She's Not Here.

You're looking for the girl who writes this blog? The funny brunette, right? The sarcastic girl with all the opinions?

She's not here.

I don't know when she'll be back. I don't know when she'll be funny again. I don't know when--or how--she'll pick herself up this time. I don't know how many times one person can be broken and still manage to put herself back together. Maybe she can do it again. Maybe she can't. Maybe she's busy watching an entire television series on netflix in between crying jags. Or maybe she'll become agoraphobic and start collecting cats. Maybe she'll take up knitting and crossword puzzles or start collecting tiny figurines. Maybe she'll disappear into a bottle of wine. Maybe she'll eat her way back, and eventually require a mobility scooter just to get around the grocery store, because her stomach hangs down to her knees.

I know you have faith in her...after all, she's the resourceful type. But this time, she's as broken as she's ever been...her heart, her spirit, and her trust all shattered in one fell swoop. There is no cure for having virtually everything taken, including your pride...

Each time she puts herself back together, she's a little different. The pieces don't quite fit the same way. Maybe you'll recognize her. Maybe you won't.

All I know is, she's not here.

The Luckiest....

I am, you know...I may be the luckiest person who ever lived. Today, I woke up with a fever and a sore throat, and I couldn't be happier about it. After reading 101.2 on the thermometer this morning, I informed Emily that she would need to get her sister up and help her get ready. Em did all of this, without a hint of complaint, before she left for her own bus. Sara told me good morning, and stayed quiet, I presumed reading Little House on the Prairie. Just before she left to walk to the bus stop with our next-door neighbor, she came and gave me a hug and told me to feel better. I promptly fell asleep for another 2 hours. When I got up to get a drink of water, I found this note in a wonderfully familiar third grade scrawl:

Dear Mom:

If your reading this I'm definetly already gone. You know how I like it when you write notes on my napkin and put them in my lunch? Well I didn't get a napkin note today so I thought I'd write to YOU insted.

I hope you have a great day. I hope you feel better soon because I don't want you to be sick on Valentine's Day. I missed you SO much over the weekend while I was at Dad's. I would love to hear what you did over the weekend while I was gone. I got to go out to eat at a restaurant called Sumo on Friday, and I had never been there before. I got this soup called seafood soup and it had everything I love when it comes to seafood. On Saturday we didn't do much. Emily went to the party and we went for fried chicken but that's it. On Sunday we had to go to Dad's work for a few hours and didn't get to do anything else.

Please write back because I would love to hear about your weekend, too. I just love to hear from you.

Love,
Super Chicken

P.S. I love you more than anything.
P.P.S. The cookies you made are very yummy!


Who cares if I'm sick, right? THIS, my friends, is what life is all about...it means I am doing well at my number one job. :)

An Open Letter to Thirteen-Year-Old Girls Around the World

On behalf of Disgruntled Mothers everywhere...

Look, we know things in your world are a little weird right now. We know that you are dealing with some issues you've never had. We know that you're hormonal, and that you're bitchy, and your body is changing every day. We know that you are going to test boundaries no matter what we do. We know that in your mind, the universe revolves around you and you alone. We know that while you're spending hours locked away in your room, you're living out a whole different existence that may well include boys, bad language, stupid decisions, and slamming the very people who raised you and continue to love you and put up with your crap day after day in hopes that one day, they get through, and you figure out that it's not all a big conspiracy against you. We know you can justify anything to yourself, and we know that most of the time, you think we are a ridiculous waste of space, and that we don't have a clue.

WE KNOW.

Here is what else we want you to know...YOU REALLY SHOULDN'T UNDERESTIMATE US.

If you go missing in action for an hour after school, at least do us the courtesy of having something better to offer than "I needed fresh air, so I went for a walk" when it's 34 degrees outside with a bitter wind. (Really?! That's insulting. We know you think no one in the world is smarter than you, but please don't forget who installed that hardware.)

In the event that you really DON'T have anything better to offer, do not even THINK about acting offended when we call you out on your ridiculous bullshit. We may not know where you were--YET--but we know when you're spoonfeeding us total crap, and you can rest assured that we will figure out the answer by virtually any means necessary.

