Posts Tagged ‘Authenticity’

Uncertainty

Posted March 1, 2012 Life, Parenting 3 Comments

 

Uncertainty.  Ahhh, that little thorn in my side.

I can’t stand uncertainty, yet my whole life is governed by it.  It’s the way of all of us last-minute mommies, is it not?

 

Will I make it to the event on time?  I don’t know! How exciting!

Will I finish making the Easter basket before the sun comes up?  Not quite sure!  Stressful racing of the clock is fun!

Will I totally ruin my kids for life?  Just have to wait and see!!! Wheeeeee!

 

I have no idea what I’m doing 90% of the time, yet I hate uncertainty.  It makes me break out in hives and get twitchy.

Today is a good example – I was driving all over town to try to find Scooby Doo birthday invitations.  Uncertain of where to look, three stores later, I hadn’t found them.  Not one Scooby/Mystery Machine/70′s invitation to be found.  Blasphemy!!  (But, on the plus side, I realized it was totally possible to have an inner monolog running in the voice of Scooby Doo…)

Rut-roh!  No rinritations here reither!?  Rut rill re roo?!

{Yeah.  I’m uncertain of what I just said too.}

Cut to a few hours later and I’m in a huge party store – with kids in tow – that I was certain would have the invitations.  Yeah, no such luck.  And what happens?   The kid decides, upon seeing theme after theme of items that they did actually have, that she is uncertain of what she wants anymore.

Roooooooooh Nooooooo!

Seriously, kid?  I’ve been driving all around God’s creation, spending hours of my life, looking for this special thing to make you happy… and now you’re not sure?

*twitch.  twitch.*

Uncertainty strikes again!!!

 

I think, though, it’s pretty hard to be certain when you’re a parent.  You can’t be certain that you are doing the right thing.

Ever.

We always question ourselves.  Did we help enough?  Did we step back enough?  Did we encourage?  Were we firm?  Did I let her eat too many jelly beans?  Was letting her stay up that late a horrible decision?  Should I fight for her harder?  Should I coach her more?  Do I let her embarrass herself?  Should I force feed the squash down her throat?  Should I cave and get the cell phone?  Does she need more independence?  How can I be certain she is safe?  Will my job ever be done?

Parenting is one big ugly ball of uncertainty.  And so many of those questions we ask as parents will never be answered.  But I think that’s probably a good thing.  As much as I hate not knowing what is coming next, or where I’m going, or what I’m going to do, it’s probably a life saver in my job as a parent.  It makes me constantly assess, and change, and grow.

Because I know one thing for certain – if they keep growing and changing, then I need to grow and change along with them.  Otherwise I will be overrun within minutes.  And I certainly don’t want that to happen.

 

 

Pro-Cure

Posted February 8, 2012 Life 10 Comments

 

This past week has been very difficult for me. I’ve been quite ill, and pretty much unable to speak on one subject that has been hitting me upside the head, over and over again through the media: the Planned Parenthood and Komen debacle.

A little back story:

I have been a Susan G. Komen 3-day participant since 2008.  I have raised well over $7,000 for the organization.  The walks have literally changed my life for the better.  I walk more than I ever would have before, I give more, and they also opened my eyes to a community that is nothing but supportive and caring.

Planned Parenthood was a part of my life throughout my early 20′s.  They were my health care provider, and they were the only reason I was able to afford birth control.  They also were the ones that found a suspicious spot on my breast and then subsequently sent me to another doctor for a second opinion.  They also paid for that visit.  Things turned out fine, but it was a key moment in my life, I believe, that sent me eventually to Komen’s doorstep.

So, with all of the social and main stream media frenzy going on, I have found my self split in two.  It had me questioning if everything I’ve been doing these past 5 years has been right or wrong. It has left me heartbroken and confused.

But then, this week, a blogger that I silently followed and very much looked up to passed away….metastatic inflammatory breast cancer took her just two days ago. And with a blink of an eye I realized that all of these issues are nothing compared to how her family is feeling now.

I looked to Susan’s blog for answers or thoughts. Should I continue in this fight? What would she say about the events of this week? I really don’t know, but I did find this blog post (http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/category/pink-tober/) on her thoughts about the “pinkwashing” of October, and I find it may just point me in the right direction.

