Time to piss off some women

No. They. Don’t. Seriously. What they have is a gross house and kids that don’t help do chores. Now before you get your panties twisted up your hoo-ha, allow me to elaborate.

I’m a stay at home mom of one child who is preschool aged but home with me all day, every day. She has simple chores such as putting her toys away and helping fold washcloths or sorting laundry. She also enjoys helping unload the dishwasher and setting the table. These are appropriate chores for a child her age. There is no excuse for my floors to be sticky, piles of laundry to be scattered throughout our home, or to have a dirty oven. Seriously. It takes 30 minutes to clean an oven once a month. Stay on top of your laundry and it won’t be piled. 15 minutes to vacuum or sweep and another 15 to mop each day. There are still plenty of hours left in the day to play with your kids, make messes during craft time, and play outside while exploring and learning. Your home has no reason to be a disgusting pit.

But you work? Ok. Here’s your ass kicking. If you work daily, there’s no one in your home to mess it up. Start a load of laundry when you get home and put it in the dryer before you go to bed. If you have a husband or boyfriend or wife or girlfriend or children old enough, you have help. Dust on your weekends or day off. It’s not that hard to not be disgusting. If you’re super mom, you’re waking up earlier than everyone and going to bed after them all, so you are on top of it. Way to go.

If I walk into your house and your floors are sticky, chances are I’m walking right back out. I’m not a snob. I just don’t associate with slobs nor do I let my child play in trash piles. If you are a working mom you get a slight pass. But not much of one. You have time before and after work a have no excuse for filth. If you’re a stay at home mom, bet your ass you have no damn excuse. “Good moms” create a safe and healthy and fun environment for their children. This does not include sorting through piles of laundry, unsure of what’s clean and what is not, or having their shoes stick to your floor.

A good mom plays with her kids. She laughs with them, she teaches them and learns with them and loves them and allows them to create and explore. She molds and forms them and teaches responsibility. She does all this and SO MUCH MORE. Moms fucking rock. We just do. But what this stupid asinine sign says to me is that whomever came up with the phrase and spreads it around and buys the sign and displays it in their home-they’ve disengaged their sense of responsibility. As moms, we are setting the tone for the rest of our children’s lives. We’re setting foundations of the type of life they have, and the type of life they will pursue. So I suppose if you want your kids to grow up to be adults who can’t tell the difference between clean and dirty laundry because it’s been piled up so long, rock on. If you want them to grow up never knowing what color your floors actually are, leave your mop (if you even own one) bone dry.

Is my house always spotless? Nope. We have a preschooler and three dogs. But you can bet your ass it gets cleaned every day, floors tended to at least twice, and no one has ever seen a sticky floor or pile of laundry around here. That doesn’t make me a hard ass or a “bad” mom. It just makes my house cleaner than yours.

Do you see what I see?

Yes. I’m 31. And I’m a mom. I clean up nicely when I put makeup on and my body isn’t horrible. I’ve never been called hot by my boyfriend. But I have by my girlfriends. You know, those women in my life who send me text messages each day that say “good morning beautiful” etc. The ones who keep you smiling. They say I’m hot. But what about when I look in the mirror? Do I see ‘hot mom’ or do I just see me? Honestly I see the stray grey hair that came out of nowhere, the imaginary evidence that I didn’t do crunches yesterday, and the fact that I am getting a mysterious blemish. I try to see the hot mom, really I do. I try to be completely at ease in my bikini. I try to not hide my not so pearly white teeth when I smile. I try to be confident no matter what I wear. I hope future events will increase my self love.

Did I tell you I have a boudoir shoot coming up? Well, I do. And while I’m excited about it I’m also TERRIFIED. My photographer and lifelong friend says that the session will help me see myself the way others do. One can only hope. I’ve yet to decide if I will show you all a few pictures. Perhaps if I do, it will encourage someone else to unleash their inner hot mom.

