Joy, laughter, disappointment, chaos, and it’s only Saturday

I picked the moon up at the post office yesterday. Her other mom just shipped her from KCK. It seemed easier than driving.

Pause for laughter.

We actually met to sign paperwork for the moon to get her first passport. I think this could have been done without me, so I was thrilled to be asked. We sat in their little room, her other mom had done all the work of picture and documentation and money order, all the stuff. All I had to do was stand on the side and then sign under both of their names. It was pretty cool. Bella and her other mom have a trip planned later in the year. Traveling was one of the things that brought us together so I am glad that is being shared with our kid. Not that it matters what I think about their time together, it’s none of my concern. It was nice to be included.

We hit the library after that, my shingles doing their back and forth of screaming at me and then going dead silent. Screams. Silence. And so on. There is a quick burning stabbing pain, and then it’s gone and I am fine. Then another quick stabbing pain, and it’s gone. One of these pain moments, I said audibly, ow ow ow! And then it was gone. I maybe did this once or twice more in the library.

When we got back to the car, I did the same thing as I got into my seat, ow ow ow. Almost instantly from the back seat I hear, ow ow ow. I thought the moon was making fun of me. What? What’s happening, I say. She says, my throat hurts. I barely held it together. She cracks me up. Hears it twice and then boom, ow ow ow.

After the library, we headed home for some outside time before it got dark. We had some great fun.

This jump was as high as Belly’s armpits!

Nice distance here.

Different camera view.

We took turns filming the puppers do tricks and I chopped wood while she set up and higher jump and a higher jump. We got good and muddy. The attention and running around was good for Badger as well.

Shoes removed and back in the house, I wanted to test out my new seed mat with some started seeds. Yes, I know it’s still January, but there is no wrong time to play in the dirt. I got out a seed tray from last year and some recycled pots from our failed fern experiment, and we planted leeks, green onions, cat grass, and marigolds.

Ang came home at that time and started dinner. By the time our project was done, it was time to go see some art that Ang had at two Final Friday locations. It was so much fun! We caught a lively show at the America Music Academy right down the street where people were buzzing about, and live music was being played. There was art all over the walls including Ang’s pieces. Bella took an impressive tour around the place spending some good time at several pieces.

The next stop was the Lawrence Art Center where Ang was a contributor in a print exchange called Edible Art. She made a beautiful recreation of a menu from 1867. As part of the project, she will receive a copy of all the other prints that were done so we took some time to see what new art would be in our home. Bella found a few pieces that she thought she might like in her room.

It all seemed so lovely. What transpired after that is unknown to me. We returned home, got ready for bed, someone announced she was hungry since she rarely eats what we do. I suggested she make some toast since I was done with dinner for the night, so I settled in at the kitchen table to read a chapter from our book while she ate her toast. It was way past all our bedtimes at this point. She wanted to call her mom to say goodnight, and just as I was about to go to bed I hear, I want to go home.

‘Scuse me? It’s 10pm and this a’int our first rodeo. She had spoken with her mom and wanted to go home. Pretty dead set. I ask what happened on the phone and she stated nothing, but that she doesn’t get enough time with her mom, she missed her, and she wanted to sleep with her. I had a nice calm inquisitive nature about me while silently rolling my eyes out of my head.

We talked some more about time with her other mom, and time with us, and logistics of the rest of the weekend. She remained set. Her other mom said she will come get her. I am right in the middle between oh hell no and how important is it? For every definitive parenting decision I make, there have got to be ten questions that go unanswered. I want to err on the side of kindness and love and grace. I also don’t want to raise a spoiled entitled ass. I also know that what little control I have, it only exists when she is physically with me. That’s what, like 72 hours every other week including sleep time. Roughly 48 hours of awake time every other week.

I want her to feel supported. I want her to know she has a voice. I want her to feel heard. I want her to advocate for herself. All the things. I also was not driving to Kansas City at 10pm.

