I Tweet, Therefore I am.

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Y’all. I’m supposed to be fasting from social media right now.

See? See how well that’s going? This is me… fasting.

Allow me to explain:

When I started the Congo fast because my evil friend Kate suckered me into it without my full knowledge, comprehension, or understanding, and I did it out of the goodness of my heart and because I am totally spiritual and my goodness this is all a load of hooey.

ANYHOW. When I started the Congo fast w/ Kate for our Sunday school class… I thought… Well. Food. I have to fast from food for 40 days. That’s nearly impossible and as we all know I have caved like a Neanderthal about twenty times in the 40 days, but who’s counting?

As God is my witness, I thought the tortillas were going to be it.

But, as Kate has so patiently reminded me, also about twenty times, the Sunday school class does exceed 40 days. So, what are we gonna do for the other portion? Just sit around and talk about how fabulous we were for fasting?

Ok, so along with Chris Seay’s A Place at the Table, we read this gem:

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I use the word “gem” because I have so few of them now, BECAUSE JEN KEEPS TELLING ME TO GIVE STUFF AWAY.

Ok, seriously. Here’s more explaining: We decided to also tackle, along with food the other items that Jen mutinies against. There right there on the cover for you: clothes, spending, waste, stress (har har har), waste, and MEDIA.

MEDIA.

YES IN ALL CAPS.

Guys. You can take my clothes and help me recycle and give me a budget and make me eat corn tortillas ’till the cows come home (that we can’t eat)

BUT YOU WILL HAVE TO PRY MY MEDIA FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS.

Here is the very real conversation I had with Kate about this whole media thing, yesterday:

Kate: I’m fasting from media and it’s going okay. How about you?
Me: *leans forward to the microphone* I cannot recall.

That’s a pretty fabulous Ollie North, right? And for those of you who are too young to understand my cheap mimicry of the general and his memory recall issues, what I REALLY said is something like this:

Me: NOOOOOOO. This is so HARRRRRRD. I’m eating rice and beans – you can’t make me NOT watch Netflix TOOOOOOOOOOO.

The wailing, I tell you, was heard one county over.

I ask you, what about all my quips? Where will the quipping go, if I cannot post about it? It will be like I don’t even exist.

Really. How can I live without the tweetings?

What if my children do something adorable? (rare, granted). Or the cat? What if the CAT does something adorable (hourly). How will I live without talking about it?

So, here is my announcement: Our Congo fast and its 40 days is over this Sunday. After that, I will be walking away from my computer for a week.

I will miss you *she waves weakly* Don’t you worry about me… *fading away* I’m sure I’ll be… just… fine *drops to the floor in a heap and makes sure her pose is flattering for a selfie*

Social media, y’all. It’s addictive stuff. I mean, really. If a tree falls in the forest and no one takes a picture of it for Instagram, does an angel lose his wings?

Or something like that.

Now, the only people I have yet to tell are the children. They’ll be joining me in this fast. No Netflixes. No Wii Rockband.

The cries will be heard from two counties over.

Pray for us.

Save

Get lots of Netflix and rest, and call me in the morning.

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My friends, lately we have been besieged by the sickness. Also, I have been hiding from social media because everyone is mad and yelling, and so I just want to post pictures of puppies. Here, like this one:

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I would like to make a plea, for my own sanity.

PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS, STOP YELLING. I KNOW I’M YELLING WHILE I TELL YOU THIS BUT I AM ALL ABOUT IRONY RIGHT NOW. AND, I’M DESPERATE.

OH,  AND THROWING UP. STOP THAT, TOO.

There are times when life just seems to be twisting around,  full of dark ships circling at night, all malaise and doom and puking and glooooooom.

Here. Have another one of these:

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Sometimes… the best thing to do is hibernate with happy things.

Or, you can hibernate with Netflix and fight the doom and gloom with a series of unfortunate events.

I was hooked on this series of books because they are dark and hilarious and twisty-turny. And, the Netflix adaptation of David Handler’s books is really really REALLY good. Like, dark and funny and so perfectly cast.

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I have to warn you. The events in this series are really, truly unfortunate. And there are moments where there is sadness and true villainy. But, there is heart too. And real empathy.

The show is not for wee ones. It’s for those that find sarcasm and dark humor their love language, so… anyone in middle school, pretty much.

Because middle schoolers know, probably better than anyone, that a twisty-turny world can sometimes only be combated with an equal dose of dark and stormy.

