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!

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. 

Good Cheer and Appreciation

Each year on a Thursday in November, at dining room tables across the country, families gather to share a meal and give thanks.  My family is no exception.  Each year we say grace and then circle the table asking each family member what they are thankful for.  This year, however, we got to dig into dinner a little sooner than in the past.  My grandfather, the matriarch of our family, passed away in July of this summer, and now everything is different.

The onset of my childhood was based around Sunday nights.  Some of my earliest memories include sitting three across the front seat of my mother's red car that whistled as we drove to my grandfather's house once a week for dinner.  My father would post up in our kitchen, watching television on a small eight-inch screen and bid us adieu as my mom packed my sister and I into the car for family dinner.  I'm not really sure why my dad didn't come.... or maybe he did come... the memories are hazy and blend all ages together; but I sure remember the feelings of love around the dinner table at Papa's house.  Thanksgiving was Papa's holiday.  All seven of his children would make the drive, bring their children, and help prepare a delicious meal.  He was King of the Krols and no one thought otherwise.  Since my grandfather's passing, my mother's family has been at odds.  That's what happens in fragile families.  If the anchor that held all ships at bay is lost, they are carried by wind and see in different directions.  This year, Thanksgiving dinner will be enjoyed my mother, my aunt, her husband, and myself.  A small, intimate gathering, still inundated by feelings of love.

What I am most thankful for this year is a hidden lesson that I have found in my grandfather's passing.  My mother, brother, and sisters are a beautiful exception to the rule.  I am one of six children born to my father, but only one of two born to my mother; thus, the four eldest of my family are my half siblings, but I whole love them.  When my father passed away, it was truly a tragedy.  He lost his battle to lung cancer five days before Christmas 1999.  What I have learned in the fourteen years since my father's passing, however, is that my siblings had the option to run.  My dad was the anchor that kept my family at bay.  He was our common thread, our home base, and our gravitational pull.  Without him there, what glue did we have to hold us together?  To this day, I am not sure.  I was seven at the time that we lost my father, and from that point forward it never occurred to me that my sisters and brother could have stepped out of my life forever; that my mother could have decided not to love them as her own, not to see my nieces and nephews as her grandchildren....but luckily for me, that was not the case.  My family loves harder, deeper, and with more vigor than any family I have ever known.  It isn't about having a shared relative or a thoroughbred blood line that makes two people family; it is love.  It is values.  It is knowing that losing that other person would be losing a part of yourself.  At seven years old, I was not old enough to know who I loved, but I knew who loved me.  I am so beyond lucky to have been born into the family that I have. I have an incredible, awe-inspiring mother, three beautiful sisters, and a strong, handsome brother that care about me more than words can say, and for that I am undoubtedly eternally grateful.

I pray for those who are not surrounded by the same love and affection that I have had the fortune of indulging in over my last 21 years on this earth.  As for those who are as fortunate, I pray that they take that luck and transform it into good cheer and appreciation for our world and the people who create it.