What I Did On My Summer Vacation

I woke up this morning and could feel the brisk air coming in through my bedroom window; it was 50 degrees.  Brrrrr!  I quickly got up and did what anyone would naturally do- I put a turkey in the oven. I’m not kidding.

 

While the beauty of fall in Michigan is unparalleled, it doesn’t mean that I don’t love the fall here in Georgia (don’t worry, Peach State, you win hands down when spring rolls around).  October is my favorite color, and while I am so glad that it’s here, the chill in the air and crunch of leaves under your feet makes summer feel like eons ago when in reality it was only 10 weeks past.

 

This summer was a season of change for me (do I constantly say that here?  Should I just embrace that LIFE is CHANGE?  Ok, that will have to be another post for another day… but still…) I left a job where I had grown a lot professionally and can honestly say I made some lifelong friends; I love my DD peeps.  It was hard, and then again it wasn’t, because I knew it was time.  I also knew that it was time to face something that I had placed in the dark recesses of my mind, and that before I could move forward into my next life adventure I needed to adventure back to where I had last left.  So, while I feel that I should have captured these details with a freshly sharpened #2 pencil right after Labor Day,  I will instead write them for you here. 

 

This is what I did on my summer vacation. 

 

#1: Went back to visit where I am from and realized how far I have come.

 

I had been putting it off way to long; I needed to go back to Michigan.  There were clearly some parts that I missed- family, friends, the familiarity of it all, but mostly the beauty of Northern Michigan or the presence of The Big House that honestly can’t be described unless you have seen it.  Then there were the parts that I didn’t miss- the signs of economic challenge, the town-where-you-grew-up feel that was just no longer me, the memories and the knowledge that this was the life I thought I once was going to live forever. 

 

I had not been back since I packed up the kids, the dog and they Dyson into the Expedition and moved to Georgia, and here I was with the kids all packed up for their annual summer pilgrimage and I was taking us back to where we had left off. I swear I nearly started hyperventilating when I passed the exit to my old house off I-75 that we shared as a family. Then there was the sledding hill, West road, and all of the other things that didn’t seemed to have changed since I left years ago.  It’s funny how quickly you start driving all of your old routes, know you can find whatever you might need at Meijer, how you still get so easily frustrated when you find yourself stuck by a train on Allen road, and think about how many countless hours of your life you have spent in “park” waiting for the freight cars to pass.  How you could have found yourself sitting there in that exact same moment but this still being your hometown if things had been different. 

 

The morning after I dropped the girls off at their dad’s I took a personal guided tour of my life.  I visited every house I ever lived in, saw some of the same neighbors at each; outside watering plants, mowing the lawn, knowing that the reality of me having lived in the house next door has no bearing on their life today. I saw kids playing in the court where I had once played, the bedroom window where my best friend from high school and I would sneak out onto the roof (for no apparent reason) and where someone had spray painted the driveway during my high school years (and I still wonder what would possess someone to do that?).  I drove past the first house M and I purchased and was sad to see the Magnolia tree gone, and curious if they were able to cover the 5 coats of paint I put on the wall in order to get just the right shade of burgundy in the living room, or if they thought the old fashioned milk shoot was as cool as I did.  I then drove past the last house, the one the girls still think of as their Michigan home.  Looking at that house seemed like a whole different lifetime ago.  Actually, the entire trip seemed like someone else’s life; like I was a visitor in my own home, which in reality is exactly what I was.  Not until this moment have I been able to say that I am proud of the life I have created on my own here, a meaningful life for the girlies and I, and truly mean it.

 

#2: Answered the life-long question: What DOES one wear when you are meeting your ex-husbands girlfriend for the first time?

 

Oh yes.  This happened.  During M’s last trip to Georgia I told him that after all these years clearly she was going to remain in the picture, and if she was going to be in the girls lives then I wanted to meet her.  I made it clear that I wasn’t doing it for him, but for them.   As anyone would expect, having this person in their dads lives has had its share of ups and downs.  I am proud to say that I have been fully supportive and encouraging for the girls to get to know her… ok, perhaps I am holding it as some sort of “pay it forward / good karma” sort of thing, but nonetheless I approached it how I would hope M would approach it for me one day. 

 

The day finally arrived and I found myself wishing I had partaken in some liquid courage before the event.  Not because I had anything to prove, but just because… can you say awkward?!?  We met in the local park on a sunny afternoon, and after lunch I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk (I think M thought that she might not return given the look on his face.)  But I had fully thought this out, and there were some things that needed to be said. 

