My favorites.

Hey, so how about we depart from the normal gloomy, whiney reflections about my life and do something way more fun?  Let's take a look at some of my favorite things!

I promise to get back to the deep stuff soon though.

Rodan and Fields!  I love this stuff.  It's the best skincare I've ever used.  A little pricey but it lasts for months and really delivers what it promises.  I think I actually save money in the long run because I don't wear foundation and I don't spend money on the latest skincare trend anymore either.  

I'm usually a Tide girl, though I will admit to bouts of making my own laundry detergent before.  Persil wins in the end.  It even gets rid of the sock funk from Jack's work socks.  And no one has broken out in a rash from it either, which happens regularly with my sensitive-skinned spawn.

WTF weather app.  This is the funniest app on my phone.  You can moderate the language if you choose.

Down Dog yoga app.  I use this yoga app several times each week.  You can choose your level of yoga-ness, length of time for the workout, and type of practice.  And it's free!

These are the greatest hair products that I have ever used.  And having done hair for a gazillion years I'm pretty sure I've used almost everything on the market so I am definitely qualified to make this claim.  My hair is fine, curly and frizzy, and color-treated and it still feels soft and healthy when I use this.  A little goes a loooonnnnggg way so my travel-sized bottles last forever.  

I had never shopped at Kohl's until a few months ago.  It's a great store!  I'm not much of a shopper really (unless you count Goodwill) but I have found some excellent deals and cute stuff at Kohl's.  And that Kohl's cash?!  Well, it's awesome.

This is the herd share where I buy my milk.  Wonderful family and wonderful milk.  This is definitely worth the price!

Great recipes and beautiful photos.  And, I know the people who created this site!  I have not tried one recipe that I have not loved.  Even the paleo treats are excellent.  Visit Justin and Erica for some healthy eating inspiration.

I love my Vitamix.  I bought reconditioned off the Vitamix website and received the same warranty as if buying a new one.  I use this appliance more than anything else in my kitchen (except maybe my tea kettle).  Salsa, graham cracker crumbs, grinding spices, smoothies, milkshakes, margaritas, sorbet, the list is endless!  Buy one of these!

The Game.

*This was written for the boys and coaches and parents who were part of the MCGRA 7th/8th JBO team at the end of their 2017 season*

For those of you (are there any who are reading this?) who didn’t know Bill, let me just tell you that he loved baseball.  He loved it more than most people because I suppose he understood it better than most people.  He would speak about the magic of baseball and until now I guess I didn’t exactly understand what he was talking about.  

Let me try to explain what I mean.

The magic of the game is not tied to the superstitions of the game.  Things like wearing the same pair of socks during a winning streak or jumping over the baseline when taking the field instead of stepping  directly on it.  Or maybe walking onto the pitcher’s mound with the same foot with each approach.  It's not even with the elaborate rituals a batter goes through when steps up to the plate.  Superstitions and habits are not magic.

It’s not about the constancy of the positions regardless of the age or the team either.  No, second baseman aren’t always “failed” shortstops.  Closing pitchers are not always a little crazy.  Right fielders don’t always watch the clouds to find pictures in them instead of paying attention to the game.  First basemen aren’t always the coach’s kid who can’t play anywhere else nor are they always fat.  Oh, I think there’s a little truth to most of it but it’s definitely not magical.

I think what Bill meant was that there is something magical about the game itself, the subtleties and nuances of the game.  The way a field looks when it’s freshly mowed and the infield is drug until it’s smooth as silk.  It’s in the moment when the lights are switched on and a game suddenly becomes a night game.  It’s also in the moment when the dust settles and you can finally see whether the runner is safe on the bag or not.  In a perfectly executed double play or a bunt that is laid out right along the third base line.  The magic is in the smells and sounds of the game:  The sound of the ball hitting the bat (sometimes on the handle even!) or the way the leather of a glove sounds when a ball is caught.  The smell of dirt and grass and seeds.  

That’s what he meant, I think.  And he was right.

But I have come to think of it a little bit differently.  I think the magic of the game lies in the community created by those involved.  The players, the parents, the spectators, even the umpires.  The magic is that everyone, regardless of height, weight, age, color, sex, level of education or intelligence, socio-economic status, whatever, can gather to essentially become one crazy, diverse, extraordinary family.  

