Open Letter to a Teenage Girl

Dear Smart, Amazing, Talented, Beautiful Young Woman,

    I get it. I really, really do. I know what it's like to just simply want to be wanted. I know what it's like to feel like I would do anything at all to be that person... you know, the one they want. I know what it's like to feel invisible... and worthless... to feel like the undesirable, the excess, the tag-along. I've felt all those things. 

    I've done the things you're doing. I've sought attention from unsavory characters, from people who weren't worth my time, and who didn't want me, who simply wanted what I could give them. And I convinced myself that it was me they wanted. I convinced myself that it made me worthy. I convinced myself that it made me whole. I've let people degrade me. I've let them use me. I've let them demean me. I did all those things in the name of being wanted. 

   I've walked this path you're on. I've rambled along aimlessly, seeking something, anything to make me feel better. And I've found that none of these things work. Someone wanting you doesn't make you wanted. Someone loving you doesn't make you lovable. 

   Those things, those feelings you get after... they don't last, do they? That's why you have to do it again, that's why you have to keep moving from one to another to another. In the end, my sweet girl, they only serve to make you feel worse about yourself. Surely you can see that. The pain, the depression, the feelings you're trying to stave off are getting harder and harder to push away.

   I'll let you in on a secret. You're the one who holds the key to feeling better. It's hard. You have to dig down deep and do something that's really, really hard to do. You have to learn to love yourself. Because, here's the thing, we lied to you when you were little. We told you there were princes who would come along and slay dragons for you. We told you these princes would save you. But that's not the truth. The truth is that the princess has to save herself.

   Love yourself. Encourage yourself. Be true to yourself. Believe in yourself. Celebrate yourself.

With love, compassion, and understanding, 

Someone Who Has Been Where You Are

Mom Winks

    This coming Tuesday, it will have been 11 years since my mom passed away. That's 4018 days, or 96,432 hours, or 5,785,920 minutes without my mom. That's eight miscarriages, a nine-month separation from my husband, my dad's heart attack, the loss of two grandparents, a hospital stay, and six moves without my mom. This will make 11 Christmases without my mom.
    Oh, I'm not in any way throwing a pity party for myself. I mean, I have. Hell, the first six Christmases were one great big, non-celebrating, I-hate-holidays pity party. I realize now how blessed I am. I had 31 years with my mom. And since then, my stepmom, my amazing mother-in-law, two aunts, a myriad of older cousins, and two of my best friends' moms have all stepped in to fill that void. They've done a great job. And every single one of them is so very appreciated (Sharon, Diane, Sandy, Jean, Dixie, Jo, Dawn, Brenda, Kay Kay, Mrs. Barbara -- <3 you all). Besides being blessed, my mom would never, EVER have suffered through my six year pity party. So, there's that.
    Many of you know that I started my ornament swap three years ago as a memorial to my mom. She loved Christmas and it's something we shared. We decorated the tree together, and once it was decorated, we would turn off all the lights in the house, sit around the lit Christmas tree and sing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen." Yeah, we were dorks. But we were dorks together, and we were happy being dorks. One year we put all blue lights on the tree, all blue balls (my mom was so much better a mom than me, cause she never once cracked a smile over those blue balls), and we made fans out of heavy-duty aluminum foil and blue ribbons. Again, yes, dorks. But we were quite possibly the only people with a tree safe from aliens that year. Well, except my Grandma, cause mostly you couldn't see her tree for the silver icicles.... that she placed individually. Yes, my entire family is dedicated to Christmas decorating.
   Anyway, this is mostly all backstory for the real meat of the blog post. A week ago, my cousins lost their mom to cancer. She valiantly fought that God-awful disease for over 14 years. And I just want to take a minute to say that the grace and beauty of how her girls have handled things this past week is surely a testament to her. Kim posted an anecdote the morning after her mom passed away about seeing the Rockefeller Christmas tree and how it made her think of travelling to New York with her mom three years earlier to help her find the strength to keep fighting. I commented on her post, and said that I truly believe things like that happen when you need them. 
   SQuire Rushnell, an author, motivational speaker, and former television exec, has written several books about coincidences, calling them "God Winks." Maybe I'm crazy, but that's what I like to think of things like what Kim mentioned. Maybe "God Winks" but really more like Mom Winks. Just a little reminder that she knows what I'm going through and I was raised by a strong, godly woman, and I can take it. My mom loved hummingbirds -- loved them. Like seriously, if they flew into my mom's windows she would pick them up, massage them, and if necessary, perform mouth-to-beak resuscitation. (Dorks, remember? Or as my mom would have said, "Dorks, member, FDIC?") I've seen hummingbirds late in the year, long after they should be gone, and years after I've had a feeder out for them... when I was going through a miscarriage. I've had hummingbirds fly up and hover... when Brian and I were separated. Basically, when I've really, really needed my mom, a hummingbird shows up.
   So, this week, since Monday, has been a pretty crap week. Without going into too much detail, we're slogging through a hot mess that would probably make Letterman's top 10 list of parent's nightmares and if not that then it would definitely make a compelling Jerry Springer episode. Yesterday was an incredibly long day, with about three hours of driving and meeting with people, and just sheer mental exhaustion. When we finally got home, I stopped in the garage to smoke. (Cut me some slack -- really, seriously, crazy bad week.) Brian sent me a message that there was a package on the table for me. I came in, grabbed the package, went down to talk to Brian more about the hot mess, then opened my package.
    Carolyn Rucker, of Tallahassee, Florida, I know you don't know me. I've never met you, and the only time we've "spoken" was when I gave you your recipient's name for the ornament swap. You, dear lady, healed my soul last night. I opened that package, and lo and behold.....