Once I said yes and let her other other mother know, we both turned our phones on and laid down. I don’t know if she would have fallen asleep without the yes. But once she got it, she fell fast asleep. As did I. By the time her phone rang, we were both in dreamland. But she got up and went home.

I didn’t want to make a huge deal of it. We arranged to pick her up at the place where her horse is kept the next day. I didn’t personalize. I observed. I don’t want to make a habit of this malarkey. This was the first time this had happened. Time will tell.

She came back the next day and we continued our amazing weekend. More to come on that.

Love,

Holly

Real time graph of my recovery from shingles, or my cold, or addiction

Let’s add a nice phlegmy cold to the shingles and see how it changes the numbers. I don’t know why I thought my recovery from these blasted shingles would be linear. I adore linear for about 75% of my world and the above graph for the other 25%. Since I like to control things, I’d like to choose the 25%.

But I started feeling better! I chopped wood! I tried going back to work and then found a great excuse to quickly get the hell out of there. I got so frustrated that I actually did the math to calculate how long till my retirement. Spoiler alert: it is not close.

I know that I will do myself no good if I stress about recovery or missing work or working from home or my participation level at home or how well I am performing as a mother or looking towards upcoming events.

I was just thinking this morning, how can I wrangle my boobs for Transformations so I am comfortable and still look nice. I want to make a big deal of this last Transformations but anything more than a T-Shirt is painful and, at best, very uncomfortable without a bra. I also tried a bra on Monday and it was a hard pass. Gen Xers don’t freeball.

The very last Transformations is coming up this weekend. We have the moon and I want to take her out and show her a lovely Lawrence, KS evening. I want to do makeup and all that girly stuff that she loves. I have pictures of me in jeans and a hoodie as well as a nice dress from past Transformations.

It all just makes me tired and anxious. I hate anxiety! I’m sure anxiety loves that.

It feels like I have been sick forever. I added a cold to this ball of awesome this past weekend. What is my body trying to tell me? How can I better serve myself? What is it that I need in this moment? Use your training, Holly.

A quick google search on recovering from shingles only tells me to steer clear of people as long as I have open wounds. I have not had open wounds for a month. I still cannot move without pain, cannot wear my trusty over the shoulder bolder holder, and don’t know if I am supposed to ignore the pain and press on or rest. I am frustrated. I am tired. I am grumpy and worn down. And I am sick of all those things as well.

The new routine with the moon lends itself to less down time. I am so grateful to my person who has been taking art classes and exercise classes and generally doing her own thing. She has been taking care of her while shingles and joint custody have taken my time. It’s very inspiring to watch. I am so grateful that we have built this life together. It is, and I pray it will always be, the backbone. If my recovery is my foundation, then this life with my person is the ground level, the cornerstone.

Thanks to all who continue to show up in physical life, digital life, spiritual life, and mental and emotional life. I dig you all. Love, Holly.

How to Talk to Your Friends, in addition to texting.

Author’s note: this is the latest communication I am sending to a friend. I am putting a digital stamp on this one because I think she will be tickled to be contributing to this blog.

Double note: THIS DOES NOT WORK IF YOUR ONLY COMMUNICATIONS ARE TEXT. Get out your pencil and a stamp.

I am a little old school when it comes to formal communication. Let’s put it this way, last year, I ordered something like 500 or 1000 thank you cards in bulk from Amazon. You get the idea. It’s not the damn card, it’s what is inside.

Dear Goddess,

Thank you for your latest communication. This may or may not have been your intent, but I could not get the glitter off my fingers for the rest of the day after reading your card. It was beautiful.

It was nothing compared to your words. Why are you so good to me? You know I love that support and I pray that I give it as good as I get it. I’m so glad you love the blog. I am thrilled to make it a part of my new morning routine. Almost one month in, and I feel like I am more in touch with myself. Luckily, I love writing, so the outcomes were not planned, as it should be. It’s been fun just to see where this goes. No destination, just the journey.