If you bring home a report card with NINE homework zeroes and an 88 in Spanish, then proceed to roll your eyes and say, "no one else's parents get bent out of shape when they get a B on their report card," guess what? Your life--at least as you knew it, complete with sleepovers, Friday nights out with friends, and a cell phone, ipod, and tablet at your fingertips--is effectively over. Getting a B when you've actually worked for it is one thing. Getting a default B because you know you don't have to DO the work to ace the test is a whole different animal. (Guess how we know this?)

Guess how we know everything we know? Because we did it, or else we watched our friends do it and helped them cover their tracks. The world may look a little different in a lot of ways...you may be dealing with a few issues we never even dreamed of having, courtesy of a screwed-up society where Bat-Shit Crazy is the new Normal. Trust me, we're dealing with those same issues ourselves, on a different level. But when it comes to boys, lying, slacking off, and generally feeling superior to everyone around you, we've all been there, and we know your game. Give us a little credit, will you?

What we want you to realize is that the choice is really YOURS. We can be your greatest ally or your worst nightmare, but it's up to you to decide which way we're going to go. We have a job to do, and we're going to get it done, simple as that. You cannot deter us in our mission. Love us or hate us (and we would all prefer the former, but can handle the latter), we will do whatever it takes to turn you into a happy, productive, independent adult. We will do anything we can to help you live up to your potential.

WE WANT YOU TO BE BETTER THAN WE WERE.

That's because we love you more than anything...remember that the next time you've slammed your bedroom door in a fit of tears, because we took your phone away...remember that when you are standing in the hallway at school, telling your friends what a bitch your mom can be...remember that when you think you hate us. I can guarantee none of us knew exactly how hard this job would actually end up BEING...but we still wouldn't trade it--or you--for anything.

Lincoln, Les Mis, and Lisa

I am blessed with the privilege of hanging out with one of my best friends four days a week at the office. I met Lisa about five years ago, when she came through as a fourth-year pharmacy student on rotation, and she and I quickly realized we practically shared the same brain.

Our tastes in all things are so uncannily similar...food, music, books, movies, parenting styles, and politics...you name it...we probably agree on it. We are both bookworms and history nerds. We both have a dry, sarcastic sense of humor and a left-leaning take-everything-with-a-grain-of-salt outlook on the world. It goes without saying that I value her opinions, and vice versa.

Movies are no exception.

A few weeks ago, Michael and I went to see Lincoln. I have long been fascinated with Number 16, both for the tremendous role he played in our country's history as a leader, as well as for the behind-the-scenes stories of his life and his family. How inspiring to be able to overcome so much personal tragedy and see such misery and still have such a great impact on an entire nation...it takes me months to recover from a bad breakup, for God's sake...what the hell made THIS guy tick? I'm still not sure...but Daniel Day-Lewis clearly knows. I have seldom seen any actor so perfectly embody his character in a film the way he did. The performance was so good that I forgot--at times--that I was watching an actor's portrayal of a man who has been dead for nearly 150 years. Daniel Day-Lewis managed to resurrect him on the big screen.

As I left the theater, I sent Lisa a text. She saw the movie the following week and gave a nearly identical review.

The following week, she came in insisting that I proceed to the nearest theater to see Les Miserables...and although I'm usually not a HUGE fan of musicals in general, and Les Mis historically isn't one of my favorite shows, I went, mostly because she told me to.

Wow.

It's a good thing Daniel Day-Lewis and Anne Hathaway won't have to compete for the same award. I mean, seriously, who knew the girl had THAT in her? The movie is a great adaptation and is visually stunning, and Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean is impressive as all-get-out...but every other performance in that film--and most of them are strong performances--pales in comparison to hers. The desperation and misery of Fantine are felt in every word and every note she sings. I have little doubt this will be the role she is always remembered for best.

I think next up should be Silver Linings Playbook...we'll let you know what we think. :)

12.12.12

Thirteen years ago today, I woke up on a Saturday morning, feeling just a little off. Brian was still working at the jewelry store, and had opted not to wake me before he left for work early that morning, as he was deep in the throes of the Christmas rush that once consumed our lives from Black Friday to Christmas Eve. When I finally heaved my heavily pregnant and virtually unrecognizable form out of bed, I was already running behind...my dear friend Jamy was getting married in Okarche that afternoon, and I was excited for her. I shrugged off the strangeness that I couldn't quite place. After all, two weeks before your due date, everything is a little strange, right?

