Murphs - My main gay

Murphy and I decorating Frank Fetch Park for Xmas.

So, I feel kind of guity even titling this post that way because Murphy, my friend at work, is SOOOOO much more than that to me, but I thought he would get a kick out of it.  Because at best..our relationship and banter can be described as "inappropriate".

Murphy, (we'll pretend his last name is Hendy, because it is) and I have incredible chemistry for an old cougar saddled with three kids, and a young stylish gay man obsessed with the Arts.

It is so difficult for me to describe someone that I love, so it is more natural for me to just introduce scenarios and conversations to give you a better feel for a person.

I am sure there is a literary term for that, but I am up against a deadline (picking Eves up from ballet/tap class and then shoving food down her throat, changing her clothes and scurring off to school) therefore, I am not going to look it up and instead i will spend an inordinate amount of time describing WHY I am not going to look it up.

But, I digress.  Murphy is classically trained for the stage and to my amusement EVERY MONDAY, WEDNESDAY & FRIDAY,  he presents himself and his outfit to me as he pirouettes and sashays around my desk. 

For instance, yesterday, I noticed that Murphy did his hair differently, and I complimented him on it, and in true Murph fashion, he began to elaborate on WHY he liked his new hairstyle so much, and how it accented his glowing skin and impossibly handsome face, and then I stopped him mid sentence (you HAVE to or you'll go MAD) to ask him, "Is there ANY quality about yourself that you DO NOT like?" and then we were reduced to giggles.

There is a very serious side to Murphy, too.  For instance, he is in recovery and just celebrated three years of sobriety, which is ANOTHER reason we make for such an unlikely couple.  I mean, my favorite pasttime is drinking red wine and I cannot share it with him and it makes me mental.

Listen, if I am going to have to be sober, I might as well be around my kids.  I HEARD that collective laugh, y'all.  I don't EVEN have to deliver punch lines any more.  GAWD!

Anyway, Murphy and I have become very close.  I can share with him the lotion that I got for my Mom on her last Mother's Day, and tell him about it, and he doesn't make me feel self-conscious by overreacting to such a personal statement.  He just rubs his hands together and smells his palms and leans down to me and says, "well then this must be very special to you, isn't it?  Thank you for sharing it with me."

Murphs has depth, yet he is incredibly silly and gregarious and I just LOVE him for it.  We hug every day I come into work, and he makes me love coming to work.

Look, I come from a long line of gays.  Well, at least two generations that I know of, and therefore, I am extremely comfortable with gay men.

My Uncle Mike was sort of my first experience with homosexuality (and it is as sad as is funny), he made Jack on Will and Grace look like Ahhhnold Schwartzennegger. He was married to my Aunt Kathy for several years until he finally had the courage to be himself, and move out to California and be the person he was meant to be.  Mike died of AIDS, which he contracted in San Francisco, when it was still called "The Gay Plague".  He died in Palm Springs a few years later, leaving his partner of many years, bereft and grief stricken.

You know, it was really just RECENTLY that homosexuality became mainstream, in terms of acceptance.  The general media , especially during the AIDS epidemic, generally regarded gay folks as unnatural, at the very least. 

This same bullshit still goes on, mind you, but my point is, that it was Will and Grace that presented homosexuals as gay first, and people second, and that was considered a huge triumph for the gay community.  What I am saying is, that if you really analyze some of those episodes, it only worked back then, because they introduced two gay characters that would be the most socially acceptable (i.e. Will, who is the straightest gay man alive, and his alter ego, Jack, who is clearly a characture of a gay man).

Still, it broke new ground and has paved the way for Modern family couple, Cameron & Mitchell , who are hilarious, but a very real gay couple, that one is able to emapathize with, not due to the fact that they are GAY, but because they are PEOPLE.  Food for thought, I guess.

Ok, back to Murph.  Some of my favorite moments.  Here is a painting he drew and then texted to me while I was at home feeding my kids macaroni and cheese and Mickey mouse shaped chicken fingers (Thank you Costco) for the third night in a row.


The caption read:

I just painted this picture and I wanted to show it to you.

Isn't this so cool?

It's you...without your make up.

I mean, CLASSIC. 

Murphs is a household name and my kids actually fight over who Murphy likes the best.  That doesn't mean THAT much, Murph, they pretty much fight about everything, but still, if you want some takeaway from this, have at it!

Moving forward...Murph and I were positively ECSTATIC when we were told that we needed to have our glamour photos taken for work - you know website, listing materials and such - we are plebian office staff.  Make no mistake, our photoshopped mugs would NOT be gracing any ads.

We laughed for literally weeks about what outfits and makeup we planned on wearing.  I told him I was searching for a traditional headdress, and he retaliated by confessing that he had a full on panick attack each time he looked in his mirror and thought about how he was going to do his stage makeup for the shoot.

At one point I dared him to show up in a tutu, and then I became extremely amused because he asked me what color he should wear.  I have come to understand that he has a rainbow of them in his closet.

I'm teasing.  Murphs is darker than that.  He collects old dolls, specifically those that are disformed and upsetting to the naked eye.

We had many conversations about the Christmas Card I wanted to send with my kids faces among the mutilated dolls, like ET in the closet full of stuffed animals.  We would build on this for several minutes until I had to go pee "because of my low bladder".

"That's so nasty." Murph will deadpan, "YOU are a dirty whore."

Anyway, Murphs and I got our photos taken by our residential real estate photographer.  He apparently used a wide angle lens and too much light.

Here they are.

Here's Murph.  He's such a dollbabe.

I made fact sheets out of this one and put my face where a photo of the front of the house should be and distributed them about the office.

Here's my official one.  Ugh!  NOT photogenic!  I like my other one better.  It is more representative of my personality.

My advice to you, today, is to find yourself a gay best friend.  Just make sure that you love them, not because they are gay, but because they remind you of your brother.  Gay men are the coolest people you will ever meet.  But BEWARE, you thought your preteen daughters were critical...just walk into the office after HOT yoga and you will get an ear full...from the way you smell to the melted make up running down your face.

You are the best, Murph.  I am so grateful to have met you and I am so honored to be your "main straight".

XOXO

Being at your worst...or is it best?

Happier, and considerably warmer days

Sooooo, today I had kinda what some people would label a "bad morning".

