When The (Fire) Ball Drops

2014 was the longest, shortest, craziest, loudest, quietest, loneliest, bitchiest, sleepiest, most excitingly disastrous year of my life.  I have felt proud, capable, and motivated. I have felt lost, alone, and useless. I have made friends, lost friends, kissed friends and gone to the ends of the Earth for friends.  I have eaten out, slept in, jogged, skipped, crawled and lived.  2014 is almost over - and I could not be more thrilled.

Ringing in the New Year in 2014, I had this mantra: New Year, Same Me.  In light of the end of my relationship and the start of the new year, I was standing by the affirmation that I had not been the problemn- that we didn't break up because of anything I did.  It's not that I wasn't good enough for him, it's that we weren't good for each other.  Honestly, I stand by some of those thoughts today; however, the New Year, Same Me motto took an unexpected turn because I was totally, completely and ultimately wrong about myself.  I was not the Same Me in 2014.  In fact, I could not be more different.  I was wearing tighter clothes, drinking harder liquor, stomping around in higher heels, and singing at the top of my lungs.  My hair was blonder and longer and I was rough around the edges.  Guys were no longer approaching me at the bar because I seemed like the sweet girl-next-door, I was approaching them with a chip on my shoulder and a glass of whiskey in hand.

In the past year, I've also developed an incredible cool fear of commitment, closeness, and comfort.  I've been on dates with some of the nicest guys (like President Fitzgerald Grant, whom I have recently dumped, sorry again!) and some of the douchiest guys (shout out to the 6'9" ginger who asked me what my 'guilty pleasure' was before the waitress took our drink order).  No matter the guy, no matter the number of dates, I knew I was calling it off, and almost every time, I've been right.  I've kept a distance, pretending I just wanted to keep things casual.  No one meets my family - about that I was a stickler.  Any mention of "exclusive," "dating," or commitments made more than one week in advance were out of the question... which is interesting, because the Me of 2013 played those words on loop incessantly, consistently, over and over again, like a bad Colbie Caillat song. 

So, thank God 2014 is over and I cannot wait to meet the actual New Me when the ball drops.  Instead of the kerchief open-back cheetah print top and black coated jeans I tried to sport last year (thanks to my mom for not letting my ass out of the house), I will be wearing some variation of a generic black cocktail dress...not form-fitting. .  I will sip a beer, but not too many.  I will dance in a circle with my girlfriends, instead of dancing up on a guy I don't know.  And I will NOT be ordering any shots of Fireball. 

In 2015 I will only be happy and healthy.  I will only be kind to myself and others.  I will only be a person that I admire - a person that I am proud to be.  I honestly can't wait until the ball drops.  I have a feeling it's truly going to be a happy new year. 

Crock-Pots and Christmas Elves

In lieu of exchanging gifts, my mother, three sisters, two brothers, additional in-laws, friends, boyfriends, and significant others over the age of 18 have a Yankee Swap on Christmas Eve.  The exact number of participants varies each year due to marriages, divorces, estrangements, break-ups, new homes (shout out to my BFF's family for moving an hour away), etc.  Regardless, every adult brings one gift to enter into the swap and leaves with a different one... Unless you, like myself, buy something special with yourself in mind, such as the 30 rack of Bud Light and rolls of paper towels I put in last year... It's funny, too, sometimes you end up with something you never expected. Like the year I received this Neckline Slimmer... or my mother ended up with this lingerie... 

But there is something that you can expect every year: the sister that I am babysitting for this week will inevitably bring a Crock-Pot.  I'm not kidding.  Every year, for as long as I can remember, someone has unwrapped a Crock-Pot.  Some years our mom takes pity and keeps it... again.  Some years my sister takes it back home, but no doubt, this year, I'm taking it.  After this week, I get why she brings the Crock-Pot to the swap: it works Christmas miracles! 

Being a parent is literally a full-time job. Kudos to all of those working parents out there, you're crushing it! Days are jam-packed with washing laundry, and doing homework, and grocery shopping, and basketball practice. The list is clearly never-ending.  Then, when you're trying to get stuff done and your kids are watching TV, they watch these shows where the moms have all day to prepare dinner and they wonder why you keep feeding them cereal for two meals of the day.  BUT low and behold, some genius out there invented a Crock-Pot, slow cooking tacos and meatballs galore! Isn't it nice to think that someone is out there looking out for us moms? (I'm including myself in that category until tomorrow morning). Which is a good thing, too, because there are some assholes out there just trying to make our lives harder! Like the jerk who created Elf on a Shelf. 

