Author: Kellie

Kellie is a 43 year old widow/wanna be child but really just stays home with her own two children. She loves to read and get a suntan. Preferably at the same time. She's now delving into the big bad world of blogging! Be kind, Strangers!

The Selfish Truth

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I have a lot of feelings on this sunny (finally) Super Bowl Sunday. I feel the need to explain myself a bit regarding my writings. I write because I have to. It is a need deep within my soul, my heart, my mind. Take your pick. I think any can apply.

I loved a man. Sometimes I hated a man. I thought about divorcing a man countless times. I learned to accept a man. A man learned to accept me. All of that is fact. I lost that man at 37 years of age. There are so many different feelings regarding that man and losing that man. Love, loss, grief, rage, guilt, relief, pain, happiness, sadness, pity, hate, humor, loneliness, exhaustion, hope – the list is endless. Real, human feelings and emotions that I can’t, don’t know how and don’t want to express face to face with even my closest, favorite and most trusted people.

I write. I write what is in my heart. And I share what I write because maybe somebody else needs to read it. Maybe those closest, favorite and most trusted people get a better understanding of what I can’t share verbally. And maybe they don’t. This is about me, though. How I cope. I share my rage and anger. I share my happiness. I share my love. I share my guilt. This is my safe place. The place that is just for me. My own form of therapy. How I get through the day to day life without that man. I do not write to offend, although my writings can be offensive. My writing is selfish. I am self-absorbed in my pain and in my joy and in my release and getting all of the swirling, a lot of times contradictory, messy, beautiful and often inappropriately hilarious feelings that are racing through my body every minute of every day.

My writings can be funny, they can be exaggerated, they can be morose, they can have many typographical errors because the words start coming out so fast that they sometimes don’t make sense and I often times don’t have the time to go back and proofread even though proofreading is one my favorite things to do. I’ve heard my writing can provoke feelings in others. I’ve heard they can be helpful to others. I’ve heard that they can piss others off. Please know, I am not writing to upset anyone. It’s not about you. It’s about me. Selfish, self loving and self hating me. These are my stories, my thoughts, my life. I curse. A lot. I cry. A lot. I laugh. A lot. And I share. A lot. I turn my filter off when I sit at my computer screen and I let my fingers (and my mind/heart/soul) do the rest. It’s never pretty or eloquent but it’s real. My reality (other than those exaggerated bits but we all know I love a good laugh!).

What I ask of you is to read it if you wish. Or don’t. But please, take it for what it is. My world. My life. My feelings. My children’s world and life and feelings. We are on a constant roller coaster. Up, down, up, up, down, up, down, down, down, up (ok, I don’t know what roller coaster has that many peaks and valleys but you get the point). That is life. We love the good, work through the bad and embrace the in between.

I write. I write because I have to. I write because it helps me. And right now, I’ll take all the help I can get.

 

Adulting is Hard

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I have a confession. I am looking for a new house. My boys hate it here. I hate it here. Their father passed away in the living room. Their grandfather passed away in the living room. There are too many memories that aren’t good. Ash was sick for most of the time that we lived here. We can’t do it. We can’t stay.

Problem number 1: everything on the market that I am willing to afford is more than likely a heaping pile of shit (apparently this is my expression of the week). I have found 1 acceptable home and it is *near* perfect. The kitchen is lacking in cabinet space, which I can work with. My dad is a builder. He can make shit happen. The major problem is the fact that the driveway is at such a steep grade that I don’t know if I can get past it. Which I know sounds stupid. The lot is huge. Unfortunately, most of it is unusable. Because its on a fucking cliff. Ok, not really, but you get the point. The front yard is a huge hill and the backyard is a huge tree filled hill. Those aren’t really fixable things.

The biggest problem of all is that there is no one to help me figure out what to do. There is no one to rein in my heart invested impatience. To help me think with a level head.  Ash did that for me. He brought me back to reality. To the facts. The neighborhood is quiet and tucked away. The boys would be close to some really good friends. The house is beautiful. But we might die getting in and out of the driveway. The boys will lose countless balls down the fucking hill of doom. Riding their bikes out of the garage will be a near death experience every single time. What is one to do? There is literally nothing else out there that is acceptable.

So this raises the question should I buy a lot and build my own home.  That gets scary coz this mama definitely has champagne taste on a beer budget (as my dad always likes to remind me). Should I sit tight and wait? That’s not something I’m good at. When I decide something, I want to make it happen immediately if not sooner. My mom would refer to that as the instant gratification generation. I’ve always wanted what I want when I wanted it. And I think losing a spouse so early in life does nothing to deter that mind set. If anything, it does just the opposite. I could be diagnosed with cancer next week, in a deadly car crash next month, why should I postpone what I know in my heart is the right thing to do? Except, other than getting the fuck out of dodge, I don’t know what the right thing to do is at the present moment. The boys and I deserve happiness. We deserve a fresh start. I know we can’t force it, we don’t need to settle, but is nearly perfect settling? I just don’t know.