Half-Truths

They’re still lies. No matter how much you polish it or “tweak” the phrasing, if you’re telling half of anything, chances are you’re hiding something. I discovered this recently when my bf was acting a little shady. It happens. Let me elaborate a bit, and bring you into my warped world. He has the worst self esteem of anyone I’ve ever met. He owns it, but has no reason to. He’s incredibly intelligent, very attractive, funny, kind, generous, has a wonderful family unit, great job that absolutely contributes to the bettering of mankind. Buuut for some reason displays issues of lack of self worth. We have a beautiful daughter together and for the last four years I’ve been by his side , supporting him and he’s supported me. We’ve laughed and played and gotten mad and moved and vacationed and watched sports and hosted parties and done all the normal things that couples do. I think having our daughter triggered a few things for him. He’s head over heels in love with her and so devoted. He truly is an amazing father; I couldn’t have hand picked a better one if I tried. But about six months after she was born he began to have waves of emotional and verbal affairs. I say affairs because, call me crazy, but I find sexting, telling women you’re single, and sending and receiving naked pictures when you have a loving and attentive girlfriend at home CHEATING. Anyway, I’m losing focus here. These conversations with women began about three years or so ago. At least that’s when I discovered them. He would tell women he’s a single dad. He would ask mutual friends to “hook him up” with their coworkers; someone who “earned their own money” (I’ve been a SAHM since the munchkin was born; I thought that was a mutual decision but perhaps not). He’s created a POF account. He’s responded to Craigslist casual encounter ads. He’s received naked pictures from women from his past, coworkers, and strangers. He’s told people that we aren’t together or that I’m just using him for a place to live. (To that I would like to respond well I guess that means he’s just using me for a place to stick his dick, but I’m too mature for that shit). He’s gone as far as calling me a terrible person or a psycho. He knows that I know about these things. Like I said, it comes in waves. The first three waves I ignored. Actually I didn’t. I confronted him and asked bluntly if he was cheating on me. He said no. He doesn’t see this as infidelity or disrespect. We had that conversation too when at one point I had the tablet in my hand and a message banner popped up saying someone couldn’t wait to see him later that evening….when he was supposedly going out for a guys night. He got over himself for about a year. Then for some reason he decided to self destruct again.

I’m intuitive. I don’t pretend not to be. Most people are but they ignore it for some reason. Anyway three things happen when another wave of bullshit is rolling my way. (1) I have a very specific dream. (2) I start having difficulty sleeping. (3) his text alert frequency increases and he no longer responds if I’m in his general vicinity.

When this happens I investigate. I always find what I don’t want to. I go on some weird Pinterest craze and them begin posting cryptic status updates to Facebook. This leads him to worry. He will delete all messages he may think I have seen or fears that I may find in the future. He begins being much more attentive and responsive to messages and becomes almost oddly considerate. Sometimes I post these cryptic messages just to get a little attention.

It’s sad, isn’t it? He tells himself half truths about his self worth. He tells other women half truths about me as a person, about our relationship and has even used out daughter as an excuse not to meet up with them instead of saying ‘ah, I’m actually full of shit and have no intention of seeing this through’. (But that rant is for another day).
Then there’s me. I tell myself half truths to make it through the day. I tell myself half truths to not punch holes in the walls. I tell myself half truths to keep from sobbing into my pillow or having to tell my baby why mama is crying. And I tell myself half truths so I can survive. Maybe one day he’ll stop. Maybe one day so will I.

Playing in the Park

The guy and I took the tiny human to the park three times this week, and I have the following thing to say:

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Seriously. At the first park I am climbing all over the equipment with the three year old and the other moms are just sitting and looking at me like I’m insane. Yeah. I’m an adult climbing through mazes and going down slides. But I’m playing with my child. A child who, because I’m a SAHM rarely gets an opportunity to climb on equipment and I’m protective because she’s a tad clumsy…but she’s playing and learning. I’m just there in case she gets distracted and falls. (Maybe I’m too protective but the equipment was high off the ground and suited for children of all ages). I’m getting off topic…

