Embrace the addict

Linking up with my favorite people again today for Five Minute Friday. The theme?

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I know. Writing about addiction again today.

Where, Momsie? Where is your funny self? Where are the cat pictures and endless throwing of children under the proverbial bus because they are maddening and adorable? Where ARE you?

Oh, don’t worry. I’m here. Hanging out with my inner addict.

We all have one. We do. You can argue with me all you want, but then I might say, very annoyingly, “Well, perhaps your addiction is control. Or being right. Or, God help you, some combination of both which we all know WORKS SO WELL.”

I wouldn’t say that to you because it would be rather self-righteous and, as I said, annoying, and we are friends. But you better believe I’d be thinking it.

I have an inner addict. I named her Esmerelda, and she likes to speak up at times when I am Hungry. Or Angry. Or Lonely. Or Tired.*

Sadly, I am any combination of these at about forty majillion times a day because life is not fair. Life is hard. Sing it with me folks. Oh blah dee, oh blah da… life goes on.

Yesterday Red had a total conniption because Blonde did not help him clean up EXACTLY EQUAL TO HIS CLEANING UP after lunch. If you have kids, you know. Anyhow, if I could have split the dirt and crumbs and smears of peanut butter down the middle with yellow crimezone tape, it would have helped, but … dare we go back to that wonderfulness that is:

LIFE IS NOT FAIR.

It was day four of our spring break together. Red was underslept and oversugared and basically? He lost his sh%T. Sorry. It’s a bad word but in this case – nothing else really suffices. I, as Mother In Charge of All the Things, had a few choices on how to deal:

  1. Smiting
  2. Timeouts with the Smiting
  3. #2 paired with a lecture, possibly a powerpoint presentation on Life Really is So Unfair.
  4. Run away.

I did none of these. I don’t know why. I was just… tired myself. So, I sat down on the floor, dusted away some crumbs to make room, and patted the floor for Red to come sit with me.

He eyed me, suspiciously. This was a different tactic. Perhaps I was gonna hog tie him when he approached and take him away to Military Unfairness School?

Nope. I just patted the floor, and when he came over, I grabbed him and held on. Then, I smushed his little fact in my hands (not too hard, but the good, Mom smushing) and I looked in his eyes and said, “Breathe. Just breathe in. Breathe out. I love you. It’s ok.”

The kid slowed down and looked at me, and remembered who he was.

And stopped freaking out.

I know. Perhaps he needed a timeout or some sort of discipline, but right then? I needed to hug him.

We behave badly sometimes. We grip onto things that are wrong. We rail and rant. We do things that are awful and unfair and shameful.

We want and want and want some more.

And… repeat.

It’s the whole bashing up against our sinfulness that is life, and did I mention? Not very fair.

But He is fair. And right then, He told me to hug my boy. Amidst his mess.

I guess what I’m trying to say, is be kind to the one who grips onto something too hard. He might just be falling apart with all the unfairness of it. Embrace him. Embrace yourself, if that’s who we’re talking about here. You better believe, I’m who we’re talking about here. (It’s my favorite topic, you know. Me.)

Embrace the addict. She knows it’s not fair. She needs a lot of love.

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*HALT. One of those acronym thingies I learned in recovery. If you start to fizzle out on your day? Are you HALT-ing? Or, if you’re me, are you SHALT-ing (sarcastic, hungry angry… etc)

Recovery has all sorts of those thingies. Like, One Day at a Time. And …Keep it Simple.

And, Be still and know that you are so not God.

I kinda made that last one up. But I did kinda steal it from a higher authority.

40 Days of More

Hey, did you hear?

I gave up alcohol for Lent.

Yep. Also, I gave it up for December. And rainy days. And birthdays.

So, also, you know, the rest of the year. And forever. That sort of thing.

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So. Moving on.

It’s just a teensy bit possible that I have not really given up anything else for Lent in a long while. Unless, of course, you count last minute trips to Paris, or goat farming or walking gracefully. I totally gave those up ages ago.

You see, I am just so horribly bad at Lent. I do not get A’s in Lent. This bothers me. I would plan something for it, and journal about it, and chirp about it to my so-good-at-doing Lent friends, and then, BAMMO, in about four days I would have totally forgotten.

Maybe I could give up memory for Lent?

I have made my peace with it. Jesus forgave me a long time ago for my inability to half-heartedly give up chocolate for four days. But, Jesus wasn’t done with me on this subject yet. That’s just His way. You have obstacles in life? He is there. But He also says things like, “Here, let me work with you on this… for a really long while…”

Sometimes I just wish He would say, “Here. Let me COMPLETELY FIX THIS THING FOR YOU. ALL DONE! PRESTO WHAMMO!”