 

First, I told her thank you.  Yep, that’s right- thank you.  I know that the reasons that M and the girls do more activities is because she plans a lot of them, and I believe that having new experiences is very important in life.  Also because I know M is happy, and if she is the one that makes him happy, then I know that means he will be in a better place when the girls are with him.  And again, how the girls feel is what’s important here.

 

Second, I wanted to tell her that even though M comes to Georgia and for now might stay with us during his visits, she has nothing to worry about.  Ever.

 

The third thing I told her remains private.  She knows, I know, M knows. That’s all that need to know.  But I’m glad I said it.

 

#3:  Sometimes the best plan is no plan at all.

 

After I returned home from Michigan, I soon realized that for the first time ever in my life, I had no job, no kids.  No email, no deadlines, no conference calls, no soccer practice, no dinners to make, no laundry to fold.  This miracle window of no responsibility was the equivalent of a solar eclipse; acknowledge it, respect it, but don’t blink because otherwise you will miss it and it will be gone.  Time to check something off the Life List. 

 

Not enough time to travel overseas, I cashed in my Delta points and hopped a first class ticket to Portland.  Flying over Mr. Rainer was amazing, and I could feel the excitement of exploration in the air. I had a hotel, a map, a good friend, lots of things to see and no plans other than to just figure it out in the moment.  And that’s what we did and it all worked out.  Actually better than just worked out- the amazing waterfalls, Voodoo Donuts, the countless craft breweries, an unplanned side trip to Washington, stumbling on the most beautiful beach and watching the sun set and overall weirdness of Portland definitely made it a trip to remember.  

A good lesson to hold onto when I find myself trying to plan and schedule every minute of my life.

 

Which brings me full circle back to fall, and the crisp breeze coming through my kitchen window stirring the scent of roast turkey through the air.  More changes are on the horizon for us- pretty significant changes- but more on that another day.  For now, I am going to turn on the game, enjoy the season, hold onto lessons that this year has brought me and ready myself for the next ones to come.   

Lessons in Motherhood

While cleaning out my home office I came across some documents I had clearly meant to hang onto but lost track of their existence.  A few pictures from college days gone by (who thought Toga parties were a good idea? Sheets are clearly never an attractive look), cards from special occasions, letters I had written, etc.  Among the collection was a note I had written to some girlfriends as they were getting ready to have their first child.  GG at the time must have been around 2, and the transformation of going from partner to parent was something that was clearly uncharted territory for so many of us.  Given all of that uncertainty, I had wanted to capture some words of reassurance that yes, everything you are experiencing and feeling is all normal.  Entering Motherhood is kind of like this secret sorority where you want to convey that the initiation process is life changing (ok, really more like the worst form of hazing imaginable) but worth it in the end.  Some amazing women at my office (you know who you are) were experiencing this same transformation with welcoming their first little ones into the world, and I thought about giving them a copy of the letter, but as I read it I had some different perspectives now that 13 years have gone by.  Instead, I decided to capture both here, for all parents.   My initial thoughts are first, added commentary second…

Now that you are a Mom….

 

It's OK that babies don't come with a set of instructions, and you might second guess every decision you make. 

 

You should know that this never changes.  There is something new to figure out at every stage, at every age, and with every kid.  Oh, and it tends to get more difficult when they starting having something called “opinions of their own and ability to make decisions” because they often conflict with your own.  Learn to suck it up now.   

 

It's OK that that now all your priorities change.

This was kind of a lie.  As in, the lies we tell ourselves to make up for the fact that I no longer feel that shaving my legs is a priority.   I've learned the importance of continuing to put yourself on the top part of the important list, and that doesn’t make you selfish.  It only makes you a better mom.

 

It's OK that sometimes you will laugh and cry, and not always know why. 

Oh yeah, that never changes, and after a while you really can’t blame the baby anymore.  I suggest getting a list of ideas at the ready for such moments…  such as its Tuesday.

 

It's OK that sometimes you might have to leave your screaming child safely in another room while you walk away and count to 10, just because you need a break. 

This is a good lesson.  I have learned this also works with screaming husbands, clients and employees.

 

It's OK that you may feel that you are losing a sense of who you are, as long as you never really do. 