If I haven’t already, I’d like also thank you for the Christmas card. It gives me such joy to see you and your person’s joyful faces on our Christmas card wall. We put all the cards up over the walkway from our kitchen to our front room, so I see your joy every day. One new thing that we did this year was put our own Christmas card on the wall. It’s such a great reminder to love myself with all the others who send their love.

I also want to thank you for the wedding present. How did you even find the registry? Ang and I were just figuring out how to put one together at the request of another guest that can’t attend, and here comes this giant box on our porch. We were baffled for several moments. It added extra joy to the gift itself.

We opened it with Isabella and placed it in her room for the time being. She has been using the mirror that goes with the dresser in her room which is currently on the floor. I can’t find the darn hardware for it! And who wouldn’t love a full length mirror in their room but a stylish 7 year old? I watched her fix her hair in it Tuesday morning before school. Such precision.

I am so grateful for our friendship. It feels like it continues to grow despite our physical distance. Speaking of growing, thank you for continuously sharing your journey with me. It has been an absolute pleasure to watch you grow and flourish. I follow you on the social media as well. I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see you so happy.

What I know is that, like so many of us, this has taken work. Not only have you put in the work, but you have been open and honest about it, and shared what worked for you. I have been privy to the lengths you have gone to find yourself. I know from experience that you didn’t find the love of your life until you found the love of your life in yourself. Sometimes I wonder if people who have not experienced lows like us really know what the highs feel like.

Anyway, thanks for being a part of this morning and unknowingly contributing to this blog. If I know you, I think you will be tickled. I shall close and continue with my morning routine. I am finishing “Quit like a woman.” The book that you gave me last year, “How to do the Work,” is actually going to get read with this new routine. I’ll let you know how it contributes to my life, since it helped you.

Thank you for everything. Thank you for being you. I love you.

Holls

Do you think dogs get frustrated that they can’t tell us what they need?

I’m sitting here staring at the Honey-eyed Noodle Boy. He’s just checking me out before he settles down in his big fluffy bed by the fire. Does he need anything?

Dogs (and cats for that matter) instinctively take care of their own needs. They drink when they are thirsty and poop when they need to poop. But what if I forgot to fill the water bowl? Badger wouldn’t tell me. I don’t think he would go to the water bowl and start pushing it around. I mean I don’t really know because I don’t think the water bowl has ever been empty. But if it were, and for a significant time, he could die.

Dial it down a bit from needs to wants. Do you think he gets frustrated that he can’t tell me that he doesn’t get walked enough. “Mom, I would really appreciate it if you changed your routine a little and took me for a short walk every day. Even a short walk would be so awesome. It would really contribute to the quality of my life.”

Or, “I favor the rope toys. They make the day so interesting trying to untie those knots.”

Or, “Like if it isn’t too much trouble, that one bone you got that one time, oh I loved that. I chewed on it for hours while you worked.”

Or “I’d rather stay inside if it’s below 50 degrees. I can’t get warm if the sun isn’t out.”

How do we know what they need? How do they tell us? Does he get bored as shit when we leave him in the kennel for 4 or 8 hours? Is that tortuous for him or does he just chill?

Badger is such a good boy that he just does what we tell him. If I say, kennel up, he does it. He doesn’t throw a fit or whine. I know that he doesn’t like sirens, he loves chasing squirrels, he loves it when I come outside and chase him around threatening to steal his toy. I like to think we bring each other joy.

Playtime in the yard.

He is very affectionate but also good with boundaries. He does not lick mine or Angie’s faces but he will lick a face if you let him. He stops every morning when I let him out of the kennel for a hug and some pets before he goes to the door for his morning pee.

He is very receptive to “good boy” and “bad dog.” It’s hilarious. He does naughty things at times, like eat the cat food or get on the front room couch when we are gone, or dig holes in the yard. But if you show him the cat food dish or the hole and ask him, “What did you do? Or “What is this?,” he will cower and walk away while still eyeing you for the okay that he’s not in trouble any more. We never yell. We speak to him in a normal voice when asking him not to bark or “What is this hole in the yard?”