To give you a little background, I am now working part-time/feels like full time in today's technologically advanced culture.  I'm such an asshole I am sure that there is a more hip catchphrase, but because I am OLD, I'm gonna go with "technologically advanced culture".

What I mean by this, is that YOU ARE ACCESSIBLE.  I thought that I had constant interruptions, technologically speaking, when I didn't work, well, it is an entirely different ball of wax to work in this decade (yes, I said DECADE, now go relieve yourselves).

Okay...let me break it down for you.  My husband works almost two hours away ALL WEEK, he has his own apartment there, and I am basically working part-time/feels like full time and raising three girls by myself.

Allllright, go relieve yourselves once again.  And by "relieve", I mean, take another long drink of wine.

Oh, did you think pee... or poop?  You obviously need to stop reading my blog, because you are a straight man.

Ok.  Carrying on.  Wow, she still goes off on tangents...It's her.

ANYWAY, I am super stressed out, but I conquer my days, and then relieve myself, and then I evaluate.

Today's evaluation needed a support group, so I thought I'd take the thoughts in my head LIVE for a change.  YOU'RE WELCOME.

Oh my Gawd, I have so much to tell you.  Okay, so here goes.

Wait, I need to qualify some more.  I BUST MY ASS ALL DAY LONG.  There.  I said it.  I now have a larger audience than my three young children.  Oh, yeah, that's a new development.  I have started actively cussing in front of my kids.

I don't cuss AT them yet, which is clearly a future rite of passage for me, in my eyes.  But, I say Gawdddammit so much that I actually had to explain to them that MY version didn't really have anything to do with Gawd so much as it was that I was just "expressing frustration" and that it happened to be my new "go to" phrase.

That seemed to go over well with my two older ones (they are 8, almost 9 & a solid 11), until I happened to scan the backseat to discover my little Eva, who is FIVE (ok, six... Feb.8) who blinked her big brown eyes twice at me, and began singing some fairy song she made up about the fairy and our dog, Scarlett.

NICCCCCE.  Well done, Mommy.

Ok, I am supposed to be qualifying, not condemning myself before I tell my story.

 I probably spend no less than three hours every night making sure everyone has their clothes laid out for the next day, making lunches & coffee, making sure everyone bathes, dinner, dinner clean up, laundry....on and on.  I am being rather conservative with my time consumption here, considering I cart them everywhere to their pointless activities, check/help with homework, whatever.  Who cares?  Have I made my point, though? I am preaching to the choir with working single moms, and working Moms are stiffening their backs and raising their chalices.  Solidarity, beeeeaaaaachhhes.  Okay, now I'll tell my story.

I wake up, go down and get a cup of premeditated coffee, take 5 minutes to read my new US Magazine's "Stars... they're just like us" page and that page where they dissect the purse of some starlet/random TV star.

I wake up the girls.

Mills starts wailing about how the Tooth Fairy didn't come and I offer up some bullshit about how she texted me and her wings froze in the "Arctic Blast," and then when she drags herself downstairs I replace the tooth with three dollars and call her back up to check.

This scenario (the one where I make them do this lame double take) has been acted out in my house, ooohhhhh, about five times.  Per kid.

I am not going to even TRY to explain why my kids still believe in the Tooth Fairy, or Santa for that matter, but they ALL do.  Even Hallie, my 11-year-old.  Someone told me it is because they think if they stop believing, then they will stop receiving.  I concur.

I digress.... So my two eldest princesses fight over the front seat of my car EVERY FUCKING MORNING.  It escalates into pinching, biting, pulling hair.  Little Eves just bats those big brown eyes with those freakishly long, thick lashes and impending bushy unibrow (btw...spell check has unibrow as two words...ironic), and sings all the way through it.  When I die, I want to go to the planet she lives on.

So it's the second coldest day in the history of Columbus or some bullshit.  I say to them as they are beginning to fight on the way to the car that "if you are fighting when I get back with Eva, YOU WILL WALK TO SCHOOL.  I DON"T CARE HOW COLD IT IS.  I MEAN IT!"

"I mean, I spend HOURS each night before I have to go into work, preparing for the following morning so that it can run as smoothly as possible.  I stayed up until 11:30 working, so I could watch Dance Moms with Hallie, and this is how I am repaid?" I think to myself, or maybe I said it aloud to no one.  I can't discern anymore.

One of my favorite pics of Mills.  Those are not the teeth she lost last night.
 I am sure the Tooth Fairy was ON TASK for those!

I go back in the house to assist Eves.  She's frantically getting her shit together because Mills (8, almost 9) has morphed into this bizarre drill sergeant who is positively obsessed with the time that we leave the house, and what time we hit the drop off line, and how long the light takes to change, yada yada, she makes me insane. But, then again, in Mills' defense, she prides herself on laying out her clothes the night before, and has herself entirely prepared for school, without prompting, I might add, well before anyone else in the house, so who can blame her?) has her all verclempt and she is excitedly searching the coat/hat/boot/glove pile the girls left for her, for her "puple uggs she got for Kistmas that aur hur favoite, and she needs to be waauum when she walks from KClub to Baurrrrrinton".

She makes me STOP to take the time to soften and help her, because she is FIVE (almost 6) and it's not her fault that she is stuck in this rat race because when they were her age, her fighting, spitting sistas were watching half hour after half hour of the Disney channel while they ate snacks, or ran errands with Mommy who bought them anything pacifying in order achieve her daily goals.

Hallie took this.  Ethereal is the only way to describe this pic.  One of my favs.

Don't you feel sorry for Eeever Beaver (aka The Beav), though.  If lovin' the KClub is wrong, (where she goes three mornings a week), Eves dounwannaberight.

I don't blame her, though, she needs time away from Fantasy Land.  That shit's GOT TA' BE exhausting.

So I get back to the car with Eves in tow, and sureenough, there they are fighting...pulling hair...pinching.  Stunning, really.  Arms are flying between the back and the front seat and I can hear screams from inside the car that I have TURNED ON for them, including the booty warmers, five minutes ago, so they won't be cold going to school.

"GET OUUUUT!"  I scream in my driveway as I help Eva into the car.  They both turn and Eves' mouth drops because she thinks she might get grandfathered in, and I scream it again, go around to their side of the car, open their respective doors, and pull them out of the car.