In other news, the boys and I had family therapy today. Our first (and last) session. It was a freaking shit show (another favorite this week). 5 year olds and therapy don’t really mix. I basically paid $80 for Colt to play with stuffed animals and legos. The same exact thing he was doing before we left the house to get there. I, on the other hand, cried like a baby while we were there. Our therapist read some book about losing things and missing them and forgetting them and it got me right in the feels. Everything is getting me right in the feels this week. Jack just tried to feed her jelly beans flavored like black pepper, vomit and ear wax. Really good session.

Then we meet Ash’s mom and her friend, in town from Texas, for dinner, which was pleasant.

We then have to rush home because Jack has about 14 projects due in the next 3 days and too many math problems to complete. First up, the projects. Hello 4th grade teachers, why the fuck is every one of them due at the same time? And why the fuck are they almost the exact same project, for different classes, on different people? And why in the actual fuck do the children have to dress up like an explorer that’s been dead for centuries? Do you think we have a suit of armor with some puffy sleeves just laying around the house? Do you think my child is doing anything to help with said dressing up? No, it all falls on me. That is a stress I don’t need. Do you know another stress I don’t need? 4th grade math. What are y’all doing? Why can’t my child multiply and divide like a normal mathematical person? Why all the drawings and graphs and circles and dots and lines? I don’t understand what’s happening at all. Can I come sit in on math class so that maybe I can help him with his homework? Jesus. When did math get so complicated? Is this what calculus is like? Are we preparing him for that? I was never smart enough for calculus so I have no idea. Again, more stress I don’t need.

Fast forward to bed time, and this is where my complaining gets a little ridiculous, but I need TV to fall asleep. (and Xanax but you didn’t hear that from me). I like to watch something funny – used to be Friends until those Netflix bastards took it away from me (more stress I don’t need) and now I rotate between That 70’s Show and Schitt’s Creek. Well guess the fuck what? The Wifi signal is all of a sudden too weak to reach the TV in my bedroom. Spectrum…have you done this on purpose? Is there something newer and faster and more expensive that you’re trying to rope me into? Guess what internet Gods, your withholding my fucking falling asleep television show caused me the biggest breakdown I’ve had in weeks, ok, maybe days. Who am I kidding? I breakdown all the time. But, I just want to watch my damn show and giggle and not think about houses and driveways and vacant land and Hernando de Soto and Julius Caesar and fucking 4th grade math.

Also, I just got warned that imminent doom is headed our way anyway so maybe none it really fucking matters at all.

Adulting is hard AF.

Suck It, Mickey

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Full Disclosure: There is a LOT of bad language in this post.

I know I am going to be in the minority here when I say this, but Disney World fucking sucks. It is not magical. It is not the happiest place on Earth. It is a load of money-stealing, over-crowded, germ-infested, heaping pile of shit. We did Hollywood Studios for the Star Wars factor. The boys were all pumped up. We had light saber building and droid making on the agenda. Our entire goal for the day was getting on Rise of the Resistance, one of the 2 new rides in the overpriced, overcrowded asshole of a theme park that it is. I was forewarned that I had to get in line an hour before the park opened, get through the gate and sign up for this ridiculous shit show because only so many would receive access on any given day.

FUCK YOU DISNEY. I did all the things I was supposed to do. I had my children, their Mimi, and their Aunt and Uncle in an Uber before the sun even thought about rising. We got through the damn gate. I had my phone at the ready and guess the fuck what? I was placed on standby for this God forsaken ride, the whole reason we were at this awful, money hungry park. Screw you Mickey Mouse. Screw you Walt Disney. And screw Star Wars.

At the time, we thought, it’s ok, plenty of other shit to do. We did get to ride the Millennium Falcon ride and we (we, being just Jack, Colt and me) also got to ride some stupid Toy Story bullshit that went around in a circle for approximately 48 seconds after standing in line for a fucking hour. The boys did build their very own droids as well as their very own lightsabers. How sweet. Except for the fact that it cost me an additional nearly $1,000, yes, you read that right, $1,000, after already spending however much I spent on the fucking tickets to get in the fucking park. The fucking park where there are approximately 8 rides and 3,479,423 people all trying to ride said rides. How fun. Said no one ever. (Also included in that additional $1k were 2 Mickey Mouse pretzels and a 32 oz Coke, so really, quite a bargain.)