there was my hummingbird reminding me that she KNOWS what we're going through, and that I WAS raised by a strong, godly woman, and that we CAN get through this.
     My wish for my cousins, as they enter this next stage of their lives, is that they have plenty of Mom winks. Merry Christmas everyone, and if you have the chance, gather your loved ones around the tree, turn off all the lights, and sing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen."

Road Trip....

   So, to start this tale, I need to provide you with a little background. We'll call that "the week before we moved." It was pretty much just like any other week... working, coming home, cooking dinner, doing a few things around the house, then heading to bed. Well, it was pretty much like any other week except for two things. First, we had to have a whole house packed for movers who were going to arrive Saturday morning at 8am, and second, my stressed-out butt had shingles. (Not literally my butt; they were on my back.) Needless to say, not much packing was accomplished. 
    Thursday was the last day of work for both Brian and me. We expected to spend all of Friday packing. Note I said expected? Okay, around 8am the phone started ringing with recruiters and hiring managers calling to talk to Brian. Praise the Lord, right? Well, yeah... but 80% of our house was not going to pack itself. And, oh yeah, remember about a month and a half ago, Brian had a vasectomy. So, Brian's taking all these important phone calls, and here I am schlepping his "sample" up to the doctor's office for a test. Seriously. This is my life. Finally, finnnnnallllly, we started packing around 3:30 pm. At 1:30 am, we could no longer speak in coherent sentences. We had a kitchen, Hayley's closet and our storage room left to pack. But we were done... finished... kaput.
   After falling into bed around 2 am, we were up again around 6:30 frantically trying to get everything done before the movers showed up at 8 am. Eight rolls around, we're still packing, but there's no sign of the movers. Nine rolls around... holy crap. We really, really wanted to be on the road by 10 am. You know what, I could drone on and on for hours about this, but honestly, it's pretty tedious. So, how's about we fast forward a bit?
    Let's discuss the horror of placing three delightful kitties into a crate for a 16 hour drive. We decided the best way to do this was put the big crate for all three cats into the back of my car and then utilize the smaller, individual crates to transport them from the upstairs apartment to the car. Solid plan, right? Yeah, 'bout that.... Forcas goes first. He does pretty well. Next comes Loki. Who can imagine where this is going? (I'm imagining a sea of hands raised among my readers.) Loki refuses to come out of the smaller crate. By now, you guys should be well-aware that Loki is a lardass. And stubborn. And has anger management issues. Y'all remember that story about the family whose cat cornered them in the bedroom/bathroom/whatever-other-pansy-ass-room-they-hid-in-to-get-away-from-a-CAT? Yeah, I kinda understand them a little better now. Finally, I pretty much turn the crate on its end and shake. Now it's time for Elijah. Poor, sweet, innocent Elijah with the big innocent-looking eyes and skittish temperament. Ha. Hahaha. Excuse me while I laugh. There's a saying about doing something difficult. They say it's like "herding cats." Herding one innocent, sweet, psychotic, Munchaussen-suffering, I'll-rip-my-own-ear-til-blood-drips-down-my-head-to-avoid-that-crate cat was more than enough, thanks. So, yeah, not sure who was more traumatized, them or us.
    We finally pulled out of Prattville around 12:30 that afternoon, Brian is a 16-foot Penske truck pulling his VW behind, and me in my Rogue loaded down with screaming cats. (I made a recording for you, but, luckily for you, I can't figure out how to embed it here.) 
    Less than two hours into our trip we were exhausted. Seriously. EX-HAUSTED. But we kept plugging away, screaming cats and all. Our plan had been to make it a little north of Cincinnati, and then stop for the night. Uh uh... 'fraid not. We made it to Bowling Green, Kentucky before we absolutely had to stop. We really were exhausted. And honestly, it didn't really matter to either of us where we slept, but we had the kitties to consider. What I mean is we had to find a hotel that accepted pets. The first hotel I saw with a billboard was Holiday Inn Express. I called, and yes, they accepted pets. AND they were $140. Ugh. That was so not in our budget, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. Fortunately, as we pulled off the interstate, I saw a Motel 6 and decided to call. Woot! Less than $50 and they accept pets! Okay, I've stayed in some sketch places before, and naturally, with pricing like that, I was concerned about the quality of the accommodations, but hey... it was cheap, and, like I said before, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. So we checked in. I convinced the front desk chick to give me an AARP discount ('bout time I got some mileage out of those damn cards they keep sending me!). Less than $46 (double woot!) dollars later, we were checked in. Imagine my surprise when we walked into our room....

