Now that whirlwind of the holiday season is over and we are collectively experiencing a massive dopamine crash…
Let’s take a moment now to reflect and ponder…How the hell did we do all that?
Or maybe “What was I thinking buying that?”
Bedazzled
The glow of the Christmas lights ignites a warm feeling in our hearts and a goodwill toward others. It courses through our veins like heroin. It’s as if the high of “giving the perfect gift” intoxicates our mind and clouds our judgement. We think with our hearts instead of our brain. Thankfully for our bank account, it only happens once a year. Yet, I still love every minute of it and will do it all again next year.
This year, however, it seemed more apparent to me than in years past, the weeks before Christmas are more of a rush than the actual day. The preparation for Christmas, the tree, decorating, shopping, & wrapping gets us excited. This excitement from Black Friday until 12/25 is a perpetual, steady, high like no other.
I noticed on Christmas day, there was a slight sting hovering in the background; mourning the loss of the “anticipation“.
Don’t get me wrong, my Christmas week was a blast. This was an ambivalent feeling of pure joy, combined with a lump in the back of my throat. I miss “looking forward to it”. I miss being excited. Must be aging…
This got me thinking… if I live to 100, I’ll only have 49 more Christmases. đą
While I was watching my annual Christmas movie selections; I noticed another surprising change. I found that I was annoyed with George Bailey. I’ve been loyal to him for 35 years so it’s tough to admit, but I have lost patience for him in my old age. He sounds like a whiny brat at times.
I have been identifying more with the true hero of the story..Mary Hatch Bailey. Mary knew what was going on the whole time.
Mary Hatch knew she loved George even as a young girl.
Mary whispers in his bad ear, “George Bailey, I’ll love you til the day I die.”
She was subtle and assertive when something or someone stood in her way.
Aka Back off Bitch, you can’t have ALL the boys in this town!
She knew where she wanted to live. She visualized and wished with her heart; it worked. Little did she know without the internet or Instagram, that she was manifesting dat shit into her life.
Most of all, she innately knew what was important and could see the big picture. She didn’t need a whole production of angels coming down from heaven and putting on a show of “not being born” to let her know what life is all about…
Love
Acts of service
Social connection
Mary stayed focused on her goals and didn’t pay attention what other people were doing.
Mary: “Get Bent Sam Wainright.”
When there was dilemma, Mary found a solution.
When the whole town was bankrupt, she “lent” her honeymoon money to the community.
She fixed up the old house to make it a “home.” She he found a solution instead of whining about the cards she was dealt.
Am I still allowed to say she added a “woman’s touch?”
She didn’t get embarrassed that her car was a p.o.s. or by what she was wearing.
Mary: “Why are you wearing diamonds and furs on a roadtrip?”
Mary had four babies, volunteered during the war and supported the well-being of her husband and kids.
When the $8000 went missing, she knew WHEN to ask for help from her friends. One person or family can’t do all the giving. She is aware that friendship is a two-way street.
Shit just got real.
She knew when to stop giving and to ask for help, she knew that pride doesn’t save anybody.
Therefore, we need to be aware of when to stop giving and start asking.
The key is, recognizing what is in your control and what is not.
Knowing when you need to LET others do what they are going to do.
Let others THINK what they are going to THINK.
Let people gossip.
Let people judge.
Let people display their true self all over the place.
Why? Because it is out of your control. Why expend the time and energy? If someone acts like they want to leave and doesn’t treat you the way you want, you can let them GO.
“Why don’t you GO HOME! aka GTFO George Bailey you lil bitch.”Feel it Get pissed Regroup Move OnGive them a chance to want to change
Below is a link to 60 minutes of the best therapy ever (you can fast forward through commercials.)
This podcast episode provides the tools and mindset on common situations such as: Dealing with a stressful boss, a break up or a divorce, when your children can’t get motivated or when you feel guilty about disappointing your family, or friends & more.
The game-changing concept that is also discussed “If every thought you had cost a dollar, would you keep thinking about it?” Would you keep wasting your energy if it cost money?
I don’t know about anybody else, but I am definitely not myself from Martin Luther King day until about Presidents’ Day. Four long, full weeks, with no days off.
Flat affect on blast đ„
During this time, I’m pounding vitamin D supplements like nobody’s business. It takes effort to feel motivated. A tremendous amount of energy & preparation is required to go for a walk outside.
Work, grocery shopping, exercising, cooking dinner, raising-teens, dishes, laundry, etc. the day-to-day feels so much heavier.
Now, this is the time where it’s a good idea to schedule some self-care & make plans with friends and family. Having something to look forward to makes a difference. Seeing the people you love in person, has an impact. Social connection has the power to help get you out of this funk.
I know this. Yet, I’m too tired to reach out. I’d rather just sit on the couch and wallow in this.
Yesterday, a Wednesday & Valentine’s Day, was an exceptionally tough day. It is my husband’s birthday so I wanted to cook a special dinner. I always forget to take the day off, thinking I can handle working, then rushing around cooking an elaborate spread.
Yes, I was going to make my kids assist, but sometimes delegating is even more exhausting. I do not always have the patience. Plus they may screw it up. đ
Clearly, I was in my head and taking everything way too seriously.
I received a random text from a friend, T, that I haven’t talked to in a while, like years.
I’ve been meaning to call her especially after finding out too late, that her mother had passed.
I have had a post-it on my wall to send her a card for almost three weeks. It’s like, “Why don’t I just execute and do it? Why do I keep waiting?”
I was waiting for a “good time” to call her and finding the “perfect card to send her .”
So instead of texting her, I just called her right then, even though I was in middle of a car maintenance appointment.
There is no perfect time.
The call was interrupted, chaotic and silly but in that 35 minutes, it was real. Also, we were both laughing hysterically.
We hang up and go about our day, working & juggling motherhood. I went for a walk on my lunch since the sun was out. I asked my retired friend to join me, which also helped me get out of my head.
Early evening, after we both got through our day, T texted me, thanking me for the call.
She then goes on to tell me some amazing stories about her mom.
Why do we find out how spectacular someone is, after they’re already gone?
Such as, her mother had TWELVE children.
My friend T texts about her mom:
She’d tell my husband “mi hija es chingona. Sabes porque? Porque es mi hija.”
Translation: “My daughter is a bad ass. You know why? Because she’s my daughter. “
How cool is this? She sure sounds like a fun & fiesty lady.
T texts:
“Yep. I got all my seven sisters matching t shirts that say “chingona como mi madre”
Badass woman like my mother.đđ»
T goes on to say:
“She loved the Rocky movies because my brother that passed, idolized the character. I went to Philly for work and took her with me to walk the steps and see the statue of Rocky.”
“I played the Rocky theme song on my phone while she walked up the steps.“
This is on my bucket list, so I’m intrigued. T sends me these fantastic pictures.
I am tearing up & smiling. I have the chills. Now…I’m obsessed with her mom. I am grieving this woman that I, unfortunately, never had the opportunity to meet.
Good reminder: The grief is always there. The griever will want to talk about the experiences they shared & the great things their loved one brought to this world. If they don’t, let it be their choice.
