Watch Me.

Today I was hard on myself. A project I was doing at work had some technical glitches and didn’t go as smoothly as I hoped (although I got it done. My daughter was a bit upset by an interaction with a teacher in the car line when I picked her up. I had to race out to the orthodontist and stores after work. Dinner was late and I ended up having my son help me with it. I had a bunch of jobs to do like ordering school pictures, trying to gather items for the Closet project. I’m tired. Tired physically and tired of garbage humans who are just shitty people. I looked around at the chaos in my house and felt overwhelmed. I started getting frustrated with myself that I couldn’t get it all done and do more around the house.

Then I took a deep breath. And another. I sat back and watched a mental replay of what I had done all day.

I began to realize that I was too busy giving myself a hard time and wasn’t acknowledging the successes I had today. Some were small, but they were wins as far as I was concerned.

That project? Well, I got it done, and learned a whole new software in the process. I got another big project on my dreaded to do list accomplished as well.

I worked a full day and got a lot done.

I coordinated kids getting home.

I turned my car around in the car line and went to speak to the teacher who had upset my daughter. It was a misunderstanding, and I ended up really liking her and sorting it all out where everyone was happy.

My daughter, who has shed many a tear at the orthodontists, looked at me when I told her “you’re a big girl now and you can communicate what you feel needs correcting and you can rock this” and did just that. She handled it like a boss and walked out proud without a single tear being shed.

I got the items I needed from the store.

I ordered school pictures.

I was able to coordinate getting the shelving units I need for the Closet Project with the help of a friend, for free, donated by her neighbor. This is HUGE because currently everything is in random bags, boxes and bins making it near impossible to find what you need. I also found clothing racks for cheap and purchased a couple. I’m excited to now get it set up.

I coordinated a few more donations of clothing and toiletries.

I took a moment to ponder how grateful I am for the internet and the volume of things I can accomplish by using it.

I scrubbed the tub and toilet quick.

I delegated some jobs to my son, who was a rock star and cooked dinner.

I got a load of laundry done.

I did a load of dishes.

I fed all the pets.

I saw a woman say something vile and called her out as the asshole she was.

I saw a lurker lurking, sighed, and wrote this post anyway.

I did some good deeds.

I made calls I had to make and sent emails I needed to send.

I gave out some compliments. I laid out some truths.

I took out my esthetician’s equipment and helped my son with a breakout.

I gave goodnight hugs and kisses. I sent two happy kids to bed.

In other words, I did a LOT. I did some small things, and I did some big things. I did lots of things and I handled my business. So my house is messy. I work full time, run a major project to help kids, raise two kids, and manage a household often on my own since my husband works different hours. I kicked some ass today! I’m proud of myself and my kids told me they are proud of me too. I often find myself being so hard on me, never taking the time to just stop, breath, and recognize all the things I DID accomplish during the day. Sometimes I need to step outside of myself and watch all the things I have accomplished, and all the things I did get done.

Are you watching me? Because I’m watching me, and I kicked some ass today!

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Astraphobia and “The Incident”.

I remember the days when I would love to curl up in bed and watch the thunder and lightening outside my window. I loved the way the sky would light up in such a way I could see the silhouette of the tree branches blowing in the wind. I found it relaxing. Fast forward to my late teens and that feeling changed into fear. Now, the fear is real, but it stemmed from what is now a pretty funny story. Y’all know I love a good self deprecating story, so here we go. After all, if you can’t laugh at yourself, how can you laugh at other folks (easily is the answer, btw).

Now, I can’t remember if I was living with my parents full time when this happened, or whether I was home from college. I know I was in my room at my parent’s house at the time, which we jokingly refer to as “the Big House”. The Big House was so named because it was a pretty big place that was, in all honesty, far bigger than the 3 of us in our little family needed, but my parents chose it when we moved to Virginia so we’d have plenty of space for people to visit. My room had it’s own bathroom, which I loved. (What I loved less after we sold it was finding out there were walking paths behind the house which I never knew about. Since the house backed up to protected forest land, I never worried about shutting the shades. I’m sure I gave some walkers a scary sight as I shuffled around my room in my underwear.) The house itself sat on a cul de sac in a nice neighborhood.

