The One About the Book and Real Life.

You guys know I enjoy writing. I currently have two books in the works that I hope to self-publish by September. I enjoy writing here on the blog. Whether I am pouring my heart out or writing about nothing in particular, I just enjoy it.

Just like most aspiring writers I have a collection of unfished work. Most of them in dusty old notebooks, a few of them on the worn and torn desktop. I always wanted to write a romance kind of story. But, a realistic one. Not one based on the Cinderella Fantasy. Know what I mean? A few years ago I started writing one. Out of all of my unfished work, I keep coming back to this one in particular. One day, I will get it finished.

The opening scene begins with a husband and wife. The wife (Jess) is sitting on the edge of her bed while her husband is pacing back and forth. He wants a separation. She cries, she is confused and is many ways never saw it coming.

The story then flashes back to an undisclosed amount of time. A younger Jess has a new, up and coming catering business. On this particular day, she is doing interviews for a cook. She meets Jack. Although she and Jack do not immediately hit it off, she hires him just based on his experience and references. The beginning of their working relationship offers a lot of comic relief, and then over time, they become friends.

The readers see their relationship progress from annoyance, to friendship, then dating. Jess and Jack have a great connection. We are rooting for them. They are real and likable. They are like us.

Then one-day Jack gets a call. His mother passed away unexpectedly. He leaves town to attend the funeral.

Time goes on and it is as if Jack dropped off the face of the earth. The readers are privy to information Jess does not know. Yet, the readers also see Jess heartbroken and confused.

We see Jess’ decent, then we see her rising. Eventually, she has healed. Jes puts her all into her catering business. Leaving no time for anything else.

One day at a flower shop of all places Jess meets Ryan. Slowly and cautiously, Jess and Ryan build a relationship. Their relationship is different than hers and Jack’s, yet the same.

As time continues to move forward, on a lazy Sunday morning, Jess runs into Jack at the local coffee shop.

A conversation takes place. A conversation that leaves us more confused than ever. All three main characters are likable. We want to see them all succeed.

It is at this point that we have no idea who the husband is in the opening scene.

Is it Jack? Is it Ryan?

Soooo, that is the gist of it. All I will say is one of the main leads I based off of Joe, my own husband. I think it has the potential to be a good story. Most importantly I want to write it in a way where both Jack and Ryan have equal fans.

I don’t know, I guess we will see what happens.

Now that I am older and wiser I know the “Cinderella Fantasy” does not exist. There is such such thing as Prince Charming. Hell, there is no such thing as Cinderella. It’s the writers and producers who want us to believe that Love is always wrapped up in a pretty red bow with candlelit dinners, passion, extravagant vacations and presents, but that is not who the real world works. Of course, we can have Love. But Love is good and the bad and overcoming it all even when you want to throw in the towel. The “Honeymoon” phase in a relationship is a very real thing. But, after that comes the “Comfort Phase.” If done correctly, the “Comfort Phase” will last a lifetime.

The “Comfort Phase” is being tired, and stressed out, but not wanting to be that way with anyone else. The “Comfort Phase” is not wanting to talk, yet wanting to be in the same room, reading a book while the other is watching t.v.  It’s going to bed at different times, tired, and moody, but once you feel the familiar touch of an arm wrapped around you or legs brushing against each other in bed, it just makes everything seem okay. That’s the Comfort Phase, and probably in my 12 years of marriage, my favorite phase yet.




The One About The Fat Jeans

Is it just me, or do other women out there have about 50 pairs of jeans all ranging in different sizes?

Jen’s Jean Sizes.

“I will never look this good again.”
“Makes my butt look like J-Lo.”
“Current goal”
“Need to lose ten pounds”
“Need to lose twenty pounds.”
“Fat Jeans”
“Too far gone from fat jeans.”

I know I am not the only one out there, right? So, this morning I wake up bright and early for work. Just like every morning, I am tired. I am not a morning person and will never be a morning person.

Haphazardly, I stumble to the bathroom, jump in the shower, and get dressed. It is a “Fat Jeans” kind of day. It just is. No explanation needed.

I wriggle into my Fat Jeans.

Hmm. This is not right. I mean usually, with my Fat Jeans I can just slip them on with ease while throwing on a belt on to keep them up. These bad boys were not going over my hips without me having to unbutton and unzip. I was mad. Mostly mad at myself. How is it that I am now at the point where my Fat jeans do not even fit?

