To My Daughter as she Turns 16

Dear Pumpkin,

Sweet 16 – is that even a thing anyone says anymore? I started writing it on your birthday card and stopped myself. It sounded so archaic and old-timey. But you are sixteen and isn’t that sweet?

We’re still a ways away from getting your license – trying to accumulate all of those permit driving hours which has been a challenge in these weird Covid-y times, in part because for the longest time, driver’s training wasn’t being offered and in part because we also just haven’t gone as many places that afford you the opportunity to drive as frequently. We’re chipping away at the time – hopefully we’ll get there soon and you can have your license. You don’t seem much to care and so I don’t push.

Today your friends will come over for brownie sundaes and it’ll be good for you to have time with your friends. They’re a lovely group and I am glad that you all have stayed in touch so well over the summer, recently arranging a potluck day at the beach. You all dressed up and brought a dish to pass and spent hours on a lightly raining day doing your thing. I think you will be glad to be back at school again where there is structure and you’ll be able to spend time with your friends more regularly. Several of your friends attended virtual school last year and they’ll be back in-person this fall and I know you are excited about that.

The last school year was hard – but you found magical moments in the midst of it. You were cast as Beth in the play Little Women, because the director knew you could move people to tears. You were also in the musical. You were quarantined four times due to close contact with covid-positive classmates which resulted in missing the PSAT three separate times (what are the odds? It’s really weird that it kept working out that way).

I didn’t want to pressure you or your sister to push yourselves too hard academically during the madness of the 2020-1 school year and did not, and yet you both managed to excel. You ended up with nearly all As fall semester and straight As in the spring and I am impressed knowing the hurdles you leaped in order to get there. Having to learn materials despite the fact that some teachers didn’t do much to aid students who were remote due to quarantine – I’m not sure how you managed it.

You like to listen to music – lots of music. You have been trying to teach yourself to play guitar. The other day you said, “They put too many chords in songs. Why does anyone need more than four?”

You’re rewatching Gilmore Girls for the third? fourth? time? You also love The Good Place and have every routine from John Mulaney memorized, at least it seems that way. It is interesting to me that I went from knowing all of the shows and movies and music you listened to, to hearing you recite some bit from a stand up routine and have no idea where it came from.

You are little by little starting to talk about college and I know that as much as the last sixteen years have flown, these next two will fly as well. I don’t know yet where you will end up but you’re considering your options and thinking about the kinds of things you might want to do in the future. So it’ll be interesting to see what directions you decide to explore. We’ll figure out some college visits soon, see what places might feel like home to you.

Sometimes you seem to be in your own world but I am always in awe of when you can tell better than most when I am feeling sad or having a bad day. You did this recently. I thought I was doing a decent job of keeping a happy face on and you knew that I was sad. You wanted so much to make things better for me and I was grateful for your love and kindness when I was bummed, while also being frustrated with myself that you needed to ease my feelings. You are so observant sometimes and I am grateful for that.

I started crying when I was wrapping your gifts yesterday. Maybe i’m just emotional lately – goodness knows the past year has done that to me – but maybe because you’re my youngest and you’re getting so old, and it makes me think of how quickly time is flying and how much I’d like things to just slow down a little bit now.

Sixteen. I don’t even know how it happened. Where has the time even gone?

I’m so proud of you all the time, always. I am so very proud to be your momma. And I love you so so so much.

To My Oldest on Her 18th Birthday

Happy 18th birthday, sweet girl. I can’t believe this day is here. 

So, here’s the thing: For all of these years, I’ve been looking forward to today, to giving you these letters. In my head, I imagined you would appreciate the sentimentality… but you got your time capsule from school a few weeks ago, and you haven’t even opened any of those letters, so I suspect that you’ll look at these and feel just completely annoyed.

Win some, you lose some, I guess. 

This was not how I pictured this time in your life, and I know it’s not how you pictured it either. And yes, I find it so cosmically unfair that so many things are left undone at the moment. That we haven’t been able to celebrate, that your school hasn’t stepped up to the plate and done a better job (or, you know, ANYTHING AT ALL) to truly acknowledge your class and this big milestone. This was supposed to be all done – but there are loose ends all over the place, and who knows when they’ll be tied.