The other highly irritating thing about Disney is the fact that I’ve now been there twice (both times terrible) and I haven’t spotted that fucking mouse not one time. Apparently, you have to wait in line to meet Mickey and he’s only available at certain times during the day. You actually have to wait in line to meet everybody at this ridiculous park. We waited 1/2 hour to meet Darth Vader and literally were in the room with him for 7.2 seconds. You have to ride a bull for a full 8 seconds for it to count but you can only meet Darth Vader for 7.2.

I kept checking throughout the day to see if possibly luck was on our side (ha! ha! I’m cracking myself up with that one) and we may potentially get bumped from Standby to Group Number 104 for the stupid Rise of the Resistance (I actually can’t say if the ride is stupid or not because we didn’t get to go on it) but no such luck. By this time, it is 2:30 pm. The boys (and possibly me) have had no less than 6 major meltdowns and we grownups have had quite enough.

So, we skip the rest of “Fast Pass” selections. (don’t even get my started on the fast pass bullshit), call an Uber and the fuck out of dodge.

And to make matters worse, I got informed at 6 pm we were taken off standby and it was now our turn to “board” Rise of the Resistance. There are not enough hand signals in the world for the way I feel about you. The boys do not know this bit of information. Please do not tell them.

Never again Disney. I have given you multiple chances and you have let me down every. single. time. You will dupe me no more. Your parks will get no more of my money. You can go fuck yourself. You certainly won’t be fucking me and my family anymore.

 

Dear Mike Trout…

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I will preface this by saying that the contents of this post are intended to be funny. I, in no way shape, or form believe the Mike Trout is going to move into my home and raise my children with me (obviously we would move into his house, he has a career to finish after all). Or any of the other people on this rather hilarious list. I am nothing if not honest, though, so do with it what you will. I will also say that I am 37 years old, and while I will mourn the loss of my husband for the rest of my life, I also do not intend, nor did he intend for me, to spend the rest of my life alone. So there.

As you know, my children have asked me for a new dad. I have explained to them that there is no dad store and that it will take time, patience and actual love for that to happen (all of which none of us are good at, well, we’re probably good at love I would assume. We love each other without issue, so I’ll claim that as a positive attribute in our favor.) Colt mainly copies what Jack says, but I do believe that he longs for a. his dad but since that’s not possible 2. a male figure in our home daily that will also play endless legos with him (I am not the parent that is good at playing with her children (unless it’s a sport in which I can dominate), that was always Ash’s territory. I’m more the clean your shit up, put your shit away, don’t talk back to me disciplinary bad ass of the home).

Jack, however, can’t seem to leave the subject alone. We had some time together, just the 2 of us (a very rare thing) one day last week and he really opened up to me in his sweet, innocent 10 year old boy way. He did request, again, a new dad. I explained, again, how we need time to grieve, heal and you know, meet someone that we love and loves us back, blah, blah, blah. (Not that I’m saying our conversation was blah, just summing up, if you will). Apparently that answer was not sufficient. He dove further into where we would live, would new dad coach sports and would he get to call new dad “dad” or would he have to call him Mike or LeBron or whatever his name happens to be. What a fun conversation.

In reality, I can’t imagine how he must be feeling. What a fucking load of shit both of my boys have been dealt. I was lucky enough to grow up completely with both of my parents. No death. No divorce. Just normal, middle class, American upbringing. Navigating through this load of horse dung is not for the weak of heart, I can tell you that much. Your children will throw so many curve balls, you’ll be lucky if you make contact 1 out of every 30 balls thrown. My average is probably even lower than that. But we’re all trying together. I tried to talk to him rationally. We don’t know what the future looks like. Hopefully we will meet someone when the time is right. He may or may not be as into sports as we are (actually he will have to be or it just won’t work.), I think what you call him will be a personal decision between you and him. All the things I think I’m supposed to say. Who the fuck knows?!

Well, to make matters worse, funnier, even more screwed up than they already are, Jack has come up with a list of potential “dads” that he will allow to move into our lives and assume his new role. Rounding out number 1. Mike Trout. Yes, folks, Jack will allow Mike Trout to come into our lives to step into husband, father, best friend and baseball coach. You’re welcome Mr. Trout (Tom Ferguson, if you’re reading this, you’ve got some work to do 😉 !) Coming in at a close second is Bryce Harper (sorry about your wife and child) followed by Bruno Mars (ummm ok?!), Cody Bellinger, LeBron James (again with the wife and children…) and I threw in Jordy Nelson, Chris Hemsworth (sorry about your wife and children as well) and Cam Newton (hey, we could share a wardrobe) just for good measure. Go big or go home is apparently our motto around here.