Needless to say, I had a less than a stellar morning at work. I was annoyed, moody and felt less than. Less than what, I am not sure. Probably “less than” these stupid expectations I put on myself.

On my lunch break, I ran to the restroom. Once again, I wriggle every which way just to well, you know, use the restroom. It was in between the moment of “I may dislocate my hip” and “How many squats will it take to stretch these bad boys out” that I realized something.

Hmmm. How could this be? Taking a closer look, I realized that my “Fat Jeans” were not, in fact, my “Fat Jeans” they were the “Need to lose ten pounds” jeans.

After questioning myself on how I could be so dumb to not notice the tag size, my mood suddenly changed. I was happy, giddy, and may have even shouted a “Thank You, Jesus” proclamation.

My Fat Jeans are not tight on me! This is even better, I am thisclose to goal. At least that is what my jeans say, right?

Leaving the restroom, making the walk and perhaps “happy dance” back to my classroom, it hit me. All day long, I allowed a number to dictate my mood. I allowed what I thought was a number on a pair of worn and torn comfy jeans to define me. I mean what is up with that?

My weight did not change between the hours of 6am and 12pm. What changed was my mood, my mood based on some ridiculous number that I gave power too.

Unacceptable, right?

My trials and tribulations, my character, my story, that defines me. Not a label, not a number, and not another person.

Confidence comes in all shapes and sizes, as does beauty, strength, and courage. I think what needs to happen, at least for me, is I need to go through all 50 pairs of jeans that range in about eight different sizes and take a scissor to the tag.

Because what I have learned in the span of today is that the only “size” that matters, is One Size Fits All.




The One Where I am All Over The Place.

This has not been the best of starts to the new year. I mean can I even call it the “new year” anymore since we are already three months in? We should be approaching Spring in about 18 days, and for many of us, the weather says “Nope, not done with Winter yet….Suckers!”

In the last two weeks, this is what has been going on with different members of my family/extended family.

  • Leg amputation
  • Heart Attack
  • Second Heart Attack (Same person)
  • Diagnosis of Parkinson Disease
  • A beloved family pet passed away
  • A second pet from the same family is close to passing.
  • A diagnosis of Gastroparesis.
  • An abscess that needs surgery.
  • Diabetes diagnosis.

Two weeks you guys! All this has been happening in the last two weeks. Then there are the stories, mostly work stories I cannot talk about. Sad, horrifying stories that involve the innocent. It is a lot.

By the grace of God, on my own personal homefront, we are well. But damn, no one ever really knows what can change in the blink of an eye.

I was talking to my sister on the phone today. The conversation went a little something like this.

Sis~ How’s work going?

Me~ Oh, it’s good, I mean other than the stories I can’t talk about it is good. I also need to up my low carb game.

Sis~ Aww, why? Did you get off of it?

Me~ No, not really, I have been maintaining. But now since I have to chase kids all over the freakin neighboorhood, I figured it is time to get healthy, you know, so I do not collapse from a heart attack while I am chasing these little Dictators.

*insert laughter*

But, I am serious. I suppose I am finally at that age where I understand the size of my jeans does not determine my health, there is a bit more to it than that, and I am still young enough to get it in check, ya know? Again, look at the last two weeks with just my extended family alone. It really is enough to make you stop and think.

I have a plan, I know I can execute my plan. It’s not a “diet” but more of a “lifestyle change.” And, I hate that term “lifestyle change.” When anyone says “Lifestyle Change” I picture a young Bohemian artsy chic who lives off of granola and kale. That’s not me. I am more of a Rocker artsy chic who enjoys bunless burgers and vodka. So, we are just going to nix the “Lifestyle Change” wordage and use “New Habits.”

Depending on which study you read it can take anywhere from 18-66 days to develop a new habit. Or, I think to say it better It ONLY takes 18-66 days to develop a new habit. Do you see what I did there?  The first sentence I said, “It can take…” The second sentence I just changed the wordage to be a bit more positive. “It only takes…” Oh dear God, I am a Bohemian artsy granola, kale and all about positivity chick aren’t I??

Whatever. I know myself. And FOR ME, I know I only need 18 days to develop new habits, and for me, my new habits will entail building muscle while sticking to low carb. We will see how this goes, but I have no doubt I will accomplish exactly what I want to accomplish.

