Monthly Archives: September 2016

Life can be simple, if you just let it…

29 Thursday Sep 2016

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Do you ever have days (or weeks) when nothing goes your way?

You let the dogs in, and their paws are plastered with mud. A day after you had them professionally groomed. You’re expecting friends in 15 minutes, and your house smells like teen spirit…and wet dog. You get into a groove with your workload and reflect on how refreshing it is to have the kids back at school, only to realize holy eff – tomorrow is Friday.

My husband, a very positive and supportive life partner, often reminds me, “You know babe, life can be simple”.

Uh huh.

“If you just let it.”

This is something my husband reminds me of on a regular basis. And I appreciate his positive mental attitude. But not when I’m brushing clumps of dried poop off my puppy’s back side and nursing a Hershey bar hangover.

I realize life really can be simple.

If I just let it.

But sometimes, I get in my own way.

My inner voice often makes things more complicated than they need to be. I don’t think I’m the only one who goes through this. Anyone? Bueller?

Some days, when I can pound out a press release or two, Uber-mom the kids around, fix a healthy dinner, make plans with friends and plan playdates (pardon me: scheduled time for my kids to hang out with friends with parental supervision) in a single bound, I’m on top of my game. Feeling groovy.

Life can be nice and simple.

And I’m grateful. I realize the poop can sometimes hit the fan, but for the most part, as one of my dear friends (my BFF) reminds me often, when you’re trying to do something and it feels like you’re paddling upstream, it might just be the universe telling you something. A woman paddling a kayak boat

Life doesn’t have to be so crazy. Or so hard.

It can be simple. And joyful.

If you just let it.

That’s how I started to feel about this blog. And I think it’s because I was paddling upstream in my mind. When I should have been going with the flow.

It should just be simple. As simple as not being afraid to embrace who I am on the proverbial page, arm dangle and all. I’ve thought about not blogging anymore because my kids are older and they don’t want me to write about them. But just because I’m not writing about potty training and play pens doesn’t mean I’m no longer a mom who needs to vent some stuff out.  I never call anyone out or embarrass anyone except myself, in a self-loving way. I use this blog as a venting session for myself and other women (and men) who appreciate good old-fashioned, organized word vomit. Hence the name. I’m referring to Venting Sessions. (Word vomit wasn’t moving any units, so I stuck with Venting Sessions.)

Yes, I’m a mom. And a wife. And my dogs think I gave birth to them. But I’m also a 45-year-old woman and professional consultant who wants to thrive for the next 45 years or more (and one day bring back aerobics so seniors can feel the burn). I’m a woman who needs to write or else I make life ridiculously complicated (and not very fun) for the people around me.

I still look at this blog (and hope you do too) as a place to giggle. To reflect. To release the stress of being a parent and a life partner. No matter how old you are or how many kids you have. Because (cringe ;)) my husband is right. Life can be simple. And if you just give yourself a break every once in a while and laugh at yourself, sooner or later you’ll find yourself paddling downstream. (Oh, farts, just watch out for the waterfall! 😉

 

Turtle down

26 Monday Sep 2016

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You know the Rolling Stones song, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” (1969, Let it Bleed)?

My favorite line from that song is, “You can’t always get what you want… you get what you need”.

But never, in my 45 years, did I imagine that this line would apply so perfectly to a pet turtle entering our lives.

Allow me to explain. You see, our kids have been begging for a pet turtle over the past, oh I don’t know, eight years. The begging actually reminds me of an episode of The Goldbergs where Barry constantly asks his dad for a dog. Our son really, really, really wanted a pet turtle. And my daughter decided after a few years that she really, really wanted a pet turtle too. Through the years, it would go something like this:

“Can we get a turtle, Mom?”

“Sorry, no.”

“Can we get a turtle, Mom?”

“No. Ask your dad.”

“Can we get a turtle, Dad?”

“No.”

“Can we get a turtle, Dad?”

“No.”

“Can we get a turtle, Dad?”

“Uh, let me think about it,…No.”