That sucks. Graduation was a bust and you’ve barely gotten to spend the time with your friends like you should be. And I’m hoping with all of my heart that something happens soon so you can close this chapter and just start looking forward to the next.

Because I’m so excited about what comes next for you. At this point last year, you weren’t yet excited about the prospect of going to college and then over the summer, you truly started getting excited about it. And then you crushed all things by earning a massive scholarship. I know you struggle with bragging about that – but it’s a huge deal, and I’m so proud of you. At the end of four years, when so many of your classmates will be saddled with student loan debt, you get that chance to start that next chapter with very little debt at all – if any. And that will be huge in the future as you decide where you want to be and what you want to do. You won’t be shackled with that monstrous weight — and why? Because you have worked SO HARD through high school to become the exceptional young lady you are — a strong leader, a compassionate human, an empathetic friend, a helper, and just all around smart cookie. I am so very proud of you.

I have loved every year and every moment watching you grow into who you are. Watching you on stage, lighting the way, has always taken my breath away. Your confidence and grace amaze me — and while I have no idea where it came from, I am glad that you have it, because it will help you in so many ways, wherever you go.

This year you’ll get to vote for the first time and while I am sorry your options aren’t better, I am also confident that you will always take this responsibility seriously and that you will make educated and thoughtful decisions every time you cast your vote. 

I know it’s hard to feel excited about stuff right now, because it feels like the universe is just being a butthead, but despite the current situation and how tough it’s been, I remain excited for you, for your future and what it holds. 

I was thinking the other day of when you were an infant — of the first time I saw your name printed on something that I didn’t write. It was a prescription label, I think. Probably for eye drops. But seeing your name in print, this name I gave you, was a moment of, “She’s mine, this person…” And though I no longer get excited about prescription labels, I do still get a rush of realizing that this person I created is now this totally awesome human adult person. How on earth that happened, I don’t know – but it did and here we are.

I was going to say something about this year ahead and you going off to college, but then I realized that I would end up crying while typing this, so maybe I’ll just skip that part. But I hope you know that the door is always open for you (and your laundry), and I’m glad you won’t be that far away but I’m excited to watch you find your wings because the world is ready for your magic and I can’t wait to see what you do.

Usually I tell you more of what happened during the year — but, well… you know what’s happened this year. It’s all recent enough, you’ll remember.

Happy happy birthday to you. Today, we’ll have your friends come over and, with everyone six feet apart, we’ll have cake and we will celebrate you. I know it’s a weird celebration, but I’m glad we can do something — and I hope you feel loved every moment of today… and every day.

I love you lots and lots of tater tots and I am – as I’ve always been – so very lucky to be your mom. Now go take this world by storm. You’ve got this.

Love, 
Mom

2017: What This Year Has Taught Me

In just two days, six hours and some minutes, 2017 will finally be over. That is how much remains of this year at the time I begin writing this post, on a Friday evening in Michigan while my dog paces the living room, while snow falls gently outside, while I keep refreshing “Find My Friends” to see how far away from home my daughters are as their dad is currently driving them home.

In two days and six hours and some change, the ball will drop, friends will toast, and a new year will roll over… and we’ll have that fresh start that everyone seems to think is coming our way.

I don’t know if I believe in the kind of fresh starts that come with a new year. Not anymore.

Midnight will roll around and the only thing that will have changed is the calendar. For those of you who are still writing checks, you’ll have to deal with trying to get the year right. But ultimately we’re the same people living the same lives and likely making the same decisions over and over (except for the first few weeks when we all vow that this year is the year we’re going to stop eating garbage and for three quarters of January we are going to EAT SO MANY VEGETABLES, and then we’ll go back to licking the sugar out of the bottom of a bag of Frosted Flakes again, because that’s the way it goes).

I could hope that things would be better or different in the new year, but I know better. The past few years have taught me that, if nothing else. Each year, I have rejoiced while saying goodbye to the year we have just endured, and then the next year brings more of the same, if not worse. It’s as though the collective universe looks onward in January thinking, “Hold my beer…”

This is not your uplifting end of the year post. I’m sorry about that.

But for all the cynicism I feel about the new year ahead, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I have truly learned a lot this year. This year was one full of so much emotional turbulence and loss. It was filled with challenges and some triumph, and it had moments of struggle and grief.