So, to you potential suitors to the Jones brood, let me tell you a little bit about what you’ll be getting. Jack and Colt are 2 of the coolest kids I know. Jack is smart, kind hearted, handsome, athletic, funny, sarcastic, compassionate and more competitive than maybe even you. He’s quite stubborn, needs a lot of prodding to get going on any one thing but once he starts, he literally can’t be stopped. My wonderfully weird Mr. Tolt is also smart, affectionate, so loving, hilarious, emotional and really good with yard tools. He’s wildly independent, thinks he knows how do anything and everything and needs no guidance from anyone and is also quite stubborn (I believe that is a big family trait, no getting around that DNA). If I had to take a stab at what each boy would become when they get older I will say that Jack (if professional athlete happens to not work out haha! – this is where you could be super helpful Mr. Trout) will become an officer of the law whether it be a sheriff, detective, prosecutor or something similar. He is a rule follower (and enforcer) through and through. Colt, on the other hand, could careless what your rules are. He will create his own. Therefore I see him owing his own business, thereby making his own rules, in a very hands on, crafty way – landscaper, land grader – something with lots of dirt and lots of heavy machinery. They are great kids and any of you would be so lucky to have one shred of a part of their lives.

Me, on the other hand, I’m a harder sell. I’m 37, a widow with 2 fan-fucking-tastic kids, stretch marks, maybe a few pounds that need shedding (although I can run a consecutive 2 whole miles though, so will probably be unrecognizable within the year). But I’m also pretty damn funny, cute when I try to be, have the mouth of a sailor, love red wine, a good book and lots of sunshine. I, too, am stubborn, sarcastic to excess and have a hard time expressing how I feel with actual words. That you speak. I can write them down like a fucking champ, though!

In all seriousness, I don’t make light of this. Like any decent parent, I hate to see my children unhappy and suffering. I wish I had that magic wand to take all their pain away. But they, we, will persevere. And as all the bull shit sayings tell you, we will be better and stronger for it in the end.

Until then, we await your call, Mike. (Insert hysterical laughter here!)

Gratitude

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There is so much the boys and I have to be grateful for. We have a roof over our head, food in our bellies, we laugh every day and we love every day. That love and laughter probably wouldn’t come as easily if it weren’t for our beyond amazing (I really wish I had another word for amazing…) family and friends. You all are such a light for us. You keep us strong and able to put one foot in front of the other each and every day.

I’ll start with my parents. What can I say? There is no way I could ever repay you for all you do for us, all you have done for us – even before cancer and travel and death, you were always here to offer a helping hand, guidance and maybe a bit of constructive criticism to see how truly idiotic we were being. You take all my babies at a moment’s notice whenever life is too much for me, or I need a break or I decide dancing with my girlfriends is the way to get through any given night. You help me with so many household tasks that seem overwhelming to me. You make me meals, support my children in everything they do, even with the heaping dose of attitude on the side we seem to be getting these days. You all are everything to me and I could not do ANY of this without. You listen to our biggest complaints and our strongest fears. You always have the best advice (even when we don’t take it). You love me unconditionally even when you don’t understand me. You love my boys unconditionally and always try to guide them in the right direction. Thank you isn’t enough, but, for now, it’s all I have.

My brother and his wife. When Ash first died, my brother was here all day every day just to be that strong force for my boys to lean on. His wife didn’t get mad. She just let him be here. My boys went through a phase for a few weeks where they needed to call/Facetime Uncle G every night or they couldn’t go to bed. He always answered. He never got frustrated (even when both boys were just silent and making weird faces at him). He’s here for them all the time. He’s Uncle G, Coach G, Fun G and sometimes Disciplinary G! He loves my babies like they are his own. His wife gives him the time to really be here for my boys and for that I cannot be more grateful. Let’s face it, my boys need all the strong male help they can get! That is not my area of expertise.

Ash’s brother (and children). We haven’t always been the hugest part of each other’s lives but tragedy tends to bring people closer. He’s been here for my boys (and me) also. Helping coach, taking them to do fun things and always being able to make us laugh. They (who the fuck  are these “they” people) say laughter is the best medicine and it’s true. And you do that for us (with you/at you – what does it matter?!). In all seriousness, we appreciate you so much. You all are another force in our lives that we couldn’t do without.

