Nearly 19
Nearly 19.
It’s been so strange to see my son through my eyes lately.
I find myself noticing new things about him as if I haven’t spent almost 19 years watching him grow.
He takes my breath away sometimes – when I catch a glimpse of the man he’ll be.
I’m filled with pride when I hear him share his original thoughts about life – about the universe. Whether we share the same opinions or not – I love how his mind works!
He definitely inherited the best of both of his parents. Big blue eyes and full lips from his paternal side. My smile, my humor.
It really is hard to feel any ill will towards his absent father when I see so much of him in the person I love most on the planet.
He’s growing into himself – finding what makes him happy, interested, angry.
It’s fascinating.
I’m trying to hang back – be a casual observer and not interfere. Hoping my lessons over the years have taken seed.
And I think they have.
I genuinely like this person who is about to enter his last teenaged year on the last day of March.
And I love that I get to like my son.
Happy Birthday Nicholas Avery Charles.
The cold and feet post
Well, one toe to be specific.
I am a dork. A klutz.
An awkward bundle of looking like a put together female on the outside and a Star Wars loving, cartoon watching, zombie adoring, comic book and action figure collecting, insecure teenaged boy on the inside.
This week I got my 3rd head cold in 4 months – a record for Miss. I-never-get-sick.
As I said yesterday, awkwardly, on Facebook, if I could itch the back of my eyeball, throat and ear with my tongue, I’d be golden.
Worked Monday and Tuesday with a fever and a leaking face – as did my boss.
I swear, our office should be quarantined at certain times of the year!
One ‘carrier’ comes near the building and the rest of us fall in groups of diseased worker bees – then keep passing it back and forth.
But I’m hearty. My boss and I sneezed and sniffled greetings to one another and carried on.
I’m leading up to something here.
I gave birth ‘au naturale’, I worked the day after I broke my wrist on the busiest day of the month – writing with my left hand like a chicken scratch trooper – I will only stay home if I absolutely can’t make it.
But today, I cried like a toddler after a stupid toe injury.
________________
I started the day fuzzy – having not slept well – my mouth felt like a nest of scratching, very furry kittens had slept in it.
I took cold meds and remembered it was the day I had to be at the office early.
I skipped a shower, hurriedly dressed, threw kibble in the dogs bowl and headed to the car.
Then I sat there – in the driver’s seat and realized I was ahead of myself by over half an hour.
Got out of car – shuffled back into the house, grabbed another cup of obviously much-needed coffee and sat dazed on the couch.
The clock ticked by and I wished I had taken my shower.
When I did arrive at work, I was in hyper-drive mode. Lots of physical things to take care of. Cleaned, sorted out an office – back and forth, back and forth.
Then nature called.
As I was exiting the bathroom I opened the door only to have it stop half way. It hit a door stop.
Door stop was my toe.
Now, I’m in ‘Oh God this really hurts and I’m afraid to look at what I’ve done’ mode.
Then I realize … door is still stopped half way … on my toe.
And the knowledge that I now have to basically run my toe over AGAIN is dawning on me.
I closed my eyes and WHAM – got the door ‘off’ my toe.
Tears filled my eyes … and since I have a high threshold for pain, I’m scaring myself with my body’s reaction and definitely not wanting to look down.
Seriously, the breath was literally snatched out of me. That ‘whooomf’ of adrenaline and pain rippled through my body.
I must have made a noise, because someone, not sure who at the time, noticed me.
I hobbled to the kitchen, bleeding on my shoe.
My boss went for the first-aid kit and a co-worker came to help.
I felt like an idiot.
Trying not to cry, and not succeeding.
I remember my co-worker (that sounds so formal, she’s my friend too, as is my boss) telling me that it would be okay to swear.
I also remember thinking I REALLY wish I’d showered as they were looking closely at my foot.
And I do remember saying – “I already don’t feel well … and now I’ve hurt my tooooooe”
My boss said I could go home – and since being at my tall desk is the exact opposite of elevating my foot – I took her up on it.
****** *********WARNING! GRAPHIC IMAGE BELOW!*********
It bled for over 3 1/2 hours.
I’m pretty sure I may have fractured it above the toe knuckle. Is that what it’s called?
Because it bends – but when I step flat (which, I won’t be doing again anytime soon) the wind is knocked out of me and a shocking pain goes up my foot.
Of course, I won’t know this for sure as I can’t go to the doctor.