You get the idea. Let me mention here that we have two dogs. Two rambunctious Golden Retrievers that are so loyal, we’re almost positive the oldest thinks I’m his real mother. So it’s not as if we are the worst img_1944-digbyparents in the world who don’t allow any pets in the house. (Not that NOT having a pet is a bad thing. Oh lordy, I can just feel the comments coming.) We just haven’t heard positive things about turtles, from emitting off-putting odors to transmitting potential diseases. So we’ve steered clear of them, praying our kids would one day forget about the little critters.

Then one day last week, while unpacking a new side table from an oversized cardboard box, my husband noticed a small toy fall out of the packaging. Thinking it was one of our son’s old mini Godzilla toys, he tossed it on top of his work bench in the garage. He went about his day, and came back an hour or so later to find that the small “toy” had moved. Not fallen. But moved from the workbench to the garage floor. He looked closer and realized it was moving. The toy wasn’t a toy, it was a moving rock. No, it was a turtle! A tiny turtle. And the box was labeled from Indonesia. This turtle is about the size of a mini plastic army guy. No bigger than a potato chip. And able to jump from a workbench in a single bound.

So my husband gathered some leaves and placed it in a safe box. We were surprised yet secretly overjoyed that we were now the parents of two kids, two Golden retrievers, four goldfish, a koi and a turtle.

I could just picture the smiles.

The looks on our kids’ faces.

Even our teenager!

“Where is it?”

“I want to name it Lola!”

“No, not Lola!”

“Can we keep it, Mom?”

“Can we keep it, Dad?”

“Yeah, can we?” Even I started to chime in, hoping it would be named Lola.

Then we Googled turtles.

We found out it’s a snapping turtle. A baby snapping turtle. These turtles can apparently live up to 80 years or something crazy like that and weigh like 80 pounds, which leads my very witty husband to decide, “I’m going to raise it like it’s my own.”

Now we’re all in love with a moving rock that my son has named Digby Bevan James. (No idea why, but my daughter and I had named our second dog, so Lola was out.)

We take it down to Petco. We’re all anticipating positive feedback.

But they tell us that we shouldn’t keep it. Not because of a disease or off-putting odor. Simply because, “You don’t want to keep it.”

Fan-fubbing-tastic. First we don’t want a turtle, then we have a turtle, then we all need the turtle, then we can’t have it.

We all want it at this point. So we took the turtle to an animal shelter to get a second opinion.

They recommend that we release it into the wild. On our own.

So before we say our final goodbyes, we’ve decided to temporarily place it a water-logged area in our backyard. We will be taking it to a bigger pond soon. Together. To release it back into the wild, where baby snapping turtles hiding in packages apparently originating from Indonesia belong.

Even though we were all secretly hoping that Mr. Digby Bevan James would be with us for the next 20 years. I guess it’s time to say goodbye.

Because you can’t always get what you want. You get what you need.

 

 

So Verklempt

16 Friday Sep 2016

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This week, I celebrated the birthdays of some dear, close friends and loved ones.

It’s interesting how birthdays often land on the same day. The same week. (Like my entire family’s birthdays – oh the leftover cake. I’m getting a sugar high just thinking about it.) All these people who I care about, all in one swoop. One week. One time of the year. All true friends. The kind you can share serious, life-changing events with and the next minute, laugh with until you almost pee through your Spanx. I also have two relatives who share the same birthday. They both have the biggest hearts and a sense of humor that often has me running to the nearest ladies room.

There were laughs, hugs, cards, toasts, giggles, dinners, brunches, gifts, four kinds of chicken salad, three kinds of salads and 45 reasons to celebrate this week. I’m honestly so verklempt. And I still need to celebrate with one of my dearest friends next week! I hosted a brunch for a very dear friend, my soul sister, who is such a breath of fresh air. And that familiar saying from SNL, “I’m Verklempt,” kept coming up as the tears welled up in her eyes. I repeated it, with a giggle or two. Because we both knew it was a special time. A genuine feeling of gratitude for good friends and good times. Print

And then, after a self-imposed and much-needed pause from Facebook, I checked my newsfeed. (I can’t help myself. It’s like chocolate for the brain.) Right then, I saw a post from one of my best childhood friends. A post that makes you pause. And hold your breath. And forget about all the trivial and political b.s. polluting the internet. All these happy moments. And then it slaps you in the face of how short life really is.  

