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!

Baby Cooper and his lovely family: a new beginning.

I don’t think I chose this, do we ever, but I seem to be in a period of extreme growth. I would say that I am quite comfortable and even insist on a nice slow growth. That routine is built into my life! This appears to be X Games growth.

My youngest brother recently had a baby. For some reason, I saw this as an opportunity to visit and put his family first. I come from a large loud family and individuals, maybe even family sections can get lost within the whole.

My addiction caused me to miss a lot and my little Terry (who is a 35 year old man with four kids) is no exception. Not to mention that they do not live in Colorado anymore. They live right down the street near Ellsworth.

By the end of the blown tire day, I was full of self doubt, slight self pity, and what the hell-ness. Terry and fam had shopping Saturday, we had a blown tire. Sunday, they decided to go to the zoo. That seemed perfect, so Ang, Belly, and I hopped in the car and met them at Great Bend Zoo.

We arrived before the other clan so insert tomfoolery.

Dab? I think it’s called dabbing. We discovered it was a good way to teach Belly to cough into her elbow as well.

Supporting cast. One of the two Bella Babes.

The zoo was so much fun, nice weather for January. The kiddos raced here and there while Terry pulled a wagon and his beloved, Sarah pushed a stroller. I hobbled along wondering why everyone was so darn fast.

As I said, my sweet little brother has four kids. He’s like a full grown adult who is responsible for other people’s lives and stuff. I hope he enjoys it, because he seems good at being a daddy. He pulled Wyatt in the wagon and explained things to the two Bella Babes when they stopped long enough for conversation. Cooper was dead weight in the stroller pushed by Sarah as she chatted and pointed out zoo things.

The Bella Babes, nicknamed by my Daddy. Isabella and Arabella.

These kiddos are like 20 days apart in age.

We discovered the lion was stalking Wyatt because Terry was pulling him in a cart that looked similar to the food cart. Insert multiple jokes about feeding children to lions.

Eye on the prize and the prize is a tasty child.

Isabella wanted to hold Cooper. She made it known to me from the beginning of the weekend, and I wasn’t sure of the plan, so I told her to let Sarah know her wishes. I think she did that, but I backed it up by letting Terry know. We followed them back to their house and Belly and I both got to feed and hold Cooper.

Reprise of Cooper after napping through the zoo.

Terry and Sarah have a BEAutiful home. Sarah calls it “The Money Pit” from a hilarious 80’s movie. Terry says it reminds him of the home we grew up in, over 100 years old. We got the full tour guided by Arabella. Terry’s eldest, Mavrik joined us after helping his Grandpa do some shopping, and retired to his room like a teenager. Then we just settled in and hung out. It was so wonderful. Wyatt had a movie on, Terry and Ang played games on their phones, the Bella Babes played games all over the house, I cuddled my newest nephew, and Sarah flitted about the house like a doting mom, checking laundry, helping Wyatt with a bath, and appearing after a time to announce she’d been preparing dinner.

Teriyaki chicken and rice with steamed broccoli. And oh what a feast. We all sat down as a family at this beautiful giant table and shared a meal. Reminder that I am from a large family of yellers. There was never a loud or cross word spoken. All were called to the table and it was so nice that I am struggling to find the words.

Apologies to Sarah for not getting a better pic, but look at this domestic goddess! Baby in one hand, fork in the other.

After dinner, we quickly came upon a deadline of my 8pm breathalyzer. I didn’t have it with me. Part of my joint custody agreement is that I take a breathalyzer at 8pm every night that I have Bella. When we left at 3pm, I thought, all we have to do is be home by 8pm. This should be no problem. We were having so much fun that 8pm came up rather quick. After revealing to Bella that we would have to get going, I was instructed to “just bring it with you from now on, Mom.” Noted.

We thanked our gracious hosts and headed for Ellsworth. While I felt bad for not bringing the breathalyzer, I also think god had a hand in helping us get out of there in a timely manner. I’m sure Terry and Sarah wanted to start the bedtime routine with their brood.