The other moms; they’re looking at me like I’m crazy when they’re on their phones. One particular child fell off the equipment and scraped her leg. It wasn’t anything serious but the child was on the ground crying “daddy”. No males made a move toward her and a woman whose face was glued to her cell phone screen said (without looking up) “daddy went to the car”. Then the child cries “mommy”. Again, without looking up, the adult in question says “you’re fine”. Now here’s my problem with it: you know your child better than anyone. You know what a real cry and fake cry sound like. But you could have at least looked at your child an acknowledged that they were upset. Just because you don’t understand a child’s feelings or emotions doesn’t make them unreal. Let’s move on to park #2.

Park number two was smaller and very awesome. It’s attached to a cafe, and directly beside a runway so you can watch planes take off and land. (Small jets, prop planes, helicopters etc). The playground has a walking/bike track around the perimeter and airplane themed equipment including a runway for kids to “take off” on. The first day we went it was not crowded at all! There was however a mom with her face in her phone, absently pushing her son on a swing. He was talking about all the planes and the slides and his brother and Spider-Man. Occasionally the woman would respond with “mhm” but that was about it. Again, there I am directly by my child, behind her as she tries out a rock climbing slope for the first time. (She mastered it btw). The woman’s phone rings and without a word to her son, she stops pushing him on the swings and walks away to answer it.
Insert sound of crickets in my head and perplexed expression. Why? My cell phone was in the car. The most important person in the world is in front of me smiling and laughing and satin “mama let’s go play here!” You got it baby doll. Let’s go play. Now, the man had his phone and was snapping a few pictures of her playing but then it went into his pocket. Occasionally he would text or scan something but he wasn’t the only adult there responsible for a child. Other mom left and more arrived. These moms were attentive to their preschoolers and toddlers. Good for them. Moving on.

Third park adventure was a revisit to park number two. This time we went on a weekend and were meeting two of the man’s coworkers with their sons, aged appropriately for play with or girl. It was packed that day. Now, I described the play equipment and the park already but failed to mention that the actual equipment has stickers allllllllllllll over it that say “ages 2-5” and then the typical “requires coordination” “supervise your children” etc labels.
Back to the weekend visit. There were children everywhere. And most of them were aged six to twelve. My three year old tried to go down a small slide and was ran into by a boy climbing up. She says to me “I’m waiting my turn”. Then I direct her to another slide. We approach it to find a girl sprawled across it. When she sees us waiting to go down the slide she says “go use another slide. I’m working on my tan.” Ahhh, excuse me? You’re twelve, if that old. You don’t need to work on a tan. And if you want to do that, go lay in the grass!! Luckily we brought along a tricycle so she was able to do something at the park. When her playmates arrived we took a small break for snacks and water and noticed the children were thinning out. I was grateful. Not because I think big kids can’t have fun on smaller equipment, but because the parents were more worried about socializing than watching their kids. Seriously. These are the things I saw big kids doing: blocking all four slides, sitting atop the toddler swings (literally on top and being pushed by friends), climbing on the back of a toy that little kids were on and bouncing and shaking it wildly, hurling scooters in the path of little kids riding bikes or trikes. I actually saw a boy push a girl off her scooter. She was about five, he probably eight to ten. The dad of the girl asks him were his parent is and was told “she dropped me off then left.” Seriously? You left you child at the park???

I had no words. Because you can bet your ass if some brat pushed MY child down we would have a problem. I understand accidents happen and that all children want to play and rightfully deserve to. But these children need to know how to play appropriately and that’s hard when they aren’t being taught or encouraged. Seriously if my three year old can wait her turn at a slide crowded by rambunctious children who aren’t paying attention then someone else can not shove a child. It’s pretty simple.

So there we are playing with the kids and watching them ride bikes and run down hills and roll in the grass. It was a great three hours and I realized not all children have parents who play with them. Some parents would rather encourage independent play and that’s great. I do it too. But she’s growing up so quickly that I want to be present. I don’t want her to ever have a memory of playing in the park or outside and me not smiling and watching and encouraging her.