My friends. Thank you for always including us in your families. You take us in, you feed us, you share stories with us, you give us your time. Time is our worst enemy right now. It tinkers by so slowly and you all must know that because you invite us into your lives to fill your time and fill our time. You answer all my crazy and slightly (maybe more than slightly) annoying texts, you help us when our power goes out, you let us invite ourselves over on family Sundays where I sit on my special perch and my boys ransack all your toys, you include us in family game nights and bowling nights and pizza night. You let us spend the night so that I can drink more wine than is necessary and we can be surrounded by your loving arms. You check on us all the time and you are always willing to help. You love the boys like they are your own. You show them patience when they are struggling. You don’t judge me when I’m having a bad day or break down and cry or curse like a sailor. You, too, love us unconditionally and let me say, that feeling is reciprocated. We are so fortunate for you, my friends. Thank you for doing life with us, tolerating us and making our lives a little brighter every day.

I’m also going to throw some gratitude at my dogs. Y’all annoy the shit out of me but thanks for always keeping me warm at night and thinking the sun rises and sets out of my ass.

Grief (and cancer and death) sucks. It sucks a little less if you’re surround by the best family and friends in the world. And we are.

Also, it looks like the sun is starting to come it. It’s a good day to have a good day.

Adventure for My Soul

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There’s been something on my mind for a while. (Mama, be warned, you’re not gonna like this one!). As you know, Ash was cremated and had a few spots he would like his ashes scattered. Jack, Colt and I took care of the first spot, off the Kitty Hawk Pier into the Atlantic Ocean on New Year’s Eve. It was a beautiful, crisp bright day. A little windy (hence why a little bit of Ash may or may not be stuck on a piling on said Kitty Hawk Pier). I said a few words (the boys didn’t want to), we took a few pictures and we let go of our first piece (is that the right word? Probably not.) of Ash. There was some laughter, a little tearing up and a lot of arguing between the boys. I don’t think Ash would have expected it any other way.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the next destinations. The Grand Canyon, Salado and Ft. Worth, Texas and Ireland (wherever I so choose!). I’ve decided Texas should definitely be a family trip with the boys. They had so much fun when we went last spring break. They got to meet some of Ash’s closest friends, fish, ride horses, play in the creek, eat real Tex Mex, and Texas BBQ (different from NC BBQ) and they/we fell just fell in love with all of it. It will be difficult to go back without Ash but it is something we have to and need to do together. The 3 Musketeers (ok, we don’t call ourselves that but whatever.)

Ireland is in the 5 year plan. I don’t intend to take the boys to Ireland. They are young and complain a lot and it’s too much money and too far to go to spend 10 days listening to them bitch. Sorry boys, you know it’s true. So that will be an adult only trip, but down the road a bit. It’s going to take some cash and a lot of planning that I don’t have the energy to put into at this time.

That leaves the Grand Canyon, which I’m thinking of heading out over spring break in April. I’ve had many different thoughts on this one. The kids and me? Maybe but again it’s another long trip where a lot of fighting and complaining will happen. Girls trip to Vegas with a quick hop over to the Grand Canyon? Anyone (adult) trip to Vegas with the same quick hop? I thought that was the way I would go, but the more I think about it, the more it turns me off. I don’t want to cheapen what I’m doing with some drunken trip where I spend too much money, drink too much booze and forget the whole reason I am there. I am there for Ash, to honor him, to remember him, to free him and to free myself.

So that leads me to where my thoughts lie now, something that has been toying with my brain (and my heart) for a while. It started as a fleeting thought. Road trip somewhere? And then it grew. Road trip to the Grand Canyon? And then I let it go, or I tried to let it go. But it just kept nagging and growing and growing and nagging. What if I go to the Grand Canyon, drive myself there (maybe with a friend and maybe not – it’s ok mama, it will all be ok!). What if I make it an adventure that Ash would be proud of? What if I step outside my comfort zone (Ash’s proverbial box) and do something fun and exciting and a little bit scary? What if I let go of what people think and just do what I feel is right deep in my soul? What if I create a beautiful life experience to honor my deceased husband that I will remember for the rest of my life? Just thinking about it, writing about it is bringing tears to my eyes, I can feel the blood in my veins coursing through my body, my heartbeat escalating and I just know this is what I’m supposed to do.

There is a camper van sitting in my driveway. It’s not mine, but maybe, just maybe I could borrow it? Rent it? Can someone teach me how to use it over the next 2 months should the answer be yes? Maybe I could bring a friend. Or maybe I drive my car and maybe I do this all on my own.

I want Ash to be remembered for the way he was – always LIVING, always looking for his next adventure and always Always ALWAYS having the balls to do it. And this is one thing I can do for him that I know he would be so proud of and love so hard.

So, Mama, don’t be scared. I know what I’m doing. Can you keep all my things while I release another part of my heart?

