tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34871585766544369882024-03-14T05:23:19.027-07:00Bliss and ChaosBliss and Chaos has morphed from a therapy-session recommended outlet for a crazed working mom, to a blog about anything and everything. Pour a glass of your favorite beverage, sit back and enjoy. Most times it's meant to be funny, but sometimes I speak my truth.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger315125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-7883084443973405582023-10-08T14:32:00.003-07:002023-10-10T16:26:21.461-07:00The Quiet House<p>It was interesting, hearing my boyfriend talk about one night when I fell asleep in his arms. He described it as holding someone in a total state of tenseness. And, little by little, limb by limb, my body slowly relaxed until he knew I'd finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep. </p><p>I remember the feel of him, pressed up against me - warmth and safety wrapped around me with arms and legs in a calm, quiet strength. I could feel his breath on my neck, and as I listened to him breathe, I remember feeling my body slowly let go of whatever it was still clinging to.</p><p>Nearly a month later, I had lunch with a friend. We talked about what it was like to go to bed at night when we were kids. I don't even know how the subject came up but it did. We came from vastly different backgrounds yet had similar memories of feeling a heightened sense of insecurity. </p><p>In my house, it wasn't that I feared for bodily harm or violence. It was the palpable silence, the quiet in my house that I felt deep in my core.</p><p>You see, I grew up around a lot of quiet. A lot of silence. A lot of tense moments, strung together so often that it felt normal. And I learned to live in the silence, even as much as I couldn't embrace it. </p><p>By the time I have really any memories of my parents, they were already unhappy in their marriage. </p><p>My dad was incredibly unhappy at his job. </p><p>My mom was trying to earn her college degree and balance being a present parent.</p><p>My brother struggled with depression. </p><p>I lived in a house that was simply unsettled. The kind of quiet that feels heavy. All the time. And the only time the quiet is ever broken is the random argument or disagreement between parents or kids or parents and their kids. </p><p>Sure, we took vacations, we ate dinner together, we went fishing and sailing. But even in all of those memories, there's mostly just quiet. Not a calm quiet, a tense quiet. </p><p>This is what I remember the most about growing up in my house. Don't rock the boat. Don't do the wrong thing. Do your best. Don't ask for more than you need. Be good. Don't share your feelings or your emotions. Just. Be. Happy.</p><p>I know it probably wasn't always that way. It is, however, what I remember the most about our day to day lives. And then it's no surprise that I learned to fall asleep with every muscle in my body as tight as it could be. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop. </p><p>As an adult, I found myself in a 22 year relationship (20 of those married) with a very kind man. I can't, and won't, disparage his character - there is nothing to disparage. It takes two people to make a relationship work, just as much as it takes two to make it not work. I own my part in the ending of things.</p><p>Both of us came into the union with our own baggage, our own hurts, and our own communication styles. And as I reflect back on those 22 years, now I see that I sought out a partner that gave me what felt familiar: silence. </p><p>I was well accustomed to not asking for what I needed by the time we got married, and due to his experiences he was also used to the silence too. Years upon years piled on, the silent stretches grew longer and more frequent. </p><p>The familiar, yet unsettling feeling of sitting in that silence and knowing in my core that something was wrong, someone wasn't happy, someone was upset or angry or didn't want to talk to me settled deep into my bones becoming its own kind of marrow, refusing to leave and becoming a part of me like my brown hair, freckles and gangly limbs.</p><p>I find myself now looking back on a lot of my formative years, trying to understand the woman I've become. Outwardly, I appear to be a strong, competent, confident woman. And I am. Yet, on the inside, I'm still a little girl. I still wish everyone could get along. That I could make everyone happy. </p><p>And even still today, I fear, more than anything else, the soul-crushing, eerie, yet thunderous sound of silence.</p><p>It is probably one of the hardest parts for me about dating in my 50's, and probably, in dating me. I need more checking in and communication than a normal person should. </p><p>I've been blessed with an overthinking brain and an incredibly overactive imagination. Coupled with everything else I've disclosed, it's a recipe for extreme anxiety. I tend to over-analyze every conversation, every date, every text when the silence closes in around me. </p><p>And, when I don't hear from my boyfriend for a day or two (which is not unusual with his incredibly busy and demanding grind of a work schedule) every self doubt I have, every silence filled moment, every deeply hidden yet waiting in the wings belief that I have that I'm unlovable floods my brain. </p><p>I worry that maybe I said the wrong thing and he's upset. I think maybe my neediness is too much. I start to believe that he's going to walk away.</p><p>Because that is what 50 years of living in the silence has taught me: silence means something is wrong. Even much as the silence feels familiar, I'm no longer willing or able to live in it. </p><div>As I slowly reveal some of the more jagged edges of issues, my boyfriend has taken it all in stride. He continues to show up, with empathy and grace. </div><p>From the first time we met when I played one of my "crazy" cards, as I call them, he showed up. </p><p>As I drove away from our first date, a long walk on the greenbelt beside the river, the smell of fresh rain and cottonwoods surrounding us, I heard that little girl inside of me whisper quietly and cutting through my fearful, overthinking silence "he was the calm in your storm today." </p><p>I don't have a crystal ball to know what my future holds, with my relationship or my job or anything else for that matter. But what I do know is that I am learning more about myself through all of this. </p><p>And I am (slowly) learning how to sit in the stormy silence just as much as I am slowly learning to share what I need with someone I trust to meet me halfway.</p><p>I hope someday I can start to trust the silence too, to quiet my soul and just breathe in the gratitude I feel for a life well-lived and for the incredible circle of people that surround me every day. </p><p>But for now, I'm going to embrace progress, not perfection (something else my boyfriend once remarked) and appreciate that I will, always and forever be, a work in progress.</p><p>And I will learn to sit in the silence and trust that it doesn't always mean something is wrong.</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-41141600336951708172023-05-06T12:13:00.002-07:002023-05-06T12:19:47.322-07:00Maude vs the bullies from sixth grade<p> Dear 12-year-old self,</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know that you’ve been struggling with something for a long
time. And you carry this thing well into your adulthood. In fact, this is 50-year-old
you writing a long overdue love letter to yourself when you really needed it
the most.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know that for most of your formative years, you felt
different than everyone else. That difference mostly manifested itself in your
outward appearance. It started early in grade school with comments about your
height and your weight – tall and thin. And then the universe saw fit to cover
you with freckles. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And as you got a little older, the bullies got a little
bolder. Then, in the sixth grade your classmates felt so incredibly awful about
themselves that they chose to target you. They called you Rover. Said you were
uglier than a dog. They barked at you. And you lived with that for most of that
year and then carried it with you for the next 38.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And when you needed it the most, there was no one to help.
No one to stand up for you. That year, one of the worst, you asked for help. “They
are just teasing” was the adult response. There’s a massive difference between
teasing and bullying, and you were bullied and didn’t have the words to
understand or ask for support. And so you let it happen and lived with it. And
you still do.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even today you describe your appearance as tall, gangly,
freckled and the human equivalent of a giraffe. You are so much more than that. But, to be fair, giraffes are pretty cool.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By the time you got to junior high, Rover disappeared and
nicknames like Stretch and a Pirate’s Dream (sunken chest, how clever of you
stupid boys) became the norm. You never felt cute or pretty and people made fun
of you and your last name and reinforced this notion that you are ugly. All
these things you’ve carried with you no matter how outwardly confident you
might seem, inside you’ve always felt less than.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thirty years later, your incredible daughter was faced with
the same thing at the same age. So I’m going to tell you what you needed to
hear when you were 12, and the words I said to her: “You are tall, thin, smart,
funny as hell, kind and beautiful. And you are everything they are never going
to be. That is why they picked you to hate. You are everything. They are
nothing.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You needed someone to say that, not dismiss those hateful
and mean words as mere teasing or my always favorite “kids will be kids”. Words
matter. Words. Matter.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And I wish with all that I am that you could see the woman
you’ve become so that you don’t carry those words and experiences with you for
38 more years. I wish I could give you a big hug, tuck you in and hold you
tight so you felt safe. I’d tell you you’re beautiful inside and out. I wish
you could see yourself the way others see you now.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wish you could, even now at age 50, believe that you are
beautiful. But your beauty is more than just what’s on the outside. You are
funny as hell, you are adventurous, brave, kind, smart, successful, athletic (yes,
this does eventually happen to you!) and you are also beautiful in your own wavy
hair freckle-faced brown eyed way. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It will take some time to undo those thoughts and those
memories, but this is a start. Be kind to yourself. Be proud of yourself.
Remember what you’ve overcome and that you are a total badass. And, someday, I hope when someone tells you that you're beautiful that you finally believe it. You are, inside and out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Please remember to love yourself.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Love,</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yourself<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-19991975344330653972023-01-14T12:34:00.004-08:002023-01-14T20:10:39.576-08:00Maude VS Eat, Pray, Love<p>I am about to embark on another huge adventure. Probably the biggest adventure of my 50 trips around the sun: I am taking a solo trip to Italy for 2.5 weeks and I could not possibly be more excited.</p><p>Some people have asked me if I am nervous or scared to go. That's the funny thing about being Maude: I'm rarely scared, and only occasionally nervous. I've jumped out of an airplane, gone bungee jumping & zip lining, and risked my life to save little sailboats on Lake Coeur d'Alene in my youth. I'm the crazy person in the front of the roller coaster and I have never, ever met a ride that put fear in my soul.</p><p>I can definitively say the one thing I'm scared of is being alone for the rest of my life, while at the same time I have zero desire to be in a relationship. That's the other funny thing about being Maude: I'm an enigma. Always an enigma. </p><p>I am, however, learning to love my own company. I've done all kinds of things on the solo track this year and I know without a shadow of a doubt that traveling to a foreign country will be no different. Friends, this will be the first time in my life I will have ever stamped my passport. </p><p>And I'm hoping this is not a one and done. To be honest, I've always had a wandering heart. A desire to see the world. Soak up some history. See things I've only read about in books. So here I am. And thanks to a shitload of miles due to COVID and no travel, I can finally make this happen.</p><p>Two and a half weeks of travel time. Time to think. To process. Evaluate and re-evaluate what I want to do and who I want to be. Many of my friends have asked me if this is my eat, pray, love adventure. I laughed it off at first but as I thought about it, it really kind of is.</p><p>I will eat and drink (sooo much amazing wine) my way through all of central and southern Italy. I cannot wait to sit in a café somewhere with espresso and my laptop and tell some stories that have been living in my brain for way too long. </p><p>It will be incredible to taste REAL limoncello, authentic and locally made olive oil, all the prosecco my liver can process and figure out how in the hell to avoid gluten in Italy. </p><p>I will pray. I imagine I'll pray a lot: on the flight that I make it safely. On the country roads in the little Fiat I rented, on the cliffs, in the city of Rome, on the canals of Venice and I imagine, even though I no longer practice Catholicism, I'll visit a few old churches and reconnect with my faith in God, outside of the constructs of being Catholic. </p><p>I do envision a lot of praying not to die as I drive a tiny car on back roads in a country I've never been to.</p><p>And love. What is that going to be? I'm not looking for love with anyone but myself. I hope, I pray (and I'll eat a few meals while I manifest this thing) that I will learn to love myself. My imperfect, loud, inappropriate, funny at times, occasionally brilliant but mostly average, tall, freckle-faced, gray haired and wrinkled self. </p><p>I don't know if I ever have loved myself fully and completely. I've spent most of my 50 years wishing I were different somehow, better than I am, shorter, skinnier, more athletic, less of a misfit, more successful, funnier, quieter, less freckled, more confident and less of a screw up than what I see when I look in the mirror. </p><p>I hope that I will come home with more love for myself for all of my imperfections and all of my mistakes. And for all the things that truly make me who I am.</p><p>And I hope that when I come home I'll feel a little more like a whole person, maybe a little more like myself. I am still struggling to make sense of my life and how I got here and what I want for the rest of it. </p><p>Italy may not have all the answers, but it sure has good food and wine and places to see. I really can't ask for more than that.</p><p>And, if I can love myself just enough...my future, no matter what it holds, will be wonderful.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-52394634266029462952022-12-28T16:05:00.004-08:002022-12-28T18:37:54.732-08:00Broken is still beautiful<p><span style="font-family: arial;">The irony of my current situation is never lost on me. The
irony is that as hard as I tried to not allow history to repeat itself, here I
am: divorced, middle-aged with a teenager and a college kid, just like my
parents. Knee-deep in a very busy career, just like my mom. Struggling to make
sense of the end, just like my dad.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The thing I could not see through my own grief over the final
ending of my parent’s marriage, a relationship that I knew most of my life was
already over, was how hard it all was on my parents. Now I do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">I was 18 when my parents separated. My mom soon began to
date Mike, who became my stepdad while I was in college, and eventually earned
the title of bonus dad through his kindness to me. I can tell the story of the
exact moment our relationship changed to one of deep respect and care, but
that’s not the point of this story.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">My dad also quickly moved on with one woman, and then a few
months later to a new one who would become his life partner. I mistook the ease
with which they seemingly transitioned into new relationships to mean that the divorce wasn't hard on them. In the middle of my own pain, which was (rightfully
so) my focus, I could not begin to think that the life up-ending for all of us
was difficult at best, nearly impossible at its worst, and heart-wrenching at
its core. But it was all of those things to all of us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">In the end, both of my parents found themselves with
partners who, in many ways, were very broken. No one ends a 25 (or in my case
20) year marriage without some collateral damage. Hell, any marriage,
regardless of its tenure will generate emotional damage for both parties. It
can be both our brokenness that leads to the end and why and how we choose
the partners we do for that new beginning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Neither of my parent's second relationships was perfect. No relationship
is ever perfect, and both of my parents stayed with their “other” until either
they or the “other” passed away. I learned by watching these three
relationships, my parents’ marriage to each other, and then their time with
their “others” that relationships take work. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometimes no matter how much work you put in, there is no
fix. And sometimes, even though the relationship isn’t perfect people can make
it through until the “death do us part thing.” I’m not sure if that is my
future or my direction. And I’m not sure I really care. I am still broken. And
I always will be. And that is OK.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Broken is beautiful, and here’s my story about that: once upon
a time, my mom and bonus dad took a trip to Europe. In fact, they traveled so
frequently they may have been to Europe more than once, but I remember this
particular story very clearly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">While in Morocco, my mom found a big bowl that had a pretty
design that she loved. It was ceramic and therefore quite fragile, but she was confident
she could get it home safely. It was decided that they could carry the bowl onto the plane and keep it safe. It was left in an overhead bin on every leg. And
it almost made it home until they reached the final flight. A passenger who had
no idea what was in the plastic bag shoved his carry-on into the bin and my mom
said she heard the bowl shatter and knew it wasn’t going to be fixable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">When they finally landed my mom grabbed the bag and the bowl
was in pieces, and her heart was almost as broken as the bowl. It was something
she thought would remind her of this wonderful trip with Mike, which was
fortuitous as just a few years later his own memory would fade, and he would
eventually be diagnosed with Lewy Bodies Dementia.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Mike, my bonus dad, knew how much the bowl meant to my mom.