Love is one of the most amazing things in the world, and yet by opening your heart and loving, you are vulnerable to some of the most crushing pain in the world. I’ve felt a lot of that pain this year. It’s been tough, I’m not going to lie. We are all scabby open wounds, in our family, and the pain of someone poking at these wounds is devastating. Especially when it’s your family.

Sometimes the people who are supposed to love us the most end up disappointing us. And the pain that comes from it, from harsh words or broken promises, is a spectacular hurt. When it feels like it’s so easy for those you love to lash out at you, well, sometimes you can spend a lot of time wondering what the hell is wrong with you. You’re the common denominator, right?

So. Yeah. I’ve spent a lot of time this year wondering what’s the matter with me.

In 2017, my brother died and I found out that mine was not a family that rallied around each other when times were tough. Some of us did, some of us didn’t. I found that the friends I thought would be there, weren’t really. I had no idea when I was raising my middle finger to 2016 last December just what the year ahead had in store.

I mean, I guess we never know. It’s why I hesitate to get too optimistic about 2018. I mean, I’m still me, you’re all still you, and all we have is our brief intention to do better, at least for a little while.

What I can say is this: the lesson I have found to be most prevalent in my life this year is a simple one. In short: Your words matter. What you say matters, what you don’t say matters. How you say it, why you say it, why you don’t say it, when you say it. All of that matters in large ways and more than any of us can truly comprehend.

We choke down negative feelings and don’t air our complaints until they burst out of us sideways, taking along innocent bystanders in the process. We fail to reach out when someone is grieving because we don’t have the words to say. We recoil when someone is hurt because hurt is messy and their sadness feels like blame.

When my heart was hurting most, I know who was there for me and who wasn’t. I remember who reached out to me, and who was absent. I had no idea until this year how truly impactful it was to tell a grieving friend, “I am so sorry” or even “I really wish I knew the right words to say, but I don’t have the words and this is really just so awful.” Too many people waited for the right words to come, and said nothing. Their absence was palpable. I didn’t need solutions. There was no way anything could be fixed. All I needed was for the words that beneath their surface said to me: I hear you, I see you, and I know I can’t make this right but I’m sorry.

The day before my brother’s funeral, a family member told me they’d been upset with me. His plan had been to resolve it before the year was over. At that point, he’d been hanging on to that festering feeling for months. What you say, when you say it, and why you say it matter. How many more months would have gone by? Years? Who knows.

This year has been a heaping pile of suck in so many ways, but I am grateful to have learned the lesson that showing up matters. I wish I hadn’t had to learn it the hard way, and I wish that it hadn’t come with the revelation that I hadn’t been a great friend in the past when they had experienced grief, loss, or strife. I know there were times I said nothing thinking my silence would not be noticed. There were times I didn’t do anything because I didn’t know what I could possibly do that could make an impact. I know now: I can’t fix it, I can’t erase hurt, but I can be a person who shows up, who offers kindness and an embrace, who hears you and sees you and acknowledges your pain.

Empathy. As we say in my house, it’s not a flower that blooms in everyone’s garden. That we truly discovered this year. And at least my daughters and I are a tiny bit wiser in having learned that lesson. I guess we have 2017 to thank for that.

This year has been hard. And if I’m being honest, I’m sure 2018 will have its challenges as well. I am far too cynical to get optimistic about it, and I hate that about myself right now. I’d like to have a clean slate and a happy heart and march forward into January with optimism. But y’all know me, that’s NOT how this mom is wired, after all.

I feel like it’s a shameful thing I’ve just done, written over 1200 grim words without mentioning any of the joy of the year, or that I am loved, or detailed the high moments. I hope that you will forgive me that. I am not unaware of the things that are good. Please trust that I know it, I see it, and I feel it.

We are now two days, five hours and some minutes away from a new year. What does 2018 hold? We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.

 

Life Lessons Learned in Grief, Part 2

I have been to two memorial services in three days and I have spent far more time in churches this week than I have all year… probably. And yes, two memorial services for my brother – so if you can imagine the feeling of repeatedly scraping off the scab of a new wound with a cheese grater, that’s pretty much what it’s been like.

And it’s worse because of the previously mentioned terrible things people have done in the name of “honoring” my brother.

