Tag Archives: women

Settling Into Oldish

Whenever I would tease Mommy about getting older, she would smile and say she was happier to be getting older. At twenty years her junior, I could not understand. Older meant things were falling apart and wrinkles. Older meant menopause and drooping everything. Old age meant walkers and medicines. Why be happy about that? Seventy-four days away from the big four-oh, I think I get it.

As you age, you settle more into yourself. The tightly wound ball of confusion that once was you at twenty is now settled and relaxed at fifty. She was excited about the relaxing part. The settling. I get it.

Now that it is my turn for ribbing from youngins, I find myself thinking about Mommy. She hasn’t quite embraced the housecoat (with the snap buttons, ‘member those?) but she has settled in. She isn’t wearing weaves and lashes, but upon suggestion (from The Boy) she will listen to a little Chief Keef. She often proclaims her ‘too old for [insert foolishness here]’ motto and leaves it where they land, but she can entertain an in house Nerf gun fight foolishness, too. She is where she is and that is okay. As I slide into another year, another grey I find myself working toward okay as well.

I’m is what I’m is, all greys and droopy whatever. It takes a minute to remember things and I can’t handle too much nonsense (my patience is -5). I own a housecoat with snap buttons and side pockets. I listen to Young Thug religiously and I live to binge watch Riverdale. Yes, I know what Bitcoin is but I also remember when pay phones were a thing and they took actual coins. I groan when walking up/down stairs, and I swear when it rains my bones hurt. But as I come ’round the mountain, I am quite all right with all of it. With every year I am blessed enough to see, more wisdom and more comfort are settling in. Thank God.

~SM

The Year Two Thousand & Eighteen Notables

“Think through each month, and make a list of all the notable moments, the treasures of 2018.”  (Grit & Virtue)

 

snowflake

January – We got to see the baby! For an entire month, I was a nervous wreck! Every ache or pain I felt, I just knew it spelled trouble. We knew there was a little life growing inside but we had no idea if it was okay or if it would stick. In January, we got to have our first glimpse of the newest addition. What a beautiful, amazing sight!

February – I got to meet all of Young Gun’s family and I got to witness how one long, loving life could affect so many people. The unfortunate part was that I was unable to meet the man behind the long, loving life, but the number of people he touched was absolutely unbelievable.

March – We found out the baby was a girl. My husband wanted a little girl and God saw to it. Although, I still believe when my mother-in-law got to heaven that week, her first order of business was to put in a good word and God obliged. March was also when for a brief, sparkling moment, my beautiful friend and I put away everything heart-heavy and became husband and wife.

il_570xN.1212591795_5b8i

April – The Boy’s baseball career started to buzz! He was in the paper, his pitching was amazing and colleges were peeking in to see what he had to offer. It was a blessing to see something blossom right before our eyes. He has been dreaming of playing baseball since before he could read well, and to see it growing before him was amazing.

May – Mommy and I chucked the deuce to an item on our bucket list…JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE!!! We had amazeball seats and the show was a-mazing! We had been waiting years (yes, years) to see him in concert and we finally made it. I still owe her money for my ticket, but the debt is soooo worth it.

June – BABY SHOWER! Oh my goodness what a wonderful, beautiful showing of love. Friends, old and new, the family from out of state, Mommy, the kids, and even The Ex and his person were there. Cookie received so, so much that we barely had room enough to receive it all.

2357f27d28be2f5

July – The Mother/Daughter Team was back at it in Atlanta, but this time it was Sam Smith. What a surprisingly wonderful show! We had such a great time. Me and my 8-month pregnant waddling self hung in there. Cookie had a great time too!

August – Both of my girls had birthdays. Earlier in the month, we welcomed Cookie into the world and two weeks later we celebrated a beautiful young lady and her Sweet 16. School started too and we had a Class of 2019 man in the house and a fresh Junior (Class of 2020). What a year of extremes…

September – Young Gun and I went on our first date post-baby and we chose to celebrate with a Childish Gambino concert. I surprised him with floor seats. He was so stoked. We almost got within touching distance of Gambino, but security blocked us (booo). It was an amazing show. To top it all off, big Bro and Sis got some baby watching action in.

ap,550x550,16x12,1,transparent,t.u4

October – Me and my girls went out for brunch one morning. The Girl and I were awake and Cookie woke up too and I just said: “Let’s go to brunch.” We left the boys snoring in the bed and had a wonderful mid-morning. I didn’t have a ton of cash, but the little I had, we used on yummy pancakes, waffles, hot chocolate, and tea. Time (and money) well spent.

