Tag Archives: you may judge me for this and I may not care

Five for Friday

1. How all women feel when stepping on a scale.

IMG_9609 2. I am kind of obsessed with my new pair of workout/picking up Addison/cleaning the kitchen/napping capris. JCPenney, who knew?! Now, the obnoxious level of neon may have a little (i.e. everything) to do with this, but while wearing these, I caught a fella checking out the goods for the first time since college probably. That is some serious supernatural fabric wizardry for this postpartum, anti-cardio physique.

3. We went to MOSI this week and it was sort of the best time ever. There is an entire secret building for younger kids that I completely missed the last time I took Addison. It’s basically a museum within the museum and we couldn’t do it all in the two hours we were there. But we did manage Asher’s first trip to space.

IMG_9613

The lighting sucks on the moon, btw.

4. This week has been a fun little experiment: Addie vs. the fall decorations. Clayton started putting out the various accoutrements, and I told him that was a bad idea. They’d be gone or missing or eaten within 24 hours. He persisted, so I acquiesced with the agreement that I would not be touching any of the decorations as they inevitably get strewn about the house multiple times a day. And I stuck to my guns.

With all that free time not picking up plastic pumpkins, I was able to document my being right. Win win!

A seasonal counting riddle – how many pumpkins does it take to drive your father crazy? Also, that cart can now park in the handicapped spaces because it’s down to three wheels.

IMG_9632

The scarecrow found a front row seat for Daniel Tiger.

IMG_9638

And then I caught the cute caper in the act.

IMG_9633

Related: my book “Using Your Children as Pawns to Gain the Upper Hand in Your Marriage” should be hitting shelves soon.

5. Comic Sans My Friendship.

comic sans

Also, blue. Also, bold. Also, STOP IT.

FSU plays tonight, so that accounts for our Friday and frees up our Saturday for a highly sought after date night. If you even have to ask what we’re doing Sunday, then you haven’t really been paying attention, now have you? (#dolphins)

Five for Friday

Real talk: I want to throw some Friday fluff at you today, but I am not feeling particularly warm or fluffy these days. The constant, every day-ness of parenting a toddler and caring for a newborn has caught up to me big time. I am working on it, minute by minute. While we trudge on over here, I still wanted to share some of the bright spots…because they’re always there, aren’t they? Let’s keep looking for them.

1. A dinner like this can only mean one thing: my husband is on vacation and is doing the cooking.

photo 1

2. Addison’s first roller coaster. She was a champ—that thing was legit for a three-year-old!—and I was so proud of her. She went on it two times in a row, little daredevil. Sometimes Most of the time I don’t feel especially courageous, but I want to make sure that my girl knows her bravery is always seen and always celebrated.

coaster tailscoaster

3. Speaking of rolling…

asher roll

I definitely laid this little bean down on his back and found him like this in the morning. He’s incredibly confused once he makes it all the way over.

4.When you get married young, you are so blinded by puppy love and optimism that you can’t possibly imagine a life not filled with romance and sunsets and butterflies. And then you get real jobs, move a handful of times, have two kids and wake up realizing holy crap we are grown-ups and parents and old and different. What I would wish for every single couple embarking on that journey is that when they wake up to all those realities five, ten or twenty years down the road, they would be SO OVERWHELMINGLY THANKFUL for who they fell in puppy love with. That who they married for the rainbows turns out to be exactly who they need when it rains. This man is who I needed when I was crazy enough to jump out of a plane, who I needed when we were crazy enough to bring two tiny people into this world, and who I will always need when the crazy catches up to me.

c addie pool3

There. That has to make up for not doing an anniversary post in May, right?

5. This little boy and his profoundly simple wisdom.

swimming

Six for Saturday

Since I’m a day late with Five for Friday, you lucky ducks get a bonus!

1. Band-aids on babies = sadness.

asher bandaid

2. The Rend Collective Experiment Pandora station. Around 4:30 every afternoon, things start to unravel. My patience is depleted, I stare blankly into the refrigerator attempting to will a dinner to appear, Addison has far surpassed her t.v. time for the day but refuses to play in her room with the meager 1, 263 toys she has (see #3), Asher is eating or will need to eat any second, and Clayton won’t be home for what seems like an eternity.

Instead of handling all that to the tune of my own frustrated screaming, I’ve been turning on the Rend Collective station that Clayton introduced me to. Frankly, we find most mainstream Christian music to be way over the top cheesy or the lyrics ridiculously idealized. This station plays lesser known artists that are more our musical style while creating a positive vibe during one of the most challenging parts of the day.