So,  I’ve learned that really you do loose who you are- or more accurately, who you were.  You are always growing and changing, and just becoming who you were meant to be.  Along the way you just can’t lose the fun chick who is still willing to dance all night in shoes that are not mommy shoes regardless of the fact that they make your feet hurt because they look damn hot and knows she can still get hit on regardless of some well concealed stretch marks. Just know that after a night on the town if you should happen to wake up the next morning and are still feeling the night before this takes on a whole new challenge with kids. 

 

It's OK that when you first get home from the hospital, that for the first few days taking a shower is a big accomplishment. 

This can actually apply to any life situation, again, such as a Tuesday.  Change is hard, but it remains the one constant in life.   Sometimes, in the midst of it all, you need to cut yourself some slack for accomplishing even some of the simplest tasks.

 

It's OK that everyone will give you advice, and you listen to what your heart tells you. 

Regardless of the situation- True.

 

It's OK that you go to work and you find spit-up on your shoulder, and it doesn't faze you. 

This continues with forgotten lunches, last minute requests for science project supplies, frantic calls about missing the bus, etc.  It’s crazy how much you learn to take in stride.

 

It's OK to ask for help, and to take it when it is offered.

“I just looked, and yep, no giant S on my shirt so quite trying to be Superwoman”  every woman should say to herself every. single. day. 

 

It's OK to want things done a certain way because you are the mommy. 

I've learned to let things go.  No- really.  Ask my mother-in-law about the binder of instructions the first time they watched GG as a baby.  The pages were laminated.  I'm not kidding.  I have come a long way.

 

It's OK that you will find yourself saying and doing things to your child that your parent did to you, and you swore you would never repeat. 

Trust me, just start saving for the therapy now, because there is no avoiding this one. There is a part of you that will become your parents.

 

It's OK that now you can run on half the amount of sleep, and do twice as much. 

Hate to tell you, you probably won’t get a good night's sleep for at least the next 20 years. Invest in some strong coffee and quality eye cream -stat.  

 

It's OK to feel that the love for your child is almost overwhelming. 

Now, this one does change.  Hard to believe knowing how much you love them as those cute bundles of joy and think every smile and milestone the kid makes is next to sheer genius,  but this only continues to grow.  Grow so much that it takes over your heart.  Grow so much as they become who they are supposed to be, ask inquisitive questions, test the rules and frustrate you for remembering that the older one got a new bike at 10 and yet can’t remember to change her socks or brush her teeth.  That they start to have opinions and preferences all their own, and grow into these small adults that you can have real, meaningful conversations with.  And they drive you crazy, and it can be overwhelming, but at some point you quickly realize that you have them for only this short window of time, and then they are grown and an their own, so then suddenly the challenges just don’t seem to matter as much. 

 

And with that in mind, this is a new one I would add…

It OK to want to have them stay little for just a bit longer, because the time goes by faster than you can ever imagine.

A Tale of Two Cities

Michigan has been on my mind a lot lately.  There is the fact that it seems to be coming up in random conversations, from work issues to occasional comments I pick up on here and there.   As in most things in life, this is no coincidence.  The reality is that I have been feeling this growing desire to go back.  Actually, it’s more than a desire- it is a flat out need.  The need to go and revisit the place where I am from.  Where I left three years ago and believe that this place- where I grew up- would no longer recognize me as the person I am now as I cross the state line.  The place where I will nervously return to in just a matter of weeks.

Michigan, where I am from, is this paradox of industry and beauty.  Where people are connected through the common thread of automotive giants to the countless lakes that we live by or vacation on.  It’s a place where you don’t see the sun for months, but you are so used to the winter gray that you just don’t know any different;  it seems to just blend into the remains of the last snow fall that is now slush piled to the side of the road.  But all of that is easily forgotten when the seasons change and the State comes alive.  The beauty of Michigan is unparalleled.  And while I may be biased, I feel that I have done my fair share of travel and can appreciate the striking beauty of Scottsdale to the picturesque surroundings of the Cape- but I guess the saying is true that there is no place like home. 

