Run Run Away

Back when I was rebellious and felt a need to express my rebellion (I kindly tuck it inside now where it’s safe), I used to crank music just to let everyone know I was in that “I don’t give a shit” mood. I’d usually put in a Heavy-Metal cassette tape (remember those?) it was a “mixed tape” actually (the special ones) and crank the volume on my stereo as loud as I could before the speakers cracked just to be sure my parents reached the max level of irritation. I was a fun one.

Anyhow, back to this mixed tape. It was one a past boyfriend made for me which included various rock songs that we listened to together. I’d always forward the tape (remember when we had to do that?!) until I got to this specific song that I loved. It hit the “rebellious” part of my heart that freed my soul and loosened my bones a bit. It brought back memories of my skipping school to hang at his house (he was a bit older) and we’d lay on the couch eating potato chips for breakfast and smiling at each other for hours. It was a time when I didn’t give a shit what people thought (ok I still have a little bit of that in me) and I had no respect for authoritative figures and an impulse to break rules that didn’t cater to what I wanted to do at the moment. (I know. Can you believe I used to be that way?!) The song was called Run Run Away by the group Slade. You’ve probably never heard of them but I’m telling you, it revved me up like no other. It was like a gust of wind would sweep up my insides and give a therapeutic shout at the world, a bigger than life but giddy F-YOU. Bright eyed. Alive. Careless. FREE.

Some things you never let go of, music is one of them for me. So when I’ve had a grueling day and I want to revert back to the carefree attitude of that teenage girl who would skip school when her heart desired and  sneak out at midnight with the current boy toy to drink beers at the cemetery, I throw on a little Run Run Away by Slade. For a moment I smile and feel alive. I laugh how much I’ve changed and yet remain the same. The school uniform has turned to work attire and the boom box is now itunes on blue tooth, but the spark of that heavy metal I-don’t-give-a-shit feeling in my heart stays the same.

And I still belt it out at the top of my lungs.

And I still don’t care who sees me.

And I STILL think there’s a 16 year old trapped somewhere inside. Thankfully :)

Memories of my magical Mom

I was 3 years old in this photo. My socks were slightly damp and I was craving a bologna sandwich. I know this because I have one of those scarce memories that spans back to when I was still being rocked in a blanket and wished I could talk. People think I’m nuts when I say that but it’s true. Images and memories imprint my brain, and once they’re there, they stay. I recall my sisters giggling as they dragged me around on the floor by the feet of my footed pajamas and being irritated by the itchy carpet rubbing along the back of my head. I smiled only because they were laughing but didn’t know how to tell them to stop. I was probably 18 months old. I remember the first day my Mom tried to potty train me and how I thought “it’s about time” as I was waiting to sit on that little wooden potty chair forever. I also remember being bought a particular Raggedy Ann doll at a church festival while my Dad carried me around in the sticky humidity. I once told my Mom I remembered the entire conversation her and my Dad had that day about why I would want such a ridiculous looking doll when there were so many other ones to choose from but it was so hot who cares just buy the thing. She remembered it then, and laughed when we realized I was only two.

But... back to this photo, I know my socks were wet because a particular puddle of slush called my name as I jumped off a doorstep and the edge of my shoes got submerged. My Mom said “Oh Melanie, now you’re going to have wet socks all day...”

All day it was. My Mom was an Avon lady. It was delivery day. I loved the start of this day when the doorbell would ding and she would get her big Avon order in the mail. Back then, (my how things have changed!) she would hand out little Avon catalogs to all of her clients and they would phone in their order that she would hand write in her tablet and then call in at the end of the month. When the box came, I got to pretend that I was a little Avon lady too by putting together the orders. We would lay it all out on the dining room table and she would open up 20 or so empty Avon bags, and read aloud the contents of each persons order. It was my job to find the items and place them in the bag. I’d be in my pajamas sitting on the table ready to work. She would say “ok let’s find the bottle of pink bubble bath, ok that goes in this bag. And now we need a roll-on deodorant with the green cap, can you find the green cap? Ok that’s it, put it in this bag, and how many chap-sticks do we have? Can you separate them by the colors?....” and so on. We would tear off the carbon copy receipt and slip new Avon brochures in the bags and load them in the backseat of our big white Cordoba and off we’d go to deliver.

The memories I have of helping her deliver Avon items are in bits and pieces. You see, I’m not sure that my Mom actually sold Avon to make money as much as she did for the joy in it. She liked people. She liked chatting. She liked staying busy and she really did love Avon products, so why not sell them? My Mom loved interacting with people. If it was a profession to make small talk she’d be the president. Sometimes I’d be holding onto her leg, pulling at her coat for an entire 20 minutes as she chitty-chatted away during one of those “Avon deliveries” as if the day was timeless. It was like a house-hopping talking fest all day long. Lots of conversations. Lots of houses.