Don’t ever feel like “I didn’t want to bring it up.” It’s not like the person forgot about the loss. That pain is always lingering in the shadows.
I assume and doubt anyone is like “Oh, I forgot my mom died, thank you for the reminder & ruining my day.”
We can’t be afraid or avoid talking about this because it’s part of the beauty of life. The more powerful the love, the more powerful the loss.
To my surprise, by T talking about her loss & grief, she remembered a great accomplishment of her own.
T Texts:
“Omg and when I ran Chicago marathon my niece (my deceased brother’s daughter) made this poster for me.“
These trembling chills emerge down my spine, goosebumps on my arms as I’m reading her text, sitting in my office with these pictures right next to me:
If I never called her, I would’ve never known about this coincidence…this connection. This obsession we had in common.
I was chilly and involuntarily tingling for some reason. I put my cold hands under my thighs. I looked down at my chest and observe what I’m wearing.
I swear to God, this is 100% true
This is one brief moment in an ordinary day. Life again reminding me to:
Wake the fuck up đ«Ł
Make the call. Send the text. Go out when you don’t feel like it. Show up for your friends. It’s not about you.
That imperfect phone call at a horrible time…
Wow.
P.S. My Husband “slyly” suggested we go out to dinner instead. I didn’t shower first and I wore the Rocky sweatshirt. đ€
I’ve been also grieving Apollo Creed, Carl Weathers, Chubbs like he was my personal friend.
Have you ever had a vivid memory of an experience from decades ago come flooding back to you out of nowhere?
I had this memory tsunami happen to me yesterday.
I have been doing this Meditation challenge since the beginning of 2024. This app was referred to me by my brilliant colleague. (Links below).
Yesterday morning, I completed session four of the “Taming Anxiety” challenge. The topic was about cognitive distortions.
I haven’t thought about my own battle with cognitive distortions since college.
Feeling compelled to share my experience in case anyone is feeling stuck or discouraged. I could’ve used the information below way earlier.
This life-altering moment occurred when I met with the school counselor about my schedule. Apparently, something I said was a red flag to the counselor that I was struggling with anxiety.
Thankfully, she did not use the word “anxiety” at the time. Unlike now, that uncommon, scary word and its symptoms were foreign back in the 90’s.
The counselor handed me a paper describing cognitive distortions (CD). I distinctly remember reading these, with my eyes bulging out of my head. I was in utter shock that this wasn’t a “normal” way to think.
As a student, I was able to start seeing her weekly for free. If it wasn’t free, I would have never gone through with it. I needed to save my money for nickel beer night. (A non-clinical, absurd cognitive distortion. đ)
Each week, I discussed all of the stupid, irrational, and impulsive behaviors I did while operating in a perpetually, anxious state-of-mind.
It took a tremendous amount of effort to retrain my brain, unlearn old ways and reframe the CD. I truly believed I would NEVER be able to stop them.
I kept showing up even though I dreaded it and was uncomfortable.
By going to counseling & actively participating, I inadvertently leaned toward anxiety and its clutches.
Then an emotion showed up…humiliation aka cringe.
All I can say is thank effing gawd there were no cell phones or social media back then.
I experienced all of these:
After about 20 sessions, the counselor subtly addressed my lifestyle and inquired about how I have been coping with these tricky little fuckers.
The counselor then pointed out that contrary to popular belief, alcohol will only temporarily help. “Alcohol and marijuana are like a band-aid, and they make anxiety worse if using them to “self-medicate”. They may also cause paranoia.”
Every single one of those pesky, mind-fucking, cognitive distortions were on blast all-of-the-time. Ironically, they were present before, but I did not notice because I was detached from myself.
Suddenly, when I got in-tune with my body & mind, I felt paralyzed with anxiety. I froze, couldn’t make decisions, and just stopped everything.
Which led to…
Social anxiety & social isolation
I was terrified that I would have a panic attack in public. Panic attacks are real & scary AF.
I was very confused that I felt worse in therapy. The counselor gently reminded me that “Things get worse before they get better, it is always darkest before the dawn.” I let go & trusted the process.
Once I accepted it…I became consumed with talking about anxiety and explaining myself to everybody.
Side effect of untreated trauma+anxiety=lack of boundaries…
Thankfully, I had a very, wise friend, who could see the big picture. She said something profound to me like this:
Engaging with a friend who “gets you” without judgement, makes a monumental difference.
With time, patience, and lifestyle changes, this way of thinking extinguished itself. Of course this anxiety got “canceled” by utilizing a combination of counseling, mindfulness, physical exercise, limiting caffeine/sugar/alcohol, spending time outside often, taking vitamins, journaling, yoga/pilates, mindfulness, medication and most importantly, in-person human connection.
Looking back, it appeared to be absolutely impossible to overcome.
Now it seems like no big deal. I had to feel it, do the emotional work and allow it to pass.
I am glad that there is less stigma & more awareness about mental health and anxiety, currently.
However, it should not be used as an excuse to give up. No one IS their diagnosis. The more you avoid, numb, or hide from it, the longer it takes. Running from it only prolongs the process. The process can be conquered with the proper guidance, effort, & dedication.
In 1998, there was no other option in my outlook, except to keep trying. It was also way easier to unplug and detach back in the olden days.
How terrifying for gen z, teenagers & children right now? The social pressure, “cancel culture”, picture-perfect-life-posting and the “it’s-too-hard-I-give-up” mindset is disheartening.
Humans have survived thousands of years before iPhones, social media and the internet.
Reminder: Humans are resilient.
The epiphany empowered me today to push my teens to face uncomfortable emotions that sting.
Pain teaches you something.
Nothing ever grows in a comfort zone.
It’s a constant effort to remind myself of what is considered a big deal to my kids.
Social connection is getting worse, not better. Therefore, it is never too early to start healthy coping strategies. I mean, if nine-year-olds are spending $900 at Sephora on anti-aging skin regimens, then it wouldn’t hurt for a child/teen to unplug their mind for 15 minutes a day.
What I really like about this app is it makes the decision for you. It is like a parent that perhaps all adults need sometimes. “This is what is on the agenda today, do it and stfu.” It has a calendar that keeps track of your progress. Lastly, the founder, Dan Harris, describes how he had a panic attack on national television.
Any generation could understand how mortifying that had to be.
If numb & detached, you can’t feel love Since I published this, I completed this 7 out 10 day challenge. I don’t know why but this little badge made me feel a slight bit of accomplishment.
This is a revised re-post. It’s was a therapeutic, free association that is too difficult for me to shorten…
September 8, 2020…When I saw that âCobraKaiâ was the #1 watched series on Netflix, my mouth dropped open. I started trembling. I assume this reaction was due to a level of euphoria that I have not been able to publicly get in touch with since 1986. It was an intoxicating feeling of true belonging, like âI am not that big of a weirdoâ after all. Other people in this world are clearly are obsessed with Karate Kid as well.