At one point in the introduction, just as in the books, Lemony Snicket warns us to not continue. He warns that any sort of continuation of this sad and gloomy affair will only keep piling on more sad and gloomy. Life is like that. Relentless.

And then he then turns to the camera and says,

“Trouble and strife can cover this world like the dark of night, or like smoke from a suspicious fire.. .and when that happens all good, true, and decent people know that it’s time to volunteer.”

He had me at trouble and strife.

And, volunteer.

Enjoy your dark and gloomy and enjoy the SUPERB cast, and just, you know, enjoy a little twisty-turny. It is a children’s book after all. You know, after a long series of unfortunate events, there will be light at the end of the tunnel. It might be a long tunnel, but I have the time. Last I checked, my evenings are free, except for Lysoling everything in sight.

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This is the post where I toot my own horn. Maybe back away?

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So, last weekend I got to do something most of us moms dream about:

I slept in a hotel room. And, I woke up WHEN MY EYES OPENED ON THEIR OWN.

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I don’t really know why I put that image above, but for some reason, this weekend made me channel my inner diva gymnast girl.

Anyhow, here is what else happened:

I met up with my two girlfriends, KATIE AND MELINDA* and we ate a lot of food. The hotel gave ups a free bottle of wine which both girls insisted we not drink so that was good. They have my back. They’re my posse.

Also: we shopped at Sephora. Considered having my eyebrows done, but decided not because you know:

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However, I found a lipstick that, I kid you not, LIFTS my lips. I did not know this was a thing that needed to happen to my lips, but it’s awesome. Also, the stuff makes me coffee in the morning and I think it speaks three languages. It’s that good.

Then: I went to Teavana. I spent a lot more money than I should have. On tea. Want to know why?

It’s because they waft it at you.

Here’s me in Teavana:

Me: Oooooo, pineapple tea?

Young, earnest, serious tea drinker salesguy: Why yes. That’s our Oolong Geisha Fly By Night With a Pineapple tea. Here, (pulls down canister)…

Me: (starts to bend forward and take a sniff) Uh, what is that beeping sound?

Tea Man: Ma’am. That’s the You’re Doing It Wrong Buzzer of Shame. You do not sniff at the tea. I WAFT it AT you. Now, back away.

Me: I do the whaaaaaat? Dude. Are you ok?

Pretentious Tea Man: Yes. This is my job. I open the canister. And then, (flourish), I WAFT it at you.

Me: You get paid to do this?

Sad Tea Guy: I applied at Nordstroms. They didn’t want me. So, here.

And that’s how I spent crackamillion bucks on tea that smells divine, but still tastes like hay.

And finally!

This:

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fuzzy picture. warm, fuzzy feelings.

Y’all. I wrote a book. Did you know, I wrote a book?

Anyhow, we go into the Barnes and The Nobles and start perusing all the books we want (a million), and then… I get this thought…

Maybe. Just maybe… MY book is in here?

And I go up to the desk and say, “I am looking for a book? It’s by Dana Bowman? It’s probably not here but I thought I’d ask?” (Uptalker = insecure.)

And the nice lady takes me over and there it is! On the shelf! And I grab the nice lady and say, “That’s ME!” And she thinks I am a little off. I can tell. But then I tell her I’m the author, and then grab the book and proceed TO SHOW HER MY PIC ON THE BACK FOR PROOF, AND I JUMP A LITTLE.

Clearly, I need more work on the coolness thing. Because jumping up and down at Barnes and Noble is not something people do.

So, the nice lady who is clearly not impressed says, “Well, IF you ARE the author, you can sign it.” I show her, again, the picture on the back and even consider taking out my driver’s license, and then I GRAB at her a little because I am just so excited.

At this point I think nice book lady just wants me out of the store. So she gets a pen and I get my girl friends, because they will be excited for me. They are my girlfriends. They know when to squeal and jump. The nice book lady is not reacting like I wanted her to – with jumping and squealing and all that. I really wanted to have a moment with her. Alas, it was not to be.

So, I had the moment with KATIE AND MELINDA*. The best girls ever.

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That’s Katie. She always has good hair. I would hate her for that but I can’t because I love her too much.

So, lookit. I found my book at a bookstore and I signed it. Signed two of them. And the book lady was patient and I teared up a little and hugged her. Afterwards she probably noticed the topic of my book and she said, “Ohhhhhh. It’s all very clear to me now. Why she was… that way.”  Whatevs, lady. I wrote a book. You just sell ’em.

