Ok Universe. I will listen.

That silent voice that keeps getting louder… maybe it is time to listen.

This week has been filled with a repetitive message that the universe is trying to teach me (as well as some of my dearest friends and family)… When to let go.  Often, we hold on to expectations, beliefs, situations and even people, when deep down the voice inside of us is screaming “NO. GO”. Is it fear of giving up on someone or something?  Is it that this person or expectation defines who we are?  Is it that we feel obligated? Are we “what if’ing” ourselves into the possibility of a better future?

I have not ran since last Friday  This left leg thing is really stubborn and hurts like a mother.  I am supposed to be training for a half marathon in April.  Sunday, husband and I attempted to run a few miles ( and for the record, husband only runs with me maybe 1-2 a year with much, much persistence).  The pain was intense.  I had to stop. I had to let go of the fact that running was not going to happen. I was in pain and upset because all I wanted to do is enjoy a nice sunny Sunday run with my soul man. In fact, I was having such a hard time letting go, I attempted to run 2 more times even when the tears were washing my cheeks.  It was time to face reality. My body was screaming NOOO and I was responding back GOOOO. I know that I will heal and will be hitting the streets very soon. I had to let go of that run and my expectations.

The Uncle situation is a hot mess. After multiple phone calls and attempts to try to help him to help himself, I finally needed to let go of this.  I can not want to live his life more than he does.  The love and support is here but Uncle doesn’t want it.

Morning routines need to be followed in order for M to successfully get out the door fed, read, brushed and trussed in time for the bus.  Letting this idea go has made me a less insane mommy in the mornings.  Worse case scenario…if we are running behind… I take her to school( a mere 7 minute car ride). Best case scenario… no tears or screaming from anyone in the wee hours of the morning.

A hard area for me, that I am always trying to let go or balance ( damn Libra’s), is cleaning the house.  It needs to be done but I don’t want it to take away time from the kiddos or from my “me” time.  I am working on the fact that the house does not need to be this or that. Growing up, cleaning or having a clean room, was the only way that I was shown love.  To me, clean = worthy of love or that I was not a good child because of this “mess”.  Saturday mornings were spent trying to make the house spotless while at the same time praying that this would be the day that I did enough or that the house was clean enough, so I would be loved by my parents.  This day never came. And I know it never will.

let go




Mean and Nice. What defines you as a parent?

Wear your hat proudly, either way.

Sleeping in for me is a sailed ship.  The last time I was able to sleep past 8am (and that is being very generous) was probably 6 years ago.  That was before I was pregnant with M.  I can recall Saturday mornings spent hungover on the couch in our one bedroom, almost lake view, apartment.  We would get up around 11am. Order food. Watch tv. Take a nap. Shower.  Then head out to the bar again for a few pints of Smithwicks at our favorite Irish Pub. We used to think we were so very busy. So important. So very adult.

This morning I was woken up by M, peeking in our room, to see if we were awake.            ” Squeakkkkkkkk ” the door went. Shit.  Now I am up. My first thought on Saturday morning is, do I need to get out to get a quick run in or can I do it later, perhaps even tomorrow. I decided to rest today. Something funky is going on with my left leg. Now husband is up too. M crawls in bed with us. I log into Facebook to wish my irun4 buddy, Jacob, good luck on his pinewood derby today. I see something a nurse friend of mine posted as she asked her daughters a series of questions.  I asked M if she wanted to partake as well. M answered the questions for me and then for husband.  While some of her answers were funny and heart warming, a few of them really got me thinking.

When you are parents, you are somehow divide.  One is the “mean” one that makes the kiddos eat fruit, veggies, do homework, go to the bathroom, take showers, pick up toys, write thank cards, say please, apologize, share, get shots, go to the dentist, and just tried to keep the train for derailing off the tracks.  The other parent is the “nice” one. Nice parent gets to have all of the fun while the mean one, is again, trying to make sure the train doesn’t go off the tracks. I know later in life, the mean parent will be proud of the hopeful responsible, polite, little human that now is a productive part of society.

The mean parent usually also gets to be the one to provide comfort such as a hug, kiss, and holding until the world feels more safe. G is in teething toddler hell. Which means, I too, am in teething toddler hell. One minute he is happily playing and the next , tears for no reason what-so-ever.  Its like he is a hormonal pregnant person. Of course, I love hugging and holding G.  Wiping his tears. trying to distract with a squirrel outside or the 14 yr old beagle.  However, it would be nice to be able to “flip a switch”. Being a nice parent seems more carefree, more less responsible, more fun.

The fear with the switch being flipped is that the mean, now nice parent, would return to the mean parent the next to more laundry. More dishes. More emails needing returned. More of everything.  Its hard to let your finger off the trigger. The fear of “what if” and “shoulding” yourself, stops you.