I lumbered into the shower of our one tiny bathroom, and opted to forgo shaving my legs to make up the lost time. My dress was a long blue column shape, so I instead touched up my ankles and calves and figured I would get to the rest later. I had bowed out of bridesmaid duty, though I had been honored to be asked...my due date was just a little too iffy, and I had been afraid of leaving Jamy in the lurch. I had promised to help with the reception and whatever else I was needed for the day of the big event.

Brian arrived home around noon, and stopped short."Honey, are you okay? You don't look quite right..." he tells me uncertainly. I shrugged off his concerns, told him I felt a little strange, but I was fine. I wasn't missing this wedding for anything! Just before we left, I got a somewhat unexpected call from my parents, who were still living in Iowa at the time. They were en route to Oklahoma, 3 days ahead of schedule. My father was clearly perplexed by this, but being early makes him tremendously happy, so he hadn't argued with my mother's fierce insistance.

"She will be born on the 12th," Mom told me matter-of-factly. I laughed and shook my head, dismissing the idea. I still had nearly two weeks to go, and first babies aren't early! Everyone knows that! So I told them to drive safely...they were planning to spend the night in Ponca City at my grandmother's house and would head to the city in the morning. With everything squared away, we set out for Okarche, a 45 minute drive consisting primarily of bumpy country roads.

We arrived shortly before the ceremony, and I went in to give the bride a hug, determined to hold the smile on my face in spite of not feeling well. Our good friend Becky was a bridesmaid, and threw her arms around me in greeting, but stepped back quickly, giving me an odd look. "You okay?" she asked. (Becky was a nurse in an obstetrician's office at the time.) "Fine!" I said, smiling. I filed into the church and took my seat with Brian.

Soon, the big show began, and I was caught up in the ceremony. I've always loved Catholic weddings, and today was no exception. With an Episcopal background, it was easy to follow along, and during the first prayer, I pulled out the kneeling bench beneath the pew. Brian looked at me in alarm as I lowered myself to pray. When it ended, I stood...and as I did, I felt something trickle down my leg.


Nooooooooooooooooo.....!


For the remainder of the ceremony, every time I raised myself from a kneeling position, it happened again. Finally, the priest joyfully intorduced Mr. and Mrs. John Purdue, and as the newlyweds walked out, I was hot on their heels, making my way to the bathroom. I stopped and grabbed Becky's hand, pulling her in with me. I made sure the door was closed securely behind us, and hissed, "I'm leaking something!"

Although I'm sure she was amused by my 23-year-old naivete, she patiently explained the possibilities to me. (i.e., either you're leaking amniotic fluid or peeing on yourself.) She felt my belly, and when it tightened slightly, she frowned. "You might want to go to the hospital...I think your water has probably broken." She explained that the baby's head was probably blocking the way, preventing a big rush of fluid.

I processed this information slowly, weighing my options. I was in no pain, and had promised Jamy I would help with her reception. Plus, there were so many people there we both knew, and the last thing I wanted to do was steal the thunder of this beautiful bride. Quickly, I decided. I was staying. "Don't say anything," I warned Becky, as we walked to the reception. "Even to Brian."

In the reception hall, I joined the table that seemed to be unofficially designated for Pharmacy Co-Workers of the Bride. We chatted for awhile, and at one point, my boss's wife, Kristin, asked me if I was feeling okay. "Fine!" I assured her. When it was time to cut the cake, I made my way to the cake table and was greeted by the caterer. "You're Shannon?" I nodded numbly, and accepted the knife and server she handed, and began slicing and handing out groom's cake as guests went through the line. I was starting to cramp a little, but was able to ignore it as I watched the bride and groom cutting up on the dance floor. Everyone was having a blast.

When the last of the guests had been served, Brian came up and took my hand for a slow song. I shuffled clumsily on the floor, unable to gain my bearings. I finally whispered that I thought I was in labor. For those who know him well, Brian isn't exactly one to have a big reaction...to anything. "Should we go?" he asked, barely raising an eyebrow.