Michigan is where I became who I am- where I spent every family vacation navigating the waters of the Great Lakes and learned to love the Big Ten.  In college I knew what it was truly like to walk up hill both ways in 2 feet of snow as I trudged to class (and perhaps to Waldo’s.  And by that I clearly mean the library, not the bar.)  It was where I took my girls sledding for the first time- on the same hill where I went as a child- and I relived my memories while they created theirs.  It’s the place I knew every street, called out neighborhoods by those who lived there and the elementary school they are associated with.  Where the real four seasons are Fall, Winter, Spring and Construction, and everyone has a great venison recipe. Where every milestone event of my life took place- first loves, real friendships, graduations, wedding, first house, first child, second house, second child, and countless more memories with great friends and family- lived 93% of my life- all until I left.

Georgia is where I live now.  It is the splendor of sunshine, nature, overly polite people, amazing food and a slower pace that I am still not used to.  It is the place where I hike up a mountain, surrounded by Civil War battle fields that live in infamy.  Where people are outside all the time- because they can be.  Locals let you into traffic, slow down to let a pedestrian cross, let an elderly person have their seat and use Y’all and Yes Ma’am more often than not.  Where I find myself using Yes Ma’am more than I would like to admit.  Where the landscape of the North Georgia Mountains calls my name every spring and fall, and I so easily get lost in all its wonder.  I have learned that a true Southern conversation starts with “What’s your family name and what church do you go to?”  That the genuine sense of community is just that- genuine - and it still makes me feel uneasy because as much as I know it’s true I tend not to trust it (getting better at that, though).  Where football and BBQ are a religion, both fueled with such intense emotion that you can feel the electricity in the air when two people are discussing their following for either.  Where apparently anything looks better with a monogram, and girls still wear bows in their hair so big you wonder how they don’t topple over. 

And both of these places have made me who I am.  I still like to reference that I am from Detroit because there is a certain Bad-Assness that comes with it, and yes I’ll let you think that I know all about 8 mile if you don’t know any different.  The street smarts I learned in Detroit- walking to the Fox, catching games at The Joe- I carry with me everywhere, as I do the love of multiple cultures that I learned working in Dearborn and having my dad take me to Eastern Market.  Where I miss my city, my state, and wear my mid-west roots with pride- but yet am honestly afraid to return because as much as I have changed, I know that it has to.  I want to remember the old times- the better times- and revel in those versus the uneasy feeling of trying to understand who the other one is now, and having to admit that perhaps we just don’t “fit” anymore.  Where I have taken many lessons from the South- how to talk a little nicer, walk a little slower, and that it really is normal to speak to strangers on the street.  That learning to embrace my femininity is a gift, and being “girly” does not make you weak.  That boiled peanuts sold from the back of a pick up truck off the side of the road can be a delicacy, and that southern food is truly made with love.  And while no one has yet to be able to say our Polish last name, they all just smile and accept you just the same… and I have yet to fully understand how these lessons apply to the Northern part of me.

I have to admit, when I think about it, neither place truly feels like home.   But I do know that I take the lessons that each place has taught me wherever I go. Each place has molded me into who I am now.  Michigan- in what was created in my core- strength, resilience, an undying passion to make it, to survive.  And in thinking about it, that is exactly what Georgia has taught me as well- strength, resilience, and undying passion to make it, to survive- just in another way. 

And should I ever live anyplace else, I know that I will gain these same gifts from wherever it is that I end up.  But maybe that’s all you can ask for; that while perhaps you don’t immediately think of a place as home, if your heart does in the moments that you are there, that’s the most you can ask for.  Because in the end, every place changes you just a little bit into the special, unique and strong person that these places has molded you to be.

And most importantly, will always be a part of who you are.

The (opposite of) Luck of the Irish

Given the red hair and affinity for good beer, you would think that I would be all about St. Patrick’s Day; however- not so much.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I dislike it, say, in the way that I dislike Halloween (that’s a whole other story) but for me it’s just kind of a take it or leave it type of Holiday.  Which is why when my Saturday night plans to go out and kiss the proverbial blarney stone with friends fell through, I wasn’t all that upset.  It was funny, in a kind of pathetic and sad kind of way, that instead I found myself scrubbing the bathroom and texting my sister about how wild and crazy my single life is- somebody stop me!  I’m living on the edge!  Hahaha. Yeah, remind me to never make fun of my quiet Saturday night ever again.

So after introducing GG to the awesomeness that is the Bourne trilogy, I took a nice bath in said clean tub utilizing some glorious Lush bath products I received for Christmas.  And while no green beer, there might have been a nice glass of red involved.  Feeling relaxed, smelling sweet, and all “miss independent and how great is it that house is clean and things are calm” type of nirvana, what I was clearly doing was actually putting a triple-dog-dare-you type of vibe out to the universe.  One where it laughs its crackly laugh and sneers, “Oh yeah?  Watch this.”