It was broken, so broken, completely beyond repair. But, unbeknownst to my mom, he glued it back together piece by piece. The bowl was unusable,
but it was transformed from a broken bowl into something beautiful enough that
he could take to a ceramic store and attempt to recreate the design. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">The bowl
he painted was a little different than the one they brought home, a slightly different
shape than the original, but even more special than the one they bought.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">That’s what happens when we are broken. Eventually, we glue
ourselves back together. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">We don’t know how all the pieces will fit, but we do
our best to make it work. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">And, in the end, we aren’t the same. But we end up
being beautiful in our own way, better than we were before and sometimes we
become the inspiration for something or someone else.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;">Broken is beautiful. It always will be. </span><o:p></o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-35005826335341688102022-05-21T17:20:00.000-07:002022-05-21T17:20:37.946-07:00Maude VS 50 First Dates <p>OK maybe not quite 50 first dates yet. I'm not even sure how many. I am not counting. But it kind of feels like it. At first, it wasn't any fun. But now that I'm in therapy (oh yes, you read that right) I have an entirely new outlook on this whole crazy process.</p><p>The dates? It really isn't worth dissecting them one by one. But I've learned some stuff and there's some stuff I wish I could tell my dates. Mostly I have learned a great deal about myself.</p><p>What have I learned? While "online" dating is weird and backward to me, the end result is still the same as it was before: you may or may not feel a connection. Your date may or may not feel a connection. One of you might and the other one might not. That's the most common outcome. But when you both do, I can only imagine how cool that will be. Not sure that's happened just yet. But that is also really OK.</p><p>And this dating thing isn't all that different than before, but instead of meeting in a bar or a frat party, you've at least got some biographical information (and a few photos) that you can use to weed out those you would not be interested in and prioritize those that meet your criteria. It's sort of an efficiency thing. You get a chance to chat first online and TRUST ME friends, you'll be able to weed out the weirdos INSTANTLY via chat. Saves some awkwardness at the bar...</p><p>And, the good news too, is, unless you're swiping left or right after a few glasses of wine, you don't have those old beer goggles on before the date. Better yet, if you match you can review their info before the date and if you're going on more than one date, it helps you keep all the suitors straight. I mean, not that I would know or anything...</p><p>See? Look at me and my whole new attitude about online dating. It is actually getting to be fun. I have ZERO expectations. The bar was set low from the jump (read previous post about polyamorous dude with a ten month old) so as long as I'm keeping my attitude and expectations in check, I think I'll continue to (BIG GASP) enjoy this whole thing.</p><p>Therapy has definitely taught me a few things. First of all, I just need to look at this as a fun thing. Just fun. I'm not going to meet "that someone" anytime soon. It took most of my twenties to find my first husband (well, my only one actually) so it's not going to be like I snap my fingers, and there he is. It will take time.</p><p>And I'm getting to be OK with that. I am still a bit of a mess. I am feeling all kinds of feels that I had not allowed myself to feel before. Getting all these (gross) feelings out of my body and into my therapists' ears for her to listen, dissect and then comment on has been cathartic and healing.</p><p>I learned I'm still very angry and I may have some Daddy issues. Who doesn't? Anyhoo...</p><p>I do know for sure that I am not ready for a Serious Relationship. I am good to build friendships, maybe date someone and get to know them, but I have a truckload of issues to work through and until I do, there will likely be some pretty big roadblocks in the way for me to even attempt a "healthy relationship" and yes, I am using air quotes because I am not really sure it's a real thing. But I'm hopeful.</p><p>Things I wish I could tell some of the dates I've been on range from "I have survived cancer and a divorce, so you being not interested in me is OK, just tell me" to "it is OK to allow a woman to pay for her own stuff and you should not mind if she pays for yours too" and my personal favorite "if what I do for a living bothers you, we aren't a match".</p><p>I have been on some interesting dates, one guy was on the autism spectrum and was probably one of my favorites because he was fascinating to talk to. </p><p>One of the best was a guy who was (mom! cover your eyes) super super super fit and hot. I mean - SMOKING hot. He says he wants to date but I'm not stupid and when you don't hear from someone, you kind of know. But it's OK - I think he liked himself way more than anyone else (CrossFit dudes - kind of its own religion). But talk about chemistry. Best hug at the end of the date. Wow. Maude was a little hot and bothered, in a good kind of way.</p><p>One of the worst was someone who DID NOT LOOK LIKE THEIR PROFILE PICS AND LIED ABOUT HOW TALL THEY WERE. That's all I'm saying, just gonna leave that right there.</p><p>It's been an interesting mixed bag of a journey. I feel no pressure or sense of urgency. I care less about second dates and more about meaningful connections, for which I can't say there have been any yet. Well, there is one. But jury is still out. Stay tuned - nickname: silver fox</p><p>I've still got my MBA to finish (getting VERY close), a new job to learn, a kid to get off to college and life is really pretty full right now. Would I like to have someone in it? Sure, but it will take a good long time and definitely 50 first dates for me to get comfortable and ready for something more.</p><p>In the meantime, I'll keep swiping left or right, meeting new people, making new friends and continuing to grow as a human and learn more about myself so I can be a better version for the next guy. And, maybe there won't be one, and I'm getting to be OK with that idea too.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-43954390118648085402022-04-09T17:03:00.018-07:002023-01-04T19:04:04.637-08:00Maude VS Grief...finally<p></p><p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">This is going to be a tough read. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Today has been very hard. I have had some hard days in the past
several weeks, but today was the toughest. Today was the day the grief dam
broke. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But, before I get to that, I need to start from the
beginning. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">2021 was a shit year. I left a good job for a terrible one, my
marriage ended, and before the year was up, I had a sinking feeling I was going
to lose my terrible job (which I did).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">To be brutally honest, in the past twelve years I've checked off
nearly every adult rite of passage: death of a parent (two actually, my Dad and
Bonus Dad), got cancer, got divorced, and lost my job. These things tend to
happen in waves, much like grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But I am an avoider. A total avoider - I am an "I'm
OK" and "I'll be OK" person. I'm not a dweller on things. I'm
not a processor of experiences. Things happen, I might cry for a bit, write a
blog or two, start cracking jokes and move on. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I came to recognize today that I tend to fill my life with
things to plug the hole so that grief can stay stuck inside, deep in a place
that I hope to keep safe, so it doesn't well up and make me feel all the
feels. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But until today I didn't see that was my way. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I really, truly, and emphatically believed that I was OK. That I
didn't need to just take a moment and wallow in the sadness. More than a
moment- I didn't want to take any TIME. Some actual goddamned time to just feel
it. Own it. Process it. Deal with it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But I should have.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">So today, the dam broke. And the trigger was something related
to my marriage but what it triggered was years of grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Grief has washed over me today - wave, after wave, after wave
like the ocean relentlessly pounding a piece of driftwood against a rock.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">When my Dad died, I started reading the Jason Bourne book series
as an escape. Then I started drinking more, as an escape. I ate comfort food,
as an escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I realized that those things were sending me to an early grave
like my Dad, so I poured myself into getting healthy and in shape. Exercise
became an escape. Obsessing about every calorie ever consumed became an escape.
Running races and doing triathlons were an escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Then I got cancer and then...I survived it. Exercise, healthy
living, and making funny jokes about having cancer on my blog became my escape.
Starting a nonprofit became my escape. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I lost every part of my womanhood in that battle, and I swore I
was OK. That I didn't need to grieve. Oh, but I did. Yet I managed to push that
grief down so deep that I almost forgot it was ever even there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Then my marriage ended. Redecorating my house became my escape.
Fixing my yard became an escape. Spending time with friends when I was alone
became my escape. Starting my MBA (while for career purposes for sure) became
an escape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Then I lost my job. I was alone, sad, angry, terrified,
frustrated, and embarrassed. I decided to start dating or try to anyway because
I didn't want to be alone. And that was another escape. I filled my time with
chats, dates, hangouts, and more. All it was really, was an escape from facing
the very thing I didn't want to: needing to grieve so much loss.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">It is important to this story to note that I met someone in the
process of dating, early on. I hadn't felt that way about anyone in 22 years. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But, he knew, in fact, he told me from the very beginning, that
I needed to dwell on my sadness and grief. But I didn't believe him. In typical
Maude-style I continued to try to convince myself that I didn't need to be sad.
That I'd always created a space to be sad, feel grief, and process losses. But
I don't, actually, do those things well or at all.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And he knew. In a very short period of time, this man knows me
better than almost anyone else. And God bless him for keeping me in the friend
zone. He is most certainly one of the best people I have met in a long time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I put a lot on him, while in many ways he's still grieving some
things of his own. And today I've spent the better part of it crying so hard my
chest hurts and I cannot even breathe sometimes. Sobbing and catching my breath
and sobbing some more.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And some of those tears are for him because I think I may have
lost him as my friend. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But the lion's share of my tears is grief over many personal losses
over the years, plain and simple. But the most recent one I've been avoiding is
the crushing loss of a 20-year marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">Part of my day today was spent in the car, with my kids, on a
day trip. Once again, as the heaviness of the grief I was trying to avoid bore
down on me today so much that I didn't think I could carry it, I decided to
escape. We piled in the car and took off. And during those five hours, I was
fine. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">But the minute I stepped foot back in my house, the grieving
started again. I can't stop it now. I vacillate between sobbing, sniffling,
crying, and moments of peace. Rinse and repeat. But I don't actually feel like
I want to avoid the grief anymore. There's more crying than peace, but as the
grieving stretches out, the peace lasts a little longer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">This is hard y'all. I hate crying. And I hate being
vulnerable.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And, I really hate being alone. But these seem to be the things
I need to do so that I can truly and finally grieve and not keep finding ways
to avoid the hard parts, the jagged parts, the tough to swallow pill
parts. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">I just need to let it go. I don't know how long it will take,
and if you know me that's the worst part. I can't schedule it, pencil it in,
anticipate it or plan for it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">It just is. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="background: white;"><span style="color: #5a5a5a; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif;">And so I need to just be.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-43817645233692726402022-04-02T08:11:00.006-07:002022-07-10T08:46:58.176-07:00Maude VS Turning 50 and the "apocalist" <p>Well friends it has certainly been an eventful month for me! I started my new position and kept one foot in the dating pool with Coffee Shop Guy (date #3 from my most recent post). </p><p>Unfortunately, that did not work out too well which makes me a little sad. In the end, I got friend-zoned, however I do hope that we will truly remain friends, even after I was kind of an a**hole about the situation. But that story is for another post.</p><p>This post is the reality check I got this week, the realization that I am turning 50 in a little over 6 months. A friend asked me how I felt about it and I'm really OK with it. Honestly. Just in case I wasn't though she recommended I make a 49 "apocalist" (like apocalypse! ha!) of 49 things I want to do before I hit that major mid-life milestone.</p><p>I thought about things I want to do that are just for me, things I can do with my children to make some memories and things I can do with my friends. Some are big things, some are small, some are already planned and some I may not ever get to do. But, I'll give it all I've got just the same.</p><p>Here is my list (there may or may not have been some wine involved - but I'll never tell) in no particular order:</p><p></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Run another marathon </li><li>Get a pedicure </li><li>Take a solo weekend trip to a yurt or cabin- just me, my rescue pup and an a**ton of wine</li><li>Renew my passport</li><li>Finish my MBA (if I stop writing this blog today maybe I can put a dent in it!) </li><li>Kiss someone new (I may just have to grab some rando at a bar to make this happen...after I drink a lot of wine) </li><li>Hike Table Rock </li><li>Get up early and on purpose to watch the sunrise from someplace epic</li><li>Paddleboard at Quinn’s Pond</li><li>Get another tattoo</li><li>Sleep outside under the stars</li><li>Sail a boat again</li><li>Go to the Flying M and work on my book and drink coffee until I'm so jittery I can't see straight</li><li>Reconnect with an old boyfriend (no clue which one of many but it would be fun to catch up and reminisce I’m sure!) or maybe even just someone from growing up that I haven't seen or talked to in a long time. Either way. </li><li>Go back to Camp Sweyolakan on Lake Coeur d'Alene </li><li>Go wine tasting in Walla Walla </li><li>Go country swing dancing again (after some wine)</li><li>Watch the sunset somewhere cool from the back of a truck bed. With wine.</li><li>Skinny dip (with or without wine)</li><li>Get a massage</li><li>Take a golf lesson (or lessons so I don't look like an idiot on the driving range)</li><li>Golf nine holes (like a real nine, not the mini-kind) with out without wine involved </li><li>Take a flight lesson (no wine, but maybe after...)</li><li>Take each kid on an overnight getaway just the two of us</li><li>Go to some hot springs </li><li>Get a facial </li><li>Sleep in on a Saturday just because I can</li><li>Finish my book and get it published</li><li>Fly fish (again) - it has been awhile and land a monster! </li><li>Hike up to Blackmon Peak and make another makeshift memorial for my Dad up there</li><li>Go on river rafting day trip with the kids </li><li>Join a wine club and then cancel my membership because I have too much wine </li><li>Shop the Boise Farmer's Market on a warm Saturday morning & buy stuff to make dinner for friends that evening</li><li>Listen to live music, outdoors somewhere</li><li>Sit on a beach somewhere, toes in the sand & wine in my hand and watch the sunset (lake, ocean, river, doesn't matter)</li><li>Go bowling with the kids</li><li>Go to a movie with the kids </li><li>Go on a camping adventure with the kids </li><li>Read a trashy novel</li><li>Take a nap in a hammock</li><li>Read a trashy novel while laying in a hammock</li><li>Get my dog to go out on the paddleboard with me</li><li>Get some amazing food from a really good food truck </li><li>Plan a trip somewhere in the future that requires the use of my renewed passport</li><li>Go rock climbing (preferable outdoor but if all else fails I'll hit an indoor gym)</li><li>Spur of the moment drive to Shoshone Falls just to see its majestic beauty </li><li>Finish my yard/outdoor living space and spend lots of time with friends out there this summer</li><li>Celebrate ten years of being cancer free </li><li>Have an epic 50th birthday celebration just the way I want to do it. TBD. But there will for sure be some wine involved. </li></ol><div>That's it. That is the list. I'm printing it and putting it in my office so I can look at it and check things off! </div><div><br /></div><div>Many of these things will require a little help from my friends - so let me know if you're interested in joining me on any of these small adventures. While I'm learning to be OK doing things alone now, it's always more fun with friends. </div><div><br /></div><div>And wine. Do not forget the wine.</div><div><br /></div><div>And dark chocolate.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everything is better with wine and chocolate. And friends.</div><p></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-6412867451783254152022-03-06T19:39:00.001-08:002022-03-10T19:39:09.770-08:00Maude VS the dating apps (yes, again) and being alone <p>I know I said I wasn't going to do the dating app thing, but I had one week left before I started my new job, and I just wanted to meet some people and see how it went. Oh....it went...</p><p>Also, I think I wanted to have an excuse not to work on my Econ class...another story for another day. I did enjoy the distraction though!</p><p>In all transparency, I have since paused both (yes, I was on two) dating apps for the time being. With my new job starting and still needing to finish my MBA I think I've got enough on my plate right now. </p><p>Plus, this has been both an ego-boosting and ego-crushing experience and I don't have room for that kind of roller coaster right now!</p><p>In case you want to know, here's how the dates went:</p><p><b>Date #1</b>: We met in a park. I sent his first and last name, photo and pin drop location where we met in case my body turned up in the river. He brought a surprise guest, his 10 month old son in a stroller. Then proceeded to tell me that he and his female partner have an arrangement. They are together (like TOGETHER together) and raising this little human as a couple. </p><p>She has long term relationships with women outside of their relationship and he has long term relationships with women also. They never do anything as a foursome. (thank God? I don't know the proper sentiment here).</p><p>People, I cannot make this shit up. Let me be clear though, no judgement here. It is simply not my thing. Apparently my lack of interest in "ethical non-monogamy" makes him want me that much more. Who knew?</p><p>And he was every bit as adorable as his photos on the app, and we get along REALLY WELL. So that also frustrates me a little bit but I cannot share my person with another person. Just....ew. For me, anyway.</p><p><b>Date #2</b>: We went to dinner at an expensive restaurant. I tried to steer him this one to a coffee date so I wouldn't have to explain all my food issues but he was not having it. So, expensive dinner it was. I also made it clear when we set up the date that I would pay for my own meal. He was a little shocked but went along with it. He was actually pretty impressed, more on that later.</p><p>I got there early and he was already at the table. We had a lovely evening, and he is very nice. I actually know who he is, he's kind of known around the area. He checks a lot of boxes: handsome, successful, athletic and well-traveled (in the good kind of way). However, most of the evening we talked about HIM. </p><p>His houses, his travels, his business, and his financial security. The worst part was, clearly he's brought many a date to the same place. The servers knew him by name and he mentioned (more than once) to all of them that I was the splitting the check with him and wasn't it great that I was the first woman to offer? I was a little teeny bit embarrassed!! SOOOOOO awkward.</p><p>To be honest, I didn't know him personally before this so why would I expect him to buy my dinner? And, I've got my own money AND I didn't want to feel like I owed him anything. </p><p>The other weird thing, (again noting that he's probably taken many dates here before), is that there was a PARADE of women walking by the table and saying hello to him over and over. All of them I can describe like this: blonde, coiffed, make up done, designer clothes and oozing elegance.</p><p>Then, there's me: my hair looks like I just walked in off the beach at the Oregon coast, I am wearing barely any make up (have almost forgotten how to put it on during COVID times), hand-me-down jeans from my daughter and a blouse I bought for $5 at Ross. I could not have been more different and out of place. To be honest, I'm really OK with that. He's not my person, I knew that right away. </p><p>The bottom line is, I don't care about wealth. What I really care about is what is in someone's head and in their heart. And I did not get to see that.</p><p><b>Date #3</b>: This guy and I had been texting since Monday or Tuesday, I can't quite remember. He checked several boxes even before I met him: tall, handsome, sarcastic, good dad and reeeeeaaaalllly funny. So I was looking forward to our coffee meeting.</p><p>It did not disappoint! We chatted for about 3 hours, he was pretty much everything I thought he would be except he had kind of a squishy dad bod. Skinny but squishy. I mentioned this to a couple of friends who then reminded me that I'm pushing 50 and chances are better than average that almost ANYONE I might go out with at this age will probably have a squishy dad bod. Dang it! I guess I have to cross that off my list of things I don't want because otherwise that most assuredly means I'll end up alone. </p><p>But I digress, I really don't want to talk about his dad bod...