My siblings and I can quote The Karate Kid pretty much word for word. Iâm sure people who have witnessed us in âKarate Kid (“KK quote modeâ) must have thought, âJeez, how many times have you watched this.â Daniel Larusso’s self-righteous anger & Johnny Lawrence with his gleaming, blonde, visor haircut never gets old.
âBelonging is the innate human desire to be part of something larger than us. Because this yearning is so primal, we often try to acquire it by fitting in and by seeking approval.”
Over the years, there has been brief moments where Iâve had the courage to be my authentic-KK-loving self. This was usually brought on, subconsciously, by enough alcohol that could kill a small child. Some may get white girl wasted, but I prefer to say Mr. Miyagi wasted.
This first incident was released by liquid courage, not true courage. I was 21ish, enjoying the last few hours of the weekend at Reillyâs Daughter. As Cruel Summer by Banana Rama began blaring, one of my sloppy, drunk, guy friends slurred these words to me âHey! The Karate Kid song!â Omg. Suddenly, there was something there between us that wasnât there before.
As he was clumsily swaying back and forth to the song, holding a pitcher of Lemovox in one hand, a full cup with a cigarette in the other; he stepped out of the friend zone and he became strangely attractive. I was captivated by his lack of rhythm and impeccable hand-eye coordination. I was entranced and ready to make out with him in the middle of the bar; kinda like how Daniel nearly swallowed Ali at Golf ân Stuff.
By the grace of God, he slipped and wiped out on the perpetually sticky and damp, bar floor. The pitcher of lemovox spilled all over his clothes, hair and eyes. He stumbled to get up, screeching that the cheap, acidic combo was burning his eyes.
The laughter of all the guys combined with his fall, broke the lemovox induced spell.
Where am I? Perhaps I should re-think this?
Anyways, it was a close call. This was my first indication that my private obsession with Karate Kid could potentially become a big problem. If I acted on my irrational impulses, it would have been, literally, a cruel summer for me. My friends wouldâve ripped me apart for the next six months; perhaps years. I made sure to keep this side of me repressed in the future.
I will play possum until this goes away
The second time, the obsession re-surfaced during an emotionally vulnerable time. I was married for two years and had my first baby. The newness of having a newborn had run its course. The financial pressure of adulting with a mortgage and unpaid maternity leave left me no choice but to be back at work in 10 weeks.
I had just stopped breastfeeding/pumping and the hormonal-fluctuations resulted in giant eruptions on my chin. My body…that awful in-between phase of maternity clothes and regular clothes. Nothing fit right and I felt uncomfortable, bloated, and fugly. My wardrobe consisted of stained tops and a choice of either cameltoe khakis or muffin-top black pants. I wanted to hide.
All this combined with running on 3 hours of sleep and the fluorescent lighting of the emergency room where I worked; left me feeling real attractive.
To make matters worse, my husband and I were working opposite schedules to be home with our son. We slowly became disconnected, sleep-deprived roommates.
Meanwhile, a single, energetic, childless guy started training in our department who was extremely witty and funny. I was shadowing this guy to make sure he was performing the psychological assessments correct. The patient we were evaluating lived in Reseda, Illinois. The guy says to me:
âI never heard of Reseda Illinois. I thought it was in LA. I only know that because of Karate Kid. âOh you have a date? With whoommm? Not that boy from Reseda.â
My eyes widened and without thinking I replied, âYeah Dad, heâs from Reseda.â Then I nervously laughed, blushed, & started to sweat.
“Yea whoop dee do. You want me to do cartwheels or something?”
Suddenly, my KK repressed self was unleashed. I could not stop. I couldnât remember the last time I laughed like this or felt so alive. We continued this banter the rest of the evening; driving my other co-workers nuts. Walking to my car that night, physically exhausted, but mentally, I am was in the best mood. I felt like âmeâ again.
At the time, I thought he put me in the best mood, but in reality, he just made me feel comfortable to be myself without pretending.
Sometimes joking isnât about making fun of someone, itâs about making fun of a situation to disconnect ourselves from whatever uncomfortable emotion it creates in us.
This guy had the ability to connect with anyone, he had everyone laughing. However, I started getting jealous, wanting his attention. (Donât judge me, when youâre dying of thirst in the desert, you donât care who gives you the water.)
However, since I had not felt this type of connection in so long, I continued to make awkward attempts to keep it alive. Thankfully I got the hint eventually and knocked it off.
In hindsight, I did not recognize how disconnected I was from myself, my values and my pain. This having-babies-rite-of passage is a huge adjustment. The more I tried to âpretendâ I had it all together to avoid feeling the shame; the more I kept myself in this vicious cycle. Kinda like Daniel LaRusso, who likes to blame the school, his bike, his mom, and moving to LA on his current situation.
Itâs not about the bike asswipe
Most recently, this movie came up again last year when my son went on his first date. At the time, I didnât realize it was a first date because my son kept saying they were âjust friendsâ. When I picked her up, I witnessed how the two of them were interacting… Unfortunately, this revelation unfolded in slow motion in my brain; …omg my son is…a GUY.
Flashbacks of my son and I holding hands, snuggling on the couch began to flash before my eyes. My little boy is gone. In the middle of this bittersweet epiphany, the girl’s dad came to the car door to meet me. I behaved like a complete fool, a total awkward nerd. I turned into Lucille LaRusso and I had no control.
Lucille was a damn good mom.
Anyways, I have accepted my siblings and myself are weirdos. I love this about us.
In our defense, we have a good reason. Our memorization of KK wasnât a typical situation. The Karate Kid was part of our daily routine.
You see, our brother, was non-verbal and wheelchair bound. After he got home from school, there was not much he could do but watch or listen to TV. So this movie was playing continuously in the background. My youngest sister would sit in her playpen eating melba toast and my brother would lay on floor and they would watch this movie (and The Muppets) together almost everyday. It was so cute that we would sit with both of them and watch it, again.
Despite our age difference, this movie connected all of us.
My Mom & Johnny
In spite of my brotherâs limitations, his stellar personality and sense of humor shined through. Our brother, Johnny, would have this smirk on his face while watching KK.
Over time, we noticed a pattern in what Johnny found the funniest. He laughed the hardest when people were loud, yelling, angry or sniffling/crying. When I say laugh, I mean he displayed that shaking-silent-laughing-so-hard giggle.
One time I was crying about some nonsense, sniffling. My brother erupted with the laughing. I wanted to tell him to shut up, which is funny in itself. I stopped crying and started laughing too. This was the first time I recognized the irony of his reactions. There seemed to be a deeper, non-verbal message he was trying to communicate.
“Iâm laying here on the floor, I canât walk, talk or feed myself. What the hell are you crying for? Get some real problems”. -Johnny Durnell
Johnny passed away from respiratory failure on July 21, 1999 at the age of twenty.
I suppose repressing The Karate Kid is also like repressing the grief and all the uncomfortable emotions that go along with grief. Guilt, anger, despair, resentment, etc. feelings I don’t want to feel.
Trust your gut Johnny, ignoring those feelings. will only hurt you in the end
What these three examples have taught me is that the story I told myself kept me stuck. How repressing these emotions can result in HUGE mistakes if caught in an irrational, raw, vulnerable place.
