No, Really, It's Okay

The statements I am about to make might be startling to some of you.  They might make you uncomfortable. You might not be able to relate.  But I am going to say them anyway.

Sometimes my child is an asshole. 
Sometimes my husband and I long for the days when it was just us.
Sometimes I long for the days when it was just me.
Sometimes I want to go back and make different decisions.
Sometimes I wish we had just used a condom.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if Tim and I had just broken up after that big fight right after I moved to Seattle.
Sometimes I want to be somebody other than me.

I know some of you feel the same way as I do, and maybe you've been mommy-shamed or friend-shamed or spouse-shamed for feeling this way - I know I have - but I am here to tell you that it's okay.  It's okay to feel this way.  It has to be okay for us to feel this way.

It's okay to miss your freedom.  It's okay to miss flirting.  It's okay to miss your independence.  It's okay to miss international travel.  It's okay to miss sleeping in.  It's okay to miss being selfish.  It's okay to absolutely delight in your time away from your family.  It's okay to take a Girls/Guys Weekend to Vegas.  It's okay to schedule an Adventure Night (our code name for the otherwise hideously known "Date Night") every week and wish for more.  It's okay to miss the "old days".  It's okay to long for an entire weekend to yourself.  It's okay for you to want it to be about you every once in awhile.  It has to be okay to feel these things.  It has to be okay for us to talk about feeling these things without fear. 

It doesn't mean we don't love our families.  It doesn't mean that we are bad parents or bad partners.  It doesn't mean that we aren't happy with the lives we lead.  It just means that sometimes we're looking over the fence at grass that appears greener. 

Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but it has to be okay to check it out every once in awhile.  How else will we know that our own grass, though overgrown & mossy in patches, is still pretty fucking green after all?

"I cannot sleep unless I am surrounded by books."

I introduced my son to the library last week.  He walked around in a state of awe, making his way down the stacks, running his finger over the spines.  We each chose three books, and, as we were leaving, he said, "Can we go to the library tomorrow too?"

This is the way I want my son to know books.  The way I know books.  In book form.  No need to turn anything on in order to immerse yourself in a story.  No fear of a low battery at an inopportune moment.  A break from reality.  A break from screens. 

I want to read my books in book form.  I want to love them up and crease their spines and fold the corners of their pages.  You will know which ones are my favorites by sight; they have been loved to shreds.  I want that new book smell from a hot-off-the-presses novel by a first time author.  I want a quickened pulse as I hear the UPS guy drop a package from Amazon on to my porch.  I want the deliciousness of having three new books to choose from on a lazy Sunday afternoon.  I want that musty, moldy aroma from a classic that hasn't been checked out of the library in years.  I want to tuck that same classic under my arm as I look for a seat at coffee shop.  I want to feel the weight of Alice Munro or Wally Lamb or Margaret Atwood in my carry-on as I board a plane.  I want to see row after row lined up on our many bookshelves and stacked in piles next to our bed.  I want to have the luxury of reading three books at a time just because I can't decide which one I want to read first.  I want to read and reread my favorites so many times their characters become family members.  I want to write dedications on the first page of books given as gifts to solidify memories that may otherwise fade away.  I want to read - and share - my books in book form.

My son will inherit beat-up copies of The Runaway Bunny and Goodnight Moon, and, later, The Hardy Boys and Harry Potter.  We will run our fingers over the yellowed pages of the final The Ends. And then we'll read them again.

"We're All Mad Here."

What do I wish for you this year, my friends? Quite simply, I wish you madness...