</p><p>Side note, I also heard through the grapevine that he's apparently really good in bed. Noted in case I ever need a good shag (I hope my mother isn't reading this).</p><p>I will tell you this though, my outfit was ON POINT. I looked better than most days (especially the last two years worth of days). I even dressed up a little, my hair was behaving, the jeans made my ass look pretty good....and we sat on a couch together. </p><p>We also had a BIG LONG LINGERING HUG when we said goodbye and then - hardly a word since we met. I am so clueless. I thought the conversation was great, we seemed to have chemistry and had a decent amount in common. So WTH?</p><p>I am a f**king treasure according to one of my college friends. What's not to like about me? I'm also funny as hell, and I think for someone who is 49 I look OK and I am professionally pretty successful (one month unemployed aside) so I cannot for the life of me understand why he wouldn't be interested. But, clearly he is not. So I basically kind of got ghosted. </p><p>If I'm being honest though, I might just be a tad out of his league. </p><p>I had <b>date #4</b> lined up for this weekend, but I canceled it in the end. I don't think I am actually ready to do any of this. I want to, but I am not ready. This third date was particularly hard on my already fragile ego. I think I need to do some work on myself (emotionally) before I get back on that horse. But, I did learn that I am OK with meeting new people. I am OK going on a date again. And I will be OK putting myself out there, baby steps. One at a time.</p><p>I am OK. That's what I do know for sure. And OK is good enough for me right now.</p><p>There's a lot of stuff out there that makes this process hard, brutal, ego-crushing and scary. I think in this moment, I need to offer myself a little grace and just make some peace with being alone for awhile. </p><p>While I'm not totally alone, I have the kids and my family and friends to support me, at the end of the day (literally) I am truly alone. It can just be hard when you don't have a partner. </p><p>For me, tonight is the night before one of the most amazing adventures of my life: starting a new job that is the most incredible professional opportunity EVER. </p><p>And it's a little sad, sitting here getting my first day on the job outfit all picked out, and pre-packing my snack bag with no one to talk to.</p><p>What would make this better is having someone to share all this with - all the excitement, insecurities, the crushing anxiety that I feel and the anticipation of starting a new job in the most awesome organization. </p><p>But tonight, I am a little lonely. Tonight I feel every bit as alone as I ever have. I am sad not being able to talk through all of this with a partner. It's hard. Really hard. </p><p>All of this will get better, I know this to be true. I also know that this aloneness is the thing I need right now. It's the only way I'll ever really be able to appreciate it if and when I do find a true partner in this life. I need to be at peace with being alone a little while longer.</p><p>I find it all so ironic - if you know me, you know that I'm a pretty strong lady. I can handle a lot. I am independent. I'm a badass. I can do anything I put my mind to. But this being alone is tougher than I ever imagined it would be. I'll get through it. I'm in no rush to find someone.</p><p>I sure as hell don't think I will find someone on these damn dating apps, that much I am sure. </p><p>Without question, life is an adventure. Always has been...always will be. I look forward to seeing how this one unfolds...</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-42462623205479513622022-02-25T15:26:00.005-08:002022-02-25T15:33:28.947-08:00Maude VS accidentally texting the wrong person and putting herself "out there" (sort of) maybe??<p> Yes, long title. I'm aware. But, it truly encapsulates my morning. OMG. </p><p>This story almost starts out like my grandma saying "back in my day we didn't have smart phones and you had to ride your horse down the dirt road uphill both ways in a blinding snow storm to talk to a boy you liked instead of sending a text".</p><p>26+ years ago when I was in the dating world, there were no smart phones. If texting had been invented, no one was doing it. We talked to people using a LANDLINE and if we were lucky we had caller ID on the phone and/or an answering machine in case we missed the call.</p><p>We. Did. Not. Text. And for that I am thankful. </p><p>Especially since I was known for juggling a guy or two (or three) back in my hey day (before children, stretch marks, gray hair and wrinkles) so this would have been a DISASTER for me.</p><p>Turns out, it IS a disaster for me, even with one man. </p><p>Trust me, you're going to want to read this WHOOOOOOOOOOLE post - it's a good one. I hope you go into your weekend with a good laugh. I will be buying a GIANT bottle of wine to console myself...</p><p>To catch you up, last week with "football game guy" after our phone call, I left it that I'd reach out and let him know the organization where I landed. </p><p>This morning I sent a funny text to see if he had time to chat today. In a past conversation he told me his kids had gone to my high school, so I sent him this photo and accompanying text:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs5GFw2NE-x4Qrna-46np4XfgjxsKS0kup9b89b6zYNckqFRd3xt-4bYX19GjBS3906eOEuUxZQ--9OgyZ_QgkD_IsMrR7ZTy19Mr9euT54h47x8IwCdH-BmbX88P4_p2YYp5di7qTER7VNJ4_j2U3ipejc4rzvUZBaRO-ZhLRlveDltcbOC8dP6-n=s1265" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1265" data-original-width="1170" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjs5GFw2NE-x4Qrna-46np4XfgjxsKS0kup9b89b6zYNckqFRd3xt-4bYX19GjBS3906eOEuUxZQ--9OgyZ_QgkD_IsMrR7ZTy19Mr9euT54h47x8IwCdH-BmbX88P4_p2YYp5di7qTER7VNJ4_j2U3ipejc4rzvUZBaRO-ZhLRlveDltcbOC8dP6-n=w242-h261" width="242" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1U9DneQ1_uVsMy7nO006BxKMshb9fFv-GC8vJ8cfbB4MUIs8Md5gYkltWXVhJpAoBo2VBdRhbkIt36v9Wi7Sdf8H0WgM_Vy-aan_WjrtQgcIcXsgp2-_QvPVy1-8hRqOEVS2GFn1gqzaSXDl5cECEI5BT7lNyTDkxCzYI1Xdto4nn7qnwzoOpf266=s2172" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2172" data-original-width="1170" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1U9DneQ1_uVsMy7nO006BxKMshb9fFv-GC8vJ8cfbB4MUIs8Md5gYkltWXVhJpAoBo2VBdRhbkIt36v9Wi7Sdf8H0WgM_Vy-aan_WjrtQgcIcXsgp2-_QvPVy1-8hRqOEVS2GFn1gqzaSXDl5cECEI5BT7lNyTDkxCzYI1Xdto4nn7qnwzoOpf266=w214-h398" width="214" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div>About 45 minutes later, he responds and I responded back an hour later to him:<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBEhg9SapoGIcSjQrsDbAVg-jFCPda5pm-Ug7nUmZN34nwZU1uOfyYR9-LmKkV4oRCulFRl9oeGe_RCGkpGzeA4d7gQMyhqRJwBhzY45Ncps5U-ABQ72vFuR_-APeGclh-u_2QFkhxu0F4lXAiJtbJbRD0YOVH_c09DOwVNnCJdqAr0U6e7APUFUZA=s1170" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1116" data-original-width="1170" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjBEhg9SapoGIcSjQrsDbAVg-jFCPda5pm-Ug7nUmZN34nwZU1uOfyYR9-LmKkV4oRCulFRl9oeGe_RCGkpGzeA4d7gQMyhqRJwBhzY45Ncps5U-ABQ72vFuR_-APeGclh-u_2QFkhxu0F4lXAiJtbJbRD0YOVH_c09DOwVNnCJdqAr0U6e7APUFUZA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I actually know he is really busy so I was 50/50 on how this made me feel. I decided that maybe I should seek the counsel of one of my single friends in the area and get her take. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thus, I texted her: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFfZNMm3AHqrlH2m_on9S6QsNd3iFHgcF1lVkVyg18W-AigLoJxRdI20cUwdYIqGYgGfiiNRk6TwJlYcoxiZAhqsGrh_ZqWWoPn_KOmk69hN2y5I8mPfvx1TaGUPyx2baRoBCvQq9jzTlypTQqkKvDso-X2DrPE-wm_RYjrxlw5-ZuyZy3DNICmLTo=s1459" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1459" data-original-width="1169" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFfZNMm3AHqrlH2m_on9S6QsNd3iFHgcF1lVkVyg18W-AigLoJxRdI20cUwdYIqGYgGfiiNRk6TwJlYcoxiZAhqsGrh_ZqWWoPn_KOmk69hN2y5I8mPfvx1TaGUPyx2baRoBCvQq9jzTlypTQqkKvDso-X2DrPE-wm_RYjrxlw5-ZuyZy3DNICmLTo=s320" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But, it wasn't her......ERMAGHERD...it. was. <span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><i><u>HIM.</u></i></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd517newH_4hYECNscPV1cE7FG85tJbgf44zS_Jph7JUOEZf95ERU_cSEZKZBpJFj2_4tMVOtoxF6TfLV1h7nx_M0qgTYJbkKyNEm36Y-NLP_oBWvkRY-LPDG4X8T8jPm-rkMVU5_KoIyWiKmGUjoKPL-SlfFFs0gvIgwm3qe5gyds8-886Z_fgseF=s1170" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="763" data-original-width="1170" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjd517newH_4hYECNscPV1cE7FG85tJbgf44zS_Jph7JUOEZf95ERU_cSEZKZBpJFj2_4tMVOtoxF6TfLV1h7nx_M0qgTYJbkKyNEm36Y-NLP_oBWvkRY-LPDG4X8T8jPm-rkMVU5_KoIyWiKmGUjoKPL-SlfFFs0gvIgwm3qe5gyds8-886Z_fgseF=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Weeellllll.........s##t....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs9igc7Gt-k6DkixK9Sl26moXaKsRY6nPl3gzuujW_yTGA2obWYPIQ3Q9unWK6JEHH54mG4hkQtSOQJrwamjvmLchMKTD03y0HizPnlx9lMcnZnHO0SDAQdJCw-Blvgr5ypkd7fCkv48-3sjf4EjqehgHsowDyuoUCi9Ule6fAd-TxM8nk5e63Ypbi=s1156" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="796" data-original-width="1156" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhs9igc7Gt-k6DkixK9Sl26moXaKsRY6nPl3gzuujW_yTGA2obWYPIQ3Q9unWK6JEHH54mG4hkQtSOQJrwamjvmLchMKTD03y0HizPnlx9lMcnZnHO0SDAQdJCw-Blvgr5ypkd7fCkv48-3sjf4EjqehgHsowDyuoUCi9Ule6fAd-TxM8nk5e63Ypbi=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>So then I think, he must know I was talking about him. And, I'm pretty up front and straightforward (in other words I'd rather be honest than cover up with a lie) so I reply:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxd7PpMEtdY5WDfVsoWsGRwq_9tunXXzE-QZnzq01bV5Pd_b3sbM7f27hNLIdhmhZdZRUTf_XqlVy5uhCqjua3llatJMwKy-Mji9jyHdPSrQsD2FrPBPpxm7hTRdg5oHMJceaeuEKcH7LxI28rz637gc_2YPKQEhQ2sQyG2Ur_xI5cawu8lLKJEbIw=s1382" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1382" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhxd7PpMEtdY5WDfVsoWsGRwq_9tunXXzE-QZnzq01bV5Pd_b3sbM7f27hNLIdhmhZdZRUTf_XqlVy5uhCqjua3llatJMwKy-Mji9jyHdPSrQsD2FrPBPpxm7hTRdg5oHMJceaeuEKcH7LxI28rz637gc_2YPKQEhQ2sQyG2Ur_xI5cawu8lLKJEbIw=s320" width="271" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>And then he replied, which wasn't an out and out denial:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgL8bO6yGDCkENmupvGr0qq9c8ratdEIOaNr1WWvy8S5QsFZROe_bFbzZsRe0Oa9ACFTbWJstHb2HCj7j-oSAY8ZxpaYtmXYAIU1tgFyPIx2vzUPDwFWGLB8_D0t6dK1szklHdW3M9OlvZcTMePyXlFks_qFtH8N6I4C3vgjSphiOB4jiVK5hsJbw6R=s1170" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="1170" height="74" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgL8bO6yGDCkENmupvGr0qq9c8ratdEIOaNr1WWvy8S5QsFZROe_bFbzZsRe0Oa9ACFTbWJstHb2HCj7j-oSAY8ZxpaYtmXYAIU1tgFyPIx2vzUPDwFWGLB8_D0t6dK1szklHdW3M9OlvZcTMePyXlFks_qFtH8N6I4C3vgjSphiOB4jiVK5hsJbw6R=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>What do I even DO with that response????!!!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>I decide that I'll reach out at the end of the day, play it cool and suggest trivia night with friends so he can meet new people or something easy and non-specific but at least putting myself out there a little more.</div><div><br /></div><div>But friends...it gets WORSE!!! 20 minutes later I get this text from him:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_4psvk8zDIYM8iFFz2XSD3njIAkBl5dHUWbSWCImVpWCXlt603YeJ5RA3lH3YaJY5UyeqaVvSZxGR-bjWRf2gHe6xLo_y7VY-t_4ptCqt7ZURW60NXzRPgAJUSlQ0_PkvRvk0TqLpLdGFgGRmSiSIOhyhCsMCUXNfFJ9oZm3I0ZwDVbOD282FEXRE=s1160" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="790" data-original-width="1160" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_4psvk8zDIYM8iFFz2XSD3njIAkBl5dHUWbSWCImVpWCXlt603YeJ5RA3lH3YaJY5UyeqaVvSZxGR-bjWRf2gHe6xLo_y7VY-t_4ptCqt7ZURW60NXzRPgAJUSlQ0_PkvRvk0TqLpLdGFgGRmSiSIOhyhCsMCUXNfFJ9oZm3I0ZwDVbOD282FEXRE=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>OMG. I reply:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsHmLx7kHgiSXr3yzOmBpALZe9bpPdSCys-AuCradikvNnvSmkmE-L3qlWysmP_Y0F13Gf1IOCLj70WRhebFejX0nzWZkwyYNtT5Per8Wsw_8au_XYwe9_Rco4YrQq2ydpstDTRXCvZ1XUHQWrlBzEDWelED0RQuuHIxn8BXfAhZUV2gdl1c-lSYC2=s2100" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsHmLx7kHgiSXr3yzOmBpALZe9bpPdSCys-AuCradikvNnvSmkmE-L3qlWysmP_Y0F13Gf1IOCLj70WRhebFejX0nzWZkwyYNtT5Per8Wsw_8au_XYwe9_Rco4YrQq2ydpstDTRXCvZ1XUHQWrlBzEDWelED0RQuuHIxn8BXfAhZUV2gdl1c-lSYC2=s320" width="178" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>He says "I'll give you a shout later." Very nonspecific. </div><div><br /></div><div>And "if you want more friends here I am open to that too" is also, NONSPECIFIC. Although, to be fair it's probably better to lead with "let's be friends" than "I want to make out with you"...</div><div><br /></div><div>I do not think I made it clear to him at all that I'd be interested as more than friends, however it is VERY clear I am just terrible with texting. </div><div><br /></div><div>He may not even have any sort of clue what the heck I am trying to get at, me thinking I am direct is being REEALLY indirect. </div><div><br /></div><div>INSERT SLAPPING MY FOREHEAD EMOJI HERE.</div><div><br /></div><div>So now I am totally gun-shy on texting ANYONE at this point and I changed his contact name to the following so that if/when I text someone I will be damn sure I'm NOT texting HIM something I don't want him to see:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg52spYfrFepu6AMPwStF9QQpOh9U83LqQaW0ROB7df6ZFGO8D1YPet3ZpvWLSRQmNjdoKdcM8QbYR_14UdC5UZ_coICWYr1jbaDf7fgx6yamLfVbFn-mxcvUetfzfC6s69DAzIP7_9V8I0nuWWVM-hrX0TdkeZ1vYQemf2PatEP0Nb-HMNPiSEv7WJ=s1170" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="1170" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg52spYfrFepu6AMPwStF9QQpOh9U83LqQaW0ROB7df6ZFGO8D1YPet3ZpvWLSRQmNjdoKdcM8QbYR_14UdC5UZ_coICWYr1jbaDf7fgx6yamLfVbFn-mxcvUetfzfC6s69DAzIP7_9V8I0nuWWVM-hrX0TdkeZ1vYQemf2PatEP0Nb-HMNPiSEv7WJ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><div>So, that's it. It's a lot of nothing, but still pretty hilarious all the same. I think he literally has NO CLUE that I like him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Only Maude would do something like text a guy for guy advice about the guy when she really meant to text a friend...SIGH.</div><div><br /></div><div>My gut says he won't call, probably thinks I am total nut job. (I am) </div><div><br /></div><div>I think it's time for me to lose his number.</div><div><br /></div><div>But, hey, at least I kind of sort of very inadvertently in a totally nonthreatening and nonspecific way put myself out there...right?</div><div><br /></div><div>I will get it right if there is ever a next time. Ever.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll keep you posted...and PS I tested some other dating sites out (not to use them - I am confident that is not the direction I am ever comfortable going) to share some other helpful hints for any of my other single friends out there looking for love in a digital (mid-life) age! </div><div><br /></div><div>Buckle up - it will be quite a ride.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-32008332510134444902022-02-21T17:26:00.003-08:002022-02-21T17:31:15.492-08:00Maude VS Online Dating (again! OMG!) and a gross married dude<p> Yep - I went there. Again. Online dating sites. I discovered that I can pop on, see if I like the app, see if there is anyone interesting and then delete the app if I'm not feeling it. For the record, I have YET to "feel it". I have yet to stay on an app for more than 30 minutes.</p><p>Online dating is not for me.</p><p><u><b>Let me break it down for you, app by app:</b></u></p><p><b>Our Time</b> - supposedly the site for mature (over 50) adults. Once I got in there, it read like an advertisement for burial services. I am not even kidding. I think I lasted 30 minutes tops on that one. Not one single dude on there did NOT look like my grandpa. It was like a catalog of card carrying AARP members. And then I think to myself, these guys (not all but a lot of them) are MY AGE. Do I now look like my grandma too???? I peaced out on that shiz real quick.</p><p><b>Bumble</b> - I tried this one because a friend recommended it. As the woman, I get to make the first move. I like that because I don't have to delete Creepy McCreepersons who make lewd comments on my pictures (or just clueless ones) like on Hinge. But, like some of the other apps you have to PAY $$ to see who "likes" you which is lame because I'm really not that invested in this whole online dating thing anyway. Like I'm going to pay money only to find out it's Chester the Molester gawking at my pics. I bounced pretty quickly on that one too.</p><p><b>Match.com</b> - This was the third app of the evening in a span of about two hours. I liked the filters I could use to search and I also liked that there was a larger selection of men on there versus the other apps. But, once again, I was getting messages but unless I'm willing to pony up $19.99 I can't see who it was. The worst thing was...I saw someone I know. </p><p>Yet again, someone who knows my kids' dad and HIS WHOLE FAMILY. (Different than the last one, but that guy was also on this app, too). And neither of these two guys are someone I WOULD EVER WANT TO DATE. </p><p>I started to notice many familiar faces from app to app to app as well. I shut Match.com down as fast as I did the married guy that started messaging me on LinkedIn on Friday night. </p><p>Guess I am not the only one who has used that site to try & hook up!! OMG!</p><p>So the married guy. Let me just say this, I had been having a glass of wine or two so I didn't clue in right away what was happening until he asked me about lingerie and women in their 50's. Sobered me up quick. </p><p>Let me break it down for you like this: </p><p>1. I know he is married so that is a HAAAAARD pass </p><p>2. He's like 13 years younger with school-age kiddos (and I'm therefore old enough to be his mother) </p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><u><b>AND</b></u></i></p><p>3. Not even if he were the last man on the planet. Period. </p><p>I could not take enough showers this weekend to wash that filth off. I typed every barfing emoji to the friends I told about the situation to make it clear that I was grossed out. </p><p>Someone asked if maybe I misinterpreted him. But when he asked me about women in their 50s and lingerie not only was I sure I wasn't misinterpreting things, but I then told him that women in our 50s are all sweat pants aaaallllll the time. I was just trying to throw water on that fire he was trying (completely unsuccessfully) to start.</p><p>And I thought to myself, is this what dating is going to be like now? With social media and smart phones am I going to be grossed out constantly?? I really think that the dating app thing is just NOT FOR ME. But then, how will I meet someone? I've got kids, a job that I'm learning and my MBA to finish. Where would I even find anyone?? I guess I'm cool with a set up as long as he comes with good references. And, I will check them.</p><p>22 years ago when I was dating and got married we did not have all this "new fangled technology" that I think emboldens total perverts to be extra gross. Then I wonder, were dudes always like this but I didn't know because it's easier to be nasty with a cell phone & a messaging app than to talk nasty to an actual person? </p><p>I just don't know and I am totally unprepared for this new world in which I am living: single at almost 50 in a very digital age.</p><p>Oh, before I forget I also tried <b>Tinder</b>. Same dudes as all the other apps (with a few additional freaks thrown in and an ass-ton of acronyms and slang that I had to google). Once again, I'd have to pay money to find out who "liked me", and once again, I'm just not that into online dating, or maybe just dating in general. </p><p>I deleted Tinder too after seeing about the same dozen faces I'd seen on the other apps who meet my very narrow (apparently) criteria in a man. (once again, same two dudes that know my former husband and all of his family were on Tinder. I can't escape!!!)</p><p>I guess maybe I need to move out of state...</p><p>I also think, if I'm being honest, that I'm hoping that maybe "football game guy" might be someone I can hang with, though I am terrified of rejection. After getting a divorce, losing my job, and then interviewing for several jobs I'm not sure how much more rejection a girl can take! But, if you know me, you know we'll find out. When I want something, I go after it. </p><p>The bottom line here friends is this: dating apps are not for me. They probably never will be. So, if you know someone tall, dark, handsome, single, and <b><i><u>not gross </u></i></b>keep me in mind. As I said, I'm cool with a setup. Or a meet-cute. Whatever, as long as there is no technology involved, I think I'm good.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-59737726715761025692022-02-17T16:48:00.018-08:002022-02-25T08:07:53.199-08:00Maude VS adversity<p>It's been a week. Well, it's been a month. Check that, it's been a year. Hell, it's been a decade if I'm being honest. I won't list the "choose your own adventure" twist and turns of my last decade, many of you know me so you know what they are. What a ride, kids!</p><p>Everything came to a head at the end of January when I lost my job. In the span of less than 365 days I got a divorce and became unemployed. These items were not on my "before I turn 50 bucket list" but I can check them off now. And hey, I'm still standing! And on my own two feet, no less.</p><p>I am not even going to try to sugar-coat the last few weeks. Rough doesn't even begin to cover it. Rock bottom might be more accurate. I felt like I was there. Yet, I also knew I had a lot more to lose. So much more that, quite honestly, I'd started to take for granted. More on that later.</p><p>Maude has faced a LOT of adversity over the years, and each time she comes up swinging. She will fight, she will scrap, she will plot, she will take action, she will also cry, sob, spend sleepless nights worrying and live in total fear until everything works itself out the way that it should. It always works out. </p><p>This time was no different. More on that later too.</p><p>I had many conversations with my kids about facing adversity throughout this process. Some people might say I shouldn't tell my children so much, but to me I'm not doing them favors if I don't take a little time to talk about adversity and that how we handle it says everything about who we are and what we're made of.</p><p>Did I break down? Many, many times. Did I pick myself back up? Over and over. And it got harder and harder. But, I picked myself back up and kept fighting forward. I wanted my kids to see this. I want them to know that we don't give up. We keep up the fight. We stare adversity down until it backs away slowly with its hands up.</p><p>There were days when I was so despondent, and it is hard to describe the pain I felt during those moments. But, miraculously there was almost always someone reaching out to me to check-in and see how I was doing. </p><p>And many times those check-ins came from people from the way back time machine (high school!) or my River Discovery rafting trip in 2019 (COVID hit and I NEVER see those amazing humans). </p><p>Just when I felt like I was at my lowest, there was someone there to pick me back up. Those of you who reached out, from the bottom of my little cold, black, shriveled up heart: THANK YOU. You will NEVER EVER know what it meant to me. I will never take my network for granted again. </p><p>And for every person that checked in on me that was unexpected, there someone else I thought would care enough to make sure I was OK that didn't. That was hard. It was another powerful lesson in adversity, we are humans and we need to care about each other. Even when we might not know what do say. Say something, damnit.