He’s innocent, ornery, smart, and a moron all at the same beautiful time. He’s my boy.

Bella, “I wonder if I have kissed Badger more than you have kissed Angie.”

He only poops in the edges of the yard where we don’t walk. He has never pooped or peed in the house. He has anxiety when we leave him at other people’s houses. Or even if he has to stay outside at a house that we are at. Maybe separation anxiety or fear of being left behind? We got him when he was about a year. I am not sure what he went through in that first year nor the impression levels of dogs in infancy or adolescence.

He does not bark. Hardly at all. If he does bark, he stops when you say, no bark. The only exception being if there is a possum in the yard. He doesn’t bark when the doorbell rings or someone new comes to the house. He is shy when he meets a new person, especially men, especially with hats on.

He is higher maintenance than Sam by far. He has bigger feels than Sam. Sam is fine just fine on his own for days at a time. Sam usually comes for affection at least once or twice a day, Badger could have it constantly. He’s usually underfoot following one of us around. He goes nuts when one of his favorite people arrive, like Bella or Atticus. But his version of nuts is wagging his tail right off and squirming to get close when Bella is trying to take off her coat.

Sam all out yells at you if his food bowl goes empty but Badger eats twice a day and never goes to his food bowl to ask for food or anything like that. He will take a treat or food scraps at any given moment though. 4

It is no secret that I am not a huge fan of dogs. I am a cat person through and through. I never met a cat I didn’t love. I have never loved another cat more than my Sam cat. Badger has changed my opinion of dogs, but mostly it’s just him. I have become one of those dog moms like the kid moms who still really don’t like kids, but they love their kid.

Sam and Badger are both very good pets and contribute greatly to our quality of life. I just hope that I am doing them both as much justice and love as they do me.

What the hell is happening with me?

After all that talk yesterday about how awesome I am, let’s humbly visit the flip side.

The masses are telling me that the shingles were caused by stress. Yet I am not cognitively aware of the stress. I want to be careful how I word things here, because I don’t want to convince myself of something that I already believe (I’m fine) and not be open to what the team is telling me.

So stress. Shingles. Apparently stress can lead to shingles. Check. I have had a significant case of shingles since Christmas. Now I also have shingles and a cold! When I spoke to one of my support team yesterday, they suggested that the long drawn out court case had maybe worn on me.

I agreed it was possible, but that I had taken the court process one task at a time. Mediation. This went no where and I was frustrated. Very frustrated. The next step, I looked briefly at filing things on my own. That overwhelmed the shit out of me so it was quite quickly abandoned.

Ok, so get an attorney. Secure funds and a plan to start a payment plan. Feasible and done with humility, consistency, and grace, not just by me. The greatest losers here were Amazon and a savings account that never existed before 2020.

Once those main things were done, I followed the advice of my attorney with gratitude and peace. I set her payment into my monthly budget and haven’t given it another thought. Nope. That is not true. There was an initial retainer and I knew that once that was gone, there would be another bill at $300/hr. This wore on me but I still knew that I had done the right thing for me and my kiddo. When the second bill inevitable came in, it was handled in the same manner. I couldn’t be more grateful and my actions link with my words. This is so important for me. For a very very long time, this was not a thing.

I went through the long drawn out court procedure. It is amazing to me how quickly I forget things. I forget things while they are happening. It’s my brain or, more likely, my higher power protecting me. I don’t know how long the case went. I did’t realize that I had done a step up visitation for months into a year until Isabella’s other mother asked for a step up plan in court proceedings and my attorney came back with, that’s what we have been doing for the last year. So she fought that. Her job, not mine.

My job was me and I enacting my sponsor like some kind of decoder ring or Batman device. Engage shields! Firepower on! I had called my sponsor every morning for the first year and a half or so. Since then, I had settled into my own routine only calling her as needed. I reengaged her to call every morning. I also set up individual counseling.