My sweet little brother Terry, and that’s how I have always seen him, is this big grown up guy with a longtime steady job and a whole entire family. I still remember this kid as the kid who used to visit me at Java in Manhattan asking for whipped cream on his chocolate chip cookie.

Here is where my most recent sobriety still feels so new. I am sober and back in the lives of anyone who wants me, but they have lives and families that go back much farther than two and a half years. Since my sobriety and their moving back to Kansas from Colorado, I have done an amazing job at building a relationship with my folks. I thought it was high time that I put some of that effort into my baby brother, his lovely person, and my niece and nephews, not to mention the cousin factor for Bella.

It’s not all rainbows and puppy kisses as Terry and my folks have things going on that don’t involve me and possibly go back farther than my sobriety. So I started work to maintain boundaries and individual relationships. I have worked to get into the lives of my folks. We have a good relationship. The same can be true for Terry.

The weekend was about Cooper and his amazing family, and we achieved the start I was looking for. My gratitude speaks…

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.

I don’t even know what the hell that thing is on the right! My baby girl is into some strange stuff.

A *fraction* of the collection along with a very dear blast from the past.

Growing up in public: who the hell is my primary care physician?

I called back to Prompt Care to see about a follow up on my shingles and they told me to follow up with my primary care physician. If you are a full grown adult who has lived in the same town for over 10 years and have no idea who your primary care physician is, you are my people.

Recovery is a funny thing. When we get sober, we start tackling the daily tasks that have been left to the side due to our using. Things like showering and brushing our teeth. Maybe going to work or eating three meals a day. Then comes monthly tasks like paying bills. And finally yearly tasks like paying taxes or seeing a primary care physician.

I want to note that if one has been on mental health medication for a full year, that in itself is a win. And if you are anything like me, seeing a doctor once a year for something that is already working, is, in my professional alcoholic opinion, dumb.

When the emergency clinic told me to follow up with my primary care doctor, I did what all self respecting independent women would do, I texted my person and asked her who the hell that might be. Can you believe she didn’t know?

We had a short conversation about where I got my meds refilled last year and who might be my primary care doctor. I thought maybe I had just started going to all the doctors she was going to, for ease of wellbeing. She told me who her doctor was and whala, there they were in my phone.

The main reason I have little use for a primary care doc is that their appointments usually book weeks and months in advance. Ain’t nobody got time or planning capacity for that!

This story has a relatively happy ending. There is not much of anything they can do for the shingles. They have to run their maddening painful course. Bonus was I found my lost doctor, made an appointment (for next month!) for a physical and got my mental health meds refilled for a year. Next year when I can’t remember who the hell my doctor is, ima need y’all to help me remember.

Peace, love, and light.

My mother had this suggestion about my pain: Siri concurred.

Royalty in the Cathedral

Check it off the bucket list: I got to attend a University of Kansas basketball game with both of my parents. Where to start…

Mom and Dad in front of the two national championship trophies.

Both of my folks attended, graduated, and met at the University of Kansas. It’s a lovely story. Second semester of their senior years, they both took a swimming course as their “fun” class. I don’t know if my mom noticed my dad, but my dad noticed her and asked her out.

Joe’s donuts was one of the Lawrence college spots at the time and one night, pretty late I guess, my dad asked my mom if he could bring her some donuts. I think maybe he asked her out for donuts and she said it was too late, so he said he would bring them to her. She said she was already in her pajamas and he suggested a house coat. She said she didn’t have any milk to go with donuts. All she had was kool-aid. Apparently my dad said kool-aid was fine with him, so my mom was out of excuses and agreed to see my dad. According to Mr. College Boy, that was his third date that night.

Mom says it was a whirlwind romance. My dad had a cool car and would pick her up and take her to class. I owe my very existence to KU.