Anywho, it was the middle of the night, and I awoke having to use the bathroom. I shuffled into the bathroom, and turned on the low light. I sat down to pee, and was sort of leaning with my chin in my hand because I was groggy and half asleep. I was faintly aware of what sounded like rain outside the window that was right behind the toilet. (Why would you put the toilet right in front of a window?) but the shade was down so I couldn’t see anything. Suddenly there was a bang. Not a little bang, might you, but a BANG that would have scared the crap out of me, except for the fact that I felt something hit the back of my head with such force it knocked me out for a second. I opened my eyes and realized I was laying on the floor.

Now, I’m not sure if it was being half asleep, being clocked in the head, or what, but I pulled up my pjs and began to scream…..that I had been shot. My parents, awokened from a sound sleep came running from down the other end of the hall, terrified. They didn’t know what had happened, only that was screaming I had gotten shot in the back of the head. With no blood, no physical signs of being shot, they weren’t quite sure what had happened, and tried to calm me down, thinking perhaps I had a nightmare. I noted my radio had turned on by itself. my clock was flashing. My dad went in the bathroom and found the cause of my injury. It turns out that lightning had hit the house and traveled through the duct work. It hit my bathroom exhaust fan and blasted the cover off, which smacked me in the back of the head, knocking me out,

So there’s that.

Aren’t you glad you kept reading to see my embarrassing story lead to that?

The cover itself and a black flash of a soot mark on it.

My awkwardness holds no bounds, I tell you.

Flash forward several years, and lightning hit the house again. This time, it hit while my mom was home alone, aside from an electrician. My parents had decided to renovate and sell the house so they could retire, travel, and be closer to me. Unfortunately, as soon as they started the demo on the master bedroom and kitchen, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My father wanted to halt everything, but my mother persuaded him to keep going with the reno, thinking he may want to sell the house anyway after she died. With their room being under construction, and me having moved out, she was staying in my old room. An electrician was down in the basement working on the panels and during the storm, he saw a fireball on the side where the chimney was. Panicked, he ran upstairs and threw the door open to the room where my mom was. She calmly got up and went to see what had happened, checking on the master bedroom. There, a giant mirror on the wall where the chimney was had exploded. Glass was everywhere, and the frame was smoldering. She put it out. She looked out the window and the deck on both sides of the chimney was smashed up, with bricks lying everywhere. The lightning had blown about 3-4 feet off the chimney. All the electric on one side of the house was shot. It was a mess. “Is anything on fire?” she asked the electrician. He responded no, and she headed back to bed. The electrician was stunned. “Not much I can do about it. I’ll call my husband and have him call someone” she said, and got back into bed. The electrician was so freaked out by it all he left. To this day I am so grateful she was in my room, and not hers, as with all the flying glass it could have been a very bad situation.

It didn’t occur to me that these events had triggered a fear in me until a few years ago. My husband and I were in the car during a bad lightning storm, and I had a full on panic attack. Frozen in place, I couldn’t exit the car. I burst into tears and had trouble breathing. He looked at me shocked, as he’d never seen me in that state, but calmly talked me down until I felt like myself again. I used to suffer from anxiety when I was younger but now panic attacks are almost non existent and I feel like I finally have a grasp on the anxiety to where it no longer bothers me much. That moment shook me. I’m not used to having that kind of fear anymore.

Now all that being said, I have kids. And kids pick up on our thoughts, fears etc. This means I have to hold it together as much as possible and not freak out when there is a bad lightning storm. I don’t want them to take on that fear if possible. So I plaster a smile on my face and get through it. They know I’m nervous around lightning, but they don’t know how deep the fear runs. As I’ve been writing this, a big storm is passing through, and my cat and I are giving each other knowing, uncomfortable looks every time the thunder booms and the sky lights up.

Still better than thinking I got shot in the head though.