Between meetings and back and forths, I stuck to the routine. On the big day, I sent out the flare. I called in my parents who drove in from Ellsworth the night before. I called in my sponsor. I called in my beloved Angela. I called in my dear friend that was mentioned at the beginning of this story.

The judge awarded me joint custody and more parenting time. I had the moon every other weekend from Saturday at 10am till Sunday and 2pm, and the following Saturday from 10am-2pm. Then it bumped up to longer weekends, Saturday 10am-Sunday 6pm. And finally, after the first of the year, Friday after school at 3pm till Sunday at 6pm, and the following Monday after school to Tuesday morning at school.

When this gets laid over a calendar, I have her Monday evening and the following Friday. They fall in the same week since the Monday is after every other weekend. Follow? Yeah, I had a hard time as well, especially when I looked at my work schedule. I would have to bounce from work at 230pm twice in one week and the following week wouldn’t be affected at all.

I went back and forth with Isabella’s other mother on this, trying to find a better compromise, but she was dead set on sticking with the exact order from the judge. I humbled myself, grabbed my vulnerability underwear, and went in to see my boss.

Last year in February, in preparation for this order, I took a different position at work. Instead of answering the phones at the call center, I train the folks that answer the calls. This removed my weekend shifts. Now I needed to tweek my hours to accommodate the early days. I was very open with my boss. When it comes to the administrative stuff, she excels and I am grateful. She helped me navigate extended hours and PTO hubaloo. I don’t think everything is set in stone yet, and hell, it’s only the fourth week of the year, so we haven’t had but a single rotation.

Reenter my wise friend from the beginning of the story: “You may not be experiencing stress as another would, but can we at least agree that there has been a lot of change?”

I am thrown back to that 18 year old that had just moved out on their own. My parents were strict, I had just moved out of their house, and I was going to start having some fun. I didn’t need a schedule; I didn’t need routine. Life was a day by day thing. And this was before I discovered alcohol or drugs! I worked two jobs, got my own apartment and did whatever the hell else I wanted. Visualize negotiating both jobs so I could go see my grandparents for the weekend and help my grandmother clean her house. Yeah, I was a bad ass.

Shortly after I did discover drugs and alcohol and there was definitely no routine, unless you count work, drink, work, drink. I met girls, well quickly one girl, pool on Wednesday’s with $1.50 pitchers, weekends at friends’ and bars, you know, 20 something’s stuff.

We moved to New Mexico and the party got bigger and the drugs changed. Maybe it was it’s own routine. I got in my first real trouble there and we eventually moved back home. There I had my first long term job at the moving company and the routine was a 40 hour work week and “partying.” I did this quite steadily for 4 years in Wichita.

After that, there would be no real routine for 10 years. Even with reaching my first bottom, entering recovery, losing my first wife, moving to Manhattan and finally Lawrence. Even with meeting my second wife, getting married, going to college, having a kiddo, relapsing, losing said kid, and a second divorce. School was a big contributor to this. A semester schedule is never longer than a semester. I am not that 18 year old kid who wants to get out from under the thumb of my parents anymore either. I also hadn’t changed much from that kid.

I went to rehab three times in 2019. There, in my early 40’s, I discovered my love of routine. I knew exactly what to expect. From the moment my eyes opened until they shut at night, I knew the schedule. I had little freedom over my own schedule. That was a learning curve all it’s own. As soon as I would leave rehab and try things on my own, something was still there that caused the return to the bottle.

So I went back to rehab. And back again. Then to the most strict sober living house in Wichita. I finally got a job. I had to report my work hours to the house so they knew when I would not be at scheduled events, and work was the only thing you missed scheduled events for. That house, that routine, that accountability, saved my life.

When the stars aligned for me to return to Lawrence, it felt easy to get a job and my current employment fell into my lap. This is the best job I have ever had. I learned in this job that customer service is a noble career. I found other people that love routine and knowing what to expect. I had never really had folks in my life like that before. And if I did, I shunned them for it or I flat out didn’t understand.