It started at about 12:30.

I had crawled into clean white sheets, book in hand, quickly drifting off when I heard it.  The distinct sound- and then the even more distinct scent.  The pup- all 115 lbs. of him- that so dutifully sleeps on the floor at the foot of my bed every evening- was sick.  Like, really sick.   “Where there Hell did this come from?” I think very loudly in my head as I run to the kitchen for the necessary supplies.  Quickly everything my mother has ever taught me about cleaning carpets- and that I passed along during that memorable evening during freshman year of college- comes into mind.  “Blot- don’t rub!”  But let’s just say it was… intense… and I knew that the carpet would never be the same.  Poor Samps- he looked so guilty, knowing that my peaceful Zen like state had quickly disappeared.  I finally got things back into some sort of order, chemical sting still fresh in the air, when I take a deep breath, scrub my hands multiple times, and get ready to get back into bed.

Little did I realize, the fun had only just begun.

5 minutes later, Belle comes down the stairs.  “Mommy- I don’t feel good… I was sick”. 

Um- What???

I went to her room.  It made the first incident look like a tea party.

Poor girl clearly had no chance of making it out of her bed.  Which was covered.  As was the floor.  And part of the night stand.  Linda Blair had nothing on this.

I quickly try to come up with a plan of action.  Step one- get a place for Belle to rest.  I strip off the sheets and don’t even try to save them- into the trash they go.  Move onto opening windows, click on the fan, and let her rest in my bed with a cool wash cloth until her room is habitable once again.  Clean the furniture, clean the carpet- blot don’t rub- rinse, repeat.  OK, got it.  Just as I am finishing up I hear it…

The dog.  Again.  Now in the family room.

ARE YOU *$%^&* KIDDING ME?!?!?!

I run downstairs, leap over the offence, get the dog, barricade him in the kitchen.  Go to my room, scoop up Belle, and place her back up into her room which is somewhat back to normal.  I go downstairs, and what can only be explained as a reenactment of Macbeth: Act 5, Scene 1, Page 2 “Out, damned spot! Out, I say! ” I cry and scrub the carpets again and look up to the powers that be literally saying out loud “Seriously?!?!”  Who even knew that your child and your dog could get the stomach flu at the same time? And as any parent could tell you, one is more than enough.

It’s now about 2:00 am and any trace of Zen I once had is long gone.  Like, so far gone it moved out of the country with an expired passport with no possibility of ever coming back gone.  But it doesn’t matter, because Belle is awake once again and making use of the ever popular trash can lined with plastic shopping bags I left for her.  It’s clear this isn’t over.

I am now simply operating in what could be called zombie mode, and while not wanting to devour anyone, I basically am only talking in grunts and “it’sokitwillallbeok” words.  While not the same as holding a girlfriends hair back, I zone out next to Belle while stroking her hair so that she would fall asleep.  At some point, I get up, wander back downstairs and collapse into bed.

Both Belle and the dog were not well for the entire next day.  I will save you any more details, but I don’t think I have ever used every beach towel in my house nor had so much laundry in my entire life.

All of this caused me to have to cancel a trip to Boston, which ironically, would have been today- the actual St. Patrick’s Day.  My plans were to try to head downtown this evening after I landed so I could experience a little of what today would be like in Boston… not a life list type of desire, but I thought it would have been cool nonetheless.  Having just gone through what I did on the day I had been planning on celebrating the holiday, perhaps it is all for the best that I didn’t venture out on the actual holiday.  If this was any indication, I could not have handled any more, especially considering one additional factor…. green beer. 

The Greatest Love of All

So.  It’s Valentine’s Day again.

Seriously, didn’t we JUST do this last year? 

Being a Singleton on VDay can be hard.  I know, I know, not to be the bitter one, and I should acknowledge that my life is filled with love (it is) and still fulfilling (you bet) and that when the time is right the person I am meant to be with will enter my life (he will).  Yep.  All good stuff.  But for today, it is still a little “In Your Face-Boo-Yay!” reminder that I am on my own.  