Besides, there’s nothing they can really do.
(Unless this nerd goes to a doctor whose last name is Who)
Musings from the Laundromat: Clocks and Curbs edition
I woke up this morning, turned my sleepy head to the clock and thought ‘Wow! I slept in!’ Clock said it was after eight. I couldn’t see how much after eight it was, my nighttime drink cup was blocking the minutes.
Decided to leap into action. Figured I’d shower after I returned and had cleaned the house – threw a pair of jeans on, ran a brush through my hair and heated a cup of coffee to-go.
That’s when I noticed the clock on the kitchen wall.
For some bizarre reason, my bedroom clock time traveled.
It decided to Spring Forward – not even caring that we in Arizona do not observe the time change and completely ignoring the fact that if we did it was the wrong weekend to do so.
Bottom line, I was now ahead of myself.
I gathered my laundry – hunted the usual spots that my son’s laundry lurks, captured and bagged those items and headed out the door.
__________________________
The laundromat opens at 8:00 a.m., but I’ve noticed that the sweet laundry lady usually opens a bit early. I know this as I have arrived at eight on the dot and there have already been early birds sitting with their newspapers while their clothes are enjoying a wash cycle.
Deduction. I am capable of it. Gold star for me.
This morning, the pavement in front of the laundromat was littered with people. People and an assortment of baskets.
It wasn’t quite 8:00, so I wasn’t too concerned.
I carried my items over into the fray and plopped down on the curb to wait and sip my coffee.
One lady in particular kept pushing up against the glass – repeating the same Captain Obvious sentences over and over – and over.
“Something must be wrong!”
“They’re usually open by now!”
No shit.
She probably announced those two things at least a dozen times to anyone who would listen.
I sat. And sipped.
I’m pretty damn patient.
Except when it comes to listening to people who aren’t.
It was 8:10 now – OMG!
“Something must be wrong!!!!”
A new car pulled in – which had everyone who had previously been pressed against the door, turning like curious dogs in a yard.
When newcomer exited their vehicle, ‘something must be wrong’ lady filled them in.
“The lights aren’t even on! The lights at the counter are even off!”
Which she followed up with this gem as another newcomer arrived approximately 3 minutes later:
“The lights are on, but nobody’s home!”
Okay, which is it lady? Lights are either on or off.
‘Something must be wrong’ lady is the sort of person I can’t stand having behind me or in front of me in any line. Whether it’s the grocery store or the pharmacy or the bank.
Impatient – and loud about it. Sighing and clucking and complaining. I’ll use my ‘You know, there are people who would give anything to be standing in this line right now’ from time to time, but mostly I roll my eyes and enter a trance like state to block out the squawking.
The whole time, I’m sitting and sipping and thinking “Probably she slept in.”
I was willing to wait until 8:30, then I would put plan B into action – do laundry after work on Monday.
The panic mongers weren’t willing to wait.
They drove off, one by one. Leaving me – and two others to greet the laundry lady a mere 2 minutes after they gave up.
The door opened and I turned and smiled.
“So sorry” she said, “I didn’t hear my alarm this morning.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” I replied.
I got up from the curb – went inside and was able to stuff my favorite washing machines and claim my favorite seat.
Patience has such rewards.
Holding the plank – and wanting more
I held the plank last night.
In correct position, and with my arms shaking – I held on.
And when I got home, I started to get undressed when I noticed that the work I’ve put into my body these past weeks, is showing results.
I originally took a photo of my stomach for myself. When I looked at the picture after I took it – I noticed my arm. I was shocked. And excited. And I was sharing that!
I posted it to my Facebook wall, completely ecstatic that my goal of achieving tone was being realized.
I have other goals.
Other desires.
And what I tried to convey in my last post – was that I am trying to allow myself to want those things.
I found myself feeling on the precipices of a breakthrough – of starting to feel like a woman – in my prime – of wanting more for her.
At the same time, feeling very much confined to my hamster wheel and with no resources for even a change of cedar chips.
I needed to talk it out with someone.
So I did what I am only now learning how to do, I spoke up and reached out.
_______________________________
I had the most amazing conversation with one of my best friends.
I miss her.
This is the friend who wore a ball gown one casual Friday.
The friend who smeared cake on her own face just so she could turn around at the right moment and say “What cake?”
The friend I danced to P!nk with – and swooned over Dave Matthews with while we sipped Kendall Jackson Chardonnay.