</p><p>Even if you are uncomfortable checking in on the divorced lady or the one who lost her job, know that your check-in will BE WELCOMED. Even if the ONLY thing you can ask is "are you ok?". These are such powerful words. </p><p>If you're afraid that's all she'll talk about if you ask, you would also be wrong. She wants to focus on 8000 other things than the current state of her life. Trust me, you won't get wrapped into a hour-long conversation about how crappy things in her life are. She's been thinking about it nonstop, she needs a change of pace. Just ask. That's all you need to do. Remember these words: "are you ok". So. easy.</p><p>So what did I do when this all went down? I approached applying for work like it was my full-time job. I also called and canceled 200 extra little subscriptions that I didn't need any more. </p><p>I canceled my gym membership (I have a weight set and spin bike at home). </p><p>I called the credit union to see if I could get a break on my car payment for a month or two. I was going to contact my mortgage company next. </p><p>I put my car up for sale. </p><p>I did not sit around and wait and hope that things would get better, I just went into business mode and took care of everything I thought I needed to.</p><p>I networked like my life depended on it! (remember a previous post where I reached out to someone I met once briefly from Spokane? THAT kind of networking). </p><p>Thank you to everyone that was willing to help when I reached out to ask. I will return the favor 1000 times if you need me to.</p><p>An experience like this is life-changing. At least it has been for me. I took some things for granted - for example my network of people - how did I ever do enough so right in my life to have so many awesome people willing to help? I'll never know. I'll work until I die to repay the kindness I've been shown.</p><p>I took my house for granted. For a few weeks there, I thought I could lose it. I do this thing called "catastrophizing" (a term I am intimately familiar with thanks to my therapist years ago). </p><p>What that means is I go from 0 to 60 thinking of a parade of horrible things that will happen as a result of the thing I'm experiencing. In this case: unemployment.</p><p>In my mind I went from gainfully employed to homeless, living with my mother, having lost my house, riding a bike everywhere and working at a strip club because no one else would hire me. </p><p>I thought I would lose my house, my car, my kids: everything (listed in no particular order). When you sit back and take stock of what you do have when you think you could lose it, and I mean like really lose it not in a hypothetical kind of way, it's HUMBLING. But I think it was one of the best things to happen to me.</p><p>Now I appreciate things so much more, I DO know what I stand to lose and I know what I'm made of. I will fight, I won't give in, and I won't give up. I hope that is an example my kids will remember. They are young, they will face adversity over and over. They already have.</p><p>As you might have guessed at this point, I do have a new job. I start in March. I can't say where or what - there's background checks to be complete and I'm hoping they don't find any dead bodies in my checkered past. I have about 2 weeks left to do things I want to do, or maybe nothing at all. Who am I kidding? I've got a list a mile long. But, I plan to take it easy anyway.</p><p>A few final notes before I sign off this less than hilarious blog post. This time has also taught me a lesson I didn't think I wanted to learn: I don't want to do this life alone. I'm not ready to NOT do it alone right now, but I'll get there. I know I will. </p><p>There is nothing lonelier than being scared and not having someone to share that with who can tell you everything is going to be all right. I don't know that I would ever have known I wanted someone around if not for this experience. On the plus side, starting a new job and finishing my MBA gives me PLENTY OF TIME to be ready. There's no rush! </p><p>I've had many questions about "golf guy" and "football game guy" (they are the same person, just different references) and what happened when I called him. Nothing. Really, nothing at all. He was VERY nice, offered to help and he did, actually. </p><p>He was willing to leverage his contacts to help some crazy mom with loose change and a couple of bucks that he met once in a line for a football game. He's my kind of person. </p><p>That said, I don't think there's any interest on his side and that is OK too because I'm not ready yet. I sent him a text the other day to see if he had a minute to chat, I felt like I should thank him over the phone instead of an impersonal text for being so kind and willing to help a stranger. </p><p>He said he was traveling for work and his phone was dying and asked if he could call the next day after 10. He called right about 10:15am. I thanked him for being willing to help and let him know I found a local position. And offered to help him if I ever could. </p><p>That was it. I told him I'd let him know where I will be working once it's OK to share. So, I think I will call him to tell him and see if he wants to hang out, ever.</p><p>We'll see what happens from there. Probably nothing at all. But I put myself out there and now I know I won't be afraid to do it again someday. Just not today.</p><p>As hard as all of this was, all I see are blessings. Big ones. This was one of the most difficult challenges I've faced but I made it through and I learned a lot about myself in the process.</p><p> I'm grateful. </p><p>For all of it.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-24273704547412622052022-02-01T12:41:00.006-08:002022-02-01T18:00:31.476-08:00Maude VS Trying not to be a stalker<p>Ok, I seriously am kind of a master at finding people. Some call it stalking, I call it my "Nancy Drew Detective Skills" (if you don't know who Nancy Drew is, stop reading now. You won't be able to relate to ANYTHING else I'm saying). In my old job, it came in SOOOOOOPER DOOOOOPER handy. </p><p>In my personal life, it's a bit dangerous. </p><p>Also, PS all that stuff I said about not wanting to date, well I think I was serious about it at the time but upon further reflection, it's not that I don't want to date, but that I am actually looking for someone specific. </p><p>And, I found him. GULP. </p><p>I must turn back time (ala Cher) to get you up to speed. My divorce was actually approved by the court last September. But, we'd been separated for months before that, and basically, it had been a long time coming. BUT, up until that point I was still <i>married</i>, technically speaking.</p><p>Therefore, the thought or the idea of someone new wasn't, well, even a thought. It was all pretty fresh so in October at the homecoming football game at the kid's high school I was horrendously underprepared to talk to an actual MAN, someone that I didn't know, who isn't part of my personal or professional circle, related to me by marriage or blood, or otherwise the husband of one of my friends.</p><p>I'll set the stage for this encounter - me, hair still dripping wet (and likely gray roots showing because I'm too lazy to color my hair often enough) because I jumped on the spin bike and took a quick shower before the game, no make-up, jeans, a sweatshirt, wearing my Chuck Taylors, carrying a ratty old blanket (so old in fact it used to be on my bed when I was like three years old). I was truly a <i>vision</i>.</p><p>My giant child, the one planning to play college basketball next year came barreling out to grab the wrist brace she asked me to bring because she forgot it. I handed it over and she asked if she could go to a party after the game. I reminded her of all the rules - "Make good choices, please. If you make a choice I don't agree with don't drive. call me or your Dad to pick you up. No consequences other than the crushing disappointed gaze I'll level for a day if you make a good choice after a bad one." That kind of thing.</p><p>This guy kind of bumped me from behind and said "Good job, mom." I am sure I mumbled something fairy unintelligible but we kind of kept talking and then we were standing side by side. At the time I knew right away: easy to talk to, tall, nice, funny, friendly, and fit. Totally my type. </p><p>Except, I thought, I am not ready to meet my type, seriously just look at me (see the aforementioned state of my appearance) and I don't even KNOW how to talk to someone of the male persuasion who I don't even know. </p><p>But, he made it easy enough. In our maybe five minute convo, I learned he had moved to Boise from my hometown over the summer, he had been golfing with some people from the alumni club all day who invited him to the game, he has two college-aged kids (one is a collegiate athlete, too) and above all I could tell he was really proud of his kids. </p><p>Um....hold my beer while I try to make out with him. WAIT! NO! ERMAGHERD! STAAAAAHP!</p><p>In any case, we covered a lot of ground in a short period of time and I deduced, perhaps incorrectly, that he must be single. Then we got up to the gate where you have to pay to get in and of course, I was so busy like, totally uncomfortably STARING at him while he was talking that I completely forgot to see if I had any cash. </p><p>He offered to pay to get me in (so now I'm even more embarrassed) but thank God I found $6 in ones and quarters...and maybe a stick of gum.</p><p>I wished him well and to have fun and that was that. I did not see him again. </p><p>Could not get him out of my head for months. </p><p>To be BRUTALLY HONEST, I had hoped to find him on either eharmony or Hinge but I did not so I bounced. Well, I bounced because the whole thing with both options made me REALLY uncomfortable. But, also, with my incredibly narrow search parameters, I never found him. </p><p>I find admitting to this all a little unsettling. And, a little nerve-wracking because I've built this guy up to be something that he probably is not. Likely married, or dating (like who would not SWOON over a Dad talking so fondly and proudly about his kids) and I am, most certainly not, his type.</p><p>I would think he'd go for your typical well-styled, fitness goddess with super white teeth, who is never late, doesn't carry a ratty old blanket and won't go out in public without makeup. And, always has her own cash. Also, someone with her shit together. You know, the complete opposite of me. </p><p>And yet, I still tracked him down. What is wrong with me!</p><p>It all started when I found out my kid's dad started seeing someone. I guess that was what did it for me, if he is ready why am I not? For the record, I am not sure that I am, but for whatever reason, I feel like if this guy is single and available, I would totally make out with - er, I mean - GO OUT with him...(calm down Maude, jeezus)</p><p>After some brainstorming and reviewing of the crime scene and with the help of a friend I figured out how to find him. Where we live is a small enough town, and if you're golfing with a bunch of Catholics at the alumni tournament, chances are we'll know someone in common. And we do. So I found him on LinkedIn and sent a message. All about helping me make connections in the business community in my hometown</p><p>To be honest, though, my initial "in" with him is totally not a lie. I could tell he was a super nice guy and since he's a golfer I made the leap that he's probably a good networker and knows people. Especially people in the business community. </p><p>Because, as you might know, I am currently unemployed - another strike against me as we've previously discussed because who doesn't want to date a nearly 50-year-old unemployed single mother - so I am casting my potential employment net pretty wide. </p><p>I am applying for work pretty much all over the PNW, including my hometown where he just moved from. So that's my cover. And it's actually totally true. </p><p>I am supposed to call him (he gave me his number after I messaged him on LinkedIn - I seem to skip the dating apps and use the professional networking sites, so there must be something wrong with me) to talk through some of the connections he might potentially have and help me out.</p><p>But here's the thing - I did a full-on basic crazy woman background search already. I know where he lives in Boise. I read his bio on the company website that only mentions his kids no wife or significant other. </p><p>I found his house that he sold last summer in my hometown on Zillow and I know it's his because I found a whole bunch of other stuff about him, most of which was on his LinkedIn profile.</p><p>And there's a photo of just him and his kids hanging in the house. His kids went to my high school where I was the mascot.</p><p>And I saw a shit load of wine in boxes in his storage room in the Zillow photos (he most certainly is MY people) and an old late 60's or earl 70's Ford truck in the driveway. I love those. I dream about a dude picking me up in one of those and going on a picnic date to watch the sunset.</p><p>Like I said - crazy woman search. I hope he never reads this. Well, I mean it will probably turn into nothing at all since I'm potentially moving and most certainly am not his type or in any position to consider anything with ANYONE until I can get my shit together. And, it's spread all over the place right now, so packing it back up is a bit of a chore. Gonna be awhile.</p><p>My biggest stress is that I also hope that I don't inadvertently mention something that I know that he hasn't ever told me when I do talk to him because that would be horrifyingly embarrassing. It is hard to un-see and forget things I've found out by being a crazy person. And I am, a total crazy person though I reassured him I'm not a crazy stalker. </p><p>I feel like he sees through it...</p><p>So, I guess here goes nothing. I'm going to call him and hope I don't make an ass of myself. And, even if it turns out to be nothing at all, at least I know that maybe, just maybe, I might be OK with someone in my life someday. That is a win in my book. </p><p>Just...maybe not yet. I'm still kind of a shit show.</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-66903602741921377712022-01-26T07:15:00.001-08:002022-01-26T07:15:13.830-08:00Maude VS TWO Epic Failures in 365 days<p>Well, friends, I guess it's a good thing I'm not ready to date. Now I'm divorced AND unemployed. </p><p>I mean, that's a seriously sweet bio for any dating profile: Divorced single mother of two teenagers who is totally unemployed. WHAT A CATCH! </p><p>It's the trifecta that all secure, employed emotionally mature single men in their 50's are looking for: emotionally unstable female with absolutely no income and at least one kid entering college soon. </p><p>The past 365 days have been a wild ride for me. I left my very stable job of five years in January 2021 to work for an organization where I believed I had room to grow and advance that would provide the financial security my family needed. And the stability I knew I would need. It was my "last job" where I had hoped to retire from.</p><p>At the time I took that job I was still married but was the only source of income as my then-husband was trying to make a go of a small business he started in 2018. </p><p>The new job was a perfect match for my experience, knowledge, skills, and abilities and I would have just a little bit of breathing room every month so I didn't have to worry about having to start stripping or selling drugs to make ends meet. #lifegoals #nojudgementonstrippers #sexworkiswork</p><p>Just a few months into my new role it was decided that my kid's Dad and I, on our 20th wedding anniversary no less, would be amicably separating and committing to co-parenting our children moving forward. This was no surprise, we had been talking about it for almost a year at that point and I knew it was not if but when it would happen.</p><p>Has that always been an easy process? No, but I think all in all we've done a pretty damn good job navigating it all and being there for the kids. </p><p>So, friends, that was failure #1 for 2021 - my marriage crumbled and fell apart. The divorce, to me, is the biggest most epic failure I have ever experienced in my life. I disappointed myself, my children, my faith, and my family.</p><p>It is so embarrassing to be divorced. I will be 50 this year. 50 YEARS OLD! I've got 2/3 of my life under my belt. A big part of me is dreading the back 1/3 of my life. </p><p>I am certain that I'll be alone for the rest of it (see above reference to why there is NO ONE ON EARTH that would want to be with this shit show) and the other part of me is oddly optimistic about what is to come.</p><p>I do have a pretty good bucket list of items for a middle-aged divorcee like myself. Travel to Europe (ALONE!), start rock climbing again, run the New York Marathon (I said bucket list, I did NOT say achievable), downhill ski again, take weekend trips alone, whitewater raft, downsize my home and live in a little bungalow in the north end of town, and learn how to golf. It's funny because golf was one of the few things my former husband enjoyed and I did not. </p><p>It wasn't until I got really drunk at a staff retreat last spring and spent a day on a course with a really amazing and fun group of people that I truly understood the appeal. Since then I've been to Top Golf (won a $250 REI gift card, don't mean to brag...) and CRUSHED it (to be fair I think Top Golf is designed so everyone feels like they can golf!) and I hit a bucket of balls with my Ma on a nice warm sunny day in November. </p><p>If it wasn't January and butt-cold right now, I'd go grab my former husband's clubs and hit the shit out of a bucket of balls right now. I think it would make me feel better...</p><p>My second and most egregious failure has been losing my job. And I truly lost it, but I'm still not sure how. I was hired for one position that, in organizational restructuring, was eliminated. I was put into a new role that was, at my advanced age, difficult to train (my learning preferences were no match for the training program) and not at all a match for my knowledge, skills, and abilities.</p><p>Having experienced the crash and burn of a 22-year relationship I struggled with my emotions and since work was the one place I spent most of my time and I can't burden my children with them (or friends, who don't want to hang out with an emotionally fragile sad sack of a human) unfortunately despite my greatest efforts to shove them down so far they couldn't get out, they found an escape route.</p><p>And I know better than to hold things in, that is not my way but in this case, I tried hard to keep everything inside and when you pile pressure on top of pressure something has to give. You can infer the rest.</p><p>And, let's talk about crying. I am not a crier (well apparently I am now but I wasn't before) so when I start to cry I get mad that I am crying and that makes me cry harder, then I am embarrassed for crying harder and that makes it even worse. #viciouscircle </p><p>After a few months of fumbling and frustration and lots of emotions I could no longer hold back, I was given a couple of options, neither of which are appealing for a woman pushing 50 with no husband's income to fall back on and a kid entering college in the fall!</p><p>So here I am, unemployed. I'm terrified. I don't have much of a safety net, as we all know in divorce there's a sharing of assets. There isn't much left for me in liquidity to make ends meet. I will figure it out, on my own. Because that is who I am and what I do.</p><p>As I am always a glass half full kind of gal, I've got some time to work on my MBA - I am hard-charging to finish it by May of this year. I will be able to chalk that up as a success even if I don't finish that quickly. </p><p>Hell, it's a self-paced competency-based program, with all my free time maybe I can finish it before I find a new job! Based on job availability out there right now, that seems like a good possibility.</p><p>It also appears the universe is giving me a gift of a little time to slow down. And I appreciate it. I'll do my best to take advantage of this time to put myself back together.</p><p>Maybe I will have time to write and blog a little more, funny stuff since that's more my style. Maybe I can finally publish my Bliss and Chaos e-book! I can see the headline: <i>Desperate single mother publishes embarrassing stories about her children for money</i></p><p>I kind of like it!</p><p>Stay tuned and always remember, a little levity goes a long way. Onward, upward and I'm making my own way forward. </p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-70644181586605673692022-01-17T10:18:00.006-08:002022-01-17T10:40:20.428-08:00Maude VS The Divorce (Part 2)<p> NOTE: Be sure to <a href="http://blissandchaos.blogspot.com/2022/01/maude-vs-divorce-part-1.html" target="_blank">read part 1</a> before you read part 2, I promise it is worth it</p><p>To catch up my dear readers (all three of you, you know who you are) I am now divorced. It has been almost 4 months since I penned Part 1 and a few things have changed but not much. Buckle up friends, and don't be drinking any beverages, lest you laugh so hard it comes out your nose...</p><p>I put myself out there. Yep, not once but twice. And within about 36 hours I took myself off the "being out there" because I could not handle it. OMG. I've learned two things: internet dating is NOT for me and I am not at all ready to put myself out there. Not at all.</p><p>The first time I did it was on a recommendation from someone after a few glasses of wine. Everything seems harmless when you're all warm and fuzzy from some adult beverages. So, I tried eharmony for a hot minute (with, TBH, absolutely NO intention of connecting with or going on a date with anyone) and IT. WAS. HORRIBLE! What the hell was I thinking?!</p><p>I don't think eharmony is horrible in and of itself, just the experience was not for me. First of all, you can put in your specific requirements in a potential suitor. Apparently my "requirements" are quite limiting. </p><p>Not a lot to choose from, and also, I am cheap and since this was more of a dare than anything serious I did NOT pay the money so I could see a lot of the profile pictures. (Yes, I am a skin deep person. Not afraid to say it.)</p><p>So once I got my profile up, it was a little weird. It was like walking into a bar full of men who haven't seen a woman in 20 years and you're THE ONLY ONE. Creepy McCreepersons!!! I mean I am sure they are all lovely but I just felt so awkward, virtually speaking.</p><p>Potential suitors can send a wave or a wink which, and while this is all via a web interface, it was weirder than being in a nightclub. I must say that I did not like it AT ALL. </p><p>Plus, because I AM truly trying to make up for being an asshole in my 20s I felt horrible that I wasn't reciprocating the winks and waves. I have plenty of emotions in my life, guilt being one of them and I didn't need that hanging over my head for a bunch of men I never intended to meet. So I deleted my account.</p><p>Keep reading, I promise this gets funnier!</p><p>Fast forward three months. My former husband (again, hate the use of the term "ex") let me know he was starting to see someone. </p><p>My reaction was actually nothing but supportive. His happiness has always been important to me. What I was MAD about was that he felt it important to tell the kids so soon and so early.