I can’t pretend to understand – because while I am conflict avoidant to the core, I am also a believer in doing what’s right. I fail sometimes, I know that… but at my core, I genuinely don’t want to be a screw up. I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to be vindictive and awful. I feel like I saw so much of that dark side of people. And what’s worse, I think some absolutely didn’t know or realize the level to which they were sinking. The older I get, the less of a screw up I become. Can’t say that’s true for everyone. Apparently.

So, here are some more life lessons for you – the general you – based on the clusterflugel of the past two weeks:

Sometimes there’s no substitute for an actual CONVERSATION

Yeah, I get it – I rarely use my iPhone as an actual phone and will avoid it if at all possible… but there are some discussions too big for text. Text doesn’t always convey tone, intent, or meaning — and there’s a lot of room for misunderstanding if you’re not careful. Sometimes it’s essential to pick up the phone and DISCUSS things instead of blurbing at one another.

You go off making unilateral decisions that impact people and YES they’re gonna be pissed

Again. Discussions. Discussions. Discussions. Some of the biggest moments of anger came from one person making decisions that impacted all of us. There was no need for that. Had people come together, had conversations, the likelihood of that happening would have been smaller. There were moments of near rage because of things like this. I had thought families would come together when times were tough – and I found that nope, that’s not always true.

Speeches scrawled on a legal pad at midnight are just as meaningful

I wanted to write my speech for the service far earlier than I did. I had a draft in my documents for days. Literally, I just MEANT to do it… and then it was midnight last night. I literally scrawled my speech while drinking bad wine and eating Cool Ranch Doritos. I could barely read my writing today – my hands were sweaty and my nose was running. I didn’t make it through without crying – but every word came right from my heart… even if it wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever written. I wrote love.

I need to just show up

I have done friendship all wrong. I really have. I can name a zillion times when a friend was likely grieving and I wasn’t there for them in a way that would have been useful to them. And I’m so sorry for that, because I just had no idea what a difference it truly makes when people just show up and do the thing. What thing? Whatever thing you have to give. It doesn’t have to be big, it really doesn’t. My sister’s sister-in-law helped us a ton putting together photo boards – even running to get more prints made when we couldn’t get to a store. That was huge, it was helpful, and it made life easier. She didn’t ask what we needed – she was just there.

Ban the words “Let me know if there’s anything I can do” from your vocabulary

I’ve said it before because I haven’t known what to say but odds are, no one will ask you for anything because they don’t really know what the heck they need. My brain has been swiss cheese for a week. I couldn’t tell you what could be done to help – I truly had no idea. Still don’t.

Grief Pizza is a thing

Because you can’t just drink away your sorrows, sometimes you can drown them in pizza.

Get together and celebrate when something good happens

We’ve had three deaths in my family within the last six months. I’m not even kidding – it’s been rough. I’ve seen my family A LOT. At funerals. I want to see them when there’s something joyful going on. We all talked today at the luncheon after the service: we have GOT to plan something and soon. Otherwise, too much time will go by, and we’ll be there again… coming together under less than joyous circumstances. And that stinks.

I don’t like sandwiches on hamburger buns

Who thought that was a good idea?

It was a beautiful celebration today, even though it was sad too. But the past two weeks have been so hard. I’m so tired. I’m… still just perplexed by some of the things people said, did… I don’t know that I’ll ever understand, really. Maybe I should stop trying to.

Life Lessons Learned in Grief – Part 1, Probably

It’s been just over a week since I learned that my brother died. My mom called me at work last Tuesday morning and when I didn’t answer, she texted a panicked message and so I ducked out of my office into the hallway to call her back.

“Come home,” she sobbed into the phone. And so I went, grabbing my computer, piles of work, and stopping by my coworker’s desk to quickly prep him for a conference call he would have to do without me shortly after that.

My mind was racing as I drove. And when my sister responded to a text, I knew that she was fine. In my heart, I knew then that it was my brother.

He died in his sleep, they say.

I am not new to loss. My grandfather died several years ago and it was a tremendous gut punch. I was in the hospital room with my family when my grandmother died just over a year ago. My mom lost both of her brothers earlier this year. Death has been a familiar road for my family in recent years, but this has been so different.