 

Then we all sassy-walked, all authory and stuff, outta there. I did a few step-ball-kicks as we departed. It’s possible I waved and said, “Farewell booksellers! And buyers! I wrote one of the books that is IN THERE! Goodbye, my people!”

Anyhow.

And then we all went and had this for dinner:

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You know why? Because we WANTED to. We had three cookies and a brownie and copious amounts of coffee. For DINNER, y’all. I know.

Also: we ordered a pizza at ten o’clock and watched two and a half of the Matrix movies in our hotel room, and our convos went like this:

“Why is she wearing high heeled boots? She can’t run in those.”

“I know. And that coat. It’s all flappy. It’s gonna catch on something. See! It just flapped at that dreadlocked guy! He has good hair. But he could just grab the coat and then it would all be over.”

“It’s a fight scene. It needs to be over. We shoulda written this movie. Oh Lord have mercy. They’re fighting again. Why do they have to fight so much?”

“Why are there always weapons laying about? Clearly these people have no children.”

“Keanu does really well in movies where he doesn’t have to register any emotions.”

I’m telling you, it was off the hook.

So, back to the book. And, if you are interested, you can see more about it here.

Also (shameless plug?) if you have read it? Would you leave a review on the Amazons? I will send you a puppy in the mail if you do so.

Ok, just kidding.

Or maybe, that lipstuff that I bought at Sephora. I just read the packaging and it says it will also fold your laundry and walk the dog if you ask it to, real nice.

*MELINDA AND KATIE wanted to be included in this post. I used their REAL names. No subtle code names (Helga and Bertha were my first options) for these guys, oh noooo.

Melinda and Katie: They are all real, all the time. And I am so grateful.

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This post was sponsored by: Sephora, coffee, AMC movies, absolutely no wine, big fluffy pillows, and those cute little chocolates they put on the pillow for you at bedtime.

But not Teavana. I think this post will make that poor dude reconsider his path in life. Ones career path should not include “Wafter” as a job title.

Yes, dear.

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There is a man in my life, y’all. His name is Brian.

He has said ‘Yes’ to me from the beginning. From the beginning, when I saw him across a crowded room of older, single desperate Christian people at a single mingle that was fraught with so much desperation you could TASTE it. He said ‘yes,’ even then, when I made a bee line for him, fixed him in my target because I knew he was who I was going to marry, and so, we needed to talk.

He said ‘yes’ to meeting the next day. And then later he even said yes to spending the rest of his life with me. Actually, he DID ask me and I said yes. But it was all a part of my master plan.

He didn’t have much choice.

Anyhow. He said yes when I lost my mind. By going to get help, he said ‘Yes, I am here. I love you. I will help.” He said yes to letting me stay home and sit and try to write for a ‘living’ because I love it and it makes my heart sing. And he said ‘yes’ when 55% of the stuff i write is about him. Generally, poking FUN at him. But you know. my love language is snark. And he still says ‘Yes.”

He kisses me goodnight every night and kisses me goodbye every morning. And he said ‘Yes’ to all of the book. All of it. He wanted me to write it. Even though… his stuff is in there too.

He is my greatest coach and love. He says “Yes,” again and again and again. In fact, when we were two weeks married, he started saying, “Yes, dear,” to me, with a hint of snark (he can only do a hint of it. His heart is too labrador retriever-ish to be full snark. Poor thing.)

“Brian, can you bring home pizza? I am exhausted.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Brian, could I take a nap? I am exhausted.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Brian, could you give me a hug? I m exhausted.”

“Yes, dear.”

Brian. I just want to have a drink. Just one. I can’t do this anymore.”

“No. Nope. Not gonna happen. Not on my watch. And yes, you can do this.”

“Yes, you can dear.”

I love him so.

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My book, Bottled: How to Survive Early Recovery with Kids, published by Central Recovery Press, is now available!!!!!!! How exciting!! How awesome!!!

I got sober and the whole world became one big yes. I am so very grateful.

God is good. He tells me “Yes, dear.” so very often. And He tells me “No” or “Let’s wait,” just as often. And I am learning, finally, to listen. And, is that a miracle?

Yes. Yes, dear. It is.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

 

When I was six I lugged my mom’s huge Woodstock typewriter over to the dining room table. I got a pile of paper and neatly set it next to the typewriter. Then, I sat down, looked out the huge picture window to my left to the yard beyond for inspiration, and then began typing.

I wrote and wrote. The story was some horrible mess about cats and some girl named Cindy. But on I clattered.

I had the idea that I wanted to be a writer.