Wide Eyed, Like, REALLY Wide

Did I ever tell y’all about my bestie’s wedding? I may have. After a while the days start to slide into weeks, and posts come and go. (Yes, I am still working on the big post I keep mentioning. You have no idea how much time and effort it takes to get all the info aligned and put together). In the meantime though, it’s often fun to look back and laugh at all the chaos that life throws at you. Today someone posted a video on FB from Cian Twomey. If you haven’t seen this guy, he’s usually hilarious. He usually performs as a character named Emily. You kind of have to see it to understand, because I’ll never do him justice describing it.

Anywho, the video appears, and Cian is doing his Emily persona, and is doing a makeup tutorial. Cian is in full beard, doing a purposefully terrible job doing the makeup, but talking himself through it. Now I know that made that sound horribly boring and uninteresting, but I promise you might get a chuckle if you go look him up. Anywho, I digress. Cian gets to a point where he attempts to apply false lashes, and it’s just a hot mess. There is glue where it shouldn’t be, the lashes aren’t where they should be, and the whole thing is utter chaos. I laughed way harder than I should have, because it’s a perfect representation of how things went at my friend’s wedding, only he did a better job than I did.

The wedding was a destination wedding, and we couldn’t afford for both my husband and I to go, so I went while he stayed with the kids. I flew down to Florida for Valentine’s weekend. I arrived at the rehearsal dinner immediately after checking into my room and racing to the location. After racing in, I plopped down and my friend came over to sit next to me. “I need a favor….I need you to iron my dress” she said. “You can’t iron a wedding dress!” I laughed. “I have faith in you” she said. She wasn’t joking. Now, I had gave her all the info…how to take the dress on the plane, how to contact the hotel concierge to get it looked after/steamed if necessary, and all the other travelling bride tips I had learned. She did not of it. Instead, she put her wedding dress in a suitcase.

Let me repeat that. She put her wedding dress….IN.A.SUITCASE.

The next day, I headed to the bridal suite. My friend, her sister, and her old best friend from when she was in elementary school were the bridal party. I asked where the dress was. It was an utter disaster. I was armed with a steamer I had purchased from Walgreens. The dress was hanging in a closet. I sat down on the floor and started steaming. I steamed, I steamed, and I steamed some more. The brides sister announced she didn’t want to do a speech. I saw my friend looked panicked. “I’ll do it if you want” I said, and kept working on the dress. My face was bright red, my hair frizzed, and I was sweating heavily, but by the time that dress was done, it was exquisite. Not a wrinkle in sight.

The 3 women were getting hair done and getting prepped. I headed back to my hotel room to get ready. I now had to get glammed up, plus write a speech. That’s when the cramps started, and I ran in the bathroom. Something set my stomach off, and there I was, having to write a speech while on the toilet. Classy lady, I tell ya.

I get myself together, and now feel a lot better, so I hop in the shower to start the process of turning my swamp creature self into something passable enough for a wedding. My makeup looked cute, my dress looked cute, and I had a few extra minutes.

That’s when I got cocky.

I should have known better.

I decided to put on false lashes. Now let me preface this by saying that I rarely wear lashes, and I don’t know how to put them on easily. Every time is difficult, and while I love the look of them, I hate how inept they make me feel. I was about to be a big ol’ hater, because the lashes and I went to war.

I trimmed them, added my glue, and went to apply gently. Something went wrong, and next thing I knew, my eyelash was stuck to my lower lashes, meaning I had effectively glued my eye shut. The glue went into the corner of my eye and then spread across my eyeball. The pain. OMG, the pain. Now I am left trying to pry my eye apart, but it keeps sticking back to itself. I decided to break from that side and try the other. I gently go to apply the last, and I wish I could explain what I did wrong, but all I can say is that the last somehow stuck to my lashes, and then stuck up by my eyebrow.

I now have one eye WIDE open, with the last connected almost to my brow, and one eye almost glued shut, with glue in it. I look like an old, creepy, broken doll. I pry my eyes apart, and somehow manage to get the lashes in the right place, however I still ave glue in my eye so it’s extremely red.