3. When you can’t find the floor and no toy escapes with all its parts in tact, you’ve achieved play date success.

photo 1photo 2 4. I picked up our photos from Asher’s newborn session. In love with them. Life Long Studios always makes the experience as relaxed as possible for new parents, too.

LifeLongStudios0095LifeLongStudios0122

5. Poor sad, neglected Maya. Make us feel bad, why don’t you.

maya ball

And for your judgmental pleasure…

6. I was cleaning out Addison’s backpack after school and found a bottle cap. From a Dasani water bottle? Nope. From a Diet Coke, perhaps? Not quite. From a Yuengling. Our two-year-old trotted into her ultra conservative Baptist pre-school with a beer bottle cap in her backpack. Can parents get detention?

cap

And with that, I’m off to a bridal shower with both of my offspring. Prayers and Yuengling appreciated.

Five for Friday

I don’t know that I’ll be able to enlighten you with five exciting things from this week. There has been little excitement; mostly blinking in disbelief at Addison’s potty accidents and “resting Mommy’s eyes” during Disney movies.

1. Reading this article should cement my place as Mother of the Year.

lying down mom

At least that article exists and had 40 contributors. I’m not alone in my lethargy!

2. When I did manage to reposition myself upright, Addison practiced her newest skills: gentle baby/blanket rearing mixed with intense archery. I don’t know where my kid learns half the things she knows.

A babyA bow arrow

3. And I practiced my latest skills: play dough (really just “dough” because it’s generic) crafting.

dough2 Check out that cupcake, which ended up being too realistic because Addison licked it. A lot.

4. “Beauty and the Beast” is now officially in the 12 times a week rotation, so I tried to mix it up by playing the special features disc. Addison was over it within seconds, but I was giddy with excitement for the Celine Dion/Peabo Bryson duet of the original 1991 “Beauty and the Beast” track. Took me right back to rocking out to my parents’ favorite easy listening radio station in the back seat of the ol’ Buick LeSabre.

celineceline2

All I wanted in life was a perm that tight.

5. Technically, this was my last week of work before “maternity leave,” a silly term for a freelancer, really. In actuality, it’s “two months without income and praying you don’t find someone else while I’m gone leave.” In usual freelance fashion, people suddenly remembered they did have projects that needed my TLC. Many projects, in fact. So I’ll probably be working into the beginning of next week, but as long as the tiny VIP in utero agrees, that $ound$ good to me.

comp and donut

As long as I’m covered on the snack front, we’re golden.

Have a wonderful weekend enjoying the active living and parenting that I most definitely will not be participating in!

Aaaaah freak out

Like I mentioned, Clayton was out of town last week, so I tried to spice up our regular routine.

Tuesday I picked up Addison from pre-school early to catch my brother’s baseball game. He coaches a high school team, and the game was relatively close. My parents came with me, so during the game I had plenty of recruits to help locate, corral and entertain Addison.

IMG_7722The weather was great, the kiddo was behaving and our team was winning.

baseball pano2

Then we tried to leave. Addison bolted in the opposite direction. I wasn’t concerned at all because I assumed she’d come back, plus I thought the back fences of the baseball fields blocked the park from the main road leading into it. I even told my mom not to worry. Look at me being so chill and relaxed, totally owning this parenting thing right now. But Addison didn’t stop. My mom and I stiffened a bit and started moving toward Addison’s direction. She was pretty far away by this point. The closer we got to the back fences, the wider the gap appeared between the baseball fences and the fence to the park. This meant she absolutely had access to the gates, which opened to the road. At rush hour. With cars going 50 mph.

Once I fully realized she could literally be on the street within a minute or two, and there was nothing I could do to stop her – I was way too far away, even if I ran, which I can’t in my current spherical shape – I freaked. We were yelling her name, and she started to slow down as she reached the fences but still didn’t stop. I was jogging at this point and in addition to desperately wanting to get to Addison, I was worrying about hurting the baby, too.

It was one of the scariest motherhood moments I’ve experienced.

She eventually did stop behind a transformer by the fence. Thank God that was there and she felt like she could hide behind it because she was probably so afraid of being in trouble she would have kept right on going. My mom reached her first, but I was just a few steps behind and my terror/rage combo shoved her right out of the way so I could deal with the runaway. It wasn’t pretty. We were in public, so there was a limit to the mad rush of emotion I could display. Probably a good thing.