Every interaction with her is an opportunity to teach her something and learn from her in return. I can’t take that for granted. My cell phone can wait. And if other adults want to have a conversation with me during playtime, they can do it while we are moving around because there’s nothing they have to say that is more important than she is.

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Love, Hate, Food

Yesterday I mentioned that I was a recovering anorexic. I thought I would today elaborate on why I say recovering as opposed to saying that I overcame it. To those who have ever dealt with a form of eating disorder you know what I mean. For those of you that don’t, I’m trying to help. When a person has quit drinking, you call them a recovering alcoholic. One of the important facets is to “avoid alcohol”. So, if I’m recovering from a food disorder, I can’t exactly stay away from food. (That’s what got me into trouble to begin with…). Enter my love/hate relationship with food.

I spent the majority of my high school and college life not eating. I would eat small amount around others to avoid strange looks or questions. But it was usually the only time I ate; often for several days at a time. I exercised, I ran, I tanned and I starved. I hated myself and not eating was the one thing that made me feel like I was in control.

Sounds insanely stupid, doesn’t it? Well because of the years of not eating my body rarely gets hungry anymore. Seriously. Thirteen years later and I have to remind myself to eat, Or I can go days without eating. Enter my weird relationship with food.

I LOVE food. I love pizza and cheesecake and brownies and nachos. Oh my gosh do I love nachos. But I hate that food makes me feel full. And I hate that it makes me gain even half a pound. And I hate that it tastes so good yet so much of it is terribly bad for you.

So I remind myself to eat. Because not only do I want to be healthy and fit, but there is a beautiful blonde haired blue eyes baby girl taking all of her cues from me. I can’t have them being bad ones.

Yes, there are underlying causes of why I stopped eating in the first place, and those causes won’t ever become part of our home. But my love and hate for food has to be battled daily. Only this time, I’m going to win.

If I had your body…

Her words stopped me in my tracks. We were in my bedroom and she was sitting on my bed, cross-legged with her shoes off after our charity walk. We had been talking as she helped me pin a dress that I don’t want to part with, yet the puppies keep slipping out of because it’s a bit looser than when I bought it. Then she humored me as I tried on dresses to decide which one to wear to an upcoming ceremony for my awesome guy and then again for his baby sisters graduation. I showed her a few pieces of lingerie I wanted to wear for a boudoir shoot that I’m doing in a few months. (She’s taking the photos). This led to me saying that I was completely uncomfortable with my body and hoped that the shoot would help me see myself in a different light. I told her that there are days I am utterly disgusted with my reflection even though intellectually I know that there is no reason I should be. As I’m putting my clothes away I said something along the lines that I felt so bad about myself. She looks at me and says “if I had your body I wouldn’t feel bad about it.” I stopped and stared at her for a minute. She wasn’t looking at me, so she didn’t see how quickly I turned my head to blink back tears.

In mere seconds those words humbled me and I haven’t stopped thinking about them since. This woman; this amazingly talented and beautiful person envies me. Me?! She shouldn’t. She’s so smart and talented and beautiful. She’s kind and generous and giving of her time and herself. She’s a wonderful mother and wife and an astoundingly awesome friend. She’s always so confident in herself and her shape and her figure, and while she has some idea the struggles I have (she has a few of her own) honestly I keep a few to myself.

Let me explain: we have been friends for six years now, and that has developed Into sisterdom. It’s truly soul mates in the most platonic of senses. We’re very similar, but we’re also different. I’m slender; she’s overweight. I’m vegan; she loves a burger. She’s religious; I’m not. But at the heart of it we’re so close that the differences don’t matter. We’re women; we each have our insecurities but do I try to be sensitive to hers. She knows I want to tone my stomach but has no clue that I abhor my thighs. She knows I run because I like it and it also gives me a nice bootie. But she has no idea that I hate the feeling of my hips jiggling when my feet hit the pavement. I don’t tell her that some days when I inspect my outfit in a mirror I cringe. She doesn’t know that I battle myself daily with food. (I’m a recovering anorexic–thank goodness that’s over! But, it has left me with a weird food issue that I work daily to overcome). She has no idea. And she says to me “if I had your body…” She surely doesn’t want this body. Not the one that I can see. That can’t be right….