I throw on my dress, my sky high heels, and teeter downstairs. I say teeter because as I said, I am but a jeans and t shirt swamp girl on the daily, and not the high heel wearing goddess I was hoping to be for just one night. I finally get the hang of the heels and I head to the wedding. Or, at least I tried.

The car never came to get me. The hotel called some guy who showed up in a very dirty minivan. I wasn’t sure if he was a serial killer, but I had a wedding to go to so I hoisted myself right in and off we went. The guy drove like a bat out of hell, which I appreciated. I arrived, flustered, red eyed, eyes sticky, but happy, and set out to find the wedding. That’s when I realized the wedding was on the far side of the hotel, and the hotel was HUGE. I slipped off my shoes and started running, not wanting to be late.

I arrive, winded. My chubby, mediocre bodied self huffing and puffing. I am starting to surmise I am not looking as cute as I had attempted to look.

I see a familiar face, and am promptly asked “oh my god, are you ok? why are your eyes so red?”. So there’s that.

The rest of the night? Pretty awesome. Lots of drinking, dancing, celebrating. There was a Cirque de Soleil performer. There was laughter. There was, however, the incident. You know, the one where we are all stumbly drunk and being silly. I am pushing my friend’s aunt in her walker that has a seat on it. She is laughing and yelling, and I am doing a fast walk, until I hit the lip of carpet, and we both toppled over, crashing to the ground. She gets a head wound, I almost broke my foot. The next morning, I awake still drunk, my foot black and blue, and one of my favorite shoes is cracked in half. I pack, sober up, and race off to the airport to fly home. Not my best choice of travel plans, but I digress.

Now, did I mention the part where I am a terrified flier? Ridiculous, I know, especially as I practically grew up on planes. Yet suddenly, I became a scaredy-pants and get very anxious on planes. I am sitting at the gate where I see a handicapped boy in a wheelchair being pushed to the gate. I noticed that periodically he makes a shriek. I suddenly realize that he will likely be sitting near me, which doesn’t bother me at all except I know if he shrieks and it catches me off guard, with me being so tense, I might shriek too, and then I’ll look like an asshole. I get on the plane, and frankly I may still be a little buzzed from the night before. The boy is a couple of rows up. I settle into my seat. I am trying to get my nerves fine before we take off. I look casually to my left and see an Asian woman with a mask on…the kind doctors wear. I glance around and suddenly notice I am surrounded by people with those masks on. I start to wonder why everyone has a mask on. I fall asleep and start to laugh that perhaps my friend is pranking me. I wake up as we are in mid air, and I awake to a shriek by the boy a few seats up. It was also at the exact moment we hit turbulence and the plane dropped a bit. I SCREAMED. Like, fear in all it’s glory scream. All I felt was my seat drop out below me and heard someone scream, so I screamed. Then I realized what happened. I peered around sheepishly and saw an endless sea of masked faces looking at me. Some looked concerned, some looked angry. I realize I now look like I was mocking a handicapped person. I slink down in my seat, cursing my stupid fear.

I arrived home, hobbled with bruises all over my foot and leg, still unable to apply lashes like a grown up, but having had a hell of a time.

I’m a bit of a dolt

If you read my blog, you’ll know I love a good story where I fail at life. Look, I know I post stories about my “do good projects” but that doesn’t mean I don’t do dumb stuff or fail on the regular, because I DO. Woo Nelly, do I fail. Yesterday was such a moment.

I was in the car with my husband and SIL, and we were in the process of heading to dinner after a day of moving some furniture. As we are driving, I see a car with what looked like some older folks inside, hood raised, and jumper cables. No car nearby. I point and mention to my husband we should help. After all, I have my new car jumper box in my glove compartment! My friend has one and this little thing is sorcery at it’s finest. Clip the red and black handles to the battery, push a button, turn the key, and VROOM! After she helped me start my car one day, I mentioned it to my husband, who got me one for Christmas. I haven’t had a chance to use it, but faithfully charged it and put it in my car, ready to be of service to myself or others.

