18 wheeler

February 2, 2012 by 7 Comments
This is what I would look like if I really were an 18-wheeler.

This is what I would look like if I really were an 18-wheeler.

“Suddenly I see…suddenly I see, This is what I want to be.

Suddenly I see…suddenly I see, Why the hell it means so much to me.”

~KT Tunstall

Let me begin by saying the fact that I have become quite focused on seriously keeping this blog going scares the crap out of The Man. He doesn’t like to share. But I do. Which is why I get invited on more playdates. Opposites attract. So there. Perhaps his reasoning used to be sound. Too much personal information out there might bite us in the ass. Not so much anymore, since the IRS knows where we are, honey. Of course, they have known all along, since we never tried to hide from them, and because they are the EYE ARE ESS, people. In fact, I’m quite certain our Big Bad Voodoo government is looking down via satellite and could probably tell me what color underwear I have on right now, and what color I’ve decided will be cool for tomorrow. Whatever.

So here I am….sharing the fact that lately I feel like an 18 wheeler. A gigantic tractor-trailer, hauling a much too heavy load, flying down the freeway amidst 70 mile an hour  Santa Ana winds, just waiting to jack-knife into a canyon any minute. I believe that may be what The Man is afraid everyone will find out. But, it’s precisely what I need everyone to know. People up close, people far away, people I don’t even know, and probably never will. You see, I recognize this scary road I’m traveling. It’s name is DEPRESSION. (Wow, it looks scarier in print). So, I have decided in order to keep from crashing into a guard rail, I need to grab my CB radio and talk. To stay awake. Because I’m pretty sure there are some other truckers out there who need to hear my story and tell me theirs. Right? The last couple of years in the life of my family have been full of change. Unwelcome, ugly change for the most part, facilitated by snarky people whom we thought we could trust, but who all had hidden agendas. More on that later. Oh yeah, there is a post there, for sure. Intermittently there have been sparkly moments, mostly because I’ve always been an optimist rather than a realist (that is The Man) and decided if I couldn’t see a shiny side to life, I would just polish the dull, tarnished one.  And it worked.

Until I turned 40, and hit the wall I swore I would never hit. Not the “oh shit I look old and need a new ass, a flat belly and some boobs” wall, but rather the “how the hell did I get here?” wall. WHAT AN EYE OPENER. Sure, I accept that I have well-deserved wrinkles and gray hair currently trying its dead level best to take over my head, despite my best efforts to conceal it. That’s all fine. But to quote The Bloggess, “HOLY SHIT SNACKS”….I didn’t expect this! Read on, please.

Several days before I hit the big FOUR OH, I found myself sitting in the corner of my dining room, with my head in my hands…sobbing. And I am sooooo not a crier. Nonetheless, there I was, a blubbering, despondent mess. So many of the things I imagined as part of my life at this age are…well…missing. Our finances are a mess. And not in the “hot” kind of way, but rather the “Godzilla showed up and stomped on them” kind of way. My marriage seems to be showing cracks under the pressure of Godzilla’s enormous feet too, but I’m working on that. Yes, I have 3 beautiful, loving, brilliant daughters who help me get up every morning.  Also a circle of girlfriends, and blood related sisters I can count on (y’all know who you are) whom I’m sure are so tired of answering their phones and listening, or reading my “I need your help, along with some happy” texts, that they secretly wish I would lose my damn voice or at the very least break a valuable texting phalange. Should be enough, right? Not so much, when you are a perfectionistic, overachiever, trying to figure out how on earth to wade through several years of icky, dank swamp without letting anyone know you don’t have it all together. Read here for the definition of “dank”, and for a giggle amidst this murky post 🙂

Anyway, depression is new for me….I think. So it’s a miracle I recognized the signs. Below is what opened my eyes. That, and those television commercials about how depression “looks”. Holy cow, I could have been their brand ambassador the last couple of weeks. Butter Bean cemented that fact when she saw me after school today and said, “Mommy, why are you so dressed up?”.  My response was, “I’m not dressed up. I just took a shower and don’t have pajamas on anymore.” Two hours later, someone else asked me the same thing. Point taken.