I set up a life with my beloved now fiancée. We lined our schedules to fit each other to maximum benefit for both. And we built this big beautiful life. We built in work, and play, and spirituality, and growth, and peace, and love, and hobbies, and fellowship. We built in things we do together and time alone. We got a dog. We bought a house. We lived happily ever after.

The one thing for me that was missing was still my kiddo, so I went to court. And that big beautiful life has been serving as the backbone for the last year. I won that court case. I killed it. It has been challenging to my newest love, routine. Change. Gosh I hate to admit that. This is why I foster relationship with the village. Y’all can tell me things that I cannot see alone.

The biggest stressor with this change in routine has been work. I love my job. I have never had this kind of stability in my life. Never. I have been riddled with fear that I will lose it. This month long shingle sickness has come in sideways as it seems to jeopardize one of the things that I fear losing. But I have done the work, gone to the doctor, got documentation, and worked from home.

I never did any of this for legitimate reasons in the past. If I was “sick” or had gone to the doctor to get time off work, it was because I wanted to drink for a week without consequence. I have rarely lived in the light quite like I do today.

So I will be patient with myself. I will acknowledge that this is a brand new hard fought and won routine. I deserve this addition to my big beautiful life, my beloved moon. Everything else will work itself out. I have a dear friend that says, don’t push the river. The only constant in life is change. Oof.

I’m changing my 2023 word: Commitment, not discipline

I am currently reading “Quit Like a Woman” by Holly Whitaker. I think someone recommended it, probably a year ago like most of the books I am reading.

The book seemed to be marketed and sold as a look on the obsessive nature of alcohol in our culture, and while the first part of the book is focused on that, Whitaker then takes a hard left and describes her self-created recovery plan of feminine-centric recovery.

I was in before, but now I’m really in. Once you get past the part about the general obsessive nature of alcohol in our society, she focuses her lens on women and other marginalized groups. I am only half finished with the book. This isn’t a review.

What it is is my nature of integrating what I read into my life. I love nonfiction. I really don’t love the idea of self-help books, but I love expanding my spirituality and I find it easy to do with non-fiction “self-help” crap. They are like my romance novels to myself.

So discipline is out and commitment is in. Here’s why: Whitaker describes discipline from Webster’s dictionary as “control gained by enforcing obedience or order; orderly prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior; self-control.” Secondarily, “punishment.” There are so many four letter words in that definition that it made me cringe.

Control, enforce, obey, and punish. For me it would read self-control, self-enforce, self-obey, and self-punish. Nope.

Commitment, on the other hand, as described by Whitaker, for her own effect I assume, is the “complete opposite of discipline, in that it blossoms from one’s own will. We commit to things we want to do, not things we’re supposed to become. It is also more forgiving than discipline.”

Discipline calls for repenting while commitment calls for refocusing. Commitment calls us “sweetie” while discipline calls us “lazy.” Commitment is focused on the journey while discipline sees only results. Commitment begs us to stay with ourselves as we try something new. Discipline says we either succeed or fail.

This is a perfect example of how I get in my own way. Set up the roadblocks. I decided on a word for myself for the whole year, that has several of my character defects embedded in it’s definition and meaning! Things I didn’t love about the house I grew up in. Things I don’t love about how I am in my own home and how I treat my partner! Oh my goodness. I can be so on the beam and so off the beam.

I can even think I am dead center on the beam and not even be in the building in which the beam is housed. My very own recovery allows me to self correct with love and laughter. Holly, you silly. Refocus. Recommit. I love you.

One of the major things I want to commit to this year is my home. I have never been a home owner or lived in a place that was mine. I want to keep it lovely so I can enjoy it on a daily basis. I want to keep the kitchen counter clean and wiped off. I want to keep the kitchen table clutter free. I want to keep the wood burning stove area swept up. I want it to be a warm and inviting place to others and I don’t want to have to clean the whole damn house when someone is coming over. But I don’t want to present a home to others, I want to keep it for myself. Come spring, we taking all the above energy into the yard and garden.