Fast forward to yesterday, and my husband decides to turn around so we can help. I hop out of the car and offer to help. The gentleman tells me his son will be there in a while, but his interest was certainly peaked when I mentioned the charger. I connected it up, pushed the button, and…..nothing. Tried it again. Nothing. Sheepishly I apologized and thought it must not be charged enough. After all, it had been a while. I lamented offering to help and not being able to. His son arrived a few moments later and as we drove off, I explained it probably hadn’t charged enough. My husband noted “did either of you turn the key? I didn’t see anyone try to turn the key.” My SIL burst out laughing, as did I.

I am a dolt.

I was so busy trying to use the machine, I forgot to have him turn the damn key.

Holy Fail, Batman!

Luckily, the man’s son was there to help him jump it, and hopefully HE was smart enough to remind his dad to turn the key. I, apparently, was not. My only solace in all of this, was that my husband pointed out the guy was just as excited about using the machine as I was and he too forgot to turn the key.

When you need an “adultier adult”

I’m a firm believer that life gives you darkness to balance out the light. Sometimes, you have to create some levity and lightness to balance out the dark. I love “silver linings” and often try hard to find the humor in tough situations. Sometimes that humor is self deprecating, sometimes it’s wildly inappropriate, but humor carries us thought the tough moments and brings us forward.

A couple of days ago, the little was scheduled for surgery, but we had to cancel because she got strep. It just seemed like it was too close and I didn’t want her having to fight of the trails of a virus and a surgery. The surgery has been pushed out. Since she was cleared to go back to school, and I still had the day off, I spent much of the day doing nice things. Yes, I dropped off goodies to the school, but I also used some gift cards to get my nails done and grab a big, calorie indulgent Starbucks. I was in full “treat yo’self” mode, but had no funds to do so. I was however, armed with gift cards, so I was making my own fun. Being a mom, getting time to relax and have little luxuries are a big treat. As I sat in the parking lot, joyously luxuriating in the car with my Starbucks drink and protein box, perusing my phone while I munched happily away, something caught my eye. It was thin, and black, and it was sticking out of the gear shift. Upon a second glance, I saw more than one of these long, thin black things sticking out.

A spider, otherwise known by it’s fancy name, “ohshititsabigbastardofaspiderinmygearshiftandifitslegsarethatbighowbigisitsbodyohsweetbabyjesusgetmeoutofthecar”. A spider with the longest, thick black fluttery legs was hiding in my gear shift! Coffee, cucumbers, and other object launched as I screamed loudly and flailed about the car.

I’m not a big fan of spiders. I mean, they are ok, I suppose, but I don’t prefer they get up close and personal.

In my mid-flail and holler, I saw the shocked but bemused face of a woman in the car next to me. She was eyeing the chaos occurring in the car next to her, and honestly I can’t fault her. It must have been h.i.l.a.r.i.o.u.s.

So there I am, flailing frantically and squealing, because the legs on this spider are HUUUUGE. Suddenly, I peer closer, and I see many more legs. Is the spider upside down with just it’s legs out? What is happening? I fearfully look over, and realize there are more than 8 legs. Is it having relations upside down with another spider? Do I have spider kink in my car? Oh GOD what if it’s making babies in my car? I look closer. Now, as I’ve gotten older, my eyesight is less that stellar. I own it. I bend down, as close as I am comfortable with, and I realize exactly what it is I am witnessing.

It’s….it’s…..a fake eyelash. I sort of remember my husband driving us home after a party one night and me, after a few drinks, thinking how HEAVY those false eyelashes felt, so I peeled them off. I then forgot them in the car. It had moved it’s way over to the gear shift and stuck itself to it.

I looked at the woman in the car next to me, mouthed “it’s ok!! It’s ok!! It’s just an eyelash!” and waved the offending lash her way. She looked bemused, and I sheepishly drove off.

