Tag Archives: life

“You Sho Ilz Ugly”

There is no hard, concrete evidence as to why I have found myself on the road to feeling like Who Shot John, but the older I get the closer I get to figure it out. I suppose I could place blame solely on the children.  (Yes, let’s blame them. They can take it) Children tend to suck the life out of you in the early years. Mommy this, throw up in the middle of the night that—it is all very time-consuming. They are certainly the reason why I would look like an entire bag of struggle.

In a conversation with Young Gun, I pointed out that we are a mess collectively. He hasn’t had a haircut in almost a month and I just shaved my armpits, which was about five months overdue. I forgot to get in the shower until the clock struck twelve and collapsed in bed. At that point, a ho bath was more appealing. He forgot to hang his wet clothes and had to wear damp pants this morning. We. Are. A. Mess.

If no one else comes in to slap us around and tell us what messes we are, we must do it ourselves.  Although I must say, The Kids do a fantastic job at letting me know how–err–out of pocket I am. I mean, what is wrong with wearing red sweats, pink tennis shoes, and a green shirt? It’s clothing, right? It works for someone somewhere, why not me? I should not be comfortable with looking like a homeless elf, and he should not be subjected to wearing damp clothes in the middle of November, that’s why not.

Exhaustion plays a roll (Cookie kept us up until ohhh, say, 2 a.m.), but what about the Beyonce’s of the world looking fabulous and parenting? Plenty of people have children, manage to take showers and put on lotion. A friend got pregnant twice and ended up with 2 sets of twins—4 kids all under the age of 7. She runs her own company, cooks stuff, travels and stays pretty put together. She literally wears normal clothing and combs her hair. By those standards, she is already well above my current level. Alas, YG and I have no excuse for overgrown heads and armpits.

I used to have a schedule for self care. I read books, meditated, worked out and did a little something with my face. I dunno what happened. I cleaned up the house on Friday mornings. I got my nails done once a month and my eyebrows too. I wore heels and didn’t leave the house without at least a smack of gloss. This morning I barely managed to put lotion on my face and Chapstick on my lips (after I found it under the couch cushion)…that was the extent of the extra.

I won’t say what his issue is (cuz noneya), but before we end up with meth-face, I put in a call to my aggressive Twin. She kicks ass first and doesn’t even bother taking names. With her in charge, we will definitely get it together. This Twin, this softer, lazier side of myself, can’t get the job done. So, it is time to kick my own ass…and Young Gun’s too. At this rate we’ll end up on a special addition of My 600lb Life: Chaplipped Hairy Hoarders Edition and we can’t have that. We know better so therefore we should do better.

~SM

Trusting My Lonely

This has been…eventful to say the least. So many parts of my life, our lives, have been rearranged that it is dizzying to think what may happen next. In the span of a year, I have gained and lost. I have managed to swallow pain and grief whole to push forward and I have regurgitated brokenness. However, on the same hand, I have welcomed love—complete and rooted—with open arms. I have recognized that I am not okay, but I have stood ready for the fight. With only 4 weeks left until this whirlwind of a year is over, I’m unsure if I have anything left.

But…I do. I do have something, a mustard seed, of strength left. Each morning, I manage to keep my sanity intact, my unraveling in check and my heart open. I find moments to dance foolishly, laugh deeply, heartily, and exhale shaking off the dirt and grime. That counts for something, right? So, as the end looms overhead, I have a choice. Only one choice. Find my footing.

It won’t be easy, not with the people in my life I must stand tall for, but I can shed this version of myself—this beaten, bruised, tired, unhealthy, guilt ridden, negative, angry version of Me behind the scenes. I can start over. I have do it on my own, just Me & Me.  I cannot look outward for what is needed inward. No friend, no husband, no new age guru, no book or job can give me what I need. I can give to myself what is necessary, when it is required.

Life, as I have learned, is short. It is messy, complicated, emotional and it is but a small portion of something too big to comprehend. It is all we have. It is all I have. I have to breathe. I have to live. I have to shed the insecurities, the worry, the anxiety and breathe. Unfortunately, I can’t do that in this space. This strange version of myself isn’t working any longer. I love you, I do, but I think it’s time for a new step in the direction of anew. It’s time we go our separate ways and I take this leg of the journey alone.

So, I say to you, Me, “It’s time I let you go. I made the mistake of writing your name on my heart. Cuz your colors show…I’ve been your doll that you poke for fun too long. So, you should go. Don’t look back. I won’t come back. Can do that no more….Go get your praise from someone else. You did a number on my health. My world is brighter by itself and I can do better…I gotta trust my lonely…(Alessia Cara, Trust My Lonely)

It will take time, I know. I have certainly been here before, and that is okay. There is no shame in re-evaluating and pruning what isn’t growing. There are some things I must relearn. There are some places to mend. There are some new rules of thumb. There are so many parts of the world left to see and there’s more than one way to get there. There are some people I must let go, some places I cannot return, some grieving to be done and some crosses to carry but I can do it. I know I can.

~SM

Death (And Other Grown-Up) Prepping

I am a single, 35 year old mother of 2 with no life insurance, disability insurance, retirement fund or emergency fund. If a bird shits on my life the wrong way everything collapses. I am on the brink of turning 36 and I suppose it is time for me to become a real, live grown-up. First thing first—Death Prepping.