The most difficult part of our stories is often what we bring to themâwhat we make up about who we are and how we are perceived by others. Yes, maybe we failed or screwed up, but what makes that story so painful is what we tell ourselves about our own self-worth and value.
Brene Brown
Thinking or talking about The Karate Kid makes me think of my brother, my childhood, and what this movie triggers inside me. It brings me joy, but it makes me feel pain in my heart. This movie unleashes a floodgate of all emotions.
If I want to feel, I have to feel it all. You canât âshow upâ and âhideâ at the same time.
Alcohol is a slippery slope, especially with trying hard to numb & repress grief. It is a band-aid that works at first, then it just makes it worse. Sleep deprivation, hormones, poor self-worth, disconnection contribute to an irrational & vulnerable state of mind. My coworker caught me at a weak moment emotionally and unknowingly made me feel safe by bringing up this movie. The connection felt euphoric because I blocked my story for so long.
If you wonât allow yourself to feel the sadness, anger, shame, grief and pain; you will also deny yourself the feelings of love, joy, growth and happiness.
Owning our stories means acknowledging our feelings and wrestling with the hard emotionsâour fear, anger, aggression, shame, and blame. This isnât easy, but the alternativeâdenying our stories and disengaging from emotionâmeans choosing to live our entire lives in the dark. It means no accountability, no learning, no growth.
I found myself bending over, while someone dragged their fingers down my spine. I slowly walked back to the class wearing my plaid skirt, round collar blouse and unfortunate weskit (vest) and forgot about it.
I didn’t think about this random, bending-over screening again until I read the book Deenie by Judy Blume.
I was so confused by Deenie’s choice to hack off her hair because she was so angry about having to wear the brace.
I remember thinking “What’s the big deal about the brace? She only has to wear it for a few years. It’s not her fault. “
Then I saw Sixteen Candles…
I laughed just like everyone else did at “Geek Girl #1” played brilliantly by Joan Cusack. GG1 is a more memorable character, yet she doesn’t even have a name.
At least THE GEEK, the OG of geeks, receives an additional title aka Farmer Ted.
I always found the parts with GG1 hilarious, until July of 2020, when I observed my daughters spine X-Ray.
Reels of Geek Girl #1 played repeatedly in my head.
To make matters worse, the doctor (recommended by the pediatrician) never came in to speak with us. Instead I had find out from this nervous, pipsqueak physicians assistant. His beady, little eyes were peering over his mask. All I heard was custom brace, follow up every six months.
The nurse, not the doctor, calls to advise me “The doctor said that your daughter has to wear the brace 23 hours a day.”
Me: So you want ME to get my 12 year old preteen daughter who cannot tolerate a TAGtouching her body to wear a brace for twenty-three hours a day?!
Nurse: Yes. Okay then. Good luck. Call with questions…Buh bye now.
Now all of your inner-parental-bullshit-meters, may be saying, “get a new doctor”. It was clear she had to wear a brace, I already got the order. Yada yada yada…I had bigger issues at hand.
I had one kid starting high school, one starting 8th grade and the giant task of getting my daughter to wear the brace…
Let the battles begin.
Since she was supposed to wear the brace 23 hours a day, we were pretty much fighting all day long. She adamantly refused to wear it during school. Her argument: she already has braces to maintain, she has to wear a mask all day at school & she would have to remove the back brace to go to the bathroom and have someone help her put it back on. This is all during the peak of covid. I surrendered on that one.
Finally we were able to get her to wear it while sleeping.
She was miserable and angry. We attempted to have her go to counseling to process her emotions about scoliosis, she refused to talk. We attempted to have her go to physical therapy, called the Schroth Method for Scoliosis. When she had an appointment in the evening, she was a beast the entire day.
Her amount of tenacity was baffling.
My daughter was told at PT that “even if you wear the brace 23 hours a day, we cannot promise that you won’t have to have surgery.” After this, my daughter begged to have the surgery every minute of every day that she was awake. I would leave the house as much as possible, but not many places to go during quarantine.
July of 2020-July of 2022 the brace war continued. She grew five inches and her hip and shoulder shift was becoming visible, so we had to get a new brace. I finally met the doctor. He saunters in the office with his lab coat and I’m not kidding, wearing khakis with hardcore, Roadhouse cowboy boots.
At this moment, I was glad for the mask that hid my disgust at his arrogance. Cowboy boots in Chicago seemed so unprofessional and downright odd. He then tells us in a condescending manner that “since she only wore the brace while sleeping, she can throw the brace away because she needs surgery.” This was the final straw.
I was was ready for the surgery but no way in hell was I gonna let this drugstore cowboy touch my daughter. I delegated the “battle of the brace” to Dad to find a new doctor.
My daughter loves to tell tales of her father during this time… When her Dad “went full on Karen.”
Introducing the male version of Karen:
Maciej (pronounced Ma-Chea)
Well… after “shooting many messengers” debating with many doctors & pulling my daughter out of school countless days for appointments; Dad found a winner.
When it comes to your kids spine… “Going Maciej” is the only way to go, he got it done effectively & efficiently. No mercy.
Our daughter had the surgery May 30th, 2023 at Ann & Robert H. Lurie Children’s Hospital of Chicago. It was a success!
Overall, her new doctor, Dr. John Grayhack, was extremely smart, confident, sweet, funny & absolutely wonderful throughout this entire process.
Our daughter received exceptional nursing care, PT/OT and pain management/muscle relaxers.
She discharged on June 2nd. She had a rough three weeks at home with pain, not wanting to eat, medication withdrawal and exhaustion. She was instructed to walk twice a day and her body would adjust its own alignment. She was wiped after walks.
I told her pediatrician about the big dumb bohunk she referred me to and she deleted him from her system. She now refers to our doctor.
Follow up on July 10th with full release to normal activities. Just in time for her 16th birthday in August.
Sorry Jake Ryan, it is more important for her to love who she sees in the mirror.
P.S. I know some cool, fun, laid back Karen’s. Unfortunately your name is just an adjective for effect. Nothing personal.
The biggest fights I had with my mother were about her relentlessly forcing me to watch old movies. . It was so âunfairâ! I wanted to watch ânormalâ stuff like everyone else. I would fight her to the end. . I was SO stubborn! I STILL am! Right now, I am gritting my teeth like these defiant toddlers & teens below.đđ»đ€Ź.đ
I refuse to touch the grass!
Iâm not moving, what you gonna do about it?
I havenât watched THE BISHOPS WIFE since I was an eye-rolling teenager- too busy scowling to see the magic. Even if I did, I wouldnât admit it.
To keep from slipping into that Charlie Brown-what-is-Christmas-all-about-depression this year; I needed something bigger than Buddy or the Red Ryder BB gun.
So I made a point to watch The Bishopâs Wife over Christmas weekend, remembering how much my mom loved it.
Watching this movie now at 46, in 2020, was like fuel for the soul.
How did I miss the sweet snowball fight scene? (Or my favorite kid of all time- the young George BaileyâBobby Anderson). Probably because my mom was trying to tell me to look.