She writes:

“What I want to say here, and I don’t really know how, is that I APPRECIATE the efforts of all the people and organizations in the world bringing attention to a color that has already gotten a lot of attention this month: pink. There are shades of goodness in pink and shades that worry me. I realize now that they can co-exist, and that we can appreciate and enjoy all the shades of pink without declaring them ALL GOOD or all worthless, and that each shade of pink makes a contribution to the Fall mosaic around us that is bringing awareness and action to breast cancers, and is fighting the good fight in the way that feels right to them.

 

Today, I thank all the people and all the organizations formed across the globe that support the fight against breast cancer, that raise awareness, that raise funds for research, and that raise the spirits of those who struggle with this disease, in their own bodies or in that of the friends and family who they love. NEVER DOUBT that what you do makes a difference. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

This.

There have been a lot more variances added to the color pink this week.  Not all of them good, not all of them bad.  But all of them are still working to the same goal.

Did Komen go wrong in my eyes?  Yes.  Was this a total PR nightmare?  Yes.  Is Planned Parenthood any worse for it?  Not at all, better so in fact.  Do I fault anyone for going to another breast cancer organization?  No….it’s just another shade of pink.

Are there still women and men dying from this disease every. freaking. day?

YES. YES. YES.

Susan lived as long as she did thanks to the countless people who have supported the fight against cancer.  But Susan still deserved many, many more years.

This is why I will not walk away.  Komen, even with all of it’s faults, has advanced our cause by leaps and bounds.  I hope that they learn from this mistake and grow – and maybe this whole fallout was written in the stars so that growth could happen.  Maybe if I stick around, my voice will be heard and growth WILL happen.

I am many things.  I am not perfect.  I am not all-seeing and all-knowing.  Hell, I’m not even 100% on this decision.

But what I am is Pro-freedom of thought.  I am Pro-second chances.  I’m am Pro-women.  I am Pro-active.  I am pro-health and pro-longer lives for all.

I am pro-cure.

 This image provided by www.pro-cure.me!

What to write?

Posted January 23, 2012 Life, Parenting 1 Comment

Today I can’t really get a grip on what I want to write.

 

 

I could write about my total paranoia that takes over when surrounded by other moms.  (It all stems back to a horrible softball season when the “Mean Moms” shunned me.  It wasn’t pretty.  Well, let’s call a spade a spade: they were straight up bitches.  And now every time I’m in a group and no one is talking to me, I revert back to thinking that they are not only talking to me, but they are all talking about me.  Then my crazy ass kinda wants to assume the fetal position.  Or yell “Fuck YOU, you douche baguettes!” at the top of my lungs.  Both seem like a perfectly normal response.  Even if the moms are just exchanging tortilla soup recipes. Perfectly. Normal.)

Or…

I could write about how American Idol nearly set my girls up to fear me eventually walking out on them.  (“Mom, what do they mean that her parents ‘weren’t around?’”  “It means her parents couldn’t be there to parent her at the time…that they were having their own issues – drugs, or prison – or just couldn’t be good parents at the time.”  “Mom…..you’ll never leave us like that will you?”  {giant inhale of breathe as I steady myself and try not to cry a river} “No, baby, I will never, ever, ever, never leave you.  I promise.”  “Good.  Cause I’d come and say you owe me $1000 dollars if you did,” says the big one.  {At least she’s thinking about how to work her angle.}  “Ok, baby, but I’ll never leave, I promise.”  “And I’d be really really sad if you did,” says the little one while tearing up.  “I won’t go.  I promise.”  Thanks American Idol.  Fucking thanks.)

Or…

I could simply write about all how my daughter brought the globe into the bathroom with her…to read up on Djibouti while she did the doo-ty.  (Way to have educational and productive pooping, my child.  I approve.)

But..

I just can’t decide, so I’ll just leave it at that and go to sleep.  Last Minute Mommy, out!

 

3 people read my blog

Posted January 17, 2012 Mom Media 5 Comments

If you noticed, I totally skipped blogging yesterday.  I’m supposed to be in the throws of NaBloPoMo (one post a day) for January, but I was just in too much of a “return from vacation” stupor/hangover/freak-out that I decided to say screw it.  I hope none of you are forever scarred.

Also, I did get news yesterday that people I know read my blog, and that has sent me into a crazy blogger tizzy.

My blog.  Read by neighbors and friends and instructors and who-the-hell-else-knows.

Yikes.