He was two years older than me, so he’s been around all my life. When you sort through the pictures from those first few years, we were inseparable.

I am not sure how old we were when I realized he was different. He was in the hospital quite a lot when we were kids. I remember one year I was in a school spelling bee – and none of my family came. My mom had been at the hospital with my brother, and then later when she took my sister to the pharmacy to run an errand, my sister had a seizure in the store and then she went to a different hospital. I think our next door neighbor was called to pick me up and take me home.

I got second place in that spelling bee, by the way. (I would later bomb miserably by misspelling “skittish” at the Contra Costa County Spelling Bee.)

But for my whole life, I have been his sister. And now he is gone. In recent years, his health issues have been so severe that there were times we were afraid of what might come – and then he healed. He was back to his normal self. He was fine.

That didn’t happen this time. Out of nowhere, it seems. He’s just gone. We didn’t get to say goodbye.

So here’s what I have learned so far:

Grief makes people stupid.

A lot of people can’t handle grief. It turns them into insufferable humans. Oddly, I didn’t know that until this week. So many people have said to me, “Grief brings out the worst in people” and enough people have said it that it must truly be a universal thing… so I’ve gotta say: If you’re one of those people who handles your feelings by lashing out at other people and making life miserable, well then perhaps you may need to learn a thing or two about how to appropriately handle your emotions.

It’s funny, because I’m a total mess – but I’m never not just totally feeling what I’m feeling. If I’m sad, I’m sad. I get the impression that people get so scared of sadness that in order to avoid it, they kick things into jerkface mode. I’m seeing enough of it right now, and I’m bearing the brunt of it in a lot of ways… and it’s exhausting.

Your sadness doesn’t override the need to still be a semi-human-being. (And if you’re going to be a jerk, take it out on someone else, because I’m all stocked up here…)

Empathy is not a flower that blooms in everyone’s garden

I have been beyond grateful for every expression of kindness and sympathy that has been shared with me. Even when someone has no words, hearing them say, “I have no words,” means so much. Even an “I’m so sorry” goes a long way. I have appreciated every gesture, and have been surprised by the goodness of people. And yet… my daughter tried to talk to a friend about it, and got shut down every time. I was recently around someone who likely read about my brother’s passing – but she never said a word.

I firmly believe Emily McDowell’s “There’s No Good Card For This” should be required reading for all humans. Trust me. Go buy it.

The world has to keep turning

This is somehow the biggest insult of all – that the world doesn’t stop turning. I was listening to a podcast on the drive to work this morning that essentially said, someone dies and you still need to get toilet paper. I feel guiltiest about the real life moments, I do. Tonight, I worked on a presentation for work about content marketing and storytelling after vacuuming my living room and while my daughters gave the dog a bath. This week I made dinner. I folded clothes. (Okay, I meant to fold clothes, but mostly I just sat on the floor surrounded by clothes and thought about folding them) There is this part of me that is horrified by this, that his life was unfairly cut short, and I should still be surrounded by socks in the midst of a September heat wave.

Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion

Yeah. A Steel Magnolias quote. I was leaning against the counter the other night listening to Ingrid Michaelson’s “Old Days” (heaven help the ones who fly away…). And then had a memory of my brother breakdancing. Doing the centipede, and twirling on his back on a piece of cardboard. I started laughing, remembering how we’d watch all of those breakdancing movies (I still reference “Electric Boogaloo” – a lot). If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry… and sometimes the crying gets to be too much.

Kindness isn’t always easy but it feels better than anger

I have been angry this past week. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so consistently angry for so long. And I hate it. When I’m dwelling in anger, I’m not honoring the memory of my brother and that is so terrible to think of – that I’m upset with people for being terrible grief vampires, and that is taking away from remembering my brother and mourning him as he deserves.

People have been terrible. I’ve seen behavior so despicable that I’d swear that it was not real life but a badly scripted movie… but no, it’s real.

I’ve been trying so hard in those moments to focus on kindness. To focus on light. To embrace the memory and to make a difference.

No, sometimes it’s pretty damn hard. But each kindness shared with me gives me a few moments of peace – and that feels better than rage.

I have no idea what’s next, really. There are funerals this weekend and Monday. My mom has picked up his ashes. We’ve received the cause of death from the medical examiner.