</p><p>His reasoning was that in case someone saw them out together and it got back to the kids. As a kid whose parents IMMEDIATELY started dating other people before their divorce was even final I was worried about the trauma and asked him not to tell them. I still stand by my position, but he told them anyway. </p><p>They are good kids and handled it just fine as far as I can tell. But I kept saying "our city isn't so small anymore, you don't need to tell them, no one we know is going to see you." Remember that statement friends, it WILL come back into play shortly.</p><p>Over the weekend after having learned of his news and after chatting with some friends (I need new friends, their recommendations seem to get me in trouble LOL!) I decided to try HINGE, the dating app. I had heard good things about it and thought, what the hell. Mark put himself out there, maybe I am ready to meet some new people, too. I am, most certainly, NOT as I've learned.</p><p>Setting up your profile is quick and easy for sure. A few pictures, answer some questions, put in your deal breakers and boom you're done. Once again, I've learned that my very specific requirements severely limit the field of men that I can "match with" which, as you'll learn in a few moments is a bit problematic.</p><p>I went to bed shortly after setting up my profile and woke in the morning to several "comments". You can actually look at the men who commented to see if you want to respond. 100% all got deleted. And I. FELT. AWFUL. </p><p>It was like going to a bar, and a nice guy buys you a drink and you walk away to flirt with the hot dude at the pool table who won't give you the time of day. UGH. The guilt! The horror!</p><p>I worked most of a full day that day and had a break to walk the dog, so I checked HINGE while I was out and found even more comments that made me SUPER uncomfortable, except for one which was laughing emojis on a funny picture I had posted. </p><p>I had previously previewed the less than 10 guys that met my criteria and decided a couple of them looked nice enough. I thought if one of them reaches out I'll respond back.</p><p>One of them did (see above note about laughing emojis) and because I know NOTHING about the app, I commented on his comment which then made us a MATCH. Oh boy. </p><p>You can only see a first name, not a last name so that was good in the sense that I still felt a little anonymous. It can also be a bad thing if you need to know the last name of the person you "match" with, which in my case would have been <i><b><u>TREMENDOUSLY</u></b></i> helpful.</p><p>Having never been on HINGE before and not ever having corresponded with someone like this I didn't know WHAT to expect. We chatted briefly and he let me know that he was never married and had no kids. I told him I had teenagers and if that wasn't terrifying he was probably lying.</p><p>He asked if I had a girl or boy or both and I said one of each I mentioned that the older one had a college basketball scholarship. He asked if it was to his alma mater and I said no, a small private out of state Catholic college and gave him the name. To which he replied, that is Father So and So's alma mater. </p><p>I about shit my pants.</p><p>You would likely only know that if you're Catholic. If you are Catholic you might know my former in laws.</p><p>He then mentioned he was an alumni of the private Catholic high school both of my children currently attend. </p><p>More shit in my pants. </p><p>He likely knows my former husband's siblings, at least one or two of them...Crap, what do I do next?!?!</p><p>So, I let him know as much and that depending on his answer we likely could not be friends. </p><p>His year of graduation? Same as my former husband's oldest brother. </p><p>I asked him if he knew the brother and the reply "why yes, he's one of my dear friends." </p><p>EVEN MORE SHITTING OF MY PANTS. SO much so that they would likely need to be changed...</p><p>You have GOT to be kidding me, I thought, my requirements are so freaking narrow the only person I can match with knows my WHOLE ENTIRE FORMER FAMILY-IN-LAW? </p><p>And, also, what does it say that I seem to only attract alumni from the same damn high school. And I'm not even a cradle catholic. </p><p>He offered that I could get a reference check from the brother and I offered that he ought not to ask the brother about me. More awkward chatting. At this point I don't know how to back out because he is nice and I'm inexperienced.</p><p>Thankfully, I had to end our chat and go to a basketball game and did not have further correspondence with him until the next day.</p><p>Once again, overnight, there were a few just bizarre comments and some pretty forward requests in my little HINGE inbox from other men on the app, all of which got deleted. </p><p>Some of them did appear to be nice but they were either too short, too conservative or mentioned they weren't Journey fans, and right now Journey is providing the soundtrack for my life. That's a hard pass for me if you don't like Journey...</p><p>I got SO uncomfortable not only with the comments but the volume of them and feeling that old Catholic guilt about deleting them all. </p><p>I realized, I am so not ready to "put myself out there" nor am I even ready to probably go on a date with an actual human male, hell I cannot even sustain a chat for more than 12 hours on a dating app without running away screaming!</p><p>Because where we live does turn out to be a small town (remember me telling my former husband that it's not a small town? Karma is laughing her ass of at me I tell you) I thought I better tell this would-be suiter that this isn't an experience for me but that I wouldn't mind keeping in touch so I sent him a message with my number. </p><p>Then I deleted the app. Which meant that my message was ALSO immediately deleted. Therefore I totally ghosted someone that knows my whole husband's family and the guilt and embarrassment was too much to take. </p><p>Sooooo what does a girl do? She consults a serial dater in her office to ask what HE would do, and then does the opposite of his recommendation! He said, don't follow up, he will find you. I, however, did not WANT him to find me because I do not want to date anyone right now.</p><p>In December I deactivated my Facebook account and I deleted my Instagram access (not the account) so I could not find him on social media to apologize for disappearing. The reason is I started my MBA and thought I'd eliminate distractions which now seems ironic that I decide to go on HINGE which is a HUGE distraction, what can I say, I'm complicated.</p><p>I did the next best thing: I used my exceptional Nancy Drew investigative skills (AKA stalking) and found him on LinkedIn. That's right friends, I switched from a dating app to a professional networking website. Who does that? I do, apparently.</p><p>I sent him a brief, albeit self-deprecating message and apologized for my behavior. I tossed in a movie quote for good measure and he got it, thankfully and sent me a message back in kind.</p><p>There are some lessons I have learned through this experience, as follows:</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>1. I have a type - very sweet Catholic boys who I will completely terrorize with my personality and horrify with my penchant for swearing.</p><p>2. I DO in fact still live in a small town where the six degrees of separation is more like two. </p><p>3. There is a better than average chance that anyone I may in the future decide to date, if they are from this city, will know my former husband and his family. (lesson 4 could be that maybe I need to move away when the kids are in college?)</p><p>4. I am totally unprepared to meet someone new right now, and I may never be ready. But, I think I know I would rather be set up than try a dating app or website in the future.</p></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;">5. Finally, Karma is REAL. </p></blockquote><p>My former husband and I caught up at another basketball game recently and I shared with him the whole entire story (including who the guy was), and we both got a pretty good laugh about it. Nothing wrong with the guy, but everything wrong with ME right now LOL.</p><p>If anything, being able to share a story with him like this and us both finding it funny was kind of healing. He was my best friend for 22 years, I'm hoping that doesn't change. </p><p>It is challenging to navigate it all, but I am grateful for the effort we're both putting in on it. Losing a husband was hard, losing him as my friend would have been devastating. So that's the unfunny part of this post, but it is the part with all my heart.</p><p>XOXO,</p><p>Maude</p><p>PS - I have received exactly ZERO dick pics thus far and that is a HUGE relief.</p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"> </p></blockquote><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-72034152466595836252022-01-17T09:21:00.004-08:002022-01-17T10:41:16.104-08:00Maude VS The Divorce (Part 1)<p><b>Blog post penned in Sept. 2021 but never posted until now:</b></p><p>If you know me, this new information may come as a surprise. So let me be clear, many people from my various lives have no idea that I'm divorced. We haven't really "put it out there" or made any "unconscious uncoupling" announcements. It is what it is.</p><p>To be honest, I wouldn't say I had "get a divorce right before I turn 50" on my vision board for life, but here I am. That's probably why it's been kept close to the vest. Who wants to publicly share a total personal failure after 20 (yes, 20!!) years of marriage. And I DEFINITELY do NOT have "start dating again in my late 40's" on said vision board. </p><p>For the record, I don't really have a vision board anyway.</p><p>Short story short, these things don't happen overnight. And, rarely are they an amicable situation. In our case, amicable is maybe being a little too optimistic but we're doing our best and putting the kids first and at the end of the day that's all we can do. But, it wasn't an overnight situation and neither of us was surprised when we reached the mutual conclusion that we should "lovingly separate as a couple and commit to co-parenting our children." #celebritybreakupexplanations</p><p>For the record, I will not say anything unkind about the father of my children (I flat out refuse to say "ex-husband" as I find that term offensive for some reason) nor will I hash out any of our "relationship business", after all that's really what therapy is for.</p><p>My INTENTION is to do some processing of this loss on occasion, share some of my random thoughts about being in a position of being single and whatever other humorous or poignant stories, or otherwise "helpful hints" I can come up with to maybe give another middle aged divorcee sister from another mister out there a little help, if they need it.</p><p>My first helpful hint is actually directed at people who ask me, maybe not immediately but certainly way too soon, when I'm going to jump back into the dating pool.</p><p>Not now, maybe not ever? Never say never, as they say. But, as I think about the total package that I am, I don't know who would even be able to handle me!</p><p>Plus, I'm still trying to process the loss of a 22 year relationship, all its imperfections, happy memories and struggles. I think it will take me at least that long to get over it all. That puts me at, if I'm doing my math correctly (which if you know me is not my strong suit) roughly 70 years old when I'm ready to move on. Folks, that's a no go for launch.</p><p>And, even if I were considering getting back into the game, I would have to try internet dating and that's just not a thing I can even envision. Like, what would my dating profile even say? At this stage of my life I'm so uninterested in trying to pretend to be something I'm not so unfortunately I'd have to put the brutal, unfiltered truth out there. </p><p><b>I think my bio would have to be something like this:</b></p><p>"I am almost 50 years old, I've got stretchmarks all over my abdomen from giving birth to not one, but two giant children. I'm a little saggy in many places, no matter how hard I work out and eat right. I run, but I'm not fast, I lift weights as long as they aren't too heavy and I have a list of foods I can't eat longer than Santa's naughty list at Christmas.</p><p>I burp and fart. Out loud. And I think both of those things are hilarious. The smellier the better, for either of course. I am really pretty feral after nearly two years of working from home in my yoga pants. </p><p>I don't like foreign films. In fact, I prefer comedies, not rom-coms but just straight up comedies with mostly bathroom humor. Basically I'm a 13 year old boy trapped in a 49 year old female's body.</p><p>I am hilariously funny. This is the truth and I will make you laugh your ass off. But then, twenty minutes later you'll be so mad at me you won't even want to be in the same room with me. I'm complicated. What can I say?</p><p>I like to be outside whenever possible and one of my favorite activities is fly fishing even though I am terrible at it. If you want a River Runs Through It experience, I'm not your girl. If you want to untangle my line and help me tie flies on then we're good to go.</p><p>I'm basic, I'm flawed, I'm nothing really all that special. Also, you should know, I swear like a sailor. The F word is something I'm not afraid to use. </p><p>I am anal retentive which means I'm a total neat freak and I like to be in control. If you are messy and bossy I'm definitely not your gal. Truthfully, I've got more issues than national geographic.</p><p>I am a hard worker, a loyal friend, and I try hard to be a good person to make up for a lot of crap I pulled in my 20s. I will be trying for YEARS to keep karma at bay...</p><p>I love my dog and my kids fiercely, I don't list them in that order because I like my dog better than the kids, it's just that right now since the kids are 15 & 17 the dog seems to be the only living breathing being in my house that cares that I'm alive.</p><p>I'd rather go on a hike and watch the sunset than sit and watch TV or a movie. I can quote a lot of movies, by the way, but for some reason I'm not really into watching them much anymore. </p><p>I survived cancer, the early death of my father and a rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis. And I will survive this divorce. </p><p>Therefore, I can pretty well survive being alone for the rest of my life so you have to be someone pretty goddamn amazing with like a unicorn horn and wings and shit for me to even give you a second look. HMU if you're down with this."</p><p>And, I am not at all sure that the world of single middle aged men is ready for a shit show like me. I'm loveable, for sure, but a shit show just the same. I will not be putting myself out there anytime soon.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-16648373168227246202020-10-14T12:04:00.000-07:002020-10-14T12:04:08.395-07:00Maude VS the unpublished Christmas Eve post from 2013<div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">Original post written Dec. 24, 2013: <b>Have you ever wanted to ruin Christmas for your children?</b></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">
Have you ever wanted to ruin Christmas for your children? I'm only asking not because I'm trying to be funny, but "au contraire mon frere" that is NOT the case.</div>
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Today, I want to ruin Christmas for my children. Yesterday was magic. Yesterday was the day before Christmas that I've always dreamed of. </div>
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The kids got along, listened well, were an absolute DEEELITE all day as we went and purchased donations for Boys & Girls Aid, delivered the donations, shopped for their father, braved the post office, survived the grocery store. </div>
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They were angels as we finished our holiday goodies, frosting cookies, making fudge & toffee, so good you could hear the choir of angels singing in the background. I really really really wish today had been Christmas, so I don't have to harbor the memory of Christmas Eve 2013, the day I almost went ape-shit and ruined Christmas for my children.</div>
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And by ruin, I mean I wanted to sit them on the couch so they could watch me TOUCH the ELF ON THE SHELF. I pictured myself picking him up by the small of his scrawny little neck, they'd gasp in horror as I rubbed him on my ass and farted, tossed him on the ground and stomped on his little creepy face. But I wouldn't stop there. Nope, there would be even more horror in store.</div>
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Next, I wanted to take every last one of their goddamn presents out from under the tree and toss them in the trunk so I could return them or mail them back to the giver. Then, they would watch me, horrified, as I stripped every last ever loving ornament from the friggin Christmas tree and tossed them in a box.</div>
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Every last decoration in the house would be put away. There would be no trace of the holiday. And yes, they'd still be forced to go to Christmas Eve Mass, and celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ (whose name I must have taken in vain at least a dozen times today) only to come home and go to bed and sleep WITHOUT SUGAR PLUMS DANCING IN THEIR HEADS. </div>
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But, alas, I couldn't do it. </div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><b>Update on October 14, 2020:</b></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">So, well, I am not really sure what happened to this post. Why it went unfinished and most definitely why it went unposted! We're talking almost 7 years ago so I can only begin to imagine what was going on in my home at that moment. </div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">As I've said before, my kids can be dicks. In 2013 they would have been junior dicks, just starting their preparations for professionalizing the whole being dicks to their parents thing. Ages 7 & 9, that's what they were. Sweet, innocent little babes. </div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">I'm imagining that perhaps I needed a Xanax or wine (or both) and that in all reality they were really just being normal every day kids who were gettin' a little stir crazy (like their bat shit crazy mom) over the holiday break. </div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">Whatever it was they did I can say with absolute confidence that I DEFINITELY blew it way out of proportion and used their poor behavior as an excuse to drink a lot of wine and write a funny blog. </div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">That's just how I roll, or used to, before my busy life and horrified children (who now KNOW about this blog's existence) got in the way. In any event, I thought this could have been some of my best work if allowed to finish and post. So here you go, a half finished 100% crazy post about ruining Christmas.</div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">And, for the record, I love my dick kids with every fiber of my being. I would literally do ANYTHING for them. I'd lay my own life down if that's what it took. </div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567"><br /></div><div class="subject" id="yui_3_9_1_7_1387924224296_567">But still, they can be dicks....</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-52310205369821620762020-10-14T11:08:00.000-07:002020-10-14T11:08:01.064-07:00Maude VS COVID, "online" school, working from home and the (literal) end of the world<p>I really don't have to say it, because we all know it, but I'm certain the end of the world is near. There are signs literally everywhere. And I'm not one of those super-religious and cray-cray freaks who stocks up on food in my bomb shelter or anything. I'm just a girl who works at home in her sweatpants who notices things.</p><p>For example, just 2 or 3 weeks after the wrath of COVID (plague, anyone?) began to rain down on humanity, where I live there were a few earthquakes. I mean even back then it seemed a little to coincidental but as they say hindsight is always 2020 so I can see clearly now...</p><p>We all got lost in the newness of working from home, our daily commute shortened to two minutes from the bedroom, including a stop for coffee. The absolute bliss of being able to stay in our pajama pants until noon as long as we wore a neutral top that could be covered with a scarf for the occasional zoom call. I kept earrings and lip gloss with an emergency hair kit close by so I could put lipstick on this pig at a moment's notice.</p><p>The wonderful experience of working from home while we let our kids (on "extended spring break") goof around on TV, cell phones and video games was all too short-lived as schools began to build their "temporary plan" of online school, which, I think we can all agree on now was a total joke.</p><p>And before you get all high and mighty like I'm bashing teachers and schools, I'm not. My kids are just kind of dicks sometimes, and yes it wasn't an ideal situation for anyone but they also totally hosed the entire quarter with MISSING WORK in the end. How do you ask? I wish I knew. </p><p>Endless hours to complete assignments after 15 minutes of (sometimes/mostly) pre-recorded instruction and they ended up with B's and C's? Come ON, if ever there was a time to get straight A's people THIS WAS IT.</p><p>But back to the end of the world. As soon as we all adjusted to not accomplishing anything of value at work (because I was constantly checking to see if the kids were watching YouTube or Tik Tok instead of their classes) and school (see previous reference) the next thing that happened was MURDER HORNETS. Murder. Hornets. </p><p>The name was enough to strike fear into the hearts and minds of children and adults alike. Immediately images of a dying Macauley Culkin in that one movie we all saw but can't remember the name of that had that adorable little girl Anna Chlumsky in? Remember? Anyway, that whole image just made me sad. But, murder hornets? Need I say more?</p><p>Eventually "school" ended and I was free to work from home, in my yoga pants, without interruption except for if the kids were A) fighting, B) hungry or C) asked to mow the lawn. We all settled into the sweet rhythm of the summer. Slowly but surely we could emerge from our homes and begin to act like stuff was getting back to normal.</p><p>And then, snakes. So this one sign of the end of times is probably just in my little corner of the world but holy shit-ballz I have never seen more snakes in all my life. Pretty much every time I take my dog for a walk I see a snake. My favorite kind is the dead kind which is about 50% of the time, the rest of the time my fat stupid dog (who I love almost as much as my children) thinks it is a play toy. Twice now she's almost been bitten in her fat dog face. </p><p>And I lived in this house/neighborhood all summer last year and I NEVER SAW A SINGLE SNAKE. So, using that as evidence I'm back to my thinking that we're nearing the end of the world. 2019=no snakes; 2020=snakes...</p><p>I should also point out that while we weren't experiencing total famine, there were a LOT of people unable to access food during the massive layoffs and business closures, but even more broadly there were shortages of food and supplies for all of us: sugar, yeast, flour, canned beans and toilet paper. Which, if you have teenagers in the house you can relate to why running out of TP is a very frightening thing. </p><p>The one thing you COULD buy in abundance at the grocery store? Chickpeas in the can. Apparently no one wanted to eat a shit pile of those with limited TP resources available. I can understand completely and I might be the ONLY person making that correlation. You're welcome.</p><p>The final straw that broke the camel's back in my thinking that we're truly in the end of times was the appearance of a salamander IN MY OFFICE, on the second floor of a really dry building. I did not even know we had salamanders in Idaho let alone in Boise, which is one of the driest parts of the state!</p><p>I think what's bothering me the most is that I still have a lot to make up for from my twenties. I mean, I've spent the better part of the last two decades TRYING to be a better person. (uphill battle over here) I'm also disturbed in thinking that if the end of the world is really near, what's that going to look like? </p><p>I'll tell you what it looks like in my house: my kids will be at home, watching videos of someone watching videos of someone playing video games or learning Tik Tok dance moves while I'm hunkered down in my office working in my pink bathrobe, at noon on a thursday, still nursing a now cold cup of coffee, with the best bed head you've ever seen because it's likely been three days since I last showered and a months since my last haircut, teeth un-brushed, holey and dirty underwear (sorry, Ma), with my fat lazy dog snoring right behind my chair so if I stand up to use the bathroom I can't miss her without stepping on her.</p><p>Yes, that's what the end of the world looks like in my house. A total shit show.</p><p>I'm not really sure how I would have pictured it otherwise, I honestly never gave it a thought until now. But I really did not envision the curtains closing on my own little sit-com stage at home. As I sit here typing this I think I should make some personal resolutions to start showering more regularly, at least putting on some pants and maybe changing my underwear on a daily basis.</p><p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-72131471738614104802019-10-12T10:00:00.001-07:002019-10-12T10:02:12.318-07:00Maude VS Snap Chat<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Beware: Strong language and polarizing opinion about to be