It would be so cool, if that were His way. And, I have heard that sometimes it is. For some reason, I never get to have the “presto whammo” version of fixing things with Jesus. I wonder why? Just once, I’d like to get the PRESTO WHAMMO. It would be so cool.

Anyhow, this year Jesus and I had a little talk about Lent. It went like this:

Jesus: No, I am not talking to you in an audible voice. I know some of your readers are gonna think I showed up in your living room, all glowy and talking.

Me: THAT WOULD BE SO COOL WHY DON’T YOU DO THAT?

Jesus: We’ve discussed this before. I think you might get distracted by the glow. I’ll stick with still small voice today, okay?

Me: Sigh.

Jesus: It doesn’t work, the grumpy thing. I’m too holy. Just bounces right off. Let’s talk.

Me: Ok, Lent? I don’t like it? It kinda feels like 40 days of gritting my teeth over not drinking Pepsi, when You fasted for 40 days in a desert with Satan bugging you, and then, AFTER that You went and died for us. I dunno. Pepsie? It seems a bit… underwhelming.

Jesus: Ok, for the readers here who did give up Pepsi, I totally think that’s awesome. She’ll get on track here. Stay with us.

Me: Oh. Yes. Sorry. Sorry, Pepsi people.

Jesus: Look, if you don’t think your fast is legit enough, then why not totally fast for 40 days?

Me: Uh… totally? Like no food? Did you have water? No water? Again, you’re sure? No food???  That’s impossible. I mean, true, YOU’RE JESUS, so YOU could handle it, but…

Jesus: Yes. I am Jesus. But it wasn’t all fun and games for me either. Ok, well let’s dial it down then. I could provide some locusts and honey?

Me: Ew.

Jesus: So… the Lent thing. It has to be under your control, huh?

Me: *crickets*

Jesus: How about this? How about you add to your life? For 40 days, you study what Lent is about.

Me: Hey. Yea. I like that! I could ADD to my life, for 40 days. You are so SMART, Jesus.

Jesus: I get that a lot. So, you’re not officially fasting, but I’ll take it. Maybe we can think of it as “fasting from distraction and adding focus.” And then, maybe, one day you can really give up chocolate for 40 days and not overthink it so much.

Me: Still doesn’t seem very comparable…

Jesus: LOCUSTS AND HONEY. I WILL SEND THEM. DON’T TEST ME.

Me: OK. Bible Study. Every day, for 40 days. I’m in. Call off the locusts!

So, this year, I found myself mired in some bad habits that had me stuck. And I realized, as one who just SPOKE AT A CONFERENCE ABOUT OVERCOMING BAD HABITS that irony was going to come up and smack me upside the head if I didn’t get my mind right.

So here is my 40 Days of More Lenten Package for you:

  1. Up at 5:30 am.
  2. Study the bible
  3. Run
  4. Eat an egg for breakfast*

* I know. The egg seems totally random, but it matters. I need something to help with my blood sugar. Like, lately, I have found myself eating Frosted Flakes and cheese. If there was a restaurant called Cereal and Cheese, I would be there. Every day. This does not make Momsie’s brain or body happy. And each time I try to make sure I make a protein shake with more than two ingredients, I want to curl up on the floor with coffee and a Ring Ding, and cry. Ingredients are HARD at seven in the morning.

I am allowing myself to run a minimum of one measly mile. If I want to go longer, so be it. I usually do because after one mile I’m all warmed up and singing along with Toby Mac and ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Or not.

That’s the plan. I’ll keep you posted. If you walk past my house and see a FedEx box labelled LOCUSTS AND HONEY you’ll know.

I’m still hoping that some day Jesus asks me to give up tightrope walking for Lent. I’d be so in.

Presto whammo.

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Weak

Linking up with my favorite people today!!

It’s Five Minute Friiiiiiiiiiiday!!!!

The theme?

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Ok, the so obvious route to go here would be the plague-sickness that had descended on our family since what feels like Christmas. The weakness, you know. Wee tired cherubs, and one taller version (the husband) weakly asking for juice and popsicles and Tylenol all around.

But for some reason I am tired of writing about… being tired.

So, instead, I am going to write about my cat, Steve.

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Steve has serious swag.

Steve is a large. Like, if he was a car, Steve would have passed comfortable mid-sized sedan a long time ago. Steve is a Hummer. With fur.