Not our actual room, but looks just like it,

    Yeah, so Motel 6, kudos for stepping up your game while maintaining your affordable rates! The front desk clerk was incredible, and went out of her way to help us make the kitties comfy. While Brian napped, I went and picked up dinner, then we slept. There's really not too much to say about our overnight stay except that it was pleasant.

   The next morning dawned nice and early. Unfortunately, we didn't. Remember that exhaustion? Yeah, we got a late start. And it was made later by Elijah's impromptu game of hide and seek. That's right. When it was time to leave, Forcas sauntered right into the crate as though to say, "Let's get this show on the road!" Loki was ambivalent, much like he always is. But now, sweet little Elijah... well, he engaged us in an hour-long game of hide and seek. It was not fun. So, after sleeping late and then the unexpected "fun" and games, we were finally back on the road for the last leg of our journey... our 11-hour journey.

    Honestly, things were moving along great. We were cruising somewhere between 70 and 80 mph, which was quite a feat for Brian driving the big truck and towing his car. For me, the day was going much smoother. Apparently the cats had resigned themselves to their fate, and were only voicing feeble protests every hour or so. We'd been receiving updates all day from Brian's ex-wife who was travelling back from Indianapolis. They were driving in snow, nothing too bad, just snow. We were cruising along, seeing nothing. About three hours in, we saw the snow. At first, it was really nothing. Slowly, softly falling... it was the kind of snow you just want to walk around in. And then it wasn't. It got a little heavier. We were both really focusing on the road, and on driving. We were heading into Toledo, Ohio... which has some kinda weird and funky roads and overpasses. So, here we are, driving along in the snow - now, mind you, it's been 15 years since I drove in snow with any regularity - and suddenly, we're on an overpass and visibility is nil... zero... zip... OMG-what-the-hell. So I slam my brakes, a definite no-no in snow, and Brian slams his brakes. And just as soon as it happened, it was over. The only aftereffects were my phone lying in the floorboard and the cats in their crate were suddenly right behind me. Guess what.... they were also screaming again. So, whew, we survived that unscathed and continued our journey.

    Honestly, the rest of the journey was pretty uneventful. It stopped snowing around Detroit and I was able to see some pretty neat things. I have to admit, these are not my photos... cause, you know, I was driving and all.

Ambassador Bridge in Detroit... also known as the bridge to Canada -- It was pretty amazing lit up at night,

    As we drove out of Detroit into what Michiganders call The Thumb, we arrived in farm country. The drive was filled with wide open fields, huge, hulking barns topped with weather vanes and lightning rods, and snow. Yes, it had indeed started snowing again. In the snow, the beautiful, softly falling snow, life was going on around us. In the fields as we passed, farmers drove combines in the dark. 

Not my photo,... busy driving, remember?

Even at the end of an 11-hour drive, as mentally exhausted as we were, seeing those farmers gave me hope. Hope that we had made the right decision, hope that things would grow for us, and hope that we would be happy here.