Even though today is all about love and relationships, the past 3 years have provided some revelations- the most important is that there are some GREAT things about being single.  Seriously!  Anyone who knows me would tell you that I would proclaim that I am not good alone, and for the most part that is still true- I thrive when I am in the right relationship- but that aside there are some serious silver linings about being independent.  And as we all know sometimes it’s the little things that make a big difference in your life. 

Therefore, I bring to you, The Redd Room’s A Few  Kick-Ass Things About Being Single:

1.     I make the rules.  Guess what?  No compromise to be had.  In the wise words of Spiderman (ok, Spiderman’s Grandfather for you purests) “With great power comes great responsibility”.  Guess what?  I have the power.  I run this entire house.  I determine where the money goes. New pair of shoes? Yep- you got it.  No one to be accountable for that except- oh yeah- me.  Where we go on vacation?  Yep, I steer that boat, too.  How we spend our time on the weekends, what I make for dinner, what colors to paint the walls, what music I listen to and at what volume- all me, me, me.

2.    I get the bed.  The whole bed.  When I first moved for over a year I still slept on “my side”.  Now, I find the indent trending a little more to the middle.  And then there is my philosophy that there is no such thing as to many pillows, and I get all those, too.  I make a nest, snuggle myself in, lie sideways if I want to- guess what?  It doesn’t matter- no one to tell me to move over, it’s too hot in here, why do you need a fan on to sleep and- the best part- no snoring to keep me up at night.  Just sayin’.

3.    How I spend my time is my business.  No reporting in- where were you?  Who did you see?  Why yes, I just had a crazy night out with a band of circus clowns and we all piled into their mini car and we drove to  a country bar to ride a mechanical bull (please note these events did not happen exactly like this- clowns have been substituted to save the names of the innocent, although somehow appropriate).  But no worries about coming home from a GNO and there being any questions about what went on (not that anything ever did) because it’s nobody’s business but mine. 

4.    Now, this one is hard, because for their sake I wish it wasn’t’ this way, but… I get all the girlies love, all the time.  I get to hear all about their day first hand, I get each one to snuggle by my side on the couch, for the most part I get to be the one to expose them to new things, cheer them on from the sidelines, the one they look out to in the audience during school performances, and reassure them that they are safe, loved, and amazing girls.  I get the snuggles in the morning from Belle, and the late night philosophical questions from GG.  Honestly, I wish it was different for them, but in the “bright side of things” philosophy I am so very grateful for this.

5.    And the best one… I get to build a great relationship- both with myself and with my future partner.  We people who lose the most important relationship of our lives might tend to spend some time thinking about what went wrong (insert sarcasm here).  We become very self-reflective, and earnestly work to acknowledge our own mistakes, not just the ex’s, in hopes to learn and grow to find what we are really longing for- the right relationship. But in this process, a great thing happens- you realize that you get to create a great relationship with yourself first.  You realize what makes you happy, and then you go and do it.  Not complicated, just true.  And when you do it right, just like any relationship, its hard work but really fun along the way.  And when you are in the right place, then you will be ready for the most amazing relationship of your life- the entire reason you were on your own in the first place- to be open and ready for that person who is meant for you.  And with that comes butterflies in the stomach, anticipation of a first kiss, the joy of getting to know someone that you feel this indescribable connection with, and the excitement over the possibility of the future- all of that is out there, waiting for me.  That’s pretty damn lucky in my book. 

So, I guess you could say that while I have not found my partner-in-crime just yet, I am breaking the old rules and learning to embrace the new ones- the ones that I determine are right for me, the ones that I make up along the way, and the ones that I have not yet faced and will of course test the limits of those as well.  Yes- I will be in the best partnership of my life….  Someday.  But for now, embracing this life is truly the greatest love of all.  

Here's To You, Caitlin Chavez

So I find myself in this stretch of time after the end of summer and the beginning of fall, where the insanity of back to school, conferences, start up of the girls’ practices, games, uniform fittings, permission slips, and crazy amounts of homework ensue.  Usually, there is this wonderful short window (called Thanksgiving for a reason) where I find I can take a breath in preparation before the next level of insanity (called December) hits, but this year that first window has closed.  This year my girlies won’t be making the fall trek back to Michigan, and in this I am in every sense of the word thankful.  This does not mean, however, that momma still doesn’t need a little break.