They have good coats and boots on, but no gloves or hats.  It's like 11 degrees.  I watch other families walk by, and I am registering that they are staring at me, mimicking Eva's expression.

Hallie starts to run away from Mills and Mills starts crying and screaming (middle child), and I scream down the street after Hallie that she "better wait up for her sister or ELSE!"

I run back into the house, get hats and gloves for them both, and bolt to the corner where they now are. As I roll up, a simultaneous expression of relief washes over their faces. They approach the vehicle and reach for the handle.  (Wait for it.)  I, then, roll down the window and throw their gloves and hats at them and tell them to "GO TO SCHOOL!"and that "I AM DONE!"

I was literally seeing RED, peeps.  I watched Hallie cry on the corner waiting for the light to change while I ignored the pile up of SUV's behind me that are witnessing this whole thing and drive Eves to KClub.

I get through the drop off there and keep my hands in my pockets so Eve's teacher won't notice them shaking and return to my car, grab my phone to call my best friend, who is also on her way to work, and I see "Missed Call & Voicemail from Barrington", my children's school.

"This outta be good," I say to myself, as my car idles alone in a church parking lot with the radio blasting, and fog is steaming up the windows.

The voicemail is from Hallie, my 11-year-old.  It went as follows, "Mom.  We have an Open House this morning.  I hope you can come.  Bye."

FUUUUUCCCCCCKKKK.  Are you kidding me?  Perfect.

I go to the school.  I am not late.  There are a ton of parents in the doorway and hall signing in.  I tell two Moms I know about my morning.  They didn't seem too judgemental.  But, it was all too fresh.  Who cares?  I didn't.  I needed to VENT.

Hallie spots me as I lean against the wall outside of her classroom.  We embrace.  We've been through Hell...lived a lifetime in the last 20 minutes.  Hallie tells me she's sorry and that she loves me and whispers in my ear that she is glad I am there.

I almost start to cry, which I did on the way to work later, during work, and after I got home.

We had a great time at Open House, Hallie and I, and our relationship has the depth that only a first child has with their Mother, that I cannot begin to explain.  She was so proud as she walked me around and showed me all of the things she had been working on in the last three months.

I mean, one could argue either side.  You know, for or against putting your children in harm's way because you are angry and exasperated and STRUNG OUT.  But, I am not going to do that.

I am going to take the high road for myself. I am going to give myself a break.  You can call it justification.  You can label it rationalization (I have a Minor in that, by the way).  But, I choose to see it as being at my best.  I choose this because I was teaching my children to be accountable...to suffer consequences for their actions...and I was following through, which we all know, if we are honest with ourselves, is the most difficult requirement of parenting.  If you are going to threaten, then follow through.  Because if you don't, then your kids will have your number because they are passive aggressive, manipulative little buggers, who are looking to you to set the boundaries.

Granted, it will take years of intensive therapy for them to get over the psychological trauma of today, and I plan on totally being there to blur their memories and distort the facts during family visitation.

I had a friend in Dallas (and still do, thank Gawd),  who once told me that, "As a parent, I see it as my job to break their little spirits.  I OWE it to them.  My grandmother did it to my Mom, my Mom did it to me, and now IIIIIII'm passing the torch to my own offspring."

We were talking about our two-year-olds at the time, but WHATEVER.  It's aaaallllll relative.

I love you, AAAnnnngggiiiieeee, and I can't wait to see you next week.

My recommendation today is to follow through when you threaten to punish your child.  DO what you SAAAYYYY you are going to do, because you are a sucker if you don't.

Make no mistake, though, I signed up Mills for a gymnastics meet this weekend and surprised her at pick up this afternoon, and Hallie had a playdate.  Their after school snack looked like something out of Parent Magazine.

Just because you do the best thing for them, doesn't mean your heart isn't going to hurt.

My Mom's Eulogy

My Mom and Mills.  They had a real connection.

This is for all of my friends, and family, who could not make it to my Mom's funeral.  I know who you are.  Some of you were there, physically, and some of you made it possible for me to keep going, through texts or voicemails, or calls.  Some of you are new friends, and some old.  This is for you, and for anyone who has ever lost a parent...because once you go through what I have recently gone through, you are never the same, and you become part of this "club" of people who have lost a parent, which no one wants to be a member of, but you have that connection, just the same.

Here is the eulogy that I gave for my Mom, and I could not have gotten through it without my Dad and my Husband.  Apparently, I am a much better writer, than I am a public speaker.

"First and foremost, I would like to thank everyone who has supported my Dad and my Husband and I during this difficult time.

Each night of the past week, we would retire to my Mom's patio and discuss the days events, or the future, or make decisions about how we planned to handle certain things, or just talk in an attempt to feel normal, again.

I, personally, have struggled with the idea of eulogizing my Mom for months, because I kept approaching it, as a summary , like some sort of term paper - and it was entirely too overwhelming and daunting for me.

And then one night, when my Dad and my Husband had gone to bed, it dawned on me that the only way to truly memorialize my Mom was to do it from MY perspective, while focusing on specific events to illustrate who Jody was as a person.

I decided to break it out into categories:  Her family, Her friends, Animals, University of Kentucky basketball, Shopping, and Disney World.

In my mind, this is the only way to tackle this huge task, so if I leave something out, I apologize in advance.

A common theme through each of these categories is my Mother's sense of humor.  I think the strain of humor that I most identified with, was of the inappropriate nature.  I promise that I will try to filter each of these stories, so as to not embarrass her Church, and her grandchildren.

Disney World - My immediate family and I went o Disney World every year for summer vacation.   This may seem odd to some, but it is part of my history, so I am nostalgic about it, and when my Mom was able to share it with her grandchildren, she was positively radiant.

Well, the last time we went, our new labrador blew my knee out, chasing another dog around our yard, a few weeks before the trip, so my Mom and I had matching motor scooters to get around the parks.

One day, we were tooling around, and she stopped and motioned me to pull up next to her, and she brought to my attention this kind of overgrown teenager, who had clearly just exited the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique.

She was about 16-years-old (which is maybe 8 years older than the typical patron), and her hair was pulled tightly in a bun, with makeup and sparkles running down her face, in the sweltering heat.  She was in a full adult sized Cinderella costume, and was gnawing on a gigantic turkey leg, sitting on a bench, in Frontierland.  We howled with laughter.