I must have nailed the discipline and stern so-help-me-God tone because Addison was upset for about six seconds. Then we walked past the playground and she begged to go play. Not feeling particularly playground-y, I muttered some sort of response, potentially laden with expletives, and that’s when she lost it. By “it,” I mean motor control of her lower extremities, as toddlers are wont to do in public, forcing me to basically drag her the quarter mile back to the car on the concrete. Felt like skipping through a meadow holding a feather.

My dad drove home, even though we were in my car, so that I could cool off. I was actually sore the next day from all that activity, either because that scene was so intense or because I haven’t worked out in seven months.

Let’s see, that was Tuesday, so Addison should be free to get out of time out in about four and a half more years.

Potty Party

Even though I wanted Addison potty trained months and months ago, she wasn’t cooperative with our early efforts. Knowing her personality, determinedly independent plus strong-willed, I decided to wait until she seemed ready and not stress about it. And then I got pregnant. The window of riding it out became smaller: I firmly did not want two kids in diapers.

We planned a “naked weekend,” which sounds highly more scandalous than it is. I didn’t do a ton of research, so my plan was simply to keep her out of a diaper for three days. She didn’t necessarily have to be totally pantsless, but if she was wearing clothes at the house, she only had underwear underneath.

Great plan in theory. In reality, we were all fantastically stir crazy by Saturday afternoon. And the little stinker waited until the two times we left the house to go in a pull-up. (As committed as we were, cleaning up an accident in the car was not even considered, I don’t care how far back those pull-ups set us.) She seriously waited for hours and then went within minutes of having the pull-up on. Strong-willed, much?

She ended up having two accidents in the house and one at the park – we had to get out! – that weekend. She hated it. After those, it was game on for her. It took about two weeks for her to be nearly perfect peeing on the potty. Soon after she got the hang of using the toddler potty, she wanted to use the “big potty,” so I bought her a princess seat for the top of the regular toilet. Because princesses make everything better. Can I tell you the quote on the potty seat? “Glamour begins with confidence.” I am so close to taking a Sharpie to that thing and changing it to “Book smarts are the ultimate goal.” or “You can’t wash your hands or read too much.” This princess culture is too much for me sometimes.

The “system” we’re using somehow morphed into a complicated algorithm of rules and rewards. I printed charts and hung them outside the bathroom with a sticker book.

potty chart stickers

At the beginning, Addison would get to put a sticker on the chart and get a treat every time she used the potty. Because I was desperate to have this milestone behind us, I also offered a small prize when she finished a row and a great big awesome prize when she finished a whole sheet. It was way too much, and of course she remembered everything I’d promised and made us hoist her up for a sticker and drug us to the treat jar after every pit stop.

potty chart2potty prizes

Also ridiculous were the treats. We had tons of leftover candy from Christmas stockings, so instead of one M&M or one jellybean, homegirl got a full size York Peppermint Patty or a fun size candy bar. There was no messing around. And she learned so quickly that she was having five of those things before lunch.

The small prizes mostly came from the Dollar Store or repurposed Christmas presents from other people. Lots of stickers, some little books, temporary tattoos, that sort of thing. The favorites have been a set of “Frozen” rings and “Frozen” headbands.

IMG_7438Once she finished the first chart, Clayton and I took her to Target and offered her three different presents to choose from. We came home with…surprise, surprise:

elsa doll

Since then, the rules have changed a few times and she’s been surprisingly flexible about it. First, I casually stopped giving her the small prizes. Then, if she didn’t mention it, I bypassed the stickers because it became such a chore to lift her up that much. Now, the stickers and treats are reserved for non-pee scenarios only. This helps buy us a lot of time in between full charts. Otherwise we’d have gone through about four sheets already.

In a month or so, she is about 95% potty trained. She still wears pull-ups, but I think we’ll get rid of those during the day soon. I have been quite impressed with how well and, I don’t even want to say, easy the whole process has been. I mean, there have certainly been messes that I’d like to block from memory and potty training out in public is a whole other nightmare, but overall it seems like we waited until Addison was good and ready. And if she’s like her mama, she’d do just about anything for a constant stream of chocolate throughout the day.

Finally, there’s one item on our Before Baby checklist that’s actually complete!

C’mon get happy!

I posted an overly obnoxious and whiny caption on Instagram the other day and have been feeling lame about it ever since. I was—and still am—extremely frustrated by our new insurance situation as of late, but hey, we can afford (loose use of that word) insurance for our family and one way or another, I can see a doctor whenever I need to. So, time to get over myself.