Meet Oodle - my sister's kids' Elf on a Shelf.

 

Oodle is like the anti-CrockPot.

He makes no one's life easier and brings anxiety to the Christmas season.  Out of the 5 days I have been a mom, twice I have forgotten to move Oodle before climbing into bed, and have had to get up in the middle of the night to find a new location for this bitch! I'll tell you, it is adorable watching my two nephews who still believe in Santa wake up and run around the downstairs looking for Oodle, but c'mon! Santa already sees you when you're sleeping! He knows when you're awake! And when you're not awake, Mom or Dad has to go find a new place for Oodle!  To make it worse, I've noticed that some parents aren't helping each other out.  Pinterest and Facebook are flooded with Elf on a Shelf ideas! Elves ice skating around the kitchen table. Elves writing notes to their families.  Elves building a freaking igloo out of marshmallows! RELAX, just move your Elf at night like everyone else and stop making it harder for others to keep up!

I get it.  Crafty moms and dads exist. Culinary moms and dads exist. Busy moms and dads exist.  Parents, just like kids, come in all shapes and sizes (if your size it too big, hit me up, I'll let you borrow my Neckline Slimmer), but my point is this: I've realized this week that parenting is a day-by-day vocation, and it's freaking hard! In my experience as a spoiled-rotten daughter, your kids have NO IDEA how much work you do so they probably don't thank you for 85% of what you spend your life doing to make theirs easier.... but that's okay.  Because someday, they will have kids of their own, or their sister will ask them to babysit for a week, and they won't remember that one time in 2013 when Oodle stayed in the same place for 6 days in a row... and they'll have no idea that the meatballs you heated in the Crock-Pot were actually frozen from Costco.  They'll be thankful that you tried, that you were invested, and that you were there.  Hang your hat on that this holiday season.  If you're a parent, you're a Rock Star!

Do Moms Take Naps? ...asking for a friend.

For about a week every year my brother-in-law is invited on a business trip to the Dominican Republic.  Spouses are invited, but kids are not.  Since my sister and brother-in-law have four boys, ages ranging from 7 to 17, a babysitter is undoubtedly required.  Generally, their trip to the Dominican falls during my college's finals week and the boys spend the week with their grandmother.  Three years ago, while they were on the trip, my nephew needed new black pants for his jazz band concert.  I was elected, at the ripe age of 19, to take him shopping for the pants.  Unfortunately, after trips to T.J.Maxx, Old Navy, and WalMart, I had come up with nothing, and he wore his too-short-Steve-Urkle slacks to the show.  Unsurprisingly, the shopping excursion ended with this tweet - a heartwarming and ultimately true affirmation from my (at the time) 12 year-old nephew: 

Now I'm 22.  Seasoned, mature, responsible.  I have graduated Magna Cum Laude with a Bachelor's degree in psychology with a double minor in sociology and writing.  I have taken courses in child development, human development, and childhood learning.  I understand token economies as the best way of forming and reinforcing good behavior, I know at what age the brain is fully developed, and I am currently reading Masterminds and Wingmen: Helping Our Boys Cope with Schoolyard Power, Locker-Room Tests, Girlfriends, and the New Rules of Boy World by Roselind Wiseman for pleasure.  

I am more than qualified to take care of my four nephews, so this week, I am playing mom for five whole days. 

You might be sitting there thinking, "five days is nothing!" and if you're thinking that, I am only on day two and I'm ready to assure you that you're totally and completely wrong... and clearly not a mother.  Holy. Shit.

The following are three of the lessons I've learned so far from my temporary stay in the land of parenting:

Motherhood Lesson 1: Seven (a.m.) is the new eleven.