The irony in this story is that there was undoubtedly another Mother/Daughter duo in the crowd, elbowing each other at the sight of us, side by side, in our rented motor scooters, soaked to our underwear, fresh from the Log Fume ride, stopping to take a sip from our Diet Cokes.

Shopping- No one, and I mean , no one could justify a purchase like my Mother could.  I have three girls, and the store, Janie and Jack, was able to be publicly traded on the New york Stock Exchange because of my Mother, alone.  I'll tell you, when my Mom and I, and the girls, would walk into Janie and Jack, it was as if the Royal Family had stopped into a London pub to enjoy a pint.

She was a serious collector, too, - snow globes, Madame Alexander dolls, pill boxes - you name it.  If there was some obscure connection to one of these categories - it was represented in some way in each of her collections.  It gave her great joy to collect things, and my children enjoyed her collections as much as she did.

Another theme here, is that there was a part of my Mom that was childlike, in a way, and that is why she had such a strong connection with her grandchildren.

Kentucky Basketball - My Dad and my Mom took back to back trips to Atlanta and New Orleans this Spring,when Kentucky won the National Championship  When she got back, and really on the way home, really was the beginning of her physical decline.  I was livid.  She wanted to talk to me about her great handicapped seats, and I was having NONE of it.

I was not the only person who loves her, who felt that way.  Well, one night this past week, while we were on the patio, as I have mentioned had become our ritual, my Dad told me that they had had a huge fight when she insisted that they go to both games.

He told us that he consented only when she told him that she knew that she would not be alive to see another Tournament, let alone a Championship, and so he took her.  

I guess what I am trying to say here, is that she knew who she was, and what she likes, and many people go an entire lifetime without really knowing themselves, and I admire that.  In my mind, understanding yourself is a huge strength.

Animals - Growing up my Mom was crazy about her horse, and Rexy, her dog.  I believe that her love for the two of them, set the stage for her pervasive love of animals that wold last her entire life.

At the end, she would talk about various animals she had throughout her life, and even claimed to spend time with some, as she began to fade.

In her most lucid moments, we would talk about the various animals we had, growing up, and the human characteristics they each had, when they were a part of our family.  I would often refer to her as "Dr. Dolittle" because she was always "communicating" with some animal at the zoo she often frequented with my girls, or saving some wounded varmint she rescued in our yard.

Friends - I learned how to be a good friend, and how to choose my friends by watching my Mom's interactions with her closest pals.

Any parent will tell you that it is not what you say, but what you do, that makes the biggest impact on your children, because, believe me, they are always watching.

All of my closest friends have huge hearts, and are an absolute BALL to be around.  I can trust them, and they don't judge me, and they accept me for exactly who I am, and I can say the same about very single one of my Mom's friends, as well.

God bless you all for being here in my absence, and I will be grateful to you all forever.

Family - I think it's obvious through this eulogy, what my Mom means to me and my children, and my husband.

Her relationship with my Father is the real love story.

For the last several months, I traveled back and forth from Columbus to Louisville and truly, I would cry all the way home each time I left.  But, I was able to go back to my children and my life there, with it's distractions and joys, where my Father did not.

He has been in the trenches, here in Louisville, tirelessly attending to my Mom's every need.  He has shown me what love and true strength is, and now my Husband in this last week, has been a shadow of these characteristics.

I want everyone to know that as difficult as this last week has been, I would not trade it for anything in the World.

My Mom was happier for a few days, than she had been in a long time.

As the dialysis treatments and the ventilator fell away, we had some of the best conversations we had ever had, in our entire lives.

My Dad and my Husband and my Mom's friends, and my in-laws, and of course, my girls and I, are closer that we have ever been in our entire lives.  I can only thank my Mom for that.

There is a silver lining to every tragedy, and I am so lucky to have found mine.  I only hope that you can all find yours, too.

Ok, so I gots a Jayyy.Ohhh .Beee.

Me and my friend, out at Happy Hour when I last held a job.

That's right Beaaaccches.  You heard me.  Today, I got a job.  No, not that kind of job.  Get your noses out of Shades of Grey ( a yet, unwritten, impending post), and listen.  I had a REAL interview, with a REAL resume (well, as far as they know!  Seriously, how can you really fake that you haven't worked in ten years.) and I wore REALLY tall heels I borrowed from my neighbor, after I made her come outside (whilst she is trying to cope with having two babies, 3 and under), and made her evaluate each of the three outfits I had created.  Erin chose one rather decisively, (for her, now that I think about it), and presented me with these awesome Calvin Klein heels, that were not only flesh colored, but were platform, with a wooden bottom, closed toe, and faux snakeskin.  PURRRRFECT.

She not only made me go upstairs, a few times, to contribute jewelry to each look, as I stood on my gigantic wooden ottoman outside, which everyone thinks as a hot tub, and modeled each look, by holding it up next to my body, (I hadn't showered all day, and I have a strict rule that I do not do a fashion show when I am dirty.  It's just not right, in my book.)  Erin, would stand on her tiptoes, on the other side of the fence, look me up and down, and make me show her the shoes and jewelry I planned to wear with each.

I would have asked her to choose my make up if one of her kids didn't have diarrhea.

Listen, I have been out of the game for 10 years.  This is a very big deal.  And like every other real friend you have, Erin got it, and it was like we were both going on the interview.

I have a friend, Amy, that I recently reconnected with, that once said to me, "a real friend is a person who cares about the little, tiny details of your life like they are living it with you.  My sister is like that. She will ask me about something so insignificant that I mentioned on the phone, like some pillow I saw on Ebay, or if my kid is still getting up in the night, or whatever.  And she actually CARES what the answer is.  That is the single trait that I value in all of my real friends."  Truer words have never been spoken.

In essence, Erin and I can talk about the big things like my Mom or Brad, but she also asks me about my gigantic weed that grew to be 5 feet tall (y'all, it was thistle) and whether or not I was ever able to dig out the root.  They actually begged me to see how big I could get it, because it is in full view of their patio, but it was blocking my hose so I had to cut it down.  I mean, that wasn't really it, I have standards, you know?

With a southern accent in the Midwest, you always have to walk that fine line between Southern Belle and redneck.

I think that I keep a good balance.

So, ANYWAY, I do not sleep at all the night before the interview, and if you know German Village, where the interview and business is,  it is rich with old brick streets.  I never walk in heels and then I am faced with the equivalent of bare feet on hot stones.  Classic.