Moody Monday

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Today was one of those days that just kind of sucked. And it didn’t suck. I had weird conversations with my children. I had lunch with a friend where apparently my tears were on the menu. I received more bad news than I wanted. And I returned to the business that Ash and I started together, for the first time since we sold it and it was just so different.

I got up early this morning, did yoga, made Jack’s lunch for school, had my coffee, got the boys up, walked the dogs, made (you know, poured bowls of cereal) the boys breakfast, took Jack to school, came home, jogged on the treadmill, took Colt to school, grocery shopped (are you bored yet?!). I’ll stop. I just did the shit you do as a parent. Normal. I started the day off happy enough. I made a lunch date with my sister from another mister (I don’t generally say that ridiculous saying but it seems fitting for our relationship). All good things, right?

I picked up Colt from preschool and we headed to lunch with my friend. We’re chatting, catching up and then a bomb gets dropped on me. Not really, if a bomb really got dropped on me clearly I wouldn’t be sitting here writing this. My friend is moving. Far, far away. I’m not surprised. But it surprised me. And it made me sad to my core. She’s one of those people that is always there for you no matter what. Would give you the shirt off her back (and complain the whole time while doing it!). I love her like she’s family. I’ve known her longer than I knew my husband. And I just can’t imagine doing life without her being near me. I know she has to go. I know why she has to go. But it doesn’t make the pain any less. Bitch. Kidding. I love her. But bitch.

So, weepy lunch. Then I get more bad news. My oldest, Jack, is a pretty decent baseball player. Last year he played on at 12U travel team. In his last travel ball tournament, he got hit in the mouth with a pitch so hard that it knocked a tooth out. He sat out the remainder of that game but played in the very next one because he’s a bad ass like that. That night we went home and he threw up. Being the most excellent mother that I am, I put him to bed shortly after said throw up and checked on him later. He woke up the next day saying he still felt nauseous so I finally took him to the ER, where it was determined he was perfectly fine (dodged a mom fail there) but he missed his last baseball game of the season. 2 days later, his father dies. A week or 2 later her declares he’s never playing baseball again. Poor kid had been through so much trauma/drama/what-the-fuck-is-this-life bullshit that he decided baseball wasn’t for him. Which was pretty devastating in and of itself. Then he decides he will play baseball again, but only regular season league ball – he’s not doing travel or fall ball. Ironically, 2 weeks ago he decides actually he will play travel ball and can’t wait for it to start up again. So, naturally, because this is the run of luck we’re having, we get an email today to let us know that the team has broken up, too many boys have too many other things going on and it can’t continue. Cue the tears.

I tell Jack and he handles it just fine and decides he’ll see if he can play for the other travel team with all his buddies! Except, no son, you can’t because that one is 9U and you are 10 and there are no other local teams in your age group in our area. Ugh! He handled it better than I did but was still pretty bummed.

Move on to dinner. We’re sitting there, just chatting about the day, when out of nowhere Jack says to me “Mama, I’d like a new dad.” And then Colt chimes in, “yeah mama, we need a new dad.” Then they continue with how it’d be so nice to have someone else here and how they miss dad and we can just get a new one. They said dinner is always so quiet and it would just be nice to have someone else here to play with and hang out with and love. Sure kids, I’ll pop on down to the dad store and pick the best one on the market.

This was not something I was prepared for. I should have been. Kids are so resilient and so much better at life than we adults are. They get hurt, they share their pain and they move on. The don’t dwell on things. They stay in the moment. They just get it so much better than we do. But this one just caught me so off guard.

I tried as best as I could to talk through it with them. I did mention that the dad store didn’t exist but that maybe one day we would meet someone, and we would fall in love with him and he would fall in love with us and that potentially, one day, someone would be here with us. I explained how I didn’t like the situation either, that I missed having a husband and a partner. I told them how much I loved them and how I wished I could wave a magic wand and bring dad back or take away the pain. But that I couldn’t . Then the conversation took a strange turn into who was king and queen of the family. For some reason they seem to think the dog, Bogey, is queen. I quickly informed them that hell no, mama is queen, Bogey can be the princess and it just got weirder from there. See? Resilient. So good at moving forward.

Did I do or say the right thing there? I have no idea. There is no guide book in my possession that is telling me “what to say when the kids ask for a new dad.”