Yesterday, I picked up my little from school and passed the boy child walking home with his friend from the bus stop. After a while, he still wasn’t home, so I messaged him, and he responded asking me to come outside. Apparently, a bird had flown down, almost landing on him except he ducked a bit, and the bird landed on the ground next to him. The bird sat on the road, just looking around. My son was concerned a car might come, and was trying to sort of shoo the bird to the sidewalk. I walked over and my son explained the situation. “You ARE a handsome bird, aren’t you?” I bent down and said to the bird. The bird NODDED. In my own head, for just a moment, I felt like a character in Harry Potter. “Does this bird speak English?” I pondered for a moment, before realizing I was an idiot. I stood up in surprise at the bird’s seeming agreement to my question. I shuffled a tiny bit closer, and bent down again, thinking the bird would instinctively move over towards the sidewalk. It didn’t. It eventually moved a few inches, but appeared to limp a little bit. I send my daughter to grab my phone and a box so I could call a friend who does rescue to find out what to do. My son, his friend and I admired the bird, but you could tell we were all a bit worried. Suddenly, something changed. The bird started flailing, and the only way I can effectively describe it was it appeared to have a massive seizure. It might have had a stroke. I panicked, and wasn’t sure what to do. It then sort of tipped forward, it’s beak in a bit of snow. “Is it drinking?” my son asked. His friend and I looked at each other. My daughter appeared. Clearly, the bird had just passed away in front of us. We somehow all felt a connection to this bird, and nobody wanted to leave him in the road. I was concentrating on not crying.

Now, let me say that I am not great with death. For all the studying, the research, the talking about it…it still unsettles me. It’s even worse with animals for some reason. I didn’t really grow up around death, and my parents shielded me from it. I’ve always been bad with animals dying in particular. As a kid I would get overwhelmingly upset if an animal died. I also get very anxious touching dead things. I now had to find a way to pick up the dead bird and make some decisions. I immediately looked for an adult to help. I then realized…I was the adult.

Isn’t that THE WORST? The moment when you look frantically for an adult, and realize YOU are the adult, and you now have to man/woman up and handle something you have NO desire to be in charge of? I decided to look for a taller, adultier adult, who knew would to do with a poor little bird who had chosen a little boy to land right next to, seize and then die in front of. I was out of luck, until my son’s friend took the reigns. I was never so grateful for a 6 foot tall 12 year old to save the day. “I can see you look really sad. I can help pick the bird up if you get a shovel. I’ll get him in the box, and us kids can bury him”. And that’s what happened.

The kids proudly dug a grave and buried the little bird with love and dignity. They even gave him a name.

Albirdo.

When I heard that, I had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom…to laugh my ass off. I couldn’t have picked a better name. I was proud of them for looking after the little bird, and also for giving him such a great little name.

We came in the house, and I sent the little upstairs to go get ready for her gymnastics class and overnight with her aunties. I sat down to handle the flood of work I had to do after a day spent in meetings, when I suddenly heard a panicked scream. I raced upstairs and saw my little covered in blood. Blood on her naked torso, blood on her hands, and I almost passed out. While clearly there aren’t many things I am good with, spiders, death etc, I’m also not good with blood. After doing a quick scan to find the source, I saw it was her nose. She gets monsterous nosebleeds, so I set about starting to help her stop the bleeding and calm her down. Something about lots of blood makes my blood pressure go wonky, which often makes me get dizzy or lightheaded. I’m trying to stop the blood so I can hold myself together and do the mom thing I’m supposed to do. My daughter is upset, because it seems like it’s always her who has the maladies….teeth issues, tonsil issues, nosebleeds, strabismus, and a host of other things. I get it. I’m giving her a pep talk that I’m pretty proud of and suddenly realize she’s handing me wads of blood soaked tissues. I almost over. I finally get her nosebleed under control and pep talk her to a smile. I clean up all the blood and go lay in my room to do a silent scream of freaked outness. I also feel like this adulting business kind of sucks. Before I know it, I’m giggling at my own ridiculousness. I guess no matter how old I get, there are moments when I search for an adult, even though I myself am an adult. Maybe an adultier-adult who is in a better position to navigate things. I mentally pat myself on the back for not passing out, and not bursting into a flood of tears over the poor little bird with my kids standing in front of me. I also realize that I’m the same woman who thought my fake eyelash was a monster spider, and it’s clear, perhaps someone should assign an adultier adult to help me on the regular.