My friend lost her grandfather this week. He was over 100 years old. She always shares updates about her visits with her grand dad, highlighting how despite his age, he maintained a sense of humor and intelligence that rivals some 65-year-olds. He was one of the good ones. Then I saw another post and then another from friends who have lost loved ones this week. Births. Deaths. Birthdays. Funerals. I honestly believe it doesn’t matter how old the person is when they pass. It’s their presence in your life that matters. The loss still leaves a huge hole in your heart. One that can linger the rest of your life.

It’s not my intention to have this post bring you down. But to remind you why we should celebrate. And to do it with meaning. We often get so caught up in our own stuff, schedules, menus, streamers, the this and the that. We worry so much about taking pictures of everything (yes I’m totally guilty of this), we forget to enjoy the moment. The moments. And to grab hold of the important people and take in the experiences. The present, not all the presents. (Not that hanging up adorable streamers is a bad thing. Especially when they’re pink. Or giving cute frames from Home Goods is a crime.) All I’m trying to say is that we need to remember the good times. The good people. And appreciate that although it feels like it, some of us aren’t going to be around in 50  or 60 years. But in 60 years, the people we love will remember the moments. The times we had. The sweet, precious times. So all I’m asking is make this year, this day, this moment count.

And have a piece of cake for crying out loud. 😉

 

No more living in la-la-ah-la-soap-opera land, it’s time to write again

07 Wednesday Sep 2016

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If you grew up watching soap operas on lazy hot-as-heck summer days, then you know that it is quite phourglass1ossible (in TV land) for time to stand still. Every time I walk into a nail salon for a much-needed pedicure, I am reminded of this very fact. The characters on the TV monitor hairstyles may change, but the story line stays pretty much the same. Then a musical montage and credits followed by a monotonous theme song. (For the record,  I’m still wondering what happened to Cricket and Danny Romalotti on Young and the Restless and laugh every time I watch the movie Mr. Mom when Jack realizes that Victor’s vasectomy “didn’t take”. My friend K and I think we spotted Danny’s twin as a background guitarist at a recent concert by the way!)

And I digress. I’m standing before you (in a blog sense) admitting that I have been living in la-la-ah-la-soap-opera land, waiting for THIS to happen before I can do THAT. Until recently, I haven’t exactly been living in the present. I haven’t “seen” the present as a gift so much as a kind but passing gesture. The characters (meaning me as well as my loved ones, and no we are nothing like the Abbotts. Much less stuffy and my hair is always out of place) has changed but the story line in my mind’s eye has pretty much stayed the same. I’ve been waiting for THAT to happen so I can do THIS, and then things will be back on track. Well, guess what? Life isn’t a freaking soap opera. Although it would be pretty cool to have a wardrobe consultant and professional hairstylist at my convenience, I realize I’m 45 years old and it’s time to stop waiting for stuff to happen to do what I’m meant to be doing. I wanted to wait until house renovations were over, until my parents were feeling better, until the summer was over, until the kids went back to school, until yadda yadda yadda to get back into writing. ENOUGH. I can’t take it anymore. I’m ready to stop with the excuses and realize that although writer’s block is a real thing, writing for perfection is a big effing myth. If I can just write and not be afraid to write imperfectly, then maybe, just maybe (we will find out what happened to Cricket) I will find more joy in what I’ve always loved doing. (Which is writing. Because I’m writing right now.) I once read that writing is like sitting in front of a computer screen and waiting for your head to burst. That’s what writer’s block was like for me. I suffered from it for months. Weeks I tell you. And I feel bad for my husband, my super-patient and always funny husband who has a lot of patience, especially as the spouse of a writer. He knows me and he has seen it firsthand. If I’m not writing, even if it’s just writing for the heck of it, he knows I’m feeling off. And hard to live with…and kind of a pain in the arse. And who needs that? I think I just need to ignore the noise in my head that everything needs to be just right before I can do this or that. So here I am, trying to take a stab at this blog again. Living in the bold and beautiful present. And trying to write and eat more salad. Maybe it’s all the green stuff in my diet lately, but I’m feeling a sense of clarity that battles the sands in the hourglass, so are the days of our lives. Call it a guiding light. I’m feeling like now’s the time. 😉