One lady’s home had a really intricate doll house. An antique I was told. It was taller than me and beautiful. I was told to “just look” but as soon as they left the room I was touching everything. I had to see if the dinner plates were glued to the table and the bedding was as soft as it looked. Do the cupboards open? Do the knobs turn? It was magical.

One place had a bunch of really loud kids, I think it was a daycare or something and this woman would keep yelling at random children “Tell Johnny to get off the roof!” “Turn off those cartoons and do some homework!” “If you don’t stop running up and down those stairs I’m going to ground you for 2 weeks!” I didn’t like this woman at all. I wondered why she was so angry. She had messy hair and looked tired. I also recall a box of Twinkies on her kitchen table and wondered when she would offer me one. I’m a kid. That’s what people do right? Nope, never got one. Like I said, I didn’t like the lady.

One house had a little boy with no hand. Really. He came running down the stairs and instead of a hand holding the banister, he had this stub that ran along the railing. I wondered if he could feel a tickle at his wrist. It was his right hand and I remember thinking, “What if he was right handed? That would be so hard to have to learn how to draw with your left hand.” When we drove away I remember telling my Mom that he had no hand and I thought it looked the end of a hot-dog. She sort of paused and shut her eyes a bit with a half smile which she would do when she found something sort of amusing but didn’t want to acknowledge the humor. Then she’d say “Oh Melanie.” shaking her head and remind me how lucky I was to have both of my hands.

One house always smelled like fried hamburger even though there was nothing on the stove. I could never figure that one out.

And then there was this one time I’ll never forget. This was the day I felt embarrassment for the first time. Mom was on a chatting rampage even though she put the Avon order on this woman’s kitchen table 30 minutes ago. I felt antsy, my jeans were too tight and I was tired of playing around with these big tower blocks in the living room. I figured I’d hint at my impatience by crawling up on her lap. I was sitting on my Mom’s lap, sort of uncomfortably swaying from cheek to cheek. I thought I was sitting on a pair of her mittens or something. Finally my Mom had me stand up and looked at my bottom and saw this bulge so she pulled out the back of my jeans and saw that a balled up pair of underwear (with pink flowers on them) was shoved up the back of my pants. Must have gotten stuck in the leg in the dryer she said. She pulled out this pair of underwear, held them up and she and her friend started laughing as my Mom said “I thought something was in there!” I was 3 years old and red with embarrassment especially since the underwear thing was such an object of pride for me as I was officially potty trained (in a day) and a BIG GIRL now, hello. They still chatted for another 30 minutes or so but at least my jeans didn’t feel so tight....

Back to the photo though! I don’t know who the person was that took it, only that we had delivered an Avon order to her and were walking back to the car (note the white Cordoba in the background) and she wanted us to take a quick photo. My Mom smiled gently and said “Well ok” and quickly picked me up. As soon as we got into the car I was about to tell her that I was hungry when she said “I bet you want a bologna sandwich don’t you?” I remember believing that my Mom could read my mind because that’s exactly what I was thinking. So then I was trying to think all of these random thoughts and see if she’d pipe up with some more miraculous mind-reading skills. I remember I kept saying the word "red" over and over in my mind to see if she'd ask me why I was thinking about the color red. But nothing happened.....

Until we got home and she said “I bet you want to get out of those wet socks don’t you?” She was spot on!

For this photo, on this day, these are the things I remember: Wanting to be an Avon lady when I grew up but knowing that I would just put their order on the front step and get on with the day, having a mad craving for a bologna sandwich and thinking my magical mind reading Mom was the greatest woman in the world.

I wish she was here to read this.

Here’s to hoping she can still read my mind.

Year number three and the progression of grief

Today. It’s been 3 years today since my Mom passed away. I’m not good at grieving and dealing with things that mess with my heart. Instead I block them out and pretend them away. If something bothers me I envision twisting up my feelings like a baseball and tossing them off into distance and saying “take that sucker.” It’s a problem and a savior all in one. My psychiatrist said if I have trouble verbalizing my feelings, I should journal them. It’s not healthy to let things bottle up you know. But of course. So here I am, uncorking the bottle of grief I have over the loss of my Mom and letting it spill out onto this blank white sheet of therapy and see what happens. I’m just going to let my heart ache and my fingers tap away for the whole world to see because when it comes to me and keyboards, I don’t hold anything back. My heart if very heavy right now so here goes....