shared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Read at your own peril.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any viewpoints contradictory to those
expressed in this opinion piece will not in any way, shape or form change the
author’s opinions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Additionally this
piece is not meant to be judgmental or parent shaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all in this together and as such we
should support each parent’s right to make choices for their own children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s be the adults we are supposed to be.
Now, brace yourselves…<o:p></o:p></div>
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F!*k you, Snap Chat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>F!*k.
You.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know that we have never had a relationship,
though we did experiment that one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I downloaded you onto my phone so I could see what the fuss was all
about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were confusing, you made no
sense and I could not understand the attraction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I’m over falling for the bad boys.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I deleted you within about 48 hours and because you were so
hard to understand I vowed then not to allow my child access to something I
myself couldn’t understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was
BEFORE I truly understood what a shady bastard you really are.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But really, f!*k you Snap Chat for even existing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Facebook was bad enough, then we got
Instagram which started out benign <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but
now it’s like a PG-13 version of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the origins of Snap Chat were certainly not born of necessity, but
purely a desire to prevent people from seeing things you don’t want them to
see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s what journals are for,
people.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Personally, I liken Snap Chat and the tremendous pressure
from society to join in as the proverbial cliff our parents warned us
about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because everyone is doing it
doesn’t mean you should too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If everyone
jumped off a cliff, could you jump too?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Remember that? I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Snap Chat IS that cliff that we, as parents, are not only
letting our children jump off of, but ourselves as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Face it, if this stupid app had never been
invented there wouldn’t be an argument about should you or shouldn’t you.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I stand by the MYRIAD of facts and research that says
SNAP CHAT IS HORRIBLE for teens (and I personally would argue for adults as
well).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are literally paid
researchers who are constantly designing NEW ways to keep our children (and our
society) addicted to these social media apps, and there are no worse ones than
Snap Chat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stand by this statement
100%. Yes I have Facebook and Instagram (thanks a lot FOMO) but I’m drawing the
line at Snap Chat for a million damn good reasons.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Everything I know about it, from it’s original concept of “make
sure our communication disappears so no one can see it” to all the awesome
features that make kids feel like their social status is 100% tied into an app,
the strength of their friendships and their worth as a person revolve around
streaks of “snaps” and the number of people who follow them, pressuring kids to
allow people they don’t even know to follow them and snap. Um hello adult
predator pretending to be a teen…..<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I haven’t even gotten into the normalizing of risky
behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether you want to believe it
or not, social media but ESPECIALLY SNAP CHAT normalizes risky behavior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they see their friends engaging in risky
behavior they think it is OK, it becomes the “every one is doing it mentality”
and it NORMALIZES poor choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Snap
Chat is the #1 place where kids SHOW they are engaging in risky behavior
because in theory and mostly) PARENTS CANNOT SEE!!!!!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Case in point: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last
year in a very frank discussion with some parents about Snap Chat there were
three moms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One allowed it, and myself
and the other do not. (That parent has since caved in along with most of the
other mothers I knew who were in my camp).<o:p></o:p></div>
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The parent who allowed it went on to talk about how open she
and her kid were and the rules they put to utilizing it and that she felt she
could trust her kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Personally, at the
time and still today, I don’t know how you can trust your kid with something
you cannot see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all want to believe
our children are good kids, and mostly they are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But kids are kids and they can make poor
choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s part of their evolution as
humans.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Anyhoozer, at the end of the conversation I continued to
stand my ground, it’s a decision I am not going to make, allowing my kid to
have Snap Chat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This parent then sent me
an article the next day via email basically in a way (I felt) shaming me for my
choice, under the guise of being “helpful”.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Guess what peeps.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
wonderful child was caught vaping because she and her friends thought they were
SAFE by SNAP CHATTING themselves while doing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately for them, someone took a screen
shot of the image and the rest is history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It NORMALIZES RISKY BEHAVIOR.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t need a research paper to tell me that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The kids who were involved were, and still are GOOD KIDS.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
You think your kid won’t snap or sext compromising
photos?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would be surprised and the sad thing is,
you won’t know about it because they use SNAP CHAT to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even if they don’t do it, their friends
do so they ARE being exposed to things you might not want them to see.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Think your sweet angel isn’t pressuring his girlfriend to
have sex?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s not using his text app to do it, nope he’s
using SNAP CHAT.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Time and time again I have been proven right that SNAP CHAT
is terrible for teens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to
reiterate here that I AM NOT JUDGING YOU IF YOU HAVE MADE THIS CHOICE FOR YOUR
CHILD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really hope it works out OK for
you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do, pinky swear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
But I personally feel that we, as parents, are feeling the “peer
pressure” to allow kids to have something they should not “because everyone is
doing it”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(remember my cliff analogy?) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Or because someday they will be out of the house and will be
able to gain access to it then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BUT
GUESS WHAT?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they are ADULTS their
brains are better prepared to handle it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not well prepared, I don’t think any of us are, but BETTER prepared.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Teenagers brains are not fully developed, their impulse
control isn’t always there, emotionally they are all over the place and they
don’t have the confidence to navigate the ups and downs of social media.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
And I have had many people say that I need to show my kid
how to handle adult situations on social media now before they are out of the
house and have all the access they want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For me, personally, that logic doesn’t fly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know my kids will experiment with alcohol
someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t support, approve or
endorse it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someday they will be in
college (or heck still in high school) and they will drink underage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because at some point they will have
access to it, does that mean I should start serving them at home and teaching
them how to drink responsibly?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I feel very strongly that they main reasons people give for
why I should let my kid join in are totally bogus:<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Everyone is doing it. (there’s that old familiar
cliff).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->INSTEAD why doesn’t everyone just stop allowing
it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do I have to let my kid do
something I know is bad just because everyone else does (which I assure you not
everyone does….)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->You should teach her to be responsible with it
now so she knows how to use it later.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I’ve given her Instagram.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She can’t use something I can monitor
responsibly so why would I give her unfettered access to something I can’t
monitor?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->She’s being exposed to this stuff anyway, so it’s
not like you can control it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">a.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Actually, I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I can MINIMIZE her exposure to risky behavior by NOT allowing her 24/7
access to teenagers and their poor choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">b.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Yes, she is exposed,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t disagree. But I am the parent, I can
do what I can to minimize it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
There are plenty of kids who use Snap Chat who are good
kids, but it doesn’t mean every kid they are associated with through the app
are like-minded remember that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And no
matter what, you really cannot every effectively see or know what they are
sharing on that app unless you sit next to them 24/7 and watch. Which is
impossible.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
My last frustration with Snap Chat is there are literally NO
parental controls that can effectively monitor it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO PARENTAL CONTROLS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I know so many parents who judge me to
using parental controls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I AM A
PARENT, so it’s my JOB to do what I can to keep my kid safe, happy and healthy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
If a genie appeared in front of me today and asked for one
wish to be granted, honestly I would wish that Snap Chat had never been, and
would never be invented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ask yourself
what good can come from a method of communication that is 100% designed to
disappear and be untraceable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why would
anyone want to use it unless there was something they didn’t want you to
see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>PERIOD. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
In conclusion, F!*K YOU SNAP CHAT.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your very existence on this earth is causing
a huge rift in my relationship with my children and their relationships with
others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should not have to rely on a
smart phone app for our friendships to bloom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>PERIOD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-39888250793816201422019-06-26T14:18:00.003-07:002019-06-26T14:18:54.760-07:00Maude VS the new driverI'm a googler. I use The Google Oracle to find answers to almost all of my life's problems. And google, she usually delivers! But this time, I was kind of at a loss for resources, so I thought once I survive the experience I'd create my own little advice column for the situation in which I found myself today.<br />
<br />
I knew that at some point my eldest offspring would be legally ready to drive my car after completing 6 hours of instruction from a licensed professional. That day was today.<br />
<br />
She, of course, was far more nervous about ME being in the car than she was about the actual driving part. Fair enough, so was I.<br />
<br />
Last night, knowing this was coming today, I tried to find articles about how parents can help their young drivers the first time they pilot a giant hunk of metal while sitting completely powerless and with zero control in the passenger seat.<br />
<br />
It's unsettling, I'll tell you, to go from being in the driver's seat and solely responsible for your child's health and well being, to suddenly sitting in the passenger seat, clutching a bible, a rosary and a flask. <br />
<br />
OK so I didn't ACTUALLY do those things (however I said many a Hail Mary) but the feeling of HOPELESSNESS that settles in is unlike anything I've experienced since I brought her home from the hospital and hoped I could keep her alive.<br />
<br />
Honestly though, I completely underestimated the Xanax worthy anxiety that settled into my chest as soon as she took the keys from my tightly clenched fist. <br />
<br />
Unfortunately as a passenger you have to have your wits about you at all times so any form of medication is not recommended. Meditation? yes, hence the constant praying. God heard from me a lot today....<br />
<br />
"Oh my GOD, stay in your lane!"<br />
<br />
"For God's sake, watch the speed!"<br />
<br />
"Good GOD, did they not show you how to use a turn signal?"<br />
<br />
And, my personal favorite:<br />
<br />
"Jesus Christ, kid. EASY on the brakes."<br />
<br />
It's good to be a Christian....<br />
<br />
All joking aside, she did pretty well for only the fourth day ever of driving in her life. As much as I coached her about watching the tail lights in front and to HIT THE BREAKS SO YOU DON'T SLAM INTO THOSE CARS UP THERE, she was pretty impressed that I NEVER ONCE grabbed the "oh shit" handle NOR did I slam my foot on the imaginary brake on the floor in front of me. <br />
<br />
I'm not sure how I survived nearly 50 minutes of total terror, but I did give birth to two children and I've gone skydiving and bungee jumping so.....<br />
<br />
Really I am not sure who I should be more proud of, her or me? I'm thinking me. But it probably should be her?<br />
<br />
Back to the original purpose of this story, I tried really hard to find friendly parent advice about driving with your kids for the first time and I came up empty handed. <br />
<br />
So I thought, hell, I'll make a list for the rest of you suckers soon to follow in my footsteps. You. Are. Welcome.<br />
<br />
Without further adieu, here is the list:<br />
<br />
1. Stay calm. Wait, who am I kidding? PRETEND to be calm. Inside you can scream like you just stepped on a tarantula, but to your child: APPEAR CALM. Like icy calm, the calm that you show them when you caught them doing something they shouldn't and you're asking them if they did the thing and waiting patiently for them to admit they did the thing you caught them doing. That kind of calm.<br />
<br />
2. Always tell them they are doing a good job WHEN they are doing a good job so when you do have to scream (not so calmly) "look out for that f-ing semi!!!!!!!!!" they are ready to hear you.<br />
<br />
3. Don't make them back out of a parking spot for the first time with you in the car. A 2 point turn will become a 10 point turn and you'll be crawling out of your own skin just to get the hell out of the parking lot. It doesn't feel great.<br />
<br />
4. They know everything. You don't. So don't be surprised when they are NOT driving that they critique your every decision. "Mom, you changed lanes too frequently back there. That's aggressive driving." And then the inevitable after you snap at them for telling you what a crappy driver you are for the entire ten minute drive to school "You know, you shouldn't drive angry. Driving emotionally compromised is almost as bad as texting while driving." You are distracted you know." That's my favorite.... <br />
<br />
5. Avoid streets with more than one lane in each direction. Otherwise, you're likely to lose a side mirror, your temper and along with it your sanity. To a new driver, cars in the lane next to them have an unbelievable and undetectable magnetic pull, so much so that you'll be mouthing an apology to the driver next to you as your car is inching closer to them. You'll be lucky if they read your lips: I am so sorry, student driver! before you escape sideswiping them altogether.<br />
<br />
6. Do NOT under any circumstances allow them to listen to the radio while they are driving your car, even at a low volume. They WILL forget to leave two hands on the wheel. The temptation to "dab" when they complete a turn safely or fortnight dance to their favorite song is impossible to resist. Trust me on this one. <br />
<br />
7. Don't hold your breath. I mean this literally. You will find yourself not breathing at frequent intervals. When you finally escape the car when you get to wherever you are going, you might pass out. I ended up basically falling into a shrub. True story. So breathe. Long, deep healthy breaths.....<br />
<br />
I feel like I'll end with lucky #7. As this was really just our first drive together I'm assuming I'll have some more nuggets of wisdom to share in the near future. But if you are like me, and you're looking for a sherpa to guide you through the rocky cliff of a 15 year old driving your car, I hope this is useful information to you. <br />
<br />
Feel free to share it with others and hopefully the next stressed out, nervous parent who is googling "how not to totally freak their brand new driver out the first time on the road" this little article will pop up and provide some peace.<br />
<br />
For now, I'm signing off and pouring myself that drink......Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-76428117410390396692019-06-14T13:25:00.001-07:002022-04-16T15:37:40.189-07:00Letter to myself at 15This has been a spring and summer of many firsts in our household. So many that I've almost completely drained my wine rack. Almost.<br />
<br />
The firsts in our household include my 13 year old son being introduced to PornHub at school (thanks other kid in tech class for stealing his innocence). Smart phones will be the death of our society. But, I'm off topic. Squirrel!<br />
<br />
Firsts for the 15 year old include a first job interview (phone and in person) and her first job. <br />
<br />
First actual date with a real live boy where they actually looked at each other eye to eye in person and spoke without cell phones!!!!! It's a MIRACLE!!! And a first second date....<br />
<br />
First encounter with a more mature type of feminine product (I'll just leave it like that for you) where she was a total rock star and I had to show her how it all worked while she sat on the toilet and I will never ever be able to scrub that memory from my brain. <br />
<br />
But, glad I could help. I was in college at a state park restroom before I learned how to use them with my sorority sisters trying to coach me on the other side of the cold metal doorway. And those restrooms, very clean and germ free, too. >shiver<<br />
<br />
This is the first time she has ever referred to another human as "boyfriend" which caused her father and I to immediately come up with manual labor tasks the "boyfriend" will have to help us out with around the house to "earn" more time with her one on one....if he ever can....Dad is making sure his shotgun collection is clean and ready.<br />
<br />
She got her learner's permit and finished her online driving course, so another first will be driving in about a week. God help us. I'll need to get that wine rack filled up again, along with my Xanax prescription...<br />
<br />