I persevered.

Okay, so back up, the reason I couldn't sleep all night was because I kept having stress dreams where I arrived at the interview all harried like I always am, and I pan down, while I am inquiring after my appointment, and discover that I still have on my sweatpants. My dream camera then pans back up and I have forgotten to shower and have not brushed my teeth.   In between those episodes of pure anxiety, I would awake and remember different movie scenarios about interviewing, and break out into a cold sweat.

Here is my favorite all time interview scene, I kept imagining, (over and over),  that my interview the next day was SURE to mimick.

This was being alternated, in my brain, with this one, which is part of my favorite movie of all time, "Goodwill Hunting".

So, anyway, through the grace of GAWD, I landed the job and the "retainer video" above comes into play, here, because I forgot to ask what I would be making.  That's right, not during the interview and not during the offer.  Now, to be fair, there was no real offer, the owner just called me up to tell me, "We chose youuuuu, Gurl!" and I was so elated, that I guess if I am honest with myself, that I didn't really CARE what the compensation was. 

Hey, like I told my neighbors, John and Erin, today, when they asked me how much I was getting paid, "I may be getting class credits, for all I know.  This could be an internship.  I have no idea.  And I don't care."

 John then suggested that maybe they mistook me for a felon, who needed hours toward my Community Service."  LOVE THEM.


I don't remember all of the interview, because I was in the middle of an anxiety-induced episode, and was extremely sleep deprived, and I had had one to many cups of coffee, with no breakfast, and so it's kinda spotty, but I DO remember at the end of the interview, that they informed me of having two other candidates, and I actually said, "Well, I guess it's just like The Bachelor.  It feels like I have done a good job, and we have really connected, but the next person might have higher heels and a shorter skirt."  (See video ONE)  They laughed, THANK GAWD, but then one of them said, "Well, I don't watch that show, but that's funny.  I get it.  I mean, I could imagine."


I walked in a dream-like state to my car, and immediately realized how much I wanted and NEEDED that job.  That sounds stalker-like, but it's not, it's supposed to read as endearing, with a little bit of romanticism sprinkled on it.

You see, I needed that job on several different levels, none of which, I apparently associate with monetary.  Anybody whose head is at where mine is right now does not need an elaboration on that statement.

I don't mean that like I don't need the money, because I do, We do, but by pure happenstance, I came across this perfect part-time job, that in my mind, did not exist anymore.


Anyway, my search started out at the beginning of the year, with a random shout out on Facebook, with some sarcastic or goofy comment along with it, where I received several inquiries, but most of the responses indicated that they did not think that I was serious.  We'll just leave it at that.

Anyway, from there, I got a few leads, but I wasn't excited about any of the prospects.  I joined stupid websites that provided me with daily feeds, like part-time jobs.com and the like.

I began to realize that short of stocking shelves at some supersto' or cold calling, all the good part-time jobs, were acquired by those that transitioned from full-time to part-time.

None of it, excited me, and all of it, discouraged me, so I began to contemplate full-time and the impact that would have on me and my family vs. the clear monetary and insurance benefits.

It's just that I am old enough to know, if I have learned ANYTHING about myself, that if in my gut, it feels bad, then that condition does not change, it just intensifies.

My great friends, and apparent angels, The Morgan family, who, for some reason have showered me with positive energy and warmth, put me in touch with this new adventure, and I will be eternally grateful.  XOXOXOXO, y'all.

My unsolicited advice to you is two-fold, one superficial, and one introspective.  First, watch the series, Girls on HBO.  It is half-way through the season, and is the representation of the updated social progression of the quintessential girl posse trying to find their way in New York City.  The author and star is Lena Dunham.  The show is produced by Judd Apatow (I am positively obsessed with his wife, Leslie Mann.  When I see stills of her in US Magazine, talking to someone at an event, I secretly wish it was me.) of "40-year-old Virgin," "Knocked Up," and the like.

If the premise sounds familiar, it is, only much better.  Dunham has acquiesced that her show would not be possible without the ground breaking that Sex in the City did, before her.  In a way, Girls is a bit of an homage to Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda.  And, Girls does offer a variation on the theme, in terms of it's characters, but it is still fresh.  Just watch it, you'll see what I mean.  It's just much more REAL, and they all don't have fabulous bodies and their fashion and the city isn't in the forefront.  The story lines are more important and the writing is better.

In a way, Girls makes Sex and the City look a little kitchy, especially if you want to count the last movie.  Just watch it. And then...you're welcome.

On a deeper level, don't be afraid to step out of your comfort zone.  My good friend, Alison, enlightened me that you don't always have to stick to what you thought you were always going to do.  "It's okay to EVOLVE," she told me as I poured my heart out to her over martinis.  "You are allowed to change your mind about the direction you thought your life was going to go.  Give yourself a pass."

So, in essence, THIS protagonist in the story finally gets a break, and will now attempt to get her Mojo back.  Are you rooting for her? I AM.

Enjoy your new scratches

I just LOVES me some T.J. Maxx.  We had such a good time there when I bought my too small jean shorts.

Check out Eva's studded heals.  Doesn't she look like she is doing that dance move where you grab your ankle and pull it back?  Oh, you don't know that one?  I can teach you.  Wanted to give you some fun pics, before I got my bitch on.

So today I went to T.J. Maxx to return some jean shorts I had purchased without trying them on, that were clearly too small, once I got them home, and to pick up an outfit for my daughter, Hallie, who was having her Strings concert (she plays the violin) and when I returned to my car, it had THIS note on the windshield.

If you can't read it, it says, "Awesome parking job.  Enjoy your new scratches."

I, then looked at my car, which was clearly askew, and crossed one of the parking line parameters, and I just felt, well, LOUSY.

I think the funny part of this story is that I proceeded to circle my car to look for the vandalism that was promised in the note, and I could not tell which scratches were "new".  I drive a 2004 Honda Pilot, and it has endured it's fair share of abuse, so I decided right then and there, that the joke was on the bitch who wrote the note.

Isn't it a beut?

If only it were that simple.

I got in my car, and much to my surprise I began to cry.  I am unable to decipher whether or not I was crying for humanity, or because I am so fragile due to the shitstorm that has been raining down upon me for the last 6 months.