After she left, I tried to push the conversation aside. But that little heifer somehow ninja’d my brain and it’s all I could think about. So I went about my evening chores and thought about it. I fed my daughter dinner and I thought about it. I put away laundry, vacuumed floors and tucked my sweet baby into bed. And I thought about it. I did something I have honestly never done before; I stripped and I made myself look in the mirror. I looked myself over from head to toe and I cried. I didn’t cry because I hated what I saw and I didn’t cry from humiliation or anything like that. I cried because it was occurring to me how incredibly foolish I have been to think so little of myself. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not on my way to Target to buy tiaras or anything but thanks to her I believe maybe I should. I’m seeing myself in a different light; all because of one comment. If it hadn’t been for her, I may have woken up tomorrow morning and hated every step of my hip jiggling run. Instead, I’m going to lace up and enjoy every bootie boosting stride. To this woman, you have touched me in a way I didn’t even know I needed and for that I’m forever indebted to you.

I write all this to tell you that your words have a massive impact, even when you think they may fall onto deaf ears. Share your positivity. You never know when it’s going to be life changing.

Be you. Be beautiful. Be happy.

Closer

One word, six letters, infinite possibilities.

What does it mean to be closer? Well, it literally means that two or more things have space between them and by eliminating the space they become closer. I’m not just referring to physical closeness though. Let’s cover it all.

My guy is not a cuddler; I like to from time to time. He’s not big on PDA while I love nothing more that to feel his hand on my lower back or to steal a kiss. And sleeping? If I could wrap myself around him and fall asleep I would….for about seven minutes. The man is a furnace. Seriously. But that’s just physical closeness. What about emotionally?

He’s a closed door. Insanely over bolted and likely chained shut with barricades on the other side. He was raised that way—don’t talk about it: any of it. If you ask him, he has two moods; indifference and anger. I disagree but that’s because we’re (you guessed it) closer. I am the polar opposite; if I have an opinion you can bet your ass it’s being expressed. But despite all these differences, we’re closer.

Let’s start with the WHY I am the way I am. I am a woman. We like physical acknowledgement of our existence and beauty and importance in our partner’s lives. We crave it. Almost like tinkerbell; we need it to survive. (Think needs applause; we need kisses). Now let’s discuss why he is the way he is. He’s a man. Men have been brought up in a society that says emotional displays aren’t manly and that talking about feelings is for therapy and sissies. (I like to think we as a human race are evolving but I’m also being realistic).

Do I wish he held my hand more? Yup. Do I think he loves me less because he doesn’t? Nope. He was a hand holder and cuddler during the wooing phase of our relationship but it’s so rare these days. That’s why I treasure it so much. Because it means more than if it happened all the time. And because it happens on a rare occasion I find closeness in other areas.

Closeness isn’t physical alone; nor is it a display of emotional outpouring. To me, in our relationship closeness is him opening doors for me. It’s him knowing that I need a few minutes in the morning to wake up before I can be teased or smile. It’s him knowing my favorite song and how I take my coffee. It’s him knowing how fast I run a mile, and that I ultimately want to run a marathon. It’s him listening when I talk about school, even when I think he’s not. It’s him telling his coworkers that I make tutus and hair bows and wreaths. It’s him inviting his friends into our home and telling them I keep an immaculate house and always cook and bake. To most people that’s just a man in a relationship. But you have to know my guy to understand why it’s so special. The man who will blatantly tell me “I don’t care” in the middle of whatever rant in having. This is the man who when I say I love you, curls his lip and says things like “ummm no” or “ew” or “nuh uh”. So for him to do the above acts of love are amazing. It shows me that we are as close as I think and that I haven’t imagined this entire relationship.