I know that I have mentioned CJ (awesome couple friends) having recently moved to TN.  What I may not have emphasized is that any trip to see them starts with the most beautiful, easy, 3 and a half hour drive to their house that you actually enjoy, where you can collect your thoughts as you are sounded by the beautiful Tennessee mountains.  And then there is the fact that CJ are such gracious hosts-it’s like the most amazing Bed and Breakfast you could never afford.  Seriously.  Fresh flowers in your room, artisanal chocolates by your bedside, and fresh soaps from the farmers market in your private bath, all of which are handmade in TN.  And I have not even mentioned J’s cooking (the J standing for Julia, as in Julia Child). But all of that doesn’t matter as the most important aspect- the overwhelming love, warmth and genuine kindred spirit you feel as soon as you walk in the door.  Whenever we are together you just know it’s going to be a great time.

Yes, I think I will take some of that.  Stat.

So, much to their dismay I left the Girlies behind for a weekend getaway to paradise.  And on the first evening as the three of us were walking the narrow streets of downtown Franklin, there seemed to be a crowd gathering; trying to act conspicuous, but doing a really bad job of it, this group of people all kept stealing glances across the street.  Literally, it caused all three of us to stop and do the same; heck, we didn’t want to miss it- even though we didn’t know what “it” was.  And then we realize what all the commotion is about; over the local theater, the marquee was ablaze with a level of awe-inspiring wattage lighting up the street below that said:

“Caitlin Chavez will you marry me?”

And amid this group of strangers that are clearly there to witness this personally public moment about to happen for people they know, we found ourselves as part of the throws of on-lookers. 

We see the infamous couple a few shops away making their way to the sign.  The guy was trying to point out something miscellaneous in the shop window right before the theater, clearly looking to buy some time.  I was 44 min past the hour, and I am certain there had been an intricate plan in place including exact time and location.  And then, as they step into the glow of the marquee lights, he is clearly saying some heartfelt words, and then points up.  She sees the marquee, gasps, and you see her excitedly say yes.  There are cheers, which only increase as he gets down on his knee and produces a ring.  More cheers, friends and family crossing the street to extend their congratulations, and you know it’s one of those moments that will live forever in the hearts of these people.

And what I wanted to say was- Suck it, Caitlin.

Ok, so not literally.  I would never want to rob anyone of this precious moment, and I was genuinely happy for them, but my heart has gone a little cynical as of late and if I’m being honest that was my gut reaction.  Here I am, almost three years post-divorce, and to be honest I just didn’t think that I would be this…… Single.

Ah, yes, the “S” word.  You know what is so funny (as in the universe laughing, and you no so much?) Is that I CLEARLY remember discussing life after divorce with the Wizard in Michigan, and her saying “You know, you could just be single for the rest of your life.”  And me, scoffing at such a notion.  Scoffing I tell you!  There is no WAY I was going to end up…. Single!  As if it was a disease.  (Did you hear what happened to her?  You know- she’s single (said in stressed whisper). 

Now I have realized that Single does not come with a scarlet S upon your chest.  Single does not have to equate to lonely.  Single is truly- conscious or unconscious- a choice.  Your inner self knowing if you are ready to be the partner you are supposed to be.  An external self making it a point to be selective, waiting for the entire package of Mr. Right, and not settling for Mr. Right now as a convenience, a solution for the feeling of loneliness, which clearly still shows up from time to time.  The choice of short term fix vs. lifetime fit.

Here’s the thing, and while I knew it somewhere in my gut long before it ever came to light, for some it still may be difficult to comprehend.  I got divorced for love.  Yes- for love.  For the IDEA of love, and my faith that there was more than what it was for me.  And just to clarify here, not that I didn’t love M- I did. Regardless of what occurred, the reality is that I believe that Great Love is possible.  Big Love.  Grand Love. The love that you know exists because while you know countless couples, you can count on one hand the ones who got it right.  You know what I mean- not flowery, poetic love, or convenient, I-know-what-to-expect or better-than-the-alternative love, but after-22-years-they-are-still-my-best-friend-and-we-want-to-be-together love.  It’s not that any other type of love is bad, or less worthy, it’s just that it wasn’t right for me. And somewhere I knew it, had Faith that it exists, and that it was worth losing it all in order to find it.  And that is where I find myself.  Literally and figuratively.

So while my (impatient) cynical heart would love to know that what I am looking for is just around the corner, let’s face it, that’s just not the way these things work.  But what Caitlin Chavez did show me is that it IS possible.  It DOES happen.    And maybe I just needed to see the marquee lights in order to be reminded.