But again, I want to do these things for myself. I don’t want to punish myself if they are not kept up and I certainly don’t want to put this on my person. We each struggle with our own demons when it comes to home upkeep. I want to do this for me. I guess in the long run if you are a line person, or to circle back, if you are a circle person, I want to commit more deeply to myself and my own needs and what makes me happy and thriving.

I’ll be the first to tell you that two years and eight months or 971 days of sobriety is a long time, becases it fucking is, but for me, settling in to my body, my life, my future marriage, my home… I’m just getting started. And I’d say commitment to all those things in 2023 is an excellent correction.

Omg, I might be feeling better!

I chopped two pieces of wood last night. Two! It is the first wood I have chopped for a month! I played with the dog! I took out the trash!

I guess none of this stuff is miraculous, since I have not fully shut down my life for these blasted shingles, but I did these things without pain. It could have been the right moment when the pain meds and chicken wings were finding harmony in my belly. It could have been the 18th glass of water.

No matter, because what I felt was the deep ingrained gratitude peaking it’s little presence back into my heart. I love taking out the trash. It is this mundane requirement that has to be done yet, for me, it signifies a home and stability that I have never had before. Taking out the trash; what a gift!

And then, my sweet boy, my puppers, my doggo, my friend, wanted to play. He accompanied me outside for trash removal, then all, of a sudden, yet right on schedule, was wound for sound running circles around me. I’m out back in the dark searching for a toy while he circles me over and over getting some energy out. Pretty sure he was just picking up on my excitement of feeling better. What a ham.

Zoomies followed when I found a bone, gave it to him and then pretended to try taking it away, a little game we play on the regular. Me standing in the middle of the yard clapping him on while he tears about. He’s such a good boy. Best doggo friend I ever had.

I don’t want to jinx it. In fact, stop reading this! Go say three Hail Mary’s or knock on some wood. I have been to the doctor twice, out of the office working from home for a month, and generally just miserable. Operating at 50% would feel like a summer vacation, so let’s just keep this on the down-low so we don’t jinx it.

I still haven’t tried a bra. I don’t have the moon this weekend, so there is time to relax. I’d like to go back to work Monday. My work from home doc note is expiring.

Oof. Thoughts and prayers please. We could be on our way to healing. For my next trick, I will continue to be patient with myself because I have heard that the healing is slow. Even though this partial recovery appears to have come from nowhere, I know that is not true.

I miss my mom when she’s gone, but guess what dog boy, I can take care of myself for days on end.

Gratitude list: HP as often as I remember to check in, self-care out the yingyang, a fully supportive partner, Isabella Moon, a job that has worked so well with me, a loving support system outside my home, my extended family, comfy clothes, constant fires, candles, sleep, medicine and medication, books, writing, new habits within new struggle, humor, Netflix, diligence, ah, discipline, doggo, cat, my bed, my couch, sleep, personal time and space, KU basketball, weekend road trips, sponsees, continued mental health work and growth, patience, showers, a peaceful home, and chocolate.

Why, how do YOU read books?

Okay, here we go with discipline in 2023. I’m off to a good start. The kitchen table is still clean. The kitchen sink is still clean. The counter is free of clutter and wiped off. So is the stove. The weekend laundry is done.

I have also been reading, as promised. I got a recommendation to track my reading through the app Goodreads. And when I say reading, this is what it looks like at the moment…

So when I say that I am reading six books, what it really means is that a squirrel ran by and I picked up a different book in the meantime. This has been a long habit of mine. I am great at getting inspired and buying books. I am mediocre at starting them. The spot that needs the focus is finishing them. Discipline.

Still digging the morning routine of reading and writing. Discipline. Let’s go!

The long weekend begins with a bang or a blowout

Thank goodness the weekend was long because we needed all of it.