That’s my take on it.  There lies the magic.

Bill endeavored to teach kids enough about the game that they, in turn, could perpetuate their love of it to the next generation.  “It’s a simple game,” he’d say, “you only have to throw a ball and catch a ball.”  I’m certain that he would be proud of this team and he would feel relief that his influence and instruction would not return empty.  His legacy will live on every time one of these boys shares their love of the game with someone else.  More magic.

He’d also say that JD was safe on third.

A Lesson I've Learned. Or a Truth I've Accidentally Discovered.

I had a conversation with myself while running on the treadmill the other day that was prodigious.  (That's just a big word for eye-opening. I liked the sound of it.)  It's not unusual for me to talk to myself while running or doing anything else in all honesty.  But I seem to have much more clarity in my thoughts when I am in the throws of running and this was one of those moments when I finally understood something that I'd been pondering for a good while.

Here's what I discovered:  I'm no good at people.

I like people and everything, or at least most people, but I'm not so good at understanding them.  I figured out that I expect others to have similar thought processes and intentions as I do.  I believe that people are simple and straightforward and don't play games.

I believe this and that's my problem.

But how come I can believe so easily?

And that's when I realized the answer to my question.  It's because of my relationship with Bill.  I was so young (and had not learned to be cynical and suspicious) when we met.  I never had to mess with typical relationship crap.  Oh sure, there were times of teenage drama.  And there were times before we were married that we dipped our toes into that back and forth stuff.  Gosh though, it was so small-scale and silly that I never "learned a lesson" about relationships from it.  I was never seriously hurt by any of it.  Consequently I carry no suitcase loaded with emotional baggage around with me.

Naive?  Possibly.  But more like simple, honest, and uncomplicated.

You see, Bill was my best friend.  When I first met him we would spend hours just talking.  And fishing.  Always fishing and talking.  Even after all the years and the kids and the rough parts of life that we experienced we could still spend hours talking.  He was my favorite person and I know I was his.  I would talk to him multiple times throughout every day.  He was the person I never hesitated to call to complain or celebrate or cry to.  Naturally this went both ways as I was always, always ready to hear what he wanted to say.  We had no ulterior motives or methods of manipulation in our intent.  Nope.  We just really liked each other.

And that is why I assume everyone else lives this way.

I am learning that most people have been hurt and betrayed by some person or situation and cannot let their guard down anymore.  Where there was once trust and openness has now been replaced with reservation and suspicion.  And often times I'm seeing that those betrayals cause us to adopt self-sabotaging behaviors too.  Maybe the hurt makes us feel like we're never going to be enough?  Or that we don't deserve something better?  Either way, we end up packing our bags with sadness and padding it all with a whole lot of self-preservation.

I'm not sure that there is a solution to this.  We all have to carry different bags filled with different burdens through the wanderings of our lives.  Some people get fancy, flashy bags that hold glittery problems while others get plastic Walmart bags filled with garbage.  Some carry veritable trunks filled with all different kinds of troubles, both big and small.  Personally, I like to think that the people who we find (or who find us!) are put on our paths to help us carry the load.  So maybe that is the solution:  we can only be relieved of our burdens when we trust another to share the weight.  Each time we relinquish an item from our bag our life becomes a little brighter, a bit less oppressive.

But to trust enough to allow such a thing, well....  that's a hard one to conquer.

Mowing the Lawn

Disclaimer:  This will be a depressing post filled with a fair amount of whining.  There could be some swearing too.  Just a little heads up for you more sensitive snowflake types.

I cry when I mow the lawn.

There.  I've admitted it.

This is not an occasional truth, for it happens every time I start up the mower.  It is, though, a rather recent phenomena.

I've been spending a fair bit of time pondering this development and I'm starting to grasp why a crying jag might accompany my yard work.  And as often as I mow the yard it's a damn good thing I'm getting it figured out!  There's still 3 more months of weekly mowing to consider and I think I could get dehydrated.