As a recompense, here are some things that are making me not frustrated right now, 90% of which are food related because hello, pregnant.

1. Cream cheese + red raspberry preserves. Maybe I ordered a bagel with cream cheese, added the preserves at home and devoured the combo like a starved mountain lion. And then made two more pieces of toast so I could have more of it. Related: how are your New Year’s diet resolutions going, those of you not baking a baby? Suckers.

2. Mama got a new pair of boots. And baby is about to get fancy.

boots

onesie

3. It’s been less of a meatless Monday and more of a meatless two trimesters over here, so I made vegetable enchiladas and they were filled with good veggies (albeit smothered in cheese) that I’ve been neglecting and lasted for three nights, i.e. I could slack on meal prep for two nights.

4. I ordered a decaf coffee at the Target Starbucks counter, and since they don’t keep a brewed pot of decaf, they made me a pour over. Holy delicious. It didn’t seem complicated until I looked it up; there are like 29 ways to make a pour over at home, so…whatever. Here’s my $3, pour hot water over powdered beans for me, please sir.

5. Doughnuts. I haven’t actually had one in a few months, but just the idea of them is putting me in a pretty good mood. Which reminds me of the ridiculous idea I had to do a pregnancy announcement using whimsically decorated Halloween doughnuts and the phrase “Something wickedly sweet this way comes.” Adorable, no?!

No.

DSCN4658

There was so much failure happening with the manifestation of this idea. First of all, the Dunkin Donuts commercials obviously used professionally trained, bakery owning frosting masters to craft the images I saw on t.v. Over at the ol’ local DD, I was treated to a “let me see what I can do” and gifted the scraggly interpretations of a moody teenager with some sort of clear musculoskeletal dysfunction. Then there’s the lighting, the giant plate, just a whole lot of no.

I was so annoyed I didn’t even eat one.

6. Breaking Bad. Not exactly an upper, but our two nightly episodes are little mini dates. Intensely graphic, drug-filled, cringe-worthy mini dates. We are at the beginning of Season 4 and OMG I want to punch Hank in the throat. (Source)

hank marie text1

hank marie text2

7. My brother (who is called Kunkle instead of Uncle) popped in this week and played with Addison for a couple hours. The next morning on the way to preschool, out of nowhere she shouted, “Kunkle’s here!” It melted my cold, dark heart.

8. Clayton, and now also Addison, playing the harmonica while Maya howls along. Never gets old.

9. Filling out paperwork and answering the “Occupation” section with “Writer.” Because stay at home pajama wearer, toddler chaser, kitchen avoider, stink eye deliverer and Instagram enthusiast usually takes up too much space.

10. The Bachelor is back and I don’t care who knows I am ALL IN already. With the sheer number of diagnosable alcoholics alone, this is going to be excellent television. SPOILER A’COMIN.

So sad to see you go, Tara. Thank you for representing Florida in a truly spectacular fashion. Enjoy that month long hangover. (Source)

drunk tara

Signs You Are in the Possession of a Toddler

You step on no less than four raisins walking to the couch. You do not stop to pick them up.

Cheerios. Purse. Car floor. Bath tub. Under couch cushions. Cheerios.

You’ve mastered the deepest, surliest but quietest ”Stop. Throwing. That. Cup.” under your breath so that no one but your child can hear you striking the fear of God in them in the restaurant.

You know not to take it personally when they throw the cup anyway.

You only bother with the cute bathing suits if you’re Instagramming.

Evening out those tan lines.

Evening out those tan lines.

The standard for surfaces clean enough to eat off of has plummeted significantly.

The standard for non-food items safe enough to ingest has plummeted significantly.

There is a chip in the back windshield from that time (times?) you hurled the pacifier into the back seat in a rage after swearing this was going to be the car ride you didn’t cave in. At least you made it to the end of the driveway. You apologized later. With Cheerios.

You stroll through the mall humming “Do you want to build a snowman?” Alone.

The walls, floor, towel, sink and bather all exit bath time wetter than the bathee.

When you see duck on the menu during date night, an involuntary “Quack! Quack!” escapes your lips.

At the playground, you find no reason to intercede when your child is forcefully hugging a stranger’s child, spread eagle in the sand throwing fistfuls of dirt in the air, or screaming incoherent but most likely baby profanities at the squirrels . No feces? No problem.
IMG_4297

You only have one child but no one else can fit in your SUV due to the growing  number of shoes, stuffed monkeys, dolls and extra clothes accumulating in the back seat.