No Title

Tremors. Flow and wave
inside and out
from minutes to days
years go by, can I say that yet?
Because it still feels raw
and endless
a wreck.

My heart. The beats go astray
tip tap, swoon crack
unpredictably finding their way
Can the halves be glued
into a mended disguise
a strong look of blank
behind the cheer filled eyes.

Memories. They steer my mind
A jerky wheel
drives the silent cries
peeking up reminding me
of that missing
hole
that forever will be.

Regrets. Their presence cuts through.
you say you don’t have them
but God knows you do.
Had I known
how little time she had here
how different I’d be
how I’d love without fear.

Alone. The safety this gives.
If I don’t emit sadness
perhaps it won’t exist.
I tuck it away
me myself and I
a shield of armor
guards the lonely hearts cry.

Emotions. Sway up and down.
my tilted balance beam
on a cold merry-go-round.
Trying to maintain
be pleasant, show peace
While your heart wants to
scream give her back to me.

Lies. In my bones their planted.
No chance to let go
of the pain they granted.
I intended to mention
these burdens I carried
but now she’ll never know
her beautiful ears are buried.

Guilt. A brick in my chest.
Swallowed me up
as she was laid to rest
My voice was silent
choked by denial
A blocked out act
disguised with a smile.

Why. So many of these.
forever coming at me
like the wind in the trees.
Did my heart shut down
to protect my mind
or was I too numb
to speak or try.

Wondering. Things she wanted.
dreams that were broken.
Conversations robbed of words never spoken.
I want to shake away
the thoughts of not knowing.
obtain it as is,
open my heart and keep glowing.

Acceptance. Like a light through the fog.
it flickers, it dances
It goes off and on.
And when I can’t see it
I start fresh again
I create, I become it
Or sometimes pretend.

Love. How far can it travel.
Does she see, does she know
The feelings I unravel.
The thoughts I think
and how I miss her hair
the ache I feel
every day she’s not there.

Love. Can it cross over all
Does she feel, does she hear
when I cry in my car
I look at her face
every lash, every pore
every mole, every scar
I imprint it once more.

Love. It’s infinite and final.
It adheres, it releases
it comes back once in a while.
It remembers, it hugs
never letting me go
sometimes you must be emptied
to once again become whole.

Love. It’s my greatest strength
I trust in my knowing
that some bonds never break.
Losing my Mom
was my worst fear, my deepest ache
but when I lay in bed at night
I know
somewhere
she’s awake.

Before it all fades away...

Time. It doesn’t just fly lately. It has become a speed demon. Tearing through the crevices of my brain, picking up memories and dropping them down during random moments of my day. Peeking through the door of my heart, shutting it with a jolt only to reopen it again, getting it all warm inside and then slowly fading back to normalcy. I’m talking about motherhood. Life. Feelings of watching your baby grow up while his needs for you slow down. The feeling of being too needed, sometimes needed, and at times not needed at all. How quickly things evolve from year to year. Pacifiers turn into blow-pops. Diapers to boxer briefs (his favorite). Teethers to toothbrushes. The heartfelt books of Good Night Moon and Mommy Kisses have given way to video games and something called a 3DS that he is teaching me how to operate.

I don’t even know where this blog is going but what I do know is that my baby, my little pancake faced munchie, my love, my only is turning 8. Eight. EIGHT! And it’s making my heart turn to absolute mush and a knot ball up in my throat every time I look at him. I need to pour it out somewhere so we don’t have one of those weird mommies at the birthday party that looks all teary eyed red faced and emotional during the candle blowing. So I’m going to spew out all of my emotional love onto this little keypad and let the open page catch the dramatic thoughts of unconditional love and contain them peacefully here so I can have a nice clear open heart for celebrating this new age of my lovely Landon.

Peering through old photos today I am reminded how quickly we forget the moments therefore I am going to simplify my wide array of thoughts and contemplations in my mind of disarray and keep it simple. I’m going to grasp this very moment in time and embrace the top five most recent memories of Landon that squeezed my heart. I promise to stop at 5 or this will go all day and then we’ll have a frazzled Mommy trying to shower and clean a house at the same time.

1.) Today. This morning. Bright and early. I hear padded feet on the carpet and the light flick on in the bathroom. My little Landon is awake.
There you go. That’s the first one. My heart is squeezed the very second I hear him every morning! But really, it’s because he’s such a sweet morning person who always quietly gets out of bed with those long skinny legs and whispers “good morning” in that soft little voice. Tip toes down stairs, let’s Nico outside, turns on his cartoons just to have the t.v. on but is really playing a video game at the same time. He’s so routinized like a little adult. I swear those legs get taller every day and one day we’ll have to raise the ceilings just to accommodate those legs. Am I being too dramatic?