This year, let's embrace our lives of madness.  Let's not silence the crazy voices in our heads that encourage us to take chances & risks.  Let's be so mad that fear takes one look at us and backs off in confusion.  Let's love wholly and with abandon, without concern for the possibility of heartbreak.  Let's stay up too late talking nonsense while simultaneously discovering the secrets of life.  Let's ignore our prescribed bedtimes and let our tired eyes reflect the joy of knowing that we chose experience over sleeping.  Let's speak up, madly & bravely, for what we believe in.  Let's share our ideas & our opinions without trepidation, delighting in the fact that others might say, "You're crazy, that will never work".  Then let's make it work.  Let's say yes to everything that seems impossible, everything that seems insane, everything that feels terrifying.  Let's say no when our gut instructs us to do so - even when it's going against popular opinion.  Let's stop playing it safe.  Let's show the world the real us.  Let's remove the filters.  Let's be willing to be the underdog.  Let's accept, no, let's relish, every absurdity that life throws at us. 

This year, let's go all in.

And then, at the end of 2015, when we're asked, "How was your year?", we can all sigh & say with a wicked smile, "It was crazy."

"Some people never go crazy.  What truly horrible lives they must lead." -Charles Bukowski

A Look Back

Because Facebook never seems to tell the whole story, I think it's time to remove the filters & break down my true 2014.  Here's an actual Year in Review of a Full Time Marketer, a Full Time Mommy & a Full Time Party Girl.  Thanks for being a part of it.

1. Successfully made it to Boo's third birthday which he insisted on celebrating without pants
   
2. Listened to "Shake It Off" and "Problem" way too many times
3. Struggled with balance, often finding myself on a teeter-totter of extremes
4. Relished, delighted in, and truly loved being a Mother to Boo & took great pleasure in our time together, watching him grow & change, and experiencing joy & newness through his eyes
5. Relished, delighted in, and truly loved my time alone, with Tim or with my girlfriends
6. Changed the name from "Date Nights" to "Adventure Nights" & made them a priority again
7. Embraced my total Book Nerdiness & read a ton of new genres & authors
8. Called myself a writer, but only wrote 10 blog posts (wait, 11 including this one!)
9. Continued my love affair with wine while actually learning a lot about it during trips to Paso Robles, Napa and Sonoma, twice
10. Learned the definitions of "microagressions" and "mansplaining" & experienced both, along with straight-up sexism, in both professional & personal settings
11. Resolved that I would never, ever again allow myself to be condescended to or bullied again
12. Began running again, found a renewed positive attitude toward it, achieved Personal Bests during a 5K in June & another in November, and committed to running my first half-marathon in June 2015(!)
13. Celebrated as Boo started & thrived in preschool!  Cried at the quick decline of our family's health accompanying this milestone
14. Loved my job, feared losing my job, questioned how good I was at my job, put everything I had into my job, thought about finding a new job, cried over changes to come in my job, explored how I could turn my love of my job into a business, and, finally, embraced the uncertainty of my job
15. Cried as my Aunt, my God Mother, someone I've been very close with over all of these years, battles a disease that has turned her into a shell of herself.  Prayed - something I almost never do - for her and our family and all of the families struggling with disease & dementia
16. Watched as my friendships changed, mourning those that are now lost & finding joy in new friends, renewed friends, and, of course, old friends
17. Laughed.  A lot.  Cried a lot too.  (I guess there was balance in some areas then.)
18. Dug deep into the idea of "Having It All", struggled with the guilt of being a working mother, and learned from the experiences of other women.  Looked forward to continuing to pursue & share more on this topic in the new year 
19. Navigated the minefield that is a 9-year relationship; always trying to be careful, treading lightly & treating it with respect while always just a little worried what might blow up
20. Chalked up yet another year without international travel (not counting Canada, eh), and the hole in my gypsy soul got bigger by the day
21. Had lots and lots and lots of Dance Parties (see #2)
22. Accepted some of the things in my life I cannot change, forgave myself for some larger mistakes and simultaneously struggled with regret
23. Marked the 20th anniversary of my high school graduation, reminding me of the 18 year old poet & dreamer that's still inside me & remembering to listen to her a little more often
24. Thought to myself over and over again, "I can't do this.  This is too hard.  I am not equipped for this.  I can't, I can't, I can't."  But then I went ahead and did it anyway. 
25. Expressed gratitude for this amazing life I am lucky enough to lead.  But not nearly often as I should have done.