November – Cookie went to daycare for the first time. At first, it was bitter, but seeing her progress in such a short time helped to turn the bitter sweet. Seeing just how well cared for she is and the fun she has is wonderful. And (as much as I complained about it), it was actually nice to get back to a semblance of a routine.

December – I found my voice (and breath)…again *swoon*

~SM

Finding 40: A Journey of Fortunate Events

The big four-oh. To my sixteen-year-old self, this is twenty-four years past old. To my thirty-nine-year-old self, it’s just another chance to get right. In six months, I will be celebrating a few milestones and I have plans and emotions for each of them…. Except…well…forty.

You would think the woman with five 2018-19 planners (probably a sickness) would have a solid plan for her big year. I spent the last year in my dirty thirties dealing with some major extremes, so naturally, you would think I would spend the first year in my forties shedding it all and dancing in the sun.

Here’s the problem, and it could be the mind/body/spirit-numbing Novocain 2018 talking, I can’t think of anything worth the energy. I want nothing. No lists. No buckets. Nada. Nope. Nothing. I suppose this means I will quietly allow myself to slip out of thirty’s armor and into the satiny little number of forty. I will most likely just keep my feet on the ground and lazily power through. I have spent forty years making mistakes, pushing, goaltending and climbing. It is okay to stop and not force myself to smell a rose, start a business or rebuild. I can just be….right?

Unfortunately, I can’t. There is no way I can sit back and watch life pass by. Trust, I want to. I am tired. I don’t have the energy to deal with the bucket listing and such, but I can muster up a lil’ sumpin. I also can’t say I have must-do items I am looking forward to because honestly, I don’t. What I do have is a red-dirt dusty, slightly bumpy path ahead with dim light overhead. I don’t need lists or big goals. Hell, making it to work on time is goal enough for me. I need no demands. I just need a good pair of shoes and the permission to go.

All of those previous lists and plans were always about finding who I had never really known. All of it was about validation. Job well done! I wanted to hear. You look great! I wanted eyes to say. She’s amazing! I wanted people to think. I can finally say, I don’t need it or want it. I found myself years ago and I like her. We became friends. We found our way to love and joy. We want for nothing. However, we never made the journey to a specific set of coordinates. This will be new. Together we are setting out on a journey to find forty and see what it is all about. The adventure and the discovery along the way is everything. Hope she’s ready…this should be fun.

~SM

The Meltdown

I had a meltdown. If I was the Wicked Witch, I would have been all smoke.

I have been working since I was eleven. I have been getting a paycheck with someone else’s signature on it for almost thirty years. I have clocked in and out, followed someone else’s rules and adhered to someone else’s dress code for the better part of twenty. Cookie was my chance to escape. With three months of self-time, I could create a new biz and quit the rat race. At some point, between daydreaming about what I thought I would be able to do and sleepwalking out of sheer exhaustion, nothing was accomplished. With two weeks left until my jail sentence began, I decided to get serious about a seven-year-old idea. But then….

I saw it. I saw my idea on someone’s Etsy page and people were buying it. My idea. Her page. I slid off the couch and onto the floor (yes, literally) and laid in the fetal position shivering. My idea. The one I had drawn up, attempted to create. The idea I had sitting on the dusty mental shelf waiting for the perfect time—for this time—to put into action. That one. It was on some strange lady’s page with her stupid smiling face and her stupid bio. Mine. Mine. Mine.

I managed to get up off the floor before the tears came. I went to the bathroom and burst into tears. Why the hell could I never win? Was I just destined to be a worker bee? Didn’t God know I was tired? Did He not know I have to work hard just to bust a fake smile from the corner cubical under those harsh fluorescent lights? Didn’t He realize I want to create something too? I tore all my little positive quotes off the bathroom mirror and just stood there staring. I sighed. Of course, He knew. He also knew I was ungrateful. I was spoiled and now, feeling a bit too entitled.