And She’s Down for the Count!

Well, I’m about 7-8lbs down from Monday, thanks to the Norovirus (stomach bug)! Who says you need New Year resolutions, hard work and exercise? No, my friends, you two can lose that weight by vomiting AND pooping at THE EXACT SAME TIME! You too can lose weight if you are willing to shed all your dignity and have a possible poop accident because your body betrays you. Who needs to have mental strength and feel alert when you can lay in bed in a shivering mess, unable to warm yourself despite blankets upon blankets draped over your sad self? Personally, I’d rather just have had some salad and called it a day. Sadly, my body has foresaken me.

We spent New Year cozied at home with my daughter, who got the bug first. Her amazing little cells regenerated like a boss, and she was pretty much back to normal within 24 hours. My sad sack of shit body takes a lot longer, apparently, because I am on day 3 and still having issues.

My husband has been a rock star, all things considered. He has been doing the school runs, shuttling kids, picking up and supplying gatorade for me, checking in, and doing other jobs. Once I’m back to myself I plan on tackling the laundry, dishes and slowly taking down Christmas. He’s made sure the kids are sorted out, fed, clothed and at school. Thank goodness for him, because I couldn’t manage without the help this week.

So one benefit of this whole debacle is the lack of bloat I now have. With a few pounds lost, I feel, well, smaller and less poochy. It’s nice. It’s kind of inspirational. Sure, as soon as I eat anything I’ll go right back up to normal weight, but it is a nice side effect to feel that lack of bloat. I had treated myself to a new coat I had been eyeing for a few years. The company makes small changes each year, but the general construct of the coat is the same. I love the small details etc. I finally used a little of my bonus to get the coat. I had to then return and exchange it for a smaller size. It arrived yesterday and I dragged myself downstairs when the UPS guy arrived. He asked for a signature on it and I had to announce that I had stomach flu and that I didn’t want to touch his signature pad. He readily agreed to scribble my initials and practically tossed me the box. The coat slipped on like a dream. I now have to make sure it continues to. Guess I have some more goals to add to my New Year list!

Tonight is a family member’s party. Although I have been symptomless since this morning, I’m not so sure that means I’m out of the woods. I felt really decent last night, and then my body woke me with a start in the middle of a deep sleep to remind me that I am indeed…not quite well yet. I’m sad to miss the party. I hate missing a good get together, especially with family I’m really fond of, but I love them all enough to not expose them to this horror show. I shall instead quarantine myself with some bed and netflix and hope to start tomorrow healing myself up with some fresh air.

Stay healthy and happy, my friends.

Rose and Thorn

A friend introduced me to a game called Rose and Thorn, which is where you basically lost the best and worst parts of your day. I always liked it because it allows you to vent your bad part while happily reminding yourself of the good part of your day. Sometimes, you have an awful day, and the universe seems to drop something great down as a consolation prize. Other times, your day is wonderful but then there’s something to take you down a peg or two. Feel free to post yours in the comments! Today, I’ll share mine.

Roses: my daughter attended a birthday party and while that was taking place, I got to relax and enjoy good coffee and a donut with some of the moms whose company I enjoy. I came home and managed to accomplish some yard work. My husband also offered to do a tattoo for me on his day off. Woohoo! I topped off the day with an invite from the neighbor to go have dinner at her house. She makes the most amazing empanadas! Good company, many laughs were had, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Thorn: before I get into this, note that when your day is going fabulous, sometimes the universe will drop a tiny turd on the day to keep things balanced. Today, I learned what hell is. I stepped in dog shit while wearing FLIP FLOPS. This prompted me to recoil, shriek in horror loudly while pointing at my now surely diseased foot and scream “kill it with fire!”. I bleached my own foot while wretching. Even now, hours later as I lay in my bed, I feel like one foot has shitcooties on it.

Balance. It’s all about balance.