My love language is out there for the world to see. His, not so much. It’s like the Where’s Waldo of emotion. Recently I’ve noted some changes in him. He’s suddenly become more considerate of the fact that he’s in a relationship. (Where he used to say “I’ll be back in an hour but disappear all day with no calls or text responses, now he keeps me updated an has even recently apologized for a fishing trip taking all day). He’s also begun to involve me in things that I felt left out of before. I do not work, therefore I have no income or bank account. I have zero access to his and until recently had no clue how much money he even had. He has begun involving me in our finances. (While I have always called them ‘our’ finances, he hasn’t). Vacation planning used to be him deciding when and where to go and my packing and loading the car. Did I ever not want to go to our destinations? No. But it would have been nice to be included in the details. Now I am currently involved in the decision making of our summer getaway. So because of these developments I feel as if we are closer.

Maybe it’s not that we’re closer, but that he’s finally catching on to the whole concept of relationships. I’ve been all in for the last four years and at times feel like he hasn’t. Until recently when we’ve become closer.

He still doesn’t hold my hand often and when I give kisses they rarely I lad on his mouth beside he offers a cheek or jaw. But when we sleep he sometimes reaches for me and he never complains about my crowding him. (Ok. Sometimes he does but it’s more of a teasing thing). And he takes us (our daughter included) on dates and outings and adventures.

Closer and intimate. That’s what we are. And while it may not seem that way to you and this post may be my crazy ramblings thanks to too much coffee and a quiet house, it is to me.

Everyone has their own love language. Finding yours and discovering what love languages you understand opens a world of opportunity. We found ours, and it’s made us closer.
Closer. One word, six letters, infinite possibilities.

They told you WHAT?!?!

Hamrick’s is a chain retail store in my area. They sell various clothing and shoe items for a variety of ages and sizes. You can find the company here. Most people enjoy the shopping at great prices but I guarantee I will NEVER shop here again. Below is a direct copy of an email I sent to the store operations manager:

“Dear sir or madam,

On Saturday, March 15, 2014 my best friend found herself at your Berea location. (White Horse Rd, Greenville SC 29617). She was shopping with her three children and took a rare occasion to buy something for herself at your retail store. I guarantee this will never happen again.

As she browsed and made her selections, she was happy and pleased with what she discovered. Upon reaching the fitting rooms, she gathered her toddler (age 2) , her infant (ten months) and her elementary school aged child. She was told that her oldest son, age 8 would have to wait alone outside the dressing room. First of all, demanding ANY mother leave her child unattended is irresponsible. Secondly most retail locations insist you DON’T leave your child unattended to protect their merchandise–so why did this woman insist?

When your potential customer informed the fitting room attendant that her eight year old son had special needs and could not be left alone and unsupervised, she was refused a fitting room. I do sincerely hope that this is not part of your employee training. To be so insensitive to parenthood to begin with, and a special needs family on top of it is a true testament to this particular individual’s fiber. Unfortunately for you, it also reflects poorly on your company.

She has called and left a message for your corporate office and has posted this story on your Facebook page. I am only writing this email because as a mother I am infuriated that a company would refuse a fitting room to a mother with three small children. At what point, may I ask, do you draw the line? What part of your company mission statement or training instructions dictate that a mother cannot take her children into a fitting room with her? If you are going to refuse a mother trying on clothes in a standard fitting room to increase your revenues, then provide a family fitting space or change your marketing strategy to “Childless adults only”.

I have shopped at Hamrick’s before without problem or incident but I promise you I won’t step foot inside that building ever again. Social media is a wonderful tool to spread the word about anything and for your establishment, the current word isn’t a positive one.
I trust this matter will receive immediate and appropriate attention.”

Now you understand my image attachment. My middle finger is indeed saluting any person or organization who discriminates against anyone, much less an autistic child! The mother in question has become outraged, speaking out to anyone that will listen. I’m joining in the fight.