On a completely different subject, the business Ash and I used to own was an indoor golf and sports simulation, beer drinking, kick ass place. We had a blast owning it. We used to run golf leagues. I played in the ladies league back when we owned it. The new owners have continued the golf leagues so a couple of girlfriends and I signed up. This was my first time back there, I think I already mentioned this, since we sold it. And boy had it changed. It was the same concept, but they had added so much to it. Nets and official golf club holders and ball holders and wood everywhere. So much more put together than Ash and I ever were! Still all the same pictures with an added picture of Ash on the wall. Luckily I had been warned about that so I just didn’t even look at it. But I looked at everything else. It didn’t cut as deep as I thought it would, probably because I was surrounded by love, light and laughter. The leagues were totally different, too. Where Ash and I were super laid back, this had so many rules. And that’s fine. Obviously it’s not mine anymore so why would it be run the way Ash and I ran it? It was just a little difficult to not be in control, to not have my friend behind the bar making sure my beer never ran dry, to not have the ridiculous loud 90s rap blaring while we hit wildly awful golf shots and took as many mulligans as we wanted to help boost our ever deflated golf egos, to have to wear shoes, to not have Ash there telling us why we hit it like such shit and having him tug on everyones belt loop to show how the hips are supposed to move and giving as much boost as we feel we need. Again, it’s no longer my rodeo, Ash and I were very different from the new owners. It was just an adjustment I didn’t quite prepare for.

But I did it. And I’m proud I did it. And I’ll be back next week to try again. But I might bring my own playlist!

 

 

 

Month 2

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It’s the 12th again, and it’s amazing how one day out of the month can completely turn everything upside down. It’s like Topsy Turvy in the 2nd Mary Poppins only I’m not finding the fun in it.

This weekend, one of my greatest friends came into town to celebrate a certain age birthday that I’m not going to mention. Her husband rented us an ocean front house south from home and it was just perfect. We had a wonderful weekend of drinks, food (mainly chips), conversations, some suspect 80s music and plenty of laughter. It was perfect. But then I woke up today, the sun wasn’t shining, the wind was blowing and the rain was coming down. And I remembered what day it was.

Today is January 12, 2020. It is 10 years from Jack’s due date (random fact that doesn’t matter at all) and it is also 2 months since the death of my person. And it has been the longest 2 months of my life. Sure, some days, it feels like only yesterday he was here, on the couch, snuggled up with his damn puppy, falling asleep to the umpteenth hour of SportsCenter. But mostly, the days drag on, the nights even longer.

I came home immediately upon waking this morning (well, after packing up my stuff, washing some dishes and taking down the birthday decorations we had put up.) I put on sad country music (because that’s always wise) and I took the beach road (the slow road) the whole way home while the tears streamed silently down my cheeks. I got home to lackluster excitement from my boys and jubilant tail wagging from my dogs. I had cleaned up my act, so to speak, from my ride home but as soon as I saw my mom, the tears came again. We’ve, again, done so many things since the last time the 12th came.

We’ve celebrated birthdays – Uncle G, Jack, Jesus.

We’ve visited with more family.

Christmas didn’t kill us.

My boys destroyed me in laser tag.

We went to Busch Gardens. For Christmastown. After Christmas. Why?

We had a family sleepover with some dear friends.

I nearly didn’t survive New Year’s Day because it was just too damn hard to think about a brand new year without Ash by my side.

Both Jack and Colt have broken down countless times, just missing their dad. Funny (funny probably isn’t the right word) how month 2 seems so much more difficult than month 1 was. I guess the longer time goes on, the more real it all is. And the more they just miss him.

Basketball games started. Colt is a star galloper, also quite good at Star Wars battles on the court. Jack keeps breaking his own personal best records each game.

We have nearly finished reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire together. It’s taken an embarrassingly long time, I’m not all that ashamed to admit. Still have a few pages to go. We can do it!! Tonight’s goal!

I’ve continued exercising even more.

We’ve planned a night at a local resort next weekend with friends so we can swim and play and distract ourselves further.

I’ve lost another 4 pounds. (I know, still a lot to go!)

We fulfilled one of Ash’s wishes by scattering some of his ashes in the Atlantic Ocean. It was just the 3 of us and it felt good to do. It also felt like every other day because “Colt’s hogging the jar” and “Jack dumped more than me” and “I’m cold” and all those fun things that come with 2 growing adolescent boys!

I’ve found all 3 tape measures (just so darn excited about that it’s worth mentioning every time I write apparently)

We’ve laughed and cried and yelled and stayed up too late. We’ve fought, we’ve made up and we’ve fought again.

We’ve watched countless episodes of Chasing Monsters and How to Train Your Dragon Race to the Edge.

I’ve watched too much Netflix, mainly You. Oh Joe!

We just keeping doing it. Every day. Living.