You either leave the house with three strollers in the back of the car to go to the grocery store, where you don’t need a stroller, or you leave for a week vacation with no strollers in the car.

Your dog roams the house in a perpetual state of fear and avoidance.

Your day doesn’t actually begin until 8:30 p.m. Any plans for productivity, adult conversation or finishing a full meal before that time are laughable.

Related: Your body has learned to function for 7 hours on three cups of coffee, bread crusts and a dozen rejected grape halves.

Do not keep blaming me for your low blood sugar.

Do not keep blaming me for your low blood sugar.

It takes you two hours to pack for the beach.

You spend, at most, 90 minutes at the beach.

This happens once every never at this point, so you savor it for as long as you can.
IMG_4025

Getting Away and Getting Back

Guys, let’s get real. Life’s hard. It can be plain exhausting. And you know what? A few weeks ago I was over it. I was sick of being exhausted, sick of all the pressure I felt to be everything at all times for everybody, and sick of feeling like I was letting everyone down.

It was a slow build up, but as a friend of mine says, the fit hit the shan. Try as I might, I was not shaking the heaviness, and my head and my spirit were wilting.

So I got the heck out. Out of a house that was starting to reek of sadness. Out of a routine that was draining my creativity. Out of engagements that were overwhelming instead of enriching.

Within an hour of online research, I found a resort on the bay that was running a fantastic weekday special. Clayton had commitments Wednesday through Saturday of that week, so Addison and I packed up the car and hit the road. Okay, I packed. Homegirl threw everything out of my duffel at least twice.

We arrived on a Thursday afternoon and stayed through late Saturday morning. While my intent was to work through a lot of the junk piling up in my head, I wasn’t sure how much actual excavating I could do with Addison in tow. But it ended up being a perfect mix of passions that fed my soul and empty-headed playtime.

We went on a run together Thursday afternoon and finished just before a beautiful sunset. We made a mess of the breakfast buffet. We were up all night because someone practices tai kwon do in her sleep. We scuttled around the beach, plopped down in the water and waved at every single person out Friday morning.

IMG_0651  IMG_0660    IMG_0719 IMG_0723 IMG_0727

And when Addison napped or after she fell asleep, I wrote. I prayed. I read. I started and nearly finished Rebekah Lyons’ “Freefall to Fly,” which put to words how imprisoned I felt in the everyday. I dove into 1 Corinthians 13 and realized the futility of the best of my actions when they aren’t motivated from a place of love.

I also made the difficult decision to get a sitter for Addison one morning, in addition to the two days she is with my mom. I wrestled with this for weeks and had been attempting–and failing–to get my work done, the house un-messed, the errands ran, half marathon training completed and volunteer projects managed in the small window I had. Some or all of these things suffered on any given week, but I refused to acknowledge both the impossibility of handling every task on my list within my current schedule or the toll trying to handle it all was taking on me. So I finally pulled the text trigger that Thursday.

In the preceding weeks, a recording played in my head that said:
I have it so good. I can’t possibly complain about my life.

I am stronger than this. Why am I being so weak?

That girl and that girl and that girl have it all together and they do more than I do. I must be able to get it under control. I should wake up earlier.

These were the lies  I told myself for a good two months before even mentioning how I was feeling to another person. WOMEN, ESPECIALLY MOMS: The rest of us get it. We all feel completely inadequate, too. Even if we managed to put on mascara that day or wear the cute jeans instead of the yoga pants, we are simply staying afloat. Talk to someone!

By Friday night, just 36 hours into this little girls getaway, smack dab in the middle of the crowded waterfront patio of the resort’s restaurant, I ached with missing my husband.

Saturday morning I felt cautiously drawn back to the place I’d escaped. I knew that anyone can feel refreshed and awakened with the smell of saltwater in the air and a fiery Florida sunset within view. I had to go back. And while the scenery set the change in motion, the true shift had to be deeper than a camera angle, more personal than a standard double hotel room.

It’s been a few weeks since that mini retreat, and I cannot believe the difference in my perspective. Very little has changed within the confines of our weekly schedule. We still have must-do’s most nights of the week. My work is not slowing down. Addison continues to be very good at being 15 months old. But I can breathe. I can make it through a day (a week!) without tears.

I can face the pace, routine and impossibility of my to-do list with a shrug, with sleeves rolled up and a smile. I don’t believe my value, my daughter’s development, or the strength of my marriage depends on the check marks–or lack thereof–next to those tasks.