It was announced that the bride and groom would be heading to the getaway car soon, so I agreed to duck out a few minutes early. I went and gave Jamy and John a hug and congratulated them, apologizing for leaving a few minutes early, and claiming total exhaustion. We made our way to the car. It had just gotten dark. "So, are we headed to Mercy?" Brian asked.

I looked at him incredulously. "No way! I'm going home to get my bag first...plus, I still have to shave my legs!" You know, of course, that's exactly what we did.

It was nearly 8 pm when we checked in to Mercy, where the nurses confirmed I was dilated, contracting, and that my water HAD, in fact, broken. Once I got settled in, I called my grandmother's house, and by now it was almost 9 pm. "So, it turns out I'm in labor," I told my mother.

"I KNEW IT!" she shouted triumphantly, while simultaneously telling my dad to put the suitcases back in the car, because they were driving to Oklahoma City. They made record time.

Emily Kathryn did NOT. She joined us at 8:18 Sunday morning, December 12. Just like Nana said. (I DID call Jamy that morning to congratulate her on a beautiful wedding and wish her well on her honeymoon. "Oh, and by the way, I had a baby.") I have never forgotten her anniversary.

That morning, I began the greatest adventure of my life...and now our little wild card is becoming a teenager on 12.12.12. Happy Birthday, Emily! You've come a long way, baby!

Sick Chicken

Sara has been at home sick for two days...actually, today marks her third day of captivity. No fever to speak of, but she has a wicked, wheezy cough, runny nose, and transient ear pain...which means that although she isn't functioning at 100% and nees her inhaler to get through a long sentence, she basically feels okay, and is simply bored and impatient with all of this rest. (However, there is a bright side for her: "Oh, well...if I can't go to school, at least I don't have to wear pants!") It also means that I have been treated to a host of her wonderfully quirky musings and questions, and I have to say...damn, my kid is COOL. Obviously, I don't wish for her to be sick, but it seems as though while I have mandated rest for her little body, her imagination has been on a fabulous sort of overdrive.

First of all, I don't know that it's exactly healthy or normal to have an 8-year-old girl who is hooked on Hitchcock, but it certainly makes things interesting. She has been watching The Twilight Zone on netflix for the past few months, and has really been getting into it during her convalescence. Sara has always been the more wildly imaginative of my girls...I strongly suspect there is a writer or an actress trapped in there. Thankfully, she is also soft-hearted and thoughtful...like me, the thought of intentionally hurting someone is appalling to her, and it's equally hard to see anyone get hurt. (I just hope that she learns to be a little more selfish...maybe then she'll be better prepared when someone hurts HER than I ever was) But it has occurred to me that her flair for the dramatic and her keen, sincere interest in the people and events going on around her could be a dangerous combination without her kind spirit and generous heart.

Sara is a classically trained Little Sister. Emily is by far the most fascinating person in the world to her, and she goes to great lengths to--ahem--be well-informed of her sister's actions. Emily's first boyfriend is a source of profound curiosity. This morning, I was asking Em a few questions--for example, whether she and Fargo had any plans to try to get together in the coming weeks, and how often they talked. (Hey, Due Diligence is my JOB).

"Mostly we text, we don't talk on the phone much...but we text several times every day," she tells me...and they're going to try to meet up and do something next weekend. (Hmmmm...I have to say, in the first boyfriend department, having your daughter find one that does NOT go to her school and is unable to drive is kind of a parent's dream.) My inquiries led to the following exchange:

Sara: So, Mommy?
Me: Yes, honey?
S: Did your boyfriend go to your school when you were Emily's age?
Me: Actually, no...he didn't.
S: When did you see him?
Me: At Cotillion, and at the movies on weekends.
S: Did you text every day?
Me, chuckling: There wasn't any texting.
S, perplexed: Oh......so did you PictoChat on your DS?
Me, laughing: No, love. We didn't have that, either. He called me on the phone every day after school.
S: Your cell phone?
Me: No, my bedroom phone...I had my own number.
S: (Pauses) I don't even know what you're talking about.

A long conversation ensued about adolescent dating in "the old days," with landlines, handwritten notes, film cameras, and no facebook...she was clearly intrigued by this simpler time, and wanted to know more.