Anyway, all I kept thinking was, "What sort of person would actually take the time to, I assume, park somewhere else in the lot, take out a piece of paper, and actually write such a thing?"  Then, she might or might not have (as I explained before) keyed my car, and then waltzed into the T.J.'s to peruse the merchandise.

I knew that it was a female due to the flowery writing, which I actually admired upon reading the script.

Once I got myself together, I just vowed to myself, that I would not raise a child that would EVER do that to another person.

I envisioned her watching me from her car as I circled my vehicle, as she texted her friends, and laughed.  The next part of my DREAM scenario involved her actually approaching me and accosting me due to my inferior parking skills.  I would, then, explain to her everything that was going on in my life and profusely apologize as she shrunk down in her Mom's hand me down Tahoe, or whatever, and I would be able to ruin her post coital shopping high, as she had ruined mine.

I have no idea if I had to park that way because of a neighboring car, or if I was just in a daze as I hurried about my errands, and raced the clock to meet my children at home after school.

Let's just assume that I was hurried, and self-centered enough not to notice what a shitty parking job I had created.  Who gives a fuck?

Listen, I am all about road rage, in the privacy of my own vehicle.  If nothing else, I have ingrained in my children that people are "morons" and they love to imitate how my Dad and I call everyone "buddy" when we are questioning the driving skills of everyone else on the road.

I am more than happy to pass this along.  Nothing would give me more pleasure than to ride with Hallie in the car one day as she expresses disgust at a person texting at a red light that has turned green, only to miss the green light entirely, and cause the line of vehicles behind them to endure yet another red light because she had to finish her status update on Facebook.

My point is, that we are all guilty of checking out while operating a vehicle.  While we do not cause accidents, or put others in harm's way, we do inconvenience other drivers from time to time.  If you do not cop to this, you are a LIAR.

It just takes a SPECIAL person to harass another human being for being self indulgent, because no one is immune to it.

Listen, I know that this seems like a rant, um, because it is...but don't we have the obligation to give each other a break, when one of us inadvertently violates a SOCIAL driving law?

There were plenty of other parking spaces in the lot.  I was there in the middle of the day.  I was not even close to the front of the lot.  None of this matters, I know, I am not in the slightest way, trying to defend my shitty parking job because in my mind, it is a non-issue.

The issue, here, and is my guidance today, is to GIVE EACH OTHER A BREAK.

You know what?  I WILL enjoy my new scratches, if I ever find them, because they will be a constant reminder to me to teach my children and myself to always be civil, and to always take the high road, because you can bet your life that we will (and have all been) in a situation where we make a mistake, and we inconvenience some stranger that we have never met, who is also in a hurry, or who is as excited as we are. to be at T.J. Maxx, and we will have the grace and the wherewithall (I love that word) to give that person a break, as we park two spaces over, because we are all HUMAN.

Care Giving vs. Care Taking

My Mom, with Eves, at Disney World, undeniably her favorite place in the world.  My Mom loves this picture.

I've been thinking a lot about writing this post, because I kept pondering over whether or not I had the courage to write it, but in the end, I decided that it is best that I do, if for the very reason that I might connect with someone, who has experienced and felt the same way that I do.  In that vein, I am probably, for the first time, really revealing exactly the way that I feel without embellishing, or deflecting my feelings with humor or sarcasm....so here goes.

I spent the last week with my parents in Louisville, in the hospital with my ailing Mother.  I have alluded to the fact that she has kidney problems and is on dialysis, but I have never really, I think, gotten it, until now, how truly ill she is.

I arrived at the nursing home, which they now refer to, as "rehab facilities" on a Sunday.  I had been calling my Father to get regular updates on my Mom all week, as she was admitted to the hospital AGAIN, and she was just released to the rehab facility.

I was in no way prepared for what I discovered.  My mom was extremely lethargic, she could not walk, and she could barely hear or see, and evidently, she had not been eating for several months.  Therefore, she could not take the abundant medications that she is required to take, and she had reached "stroke level" in terms of her thyroid and kidney failure.

My Dad has just retired, and just prior to this state, she convinced him to go to not one, but two University of Kentucky games, the first in Atlanta, and the second, in New Orleans, as they were ascending to the Final Four.

Apparently, this did her in.

There is no need to elaborate on how insane these excursions were, given her excellent mental state, and her not so excellent physical one.  It is in the past, and now things are as they are, and there is no going back.

I spent the night with my Mom in the Rehab facility (hopefully the only one I will ever go to) and within twenty-four hours, a squad was called because her pulse shot up to 160, and she was experiencing heart arrythmias.

It was very emotional and scary and dramatic for all of us.  My Father was exhausted from care giving, and I was immediately thrown into this surreal situation, where my own family (meaning my husband and children) seemed very remote and dream-like.

From there, I spent everyday at the hospital, worrying about my mother's well-being, hanging on her every meal and pill taken, and what was regurgitated, and how often she slept, and what she would say out loud in her dreams, while simultaneously wondering what was going on in my old life.

I would be sitting there watching my Mom sleep, while the machines beeped away, as the clock turn 2:50, and imagining my children running out of school, as the bell rang to meet their walking group home.

These are the types of texts I would get from my children that week.

 Mills (late at night):  "Mom, there is a bee in my room.  I can hear it buzzing and I can't go to sleep.  Love you."

Me:  "Your Dad is there.  Go get HIM.  I, however, am in another STATE.  Good night.  I love you."




Me to Hallie: "Can U n the girls do pictures and letters for Nina (my Mom's grandma moniker)? Thanks.  Love you."

Seriously?

Hallie:  "We will try to after dinner.  How is every1?  BTW can I order an ugly doll above when you get home?"

Me:  "We'll talk about it when I get home.  Good night."

Hallie:  "Please.  It's only fifteen bux.  Here is the link."

She, then sends me the link on this stupid ugly doll she wants.  Classic.


I became very close with a nurse named Bill, who I am now convinced was at the very least a mirage, and at best, an angel, who would smile at my poor Mother who asked him to adjust her pillow or pull her up in bed for the one thousandth time that afternoon.

"Yes, Ma'am," he would drawl, with a wink, as she asked him if the dinner she was receiving that evening was on it's way.  He would then go down the hall, and prematurely extract her tray from the cart, (which is NOT in his job description, mind you) and deliver it, as if she were the only patient on his rounds, and we were paying him under the table.

