Some Parts are Worse...And There is No Way to Know Ahead of Time.

I've been a mom for 19 years, and I have loved it. My son's birth, and all the years since, were absolute bliss for me. I was amazed by him. I was fascinated with everything he had to say. I should have documented a lot more, as my mom advised me to do, but I was busy being completely absorbed by his very existence. Was it healthy? Who's to say. Given my track record, probably not.

He's in college now, in his first semester, which was, in my college "career," my worst semester. I gained the Freshman 15, two times over. By semester's end, I could only fit into my DAD'S sweats. I had, as has been the case every day since I was about nine, bad hair. And bad chins.

So it is that I so keenly feel his pain as he struggles to find his identity. There is no manual for these dark and hellish days, as your child

Crushing it, Pallet-Style

Do you have those ideas where you're like, "I think I'll do something like from Pinterest that's really crafty."?

I have done these Pinterest projects many, many, many times before, but they were always food-based. I love food. I like to make it. No-brainer.

However, what I have now that I didn't have before is Josh. And Josh is a Pinterest go-getter. And when I say go-getter, I mean we came up with this concept, he got a bunch of pallets immediately, and we started tearing them apart almost as quickly.

The concept of which I speak is a pallet wall. The master bedroom needed some work, having been painted a uniform bluegray. I mean "uniform" as in down to and including the doors and baseboards.

So we agreed that this pallet wall would be really cool, and we would paint the rest of the bedroom a less-threatening, lighter gray.

The next question was whether to paint or stain it. Josh talked about how cool it would be to find a natural stain. And then he did some research. And then he formulated the plan. What he found was a stain comprised of nails and vinegar combined in a bucket. There's oxidization involved, very science-ish, no idea. But allegedly it worked.

Here is what we were looking at before.

And here is also what we were looking at before. 

But, and I really can't emphasize this enough, Josh is a go-getter. We tore those pallets apart. And by that I mean largely him.

He also made the stain. 

Regular vinegar.

Apple cider vinegar.

Not gonna lie, there was for sure a strong smell. And let's just leave that there.

This weekend was declared as the one in which it was all coming together. By Josh. Josh declared it. But I was totally down with it, too, so.

The project commenced. In earnest.

So much rippin' and tearin'.

And staining. 

Huge color variation based on the vinegar type alone. 

And then, it began.

These are the beginnings of the wall lamps, side note. Super awesome.

He flat made it happen.

And then, he closed the deal.

Look at that outlet-cutting and baseboard-making technology.

Pallet wall with natural stain: complete.

I made bread...and kinda cleaned the garage. The point is, the wall is great.

The Long Goodbye.

This is probably the hardest thing I've ever written, which is weird because I always thought it would be the easiest thing I would ever do.

All I wanted, for most of my life, was to get out of Nevada. I found myself back here in 1994 after the tiniest of hiatuses, unsure of the path I should take.  My motivation at the time was severely lacking, and before I knew it, I had bought a house with my son's father, we were engaged, and Hunter was on the way.

I was overwhelmed with love the first time I saw my son. I loved him so much, in fact, that I agreed to stay in Nevada and raise him. Our families were both here, and at the time it made sense for me to let him marinate in all of that love. I always told myself that I would stay until he was gone, and then I, too, would leave.

What I didn't know was what a dark, lonely stretch of hell his final months before moving away would be. How could I know what he would go through? How could I know all of the cataclysmic events that I would go through? How could I know that those events would culminate with me losing my best friend, first figuratively, and then literally? I couldn't. And I'm glad I couldn't. Because how much would we try if we knew the struggles lying ahead of us? Would we rise to a challenge if we knew the steps that we would have to take to meet it?

I had an initial escape plan, but the passion was lacking. The timing was off, and it was just too soon to make that commitment. I found an amazing place to live, and an amazing place to heal. I gained friendships that I had spent years lacking. I found my peace, and I found my center.

But while I was sitting and waiting and wishing for the magical time that would mean I got to leave Nevada, there were amazing things happening all around me that I discounted. 

Nevada takes care of its own. There are endless fundraisers and benefits to help people or family struggling with upheaval. When I had cancer, the outpouring of love and support I received from this community blew my mind.The women at First National Bank, which was not even my bank!, wore pink bracelets emblazoned with the words "Team Mom-Tard" (Hunter's design, naturally) to support me. That was one tiny example in six months of assistance. I received free tires from Highley Tire Center to get me back and forth to treatments. I received gas cards from Vernon County Cancer Relief for the same reason. And I had endless meals delivered to me by friends, and even virtual strangers, who just wanted to help by feeding my boys when I was too sick to do so. So, these are the things that I remember when I reflect on the four decades I spent here.

So it is now that it is time to go. Anyone who knows me knows that I always like to find lyrics befitting any life situation I may be going through, or any life situation at all, or anything. Today's selection comes from the Avett Brothers' "I and Love and You."

Load the car and write the note
Pack your bags and grab your coat

Tell the ones that need to know

One foot in and one foot back
But it don't pay to live like that

So I cut the ties and I jumped the tracks

Never to return

The truth is, Nevada will always be home. Whether or not it is time for me to go, this was my community and these are my people. I want to thank you all for a really great 40 years.

I love you guys. 

I'm scared to leave, but I know it's time to go.

 I think will have times where we know we're vulnerable to emotion and can feel it bubbling up with a sickening and tenacious intensity that we are powerless to fully squelch. In those times, it is only natural to seek release of some form. That release can be drinking, eating, distracting with it and upbeat song for example, or just dealing with it and crying it out.