Sara is a little sponge, one who is both hilarious and wise beyond her years...last night, Michael and I took the girls out to look at Christmas lights after dinner, and as we drove through the Chesapeake "campus," Sara pipes up from her booster: "This is where we saw Santa!"

Indeed we had, two years earlier...we had been driving through looking at the beautifully decorated trees when we saw Santa Claus ride past us in a horse-drawn carriage. (Apparently, the City of Chesapeake offers all sorts of services...?) Sara promptly rolled down her window, shouting at the passing Kris Kringle, "Santa...it's me! I want a pony! 821 Richmond Road!"

The truth is, I have two bright, funny, sweet girls...and I am thankful for them every day. I'm also thankful that my life is at such a place where I can just sit back and enjoy them. Yes, I'm busy as ever, but I'm also happy and contented in a way I never have been. Everything this Christmas looks a little shinier, tastes a little sweeter, and sounds even more lyrical...even endless silly questions from a bored, sick little Chicken. I think maybe I just need to join her for a pajama day and throw all of my errands out the window. :)

American Horror Story

Shit. Well...it seems my daughter is turning thirteen. Of course, I knew this was inevitable, and it isn't so much this in itself that I find horrifying. Sure, in the grand tradition of thirteen-year-old girls the world over, she has very little use for me...this is to be expected. She's smarter than me in some ways, which can be a little intimidating. I can no longer help her with her math homework, as she is taking high school-level algebra in the seventh grade, and, well, I just don't really remember that crap...or care to...but it has been okay, because Brian is kind of a Math Nerd by design. (At least both girls inherited some practical intelligence--you know, the kind that will allow them to one day support themselves--along with a dose of my love of books and snarky humor. They are undoubtedly more well-rounded then I will ever be.) She is practically glued to her phone...just as I was at her age, I suppose, only mine was plugged into the wall in my bedroom, so I couldn't be on it at the dinner table. No, none of this is especially horrifying...

But let me tell you what IS.....


She has a boyfriend.


YEAH.


I know, right??!!


Okay, okay, I get it...it was bound to happen. Girls get boyfriends, usually sometime around this age. But MY thirteen-year-old happens to look about sixteen. She's 5'6 and has this supermodel body thing going on that terrifies me...the worst part is, I think she's figured out that she's kind of hot. (While Emily is generally a really good kid and a straight-A student, she's always had this air of obliviousness about her that could, at times, be quite refreshing...certainly in the sense that I always felt like I was at least a few steps ahead of her.) Last week, I vetoed the off-the-shoulder shirt she was wearing, then later caught her trying to smuggle it out of the house to the ice skating rink wrapped inside a sweatshirt...not okay.

The Ice Skating Rink...let's discuss. The Ice Skating Rink is to 7th-graders what Kickingbird Theater was to us in the early 1990s. It was here that this boy--Dakota--asked her for her number last month. It's where she wants to meet up with him next Friday, after he gets back from California. (Hmmmm...awfully worldly for fourteen, isn't he?) Hopefully what's happening at the ice skating rink is far more benign than anything that was going on in the back row of Kickingbird Theater in the 1990s...but you know, I'm pretty sure Eric wasn't calling me baby back then, either. Ick.

So, my daughter has a boyfriend. His name is Dakota, and he calls her baby and tells her she's amazing. Okay, then...I'm not freaking out...much...

It doesn't hurt that my own boyfriend can certainly sympathize, as he's already been to that rodeo more than once. (Holy Monkey...are there really HALF A DOZEN children between us?! Better not think about that right now...) On the other hand, the idea of being in a relationship with someone who doesn't have kids and doesn't get what it's all about seems pretty ridiculous to me now...but hindsight is always 20/20, right? How often do we not know someone is wrong for us until we find someone who's right? I mean, isn't that what Emily is starting to do, in her own way? Testing the waters is what it's all about, really...even if his name is Dakota (North or South?) and he calls her baby. Seriously, ick!

I admit, it also doesn't hurt that I don't feel all that far removed from where she is...granted, I had her at 23, so I'm on the young side and can actually remember thirteen quite vividly...but I've also been there pretty recently, and the Adult Dating Spectrum doesn't always look much more refined than the Early Adolescent version. (People are fairly ridiculous. I'm just saying.)