I asked him in the hall one time if he thought she was going to die, and he told me, "No, NO she is not.  Not on my watch she is not."

My Mom's friends all came out.  I call them the Ya Ya's.  The players are Norletta, Tootie, Carol, (I do not have the imagination to come up with these names.) Betty, and Diane.  I have known these women my entire life, but in their presence, I always feel like a child.

I try to assert my adulthood by mentioning my children, or my life in Columbus, but in my eyes, they just see me as "Jody's daughter".  I love them all and they are loyal, like all Southern women are to the friends they have grown up with.   It is just unnerving to me at times because as we are discussing my Mom's health, or their grandchildren, I feel like they are just remembering the time they took me on Spring Break and I stayed out past my curfew and came home drunk.

I guess that is just the disconnection we have because I was basically RAISED by these women in one way or another, and I flew the coup, and the girl that they once knew every move she made (via my mother and the telephone) is now a grown up, and a very different person, yet, just exactly the same.

I watched my Dad dutifully attend to her every need, none too great or small, even if she lashed out at him, because she just happened to marry the most loyal person on the face of the Earth. 

I must admit, that when it came to bathroom breaks, I would make myself scarce in a hurry.  I could give her her dialysis treatments, feed her with a spoon, even rub lotion on her legs and offer to trim her toenails, but when it came to ass wipin' - lose my number.

Bill would laugh when I made convenient excuses to get coffee or pretended to make a phone call, when I was really out in the hall checking Facebook.  My care giving limits had been met, and I can only apologize for it, but it's not going to change anything.

I would tell myself that I had givin' up ass wipin' when Eva was potty trained, but I think we all know that that is not true. 

It just got me to thinking about caregivers and caretakers and which roles each spouse plays in a marriage.  I suppose in a perfect one, each is both, but more than likely one spouse is more prone to play a particular role.

In a hospital setting, such as this, where you are there, for a long period of time, you are in this microcosm of health care limitations, and physician consultations, and endless prodding and testing, and then waiting for those test results.

I found myself shifting into high gear, trying to establish some sense out of it all, so that I could "set something up" for when my Mom was discharged, so that my Dad was not so alone.  I was met with ambiguity, and politics, and diffusion of responsibility, as I tried to secure a "more appropriate facility" for my Mom to go to upon discharge that could offer a  "higher level of treatment" should the need arise.

I was told by the liaison at the hospital that places patients in such settings, that she "could not predict the future" and then was told by the only game in town that offered said healthcare
that my Mother was "simply not ill enough."

I told her that this was "a first" for me to hear this, because all everyone who was consulting on her case said, was how ill she truly was.

My point, here, is that there is the hospital, and there are nursing homes, or "rehab facilities" and there is no in between, therefore, for someone in my Mom's condition, the ER becomes a revolving door, because rehab facilities are not equipped to handle "new issues" that arise in a patient.

So, for instance, if my Mom could not hold her food down, and therefore, was not ingesting her medications, then a squad would be called whenever the consequences of this reared it's ugly head.

In addition, according to Medicare standards, which pays for 100 days of Rehab ANNUALLY, if my Mom were too ill to attend occupational or physical therapy, THREE times, she would be discharged to her home, for my Father to take care of her, with at the very least, an in home caregiver, who would not be there during the night.  You must realize that this is a best case scenario of obtaining 5 days a week of in-home care, and it is all covered by insurance. 

Stop and think what that would be like.  After 100 days or three missed therapy sessions, every night, your caregiver is to spend every night "caring" for their spouse during non-waking hours, not to mention the round the clock care that is to be provided each and every weekend.

The alternative is to spend money out of pocket for a rehab facility, which is astronomical, or hire a private in-home caregiver out of pocket, on OFF days, just to keep a little bit of sanity.

For example, when Brad and I offered to give my Dad a respite from the hospital, my Dad literally JUMPED at the chance to have some time to himself.  It was then, that I realized how exhausting his role had become because the man has never taken a break in his life.  Up until this point, it was simply not in his nature to accept help.  He is the very definition of "rising to the occasion."

At my stage in life, we are not literally care giving or care taking, like the roles my parents' have assumed, but at least, metaphorically, we tend to pick our spouses up from the floor, from one time or another, due to strenuous life experiences, and not only is it imperative that we are capable of rescuing our partners, but it is also important to be aware of what type of patients we are, when we are at the receiving end.

I am fairly sure that at the ripe old age of TWENTY, when my Dad was reciting his vows to my Mother, he did NOT envision attending to her every psychological and biological need one week into his retirement.  This is a testament to love, and to commitment, and to loving someone so much that you are willing to endure an open-ended period of time, where someone else's needs are more important than your own.

It is funny.  I began this post with the intention of discussing the roles one assumes in a marriage when your life bottoms out, but instead this has become a declaration of what real love is - what blind love is. 

My recommendation today is to be cognisant of what role you have assumed in your relationship and then either be accepting, grateful, or if you are dissatisfied, then use it as an agent for change.  I believe that the older we get, the more established we get in our individual roles in a relationship.  In essence, as long as you are both equally committed to wiping each other's asses should the need arise, then you are OKAY.

It is important that you understand that this post is not a venue for you to express you condolences or whatever.  I am not trying to extract sympathy here.  I had my manager, Jen, read this before I posted it, because  I was so nervous to be so RAW, and she said, 

"It's a great post.  I think you should post it, but you realize that you are going to get a lot of people going, 'Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about your Mom and stuff.'" and then she goes, "I mean there is a lot of medical stuff in there, too."

LOVE HER.  That is why she is my manager, and not my EDITOR.  Kisses, Jen.  Hilarious.

The truth is that, this is strictly an act of catharsis, and I feel like I have been initiated into a club that I did not sign up for.  It is just one of those life experiences that you always hear about, and then it happens to you, and you feel completely alone.

The purpose of this post is to put into words what it feels like when you embark upon what I am currently experiencing.  I understand that probably most of my feelings and expressions are unique, because why the hell would you be reading this if they weren't, but the I would be willing to bet that the general consensus would agree that when one of your parents becomes very ill, and you are in the situation that I am in, then you will experience a huge awakening on several levels.

My Mom's condition has revealed a lot of emotional layers in me that I had not really pondered until now.  Family, caregiving, healthcare, friendship, health, marriage, and future are all things that were once an abstract notion, become very clear to you when you are faced with crisis.