Let us begin with a note about the sleeping differential between adults and children.  Adults, can generally stay up pretty late and would (if you ask me) prefer to sleep-in late.  My 7 year-old godson? Totally not into that arrangement.  Yesterday morning, I awoke to two little feet, with ten little cold toes climbing into my bunk (he requested that I sleep in his brother's bottom bunk instead of on the couch or in my sister's king size bed).  He squirmed his little piggies underneath the covers and under my leg to warm 'em up as I struggled to separate my top eyelids from the bottom ones.  This was at 7:30 a.m.  A time I haven't seen on a Saturday since my youth basketball days.  Which makes sense because that's where we were headed; recreational youth basketball.

Motherhood Lesson 2: Your kid is not looking at you until he's looking for you. 

Once we got to the gym, I realized I apparently missed the memo about all caretakers bringing their own fold up chair, so I stood for the hour.  Which I actually preferred because then I could follow my nephew's team around from station to station to watch him dribble, shoot, pass, etc.  Unfortunately, 7 year-olds, as I came to find, are not totally tuned into what their parents are doing while they're shooting hoops.  My nephew only noticed me during one station... where he assumed I sat the entire time. I, like I said, was actually moving to watch every one of his stations.  At the end of practice, when all six teams of second graders fled to the middle of the court, cheered together, and dispersed to find their rides home, I assumed he'd come meet me at the last station, having at least noticed that I was moving around the gym with his team. Boy was I wrong.  My nephew ran to where he had noticed me last: the opposite side of the gym.  The anxiety on his face was heartbreaking, as he stared at the spot I had stood during layups at Station Three... 35 minutes prior.  I made my way over to him, he was fine, and I decided that if my kid ever plays youth basketball, I'm going to be the coach. You can't lose the coach. 

Motherhood Lesson 3: Showers are a gift from God. 

My morning routine, outside of this weeklong experience, takes about 45 minutes. Wake up. Brush teeth. Make coffee. Shower. Blow dry. Make up. Clothes.  That would be an option this week if I started my day 45 minutes before the kids woke up! Except, who knows really what time that will be? Last night I found time to shower between 10:00 p.m. when the four youngins were finally sound asleep (two of my other sister's children slept over last night too: SLUMBIE!), my 15 year-old nephew was playing a video game, and my 17 year-old nephew was not yet home for his 11 p.m. curfew.  The shower was unbelievable, but blowdrying my hair seemed out of the question, I didn't want to wake anyone up with be blowdryer. Bedtime finally came at 11:30, when everyone was accounted for, in their rooms, asleep.  That meant 7 hours of sleep until my sister came to pick up two of the kids for hockey in the morning, but I didn't fall asleep right away.  I laid awake in bed for a few minutes running through the schedule for tomorrow, wondering when I would shower next...

Don't get me wrong, I am having a blast! The six person monkey-in-the-middle game yesterday was the most fun I've had in a long time!  My nieces and nephews are all great kids, but I can't say this enough: I am undeniably impressed with how hard my sisters and my own mom work.  I'm sure I will learn about 15 million more lessons before this week is up, so I'll keep you guys posted.  Also, I just have one really quick question: do moms take naps? ... asking for a friend. 

Link to Rosalind Wiseman's website: Masterminds and Wingmen has a sister-book, Queen Bees and Wannabes, as well as a book for parents about parents, Queen Bee Moms and King Pin Dads:

http://rosalindwiseman.com/publications/

A Message to Girls that Pass Judgment at the Gym

Stop. Just Stop. We are all here for the same reason... unless of course you are here to take selfies and socialize, then we've got different agendas.

Nothing drives me crazier than when I'm on the elliptical or the treadmill or the stationary bike and the girl next to me keeps peering over at my settings.  Yes, I am casually jogging at an incline of 8 and a resistance of 9.  I see that you're at a 10/12, YOU WIN!  It doesn't make any sense.  How long or how hard I work on my body changes literally nothing about yours.  At the end of the day, I still wear my size and you still wear yours.

I really do my best to not judge other girls at the gym for the sole reason that I don't want to be judged.  I can't run that far... a mile and a half to two miles tops and I'm pretty much maxed out, so when I'm feeling tired of running on the indoor track, I simply start to walk.  Let me tell you, I am getting tired of the judgmental looks I get when I start walking laps... Why are you judging me? I'm not sitting on the couch vegging out on Oreos and Easy Mac, I'm WALKING around the track!  Keep your eyes on your own prize.