2.) Our pinky swears. We pinky swear to everything. I mean everything. Pinky swear that I can live with you until I die Mommy? (of course!) If I eat my whole sandwich can I get an ipad game? Better pinky swear. Hey Mommy, pinky swear that a robber will never come to our house? Sure! These little pinky swears make my heart want to burst. Not because a pinky swear means much because as we know half of these things will never actually happen! What I love about them is seeing his smile when our eyes connect and our fingers interlace. I love how his warm little pinky wraps around mine and they bend into that little curl connecting in that meaningful “vow like” form. Those 2 seconds where our pinkies lock makes my heart squeeze because I know that one day that little pinky will outgrow mine. One day this may not seem so cool to him and snuggling won’t be an anticipated form of lounging or me acting like the “tickle monster” will be annoying instead of funny, but I’m hoping that this pinky swear thing will keep going. I’ll take it as long as I can get it.

3.) His deep thoughts. The conversations I have with my “almost” 8 year old son are probably the same conversations that are discussed by psychologists and scientists and therapists. The most important conversations exist on the drive to and from school. The most recent one began when I put the car in reverse and said “So how was school today? What did you learn?” He responded by stretching his finger along the side of his cheek, looking up to the right and saying “I don’t know, the same stuff. Today was strange for me because I was doing a lot of thinking about life and how I got here and the meaning of it all.” I could write an entire blog on the deep thoughts he expresses and how many times I say “How do you know that?” He is wise beyond his years, an old soul in a tiny body. My heart tightens every time he expresses knowledge of things that most kids would never contemplate and yet he cares so much about. One day the women are going to swoon over his sensitivity. OK, I’m getting teary eyed- on to the next!

4.) His bravery and calm demeanor. It sounds odd to cite this but it stands out. In the sense that he’s never been a big cry-baby if he doesn’t get his way or win a prize. He’s not a whiner that begs for toys in stores. I’m grateful for this. It may have something to do with our parenting and that we never “gave in” to behavior like that but he has never really exuded it either. I look around at some kids bawling at Target because they want a toy or box of cookies and a hanging-by-a-thread Mommy who is not giving in to it. Every time this happens Landon looks at them in this puzzled way and usually whispers “Mommy that kid is crazy.” Most Moms would probably be able to say “You used to act like that too when you were 3,” but I can’t. Instead I squeeze his hand, look at him and say “Thank you so much for never acting that way.” Just this past week at the grocery store a kid was begging for some orange pop and stomping their feet and dragging along the cart and Landon turns to me and says “I don’t know why he wants pop, there’s way too much sugar in that. Can we go find the avocados?” My heart was squeezed and then it melted.

5.) His beautiful imperfections. Or rather his unique attributes. By this I mean his physical features that I find so endearing because our genes somehow formed this magical little being of cute quirkiness and at “almost” 8 (19 hours precisely!!) he is growing into such a little man! I love how his brown eyes aren’t uniform, the one that slightly droops is my favorite. His ears don’t match and I think it’s a sign of intelligence right? I'll just keep telling him that. I remember how the left one came out dented when he was born and I thought “I have a cone headed, bent eared little peanut and I think my heart is going to explode with love.” His mouth is going through an oral challenge with losing almost all of his upper anterior teeth and them popping in at random and his back tooth was extracted and a spacer put in and he never complains. He smiles that big toothy grin with pride and my heart gets squeezed every single time I see that face light up. I wonder if he knows how perfect he is to me? Or how much I want to kiss his face all day long but I don’t because I’d look like a lunatic. Does he have any idea how pure his heart is right now at this age and how much I want to preserve it somehow so that the world doesn’t taint it? Does he have the wisdom to not alter the confidence he holds at this moment in time? Will he always be able to come up to me and say “Mommy I have a question” and ask me anything under the sun without worry that I’ll judge him or fear that I won’t be able to answer? I tell him all this now, but will he remember?

That is why I am putting these thoughts out there right now at this moment, before the feelings are forgotten and it all fades away again.

Now I’m off to prepare birthday party games and open up to new “moment in time.” After I go kiss that 7 year old face at least 100 times because I need to embrace these moments when I have them. The kissing monster will always be allowed forever and ever right? I'm going to make him pinky swear to that.