George Bailey Iâll love you til the day I die. (Just donât tell my mom or Iâll have to kill you,)
I didnât appreciate the ice skating scene; probably because my mom gushed about it; which in turn made me think it was âdumbâ.đđ»
White Christmas- I dreaded this one too- âI hate musicals!â is all I would defiantly scream.
My Mom: âYou donât hate musicals. You love Grease, West Side Story, Wizard of Oz, The Sound of Music & Mary Poppins.â
Me: (grrrrrrđ€Ź) âThose arenât musicals, shut up and donât talk to me!â
When my mom is right. Me: đđ»
Over the last few years, I finally swallowed my pride and let myself enjoy White Christmas. Fine!
Ok! The songs are kinda catchy. đ
Who am I kidding? I love all of them. đ I get the true meaning of the story now.
That General Waverly chokes me up every timeđąâŠ
Sobbing like a bitch at home 12/26/2020
I now appreciate the insane dedication, practicing and hard work that went into this movie: the real dancing, the real singing, (not computer generated ) the lighting, and the dresses! Perhaps itâs because we live in lounge wear & jammies now but I never truly noticed THESE outfits!
I mean…who wouldnât feel sexy AF in this?
I am grateful that my mom is still here for me to tell her THANK YOU for being so annoyingly persistent. It only took 30 years+a quarantine for me to come around.
Read this true story about Irving Berlin. It will break your heart even more about this song, the story and theđđ» movie.
This year, I recognized the greatest gift I have ever received. The gift of this knowledge presented itself on Christmas Eve and was about as welcome as Ebenezerâs three spirits.
A old friend casually joked with me âat least you got to believe in Santa Claus.â
I never thought of âbelieving in Santaâ as a gift or that having the âchanceâ or âopportunityâ to believe in Santa Claus was a privilege.
It makes me sad that my friend did not have this opportunity.
I realize now how much effort is put forth into having your child âbelieveâ. Perhaps some parents donât have the energy, imagination or faith to keep this alive; or maybe some parents do not know how.
The innocence, imagination and simplicity of a childâs mind made the magic of Christmas easy to pull off.
Their excitement over little things made me excited; which in turn made me WANT to make it fun and magical.
The last two years have been opposite for me with two teenagers. I honestly had no clue what to do for them because they are genetically predisposed to be selfish, ungrateful assholes.
The vibe & statements I received from them was, âChristmas isnât as fun anymore mom, itâs no big deal. Itâs okay.â
The message I would give back, âItâs okay kids. I have nothing left to give anyway you life-sucking punks. I am empty.â
Which in turn caused me to NOT WANT to do anything for them this year. I didnât care.
However, this is the year they needed me to care the most.
Then I remembered what my mom would do.
Despite what we said, she would do it anyway. My mom still did everything the same even when we were teenagers and early twenties. She still put presents out from Santa on Christmas morning and put stuffed animals in our stockings despite the eye rolls. It was as if she could still see our inner child; kinda like this commercial.đđ»https://youtu.be/QJntbYytPz8
She had the ability to be where we were at… yet she still knew what we still wanted; even though we were too stubborn to admit it.
I did what my mom did and I did it anyway. I stayed present with where my kids are.
I had no expectations of them or their reactions. Instead of being mad about their lack of excitement, I rolled with it.
I made my kids wait until after church to open gifts.
I stalled a little longer to finish wrapping gifts for others. Even though âitâs not fun like it was, momâ…they may have accidentally displayed some anticipation and a glimmer of childlike-Christmas-morning-glow.
By expecting them to be as they are instead of what I hoped them to be; I was pleasantly surprised by their pleased reactions and gratitude.
It was a beautiful Christmas and my kids were grateful, sweet and thoughtful.
My mother gave this gift to me…
My mother âshowedâ me how to âdoâ Christmas.
Mom, I should just wrap you up and put you under the tree every year because you are truly a gift. đąâșïž
And you were right about everything.đ€Źđ (Inner Teen: Thrashing defiantly inside.)
Well, almost everything….
I refuse to stay up til 4am wrapping – that shit is done way ahead of time while kids at school or out with friends. I also learned from this SNL skit to ask for exactly what I want, buy it for myself if I do not get it and to stuff my own stocking!. đ
I may not KNOW a lot of things but one thing I do believe for sure is that BOB (Esai Morales) from La Bamba is one BADASS mother fucker. He has to be THEE coolest and most captivating actor on the planet.
He should have won an OSCAR for best supporting actor for his performance; (Esai Morales) truly MADE the movie.
He literally SEDUCES the audience.
That being said, what I find most ironic is that no matter what he did or said, I still liked his character. I thought he was hilarious, I still do. What is even more puzzling, is that he is a complete dick.
(Side note: Esai also appeared on Ozark for a season or two- I was immediately entranced. )
As a woman, I completely identify with Rosie. As a mother and wife, I empathize with how she feels; I hate how she is treated by Bob. What was also puzzling is that she ANNOYED me. đ
I can actually feel her pain, grief, & confusion. You can see it written on her face. The âwait…wtf-just-happened?â face. The âhow-in-the-hell-did-I-end-up-hereâ face. She displays this facial expression the majority of the movie. We all know that face.
This puzzled faceâđ»The âRosieâ face.
We all know that feeling: When you realize youâve been had. You got screwed over. The worst part about it, the majority of it was your own doing. You assumed. ASS-U-ME.
I get how she assumed as well. Any woman in a could easily fall into Bobâs trap; especially the married ones. Bobâs seductive allure could have wise woman entranced in his spell: After Bob flirts with you: Huh? What kids? What husband? You donât have a job you say? Ballsy. HotâŠYou drink every day? Wild & crazy. You live in your momâs trailer? Sounds cozy. Humina Humina đđ„°đ
I am embarrassed to admit this, but I remember thinking: Awwww just leave him alone Rosie.. itâs your own fault you got yo self knocked up…
âđ»This is the work of the devil.đđ»
I STILL liked him after that horrible, disrespectful and honest statement by Bob. Like âDayyyuuumm.â Why?
I am an educated & wise woman, yet I still like Bob. Wtf!? How come? 1. Clearly excellent acting by Esai Morales 2. Amazing directing
However, I am not satisfied with this. Inquiring minds want to know!!!
I was concerned with my reaction when I watching this movie recently. When the mother, Connie Valenzuela, minimized Bobâs cartoonist abilities and reminded him that he is about to become a father, I thought: Jeez Connie, buzzkill, what did you have to go and do that for!? Why donât you get out of Richieâs ass and pay attention to poor Bob.He is trying. POOR BOB
Poor Bob: your womanizing, chauvinistic, selfish, entitled, immature, unemployed, alcoholic, manipulative, man-baby-son who just was released from prison.đ€ (Bob sounds like a real catch on paper doesnât he?đ€„đ)
Idle hands are the devilâs workshop; idle lips are his mouthpiece.Proverbs 16
From a biological & genetic standpoint, Bob does what Bob does best. Bob is a an alpha male who is genetically predisposed to flock his sexy shit to attract females. Bob does whatever possible to get laid; ultimately procreating more human beings to populate the earth. (Biology 101: It is vital for males to compete for reproduction and for females to choose between those competing males.