And that is freedom. That is the power and inconceivable compassion of God moving in a life you said was too insignificant, in a problem you said was too small, in a hidden darkness you said you could transform on your own.

That is hope. A sun setting and a dawn rising. A life that you didn’t recognize for shame and fear breathing again with the promise of all those things you’d dreamed it could be.

I cannot share this without saying how grateful I am for this life I’ve been given undeservedly. For the health of my beautiful baby girl. The love and devotion of an unwavering man. The unconditional support of family and friends others must covet. I recognize the great luxury and incredible overflow of prosperity that I enjoy in every sense. I know I have it so, so good. But a lesson that I am learning in this season is that I do not want to trade “good” for what may be best. I am after best in this life. I hope that you are, too.

IMG_0665

Licensed to Pout

I apologize. Habitually. When people cut me in line even though I’m standing in the right place. For not having correct change. For having to stop for water on a 10-mile run.

Somehow along the path of a private school education and Southern Baptist upbringing, I adopted a generalized attitude of guilt over everything. I’m in the way. I’m making this harder for someone else. They might be inconvenienced.

In many instances, this guilt can manifest as empathy, selflessness and generosity. All uppers. Go me!

But lately, always maneuvering around other people’s needs has prevented me from recognizing that sometimes I need to be maneuvered around. Frankly, I am in an overwhelming mom-worker-wife-life season, and I am just too tired to keep apologizing for it.

I am the spaghetti in this analogy.

I am the spaghetti in this analogy.

The whining is forthcoming. Pretend there’s no Syria or shutdown or Jenner divorce and play along.

On top of a stupid long list of things that will not be accomplished this century, I lost my wallet this weekend. In addition to 10 p.m. Sunday night calls to cancel credit cards, I had to add a trip to the DMV to my to-do’s. Let’s stop here and share that collective joy that abounds with an impending trip to a government office.

I worked through the morning, and by the time I looked up DMV offices and requirements, I realized the license services were only open for another 30 minutes. Foregoing a shower (shock) and full face license photo makeup, I ran out the door hoping to make it.

The closest office is in a somewhat questionable area, but is also one of the busiest. I’ve made the rounds, I know. After I got my number, I found the chair least likely to attract a chatty fellow license seeker. Strangers are weird and I’m about 80% sure I’m allergic to them. I brought my Kindle and mentally braced to camp out for awhile. The first number I heard was G657. I was G670, and the letters went all the way from A to H. Oy.

Before I even scrolled through my Facebook feed, the loudspeaker shouted, “G-six-seven-zero is now being served at window 19.” I waited until the number flashed on the board and I had triple checked my ticket before walking cautiously up to the counter.

I had it formed, already swirling around on my tongue, about to let it fly out like vomit. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry your machine malfunctioned?
I’m sorry I followed every procedure down to the letter?
I’m sorry other people may be unhappy?

There was nothing to be sorry about. So I decided I wasn’t sorry. I gave the woman my ticket and told her honestly how long I’d been waiting when she asked. She knew there was a mix-up. She also knew it wasn’t my fault. So she asked me the string of questions (No, I am not currently addicted to drugs. No, I do not toss Cheerios into the cup holder of my child’s car seat on the interstate.), snapped my picture and handed me a new license. Less than 10 minutes. No apology necessary.

For one time in what’s been feeling like many, many times of unfavorable adjustments, this was a little break in my favor. At just the right moment, for just the right person.

After the laundry overflowed out of the hamper preventing the closet door from shutting,
after a conference call was 30 minutes late,
after I realized I had no cash or cards to go grocery shopping,
after I spilled half of Addison’s still-raw eggs on the floor,
after she pooped THREE times before 9 a.m. and I had to change her while she sobbed desperately because of the most intense diaper rash ever,
after cramps and hormones beat the reason and sanity out of me like baseball bats,
after an email reminded me I completely forgot about a project with a looming deadline,
after all those normally-I-can-muster-some-perspective-but-not-today moments,

I really didn’t want to be sorry that I was G670. Or go sit back down.

So I cashed in that ”lucky” ticket today. And I think I may take some time to hang on to being G670.

Empty-handed but unapologetic.
Simply asking for what I need.

And saying thank you to all those people who smile and say, “That’s ok, honey. It’s not your fault.”

(Or who bake me cookies or let me cry in their gelato. Thanks for that, too.)

Nothing but love for the DMV from now on.

Nothing but love for the DMV from now on.