See, I don’t actually share this site with people in “real life.”  I don’t throw it out there to everyone I know.  I know there are a few hundred of you that check in on a normal basis, but not too many I see on a regular Saturday night.  Mostly because this blog is my little piece of sanity that I can use however the hell I see fit.  I knew that a few friends read it occasionally, sure, and that was about it.  But, I had three people in the same room – none of which I met through any kind of social media, and none of whom were related to me in any way – that all knew about my blog.

GULP.

I guess 3 is the tipping point for me because I find this both totally exciting and highly nerve wracking.

“More people are reading!  Woohoo!  They think I’m funny!  Woohoo!  I must actually be a blogger!  Woohoo!”

was directly followed by:

“What if they are totally weird-ed out by all the crap I write about?”  (As I’ve said in the past, I don’t exactly sound like this in real life, unless you’ve known me for 10+ years or have gotten me drunk.  As an example, I heard the other day that another couple called me quiet. Bwahahahaha!)

“What if they tell more people about it and then all of a sudden there are people reading that I called a jerk in a previous post?”

“What if they’re like, “Wow!  That Mandy sure is one hell of a bad mom and a nut job to boot!” then divert their eyes every time they pass me around town?”

Yeah.  Neuroses.  I’ve got ‘em.

Long post short…or not…

Hi, new readers!  Hi, friends of mine!  If you are new to Last Minute Mommy, welcome!  Be warned, though: I cuss like a sailor, I talk a lot, I bitch about motherhood (but love my kids) and fitness and life in general, and sometimes I let out the inner crazy. So, pretty much, I’m just like you.  Only, I am constantly late and so much less on my game.

Whether you’re new to this version of me or not, I’m glad your here.  I hope you enjoy your stay.

You’ll find the padded room rather comfy once you settle in with a big ole’ glass of sangria.

Cheers!

 

 

 

 

Crackalackin’

Posted January 11, 2012 Fitness 8 Comments

 

Grrr. After posting about yoga yesterday, I was nervous, but way excited to go back. But, of course, I didn’t make it. Sigh. Only, this time, it wasn’t totally all because of my last-minute-ness. I went to weight watchers before hand, and the meeting ran over. I didn’t even notice it til the class had already been going for 10 minutes. Sigh.

Off to the machines I went instead.

Yay.

(You can read the lack of enthusiasm, right? Good.)

Climbing on top of the stair climber slash elliptical slash death machine, I set off for my half hour of working out – mostly just hoping that I wouldn’t pass out or die in a freak accident. Seeing as how I hadn’t done any kind of cardiovascular activity since before the dawn of time (aka: Christmas) I thought this fear was well warranted.

 

The Death Machine

 

Although, I must admit, it wouldn’t be too bad to have the headline of my obit read that I died on the treadmill. I mean, that’s got to count for something, right?

Anyway, cut to 5 hours in (or, in other words, 5 minutes) and I had this full-on inner crazy monologue running in my head.

“Yes, potential gym member on a tour, that is me blasting the Lupe Fiasco at volumes to which would make small children cry. My bad.”

“Yes, gym cleaning lady, that is me breathing so hard that you did a double take. Yes, it is a huge feat for me to actually keep my lung inside my chest.”

“Yes, neighboring stair-climber, that just may have been my sweat that hit you in the face. It has a mind of its own, you know!”

“Yes, row in front of me, that loud cracking sound you heard was indeed the sound of my knee threatening a revolt and almost collapsing in on me. Music to your ears, no!?!”

I think at this point I had just about lost my cool. And consequently, this is the point in the post in which I totally stop being funny and get real fucking serious. Bare with me for a moment.

For the first time in my life, while on that machine, I was scared while exercising. My knees buckled on me 4 times. Four freaking times. That is some serious shit. I’ve been a “big girl” for a while, but I could always climb my ass on top of an elliptical and bang out a half hour workout with out much of an issue. And now my knees are under so much pressure that they simply can’t handle the load anymore. After so many years of this pressure, and after so many miles of work, they’ve simply given up.

Seriously, this really scares me. Like, for real, for real. I’m thoroughly full of fear. I’m kinda at the “I’m about to cry” point. And I so don’t want to cry anymore.

There is a part of me that doesn’t even want to put this on the blog. First of all, it’s not at all funny. Well, I guess some of it is funny. But the rest of it is only funny is you’re an asshole. (And I know you guys are not at all assholes.)