I wrote stories, poems, even play scripts that my sister and I would act out in our basement. Our plays even included commercial breaks, because we know where the money is coming from. We were savvy. Ask us one day about the commercial we made for Pepto Bismol. It included special effects and a soundtrack, and I have to say it was brilliant.

I wrote for my high school’s newspaper. I lived for Fridays when the Harbinger would come out, and all would read my column (I had my own column! This was the big time.)

I wrote and wrote and wrote  in journals and journals. It was in these Lisa Frank spiral bound beauties that I learned to hone my skills and banish things like repetitive word choice, and overuse of sweeping adjectives and cliches. They were all so very beautifully written, like wonderful and beautiful flowers of beautiful writing detailing my life’s most wonderful moments like sands in the hourglass or the winds of time or oh God please make it stop.

And then… I started teaching. And teaching is simply divine.  I had a knack for it. It filled me up and some days drove me kinda crazy (the lawyer would add it’s not a long drive) and fed me and kept me sane and made me even crazier. And for some umpteen years it was all I really had time for.

And then… well, I started having children. And then I didn’t even have time for teaching, ya’ll. Or for children. I had no time. Time just up and flounced off in a huff with me on that one.

But this of course is when I decided to start a writing career. Because:

1.  I’m a little bit nutball.  We don’t need to debate this. My entire family can phone in a long lecture, with numerous subpoints and illustrations provided in the appendix, to elaborate if needed. But I’m pretty sure ya’ll have already figured there’s a decided nutball factor here.

2. I have a daily dose of material from Thing One and Thing Two that if I don’t record somewhere there will be some sort of crack in the universe and God will smite me. He gave me this talent, so if I don’t capitalize on it now, to the major future embarrassment of my children, I KNOW we will have a discussion when I kick it one day that will go like this:

“Hi God! I am so happy to be here! I mean, I’m dead and all, but there’s no place I’d rather be for all eternity!”

“Pleasure is all mine. But remember that time that I prodded at you and said something like ‘Lo, go forth and write about your childreneth, and you shall blesseth the momsies all about?’ You didn’t do that. What’s up with that?”

“Oh snap, God. I am sorry. I just got so caught up in cleaning and folding laundry and somewhere along the way I forgot how to do anything creative except make homemade napkins out of old t-shirts.”

“Really. REALLY?”

“Please don’t smite me. I mean, I’m already here. I think you have a no return policy, right? And…I’ll write Your tell-all if You’d like.”

“We have that already. Revelations, remember? It’s in the bible…”

“Well, surely someone could benefit from a humorous interpretation of it, right? I mean… I hate to break it to You, but nobody completely GETS the book of Revelation.”

          “THAT’S THE POINT. JOB 36:26. Or did you not read that book, either?”

 

3. There’s that whole recovery thing. It’s kind of important that I write about that. You know why.

 

I am pleased, no, thrilled, NO, just plain gobsmacked to tell you this:

I signed a contract today for a book deal.

I signed a contract today for a book deal!

A book.

By ME.

 

Central Recovery Press, a publishing company that focuses on recovery and behavioral health,  searched me out after my Substance.com article ran at Huff Post… And the acquisitions editor, a charming woman named Eliza, then asked me a rather weird question:  “Would you want to write a book about moms in recovery. But, make it funny?”

Hmmm.  Alcoholism and humor. A rather strange mix, in a way. But then,  if I can end up in the same boat as Russel Brand, then yes, anything is possible. Humor it is!!

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He’s weird, famous, very funny, and in the same special club as me. And, evidently, he really loves his dog. KINDRED SPIRIT, YA’LL.

CRP requested a book proposal, which I did. The proposal alone was a ton of work. I slaved over it.

And then, they accepted it.

And then, I did this:

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For reals, ya’ll.
I am writing a book.

 

Bottled: How to Survive Early Recovery With Kids

Or:

It is Possible to Have Children and Not Drink Yourself Under the Crib

by:  Dana Bowman (squeeeeeee!!!!!!!)

 

Coming out in September!!!!!!!!!!  (and I do realize, my students, that I am overusing the ! here and breaking my own rule of NO YELLING in writing unless someone is getting chased by a bear, but heck, THIS IS TOO AWESOME!!!!!!!!!)

 

AND: I am so grateful to all of you, my readers, who made this happen. YOU are the reason I am living my dream, because without Momsie, none of this would have happened.

 

And thank you, Christy for your edits and your friendship.  You are my best cheerleader ever.

 

A dream is a wish your heart makes. Keep believing. Psalm 37:4.