The art of dish washing (in honor of my Mom)

You mean you don’t have a dishwasher? You actually wash them all by hand? (Me? No. But my Mom does) This was a common question back in the day growing up as a child in Sleepy Eye. But we did have a dishwasher in our house. It was mustard yellow and built into the counter-top but I don’t have one memory of it being used. Mom would always say “Oh yeah that thing broke right away and we just never fixed it.” We had a new “dish washer” alright, it came with a face and 2 working hands. This very scenario could easily be the definition of the mind of my Mother. Why pay money to fix something when there is a sink with running water, bottle of soap, and a drawer full of cloths and towels? She made do with what she had. Always did. There would be duct taped dressed spatulas. Tape wrapped remote controls. Drawers that required a crafty technique upon opening lest they unhinge and drop off the hinge. Tiny chips in tiles that had no intentions of being repaired. The heat worked, there was wood for the fire, the clothes were clean, and there was always food on the table. She was a simple woman who loved the thrifty way of life and stretching a dollar as far as she could. But when I think of memories with my lovely Mom in that house it was the dish-washing thing that sticks out a lot in my mind....

I think back to all the years growing up in that house and how often I saw the back of her head at the sink. A big puffy brown head of hair scrubbing up dishes. Drying each one by hand with the embroidered white towels she sewed herself. She would scrub and scrub at the greased on remains of casseroles and lasagnas and never once complain about it. I never once in my life saw a dirty dish in the sink or on the counter. She would immediately wash, dry, and put away. The counter tops were clean and not a crumb could be spotted on the floor. She swept the floor like she washed dishes. Immediately. Did she love it? A part of me thinks she found pride in being tidy, being a good housewife. Was that her passion?

These are the things that kill me. The things I’ll always wonder about her. Did she have any dreams? Aspirations? Untapped desires? Or was her life as a housewife all she needed? What did she think about while scrubbing those pans?

I feel her presence behind my back when I’m at the sink washing my own dishes, which I have only begun doing with tenderness since she died. When she was alive I used my dishwasher 99% of the time. When I miss her, I fill up the sink. I feel a connection to her when I have my hands in the hot water and I know she’s looking over my shoulder when I cook and bake, as the kitchen is her domain. Her reign.

When I am at the sink with the warm sudsy water gliding over my fingers and I look down at my hands I see “her” hands. I feel like a piece of her enters me. Like I become her. I connect to her, feel her thoughts, smell her hair. It’s that chill you get under your skin where your hair lifts and your back tingles up. I bet she loves to see me washing dishes with my hands, I can feel her love envelope me when I’m at the sink. Sometimes I get this calm serene feeling. Like a meditative focus on each dish. Each glass, each pan, calms my mind in a unique way. Maybe that’s why she liked doing the dishes? Or perhaps she liked the heater kicking on by her feet (I love that part). It was a time to be alone with your thoughts, not face anyone, just focus on the swishing warmth of water on your skin and the task of cleaning dishes. I wonder how many times she cried while doing dishes, knowing no one would see it. Does she see me when I cry?

It does something to your mind when you’re standing there washing dishes. It calms you. It takes your thoughts away. I dream a little. I remember. I cry. I feel a longing to watch my Mom wash dishes one more time. To thank her for doing so because I never did that. Not once. These are the tears that I shed, the drops of silly little things you never got to say. Oh by the way Mom, thanks for washing my cereal bowl. Those words never came out. I never thought I’d miss the things I miss. Sometimes I think of her taking the broom out of the closet and sweeping the kitchen floor and it makes me want to bawl my eyes out. The things I long to see again are the simple ones. Her joy in doing the little things was when she was the most content.

So this whole dish-washing thing? It reminds me that I am a piece of her, I have a commonality with her, I am my mother’s daughter with the same hands, the same soft heart, and the same blood. Dish washing. It cleanses more than dishes. To me it’s a therapeutic work of art, helping to cleanse my mind and wipe away the sorrow that is imbedded in my heart while reuniting memories of the simple sweetness of my Mom.

And I will always wonder how in the hell she got those black stains off the bottoms of pans! I may have her hands, but I sure as hell don’t have her patience. She would scrub a pan 1000 times over until it sparkled. Me? I’d just go buy a new pan. And I know she’d shake her head at this and say “Oh Melanie....” which makes me miss her even more.... and giggle at the same time.

Oh really? Allow me to fill that in....

 

I’ll make this a quick one: After spending 2 days at The Water Park with my 7 yr. old son going down the waterslide 100+ times in 8 hours, I had some time to “observe” the ways of the water park and have concocted some mental rules that I feel should be listed on this empty sign....Ok here goes. *Note: the red print is my side thoughts related to said RULES.

1.) Please don’t run, but if you may and you crack your head open on the cement, we are not liable.