Wearing my hat proud and loud as the mean parent, I have come to terms ( well, trying too anyways), with my role and what that means. Being the mean parent is needed.  The balance between good cop/bad cop is not a bad thing.  Kids require different traits.  Although M’s answers to these ridiculous Facebook quiz made me feel “less than”, I am enough to be her mom. I am enough to hold G and give him comfort. I am enough to obsessively check on them multiple times a night. I am enough to remind them of what it takes to be a decent human being. I am enough to keep this train on the tracks.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just remembered this morning asking M to pick up her room as it looked as if her closet threw up and G is crying for no reason.  Again.  < goes to put on conductor mom mean hat, proudly>

(this is G in a toddler teething crying fit)F8157D4D-1841-427A-87FF-720AE65707B153DB0627-25F0-412A-B4EC-2A1177D40913

Lets talk about Gin

How Gin made me realize the changes that are occurring.

I am hands down a vodka girl.  Love it many of ways but prefer vodka “chilled. up. little bit dirty with 3 blue cheese stuffed olives, please”.  Any of my friends that have been with me when I order this lovely “just a little but dirty” martini looks at me quizzical. I know what I like when it comes to drinks, chocolate, and friendships.  My standards are high and if the night is a good one, all the above happen together.

Last night, I was honored to host book club.  We read “Girl on the Train” and one of my best gal pals (K) recommended having Gin and Tonics as the main character drinks a shit ton of these on a train, out of a can ( god love the British). With this being my first time hosting book club, I wanted to make a good first impression.  I went to my local grocery store at 10am and hit up the liquor store.  Along with the gin and tonic, I also purchased 3 bottles of wine, milk and goldfish crackers. The mid-sixities check out lady was a little taken aback but I think the goldfish crackers made her feel a bit at ease.

This is the first time I have ever had gin.  I like it.  I like it a lot.  The lime+gin combo is pretty impressive.  In fact, I am sipping on one at this very moment.  Gin for me is another drink option but it also made me realize that other tastes in my life have changed as well.  This coming from the girl who never had salsa until college ( I know, right!?!!).  Sushi scared the crap out of me until I tried it in Mexico on our honeymoon ( Again. I know, right!  Sushi and Mexico?  Wat. )  Now I crave it.  My husband is obsessed with hot sauce, hot peppers and anything spicy. After being with him for almost 15 years, I now have developed a taste for the hot sauce.  Franks used to be too hot for me.  Sriracha now keeps appearing on more and more of my foods

Now that I am mid-thirties, my tastes have changed when it comes to what I need from my relationships as well as what I need from myself. I have been beyond blessed with a handful or less amazing friends. Before, I wanted numbers.  I wanted to feel popular and well liked. Pretty. And smart.  I needed a lot of people around me to fill in the holes of my insecurities.  A few of these gals (K and S) have been only in my life for the past 3-4 years but honestly, it feels like we have been friends beyond this lifetime.  These gals are my mommy friends. I met them through a random picked playgroup when M was 2.5.  Thank god for that playgroup.  They have seen me at the highest and the very lowest points of my life, to date.  My other BFF (C) was given to me in college.  We met through a mutual friend of ours, a total hussy, leaving us at the bar to go home with randoms.  C wasn’t going to leave me by myself.  We bonded over said hussies never ending crisis filled life. C lives on the East Side and I only get to see her every other month or so but we connect every. single. day.  In fact, C just got back from a family trip and I about lost my mind.  Not to have communication with her was tough.  C is rock solid.  And bluntly honest. I love both and need both of these qualities in my ROD (ride or die) chicks. C,K,and S can look at me or hear the tone of my voice (or text) and call bullshit if I am pulling ” I am fine” while the tears are pouring down my cheeks or the rage is exploding out of my ears.  They get ME.  Let me be ME.  They call me out of my hippy side but love it at the same time.  They know when I am uncomfortable at another mommy event and stick by my side.  They text me to remind me to get my run in, eat healthy or take sometime for myself.  They listened to me complain for 9 lonnnnggggg months straight as this last pregnancy was my nemesis.   We text/ email with good news, bad news, shitty news, happy news or even no news.  We send each other funny articles off of scary mommy or huff post.  They are sometimes the silver lining on what seems like the rain cloud that will not go the eff away.  Without them, I would be lost.  I would feel empty.  I would be incomplete.

What I now need from myself is ever changing but this is also new for me.  I used to be very uncomfortable to the limbo position. Being a Libra, my daily goal is to feel balanced.  I am a very black/white girl.  I am either 100% into being healthy ( running, yoga, vegan, water, mediate, sleep, read, sex) or- not. What I need from myself ( at this moment) is embracing the imbalance. Being in the moment with G as he wants me to play choo-choo instead of putting him off for one last flip of the laundry or loading the dishwasher.  Its reading that one more story to M at night.  What I need now from myself is playing scrabble with GG or listening to her favorite teenage story just one more time.  Its staying awake to see my husband after work just to check in with him and see in his eyes if he is really doing “Ok”. What I need is to say yes to the things that make me feel excited and no to the events that I am just ehh about.  What I need is to give myself grace.  patience.  kindness-if the day spirals out of control.   What I need is to love myself.  Fully.  Deeply and unquestionable.