So, my daughter has a boyfriend. Okay...she's also got me. And while she may not have much use for me in general, she tells me enough that I feel like I can trust her, and she seems to trust me. I guess that's the important thing, right? When she stops talking to me, I'll worry...

Until then, I'll watch...

Like a freaking hawk.

Election Musings

So the Question of the Day for TODAY is simply: What are your thoughts about tomorrow's election?

First of all, let me preface this by saying I have no intention of giving away who I'm voting for tomorrow...those of you who know me well already know, and your view of this post will likely be clouded by your opinions, because let's be honest...that's what we DO. I would guess there are approximately four actual undecided voters in this country tonight. Most of us have known for quite some time which candidate we would be supporting, and thus, we have likewise chosen which brand of media to consume based on this knowledge. I would venture to say some people knew what side they were voting for before primary season had even really begun and a party nomination was determined. I can say with some pride that I am NOT one of those people.

I can also say, in all honesty, I try not to vote that way. I'm not always successful, but I try...as I'm considering the various issues and proposed policies, I make a concerted effort to see both sides of an argument and consider not only how individual issues would affect me personally, but how it would affect the country as a whole, and choose my candidates based on who I feel represents the best interests of the majority of Americans. Far too many people cast their votes without giving any thought to the greater good. I want a President who belongs to everybody, and will work across party lines. Social issues can be sticky...at the end of the day, you have to be able to sleep at night, so obviously a certain level of emotion is going to play into choosing a candidate. I just feel too much emotion can sometimes cloud good judgement.

As far as this campaign goes, I am disappointed with both candidates. Both ran negative campaigns based largely on information that was either misleading, taken out of context, and in certain cases, an outright fabrication. I'd much rather hear about your experience--your successes, yes, but also your failures and what you learned from them. I'll have so much more respect for someone who demonstrates to me WHY he's human, instead of pointing out the flaws of another.

All of that being said...I have little to no respect for someone who doesn't even try to educate themselves on the issues. Living in this country is a privilege, and responsible citizens should take full advantage of their rights. Do a little research. Watch the debates. Ask questions. Check facts. Voting a straight-party ticket is lazy, and I hate the fact that the option still exists, at least in Oklahoma. Educate yourself, because it's your responsibility. Especially if you have kids. For the love of God, set them a good example.

Tomorrow, I will take Sara with me to the polls before school starts, so she can watch democracy in action (sort of). Tonight, I made a traditional Election Day yeast-risen cake with my kids, and explained the history of the tradition. I answered my daughters' questions about the candidates as honestly and impartially as I could--with the understanding that I'm human. I have not come out and told them who I'm voting for...not yet. I would never bash either side in front of them, because I want them to have respect for the Office of the President, no matter who it is. And you know what, folks? We don't know who's going to win yet.

I'm thankful I live in this country, where I have a say (sort of), and I hope my kids learn to take full advantage of those rights and responsibilities they have as citizens.

A Seemingly Endless Parade of Ridiculous People...

Okay...I'm not usually one for jumping up on a soapbox...but today was exactly that. It's a holiday. I couldn't squeeze a swimming pool invitation out of anyone I knew to save my soul, and I quickly discarded my fleeting idea to use my ex-boy's apartment gate code to borrow his pool. (Probably not the best example to set for your children, right?) I admitted defeat to the girls and cheerfully offered a movie and a trip to the mall...although disappointed, they perked up and off we went...to the MALL...on LABOR DAY...because for a smart girl, I can be a little bit stupid sometimes.

We are, of course, cutting it a little close on the movie time, because Emily has to apply full makeup before she can possibly appear at the mall...but we got there, no problem, and started making our way through the throngs of people to the theater downstairs. Of course, we immediately get behind a group of people doing what I call The Oklahoma Shuffle.

This is a large group, both in number and in size, that spans the entire length of the mall corridor and shuffles along at a snail's pace, oblivious. There may or may not be a Fat Person on a Scooter in this group...and there is frequently a guy in a wife-beater among them, as well as a number of children who seem to be generally unsupervised, in spite of their relatively close proximity to their parents.