Now, I will tell you that I have caught myself a time or two judging other girls at the gym.  Not the girls who walk/run their way around the track, not the girls that elliptical on a 4/5 incline-resistance combo, and not the girls that lift 10 pound weights instead of 25's.  The girls I have found myself accidentally giving the stink-eye are the girls who who are trying to look cute while they workout... and I know I shouldn't judge them, for all of the same reasons that I don't want to be judged: their workout doesn't affect mine, their body doesn't change mine, etc.  BUT for some reason I still catch myself doing it, and I think I've figured out why...

I used to be one of those girls.  I used to feel self-conscious walking into the weight room in front of the guys also working out at the gym.  I didn't want them to see me all sweaty and gross and looking like a total dude. So I would lift less to sweat less.  Then I met two girls who taught me the most important body-image lesson I have ever learned:

Why would I be at gym if I'm not going to work hard enough to work up a sweat?

I was being counterproductive! I was too worried about how I looked while I was working out, which wasn't doing my body any favors when I wasn't working out... good freaking point!

We all need to stop thinking about, looking at, and judging how everybody looks at the gym and we need to start focusing on the fact that we're all at the gym! Right? So, maybe instead of staring at the settings of the girl's elliptical next to you, you should tell that girl to keep it up! She's killin' it! 

All This Time I Was Finding Myself and I Didn't Know I Was Lost

Two years ago on Thanksgiving, I didn't really take time to reflect on what I was thankful for.  We went to dinner at my aunt's house.  I was disgruntled because my sister and her (at the time) fiance left for New York a day early and left me to suffer through the family dinner alone.  We had always gone to my grandfather's house for Thanksgiving, but he was too sick to host in 2012.  I left dinner early to head to the Outlets for - not one, but - two 8 hour shifts selling jeans and cardigans and statement necklaces to preteens and housewives and tourists alike.  Saturday morning, after the treacherous Black Friday from Hell, I literally took a car, a train, and a boat to spend the rest of the holiday with my boyfriend.  And I was thankful for that.

Last year, I wrote a blog post about how thankful I was (*and still am) for my brothers and sisters.  How we rally together and stand strong and how they've shown me what family truly is.  I was (*and still am) thankful for our relationships that could've easily been halved, but have instead flourished as full in the truest of ways.

This year, I am having a really hard time articulating what I'm grateful for, which actually sounds really freaking selfish.  Obviously I have things to be grateful for, after all, Instagram sent me huge reminders of that all weekend long...

But reading that quote over and over and over again got me to thinking.  What if there's not? What if the things I should be most thankful for are the things that I don't have.  And so, here is my list.  The first ever list of things I am thankful not to have this year:

I am thankful that I am not, in any way, disabled physically or mentally.  I have been blessed with a healthy body, a strong immune system, and a sound mind.  I have not combated a terminal illness. I have not been in fatal or life-threatening accident.  I have been blessed when others have not, and I thank God for that. 

I am thankful that I do not experience fear, anxiety, or insecurity when I think about where my next meal is coming from.  I am lucky enough to have food on the table consistently, more than I need, and more than I deserve. 

I am thankful that I do not have a doubt in my mind who has my back.  When I am scared or hurt or saddened or ecstatic, I do not have a second thought about who to call.  I do not wonder if my family will care, if my mom will attend to my question or call, or if my friends will be there when I need them.

I am thankful that I do not have you - you who pulled me down, who pulled me back, who held onto me too long without wanting me to stay.  You who changed my life, who taught me to love, and who taught me to walk away when the time was right.  You who let others opinions shape your life, my life, our lives together.  You who still brings tears to my eyes, a lump to my throat, and rock to the empty pit of my stomach.  While I would've loved to have had you, I am becoming thankful that I do not. 

Because I am not yet who I hope to become, and I am thankful for that.  I am thankful that I am not bound to who I was before now and that my growth is endless.  I am becoming the ideal Me.  The Me that doesn't need you.  The Me that stands alone, happy.

What I am most thankful for, that I do have, is time.  All of these things that I do and don't have are leading me on this journey to find myself, and I am grateful for the opportunity.  So many others are not blessed with the chance to find themselves. I have that chance and I want to hold onto it as long as I can - so I'm thankful that I'm not there yet.