I used to like mowing the lawn.  It was a chore I could complete with little interference from any children and once it was finished no one could mess it up.  I liked the sense of accomplishment I felt when I finished.  It was a break from the regular house stuff I was always doing and a way to get outside and use a few muscles.  I really did enjoy it.

But now, now it feels like one more task that needs to be checked off my never-ending list.  It's an unwelcome burden now.  That, then, is the first reason I cry.  Mowing has become just another detail that I must attend to and I'm tired.  In my world the more tired I am the better the chance for emotional incident.

Another thing I used to like about mowing the lawn was how the monotonous nature of the task gave me ample time to think about life.  My life, Bill's life, the kids' lives, the neighbor's lives--you get the idea.  I would use the time to consider my options about any upcoming decisions I might need to make.  Or I would think about rearranging or redecorating a room (I was always having babies during this time so I was pretty much always in need of reconfiguring space!).  I even planned meals and vacations and running routes while I mowed.

To put it simply, I think when I mow.

Aha!  And now when I think, I think of crap.  What should've.  What could've.  How I need to.  These thoughts chase me around the yard like a pesky May fly, torturing me with their persistence and never letting me forget their presence.  So there's the next reason I cry--just thinking about how much my life has changed and how much I dislike it.

Now, before anyone starts lecturing me about needing to have a better attitude and, my all-time favorite, "getting over it"  let me tell you a few things.  And this might read offensively or harshly.  Yeah, but I don't care.  There is no getting over it.  Doesn't matter if I'm talking about my shit show life or your divorce or disappointment or job loss or death or illness.  Doesn't matter at all.  You never (and I do mean never) get over any of it.  You just assimilate.  You just figure out how to do the next thing.  You don't forget or "move on".  What the hell does that even mean anyway?  Move on to what?  Where?  Who?  You just get up and do the next thing.  Notice that I didn't mention anything about happiness or cheerfulness or gratitude.  Sure, I think those things probably come around eventually.  But it's mostly bullshit to expect anyone to follow a prescribed pattern of understanding exactly how to function after a traumatic upheaval in their life.  Is there a chart somewhere that I've not had access to?  Something like this:

Death:  16 months to get over it
Disease:  6 months  to get over it
Job Loss:  3 months to get over it
Divorce:  12 months to get over it

Time, people.  What everyone needs is time.  Plain and simple.

And your time is probably different than my time and neither one of us is wrong.  To judge a person on their walk through life is not only mean, it's also the worst example of arrogance.  Is one person so omniscient that they can command another how to "get over it" or when to "move on"?  Judging feels that way to me.

Circling back around, I do know that I won't always cry when I mow the lawn.  With time, it will just be another task that I complete.  I might even like it again.  I see it, albeit far away, but I do know it's waiting there for me somewhere down the road.  Until enough time passes I guess I'll just embrace the tears and feelings and let them do their thing.  God knows that ignoring them or pushing them away does not work.

Time.  It is the only healer.  It is also the only equalizer that captures us all eventually.

A List

I haven't done a list in a while.  Lists are kinda fun.  Here's a list of some interesting things I've learned or observed in the past while:

1.  Pigs really do fly.

2.  Audible books make car drives or housecleaning just fly by.  They do not, however, speed up treadmill time.  I think that treadmill time is lost time, like when you get abducted by bigfoot or aliens.

3.  Broken bones are a nuisance but definitely NOT a reason to stop doing things.  Like driving.  Or traveling.  Or working.

4.  Despite the feeling that this season will never end (both figuratively and really) the next season will always come.  But it cannot be rushed.

5.  Boundaries keep good things safe and bad things out.  Always set boundaries. With people, with gardens, at movie theaters.

6.  People who post too much stuff on social media are a) insecure as hell and looking for validation, b) playing a make believe game of grownup, c) searching for attention.  I suspect if you were really as happy as you'd like us to believe you wouldn't be posting every annoying detail of your life.

7.  There are many, many children who are masquerading as adults.

8.  Trying to recreate a lost or ruined opportunity is like trying to unbake bread.  It cannot be done.  You'll just end up with a soggy, inedible mess.  Move forward to the next good thing.  It might be a different thing but it might also be a better thing.