They (who ever the fuck they are, I have no idea) say it gets easier. So far it hasn’t. In fact, this last month was more difficult than the one before. Maybe because of all the holidays and New Year and just more time to adjust to the new normal. And I’m not trying to be this sad, weak, complaining mess of a woman that I’m coming across as. I just don’t know how else to get it out, where to let it go. Because while some days I may not feel like putting one foot in front of the other, that’s just not an option. So the pain has to go somewhere. And this is where for me.

I know it’s just a date on a calendar. I know that everybody suffers from loss and grief and all the bull shit life can throw at you. But I’d like to propose we just remove the 12th from every month from now until forever. Except, that’s not true either. Because while it’s difficult, remembering Ash, really taking the time to think about him and remember him, doing so brings me so much more joy than pain. So keep on coming the 12th of the month. I see your sadness and raise you a heaping dose of joy.

Winning (and Losing)

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First of all, I will have you all know that I found all 3 fucking tape measures. In the same day! So if that’s not winning, I don’t know what is! I have also started successfully jogging 1.25 miles without stopping. Can’t be long until I’m shitting my pants in the NY marathon because I just can’t stop, won’t stop. Kidding. 1. That’s disgusting and b. I will never run that much ever because I don’t want to.  I went totally out of my comfort zone yesterday and went to a Whimsy Warrior (low impact/high intensity) class. Where there were other people. And mirrors. And an instructor. It wasn’t pretty, but I did it! Don’t let that name full you either, there was nothing “whimsy” about that damn class. My friend told me it was so “chill”. My friend is a liar. But I love her anyway!! It really was awesome. And awful. And I can barely walk today. Also can’t wait to go back again!

Last night was Jack’s first basketball game of the season. He scored a career high 12 points, had several rebounds and just played his little heart out (side note, he’s a bit asthmatic and “we” forgot to do his inhaler before the game so the poor kid was sucking wind the whole time. Mom fail.) It was a nail biter of a game that we won 18-17 (it’s 9-10 year old basketball, keep your expectations low.) Jack’s team was up 18-16 with 6 seconds to go. The other team had the ball and was dribbling down to shoot. Poor Jack fouled the kid right as he was going up to shoot as the buzzer went off simultaneously. Jack was not happy with himself. The other team made the first foul shot and and my son, who happens to be exactly like me (unfortunately, fortunately, who knows?) shows some anger on the court, which looks a bit like bad sportsmanship. He is only 10 and controlling those emotions is hard.

Jack is exactly like me. He looks like me, other than having his dad’s eyes. He’s strong, competitive, sarcastic, emotional, shy, stoic when it comes to matters of the heart, yet wears his heart on his sleeve everywhere else, he’s his own toughest critic. Because of that competitive spirt and critical nature, those emotions show all over the place when on the basketball court, baseball field or football field and last night was no different. When the other team made that first foul shot, he slammed his hands on the court. What looked like bad sportsmanship to anyone that doesn’t know much about Jack, was really Jack being super pissed with himself for making the mistake of fouling. That’s a tough thing to learn at 10 years old, controlling your emotions.

When we got home last night, he broke down in my arms and told me how sorry he was. I couldn’t figure out for the life of me what he was apologizing for or why he was crying (he just played the best basketball game of his. life thus far and we won). I just hugged him and rocked him and let him have his cry. When he had calmed down a bit I asked him why he was upset and sorry. He said “I just got so mad at myself, mama. I knew not to foul but I did it anyway and everyone thought I was being a bad sport. I didn’t mean to be a bad sport.” My heart just broke for him. I knew how it looked when he slammed the court, but I also knew that my baby was just being so hard on himself. My little boy has so many feelings running through him at all times, especially right now, and the last thing I want for him is to ever feel bad about how he’s feeling. Feelings are real things, whether anyone understands them or not. You cannot tell someone how to feel or how they should react to something. Sure, as adults, we *can* control our outward emotions (I use the term “can” loosely, lord knows when it comes to most things, you know exactly how I’m feeling when I’m feeling it, except, of course, matters of the heart, I like to keep those feelings close to the belt.) My son is no different than me. How can I teach him to control his emotions when I, myself, can’t control mine?

Sports are a major outlet for him. He excels at them, so far, anyway, in his 10 years. They bring him joy and they also bring him pain. Hell, watching him brings me joy and brings me pain. I guess it’s all about balance. You can’t have the good without the bad. You can’t know what it’s like to win without also knowing what it’s like to lose. I pray he perseveres through, works through his demons and goes on to find all the joy that his heart can hold. In whatever that may be. I hope he always wears his heart on his sleeve and stays true to who he is. Because who he is is really fucking awesome. (And that sounds like I just called myself really fucking awesome because up there a bit I said he was just like me. Guess what though? I am pretty fucking awesome, too!)