I say this because even though I have heard every life guard say repeatedly over and over and over “No running!” to every single kid that jutted past them, so many times in fact that they would often utter it in a half slur with an exhausted I-gotta-say-it-but-whateVer type of tone. It goes without saying that the typical NO RUNNING rule is practically impossible! It’s like asking a kid to try and NOT keep their eyes open on Christmas Eve. EVERY kid runs. They are excited and wired and couldn’t care less.

2.) Just because we’re dressed in a red life guard uniform don’t expect us to save your kid from drowning.

Between seeing these supposed life guards daze off into the sunny sky, check their phone, and flirt with the blonde teeny boppers in little coral bikinis, their main objective is not so much watching your children as is flexing their abs and workin’ their tan.
I also witnessed one 4 yr. old little girl almost drown while the lifeguard did NOTHING and the child’s Mom had to go running in full attire, with shoes/socks on and jump in to save her child. I scolded the lifeguard because I would NOT bite my tongue on that one.
3.) Our water is full of urine, know that before diving in.

This is a given. Piss in the pool? It happens. I know this for fact. My chair was in walking path of the restrooms and within a 4 hour span I did not see ONE child step out of the pool to go use the restroom, although they sucked down multiple blue icees and bottles of soda. I can say for certain that out of any public establishment, swimming pools probably have to change their toilet paper rolls the least. I'd guess less than one toilet paper roll per potty on a monthly basis.

4.) Kids will budge in line, get over it. We’re too busy checking our phones to care.

Um, so yeah. Kids were budging in front of the kid and I at the water slide off and on throughout the day and at one point I had to “speak their language” and budge right back and say “hey Mr. my-trunks-are-too-small-that-my-ass-hangs out, get your budgey ass in the back of the line!” OK, so I didn’t say it like that, instead I just casually grabbed him by the arm and gently placed him back where he belonged, kindly reminding him that there is a LINE... (hello life guards isn’t that YOUR job?)

5.) We must take breaks every hour to “check” the water, but what we really want is for you to buy our over-priced hot dogs, pretzels, and ice cream sandwiches because the kids love that shit.

This is so obvious it’s ridiculous. Um, no outside food or drink is allowed and of course kids smell the grilled goodies and when they see any iced drink in the colors of blue or purple they flock to that crap like an addict looking for their next fix. It works though as I found myself paying $2 for a bag of chips containing 4 (5 if you count the crumbs) doritos per bag. And drumsticks. Fritos. Ice pops. I’m a sucker!

OK so there’s my pool rules. But the funniest thing I observed yesterday had to be the Zak Effron (or Brandon Walsh depending on your era) wanna-be who was tanned up like a Ken doll, hair in the perfect coif with a side of 6-pack abs wearing that confused look on his face by arching up his perfectly textured brows every time he looked someone in the eye because he thinks it makes him look sexy. Anyhow, so he was upset because another life-guard tried to splash him and was all like “dude, don’t try and f*#k with my ‘do.” Lifeguards worried about ruining their hair? Um, kinda like a farmer wanting to keep his hands clean. It goes with the job "dude".

Amidst all the humor and ridiculousness that occurs at water parks with blank rule boards, too tiny swimsuits, and aloof life guards I can honestly say that whipping down water slides and rope climbing on floating rocks with my kiddo has been one of the most memorable times I have had this summer. Even though I got chlorine shot up my nose, nearly lost my bikini top, and banged my ear on the side of the handrail, I couldn’t stop smiling. Being with the kid brings the kid out in and there’s no greater feeling than being carefree.
*Oh, and by the way Landon and I used the restroom 3 times each day we were there. He will never pee in a pool because I told him that when the lifeguards "check the water" during the 15 minute break they are checking for pee and they can test it to see who it came from. If they found out the pee is yours, they announce it over a big speaker and you get kicked out of the water park. I may act like a 7 yr. old on the water slide, but I'm still a genius at my parental psychology :)

37 years and counting...

I have been breathing air into my lungs for 37 years. THIRTY SEVEN. Birthdays have been known to make me cry since the age of 23 although I have no inkling as to why. I’m comfortable with the whole “age is just a number” stance and have converted my way of thinking from “birthdays signify another year closer to death” into “birthdays are an invitation to another year of life.” And so another year bites the dust and a new year welcomes me with open arms. Lovely.

I’m not going to sit here and blog about how my lovely eye wrinkles are a sign of all the years I smiled because I’m likely to buy every cream on the market to diminish crow’s feet. I’m sure one day down the road I’ll type a blog embracing my laugh lines, just not in the mood as of yet. Where I am at today, at the remarkable age of 37 (I’m still here! Eek!) is a place of feeling blessed for the little things. It’s quite simple actually. I feel better than I ever have in my whole life health-wise (although I sense a lot of cake eating in my future) and my mind is more clear, my heart more hopeful. Wounds are healing. Doors are opening. And life goes on. 