About a Boy.

Lay Lady Lay

Traveling Wilburys

Dancing

Cognitive Dissonance

Degrees

Music

Goals

Age

Quotes

Big Lebowski

Hunter

Best friends

Dough on a Stick (Alternate Title: Welcome to 40!)

I try not to be a blamer in my life, and for the most part, I think I'm good at it. Honestly, most of my character traits and life decisions come from me seeing a behavior/choice and thinking, "Yeah, I'm going to try to do not that" and adjusting accordingly.

One thing that has always bothered me is the idea of being a tattletale or blamer.

I'm not saying I NEVER blame or tattle, because let's be honest, I do, without even realizing it sometimes.

And I'm not saying I don't have the URGE to tattle or blame, because oh Bessie, you got no idea. The force is strong in this one.

So that takes us to the number one thing I want to blame on anybody or anything but me: my eating habits.

They are, in a word, terrible. They're terrible because that serves me in some way, according to my wise workout instructor. I think that way is summed up in one word: deliciousness.

Food is delicious. I love it a lot. However, food is not a good influence on my life. It's like that one friend you have that you get together with periodically and you always MEAN to make good choices as a unit, but the next thing you know you're both covered in donut glaze and at least one of you is missing a shoe, and neither one of you can remember how to get to that one chick's apartment who lives within walking distance.

I think compulsive overeating is the term, but that makes me sound like I have a condishun, and that's not the case. I just love food. I love it. I love to think about it, look at pictures of it, and eat it. I love to plan recipes and add secret ingredients, and I firmly believe a little extra vanilla is vital in a dessert, just as a little extra garlic in an entree isn't gonna hurt anyone.

So then I have that first bite, and oh my God I nailed it, so I have to keep eating, or oh my God did I not nail it? I better have another bite to see for sure, or oh my God this is terrible, but I hate to waste food, so I have to keep eating.

See the pattern?

All of this has resulted in hundreds of pounds gained and lost over the years: 20 pounds here and there, but usually more in the five to 10 pound range, over and over and over again.

But mostly, I have gotten away with it, by working out or moving enough to keep it from getting really bad.

However, I'm noticing something: either I'm eating a lot more or it's getting noticeably harder to beat the system. And my weight gain is a little different than it used to be. It's like I'm accumulating more...sag.

I said it. There's more droop. It's an almost imperceptible melting effect. I mean, dear God, is my belly button actually disappearing behind a curtain of falling skin? And what is my chest DOING? Is it actually dipping down to help me look for my belly button? Why do my upper arms morph into flying squirrels when I wave furiously at someone? And is my leg skin...starting to fall?? Where will it land? Around my ankles? Will it just drape in folds eventually, all the way down? Is my skin actually getting bigger? What is even happening?

So every Sunday I have a stern talking-to with myself. I'm all, self, listen. We're older than we've ever been and now we're even older.

And now we're even older.

And now we're even older.

You know what I'm saying. So then comes the hey, health, longevity, mood stabilization are actually GOOD things, so maybe just stop, please just at least consider stopping eating like you used to when you thought you were comfortably married and would never have to be in the dating pool again. If you could just try that, just give it a little try, a little try never hurt anybody, and then maybe the flying squirrels won't actually look like they're going to sail right off your arms, and maybe your legs won't slowly morph into skin drapes.

And then I'm like, hey, self, great idea, I could NOT agree more!

And I mean it. Until, say, Monday at 3 p.m. when I'm in the end stages of starvation even though I've consumed a very reasonable breakfast and lunch. Then I attack a jar of peanut butter with a spoon that barely fits in the mouth of the jar, and boom, another day is lost.

So then I go to Fit Club (which I won't be attending for six weeks now due to a longish-term commitment) and my sister, who is amazing, but only 30 years old, mocks me openly. She means well. She tells me that the flying squirrels will be larger and more aggressive if I don't punch harder, that my leg folds will be worse if I don't do higher knees...and she snickers a lot. Far more snickering than I like to have directed at my body skin.

The point is that I think of all this, I get down on myself, I start to openly question at what point I filled up with so much self-loathing, and then I remember the 1997 Baz Luhrmann song, based on the Mary Schmich article of the same year that was a list of bits of advice to graduates in speech format: Wear Sunscreen.

Schmich started by extolling the virtues of sunscreen, and imploring young graduates to start wearing it immediately, in order to save years of regret later. She followed a specific-to-broad-to-specific format from that point, and hit on this line early in the list:

But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked.

Sigh. Okay. I get it. So I started paying closer attention to these thoughts I had about my body's tendency to embrace gravity a little too zealously, and realized that, when traced back to my lazy, lazy roots, I AM a blamer. And the person I make these excuses to every single day...is myself. My internal dialogue goes much like this:

Well, I CAN'T do high knees, because sometimes that one knee hurts.

I mean, if they want me to throw up on this floor, sure I'll go as hard as they do.

They're lucky I'm even here today. I'm super hormonal. So much bloat.

The last time I did this workout was in Bangor, Maine. It was a simpler time.

And on, and on, and ON. So I'm going to try a thing where instead of constantly blaming something else for my lack of drive, I'll just put some of that energy into jumping-jack pushups or whatever the hell is happening,

and see how that all shakes out.

I'll let you know how it goes. But until then...

trust me on the sunscreen.