In the morning, when I head downstairs to some coffee and quiet, I hear Steve get up. What I mean by this is: He is upstairs and I CAN HEAR HIM WALKING DOWN THE HALL.

This is no delicate flower, this cat.

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He’s holding my hand.

But, there is something about Steve that is a bit… lacking in natural cat-ness.

He can’t purr.

Somehow, Steve totally missed the bus on the purring thing. He emits this sad whispy sort of wheeze, instead of a purr, when he is petted (which is often). It makes me feel like I should offer him an inhaler, or at least some Vicks Vapo Rub or something.

Here he is, the king of the house cats, but when he purrs he just loses all credibility. He sounds like a squeaky toy.

Ok, so my point here…

What looks strong can sometimes have a really weak end game.

But also this: weakness is SO not the point. It’s what we DO with the weakness that matters. Steve does not seem to care two claws about his death-rattle purr thing. He still struts around like he owns all the kibble in this house. Also, he lives his life like this:img_6120

Steve is a cat of love.

He is giving his human a hug in this picture. I mean, just look at him. His whole body is purring. Pathetically, but you know.

I think I have a pathetic purr too, in many areas of my life. Like, my wimpy attempts at keeping the house clean. And my parenting skills after 8:30 at night. Or my battle with my squishy tummy.

That sort of thing.

We don’t honor weakness.We should. We get to give it to God, after all. He WANTS the weakness. And anything that He wants, I am more than happy to give.

If he wants our weakness, he must want us. We are pretty weak on some days. It’s ok.

At least you don’t sound like a squeaky toy when you purr. That’s just silly.Grumpy-Cat-Purring-Meme.jpg

Terrible No Good Very Bad Day. With Whining.

Brace yourselves. Today is for whining.

This post is all:

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WHOA THERE MOMSIE. DIAL IT BACK. NOBODY WANTS TO SEE THAT.

Ok, I promise you, I am not at “Whining Anakin.” And, yes, did you know? The internets is just this fabulous. All I had to do was google “whining anakin” and up popped sixty majillion pictures because EVERYONE HATES HIM.

(This is a terrible tangent, I know, but it’s therapy. Thank you. And please don’t go.)

All right. Here goes. The other day I posted a couple vids on my facebook page of our road trip home. It was fluffy stuff. The husband was singing some song from the 70’s and I was bored bored bored, so, as most people do when they’re bored: I posted stuff on facebook. It’s what we do. We can’t help it.

It seems, also, that people cannot help posting mean comments.

Oh, trolls. I was so not ready for you.

So far, on my beloved Momsie I have not had many issues with the Trolling Ones.

Here’s the deal. The vid is not really all that … flattering of me. Did you know? I am not all that gorgeous when sitting in a car for 6 hours surrounded by junk food and wrappers and 70’s music and highway?

And also this: I am just not all that gorgeous. Boom. It’s true. I don’t mind. I like my face. I think I am in the “Cute and Loveable” level of face- appearance and that’s cool. I don’t really try to be Hot any more, by any standards because who has time for that crap? And also, my husband still calls me his “widdle freshums” which, honestly? I have no idea what that means but it seems kinda flirty so I’ll take it.

I have chins. Most people have just one. I have multiples. It’s like twins. With chins.

Doubly blessed, then?

I have HAD these chins since I was minus one year old. Back then, at baby-hood, the chins thing? So not a problem. Let me show you:

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Now, if that’s not a widdle freshums I don’t know.

But guys, the chins are still there. And even at my teensiest weight (read: before wedding, must fit in dress weight) I had them. And, really? The only way to get rid of ’em would be to SUCK THEM RIGHT OUTTA MAH FACE AND DONT YOU KNOW IT I HAVE RESEARCHED THIS.

You can even see it in the videos. At one point I am holding my chin with my hand (and yes, the angle was awful. What have selfies taught us, people? Shoot from above! Shoot from ABOVE! Any sniper will tell you that!

No. No chin-suckage will happen in this post, I promise you. And neither will it ever happen in my life because EW and also CRACKAMILLION DOLLARS.

So, my chins and my HUGE FRECKLES (read: sun spots) are a part of me. We’re buddies. We’re LITERALLY stuck with each other. So anyone who has to comment on that is kinda… well, stating the obvious, right? Which means… you are kind of dumb or mean or both.

There. I said it.