Second of all, it means that I am admitting to the issue. And that then means that I really have to do something about it. And that then means that I have to try even though I’m fraught with “IfITryAgainIMightFailAgainAndthatMightBeCrushing…Again” syndrome. Who the hell likes that? Not this girl. This girl is almost paralyzed by it.

But what’s the other option, really? To keep going this way? To keep slooooooowly putting the weight on? To sloooooooowly creep my way to diabetes and high blood pressure and depression? (Really, it’s a miracle that none of this is an issue yet.) Is that what I want for my life? For my kids or my husband? For me?

Um, in a two words: Hells. No.

Cause I’m fucking awesome, in case you didn’t know.

So, the only option is to try. To keep trying. To push myself out over the ledge (gulp) and hope that there is a net under me that not only catches me while I’m falling, but also bounces me back up.

Okay, I wanted to end this with something witty or funny or a grand closing statement. But, at this point, I think if I take the time to craft that, I won’t publish any of this, and I really really really need to publish this. So, sorry about my douche-canoe-y-ness, okay?

Click.  Publish.  Nerves.

(Wait, there is actually something! When I was spell checking this, Open Office totally knew that douche-canoe-y-ness was spelled wrong. The whole thing. High five Open Office. High fucking five.)

 

Top 10 reasons why I’m scared to go back to yoga

Posted January 10, 2012 Life 8 Comments

 

I’m going back to yoga tomorrow.

Hold me.  I’m very scared.

To honor this moment, I decided to write a top 10 list.

Here are the top 10 things a returning, not so good, yogini freaks out about when considering that impending doom:

 

1.  Will my shirt raise above my belly button exposing the bright white light that is my stomach?  Will my underwear firmly plant itself in my crack?  Will I have to suffer through an hour of needing to pick a wedgie?

2.  Will my nose turn on me and force a sneeze during shavasana?  (This is a particular issue with me since I sneeze 8 times in a row.  I can’t control it at all and I know that other people find it annoying.  Mostly because after I’m done, I normally either hear “Are you okay?” or “Wow.  That was a lot of sneezing.”  Yeah thanks, I didn’t realize that after 30 plus years of doing it all my life.  And trying to stiffle an eight-part sneeze is close to impossible.  I come away looking like I’m a monkey having a seizure.)

3.  Will I get there early enough to get a spot in the back row (see number 1) or be forced to set up front and center, so that all the other participants can watch me wiggle and wriggle?  And when I am up front, will there be some lady in the back going, “Well, at least I’m not that girl!” knowing full well that if the rolls were reversed I’d totally be all about silently criticizing her sucky warrior pose.

4.  Will my downward dog turn into more of a “jello jiggler” dog?

5.  Will my feet stink?  (Highly probable.)  Will the other ladies judge my non-painted toe nails and huge calluses?  (Inevitable.)

6.  Will I fall asleep during meditation?  And when I do, will I snore?  And when I do snore, will it be the cute little snore or the one that makes somebody want to punch me just so I’ll stop?  (Side note: is there such a thing as a cute snore?  Probably not. I sure as hell have never heard one.)

7.  Will I fall over while trying to do tree pose, thereby causing a domino affect in which everyone in the room ends up on their asses?  Will the inner child in me find that kind of fun and want to do it again?

8.  Will the teacher make us do lion face?

This is not my idea of relaxation.

 

9.  Will I laugh my ass off when I am secretly watching everyone else do lion face?  (Side note:  look at that picture for a while.  Eventually it looks like she is about to eat you  Scary.)

10.  Will I be willing to go through all of this again next week?  Will they even let me in the door again?

 

I guess it’s possible that I may be over thinking this just a little.

Whatever.

Namaste Muthafucka!

 

 

If you really knew me.

Posted December 21, 2011 Life No Comments

This isn’t a funny post.  It’s kinda preachy too.  But, you’ll deal…

I admit it – I’m sitting here watching MTV.  Reality shows on MTV at that.  But, I’m okay with it, because I think I may have found the most productive show MTV has created – “If You Really Knew Me.”  Have you heard of it?  Here’s the description from the website:

“Like a reality version of The Breakfast Club, each episode of If You Really Knew Me takes place at a different high school, and follows five students from different cliques as they go through the life-changing experience of Challenge Day, a one-day program that breaks down the walls between cliques, and completely changes the way students view their school and each other. Watch the amazing transformation each week as new students open up for the first time and try to change by revealing who they really are, behind the cliques and the labels.”