In my quest to focus on the positive I am going to attempt to quickly type as fast as I can 37 things I am grateful for in my life. I am also going to time myself because if someone is truly thankful for as many things as I claim to be they should just burst out of my brain onto these keys like a magical flow of effortless thanks. I will not go back and erase any of them. I am going to accept that some may sound ridiculous but I’m not going to allow myself to over-think my first instinct and double guess my gut feeling (I tend to do that sometimes!). Ok so here it goes! It is 8:03 a.m. July 6th 2014.

1.) My family. Adorable son, hubby, and chihuahua Nico and all my lovely siblings and their children! My Dad and my Mom who I know is watching over me! (tears are already welling up) Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts....

2.) My house. It’s cozy in all ways. This house has provided me with the best memories of my life! Plus we are going to remodel the outside and this gets me very excited!

3.) My job. I spend over 1/2 or more of my waking hours there!

4.) Sunshine in Minneapolis. There is nothing better than being able to sit outside in my hammock with a good book and the chirp of birds while the sun dances away with the clouds. I love it.

5.) The smell of freshly cut grass! I could inhale it all day.

6.) The smell of a grill. I no longer partake in the eating of animals but the smell of a grill fills my heart with childhood memories and I can almost feel the heat of the cement patio on my bare feet at my parents house in Sleepy Eye every time I smell it!

7.) Water. Clean water that is. It’s something we take for granted in this country and I am thankful for every time I can sip clean purified water because I know the difficulty and struggle that people around the world must go through to enjoy this luxury.

8.) Hot water. Again. Until you do not have this you don’t understand the worth. Being able to take a hot shower every morning is one of my most pleasurable moments of the day. Well, it may have something to do with my hot chocolate body scrub as well. Damn I love the smell of that stuff.

9.) Online shopping. UGH! My love/hate relationship with shopping gets all twisted here. I shop online too much but I love the ability to do so!! Sometimes I get things in the mail that I forgot I ordered....That is my only confession on this blog! Damn.

10.) Iced lattes. Or any delectable coffee shop drink that is warm and creamy. I know that coffee shops are overpriced but I still love them. Guilty pleasure.

11.) My vehicle. My Mazda CX7 has been so good to me. It’s 7 years old but I still feel like it’s brand new. I also still get that weird feeling of excitement when I turn the key as I did as a 16 yr. old who first got her license. Strange haha! I do love to drive. (Unless I’m with the hubby, then I prefer he drive so that I can read my magazines)

12.) Magazines! Haha. I’m thankful for the little tid bits of gossip I can read (I know it’s only 1/2 true but get a kick out of it) and all the pretty clothes on the glossy pages of which I cannot afford to own myself. Fashion is like art to me. I’m a chronic magazine flipper.

13.) Netflix. How awesome is it to be able to watch shows on demand? I would have killed for this as a kid! I love the moments where I can pull up netflix on my computer, shut the office door and curl up with my blanket and watch a movie just by myself.

14.) My cell phone (sensing a technology turn here). I would be lost without my cell phone. Between the apps and camera and instagram and my alarm clock--I just love it in it’s entirety. iphones rock.
I sometimes even make phone calls on it (but this is rare).

15.) Coconut. No I’m serious here. I love any and all things coconut and my heart flutters at the smell of it. I am forever thankful for my discovery of Nutiva brand coconut oil I cannot even tell you. I use it for cooking, on popcorn, body butter, home-made lip plumper, scar removal, etc. It is the best thing on the planet. Also love coconut water, coconut body scrubs, or shredded coconut (of which I put in all my granola bars, oatmeals, protein shakes) A healthy love is a love worth holding on to :)

16.) Vegan pizza. I try to be vegan but it’s difficult. The couple restaurants in our area that provide vegan pizza are phenomenal! The cheese they make is way better than any typical mozzarella.

17.) My shoulders. Ok I’m trying to do this fast people so in a quick moment of thinking I opted for this as something I am thankful for because they don’t slouch nor have they ever. My clavicle bone is very straight in it’s structure- almost like a hangar to which my shoulders drape over. They make me appear more confidant than I am, so thank-you shoulders :)

18.) My brown eyes even though they don’t have 20/20 vision (yes I’ve had lasik and it failed. Not happy about that!!) But still thankful that I am not blind and that I can see a computer and read without having to put on my glasses.