This world feels different. Am I still his little sister even if he’s not here? How does that work? Does it get easier? Do people return to who they were before the grief turned them into hateful people, and if they do, will I be able to forgive the hurt I am in right now?

I don’t know.

I really just. don’t. know.

 

 

When everyone is that Facebook friend you want to ignore

Saturday morning I opened my eyes and the first thing I thought to myself was, “Huh. Well. I didn’t think that would happen.”

It’s not that I thought the world would entirely blow up in the middle of the night but I went to bed Friday evening with such a heavy sense of dread. What would come next? I had no idea.

I spent Friday in a fog, alternately working and scrolling Facebook, in a state of utter disbelief and refusal to fully entertain the thought that America done messed up. Big time.

And I don’t know what to do about that besides keep showing up. Keep making phone calls. Keep working to make my world better.

It’s hard because everywhere I go, there is so much negativity to consume. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. People say, “Just wait and see” without fully understanding that for many of us, waiting doesn’t feel like something we have the luxury of doing.

I am scared. Sad. Confused. Angry.

I am worn out.

I am so worn out.

Every day it’s something new, something awful, something “IS THIS FOR REAL?” Every day I have to force myself to rise above it, scroll beyond it, not absorb too much of the negativity and instead push push push to do what I can to make change where I can, and leave the rest of it behind.

I just want to be a better person. I want to raise good children. I want to see a bunch of stuff while my eyes still work. I don’t want to feel afraid all of the time. I don’t want to feel angry this often. I want to be kind.

Everything is just so hard right now. And I’m so tired.

month at a glance

I haven’t posted in over a month. The hiatus wasn’t really intentional – I was in the midst of changing over blog hosts but my life is such a cluster at the moment that it took me that long to do it.

Work is busy – insanely so – with lots of projects, most of which will wrap this week or next and have resulted in my brain being a pool of melted cheese for the most part. Some of what I do, I do with extreme confidence… some, less confidence.

I find lately that I’m letting things get to me too much – things that shouldn’t. Trying to work on keeping perspective and being kinder to myself.

I’m…not so good at that.

I wrote a blog post for OWN THE EQUINOX, the campaign to create awareness for Usher Syndrome – and I shared it, publicly. The response was overwhelmingly supportive and positive. Today, my mom forwarded me the email from someone who claims to have had experience working with people who have Usher – and the email said that I need to learn sign and I need to learn braille and, well… I got a little angry.

Hope or GTFO, people.

I’ve been running. I’m not very fast, but I did run 6 miles morning for a total of 15 miles this week. I’m training for a 15k in October, and honestly, the thought of running nine miles IN A ROW makes me want to throw up a little – but then again, I never thought I could do six and HERE I AM CRUSHING IT (slowly).

So, more of the same and a whole lot of nothing. But I just went through a whole lot of trouble to move this blog over so I guess I better write on it.

 

So….

 

Hi. How are y’all?

A Belated Christmas Letter Because In Blog Life Like Real Life, I’m A Little Behind

Dear Family & Friends and Strangers of the Internet,

Merry Christmas…two days later. As I type, Pumpkin sits on the couch near me watching “Elf” and The Princess is making hot chocolate for all of us in our matching mugs. Maybe she’ll add a candy cane to mine – I hope she does. In a whirlwind month of bacon wrapped jalapenos and cookies and more cookies and things dipped in chocolate, I am so tired of excess and yet the warmth and sweetness appeals to me, a bit of comfort in my mug on a chilly Sunday night.

I’ve always hated the traditional Christmas letter – the braggy missives that made me feel inadequate and though I don’t know that I’ve ever had a year that might inspire that feeling of inadequacy among those who are reading, I’ve never had the desire to actually write and send a letter with my holiday cards. Instead, I sent cheap photo cards I purchased online. I didn’t even sign them personally.

This year has been a challenge for me and I feel like I’ve said that for the past several years – this year feels like it just may be the hardest year in my life. One year, I got a divorce. The next, my beloved grandfather died. Last year, I lost my job and found a new one. This year, I was diagnosed with first retinitis pigmentosa and then Usher Syndrome and all the baggage along with that – like finding out that yeah, my eye sight is going to get progressively worse and you know, that just doesn’t make for a very good year, no matter how hard you try to accelerate your grieving process.