If a member of the opposite sex finds your tail, your song, or your dance moves sexy, you will have a chance to fulfill your primary biological role as a member of your species: to reproduce.
This is âBobâsâ âprimary biological roleâ aka his job and he rocks it. He got Rosie pregnant so now he needs to âmove onâ and to do this again.
Itâs not his faultâŠyet. (Please donât get angry, hear me out;)
From a biological/genetic standpoint, Bob is doing his job. He behaves how all maleanimals act. Bob is genetically predisposed to be what humans would consider âan assholeâ.
The problem is, he also doesnât know any better. No one has taught him otherwise. No one has had the chance to teach Bob to step above his biological urges.
Please donât cause him to feel inadequate by making him have to THINK.
Donât make him feel like a failure by asking him to have COMPASSION or EMPATHY? That is NO FUN.
What a DRAG it is getting old.
What would cause a human being to behave this way? Or to treat women this way?
Bobâs True Story & my psychological interpretationđ:
Just like Rosie, Connie also hooked up with a bad boy at a young age and got herself impregnated. The hot, sexy biological father took off.
I know you âlove himâ Rosie, but unless you want to cook dinner on his motorcycle…
Connie then met someone else (Steve) and Connie married Steve when Bob was two years old. Steve loved Bob and treated him as his own. Steve and Connie then had a child together, Ritchie. Ritchie was a reflection to Connie what she did right=Ritchie=golden boy. However, Bob was a reminder of her bad decisions.
Connie, Steve, Bob & Ritchie were doing well together for a while. Bob assumed Steve was his biological father and Bob loved him.
In an interview, the real Bob Morales states his life took a bad turn when he was 14 and his parents (Connie & Steve) separated.
âI moved in with my mom while Ritchie went with my dad. One day I told my mom that I wanted to live with my dad and and thatâs when my aunt told me âWhy do you want to go with him if heâs not even your real father.âBob Morales
Despite Steve conveying to Bob that he loved him as his own son, the shock devastated Bob. Also, it was horrible timing for Bob to find this out because soon after this discovery, Bob began high school.
Bob was getting into fights frequently so he stopped attending. Instead he gave money to the homeless nearby who would buy him alcohol.
While his now single-mom was working two jobs, Bob was not going to school and had no structure all day, no guidance, no direction=idle time which is the DEVILâs playground.
Therefore, Bob ended up going to a detention center from age 12-17! Connie, his mother, signed him over as a ward of the state. He did not see his family that entire time he was locked up.
đđ»Bob’s inner child translation: Go Fuck yourself Connie. I will never let a woman hurt me again.
The first time Bob saw his mother or Ritchie in years; was the day of Steveâs funeral. Which also means he didnât get to say goodbye to Steve or to grieve properly.
Bob learned to adapt to his lonely life by becoming the life of the party. He learned how to get what he needed by finding comfort in women and selfishly move on. This probably soothed his resentment toward his mother for while, but then he felt guilty; so he drank the pain away.
Of course he was jealous of Ritchie. Ritchie got his Dad and his Mom. He got nobody.
The point is that all of US are capable of evil depending on what we are exposed to.
I thought of this blog when I was about to bitch at my son for not cleaning up the mess he made after making quesadillas. I realized that I canât assume he knows how. I’m not going to shame him like Connie. (Wtf is wrong with you? Think like a woman) Instead, I showed him how clean it up. I EDUCATED him on what I want. I told him that this is what I expect. I didnât talk to him like he was stupid. I thanked him for making his own food. I didnât clean it up for him. This is the only way they learn.
Mothers: We cannot assume that our sons are just going to know how to treat women when theyâre older. We cannot assume that their Dadâs are going to teach them either. Most Dads are working their ass off and are never home. (Probably chasing tail đ not knowing why. Kidding!đ€Ș)
We have to teach OUR SONS what WE want from them so they can learn how to GIVE this to their future partners. We need to teach them about affection, connection, friendship, compatibility, respect, and the long term.
We have to teach them that this may be a biological urge to continue to chase women and populate the world, HOWEVER, we are not animals. Reality: kids are expensive AF.
It costs a lot of time, money, energy to raise a human child properly into a respectable adult.
We need to teach them that human females can be hot and smart. Women can be attractive, fun, brilliant, and confident. We have to teach them, not ASSUME, that a Human FEMALEâS purpose is not only to populate the world.
Itâs Biology Rosie- I’m kidding! You can have both!
We also have to teach our daughters: What they tolerate will become their future. Being a victim will not get you anywhere.
Itâs OUR job to ALSO teach the FUTURE MEN of this world these skills. We need to teach them how to love unconditionally. Parents need to be a TEAM.
There is a chapter in this book on how we âgo easyâ on our sons because we donât think they can manage it all and are tougher on our daughters đ
As a mental health clinician, I have the right to diagnose myself. Lately I believe I have been suffering from MULTIPLE OZARK PERSONALITY DISORDER. (MOPD)
MOPD is located in the DSM-V: Diagnosis code: 69692020. ICD-10 Code: 2337.
Since quarantine, I have noticed that I am taking on more and more characteristics of these Ozark personalities. (You WILL definitely relate to this, whether you watch Ozark or not. Truly… no spoilers here, anything discussed is all pretty obvious.)
What I find ironic and hilarious is that my husband will no longer watch this show with me because he found the show “ridiculous” and “unrelatable.” He stopped after season one…typical. Season one of any show is comparable to a psych 101 class; basically playing just-the-tip with character development.Sheesh.
Anyways, the irony is, that the more outlandish and ridiculous this show becomes, the moreI find it relatable.
Let’s be real, everything is ridiculous in the world right now. I mean who would ever think we would not be allowed to attend live sport events and there would be cardboard fans? Who would ever think that kids would not be attending school in person? Who would ever think that in the midst of massive change and uncertainty there would be a presdential election? I digress
These real-life events make some good old-fashioned, illegal activity seem refreshing. What’s the big deal about a dad who wants to make some extra bank on the side for his family?
Since we were encouraged to do nothing but sit at home, scroll on the phone and binge watch tv; we extinguished our coping skills. Now, everything is different at one time. All this change is just too painful for my brain to tolerate; my psyche has now split in order to protect my sanity…
Split Personality #1:The first episode of the third season of Ozark, Ben is introduced. He is a substitute teacher who seems pretty cool; but then he is exposed to the reality of tweens and smart-phones when a student begins to cry in class about a text with a photo received. The lack of eye contact, respect or response from the rest of the students infuriates the him. He then proceeds to take all the kids’ cell phones and throw them in a garbage. (I think this is a completely appropriate reaction.) He goes too far and throws them all into wood chipper. I find myself relating to this entire scene up until the last 17 seconds.
