few words as possible. This world needs more love, more kindness, more compassion. From everyone. I feel the energy around my heart open up and I relax into it. I breathe through the waves and use my chest to push them out to the earth that needs such healing and positive energy now more than ever. 

The pirates of the multiverse start to voice their objections, and I find myself beginning to split. I have to quiet them lest they negate the love with their hate, but it is a constant battle. I hush them, and take a sip of water, my meditation broken but not without, I believe, some benefit to the metaverse.

A few hours later, the chime of the door opening dings and I say “hey dere” and hear the familiar “hey dere” back. He greets Leia, our calico who waits for him at the top of the stairs when she sees him pull in the driveway. He puts his water bottle on the kitchen table then immediately retreats to the bedroom to change out of his shirt and tie so as not to sully them with the cat hair that is persistent. Ten minutes before he got home, I filled his water glass with ice and fresh water and placed it on his side table next to his recliner. I also took the opportunity to fill his bowl, so he has a freshie to smoke as he unwinds and relaxes from the stresses of his job. 

He sits down next to me and I wait until he is ready to talk before I pause my physics editing to give him my full attention. 

“Three trucks today, and Sam scheduled off so Abby and I had to unload and restock ourselves.” He has taken a part time job as the dairy man at a local specialty market to help pad our savings as we contemplate an interstate move in the near future. It’s hard on his body and it is not without its frustrations, but the hours are good and we are taking full advantage of the employee discount. Until something better comes along, he is making it work. I am deeply appreciative of the extra income, as it makes us that much closer to making our dreams a reality. 

Spotify plays in the background and Coldplay’s “Something Just Like This” takes its turn in the shuffle. 

“I had to return an octopus to the seafood department that somebody dumped in the dairy today. That was a new one.” I love when he tells me what he finds people have ditched. It makes me wonder what sparked the sudden divorce from a great dinner idea to dropping it all by the time they get to the other end of the store. 

After meditating in the morning, my day at home was spent editing physics, engineering, and law. Sometimes I have a tidbit to share that I have picked up from an article, but mostly I just say “work was good. I have to finish up after dinner. What’s for dinner again?” I could’ve looked it up on our menu app before he got home, but he sometimes has lightning strikes of inspiration and will switch things around at the last minute. Tonight we are having honey garlic cod with Parmesan couscous and maple glazed carrots for the side. The last chorus of Coldplay fades and the words repeat in my head, 

Where’d you wanna go?

How much you wanna risk?

I’m not lookin’ for somebody

With some superhuman gifts

Some superhero

Some fairy-tale bliss

Just something I can turn to

Somebody I can kiss

I want something just like this

His immediate presence calms me as he is my touchstone on this earthly plane. At a time when I explore dimensions in my brain through mindful meditation sessions, he reminds me that in this place and time there is only this one dimension that matters. I have a deep abiding love for the man who doesn’t have superhuman gifts, but who helps ground me so that I can explore the possibility of my own. 

He raises himself out of the recliner and goes to the kitchen to start dinner. I hear him hum as the fish sizzles in the iron skillet. A slow smile settles across my lips. Turns out, I want something just like this. 

The Last Lovebug

I take a right on Galbraith Road as the opening notes of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” play against the faint crackle of static from the Dayton radio station. Still close enough to come in, but far away enough to not be completely clear. Instantly my heart twinges and I can feel the emotions start to bubble up as I remember my mom singing along to Patsy on the way to taking me to school. She loved that song. Still does, I’m quite sure, even though she is 3,000 miles away. I cross Kenwood and slow past the hospital, thinking this is the first of many lasts. I am on my way to pick up Ezra on their last first day of high school, the last of my three kids, the last one to need my driver’s license as their ticket to freedom before they launch on their own. 

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Seven Sentence for Sunday: The trying new things edition

  1. I finally went to a free crochet class that I have been meaning to attend for the past few months and I made three new friends and am well on my way to making a dish rag.
  2. I am also relearning French via Duo Lingo and am at a level 43 out of 160, so I have a ways to go.
  3. Biscuits and gravy for dinner tonight; sometimes we have lots of veggies, tonight we had none. I ain’t complaining, that gravy was delicious!
  4. I am 3 pounds away from losing 50 lbs from my top weight. I wouldn’t mind losing 50 more, but I’d be happy with 30-40. I think my doctor would be fine with that too. I just seem to be okay with losing at a turtle’s pace—especially if it means I get biscuits and gravy for dinner every three months!
  5. Harvard released their applications for their extension campus. I have vowed that when we get moved and settled I am going to apply for my masters in creative writing. I feel like I should be able to finish my novel as a capstone project.
  6. WWE’s women only event Evolution is on tonight. When Rhea Ripley walked into the arena with no makeup on I swear my heart took an extra beat. That woman does things to men and women alike!
  7. This is the first time I have written in 3 years. In the spirit of doing new things I figured I d revisit an old thing while I was at it. I am glad to be back, for however long.