Game On

For those that have known me my entire life, to say that I have always been health conscious might result in some hysterical laughter.  But after realizing that there was a way I wanted to live, and most importantly a way I didn’t, I made some significant life changes and here we are today, a healthier version of me.

This is not to say that (just like everyone else) I still don't struggle. Besides for that one week a month where I fluxuate 5 lbs. and I must then transition to the stretchy yoga pants (don’t lie ladies- we all have them) used to accommodate the situation, I do try to reasonably stay on track most of the time.

But then there are times, well, when things start to slowly unravel.  I have week after week of travel, and despite trying to still bring a healthy lunch from Whole Foods, the dinners out, drinks after that, and the not so healthy array of what might be available in an airport does not help.  Neither does the 12 hours of straight meetings and said dinners, which leaves no time for a good workout.  And did I mention that I work for a company that supplies free donuts and ice cream ALL THE TIME?  Combine this with trying to heal a knee injury, and suddenly I find myself permanently transitioned to previously mentioned stretchy pants.

I try telling myself that it is due to that one week a month, but then it rolled into weeks after that.  I then tried to justify that it could not have been as bad as I thought it was- you know, as I was laying on the bed trying to zip up the “night on the town” jeans (don’t lie ladies- we all have those, too).   Perhaps some Carny came in and installed those funky carnival mirrors all over the house which projects a bigger self, and it’s not reality?

Sadly, no.

Because then I stepped on the scale.  And those 5 lbs. were most certainly there.  Along with some of his friends.

For a girl that is 5’4” (on a good day) those unwelcome friends is almost a SIZE on me.  It makes everything suddenly feel tight.

I was off my game.

And I should have seen it coming.

Why you ask?  Because my house had been sabotaged.

When I am on my game, I eat well- very little carbs, no dairy, but of course there is always dark chocolate (I am not insane). I actually like the way I feel when I eat this way, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t miss the good stuff.  And suddenly, they start appearing.

The first culprit to arrive is usually this:

Never heard of it?  Well then you are clearly not a butter fiend like I am.   Yes, I might sell a body part for some really good butter.  Not margarine, not even something like Land-o-Lakes; oh no- I am talking pure European butter.  Kate’s Farm Fresh Homemade Butter from Maine.  Icelandic butter.  Betcha didn’t even know there was something such as “Icelandic butter” did you?  Well trust me on this one- just say no.  If not, before you know it the entire stick will have disappeared using some vehicle such as flax bread under the guise that you are actually eating something healthy but all the while you can’t even see the bread because it is smothered with the golden shimmer of pure heaven across every inch so as to not miss a spot.  Oh, and then there’s the bread involved. Yeah, that’s not so good either.

If I continue to be sliding down the slippery slope of “well, maybe I will just pick up a little something special this week” this next criminal finds itself on my panty shelf:

 

People, don’t let the international appeal fool you.  This is crack.

Again, I start off slathering the said crack food on strawberry’s- hey!  I’m eating fruit! But soon there is more chocolaty hazelnut spread than berry, and so then I just go for the easy move and break out a spoon.  Yep, me, the jar, and a spoon.  I start by using the spoon like a cement trowel to “even it out”. Come on- you know exactly what I am talking about. And before you know it, you have reached bottom.  Literally and figuratively.

Now, even the girlies will tell you, there is one food that is NEVER allowed in the house.  I mean it- in what I am afraid might be a moment of weakness I will avoid Isle 4 in Publix so I don’t even have to walk past them.  Because they are evil.  Just. Pure. Evil.

Oh, you think they are all cute and every generation enjoys them- you may discuss all the ways there is to eat them, their Double Stuff brothers or their holiday colored cousins, but that is a lie!  They are all the same… and the problem is you can’t have just one.  Bring me a cold glass of milk (said item’s accomplice) and back in the day I could easily have downed almost half a row before I knew it.   Seriously, if you ever find a bag of these and a gallon of 2% in the house, put me on 24 hour surveillance because I have clearly gone off the deep end.

Luckily there is the internet where I was able to obtain the mug shots used here because I am gettin’ my game back on.  Back to the gym, getting in some good workouts, and even signing up for a 10k in order to provide some extra motivation. Healthy choices to be had in the house, and while I have never been one to deprive myself, putting forth just a little more discipline.

Because I know it’s all up to me.  No matter how much I want to blame a Carny.