The hardest thing a person will probably ever do for themselves and for their families is create, read and sign their Last Will & Testament. I spent last night’s baseball practice reading and re-reading my Will. It puts lots of things into perspective, especially when you do not have much to leave behind.

I read through the Will, imagining The Girl and The Boy sitting in a lawyer’s office listening to him read my last wishes. Morbid. But necessary. Being prepared for your death is less about you–it is about who you are leaving behind.

I think the thought of doing a Living Will came from (don’t judge me) Grey’s Anatomy. Derrick dying, Meredith having to make whatever decisions, Bailey bugging Ben about what he wanted to do in case it was left up to her–it all translated into real life. What if something did happen to me? Would my loved ones know what I wanted? Hell…did I really know what I wanted? The Will was easy to deal with…the Living Will was what had me reeling.

Thinking about what I wanted done in the event of something I cannot possibly predict was hands down harsh. What if I am pregnant? Do they save me and then the baby? Or just let me go and save the baby? What if they want to amputate a limb? Will it save my life? Can they leave the limb and still figure out a way to save me? How long, if at all, do I want to be hooked up to machines? Who will I appoint to carry out these wishes and pray they do not let their emotions get in the way? See…I told ya…harsh.

To ease some of the morbid tension between my future self and my sick/dead self, I decided to focus on something a little bit more cheery: Retirement. My plan has been (and continues to be) to live out the rest of my days in a Charleston beach house with the ocean as my back yard, teaching horny 20 year olds about literature and writing. I refuse to be 65 skrimping to live. I want to actually set my bills to auto-pay. I want to have several commas in my savings accounts and no negatives in my checking accounts. I want to be able to live in peace with no financial worries.

Planning for your death, sickness, and retired life is exhausting. I was so tired by the time I got done with all of that, I had to go to bed early. But, when I laid my head down on the pillow, I felt accomplished. I felt ready. I felt…like a grown-up.

~SM

PTRR: New Found Independence Like A Motherf***er

I have probably told this story 90 million times, but for those who do not know I was pretty fat (293 lbs to be exact) for my height and I needed to get rid of it. I had tried everything on this side of the sun and figured the only thing that would get me moving in the right direction was to challenge myself with something way outside of Zone Comfort. So…I did. I decided to run.

I got picked for the Peachtree Road Race that year. I trained. I ran. I wobbled for two days. I ran the following year and the year after that. The third year was the most emotional year. During this time The Marriage was in undeniable trouble and my life was coming apart at the seems. That year, I ran the entire 6.2 miles and Cardiac Hill (killer hill at mile 3). I ran to the finish line with Kay who pushed us and when I crossed I broke down. If I could have laid in the road and wept I would have. I was happy because I had beat myself and won, yet I was sad because I knew that at that moment everything had changed. The Spirit never lies.

The next year I didn’t get in and I didn’t really care to run either. I was sad and angry and I did not have the energy, nor the respect, for the process of running the Peachtree. But oh what a difference a year makes. This year I am celebrating my new found independence the only way I know how. Running. Running my race.

When the email came through congratulating me on making it in, I leaped out of bed and squealed with joy. I get to celebrate independent Me from where it all began. I get to do this not to prove someone wrong or to lose myself. I get to do this on my terms, for my reasons and be present for it all. When I cross the finish line this year, I cannot guarantee I won’t break down again, but I can be sure of one thing: nothing will be the same.  I can’t wait to see the amazing things in store.

It is cool how Life works. It is even more astounding how the Universe rises up to meet you where you stand. This phase of my life is about celebration and enjoyment and pacing and exploring. I cannot possibly see tipping my hat to this phase in a more fun, liberating way.

~SM

Living To The Fullest: What Does That Even Mean Anyway???

Young Gun and I were having a conversation about Life. We  converse about Life often, but something he said snapped in my brain. “I just want to enjoy life. Just live it to the fullest…” I have heard that statement a million times, but I never actually asked myself what it really meant. What the heck does it mean anyway???

Emily’s grandmother passed away in her 90’s. I suck with death, especially when the deceased are old. I was sad because she was sad, but I could not quite understand the sadness totally. I sucked with my Granddad’s death. I was not really moved by it–simply because he was old. He had seen his children young, then old. He had seen his grandchildren young, then old. He had seen wars and riots. He had experienced Martin Luther King, Jr. and President Obama. He had even been allowed to see his great grandchildren young and sorta old. At Old, he had seen a lot, but had he lived a lot? When Emily’s grandma passed I wondered that about her too. What had she seen, where had she gone and if she had actually lived.

Does living your life to the fullest mean sky diving and tattooing and partying? Does it mean loving and leaving? Does it mean parenting and grand parenting? Is there some sort of measurement for life-empty, life-half full, life-full? If so….what? Is it safe to say that if you make it to 90-something you’ve lived? And who is the document-er of such things?

I want to see the world. Perhaps not all of it, but most of it. I want to pet a dolphin and snorkel. I want to hang glide and eat an Ostrich egg. I want to feel God in everything and meditate without actually falling asleep. I want to walk into a room and own it and I want to see the kids do great things….just to name a few. If I accomplish those things, will I then be closer to living a full life? Is living a full life based on a person’s beliefs and ideals? Where is the man/woman one can point to and say “He/She is living their life fully!”?

I did not bother to ask Young Gun what he meant. I am not sure it is something that can be put into words. What I do know is that I want to try it–whatever that is. I think I need to. We all need to. Right?

~SM