One activity that the kids do (that shares the title of the show) simply has them finish the sentence, “If you really knew me…” In a small group of their peers, these kids open up to each other – share experiences and feeling that they otherwise would have kept inside. Kept inside and let simmer.  Then let boil.  And then…run over? Turn into something worse, like depression or worse still?

In another activity, there is a line, and if they fit a certain category that is called out, the kids cross it.  So, “cross the line if you have ever been bullied.” “If you have been made fun of for the way you look.”  “If you have ever had your childhood taken from you.”

Wow.

These kids open up.  They let it out.  They get supported.  They get heard.  They see that others are dealing with the exact same thing.

Now, I’m not naive.  I’m sure some of them are being fake.  Or putting on a show for the camera.  And maybe the “high” of that day wears off quickly.  But, I’d like to think – and I hope – that it doesn’t.  That, the kids take the lessons they learned and carry them forward into adulthood.

What if you would have done a Challenge Day?  Would your high school days have been different?  Or your adult days?

I really hope my girls will have something like this when they get to high school.  I hope it becomes mandatory for all schools.  Hell, I wish this was mandatory NOW – for families, for friends, for anyone in a community – to sit down and periodically just open up every now and again..  So we could all just freaking get along.

And really?  Really, the blogoshpere could use it too.  Oh yes, we know this to be true.  Yeah, we are pretty open about who we are…but there are still clicks, and drama, and labeling, and bullying.  Mmmmm, hmmm.  Bucket fulls.

And it’s all so…high school.  Because we are more alike than we are different.  Because I’m pretty sure a lot of you are a lot like me, and that I’m a lot like you.

If you only really knew me…

Sharing Thoughts

Posted November 29, 2011 Life 6 Comments

 

I have come to realize that I like to blog to share my thoughts.  (It’s a simple idea, I know.  But stick with me…)

In reality I do not do this very often.  I keep my thoughts inside for various reasons.  Sometimes it’s unintentional – I just want to not think for a while, or I’m distracted by something else.  But sometimes it is very much intentional.  I don’t want to get too upset.  I don’t want to rock the boat.  I don’t think anyone would care.  I don’t want to let you see behind the curtain.  I want to stay happy and upbeat and lighthearted.  I don’t want the world to know that I secretly love cussing and that I want a healthier life and that I worry.  All of these are valid reasons, in my eyes.

When I do let out these thoughts in real life, they sometimes careen out of control.  I may scream at the top of my lungs with obscenities.  I may get sidetracked and stumble over the eloquently prepared verses so that they come out as “uh, yeah, that. “  It is all too often that, in real life, my voice just gets kind of lost.  Yes – I can be rather loud in person – but that doesn’t mean the sound I’m making is what I find important, what I’m truly thinking.  It’s not the meat of me.

If I had to guess, I’d think a lot of people are like that.  We all want to be known.  Are thoughts make us “us” and keeping it inside just doesn’t seem like your are being true or living all of life.  Even if I do want to be the happiest person in the room, I also want to think sometimes too – just in my own place, in my own time.

Blogging is a way of putting it out there.  Of being you.  It is in fact, you, living.  I know it seems counter intuitive – that me, hiding behind this computer, putting ideas out over the internet as a face-less being would equal me living – but it is true somehow.  Yes, doing it in person in great too.  But sometimes it’s just not possible.  And blogging makes it be possible.  Sometimes I get to let out the deep thinker, sometimes the cussing sailor, sometimes the person that just wants to yell at the lady that’s wearing too much damn perfume.

Perhaps that’s why all bloggers crave comments.  Simply to know that they were heard.  I don’t need a bunch of people to read my blog.  I don’t need comments that stroke my ego.  I don’t need to make money or be widely known.  Okay, I’d take all of those things, but mostly…

I just want to know I’m heard.

A “like” is you hearing.  A tweet is hearing.  A mention in real life is hearing.  A blip up in analytics tells me you are hearing.  And yes, a comment is hearing – even if it just a comment that says “I’m listening.”  (Which, could possibly be construed as really creepy, but since I’m also an odd bird, I would find it rather fulfilling.)