Split Personality #2: Ruth Langmore, who can make you blush with her raw cussin and brutal lack of filter. Ruthâs demeanor, even while having sex, gives off that donât-fuck-with-me vibe that can make you cringe. She has also channeled her white-trashness into some useful business woman tips. What is cool as hell about her is she owns her mistakes; no excuses. Fuck is now a noun, verb, adjective, pronoun, adverb and a language in itself because of Ruth. Anyone else speak fluent fuck nugget?
Straight up…my Spirit Animal.
Personality #3 The matriarch of the show, Wendy Byrde, who manages being a mom and wife with political policies. Wendy Byrde is completely transparent with her kids, does whatever the hell she wants in her marriage and uses her political knowledge to commit illegal crimes legally.
First episode of season one: Wendy is an ordinary, stay-at-home mom who gave up her political career/power to raise her kids. Her life was uneventful and easy, and she was unhappy and bored. She thrives in chaos. She had a rough childhood. đđ»(This article is brilliant about her acting out when she doesn’t belong.) She comes alive while juggling negotiations with a mexican drug cartel and her power soars when she comes up with strategies to legalize her husbandâs money laundering operation. Wendy spins these webs from the safety of her minivan.
Just like any mom does, “Wendy’s got this.” Mom’s know what to do. Wendy can handle almost anything and plow through the day, unaffected. However, what is so relatable: it’s the little shit that throws her over the edge. Everything is cool until her damn emotions slow her down.
She can blow off a call from a drug lordđđ».
She can answer her kids tough questions without missing a beat.
Wendy’s-mentality: Don’t sugarcoat anything. Throw us a bone and let us know where we stand. Mama Byrde: OK, here’s a bone…straight up your ass.
TO HUSBAND: “Quite Frankly, I Don’t Give A Damn If You Like It Or Not, Cause I Feel Pretty Good About It. It’s A Good Idea, And I Did It For Our Family. What Did You Do Today… For Our Family?” Wendy Byrde (boom)
Marty replies flatly: “I bought a strip club.” (He is pretty bad ass but I haven’t gone numb yet;)
Everyone has a weakness and Wendy’s is: she cannot handle her brother and his “irrational” behavior. Why can’t her brother just understand that they are laundering money for a mexican drug cartel and everything is going according to plan? Why won’t he leave things alone and stop trying to make everything moral and just? Why doesn’t her brother “get it” that it is normal to be disintegrated in an acid barrel when you stand up to the cartel’s lawyer or you work with the FBI? Why won’t he stop behaving like a toddler and involving the police? Jeez…
Wendy. loses. her. shit. with her brother. The flooding of emotions causes her to get hammered in a parking lot in her minivan for days. When she does eventually come home, she wants to hide under the covers. She doesn’t want to get out of bed. She doesnt care about any of the stuff she was relentlessly working toward. She lost her tenacity and drive. She fell apart.
Which brings me to my “Wendy Moment”. No I did not get hammered in my minivan. What are you nuts? I do not drive a minivanđ.
Backstory: The last seven months during this global pandemic, Iâve taken pride in that Iâm a Gen Xer. I have been thriving in this chaos. Watch movies with my kids every night, psshh, my dream come true. I have loved not having to go anywhere. I accomplished so many projects and got in the best shape of my life. I was kicking ass at work and rolling with the changes. My relationship with my kids and husband has never been better. Even when I struggled with e-learning and juggled my kids being home while I was working; I persevered.
Then the little shit happened that threw me over the edge. School started for 2 days, then was canceled for two more weeks (something died inside me that dayđ). I broke my own phone and had wait 6 days for a new one (I am still re-doing every password in my life). My daughter received her scoliosis brace and she was NOT happy. This clusterfuck of events has triggered me to split. These are all NORMAL, regular, solvable problems, yet I cannot deal. Like Wendy, I can deal with the crisis and big stuff. The little, unpredictable, emotional shit…not so much ..
đđ»Mama Byrde broke into her old house in Chicago, then acted out by pulling an adult Goldilocks. She drank their beer and sat on their beds. She realized she no longer belonged to this life anymore.
MOPD Examples:
Monday: I was picking up some girls for a volleyball camp carpool and my friend was talking briefly about her day to me as a elementary teacher; now teaching her students online. It sounded unbearable, extremely stressful and overwhelming. A flashback of me teaching my daughter in May, triggered a depersonalization episode. It was as if I was hovering above both of us, looking at our life thinking âthis cannot be real.â Similar to the Wendy-Goldilocks moment when she realized she did not belong in that life anymore.
The no longer knowing is terrifying.
The not knowing how to do our job, not knowing how to be a parent, not knowing how to behave in public (That awkward-should we hug, I want to hug but, are you hugging?…)
Everything we once “knew for sure” we no longer know.…(split) In comes Ruth Langmore: “This is crazy. I don’t know shit about FUCK!”
Tuesday 9/28/2020 – I Drive kids to school, attempted to listen to the news on my way home. The discussion about the presidential debate …Flood of emotions …I walk past my office, get in bed and hide under the covers…(split) Ben Davis “I will not fall into line with the others. What you walked into is normal… this is all normal….No, nope, no it’s not ïżŒ…smh…” (split) In comes Ruth again…
“What are you going to do, kill me? you bitch wolf?“
âđ»Ben the sub: insubordinate and churlishâđ»
“Ok. Ok you can go to skate park after you take out the garbage. You better wear helmet, knee pads, elbow/wrist guards…and here’s some bubble wrap (dumb ass).”
In the end, the little shit is all that matters and that must be why it’s so hard. -Quillan Kelly-Dunn
We had a 13th birthday party for my daughter last week; decided to make it an 8th grade kick off as well. This means we invited the whole class, all genders, hoping the class would possibly get along…together. (This class has not worked since day one.) We also rented a dunk tank assuming this should be a hit; and perhaps they would forget they canât stand each otherđ.
My daughter kept warning me about the boys, she said âMom, they have no consideration for anyone but themselves.â (Probably repeating what she had heard year after year from the teachers.)
I was getting the yard (arena) ready the night before. I ripped a piece of shipping tape off the side of the pool (kids tried to ghetto-ly hang some rope lights next to the filter. đ) Suddenly, I feel a sharp, shooting, burning pain on side of my head. I thought for a second I electrocuted myself. Then I see a wasp flying around. I look under pool edge and there is a giant a yellow jacket nest.
I considered spraying it and removing it myself. However, when I googled what to use, it strongly advised not to do this alone. Then found some websites for bee removal services and âSwarm removal.â đŹ (Usually, I would ignorantly underestimate the situation and fearlessly proceed. Then I had a momentary flashback of THE HUNGER GAMESâ tracker jacker scene and….it is 2020.
The hive has probably been there all summer. Adults & kids have been here swimming almost daily; no one saw it or got stung. I email some of these services, receive some prices and then they explain this is a 3 step process that needs to start at dusk .
The party begins in 14 hours, there wonât be time for someone to do all these steps. I hope, pray and assume no one will see the hive. I am then distracted by a past winner, âHaymitchâ who graciously drops off a cooler of Gatorade and cookies.