What a year it's been. xo

The Scariest Halloween Tale You'll Ever Read

Quiet now, Gentle Reader, and I'll tell you the tale of the scariest Halloween ever.  Consider yourself warned.   

It was Halloween 2010, and it was dark & stormy night in Seattle.  While usually this is a quiet night amongst ghouls and goblins (they consider it "amateur hour"), this year was a little different.  This year, the wickedness in all of them couldn't be contained.  And so, the witches & the warlocks, the ghoulies and the ghosts, and one Pilot and his Stewardess, in search of tricks and treats and mini-bottles of alcohol, stormed the streets of Ballard wreaking havoc on the bars and restaurants, but mostly on themselves. Please ensure that your seatbelts are fastened for takeoff.  Smoking is allowed on this flight.

Like so many fallen horror film friends before them, this Pilot and his Stewardess went ahead and broke every rule out there.  Everything from the Bad Idea In Order To Survive Playbook was put into action.  Every mistake was made.  Everyone knew danger was lurking, but no one listened. Instead, they drank, smoked, had unprotected sex Just This One Time, and drank and smoked some more.  They basically called out to the unknown monsters awaiting them, "Here we are! Come and get us!  We can't do anything to stop you!"

(Cue distant scream from an undisclosed location.)  They looked around, wondering who was crying out.  Seeing nothing, they went back to their wicked ways, unaware of the danger that was just on the horizon.

And then....9 months later....they finally realized where that scream was coming from.  And there were no Emergency Exits in sight. 

BOO!

Be safe out there, kids.  There is no turning back. 

Happy Halloween!

Smoke It If You Got It!

In honor of the opening of Seattle's first legalized pot shop a few weeks ago, I have decided to share with you some of my finer moments under the influence of this now-legal herb.  So sit back, relax, and have plenty of snacks ready to go.

Paranoia Sets In
The first time I got stoned, I was sitting on the back patio of my Mom's house in Plymouth with my girl friend who I will call Sally just in case she doesn't want to be associated with this story.  I had smoked before, but it's likely that I didn't inhale properly because that summer evening was definitely the first time I felt it.  Yep, as we sat on the peach-colored patio chairs, Michigan summer sun setting slowly, toking off our borrowed bowl because we clearly did not have our own paraphernalia, we got stoned.  We laughed our asses off too.  Until we heard the police sirens.  Sally thought it would be funny to tell me that the police were on to us, and they were probably coming to arrest us that minute.  Being the insane rule follower that I am & unable to correctly identify tone in my altered state, I totally freaked out.  My paranoia & freaking out then caused Sally to forget that she had, in the first place, been joking, and now SHE was also freaking out that the cops were after us for the tiny bag of shake we managed to procure - probably from one of our younger brothers.  We decided our best option was to head inside and HIDE under some blankets in the family room from the inevitable sting that was about to occur.  Forty-five minutes later, we were beginning to sober up.  In the world's first true A-HA moment, Sally remembered that, oh crap, she had actually just been joking around about the cops from the start!
Disaster averted, we went back to the patio to regain our buzz & then watched reruns of Quantum Leap for the rest of the night.

It's Jamaica, Mon
A few years later, I went to Jamaica on Spring Break with some of my sorority sisters.  I would like to clarify that we were not in the semi-nice part of Jamaica.  In fact, we were in the total not-nice part of Jamaica.  However, it was to our benefit that marijuana smugglers from my neighboring hometown of Livonia, Michigan also enjoy staying in the not-nice part of Jamaica.  Yes, Gentle Reader, it's true.  I met a real life drug smuggler from Michigan in the bar of our hotel.  And - surprise, surprise - he didn't mind sharing his stash with some college girls.  As long as we didn't mind sharing our fifth of banana rum.  (We didn't.)  Wisely, four of us girls went to his hotel room where he proceeded to roll joint after joint.  He would take a couple of tokes, decide that it was not smoking properly and would promptly throw it off the balcony.  This happened six or seven times before he finally rolled one that he felt good about.  Before leaving, he gave me a handful of pot to take with me.  "What should I do with it?" I asked.  "Put it in your pocket, mon!" he replied.   Aside:  you can bet your bottle of banana rum that we went back the next day and collected those joints he threw off the balcony.  Interestingly enough, they smoked fine for us.