Start Friday by picking up the kid. The new order conflicts with my work and I am still trying to manage pickup from school at 320 twice a week, every other week.

It’s been so long since Friday at this point that I can’t even remember what we did. Oh! Dinner with one of Angie’s sides of the family, a belated Christmas gathering.

Isabella met and played wonderfully with her new cousin, Asher. First time meeting and they played on their own all evening. I was asked to leave the basement when I checked on them.

Saturday morning we packed up and headed for Ellsworth, KS to meet my newest nephew, Cooper. I am still struggling with my shingles so Ang was the captain of the Prius while I lounged in the passenger seat.

Just after Abilene, the passenger rear tire blew. Ang masterfully navigated to the side of I-70 and we got to work digging out the spare. With our belonging spread all over the side of the highway, the spare was retrieved and lug nuts were removed. It was then that we discovered that we could not remove the blown tire. It was stuck to the car. Thank god for AAA, but we were stranded on the side of the road for about an hour.

This turned out to be quite scary for a 7 year old, so we decided to go sit in the ditch instead of the car. I could feel her stress every time a car passed by us shaking the car. There were big tears. We all felt safer in the ditch. Thank god it was decently warm outside. Things could have been a lot worse.

The family that sits in the ditch together…

We got the spare put on and headed for Salina. More praises to HP because Walmart had a tire in stock. It cost us a few hours of our day, but since we were still headed to Ellsworth, and had a return trip, we didn’t want to drive on the donut that long.

Walmart is where I started running into my feels. The pain medication that I had taken before we left the house was wearing off right along with all the adrenaline that the blowout had caused. I got frustrated with myself for allowing the tire to get so bald. I didn’t realize it was quite that bad. I didn’t do it on purpose. I am not the irresponsible person I used to be. It was still bald and should have been looked at before a road trip with the family.

I don’t let things slide like I used to. I have funds for the upkeep on my car. I also made a mistake. But that was kind of just the beginning. Add the extended illness of shingles, which has been wearing on me emotionally as well as physically, and I started doubting myself more. Why had I forced this trip? Should we have stayed home? How much do I need to baby this shingles virus? I hate not wearing a bra in public, but it is still painful to wear one. I felt really bad that that kiddo was so scared on the side of the highway. Those big tears tear at my soul.

A short 7 hours later, we arrived at our 3 hour destination, Grammie and Papa’s house of wonders. Grammie fixed us a lovely dinner and I headed to bed, exhausted and in pain. I slept off and on for 12 hours that night. Because I woke up several times, I had not one but two or three bad dreams including drinking and losing my job. Can we say stress?

Sunday morning is church time and Bella wanted to go to church with Grammie so we all decided to go for support and solidarity. Catholic Church is always comforting to me since I was raised catholic and know all the songs and traditions.

These two beauties walked while Ang and I drove in the car.

As you can see, 12 hours of sleep plus church with all my loves, and the weekend started to turn for the better.

As I write this, it’s Tuesday morning and I have a seven year old next to me who wants to cuddle and read another chapter in her book, so you will have to wait for the rest of this story until tomorrow.

Newest court order in effect: Let the weekend begin!

January starts the newest version of the court order from the step up plan ordered by the judge. I now have my baby every other weekend from Friday after school to Sunday at 6pm.

The following week I get her Monday after school until Tuesday morning drop off at school. It ends up being the same week since the off week is the Monday after the weekend. It’s kind of confusing and yes, I will say it, stressful.

This weekend is a holiday, so I’ll have her till Tuesday morning school drop off AT HER REQUEST. Her other mother and I had agreed that, with this weekend being long, I would drop her off Monday night at the halfway point, but she called stating that she would like to stay until Tuesday so she “won’t be tired.” Confirming with her mom, “She is excited to try 4 nights with you.”

You never know how big a small thing can be.

Looking back on this very blog, The Isms of the Ic, memories flood in if I allow them. I am very grateful to live in the present. I would also not possess a fraction of the gratitude that I have for the present if it were not for my past.