9.  Time is the great equalizer.  It cannot be fooled.

10.  If it looks like sh*t and smells like shi*t it's definitely still shi*t.  Try to dress it up and cover it up anyway you like but no one will really be fooled.

11.  People lie.  A lot.  People are also mean.  A lot.

12.  People are self-centered and will throw you under the bus without so much as a backwards glance.  They will use you and pretend you do not exist.  Learn from this and do not treat others the same way.

13.  Words are not always true, actions are often temporary, but patterns cannot be denied.  Think about that one for a while.

How To Live Without a Heart.

I'm pretty sure I no longer have a heart.  I mean I can still feel it beating in my chest but I think it quit working.  I think it completely shattered when Bill died but it still lay there in pieces, probably waiting to be slowly put back together with time.   There were a few pieces that seemed to still fit together, not neatly like the pieces of a puzzle, but more like the rough, irregular pieces of a mosaic.  Lots of cracks and empty spaces but still held together in the the shape of something recognizable.

And then it got broken some more and that's why I think it's beyond repair now.

It's funny to have this awareness.  It's like I know I'm alive because I breathe and move and function.  But I do it all without feeling.  Well, if indifference can be considered a feeling then I do have that.  I just don't care.  Those pieces of my heart are lost or don't fit together and aren't able to create a vessel to hold feelings anymore.  It's empty.

But I'm indifferent to it now.  I can watch myself like I'm outside my living room, looking in through the window and observing what's going on.  And my mind can tell my outside self (let's call her my representative) what I should be doing and I just kinda autopilot things.  Get out of bed and make breakfast.  Check.  Go to work or work at home.  Check.  Laugh at a funny story told by a kid.  Check.  Feel empathy for some one's sad story.  Check.  Drink water because it's good for me.  Check.  Try to have a hobby and appear normal.  Checkerooni.  I totally do it all but I don't feel any of it.  Weird.  But yet fascinating.

I'm not sure why I'm sharing this thought.  It's kind of more than I usually like people to know about me.  But I figure that if I'm trying to write with honesty then this is brutally honest for certain.  Plus, maybe I'm not the only one who feels this way and my confession will give someone else the words to explain their own feelings.  Or maybe not.  Maybe it's just me who is deranged enough to admit it.
Either way, it's the truth.  Ugly as it sounds, it is my truth.

No Adulting Today, Please.

I'm done being an adult and doing adult things.

Really, I would love a day where I did not have to do anything adult-like.  No cooking or cleaning or working or anything where I was responsible for another living thing.  A day where someone else had to take care of me.

And then I realize who I am.

Just for the day I don't want to worry about a failed furnace.  I don't want to shop for a new wood stove or place an ad on Craigslist to sell the old one.  I don't want to talk to repair people or salespeople or Craigslist people.

I don't want to be the only person in my house to remember that the toilet paper is almost gone or that there is no more bread.  I want someone else to worry that it's 6:00PM and no one has eaten dinner.

Just for the day I don't want to sweep the floor after someone tracks mud in, wipe the toilet seat because some one's aim was off, or pick up a pair of boots that are blocking the door for the 100th time.

I want to wake up to a warm house, one where there's already a fire burning.  And a wood box full of dry wood that I did not have to split and haul by myself.  And a cup of coffee would be nice too.

For just one day I don't want to worry about things like braces and baseball cleats and retirement accounts.  I don't want to think about leaking roofs or incompetent math teachers.

I don't want to spend my day driving people around.  Or trying to remember when and where everyone is supposed to be.

My mind needs a break from identifying "teachable moments" for my kids and being the only person to implement appropriate discipline for their crap behavior.  I'm tired of worrying about not having control of my family or life (I'm not entirely sure that's true but someone said that to me and now I'm paranoid other people think that as well).

I want a day where someone else pays the bills and worries about money and the future.

I know that I'm an adult and that I really cannot pretend otherwise.  I know that responsibilities are just a part of life and they are completely unavoidable.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I got it.  But being an adult is so much more fun when you're adulting with another adult!  It's nice to have someone to complain to.  It's nice to have another person to share these responsibilities with.  It's nice to know someone else is worrying about the same things that you are.  And it's just nice to know you're not alone in this life.