You’d Be Prettier If You Smiled

This is my entry into the NYC Midnight Rhyming Story Challenge. The parameters were 600 words max, Genre: Action/Adventure, Theme: Hunger, Emotion: Infuriated. Let me know what you think in the comments.

It was a day like no other,

It started out shitty

When the barista said

Smile more, you’d be pretty. 

So I gave him the finger,

Stomped away in a huff.

Left without breakfast and coffee,

Hoping a tic tac would be enough

To get me through to lunch

Or maybe a snack.

What was this? Construction ahead

Please cut me some slack. 

So I turn down an alley,

A shortcut to work,

When a pack of dogs confronts me

All going berserk. 

I use my only superpower 

Calming techniques through DBT.

The dogs start to back down

They can feel my energy. 

I make it to my desk

With five minutes to spare.

I ask my cubicle mate

If she’s got a granola bar to share.

“Nothing for you,” she says. 

Oh, don’t be such a twat. 

I just asked for a snack

That’s not really a lot. 

That canine confrontation sapped me

I can feel my temper rise. 

What I wouldn’t give for a donut 

Or hell a burger and fries. 

Then it hits me, 

Alleluia, I am saved.

My emergency quarters

In my desk for a rainy day.

To the snack machine I go

Clutching my quarters tight.

The Funyuns and Cheezits beckon,

They are such a beautiful sight. 

Motherfucker no. 

This isn’t happening to me. 

The bag is stuck in the coil.

Dear Satan let me be. 

I shake the machine

Then lean my head and cry. 

I think it’ll be easier 

If I lie here and die. 

Limited PTO

Gets my butt back to my desk.

I’ll have to trudge through 

I can only try my best. 

I pull up a file

And start the pre-edits.

The words run together

My stomach gives me fits.

Somehow I manage 

Over the next three hours

To beat back the belly demons

Though I can still feel their glowers.

11:30 hits,

This bitch is out

Lunchtime fuckers

Let the hungry child out. 

Move it, dude, 

You’re moving so slow

Tie your shoes elsewhere 

I’m a woman on the go. 

I get to my favorite haunt 

Without much of a fuss.

The tide is turning my way

I hope, I pray, I trust. 

Much to my horror

I see the handwritten note:

The fryer is down, 

No food today, no hope. 

And then I feel it rising 

From my gut to my cheeks,

Anger so deep

It’s been simmering for weeks.

In the blink of an eye

My head just popped

Brains and goo all over 

That poor falafel shop. 

Official cause of death

Temper tantrum caused by hanger

A leading cause in young women 

A fatal unspoken danger. 

So, you see, St Pete

There’s no way I’d be dead

If that asshole barista

Had given me my breakfast instead. 

I stand before you

A victim of circumstance.

Please let me into heaven.

Please take a chance.

The Little Joys

Around here, when the seasons change, our bipolar tendencies rear their ugly head. In spring, it’s mania central. Projects get started, big ideas happen, we get a little agitated. In autumn, we are more subdued as our depressive nature kicks in and we struggle with the harsh realities of the world. I have seen this cycle in myself for the past 12 years. I’ve only begun noticing it over the past few years in my kids.

Ry is particularly hit hard by the depression in the fall. We sat in my car talking the other day and she just crumpled. The tears flowed and she talked about how she didn’t know how to break the cycle. She has been maintaining a regular schedule of showering before bed, going to bed before 10, and waking up around 8. Now that Will is over COVID, he is cooking again, so she’s eating healthier. She has a bike that could get more use, but don’t we all have one of those? So she’s checking those boxes. I tried breaking it down into moment by moment, just making it through, but that didn’t resonate. Finally, I suggested “little joys.”

“Little joys” is not a novel concept, but it is an effective one. It’s simply having gratitude for the brief moments in our lives when all is good. It can be as simple as hearing your favorite song on the radio, seeing a beautiful leaf dancing in the wind, a whiff of your favorite lotion when you take your mask down to take a sip of water…the list is as infinite as the mind’s ability to dream. At first she scoffed, but as I pressed her for ideas, I could see “it” start to flicker. Her inner spark, her drive, her willingness to dig deep and make it one more day. 

The truth is, we are all struggling. With the news cycle, the pandemic, the soul crushing, more, more, more basis for American capitalism…add teenage existentialism in the mix and it’s enough to break you. I wanted to tell Ry what I was really thinking–and that was that life is hard. It sucks big hairy moose balls a lot of the time. But if you reframe your mind to accept that the universe has balance and with every crappy thing that happens to you, a beautiful  thing will come along to counterbalance it, you can start to look for the little joys. And you hang on to them…because in this life, it’s all that fucking matters.