After I dropped her off for her first shift at her job today I reflected back to my 15th summer on this earth. God were things so simple yet I thought they were so complicated.<br />
<br />
I, too, had a few firsts. <br />
<br />
First time driving, first time liking a boy and (ermagehrd) him liking me back. For like, 48 hours, or something. Then I got dumped over the phone with the classic "I think we're better as friends." <br />
<br />
First time sneaking out of the house with friends to go toilet paper that boy's house. Needless to say, it turned out to be too far to walk, we got lost, and came home with the TP still in hand...and my brother caught us coming home. In fairness, he didn't tell on me because the only reason he caught us is because he was smoking a cigarette outside when we rolled up...so we both had something to lose...<br />
<br />
But Lord have mercy I remember thinking everything was so hard, so complicated, and so difficult. <br />
<br />
And, it was, because that was my perspective. So I thought, what would I tell myself at 15, that 31+ years of wisdom could help reshape my view on things? Not much, as it turns out. Most 15 year old's (girls, teenagers especially) think they've got it all figured out. But, I am going to pretend, in case this helps anyone else. Here goes:<br />
<br />
Dear 15 year old self,<br />
<br />
I hope you are enjoying your summer break. You just finished your freshman year of high school, didn't it fly by? I know it was probably (from your perspective) miserable. <br />
<br />
How many times did you like a boy and he liked your friend instead? How else did you get the nickname "Ducky"? (thanks a lot Pretty in Pink movie, I'll never live down being everyone's best friend).<br />
<br />
Those things are painful, but when you're 46 you can look back on your 15 year old crushes and know, without a shadow of a doubt, you would never have married any one of them. Even sweet, tortured skater boy Glenn. I remember walking home with him almost every day listening to him go on and on and on and on about your friend that he liked. It all seemed too heavy, at 15. And, it's OK to cry in your pillow, baby. Sometimes that's all you need.<br />
<br />
But please just enjoy it, all the sweetness and uncertainty, and know that maybe, just maybe, Glenn liked you but never thought he had a chance. And your best friend that he liked? She was a terrible wingman for you.<br />
<br />
High school is hard for about 8000 other reasons, too. Like the girls, oh the girls were harder to deal with than boys. End of story. Talk about hormone-induced insanity at every turn. You fell victim to it, too. Remember that.<br />
<br />
Know this, though....years will go by and you'll look back and understand that every single one of you girls struggled with the same things: wanting to fit in, feeling accepted, trying to feel beautiful, and figuring out who you really are. <br />
<br />
But trust me, being kind and nice to everyone will make sure you fit in, be accepted, be a beautiful person, and is totally true to who you are. Because, at the core of your being you are a nice, wonderful and caring person.<br />
<br />
Don't worry if you don't get invited to the parties, I promise the memories you have cruising Riverside with Becky and going to Mormon stake dances with your band friends and dancing yourselves silly, then watching movies at someone's house afterward will be some of the BEST things you will recall about being in high school. <br />
<br />
Remember you honed your self-deprecating humor by utilizing it as a survival mechanism every time some dumb boy called you "Ride-me-now" or a "Pirate's Dream" (sunken chest anyone??) or "Amy Bird" (Larry Bird's daughter) or Stretch or any one of 1000 names people called you because, at the end of the day, they would never be all that you were at 15: confident, tall, kind and funny.<br />
<br />
Don't focus on what you wish you had or how you wish you looked. You are perfect in every way, just the way you are. Tall, thin, gangly, freckle-faced, and goofy looking. That's you in a nutshell, so own it. Even today. Especially, the part about being goofy. It's one of your finest qualities.<br />
<br />
Someday you'll have the last laugh on the sunken chest jokes because you'll end up with a nice new D Cup rack to show off well into your 60's. Granted it took surviving cancer to get them, but worth it in the end. You'll be looking forward to showing them off at the 30-year reunion...<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Also, ask for help when you need it. Friends and caring adults will move heaven and earth to support you. It's a fact. Lean on people who love you when things get hard.<br />
<br />
Smile as much as you can. <br />
<br />
Make jokes, but not at someone's expense.<br />
<br />
Volunteer to help somewhere. Nothing will fill your cup like doing something for someone other than yourself.<br />
<br />
Join clubs, play sports, or do drama or band or color guard or whatever makes your heart sing.<br />
<br />
Find your people. Form your tribe. Love them hard and make all the memories you can. Time will go by fast.<br />
<br />
<b><i><u>You will never regret making good choices, being a good person, and standing up for what you believe in. </u></i></b><br />
<br />
Surround yourself with good people. Even if your circle is small but mighty: quality over quantity.<br />
<br />
Be kind to everyone. <br />
<br />
And remember, there is no one who will love you truly, madly, and deeply and always have your back no matter what, quite like your mother. <br />
<br />
Sass her from time to time just to keep her in her place, but don't be afraid to open up sometimes. <br />
<br />
She will listen like no other and will fiercely protect you and at the same time hold you accountable for things when you need to be. I know you know this.<br />
<br />
For what it's worth, high school is hard. I can't sugar coat it for you, but it's also one of the simplest times in your life. So take deep breaths, take steps back, reflect, try to enjoy the best moments, and learn what you can from the worst.<br />
<br />
Someday you'll have a sweet, wonderful 15-year-old girl who is going through all the same things, and all the same firsts, that you did. And, like you, she will have a mother who loves her hard and would do anything for her.<br />
<br />
So just slow down and soak it all up. Enjoy every minute of this beautiful, awkward, crazy, scary, and wonderful life that you are living. That part of life will never, ever change.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
<br />
Yourself<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-44090319476714647112019-03-03T08:32:00.001-08:002019-03-03T08:32:38.390-08:00Maude VS the picky home shoppers<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear buyers that have looked at our home for sale,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are so glad that you agree: our kitchen is enormous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have fit over 25 people in it to say grace before Christmas dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it is so big we sometimes forget where we
stored things. True story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We love that you love the rec room over the garage that has
room for foosball, air hockey, at one point three couches and still room for
more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re right, the space is
fantastic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could even throw in a
ping pong table up there and STILL have room left over for keg stands, a rousing game of
twister and an epic battle of chess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you’re into that kind of thing.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is fantastic hearing about how you love the over-sized
garage with extra room for storage and space to park a pick-up truck with an 8
foot bed, SUV and feasibly yet another car in the third bay, which as you know
most people just use for extra storage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But our
garage is just THAT BIG. And we have a sh*t ton of storage ANYWAY...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It warms our heart to hear you love the open floor plan, the
split bedroom layout and that we have three FULL bathrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who wants a half bath anyway?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is like eating a PB&J sandwich
without the J.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially when you have
teenagers who you do not want using your bathroom to shower any longer because,
well, teenagers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And eventually those
little munchkins in your house WILL be teenagers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sooner than later.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We also know how amazing it is that the bonus room is set up
like its own little apartment with a kitchenette.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some might call it a mother-in-law suite, we
call it “the place where the kids will want to live when they graduate from
college and cannot find a job” which, incidentally, is NOT why we are moving….<o:p></o:p></div>
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We love that YOU love all the parts about the HOME in which
we currently live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can tell, it is
totally awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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What we do not love is hearing things like “I could never
live with that backyard.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes you can,
actually, and you can thank us later for setting you straight: you will use the
backyard outdoor living space more than you ever would the grass you would have
to mow, water and fertilize.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Believe it or not, we fell in LOVE with this house for
everything it is, knowing that the backyard was, well, cozy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because we know that we spend MOST OF OUR
TIME INSIDE OUR HOUSE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And you will,
too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Don’t look at the house and think “the yard is too small”
because here’s what you won’t do in the yard: sleep, do laundry,
make breakfast for your family (although you could in the OUTDOOR KITCHEN….),
get dressed for the day, brush your toofin’s and jump in your jammies for
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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You definitely won’t host your family for the holidays in
the back yard (hello cold Idaho winters...) and you certainly won’t host birthday parties and other
celebrations in the back yard, even if you had a big one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Think about where you LIVE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You live INSIDE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We created a home that lets you do BOTH: live
inside AND outside when time permits. Eventually your children will sign up for three activities after school which requires you to turn into a parent uber driver, taking them from place to place 6 days a week. (honestly I feel like I actually live in my car, which smells kind of like I do...)<o:p></o:p></div>
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As much as I love Boise I don’t love that it’s 100+ degrees
for weeks on end in the summer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Believe me, you won’t
send your kids out to play in that kind of heat!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope, I’m telling you they’ll be up in the
air conditioned bonus room (dual controls BTW) with their friends playing video
games on your giant TV, eating popcorn and drinking cool beverages and making a
big giant mess as kids like to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In case you didn't already know this. there are five seasons in Idaho: Spring, Summer, Fall,
Winter and what we affectionately call SPRINTER, that awkward space when it’s
supposed to feel like spring but it keeps snowing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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The amount of time you actually CAN use your
backyard is less than you think so when you DO have the opportunity to spend
time outside in the outdoor living space we have created for you, you will love
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because you won’t have spent time,
money and water keeping up with a backyard that you never go in except to clean
up the dog poop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (again, true story)</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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So please, look at our house for all the wonderful things
that it is: a home you can LIVE IN.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
know that the backyard in its current configuration has had MORE use in the
last three years since we made it an extension of our phenomenal home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">And if you really have your heart set on a big yard, use the opportunity that the interwebs have provided for you and LOOK AT THE FREAKING PICTURES OF THE HOUSE ONLINE before you get here. Because I'm getting pretty damn tired of cleaning my house for you only to have you say "I don't like the backyard". Just because you come LOOK at the house doesn't make the yard suddenly LARGER....</span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">It is what it is my friend: a fantastic space that you WILL use and have to spend very little time keeping up.</span></div>
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PS - I love my <a href="http://blissandchaos.blogspot.com/2018/11/maude-vs-buyers-remorse.html" target="_blank">instant pot</a> an inappropriate amount. I use it basically every time I cook. Like I might consider marrying it if it could clean up after itself....</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-72270770725004309932018-11-24T09:01:00.002-08:002019-03-03T08:37:05.084-08:00Maude VS Buyer’s RemorseUgh. You guys. Never ever ever ever shop Amazon Prime after two glasses of wine. Just don’t.<br />
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They say alcohol leads to poor choices and for the most part in my life I’m like 75/25 on that. As a grown woman rounding the age corner and barreling at full speed towards 50 I assumed that I was past that stage.<br />
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I was wrong.<br />
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I readily acknowledge I’m not the first to post the mantra “never prime while drinking” and I know without a shadow of a doubt I won’t be the last. But if this confessional saves even one person from my fate it will have been worth it in the end.<br />
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As Cher likes to say “if I could turn back time” I would NOT check my phone/Facebook at 10:15pm before heading to bed. If only Amazon had a time machine on their lightning deals…..sigh.<br />
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But alas my brain is programmed to see what the world is up to before I drift into a fitful sleep of hot flashes and all night peeing. There was, and I am not making this up, a post informing the world that the 8 quart instant pot was on sale on Amazon for $69.99. People, if you do not know that is like STEALING the instant pot you must have been living under a rock.<br />
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I don’t have any money right now. Like none. My husband started his own business so I’m the only person who is depositing cash into our checking account every two weeks and I work for a nonprofit so like, just do the math. And it’s Christmas so what the f*!k was I thinking purchasing this item?<br />
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Two glasses of wine took all the hesitation away and I got all wrapped up in the lightning deal. CURSES to YOU Amazon. CURSES.<br />
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As soon as I clicked “place order” I was overcome with instant-regret. Again, WTF was I thinking?<br />
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My kids will now only receive the gift of instant pot meals this holiday season.<br />
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And maybe some socks. And underwear. Can’t forget the underwear. Santa’s a giver…..<br />
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I went to bed thinking that I would wake up excited and start googling recipes or feel terrible and try to cancel the order. So I did both. I am an exceptional multi-tasker. As evidence I give you exhibit A: my new instant pot ordered while drinking AND goofing off on my phone….<br />
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So anyhoozer I spent time on an instant pot recipe exchange facebook page and with Amazon simultaneously. For reals I attempted to cancel the order all while googling recipes. You know, keeping my options open.<br />
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Unfortunately it was a lightning deal so they were lightning fast in processing the damn thing so come Tuesday evening no later than 8pm it will be on my porch.<br />
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I’m still a little angry that I drank and primed, but all my friends assure me that I’ll love this new appliance. I mean if it cooks food for my family in a fraction of the time I might make out with it.<br />
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Hell, if it cleans up after itself, empties the dishwasher on occasion and does all the grocery shopping I just might marry it.<br />
<br />
I remain cautiously optimistic that this will have been a solid purchase but I have yet to find recipes that meet my very specific criteria: easy, healthy, one step, quick, delicious, family friendly, gluten free, dairy free, soy free, carb free, cashew free instant pot recipes for dummies. (this is literally from one of my facebook pleas for help)<br />
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So it is 100% with mixed emotions that I welcome this new cooking appliance into my home. Anticipation that it will allow me to place healthy food on the table for my family in a fraction of the time and absolute dread that it will end up on the shelf in my pantry like the rice cooker, crock pot, kitchen aid mixer……..<br />
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In closing, friends don’t let friends drink and Prime. Peace, OUT.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-85192787563214959812018-09-11T09:32:00.001-07:002018-09-11T09:32:32.191-07:00Maude VS the bathtub<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Parenting a 14.5 year old is not for the weak. Parenting an exhausted 14.5 year old FEMALE requires the expertise and precision of a seasoned brain surgeon. I have neither. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am screwed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All I have, really, is my level 1 street smarts and the ability to out-stubborn even the most stubborn of living creatures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you might well know the transition from lazy summers to crazy fall is as easy as a “simple Martha Stewart recipe”. Just 12 simple ingredients, two hours of prep time, 8 different dishes and 14 cooking utensils later…….</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My fledging high school freshman is also that kid that requires some down time each day to recharge her batteries. She’s not like me in the sense that I’ll just go and go and go and go until I sit down and pass out. Sleep is my battery re-charge (and the occasional adult beverage).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When you don’t get down time, you find yourself being angry and rude to your parents, like all the time….</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Unfortunately for a newbie high schooler the day goes like this:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Wake up at the ass crack of dawn</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Lay in bed and wait for your mom’s “get out of bed” prompts to reach new levels of hysteria</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Drag yourself out of bed and wait for your breakfast to magically appear</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Sigh heavily and make instant oatmeal because you get tired of waiting</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Check cell phone in case you missed any texts while you wait for your mom’s “put your cell phone down and get ready” prompts to reach new levels of hysteria</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">6.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Drag your feet as long as possible so the following tasks must be completed in ten minutes or less, and half-assed at best: brush hair, brush teeth, put on clothes and make up, make lunch but run out of time and beg for hot lunch money</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">7.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Check cell phone some more, text friends things like “are you going to school” or “my mom is so annoying” stuff that doesn’t need to be typed into a phone at 6:45am. This is done instead of gathering backpack and putting on shoes…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">8.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Wait for mom to start yelling to get in the car, waiting until her yelling reaches new levels of hysteria. Perhaps she honks the horn from the driveway. That is the signal that it is indeed time to gather up the backpack, books, laptop and shoes, send three more texts to friends (things like LOL, OMG, TTYL and “ugh my mom won’t stop honking the horn”), forget the cross country bag with running shoes, run back into the house while rolling eyes at your mom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">9.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Listen to mom lecture about being ready on time during the 20 minute drive to the private school mom and dad are scraping by to pay for but only half listen because, well that’s what you do. It’s exhausting. Ugh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">10.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Spend the day at school like learning and stuff. Talk and text friends at lunches and breaks, and on occasion during class time. Hoping mom doesn’t turn off the ability to use the phone during the day, because you know, she can. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">11.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Go to cross country, run a lot, socialize and dilly dally at the river when you are supposed to be taking an ice bath but really you are flirting relentlessly in your running shorts and sports bra even though your mother asked you a thousand times to please keep your shirt on because, well, BOYS. But you don’t because like, it’s hot mom, DUH! And your mom is like “whatever” no boy needs to see YOUR SPORTS BRA KID!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">12.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Get picked up and home late because see item #11. Wolf down dinner and then spend two hours doing homework and flirting with the neighbor kid under the guise of “helping him with his homework” even though your mom isn’t a total idiot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">13.