When not wandering aimlessly, you may find this group at a table in the food court with a super-sized Value Meal. Or, like the family in front of me in line at the movie concession...who ordered two pepperoni pizzas, an order of nachos, 3 hot dogs, a large popcorn, and 3 DIET COKES. Meanwhile, I'm missing half the f***ing movie waiting to order the medium popcorn that the girls and I share, an iced tea, and two bottled waters. (Occasionally, I add a bag of Skittles for us to split.)

It would be one thing if they were only feeding themselves this junk, or if it really WAS an occasional treat...but we live in a state where 25% of the children are overweight or obese, along with one in three adults. I'm not perfect...I've struggled from time to time with the scale, and I'm sure I will again. I really believe that healthy comes in a variety of sizes...the girl in size 12 or 14 jeans may actually be in better shape than the girl in a 2. But I've yet to meet anyone in a 26W that was the picture of health...I haven't met a kid or adult who couldn't remember the last time an actual fresh fruit or vegetable passed their lips who was in awesome shape. I've never come across someone whose diet consists primarily of convenience foods (all processed, all the time!) that didn't struggle with weight and/or health issues. And yet, these are all too often the people I hear complaining about their issues....their weight...their joint problems...their kid's ADHD...their diabetes...and my favorite, how much all of those meds cost them every month.

If I didn't come into contact with them every day...if I didn't write a healthy family column for a parenting magazine...maybe it wouldn't annoy me so much. I do a good job of remaining politically correct for my jobs. But why is it so hard for people to use a little common sense when they feed their children? Include all the food groups, in reasonable proportions...put a little color on their plates...give them fresh fruits and vegetables, and do it EVERY day...and maybe set a good example. It's your JOB. Don't obsess, no one has to be perfect...but make dessert an actual TREAT, not a regular occurrence. Don't take no for an answer. Don't let them become those people who think every single thing they eat has to be something they LOVE, or who go to a friend's house for dinner and don't eat anything, because it isn't frozen pizza or macaroni and cheese. And for the love of God, do NOT turn around and feel sorry for my kids because they make an effort to eat something green every time they sit down, even if it's just to make me happy. Because you know what? Eventually, they'll do it on their own...don't feel bad for them because they don't gey dessert every day, or because there aren't hot dogs and lunchables in our fridge. I promise you, they're okay. They OCCASIONALLY get junk food, too. It just really IS occasional.

I joke about stereotypes, but I understand them. Sometimes, they're honest. I was the 185-lb 12-year-old who was never told "no" and had no idea how to eat healthy. That was back when it was a whole lot less common to be overweight at such a young age, and people genuinely WEREN'T as educated about healthy eating. It was a fairly shitty existence, though. I watched my parents yo-yo from one fad diet to the next, and I existed on large portions and processed food. I've never again weighed as much as I did then, and I knew I wanted different for my kids, so I've done my best. They're healthy, they're smart, and they're well-behaved. Do me a favor, and don't see them as deprived. And maybe speed up, or at least get out of the way so we can get to our movie on time? Thanks...

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Dear Autocorrect...

Okay, look...I know you mean well. But you can't change me. I really do swear like a sailor, so you might as well accept it and stop trying to clean up my act. When I type hell, I can all but GUARANTEE I didn't mean to say jello. When I say fuck, I don't mean duck. Shit is really supposed to say shit, not shot or shut...and I've entered these words into your vocabulary so many times, you should remember them on your own. Stop giving me the benefit of the doubt already....THIS IS WHO I AM! You don't have to protect my friends from my potentially offensive texts. They know me and accept me in all my foul-mouthed glory...why don't you?!

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Makes Sense to ME...

As a rule, writers tend to be a little on the crazy side. Forgive me for generalizing...it's just an observation I've made over the years. If it helps, I include myself among this slightly-crazy population. It isn't necessarily a bad crazy...in my opinion, the more intelligent and creative a person is, the more potential there is for crazy. How can you know all the shit you know about this world--which is, let's face it, a little f***ed up--and NOT be a little concerned about where we're all going to end up? Creative minds often wander into strange territory. You just have to be smart enough to manage it.