We Should Start AAA In New Zealand
And a few years after that, I was living in New Zealand.  My girl friend, Casey (yeah, I changed her name too), and I were on a month-long road trip in the South Island.  If you have been to New Zealand, you will know that one simply does not go on a road trip without a lot of dak.  (Aside: the word "dak" is slang for pot Down Under.  If someone offers you "dak cake", it is not something you should eat 2 or 3 pieces of because you think it's just delicious chocolate cake.  End of aside.) While visiting Mt Cook National Park, we were staying at the Mt Cook YHA.  Gentle Reader, this is basically a youth hostel in the middle of freaking Mordor.  It is, how shall we say, isolated. After an awesome day of hiking, we decide to go out to the car to relax & toke up a bit.  We were listening to music, talking, laughing, being ridiculous.  We got out of the car, locked it up because, you know, we're in the middle of nowhere, when we turned back to realize that the car, in fact, was still running.  We had smoked so much dak that we locked the car with the keys in the ignition still running.  Except that we had also smoked so much dak that it was so hysterical that we couldn't stop laughing or do anything about it.  A locksmith made the trek through Mordor the next day.  He also, wisely, brought us a tank of gas.  We had to give him the ring (My Preciousssss) in exchange.  Seemed fair.

Happy Toking, Seattle!

It Was 20 Years Ago Today (Here's to the Class of 1994)

June 12, 1994

With butterflies in my stomach & pink cheeks, I delivered Plymouth-Salem High School's graduation speech to the Class of 1994.  In the middle of it, I did the one thing that I had been

cautioned against doing.  The one thing that could ruin the whole operation.  You guessed it.

I cried.

I cried because, thus far, 1994 had been the best year of my life, and I couldn't imagine how it could ever get better than that.  I cried because my speech spoke of living in the moment & experiencing real & true & raw emotions as you feel them.  I cried because I saw my Mom crying from the third row.  I cried because my Best Friend and I were going to different schools.  I cried because I was an idealist, a poet, a lover of words & emotions, someone who felt everything deeply & personally.  I cried because I was a 17-year old girl.  I cried because I had realized that happiness & sadness are so often two sides of the same coin.  I cried because I just couldn't stop myself.

And now, here we are, 20 years later.

I am no longer an idealist.  Years of education, both personal & academic, have made me into a realist.  And sometimes even a cynicist.  I don't write poetry anymore.  Instead I am a (sometime) blogger who takes her baby to bars.  My Best Friend did go to a different school, and she now lives in a different city.  And she's still my Best Friend.  (Yay, Katie!) I still consider 1994 one of the best years of my life....along with 1995, 1999, 2001, 2006, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2013, and 2014.  It did get better.  And better.  And even better after that.  Living in the moment is a challenge for me. It doesn't come naturally like it did when I was 17.  But I strive to be present, to be where I am when I'm there & drink in all the moments, both good & bad.  I will always be a lover of words & emotions.  But I don't wear my heart on my sleeve any longer.  I have become guarded, someone that holds my cards pretty close.  I prefer to ask questions & learn about others rather than share my own story.  (Although, with a few glasses of wine, I can usually be persuaded to spill.)  I still cry when I see my Mom crying.  But instead of embracing it, I usually try to convince her to stop.
And I still know that happiness & sadness are often two sides of the same coin.  And I think that's why I am crying now.

Hugs & love to the Class of '94.  Twenty years ago, I wished you lives that were experienced through joyful & wondrous eyes.  Today, I wish you another 20 years that just keep getting better.  And better.  And even better after that.

P.S.  Crying never ruins anything.  Except maybe your makeup.