19.) My teeth! My teeth saved my parents a lot of money, because they came in perfectly straight and I never had any issues with my mouth. My dentist Tom Larson back in Sleepy Eye used to tell me I had the best teeth in town. (If he said this to anyone else, I’d rather not know about it so that I can keep feeling like a star for something) Thanks.

20.) My bike. I love my bike and am so thankful to live in a neighborhood where I can ride around! I love pedaling and the breeze and the sounds of birds and the smell of the flowers and all that. I love my bike like a kid loves a cabbage patch doll. Seriously.

21.) Vegetables. I mean it. I love all of them (except radishes) I am so thankful for the abundance of fresh vegetables available to us! Organic of course. If someone told me I could never have another vegetable I would fall into a deep and dark depression and wither up into a ball of dust and sorrow.

22.) Fruit too, can’t forget the fruit. Honeydew and cantaloupe chopped up in cubes and eaten with a fork are pure perfection.

23.) OMG this is getting harder than I thought. 37 things?! Why did I pick my age? I should have done 20. Anyways. I am thankful for my ability to type up blogs and share them on facebook. When I was a kid this awesome technology did not exist. I had to use a pen and called it a journal. Now I can share my thoughts with everyone! Although, that may not always be a good thing....

24.) Oh! Vodka. Yes I am thankful for vodka. You can make vodka lemonades, vodka sunrise, vodka cranberries. Cold cocktail on a hot day? Yes please.

25.) SHOES! Oh my how could I forget shoes! They make me the proper height! I love this happy “solefull” accessory. I often buy shoes first and then the outfit. My feet can wear heels all day long and it feels perfectly natural. Talk to me in another ten years and I’ll keep my fingers crossed that it doesn't change.

26.) Skinny jeans. I love them. They go with everything and I love a tapered ankle since my calves are tiny. I am a skinny jean girl.

27.) Consigment shops. So thankful for these. They’re fabulous really. Get money back for something you know you’ll never wear again? As it should be!
28.) Hugs, kisses, and snuggles. Aaaaahhhh of course I had to go there! Who doesn’t love being able to curl up on the couch with the ones they love and and warm puppy on their lap?! Turn on The Notebook and I’m in heaven.

29.) Ryan Gosling. Yup. I am thankful he was put on this planet and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

30.) Peanut butter. I mean. C’mon. Warm peanut butter on toast is the ultimate soul food and I’ve only made better creations with it as I’ve gotten older. My home-made peanut butter cups should make me a millionaire.  With or without nuts I’m in love. Oh and back to the coconut thing I make a home-made almond joy bar that is to DIE for. My sweet tooth is starting to take over the typing now....

31.) Sunsets. How great is it that we get to see a free display of moving art practically every day of our life? I could look at pictures of sunsets for hours. I love the colors and the magic of it all. Like a golden globe of beaming light gets tired and descends into a slumber by casting a multitude of colors and shadows upon the earth. My heart is like that sometimes. A beating sunset.

32.) Books. They are my life. There has never (that I recall) been a point in my life since the age of 7 where I was not reading a book. Now I read 3 or more at a time. They are knowledge and escape at once. Books have saved me and healed me in a multitude of ways through the course of my life. I need to have a house with a library!

33.) I am thankful for my sisters. I am so thankful for my sisters I feel like this could completely take over the entire blog and I ramble on for another ten pages. I love how they accept me and share my memories and how sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of one of them doing something and it makes me think of myself. I love how we grow up together and create our own distinct lives and yet we are still those same little girls in our hearts. I am so thankful for having them...now I’m tearing up again! Happy thoughts...happy thoughts...

34.) Airplanes! Ok yes. Airplanes. For without them I would not be able to fly to such beautiful destinations! One of which is NY where I’m going next week to see my sister Jenny and the anticipation feels like a there’s juggler in my tummy. Yay!

35.) My bed. Yes I am very thankful for my king size bed topped with fluffy white blankets and firm satin pillows. It is what I look forward to all day long. It’s like a big hug at the end of my day. Yes I smile when I crawl in.

36.) Two more to go! OK let me think here. I am thankful for.....for.....baking! I love to bake and create and use my hands and smell something in the oven. I am thankful that my co-workers like sweets so that they eat the birthday cakes I make them. I am thankful for my oven....it has been very sweet to me :)

37.) FINALLY! This took forever! OK the final thing I am thankful for (and this may sound silly) is my attitude and my ability to say what I want and not be affected by other people’s judgements about me. That being said, I am really super thankful that this blog is finally over. No grand finale or witty words of wisdom at the end. It’s too damn early for this and I need to refill my coffee.

And well. It’s my birthday so I can do whatever the hell I want.

Toodles!

*End time 8:41 (hey that’s almost 37 minutes! crazy)