I think I got off fairly easy in the crazy department. When I'm being irrational, I am fully aware of said irrationality...some people aren't so lucky, and I'm grateful for this discernment ability. I just think sometimes my filter operates on a slight delay. Obviously I KNOW not all of the shit that runs through my brain is appropriate and rational. I just can't always keep it in there. However, in most cases, I am fully functional--even moderately successful--in social situations. When I am being irrational, there is a very good reason for it, and usually the only people who are going to see it are those who are closest to me. Not everyone can plan their crazy...certainly not to the point that they're apologizing for it almost as it's happening. Would it be better if it didn't happen at all? Sure. But do I still feel like I got off relatively easy in the crazy department, all things considered? Absolutely.

I've worked in HR long enough to know that some people don't even come with a filter mechanism. It can sometimes feel a little like being a high school counselor...but that's okay, because people have always fascinated me. Obviously--I got a psych degree for a reason. In the past month, I've come to the conclusion that I really should be using it...even if it's only to help people so they don't become quite as messed up as I am. So I applied to OU's MHR program, and was accepted...I can sit for my LPC exams through this program. I can also learn how to be a better HR person. Either way, maybe I can help someone moderate their crazy before they turn into a total train wreck. Maybe I can even learn to manage my own train-wreck moments. I've had more of them than ever in the past couple of years. It's time to pass that baton. Wish me luck.

Emotional Hermitry...

Before you ask, since this is my blog, I get to make up whatever rules or words I want to as I go along, and you as my public are expected to just roll with it...I haven't written much lately. You may have noticed...or you may have all forgotten about this damn blog months ago, and who could blame you if you did, as it is mostly just me rambling through a bunch of bullshit that's been bouncing around in my brain when I can't sleep--which is most of the time. I swear, you people probably think I'm on drugs...but anyway, I haven't written on account of my emotional hermitry...interestingly, it was me commenting to a friend and fellow writer that SHE had been rather quiet of late that coined this little gem of a phrase...and left me thinking, "yeah. I totally do that, too."

I've been in a funk for the past month or two, one I've had a hard time shaking. I'm behind at work, had a falling out with a friend, got my house beaten all to hell in a hailstorm, and finally figured it was time to come to terms with the fact that it wasn't that N didn't want a girlfriend...he just didn't want ME. At least, not as his girlfriend. However, I've racked up yet another guy friend whom I adore, and I'm beginning to think my future lies mainly in being the inappropriate female sidekick to guys the world over. (On the other hand, what do you really expect from the girl who, on our second date, leans over and whispers that the visibly sweaty and uncomfortable residents in the opening scene of Hitchcock's Rear Window are "a bunch of pussies" when the thermometer flashes across the screen showing 90 degrees?) It's not like anyone is ever clamoring to bring me home to meet their mom or anything...not unless your mother is Chelsea Handler...

But emotional hermitry isn't really an excuse...I should be talking, because hiding is easy and it's a cop-out, and it has never once proved helpful in the past. The thing I didn't expect about letting go of the idea of that possibility was that I would feel somewhat relieved...like the pressure was off and I could be me again. All I had been was anxious for weeks, and it had stopped being fun...but because of the feelings I had for him, I wasn't ready to let "us" go, not completely. That's the way it is, I guess, with the first guy you fall for post-divorce. And I have to tip my hat to him...I can be a handful. He hung in there and STILL somehow sees some good in me, even though he's had the misfortune of seeing me at my absolute worst. For that, and for so many other reasons, I know that whatever it was, it was right. It was right that we met, it was right that we clicked got to know each other as well as we did, and I'm glad. I'm glad to have him, however I have him.

And since we hadn't been exclusive for months, and because I do tend to land on my feet more often than on my ass, I'm already seeing someone else...and I'm kinda excited, in a way I haven't been excited since N walked onto the scene last September. And trust me, I've gone out with a couple dozen that DIDN'T make the cut. I know what I want....I want to laugh so hard I'm in danger of peeing on myself. I want intelligent conversation, and someone who shares my tastes and sees past my appearance. And having Chelsea Handler for a mother sure as hell would be a bonus. Otherwise, I'm just the girl your mom warned you about. Granted, she probably never mentioned I'd be so much fun!

I cast thee aside, Emotional Hermitry...go ahead and bring it on!

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