I’ve been a part of this family’s lives since this little boy was three and look at her children as family of my own. So this company isn’t just screwing with her family, but mine as well.

It enrages me that some old bitch monitoring a fitting room decided she was ruler of a tiny universe for a few hours and that discrimination is acceptable in her world.

I implore you, if you are familiar with this establishment, stay away. I just can’t in good conscience support a place in which things like this happen.

S.N.O.B.

The letters ‘s’, ‘n’, ‘o’, and ‘b’ together in that order spell the word ‘snob’. But when you put nifty little periods in between each letter, it becomes *ta-da* an acronym. Now. What is it an acronym for? Shoes Never Off the Baby? No. Satisfy Noses Over Breakfast? Sure. That one makes a tiny bit of sense. But for me, and the purposes of this post S.N.O.B stands for Simply Not Offering Bullshit. This is why; I’ve been presented with some odd problems and issues. I reached my bullshit cap a while ago but these people caught me on a bad week, apparently. Here’s what they asked, and what I said:

“So, I can’t decide if I should dye my hair blonde or not. What do you think?” I think if you’re a natural pale redhead with freckles blonde might make you look albino but hey, go for it.

“My son keeps putting his hands down his pants.” He’s a man. It won’t ever stop.

“My daughter is learning about periods in school!” You mean punctuation? She’s in fifth grade; it’s about time she learned how to properly from a sentence.

“Ugh, I need to hire someone to clean my house. I just don’t feel like it.” I didn’t realize you had struck it rich and had that luxury. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes with a mop.

“I want another baby!!” I want you to take care of the four you already have.

“I think he’s cheating on me.” He might be.

“I don’t understand why I can’t lose this weight!” Well, it’s really simple. Sitting on your ass all day and eating processed crap adds weight. Want to come running with me sometime? “Oh gosh no! I need to lose weight before I start exercising.” What the hell do you think exercise is for, genius?

“You’re always so full of great ideas and recipes! And your house is always so clean and you manage to workout every day. Can we switch lives for a day?” Only if you want a divorce.

Yeah, I was pretty mean this week. And I’m fortunate enough that my friends love me, and they come to be because I don’t offer bullshit answers. These comments all elicited laughter and further conversation without ending any friendships. But I leave you with a picture that I often remind myself of. My filter fell off a long time ago…

Just. Go. Run.

This is how I felt today when I opened my eyes. I’m edgy. I know why but I’m not telling you. I have a daily routine but just not feeling it today. I need to run. I need to lace up and go. That’s the only thing that will clear my mind.
-Just run.

Get dressed and go. It’s not that hard to do.
But sitting here under a blanket watching the news is more appealing right now.
-Get up and run!

Fine. Getting dressed now. You were right. I’m getting jazzed. There’s nothing like that first blast of fresh cold air into your lungs.
-I told you so.

Light stretches. A boxing shuffle. Heart is pumping now. Out of the driveway and to the right. Let’s run.

My mind is free.
-Focus on your breathing. In and out.
My thoughts are pure. This is meditation and medication all rolled into one. Around and around the block I go, waving to neighbors as I pass. They don’t understand. I had to run. I can’t stop to gossip. That doesn’t matter. My feet on the pavement do.
-I told you so.

Two miles in and I’m getting winded.
-No you’re not. You can do this.
My body is strong.
-The mind is stronger. Don’t stop now. -You never know who is watching you and being inspired by you.
Just keep running.

Three miles down.
-Go for four.
I can’t.
-I don’t understand that word. Get it out of your vocabulary. Now.
Fine. I’ll do my best.
-Do better.
My legs hurt.
-Good.
My lungs hurt.
-No they don’t.
Oh I can’t do this.
-You just did. Now go home.

Four miles. I just ran four miles.
-I knew it was possible. Never doubt yourself again.

******************************

This is an argument I had with myself this morning. And while I was arguing I did run four miles, I saw an amazing sunrise and when I came home I was greeted with smiles and “Mommy won the race!” There was no race outside of the one with myself. But you know what? I did win.