<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Realize it it’s now 9:30pm and you’ve wasted the entire evening yet feel it necessary to take a shower RIGHT NOW even though your mom told you that you couldn’t if you didn’t get in before 9pm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is where the true heart of my story begins. This was last night. And while I have tried to keep my blog fairly anonymous since that <a href="http://blissandchaos.blogspot.com/2012/12/cant-stop-laughing.html" target="_blank">Australian freak show started trolling me in 2012</a> many of my close friends know who I am. They also know that my kid is two inches taller than I am.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is all pertinent information to the story because this child as always pushed things and up until about a year ago I could literally manhandle her and put her in bed. I can no longer do so because she outsizes me by a decent margin and is nothing but arms and legs that can grab onto door frames and prevent me from doing my parental duties of literally tossing her tired ass in bed and turning off the lights.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So again, back to last night. When you are 14, tired and most likely hungry and you REALLY want a shower, there is almost nothing a parent can do to stop you. Almost nothing… </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I mentioned I’m the most stubborn of them all. My children, God bless them, haven’t quite gotten the memo that I can, and will, outlast them every day and twice on Sunday. Case in point, I<a href="http://blissandchaos.blogspot.com/2010/08/epic-battle.html" target="_blank">’ll link a previous post from the summer of 2010 </a>where I out-stubborned Brady over taking dinner seconds and not eating them by pouring a massive glass of wine and opening a GIANT novel to page 1. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fast forward to last evening: after five minutes of back and forth “can please take a shower” followed by “no you may nots” which increased in hysteria with each passing second. I realized I had nothing. I could not physically move her to her bed and save for my physical presence in the bathroom, I could not do anything to stop her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can’t say “you can’t take a shower” and then go to bed in my own room, because she would have taken a shower anyway and been in there for DAYS ON END. (like really, what DO they do all that time in the shower?!?!).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I pulled a rabbit out of my hat and said “I feel so strongly that you need to go to bed right now because you are tired that I’m going to sleep in the bathtub tonight.” Yes, yes I so totally did that. I literally took the bathmats, put them in the tub, laid down and closed the curtain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My husband calls me borderline narcoleptic in the sense that I do have the innate ability to sleep anywhere any time (I once fell asleep eating spaghetti at a restaurant in !). So she knew she was screwed. Even so it took her about five minutes to give in. I heard her LOUDLY brush hair and teeth, wash her face (checking off everything I would have badgered her about from behind the curtain) and then leave the bathroom LIGHTS ON with the FAUCET RUNNING (clever, clever girl).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I waited her out for about five minutes about the time I knew hoped would be in her PJs and in bed. I wasn’t born yesterday, so I was prepared for the worst. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got up, turned out the lights and turned the faucet off and snuck out of the bathroom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I KNEW she was just lying in wait for me like a cat waiting to pounce and destroy its unsuspecting prey. Little did she knew I was soooooo ready……</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She went all ninja on me and jumped at me asking “so can I take a shower now?” and I just smiled and showed her the giant bundle of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, razor and shaving cream I removed on my way out. “Not without this stuff!” I said as I headed for my room, with a wink and a smile.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Well played mom, well played” was all she said as I walked away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The good news is she went to bed ON TIME last night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bad news is I cannot turn my head properly either direction this morning. I clearly jacked up my neck laying in that damn tub, I guess parenting a teenager and getting old is a shit combination. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, worth it. Totally worth it.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-4664038213628866072018-08-16T09:26:00.000-07:002018-08-17T09:35:28.465-07:00Maude VS the sex shopI'm sure now that my headline has GOT YOUR ATTENTION. You're welcome. And yes, this is a post about a sex shop. But I've got to lay down some back story before I get to the good stuff.<br />
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Life is full of ups and downs. We all know this, we're living it.<br />
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Currently in my life I've only got a few things on my plate: an ill parent, husband starting his own business and me becoming the sole breadwinner on a nonprofit executive salary (WTF were we thinking??!!), eldest child entering high school (when the F did I get old enough to have a high school student living in and messing up my house?), my elder bro-turkey and his genetic offspring are relocating to my town so I'm pitching in to help out during the transition because of said ill parent requiring other parent to be super busy, and also, I have a job.<br />
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I think.<br />
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I might be fired? I'm not sure yet, haven't been there much. Staff assures me things are running fine without me, that's either good or bad depending on how you look at it.<br />
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I'm barely half-assing any aspect of my life (<a href="https://tenor.com/view/parks-and-rec-ron-swanson-nick-offerman-half-ass-whole-ass-gif-3565471" target="_blank">Ron Swanson</a> would not approve) so I'm almost always on auto-pilot which doesn't bode well for my driving abilities - cars beware, there's an incredibly harried, over-stressed, emotional hot mess piloting a large SUV around town. Oh wait, that describes basically almost any mom. Touche.<br />
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But I digress. As usual.<br />
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Last night said parent needed to be taken to the emergency room which meant I got to take my older brother to the airport leaving me with his precocious and very adorable 8 year old human.<br />
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Now, this child is incredibly smart and funny and wise beyond her years. Yet, when she gets her mind rolling on something, it's hard to derail it. Like basically impossible. From constant conversations about hatchimals to kitty cats you can sometimes never get a word in edge-wise. More on this shortly.<br />
<br />
As you might imagine one parent taking the other to the hospital meant my evening unraveled a bit like a ball of yarn in the care of a feral kitten on catnip trapped in a bathtub full of water. This was a good thing in the sense that I was able to rescue my high school child from having to sit outside of her school for two hours during parent meetings about sports (and telling us to donate what little cash we have left to their programs....hoping the jar of coins on my husband's dresser will suffice).....<br />
<br />
It also meant rescuing one of her best friends, a 14 year old boy who lives down the street and whose parents are dear friends of ours. (I offered for the record because his mom is as busy as I am!)<br />
<br />
Again, just laying the ground work here folks. The 14 year old friend (we will refer to him as Carpool Kid to protect his anonymity) was placed in the back seat with a very chatty 8 year old girl possessing no verbal filter whatsoever.<br />
<br />
I really have to go deep in the weeds here to really set this whole situation up.<br />
<br />
My 14 year old daughter was still only wearing a sports bra after cross country, mind you I warned her like 80 times that Carpool Kid was riding with us and for the love of GOD and all that is good and holy put ON your shirt. A 14 year old boy (friend or not) doesn't need to see you in a BRA. Er. Mah. Gerd. Turns out the sports bra was the LEAST of my concern this fine evening....<br />
<br />
Eventually I convinced the girl to put "a damn shirt on" (she mimicked me brilliantly all with an expert eye roll thrown in for good measure). It looked like this: <a href="https://gph.is/1gF9xGQ">https://gph.is/1gF9xGQ</a> And sounded like this: "<b><u>FINE,</u></b> <b><u>MOM</u></b> I'll put my <u><b>DAMN</b></u> shirt on"....note the proper emphasis on things in all caps. She's got mad skills, yo.<br />
<br />
14 year olds, they're a hoot. Especially when hangry.<br />
<br />
So her food of choice was a Subway foot long and I quickly googled the closest one on my way home. We set off in that direction and I offered the 8 year old the opportunity for a kids meal. That was a mistake. A BIG mistake.<br />
<br />
The next ten minutes driving to said Subway were filled with her graphic descriptions (and these were REPEATED OVER AND OVER FOR GOOD MEASURE) about how Subway gives her diarrhea. And I mean OVER and OVER. Nonstop.<br />
<br />
I know I mentioned this earlier, but it bears repeating: once this kid gets on a topic, you CANNOT derail her thought process. You just can't. Not even if you ask her about cats or hatchimals.<br />
<br />
Carpool kid was about to vomit (he wasn't hungry after a 2.5 hour practice in football pads, 97 degree heat and unrelenting sun) and I kept trying to distract the smaller child with talk about something else.<br />
<br />
Our conversation went like this:<br />
<br />
Carpool kid: "Oh my god. I think I might puke. Can you talk about something else?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Tell your cousin and her friend what school you are going to?" <i>(praying to GOD this would derail her thoughts)</i><br />
<br />
Small child: "I'm going to Discovery! They have tablets. I'm excited. Subway gives me diarrhea."<br />
<br />
I drove past the Subway. I didn't even see it. Two more minutes of poop talk while I turned the car around and pulled in the parking lot. The ONLY thing I could think of was getting the small child OUT of the car, thus relieving the 14 year olds of more talk about bowel movements.<br />
<br />
As I got out of the car and told small child to unbuckle, a grateful Carpool kid mouthed "THANK YOU" to me because I was pretty sure one more minute and I would have had a vomiting 14 year old, an annoyed and hangry 14 year old and an 8 year old talking about vomit AND sharting out her butt.<br />
<br />
The only thing I noticed when I pulled into the lot was the title loan store next to the Subway. I dragged said small child past their door (closing sign went up as it was 6pm on the NOSE!) and we entered the cool, crisp Subway restaurant and I just prayed that small child would not bring up her poopy problems while we ordered food, given the long line of people behind us. She didn't, for the record.<br />
<br />
At this point my only concerns were A) parent in emergency room, B) parked by title loan store, C) Subway food and sodas, and D) putting a pin in the liquid poo conversation. The two fourteen year olds were happily rapping to an Eminem song "Lose Yourself" and I figured music would keep them entertained.<br />
<br />
I was wrong.<br />
<br />
DEAD wrong.<br />
<br />
I brought the food and beverage back, helped buckle small child in her booster seat and sat in the drivers seat with a heavy sign only to realize AT THAT VERY MOMENT that for the past ten minutes while I was in the Subway store, my daughter and her 14 year old friend (who is a boy) were staring at the following store front:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPftuujGox4JSgadAFzcOv4zGyMpHrC_GBeocWVWCk5ritkQYWpOACkzsetdc1Uu7kbOdOI7zIt_Dj8_wouvSKgG5ShE91y6pxAln8m4zyqq_9cRCJFLmJMc2ciMioNlufElGJ-mPbx4g/s1600/store+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPftuujGox4JSgadAFzcOv4zGyMpHrC_GBeocWVWCk5ritkQYWpOACkzsetdc1Uu7kbOdOI7zIt_Dj8_wouvSKgG5ShE91y6pxAln8m4zyqq_9cRCJFLmJMc2ciMioNlufElGJ-mPbx4g/s640/store+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: left;">I circled the car and the face of my daughter for your convenience.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCyNJK8LDLC9VuXPuOtwUdfHPUe7jJeu0H6DM52TzcZrBNpSfGEglarp6f1Qj0yPg14qen_jg8QnCzWtm1bLRoaeH8W7xoZ2mED8GAPOH9txOIQ2yT80TGhgnwXIAdcfLbOI1WtPgxSA/s1600/store+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCyNJK8LDLC9VuXPuOtwUdfHPUe7jJeu0H6DM52TzcZrBNpSfGEglarp6f1Qj0yPg14qen_jg8QnCzWtm1bLRoaeH8W7xoZ2mED8GAPOH9txOIQ2yT80TGhgnwXIAdcfLbOI1WtPgxSA/s640/store+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I circled the name of the store and the two most prominent items in the window display, in case you missed them.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span></div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I spent the other 20 minutes of the drive home intermittently apologizing to my daughter and Carpool Kid who both assured me that they indeed are scarred for life, likely beyond any help of any sort.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So folks, this is my life. I'm so sorry. I apologized to Carpool Kid's mom with a text of these images and a plea to send me the therapy bill.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I drowned my sorrows and embarrassment in a glass of tonic and lime. </div>
<br />
A few lessons were learned: Never, EVER go to this Subway again with children, 14 year olds cannot be convinced that Adam & Eve is a faith based retail adventure and our decision not to have three children was a solid one.<br />
<br />
That's all I can say. Really.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3487158576654436988.post-86765891490124222212018-06-08T13:20:00.002-07:002018-06-09T06:46:30.574-07:00Maude VS HerselfI remember so clearly the day the pain in my chest had
become so unbearable that I thought I was having a heart attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over time the chest pains had gotten worse
and worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a definite pattern
to them, by Friday they were unbearable, but by Sunday night they were all but
gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come Monday morning they would
start to creep up on my drive in to work.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I assumed that, despite being in my mid-30s at the time, the
stress of my job was placing stress on my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day it all came crashing down was in the
summer, late on a Friday afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
felt that there was a sumo-wrestler sitting on my chest and I could no longer
breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drove myself to the emergency
room, not even cluing in at that moment that were I able to drive a car the
pains were likely not due to heart strain. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was immediately wheeled into the cardiac room of Bonner
General Hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lesson learned, you
tell people your chest hurts and before you can say “there’s no place like
home” you’re on a table, stripped to your undies & hooked up to every
monitoring device within reach.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not a heart attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s what they told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your
heart is fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I can’t breathe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My chest hurts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, you are having an anxiety attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s ludicrous I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
never had that happen before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
showed me the tape from the heart monitoring device.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s your brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t
process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sent me home and told me
to contact my GP for an appointment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A week later I was in her office and she confirmed that it
was anxiety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How was I feeling now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She wrote a prescription for Xanax and suggested I might give that a try
when things got too bad. I never did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Instead, I simply changed jobs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
figured the root of my anxiety was the stress of my job and for a time it
helped, as did the regular exercise I started. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wish I could say that things got better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I went from full blown anxiety to total depression in a matter of
months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It got so bad I remember telling
my husband that maybe it would be better for our family if I were dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not a joke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember it was in Ponderay, Idaho, just
five minutes from the Walmart on our grocery shopping trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a sunny day and I remember feeling
relief about getting that off my chest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the time my husband was incredulous, and asked if I were
serious and really thought that was true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My gut check told me that yes, I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I felt I was a terrible mother, terrible wife and terrible at my
job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was miserable in our town and in
my job (yes, this was after taking a new job that I ultimately LOVED).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over time he began to see that I was slipping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My thoughts about my inadequacies as a human
being took dominance over any positive thoughts I could have had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mental tug of war between the angel and
the devil was exhausting. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I became disengaged from everything and my anxiety came
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the time I did not recognize
that trying to drown my anxiety with alcohol was amplifying my depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can see clearly now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One Saturday, as almost every Saturday, I drove the mile
long bridge from Sagle to Sandpoint for a grocery store trip and I saw a
semi-truck coming from the other direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I clearly remember thinking to myself “I wish that truck would slide on
the ice and push me into the icy waters below.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then everything would be OK.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was, in that moment, my lowest point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That evening, after a verbal altercation with
my husband he said the words I needed most to hear: you need to talk to a
therapist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thankfully he recognized that
my behavior was not directed at him, but a product of a mental imbalance I was
incapable of getting myself out of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On
Monday morning I made an appointment and by that Friday I was on Lexapro.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It took weeks, months really, for me to return to
normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I will admit to feeling the
clouds lift even after just about a week on my meds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continued therapy for several months until
my therapist moved to Montana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
continued on Lexapro from 2008-2011.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Under doctor’s supervision in June 2011 I slowly ended my dependency on
antidepressants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it was good and I
am OK.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The hardest part of being on meds is the stigma that is
attached to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People always assume
you can “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” which is absolute bullshit when
you’re depressed unless you can turn your bootstraps into a noose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mental illness is a real thing and it’s worth
as much empathy, support and understanding as cancer or pneumonia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, sometimes good medicine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Obviously I’ve decided to share my story again because of
the recent news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was saddened to see
the passing of two notable celebrities in two days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am sorry for their families.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time I am grateful that this has
caused a light to shine on the dark places of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet people every day grapple with mental
health issues and it’s something that is bigger than Kate Spade and Anthony
Bourdain.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In two days from now the news media will have some other
tragedy or political scandal to talk about, Kate & Anthony will be a
memory. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please don’t forget them or the millions of other people who
struggle from mental illness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please
keep the conversation going on forever.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tell your story without shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hold out your hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Engage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Care.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Please. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mental illness comes in so many shapes and forms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s no shame in having it and no shame in
getting help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And no shame in talking
about it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I share my story and I hope others will share theirs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And let’s continue to shine a light on all
those dark places so we can work to remove the stigma that mental health is
simply “all in our heads.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0