Thursday and Friday of last week, and the first 3 days of this week, which makes FIVE DAYS TOTAL, I dropped The Beans off at school and drove home to crawl back in bed, in an effort to abandon life for a few hours (until pickup time, that is). Then, yesterday, I remembered  “Love Wins”, “We Can Do Hard Things” and “Carry on, Warrior”  and that pulled me out of bed. I even went to Home Goods looking for Beyonce’. Didn’t find her, but instead got a crazy looking metal parrot on a stick to plunge in the flower bed beside my front door. His name is Edward Scissorhands. Was going to name him Johnny Depp, but if you saw his TAIL you would absolutely understand why E.S. was a better fit. LOL. He’ll just have to stand in for Beyonce’ until I can locate her. There is a picture of him at the bottom of the post. He makes me smile all over my face, which is a GOOD THING these days. Although The Man doesn’t quite understand why I need him, he is amused by Edward’s presence and The Beans are just WILD about him 🙂 Win-win.

Last night, I had a very long conversation with one of those magnificent sister-friends I mentioned earlier. She helped me in ways she doesn’t even realize. So y’all need to pop over to her blog here and thank her for talking my ass off a ledge, and urging me to write this shit down.  I’m also happy to report that today, I dropped the girls off, raced back home, showered, styled my hair, PUT ON MAKEUP, pulled on a pair of skinny jeans, a flowy top, some shiny jewelry and a pair of kick-ass cowboy boots….and headed out the door to Hollywood, to visit The Man at work…because I really missed him, I needed a hug, and I think he did too. After all that, I picked the girls up, took them for Fro-Yo…just because 🙂

The best thing though, is through several days in bed, coupled with the inspiration given to me by the Monkee community over at Momastery  I realized the importance of writing my stories. I have a crap ton, too. Good, bad and “deer in headlights, did that really happen horrifying?”….all bottled up, waiting to be shared. Although I’m nowhere near the writer I hope to be someday, at present, I am capable of writing and sharing my unfiltered, raw truths with the hopes they resonate with some other truckers out there who are long hauling it through life…..just like me.

So, let’s do this thang, because there is no shame in being honest. Especially when you can’t afford professional help.

xo,

N

Would you look at that TAIL?!!! I mean….SERIOUSLY.

Filed Under: blogger shout outs, just me, random thoughts Tagged With: , , ,

Bubblegum from Heaven

January 28, 2012 by 12 Comments

“Love the people God gives you, because one day 

He will need them back.” 

I sincerely wish I knew whom to give credit to for that quote, but I don’t. Found it while I was trolling Pinterest. At any rate, it’s a keeper.

Now, where was I? Oh, right. Death. Wait….what??????

After peeling myself away from Pinterest yesterday, The Man and I picked The Beans up from school and drove over to Hollywood to run a few errands. As we passed Forest Lawn Cemetery, a place we have driven by hundreds of times…from the back seat I hear, “Mama, what’s with all those flowers?” It was, of course, Sweet Pea, asking. I replied, “That’s a cemetery, baby.” 

BOOM. There it was. Off to the races.

SP: What’s a cemetery?

Me: A place where people are buried. 

SP: You mean where people die? 

Me: No, it’s not where they die. It’s the place they are taken and laid to rest after they die.

BB: (chiming in) People are buried in the ground over there. The flowers show where they are, so you don’t step on them. There are big stones with their names on top of them too.

Me: (silently saying, WTF? in my head) 

At this point, I’m wondering how in the world Butter Bean knows about headstones and flowers and that you are not supposed to step on graves. I am also telepathically thanking whomever taught her. Because I’m certain I’ve never taken her to a cemetery, and to my knowledge, neither has anyone else. So it wasn’t me. My synapses are firing on all cylinders, and I finally decide it must have been Phinneas or Ferb, or  maybe, Spencer from iCarly. Yes. That’s it.

But it’s not over yet. Not by a long shot.

SP: What if they come back alive? If they are in the ground, and have big stones on them, how can they get out?

Me: Well, they don’t get out. Or come back to life. Once they reach the cemetery, that’s where they stay. Forever.

BB: Unless they turn into zombies.

Me: There are no such things as zombies. They are only in the movies, or on television. Oh, and in that game, Office Zombie on Daddy’s phone. But you know that’s not real.