You hearing is good.  But I think I will continue to write, regardless.  I do hope you hear me.  But I guess, even if you don’t, I’d rather write it all out than scream into a pillow.   I’d like to continue to try to be fully me here.  (With cussing and strange shifts in mood and topics be damned!)

And if you want to add to the conversation, I think that’d be pretty damn spiffy too.  Either way, I’m good.

 

 

Brain Dump

Posted November 25, 2011 Life 2 Comments

 

Today I will do a brain dump.  Lucky you…

I’m still in a food coma from yesterday.  Thanksgiving was awesome.  We all wore turkey leg hats…all 11 of us.  It was beautiful.  My husband makes kick ass mashed potatoes, and cauliflower tastes amazing in a cheese bechamel sauce.  As most things rightfully do.

Squealing like a mermaid after staring blankly at someone for 10 seconds will get a whole room to erupt in laughter.

I’m also slightly traumatized by the fact that I left all my leftover turkey at mom’s house.  (em effer!!!)

And my kids have been around their friends (whom we love) all day, but they are sick and now I can’t help but be overly paranoid that my super asthmatic child is going to come down with the death cold.  Please, please, please, oh germ fairies, let my child not be touched with some black plague that will make her need orapred and 24hr nebs and scary “she looks like she needs the ER” moments.

I was going to go black friday shopping, but then I realized I’m not an idiot.

I saw Aurthur’s Christmas instead.  It was very funny and way good.  But due to the fact that I’m now a “fem-nazi” I have to mention two totally unnecessary moments: 1) “I’d like to thank my wife for cooking and cleaning and doing all the other things that wife’s do when their husbands are away at work.”  Suck it Santa.  Mrs. Clause totally owned you in the movie anyway.   2)  “That was back when we thought it was ridiculous to teach women how to read.”  Really!?  Even the two 9-year-olds I was with were completely offended by this.

I started this post at 11:58.  While it is now technically another day, I have not yet gone to sleep, so I still count it as today.  That’s Mandy logic.  Welcome to my world.  (My husband and I have this debate all the time.  It will still be today, and not tomorrow, even if I do go to sleep and wake up at 4 am.  Cause I’m not up for good yet.  It’s just how my brain works.  Deal.)  Also, I’m totally back dating this post to 11:59 on the 25th cause I sure as hell didn’t write 24 posts in a row to blow it now.  So there.

 

Heavy

Posted November 8, 2011 Life 2 Comments

 

And the NaBloPoMo-ness rolls on…

This time, the writing prompt asks us to “write about something traumatic that has happened to you.”

Traumatic?  Hmmm.  Well, this was somewhat traumatic to me today….

 

“Popular ’90s rapper Heavy D died Tuesday, TMZ and Rolling Stonereport. He was 44 years old.

 

According to TMZ, the artist, whose real name is Dwight Arrington Myers, was pronounced dead at 1 p.m. today after being taken to a Los Angeles hospital.

 

At around 11:25 a.m., a 911 call was reportedly made from Heavy D’s Beverly Hills home, reporting an unconscious male outside.

 

TMZ reports that the “Now That We Found Love” rapper was conscious and talking when he was taken to the hospital.

 

The cause of death is under investigation, and there are reportedly no signs of foul play.”

 

Say it ain’t so Heavy D!  Back in 1991, I totally had this single…bought with my own money, thankyouverymuch, and jammed to it all the time.  I believe on the other side of the tape was “We Got Our Own Thang.”  Yes…”thang.”

 

 

Okay, although I did seriously love Heavy D, this isn’t really traumatic.

I have had real trauma in my life.  I’m sure most of us have.  Things that are really hard to say to your best friend, let alone the whole internet.  There are times that are hard for me to rehash and bring back up again, things that I would rather just let lie.

I don’t really want to bring up the bullying.  Or the boys who were aboslutly horrible to me.  Or the time my daughter almost drown.  Or any of the things that go even deeper and that hurt way, way more.

There are bloggers who can hash all that out for you.  In depth, and with beautiful soulful words.  I could try to be that blogger, but do I want to?  Nope, not today.  I’ve got those things tucked away in a beautiful little wooden box.  Those memories are heavy, so that lovely little box has sunk deep down, where I can’t easily reach it, and I’m okay with that.  For now, at least.

Today, I’ll just say this: we all have had trauma…we all have little boxes filled with memories of things that have changed us.  That, my friends, is something that binds us together.

That’s my thang.

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