We were raised as Jayhawks. When I started attending KU, the desire to attend a game with my folks grew. The atmosphere is electric. I didn’t know that my mother doesn’t like basketball, but a live game can include so much more than the actual game. The traditions, the stadium, the band, the chants, the mascots, the group atmosphere. We got the cathedral up to 120 decibels last night and pretty much willed KU to actually win in the last three minutes.

National Championship trophies from 2022 and 2008.

We got there pretty early so we could walk around and look at all the displays. You could spend the good part of the day in the historical part of Allen Fieldhouse. It’s pretty much a sports history museum. The very first Jayhawk mascot costume is there. I can’t remember the year. Baby Jay was born at a football game one year after my folks graduated. A piece of the original court is on display. And, as we all know, since basketball was invented at KU, the original rules are in the new addition alongside the Fieldhouse.

Parts of the written rules light up the bridge from Allen Fieldhouse to the addition where the original rules are displayed.

I learned something new last night in that my mom was a bigger nerd than I knew and had never been to a game at Allen Fieldhouse. The student camping traditions go back to their time (Class of 1970) but my dad said he was not part of a camping group. Mom lived in Oliver Hall and was surprised to see it no longer exists.

I have missed a significant part of my own life due to addiction. I don’t make that mistake today. This boomers are not getting any younger, hell, neither am I. I struggled the entire night with my shingles. I was in a decent amount of pain all evening, but I was not going to miss this.

These moments are etched now. I took it all in. Mom needed assistance going up and down the stairs. Dad’s gait has an old man slowness to it but he’s still always on a mission. It felt like I was on the ready at any moment to stop one of them from rolling down the stairs. Mom is a dawdler and has never met a stranger. And watching these two boomers try to use their phones to capture the moments and post about them was priceless.

My mother just walks up to this 6’6” volleyball player, raises her 5’2” head and starts chatting.

My folks were super proud of me when I started attending KU. I’d have to dig for the picture, but when I transferred from JCCC, I got them KU mom and dad T-Shirts. My folks have five kids and none of us had attended KU until their slow blooming kiddo hit the campus at the young age of 33. Mark my words, I will graduate one day as well. I’m not a straight line kinda person, but it will happen.

My betrothed beloved beauty Angela dear is also a graduate of KU. Here I try to put into words how special all of this was, to have all three of these incredible people in a place that connects us all, in a place where I am less of the alcoholic that has caused so much worry and pain and more of their daughter and love that intersects with their formidable years and memories and experiences.

Part of the displays in the front of Allen Fieldhouse.

Rock Chalk.

This is what makes anything and everything worth it

New year. New part of the parenting plan. Yesterday I got to pick the moon up from school. I went in and met her teacher, her social worker, her school counselor, and got my password for the district website. (Spoiler alert: it says I don’t have a child enrolled. Oops)

We came home, played with Badger outside, and then hit the kitchen for this strange kid’s food choices. We had Mac and cheese and fried mushrooms, kiddo’s choice.

She started her homework while I cooked. We had reading and math. I copied the 3 minute addition drill and we did math side by side. She read her reading assignment to me and had me check answers to everything at her request.

I have prayed for this day. I have dreamed of this day. I have worked my ass off for this day.

Oh my god, it was such a physical struggle. These shingles are kicking my ass! It was painful to wear a bra to pick her up from school. I removed it while driving home because it was so uncomfortable. I finally reached out to my spiritual advisor, who also happens to be a nurse, and she suggested that I call back in to the doctor and let them know my progress or lack there of, and pain levels. Why didn’t I think of that? Oh yeah, because I need help with my life and I am so grateful for that. I am not 100% equipped to go it alone and I don’t have to.

After dinner and homework, we popped down to the Arts Center to see our beloved at art class. And we finished the night by reading Scaredy Squirrel (for the 4th time) in bed.

This part of the parenting plan has been tough with work. It’s been tough communicating with Isabella’s other mother. These shingles can suck it. But side by side math at the kitchen table in my own home and reading in my own bed. This is what makes it all worth it. My baby and me. Amen.