I know everyone is all frazzled up about gorillas right now. A week ago it was bathrooms and prior to that Starbucks cups and etc. And damn people, could we all just relax? I think perhaps the internet has spawned a great big fat, multiple chinned monster in a lot of folk: the I WILL JUDGE WITH MY TYPING folk.

Anyhow. I was so whiney about it earlier, the trolls who came and puked all over my page. But now? I’m kind of glad. It at least gives me a moment to realize this:

It could be worse. At least, if I really wanted to, I could suck my chins right outta there.

But you can’t suck away mean and dumb.  That crap holds on.

Good luck with that.

Phew! Whining done, and thank you for listening. Carry on with your day.

Oh, and always remember:

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Lions and Tigers and Podcasts, Oh My.

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Yes, this is a picture of my son, dressed like a bat. Don’t worry. It sorta pertains. But also, it’s just cute.

Well, my friends, it’s been a week.

A WEEK, I tell you. Like the kind of week that feels like it wants to tussle.

My week is all: “COME AT ME BRO! I’M GONNA TROUNCE YOU!”

I respond with:

“Can I just give you a hug and then maybe we get some coffee? Wait, let me find my scrunchie. And my glasses. I still am in my jammies. I can’t do tussle right now. Simmer down.”

I am in what is called FULL MARKETING MODE with The Book. (Did you know? I wrote a book.) Yep, that’s what I’m doing. It’s all kinda crazy. And I’m learning things like:

  1. You can do a full podcast from your car, parked behind your house in the back alley, at nine pm, as the cop car suspiciously circles past you because you’re parked right by the garage that was broken into last week and you keep waving, while you are podcasting, to the sweet police officer who kinda thinks you’re nuts anyhow. Long story. Has to do with bats. On the stairs, IN my house. I know, right? This is my life. The police think of me as “crazy bat lady.” It’s charming.
  2.  Every time I have an interview with anyone, I try to speak with a “low tone.” I was given the advice once that I kinda    sound like “nervous Minnie Mouse” on the radio, so from hereon I attempt a low, sultry, TOTALLY RELAXED voice… I like to think of myself as the Jessica Rabbit of Recovery, but with less cleavage.
  3. The snort laugh has happened. It was a live interview. Yep. So there’s that.
  4. All things said, (poorly and with some snorting) I can survive marketing. I really can.

Would you pray? Would you pray for the book to find itself in the hands of one who needs it? Would you pray that my words help? Would you?

Thank you my dears. I am ever so grateful.

Bottled: A Mom’s Guide to Early Recovery is available on amazon. Click here

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This is the post in which I sing at you.

Lots of deep thoughts here… mainly about my ego and my crushing inability to sing.

Bottled is ready for order! Click here to take a look.

Blessings, my peoples!

Beware! Bad Language Ahead!

This post is brought to you today because of Mamalode, one of my favorite mom mags!!

But, really? Mamalode has a… *furtive whisper* a potty mouth.

Gasp.

Now, right from the start, I always feel like I gotta apologize for the saucy language, y’all. It’s my mom’s fault.

When I was a kid, my sweet, totally angelic* mother would occasionally TRY, to the best of her abilities, to utter a bad word, and it would go like this:

Mom, frustrated about something:

“Well. This fiddlesticks. This was just working yesterday. I know because I used it.” Deep sigh. Looks around. “Well. This is just unacceptable. I mean… (jiggles handle on whatever it is) this is just really… I just have to say…” Big long silence followed by more sighs.

“Ok, I know it’s NOT ok, to talk like this, and I just am really, really sorry, but I just have to say…”

My sister and I are so poised and anxious for her to blurt it out that the stress is making us swear a lot.  But inwardly, of course.

“I am sorry. I really am. But this just is, well, you know…”

“MOM, PLEASE. JUST SAY IT. WE CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! SAY IT!”

Sniff. “It’s just a *teensy tiny whisper voice” damn nuisance.”

And we can breathe again.

“I am so sorry! I know! Bad language and all! What is the world coming to!” and she grabs a hand towel and starts cleaning something.

Anyhow.

I won this award (See below) because I am! I AM! I am a Badass Mom!!

I am just gonna OWN IT! That’s right, Mother Forker!!!

Oh, I am so sorry, I got out of control there. I suddenly have a weird desire to go grab a hand towel and clean something…

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MEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Want to know more? Click here.

Thank you, Mamalode! You are the fracking cherry on the flipping cake of my fudgetastic day!

I am curious, what are your favorite non swearing words? Just to add to my repertoire? I need some new ones, badly.

*When my mom reads this? She’s gonna snort and say, “Angelic, my a$$.” I know her.