I guess my real recommendation to you today is to value all of those things, and create memories, because you just never know how much time you have.

 

 

Mills and Nina.

Why I hate parks and my Happy House

"Eves, on our swing out front.  "Can we go to the Pawk?"  she asks.  "Hey, how 'bout I just push you on the swing?" I say.

Tonight Mills and I are going to Marmon Valley Ranch for a Mother-Daughter horseback riding overnight.  It is estimated to be, oh I don't know, 1 degree outside tonight with sleeting rain scheduled for tomorrow.  All I keep thinking is, "What have I done?"  All Mills keeps thinking is, "This is going to be the greatest 24 hours of my life!"  I've already told her that we need to leave early.

Yesterday, I went to the park with my youngest, Eva.  I used to go to the park all of the time with the other two, but as is my nature, I am all burnt out on all of the elements that are expected to instill in Eva a normal childhood, so I think this was the first time we had ever gone to the park together, just the two of us.  Eva is five. I used to walk or put them in the stroller or ride bikes to the park.  This time I drove, and then I sat on a bench and looked at my watch every thirty seconds.

I was actually thinking that it wasn't so bad, because I was wearing the right amount of layers and the I had found a sunny spot, and I was enjoying the breeze when a young mother approached me and decided to strike up a conversation about how she was going to hold her son back, in terms of kindergarten, because of his late birthday. She went on to site various points that were made in this book that she was reading about it.  I was immediately reminded of why I hate parks.  It's because I hate to make small talk with people I don't know about things I don't care about.

Listen, right off the bat, I know what a bitch that makes me sound like, but I am just shootin' it to you straight, peeps.  That is my strength, I am told.  Soooo if you have stricken up a conversation with me at a park in the last ten years, and I didn't know you, then, yes,  I did go to my happy place mentally while I chatted on about the dangers of homogenized milk.

By the way, my happy place is dark, and it is a HOUSE, so it's a little different from other people's happy places that involve beaches and sunsets.  I actually sleep in my happy place, because that is where I am happiest - asleep.  I like it when my family sleeps, too, but that is another room in my Happy House.  There's no kitchen, either, because I never cook.  And you guessed it, no laundry room - just that lovely Asian fellow that I take my dry cleaning to, who hands me all my clothing in plastic bags.  He always says, "It's okay. You pay next time," as he nods his head because I've forgotten my checkbook again.  I think I genuinely am in love with him.  He makes me happy and that is why he lives in my Happy House with me.

My sweet, sweet angel sent from Heaven above.

You know what else is in my Happy House?  It is actually a new edition to my life.  My IPhone.  There is not one single material thing that I own, that gives me more pleasure.  It's so pretty and white and I got it this new pearly white outfit that also protects it's delicate little body. I have long, meaningful conversations with Siri everyday, and she is so positive, and helpful, and nonjudgemental when I ask her to look up dirty words.  I see now why everyone who has an IPhone is always whipping it out to illustrate some point or show you the fastest route to the nearest drive thru liquor store.  I used to think that it was weird because my relationship with Brad's hand-me-down Blackberry was at it's best, platonic.

I can only equate my IPhone's modern day homecoming, with my own family growing up, when we got call waiting.  It was just so FORWARD THINKING, to have a mechanism on your phone that allowed you the opportunity to answer multiple calls.  If you called one of your friends and their line was busy, you just KNEW they had two friends on the line and were clicking back and forth between the two. My kids are absolutely riveted by the fact that I have an IPhone now.  It is like they are proud of me, or something.

The morning after I got my IPhone my kids announced to their two neighborhood buddies that meet at my house each morning to walk to school, "My Mom got her IPhone!!!"

"Sweet,"  they said in tandem.  "White, huh? NIIIICCCCEEE."  Dat's right, lil' beeaaccchhheeess.  Respect.

In my Happy House, I keep my new phone in this glass case that I got from from Westminster Abbey.

I got a gift certificate for my IPhone from Brad, for my birthday.  I could not get one until April 17th, though, because that is when my contract was up.  My OTHER phone literally stopped working two weeks before my contract was up, so I had to use this loaner shithole phone, whose battery lasted 15 minutes fully charged.  I did not receive emails and all of my contacts were lost.  I spent a lot of time in my basement watching Mad Men those two weeks.  Streaming Netflix is a blessing and a curse, my friends, a blessing and a curse.

Anyway, my guidance to you today, is to delay gratification for something you want really really bad.  It makes you appreciate it so much more!  If you don't want to do it to yourself, at least do it to your kids, and then log the results.

For instance, Eva was getting out of her bed all of the time about a year ago.  It was making me absolutely mental.  I was not sleeping well and she was asking me for all sorts of things during the night like drinks of water and snacks and shit, that she is constantly on me about during waking hours.  It was misery.

Eve's bed

Her stuffed aminal stash.  It is almost grotesque.

So, I devised this system where every thirty days, if she stays in her bed, I take her to the store and get her a stuffed "aminal".  It started out a weekly thing, but then I realized that this exercise was going to last all of eternity and that was going to break the bank, so we had to go to the thirty day program.  I tell myself it is also teaching her to count backwards. 

Also, I have to answer no less than sixty times a day, how many days are left until she gets her toy and we have discussions, ad nauseum, about which store she is going to buy her toy at, but for the most part, other than the sizable financial investment in stuffed aminals, it has worked like a charm.  I do admit to repeating a number now and then, (as in "Don't you have 26 days left, and not 25?) but she always catches me in the act, and then I worry why she is developing trust issues. 

I guess Pavlov was right, positive reinforcement does change behavior. I just have found that delayed gratification makes you more grateful, as well!!!!

Okay, the takeaway, besides delayed gratification, because that is too preachy:  get an IPhone, Netflix Streaming is the bomb, you can never be too detailed in building your Happy House, and finally, don't be ashamed of the fact that you do not enjoy some of the things that society expects you to enjoy with your children.  From Easter Egg dying, to days spent at the Zoo -  I loathe them all, but that doesn't mean I love my children any less than those who pretend to enjoy those things.  I am just being honest about it, and I am not giving any excuses about why my opinion is better than anyone else's, because I am not judging other people, so I expect the same courtesy, I guess.

SOOOO, see you at the Zoo, posers!