The friend who was there for me during a devastating chapter in my life.
I love her.
She fought cancer and won. If that wasn’t enough to make her my hero, she’s bold and authentic, funny and smart, balanced, human and oh so loving.
She also happens to have the maiden name of my mother. First, middle and last. The odds of that are bonkers.
So I told her early this week, “I need to talk. I need a friend.”
We had a time planned, but then another friend needed me. The thing about true friends, is that there is no explaining, no awkwardness, just ‘can we talk another time?’
Yes we could. This weekend.
So I called her with tonight with “Are you home yet? What about now? What about now?”
No. She wasn’t home. But now was a good time.
She then proceeded to blow my ever so ‘undeserving’ mind with:
“It doesn’t mean you’re not grateful. It’s okay to acknowledge that you obviously have needs on many levels that are not being met.”
_______________________________
The thing about getting older, is that the window of opportunity for any significant life change gets smaller.
The older we get, the more likely we may become ill – become lonely – become someone we didn’t plan to be – and there are only so many do overs.
That is reality.
But so many times, ‘reality’ becomes an excuse for not trying.
As she said “We have to candy coat reality a little bit at least. To make life less bitter. We have to be able to dream, to want things for ourselves.”
This is true.
I can think of a million reasons why I can’t take a big step and make the little girl I used to be proud and excited again.
But all it takes is believing anything is possible and allowing myself to want something for myself. And that is NOT selfish.
I don’t know if I’m brave enough yet.
I don’t know if I believe enough in myself yet.
But I’m getting there.
If I can just hold on … even while I’m shaking.
Musings from the Laundromat: Putting things to Write edition
Yes. Intentional.
When I started this blog, I had hoped to have a place to process, purge, sort through such things as matters of the heart, my past and my unedited thoughts.
I started out telling only 2 or 3 trusted friends where to find it – then I went public online and after deciding I only have friends on Facebook that I trust and who know me, I then would share my links.
Mistake? Maybe, maybe not. But definitely I found myself editing.
I haven’t discussed Matters of the Heart – protecting the identity of people in my private life this past year. I haven’t gone deep into my past – protecting the identities of those involved. And I certainly have been editing my thoughts. As if I would feel I owed everyone an apology for having them.
I just can’t do ‘phoney’. I can’t. It eats at my gut and sticks in the forefront of my brain gnawing away at me.
Relatives and acquaintances have told me in so many words, that I think too much. I share too much.
It’s who I am. Who I have always been. Who I always will be.
I think those concerned with me sharing too much are the ones who have shared too much with me.
They needn’t worry. If my story line crosses over to someone else’s, I don’t feel it’s my story to tell.
But when it comes to me and me alone, I have to be authentic.
A friend posted this today and I laughed. So true.
I do love my life.
But find myself editing my statuses too.
I’ve had this self-imposed expectation of myself for a few years, that I can’t be ‘human’.
Always wanting (needing) to do the right thing – making living amends to myself and others for years of wrong choices.
Trying to be some perfect unobtainable example for my son.
I can’t do it anymore.
Not because I am incapable, but because it is not authentic and it is not healthy, spiritually, to deny a facet of me exists.
I am blunt and very forthcoming by nature. It is inherently who I am. If I edit myself, I’m not honoring that part of me. I’m telling myself in a round-about way, ‘that part of you is unacceptable’.
Unacceptable to whom? I’m fine with it. Why am I always worrying about what ‘they’ are going to think?
I seem to in constant battle with myself this past year or so. The care-giver and sensible me shaking her head at every personal desire. “That’s selfish” “That’s wrong” “That’s not putting others first”.
In a quest to be the best me I could possibly be, I left some of me behind.
I am not always happy. I have high-highs and painful lows – I feel to the nth degree and I love that about me!
And – shocking news: I want things. Not material things – but things that would serve to give me pleasure.
I want pleasure without guilt.
I want to be able to say “No.” I want to be able to say “Yes.” Purely based on how I feel about something and not how it effects the person posing the question.
But the battle wages on.
And it’s not a matter of ‘good’ vs ‘bad’ – it’s a matter of acknowledging that I deserve things sometimes too.
That being grateful for what I have and making good choices, doesn’t mean I should ignore the woman inside me who has needs that don’t sustain life.
And that they don’t make me bad.
They make me whole.
Debauchery Soup 