I’m afraid people have taken my sadness personally this year.

I am afraid some people don’t realize just how scared I am about my future.

I am afraid I haven’t been very joyous to be around most of the time and that it seems like I’m not trying.

And so it goes.

I will say that by the end of the year, I spent a lot less time crying than I did the first half of the year and to that I raise my mug of cocoa and I toast progress because for what it’s worth, I’ll take the baby steps forward when I can recognize them, and hope to replicate more of the same.

My children are ridiculously wonderful. They are talented and they are bright and they are lovely and they are loving. And that’s pretty amazing.

Chris, too, has been strong when I have not been and has been my cheerleader when I probably just needed a kick in the pants. Someone who loves you in your ugliest moments is a blessing, indeed.

I went to California with the three people I love most and had so much fun sharing the ocean with them and tonight I looked at the pictures and realized that maybe in 2016 we need another adventure. Maybe California again.

And winter hasn’t been winter yet and for that I’m grateful though the forecast for tomorrow looks scary and ugh, you know, I guess that’s about as appropriate as any way to send out 2015 – sliding on a patch of ice, I guess.

SO how do these letters work, anyway? I mean, I’ve already failed to make you feel like your year was a dismal failure… you’re probably feeling great about yourself right now. I’m not sure what the next year will bring (perhaps that’s my post for later in the week?) but I know that this year was not what I expected when midnight hit on New Years Eve and my god, we all survived so that’s a good thing.

Anyway.

Merry Christmas.

There’s a lot going on in the world and it makes me want to punch people in the face a little bit

I’m not going to talk to you about politics or Paris or refugees or the heavy stuff. I am not going to talk to you about the light stuff. I am going to tell you I am so tired and that every day I feel like I start moving and I keep moving and I have stopped drinking water at work because I don’t much have time to pee and I come home at the end of the day and I am so tired but my day isn’t over yet because there’s more mom taxiing to do and it’s dark in the morning and it’s dark when I get home and oh, this time of year, it’s a bit brutal, isn’t it?

And there’s a lot going on in the world and people are sharing their thoughts and so much of these thoughts are steeped in ugliness and I wonder how we became this world where everyone is ready to lash out at each other for seemingly no reason. I saw a woman yesterday roll down her window at a traffic light to wave her middle finger at the woman in the car next to her – screaming and flying the bird until the light turned green and why?

Why do we feel like we need to air the every thought? All the hate, all the ugliness?

People, man.

I’m tired and tired of it.

Thursday Ten: I don’t want to have to use my AC edition

1. The humidity. Oh the humidity. I’ve had to break down and turn my AC on. It’s not the heat is the UGH UGH UGH. Actually, it’s both. When I can, I leave it off but honestly, I’m more concerned with the pup getting too warm during the day. It’s only June 11, though and I’m already kind of freaking out about my electric bill if I’m using the AC already.

2. Spring and fall. Spring and fall. Those are my seasons. You know, the short seasons that last about five days each.

3. I finally used Apple Pay for the first time which was oddly exhilarating and far too easy and did you know you can Apple Pay RIGHT THROUGH THE SEPHORA APP? And the Starbucks app? And wheeeee, I just ordered some new Clinique Black Honey Almost Lipstick because best. color. ever. (And Apple Pay.)

4. For nearly 24 hours, my Fitbit wasn’t working and I died a little bit inside. I’m addicted. Also, I’m absolutely positive I walked 18,000 steps that day and I guess we’ll never know. (It’s working now. Oddly, I was registering an almost complete charge but I gave it a whirl and left it on the charger for a few hours and then it was working again. Hallelujah)

5. You guys are nice people. You are.

6. This is not going to be a retina blog. Because I can’t have this place be a retina blog. Oh, and because I started a retina blog somewhere else. Gotta compartmentalize sometimes.

7. School’s out for the summer and with that comes the summer schedule with the girls spending half the time with me and half the time with their dad. It’s always a tough adjustment. I’m used to having my people around and it’s a bummer when they’re not.
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8. I miss my daughters.

9. I still tell myself every night to go to bed earlier and then I still never do.

10. I admit. I’m grasping at straws for ten things this week. I mean, how on earth could I top my broken retinas?