If you are wondering….yes. I am now certain where she learned about cemeteries, AND kicking myself for being the cool mom, who let her play that game, and glimpse whatever zombie crossed our television screen. Seems to more often than not, bite me square in the ass. I am also…no longer thankful. Instead, I am panicked about what else she knows at the ripe old age of 7. F-F-Double F.

Just when I think it’s D-O-N-E, Sugar Bean, who has been silent the entire conversation decides to muddy the waters with, “What about people who are resuscitated?”

Me: Well, if they are resuscitated, then they don’t make it to the cemetery to be buried. Resuscitation means they are brought back to life. 

BB: Like zombies?

(shaking my head)

Me: (to The Man, who has also remained silent) A little help here????

Fortunately, there was something shiny up ahead, and the focus shifted. Whew—crawling out of that hole might have been more difficult that coming back to life as a zombie.

Regardless, the conversation did start my cerebral gears turning, which reminded me I can’t recall being taught about death myself. Not in a matter of fact, logical kind of way that is. In addition, I’m pretty sure I grew up with the idea that children shouldn’t go to funerals. Why? It’s part of life. A sad part, but an inevitable one. Sheltering doesn’t make much sense, suddenly. However, as we mothers often do, I am guilty of subscribing to this school of thought handed down from my own parents. An obvious parenting fail.

My first experience with the loss of a loved one was the death of my maternal grandfather, when I was 18. He was 90, and lived a long, healthy life. No tragedy involved. Somehow that makes it easier, I believe. Ironically, I had the unexpected honor of explaining death to my niece, Meaghan, who was 4 years old at the time, when she walked up to Papa’s casket and asked me to hold her up so she could see him. The conversation went something like this:

Meaghan: If Papa isn’t here, then how is he here?

Me: Well, his body is here, but his soul is in Heaven.

Meaghan: What do you mean? There he is….right there….sleeping.

Me: No, sweetie. He isn’t sleeping. He is resting, but he isn’t going to wake up, because his soul is in Heaven.

At this point she is still looking at me, in silence, with a preciously confused little face, on the verge of tears.

So, I decide to get down on her level, intellectually speaking.

Me: Alright, let me see if I can help you understand. You know when you have a piece of bubble gum, and you unwrap it and put it in your mouth to chew it? 

Meaghan: Uh-huh.

Me: Well, the bubble gum is really sweet and you enjoy it, and you smile while you have it, right? 

Meaghan: Yep.

Me: Then, after a little bit, all the sweet is gone, so you take it out of you mouth. But you still have the wrapper, don’t you? 

Meaghan: Uh-huh.

Me: Papa’s bubble gum is in Heaven, and this is his wrapper. 

Meaghan: (wide-eyed) OOOOHHHHHHH…..I get it!!!!

Mission accomplished.

Without hesitation, I explained death to a 4-year-old. But only because it was right there in front of her. What’s the standard response when it’s not? Perhaps that’s a fine reason to allow children to attend funerals when they are observant and vocal enough to ask about the flowers in the cemetery.Definitely something to ponder.

Strangely, The Man is away this weekend attending the unexpected memorial for one of his family members. I stayed home with The Beans, after remembering children have no place at funerals as it would simply be too hard to explain.

Why didn’t I remember THIS instead?

Because I have zombie mommy brain, that’s why.

 

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Filed Under: family, motherhood Tagged With: ,

It occurred to me this morning…

August 18, 2010 by 1 Comment

…..you have no idea who I am. Unless of course you are one of my circle, and have been directed here.  I’ve not mentioned my name (and I don’t plan to just yet), but I do think it’s fitting to put faces with….um….personalities. So, go ahead. Be a voyeur.

Here I am with The Man. You’ll hear a lot about him. For example, this photo was taken in New Orleans, recently. It’s one of his favorite places.

These are The Beans. Obviously, we have our hands full. I mean, LOOK AT THEM!! You’ll hear exponentially more about them, because I spend 95% of my time with them. Besides, I couldn’t fabricate most of the stories that come out of a day with them, and I’ll need to share. Laughter is good for the soul. So stay tuned.

Filed Under: family, motherhood Tagged With: , , , , ,
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