Good luck…
12pm: I notice on my phone the temperature outside is a perfect 84 degrees; I look out the window, not a cloud in the sky. The most perfect day. Despite the temperature on my smart phone, stepping outside is a different story. As I slowly slide the door open, I am hit with a humidity blast that feels like 110 blazing degrees.
I am pouring with sweat setting up the bean bag boxes and volleyball net. I stop to wipe the sweat from my brow that is stinging my eyes. As a stand still, I feel the sun searing through my sun-screened, pale af, freckled, perimenopausal skin.
12:30pm: Most of the âtributesâ have arrived. The girls remain on the deck, staring wide-eyed at the boys who are violently shoving each other into the pool and holding each other underwater. The floats are mangled and destroyed within seconds. The girls remain shocked & terrified; unsure if they should enter the pool or get blistered in the sun.
1pm: The dunk tank has been delivered. As I am pulling our hoses to fill the tank, I hear âItâs a Yellowjacket!â âOmg thereâs a yellow jacket nest!â âAwesome!!!â
To my horror, all the boys are now surrounding the backside of the pool armed with bean bags, a ball, whiffle bats, and a broom (where the hell did he even find that?) Immediately, I demand they drop their weapons and step away from the hive.
âYou guys are going to get stung!â I exclaim. The boys playfully reply, âNo we wonât!â Or âWe donât care!â I try another tactic: âWould you care if I record you and send to your parents?â Most freeze and give that you-wouldnât-dare-look. I glare back at themđđ».
All except one take the bait and retreat. The last is still laughing maniacally as he is shoving the broomstick into the heart of the tracker jackers lair. I remove the broom from the boy, he mopes away with his head down, temporarily defeated.
1:30pm: I witness the girls still standing on the deck with their mouths hanging open. I gently encourage the girls to go in the pool while boys are out. Thankfully, âPeetaâ shows up with lunch!
While kids are eating, I hide the âweaponsâ in the basement. Then I hear a loud, thumping sound. I run outside and see a heckling boy sitting on the dunk tank seat. The boys have already begun throwing balls at the dunk tank target. The Problem is there is only one inch of water in it. I envision a Tom & Jerry episode (pic below).
Before I plummet into debt from a kid requiring extensive dental work or sustaining an injury in the empty tank; I completely over-react with a loud, shrilling, scream. Everyone looks at me, stunned. *Side note: My reaction is amplified due to the dunk tank manual boldly stating SEVERE injury should occur if dunk tank is not full or âdamage to the tank will result in responsible parties assuming cost of repair.âđ±đ
đđ»Me: Visualizing myself having to listen to my husbandâs lecture about adulting and âdunk tank repairâ is not being financially responsible. đ
2pm: I regained composure and tell the kids how high the water needs to be in the tank before they can use it. I assured them I have three hoses going and it should be full in 20 minutes. This answer pacified them and the boys retreat back into the pool, while sporadically antagonizing the bees. I notice The grass around the pool is flooded (Tick Tock Tidal Wave).
2:14pm âSomeoneâs been stung!â I hear repeatedly by numerous girls. (Tick Tock Tracker Jackers)
As I am searching for a sting antidote in my closet, I remember something important from my kids toddler years.. At every playdate, it was chaos the first two hours; then magically the kids started to get along. The kids had to get used to and adjust to having another kid around. Epiphany: That is what is happening now! The two hour mark is in 15 minutes!
Stung tribute…Donât say I didnât warn ya kid.
I walk down the stairs and find the entire floor from the back door to the front is soping wet. I am blindsided with a smell of stove gas & wet dog combined with sewage. My daughter is shaking her head at me. I ask her, âFor the love of God, what is that smell?â (Tick Tock: Poisonous gas) My daughters glares at me with contempt, that âmom-youâre-so-dumbâ look.
âMom! I told you this would happen! All the boys smashed into the bathroom and locked the door so we couldnât use it! They donât wear deodorant! Then one of them took a big dump!â My daughter exclaims.
For once, the Covid mask comes in handy as I cover my nose & mouth. I locked the front & garage door to prevent numerous, wet entries and dried the floor. I tell my daughter, âThey are boys, they never hung out with you guys yet. They just need boundaries and limits; it will be okay. If not, they are leaving in 2 hours and we wonât have to do this again.â
âTwo more hours of this!? UGH!â She exclaims and stomps away.
2:30pm Some of other boys have now realized that there are girls present. âEffieâ shows up to help me (hallefuckinglujah!). We gather them all together to take a group picture. Immediately following the flash, the boys simultaneously charge at the girls, pushing them into the pool. The girls nervously laugh and Effie and I shrug in unison; âAt least they are all in the pool together.â
The dunk tank is full. The girls huddle and watch the boys heckle, whips balls at the bullseye and dunk each other. This contained, organized activity has seemed to spark the interest of all parties. The boys surprisingly organize themselves into a line and take turns throwing and being dunked. I overhear one of the more advanced thinkers of the group (who has sisters đ), âArenât we going to let the girls have a turn?â
With two other moms present to supervise, I take this opportunity to escape. I had some lunch, cooled down in the AC and changed my clothes. The fear-induced âhallucinationsâ begin to subside and I have an epiphany.
My yard is the âarenaâ and the arena in a CLOCK! Just like in Catching Fire! Itâs just a GAME! Stop giving a fuck and just play the game!!!
3pm: I look outside at the âarenaâ. I see âEffieâ & âPeetaâ sitting on lounge chairs with their feet up. To my surprise, some of the kids are either playing bean bags together or making a whirlpool. What…the…
Toddler to Teen mindset: Every âplay dateâ takes two hours for the kids to get along. Thatâs just the way it is.
Haymitch shows up holding a 6-pack and provides some useful advice. We enjoy some cold, adult beverages as a team. We effin did it! It WORKED! We won!
I have a sip of the âadult elixirâ and experience another revelation… âThey are just kids! They are supposed to be assholes! Itâs our job to teach them to not be! They do not know how to play the game yet! We have to teach them how to play!â
Peeta organized the bean bag tournament. The kids all sat TOGETHER and watched each other play. I couldnât believe it. Haymitch periodically would make the kids stop and take cleaning breaks. They listened. It was an effin miracle! (A 2020 miracle …pssshhh. No way.)
The four of us are sitting around talking and laughing. Parents are starting to show up to pick up their kids; grateful for the long break from their kids after a five month quarantine.
My daughter whispers in my ear, âCan you text all the parents now before anyone else comes so everyone can stay later?â
âWhat!? I thought you couldnât wait until this was over? Remember you were frustrated there was two hours left?â Stay later?!? Sheâs hallucinating; musta been stung by a tracker jacker. I still almost fall out of my seat.
Daughter: âWell that was before. Itâs been SO fun. I never want it to end. Everyone wants to stay.â
âThey do?â
âYep. And…You. were. right. Mom.â
đđ»HO.LEE.SHIT. Was not expecting thatđđ»Me, Mom…was…right?. Tears of joy welled in my eyes.
Take it easy Ben, you are just a sub. Substitute teacher: 
Quillan Kelly-Dunn 