The idea wasn’t meant to sit on a dusty mental shelf. The idea was meant to be given and worked. I am the one who let life get in the way. I let vacations, relaxation, concerts and tasty food sneak its way in and steal time. I let dating and wedding planning slide in and take its space. I am the one who let the idea get away. The Etsy Lady got the idea too and she ran with it. I sat with mine and watched it fester and mold and had a meltdown when it wasn’t fit to consume. Tsk tsk.

Of course, I could go through with it anyway. I could do all the extra work to do my version of the idea (cuz yes, they are a little different), but do I have the energy though? Do I have the money? Do I have the time? Nope. Nada. No. I will just chalk up yet another idea gone to waste (the personal shopping thing still burns my buns every time I see it every friggin where–another story for another time) and pull up my big girl undies, swipe my key card and clock in.

Yes, it sounds like giving up, but it isn’t. Some of us are meant to be where we are and there is nothing wrong with that. Perhaps if I just stand still and accept the position I am in I will be much better off, and I won’t need so many stinking Post-its cluttering up my bathroom mirror. I won’t have to constantly remind myself of how great I can be if I can just be great. Right here. Right now. Maybe if I stop thinking about a way to escape, the guard will just hand over the key.

I am going to work on being present and happy in the moment. If I can stand here, now, I can stand there later. And I am a-okay with that.

~SM

Do Your Boobs Hang Low?

Can you tie them in a bow? I can’t quite do that, however, if I am laying just so I think I can toss one over my shoulder. Hey, listen, age happens. Things drop. Hips hurt. Knees remind you you are definitely mortal. Of course, there are always plumpers and fillers, doctors and knives to fix those sort of things. But why bother? I figure, if it hangs low—let it. If you can throw it to and fro—do it. Its all temporary anyway.

Acceptance. It is the first stop on the journey to find 40. I cannot be flip with everything in life, flicking a boob and middle finger. There are some aspects of life I have to accept, and the most important item on the list is my body. Like, for real this time.

This soft ol’ gal has helped me run twenty whole, real (slow) miles (and crawl the other six). She has held three kids and spit out each one healthy. She has looked the other way when Patron shots were aplenty and she has kept on pushing when the tank was below E. She has endured weight lifting, Insanity, hiking, biking, and running when the scale (and knees) said it probably wasn’t a good idea. She has kept me when day turned to night turned to day and no sleep was had. She has fed babies and barely fed herself. She has managed to continue to love and provide for me and those around me when all I could do was point out her every, miniscule flaw. She wore the white hat. She was the gladiator when I couldn’t be. She kept me standing in the sun.

Looking back, it breaks my heart to remember the things I thought/said about myself. I was always so busy trying to look how I thought beauty and comfort should that I neglected what was already wonderfully made. I was so worried about revering what I didn’t have, I neglected who I had.

On this first leg of the journey, I have got to carry as little as possible. I have got to step onto the path with only the necessities in hand. I cannot possibly expect my body to carry burdens never meant for her to carry. She has enough to handle. She will have her hands full, anyway. She’s got to learn how to tie these boobs in a bow 😉

~SM

“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

Jeepers! Creepers

As a woman with awesome legs, I enjoy wearing dresses. They (the legs) are about the only thing on my body I don’t have to encase in Spanx like sausage. So when the weather is warm, or when I am just in the mood, I will slip into a dress and heels. I am a woman. It is my right.

One day last week I was feeling especially sassy and threw on a short, black sheath dress. Not short enough for people to mistake me for a prostitute but short enough for someone to admire the scenery….at a distance. Upon standing in the bread isle waiting for The Girl to come back with a carriage, Mr. Creepy Peeper proceeded to look up my dress. I know this because I caught him out of the corner of my eye and met his gaze when I turned around. Clearly taken aback, I moved to the opposite end of the isle where a small crowd of people where standing. All finished, and safely sitting in the car, I turned to say something to The Girl and low and behold Mr. Creepy Peeper was walking by. *shock and awe*

Not assuming he was following me, but let us assume he was following me–what gives a person the right to make another severely uncomfortable? And I suppose I should follow that question up with, do you just carry a baseball bat around with you and beat up Creepers when you feel like it?

As women, we have the right to walk around practically naked if we want. And…as men, they have the right to look, stare, drool, eat their hearts out…you get the picture. But at what point does the looking/staring/drooling become not enough? Why must we be touched or cornered or called like an animal or visually assaulted with Creeper eyes? Show a little respect will ya….Creepers.

~SM