And if this doesn’t pan out, I still have gin and C, K and S.


Stuck in the Middle with you


This past weekend was filled with life lessons. Lessons that all good fiction novels contain. Family. Love. Hate. Lost. Hope. Anger. Sex. Friendship. Dedication. Preserverance. and cupcakes.

While I will not tap into an explanation of all of words above, maybe I will glaze a few of them for further details.

My Uncle G has had a life full of fear, sadness, anger and frustration. He was born into a very abusive (physically and verbal) father who was an alcoholic and wanted my Uncle to be all the things that he wasn’t. My Uncle is an alcoholic and was also not the best dad to his two sons. My Aunt divorced him after 20+ years of trying, trying and trying again. He is now recently out of a nursing home and is all alone. Any friend or family member that he once had contact with is now gone. Uncle has a facet of health issues that landed him in the hospital and then in the nursing home. Prior to this, my grandmother ( we lovingly call her GG for great grandma), who is 81, was doing everything for him. Taking him to and from doctors appointments, laundry, cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping and even paying his bills. My former social worker self was calling the red flag for enabling and co-dependence about 10 yrs ago but this is her son. Uncle needed help. He really had no clue how to do anything. GG did everything for him growing up. Aunt did everything while they were married. GG picked up the ball again after the divorce.

I remember Uncle as someone who loved to sleep, eat and listen to good music. My love for music started because of my Uncle. His record collection would make any collector drool. His home is where I first heard the names Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Pink Floyd ( I could keep going but you get the point).

It is unclear to me at what point the bitterness of “what was not” took over. Uncle is a prime example of living in the past and being stuck in a cycle of regret, guilt, and sadness.

GG is no longer able or willing to live his life for him. She physically and and mentally can’t do this. My dear mother ( his sister) was supposed to step up and help with transportation to and from doctors appointments, grocery store and assist with helping him pay his bills but that has fallen through. GG has been staying with us since Thanksgiving and hoping she stays with us until Spring. GG worries and wonders how Uncle is getting along.  GG feels guilty that she has abandoned him, while all along he abandoned himself long ago.

Friday, while I was making “homemade pink vanilla cupcakes with homemade pink buttercream frosting with sprinkles”, per M’s request for her 6th birthday party, we got a phone call. The phone call indicated that Uncle tried to take his one life. This is the second known attempt in the past year. Gloves are off. All hands on deck. These hands will be mine with the love provided by GG. While I do not want to enable Uncle, I do want to give him the tools to help. It must be pretty scary to be all alone in this world and have no purpose. I am not sure what will come out of this situation. I may be placing a band aide over a wound that is fist deep, but I want him to feel like someone out there cares and loves him.  Isn’t that what all humans want and need anyways when you strip away all the bullshit?

Besides the Uncle situation, this weekend also painted a clear picture on how blessed I am to have my husband. While our marriage has been rocked before and I know will be rocked again, the solid foundation along with respect and love we have for one another, will carry us through. Someone we both love dearly is in not the best relationship. The past month has been full of arguments, breakups, makeups and then more breakups. The anxiety of starting over the fear of being alone is sometimes in the front seat driving the need to want to continue a relationship that deep down this person knows is not healthy. While my ears are open and my shoulder is available, my heart is aching for the lost self condifence. Finding someone else is easy; finding yourself is laborious. Some never do.

To end on a light hearted note… Week 1 of half marathon training is complete and successful.  All runs done. Some in the rain. Some in a group. Some at 5am. When I am not running, chasing the kids, or wasting time on Facebook, my new gig is watching “The Affair”.  My husband and I started this show over the holidays and I love it!

Be well. Be happy. Be you.

big girl panties

The unthinkable happens. I wake up 45 seconds before the alarm on the iPad, that I have placed across the room, goes off.  Its week 1 of January 2016.  Motivation is eh. Goals are set. Dog is snoring. All is normal.

This deadly hour is now going to be called sacred hour. The hours of 5am-7am and 9pm to 11pm is “kid free” time. I can run, read, watch shitty tv, look wayyyy to long at Facebook or my forever addicting babycenter app.

As you can see, I have not “blogged” in well over a year. Second pregnancy got in the way of life and now G is 1.5 years old. M is 6. Hubby got a new job. I quit my job. Dog is 14 years old. The world keeps on spinning.

On my very chilly ” why in the hell am I doing this” run this morning, I felt this very strong urge to write. I have 6 minutes before I need to get M up for school. I am not sure why this overwhelming feeling has hit me today but I am going to go with it… kinda like how I go for the craving of Arbys curly fries. What I have to say is the probably the same as any SAHM but maybe I can add a little smile or chuckle to someones day. Maybe no one will read this and it will just be an outlet or trashcan to put my thoughts.  I will trust this instinct. I will listen to the inner voice. I will now need to get Arbys curly fries for lunch.

3 minutes until M rises. Time to slam my coffee and throw makeup on this face in hopes that it sticks.