In other news, and remember, the title of this post warns you that I am all over the place. Okay, so I live in a suburb of Seattle. In my city, for whatever reason, all these storage units are being built. Off the top of my head, I can list four storage units that are in the process of being built, not including the ones that are already in place. I am talking about large storage unit areas. It is insane. One place, in particular, has one storage unit being built and then not even a mile down the road is another storage unit being built. These are not single units. So, because I have a crazy imagination, and for all intense and purposes I fancy myself a writer, I thought of a potential short story.

This would be a thriller type of book. Think Stephen King or Dean Koontz.

“Bedford Falls, a cozy little town located in the Pacific Northwest with the glorious Puget Sound as its backdrop. A town where every Friday night the locals will either be at the high school football games or the infamous Patterson’s West skating rink. A town where people chose to live. A town that has great potential.

Jess and Steven have been married for fifteen years. Steven is a pilot for Alaskan airlines based out of Sea-tac airport. Jess spends her days caring for their three children while working part-time at the local hospital.

When the police inquire within the hospital of any “John Does” Jess allows her curiosity to get the best of her. Too many people are going missing. Something is not adding up. It is only when Steven goes missing that Jess takes it upon herself to do what the police are not doing. 

A thriller with many twists and turns that leads her to Washington, Government coverups and the final straw. Storage units.”

Do you see where I am going with this?! It may work, right? The only thing is, I have another writing project I am working on so I cannot do much with this right now. Dad, if you are reading this, and you better be reading this since no one else in the family reads my blog…what do you think? I can “almost” see you and “Uncle R” doing another story with a plot similar to this.

I told you guys my mind was all over the place.

Gracie’s birthday is on Friday. Celebrating Gracie’s birthday is always bittersweet to me. For those that do not know, she was born six weeks early, spent time in the NICU was born with her intestines outside of her body, and almost did not make it. Joe and I told her “You pick, whatever you want to do, wherever you want to go, we will do it.” This is something we do with all the kids. For Sofia’s birthday, she chose to go to the mall to eat and then do some shopping. And remember, Sofia’s birthday was just last month, on the 15th. So……Joe and I had the same talk with Gracie and she decided she also wants to go to the mall to do some shopping, but she chose Panda Express to eat.

Well, as I was writing this post, Gracie comes out and told me she changed her mind. She now wants to do pizza and shop at Fred Meyer. After pulling teeth, wondering why she changed her mind, I found out Sofia thinks Gracie is “copying” her with her birthday plans. I am seriously just as lost as you are.

The girls are complete opposites. Even if Gracie did shopping at the mall, Gracie would be all about makeup and clothes, where Sofia is all about anime and books. But what do I know, I am just the mother that gave birth to these Dictators.

Anyway, I am going to sign off. I mean I could write more, but I figured I may have lost your interest when I wrote my potential “book blurb” so I will not push it.

Again, my mind is all over the place.

It is deflection.

Deflection so I do not have to think about how so many people out there have it so much harder than I do.




The One Where I need Therapy (Again)

I am an overprotective mom. I am sure this is not news to anyone, but I kind of feel like I take it to another level. Especially with the girls.

With the boys, in some ways, I was more lenient with them. They were boys. They grew up in the same neighboorhood that they started elementary school in. As long as they were together, I knew they were fine. And they were. It was after high school that some bad choices were made, but that is another blog.

The girls did not go to the same elementary school as the boys, even though we lived in the same neighboorhood. Because of Gracie’s delays, she had to go to a different school that offered the program she needed. When Sofia came along, we had to keep her in the same school as Gracie. Just simple logistics and all. The girls never really grew up with friends in the neighborhood, because they did not go to school with any of the neighboorhood kids. And, listening to the stories my then middle school and high school boys told me, I was okay with them not hanging out in our neighborhood.

I do not know if times have changed or in the day and age of social media do we just hear about more? I have a fear. An honest to God paralyzing fear that someone will violate my girls in the worst way possible, and this fear, coupled with their elementary school years has turned me into an overprotective mom.

My boys would spend the night out at their friend’s house. Of course, I would make contact with parents, make sure everything was on the up and up. Back then the sleepovers would consist of staying up all night and playing Mortal Combat. And, I know this is wrong, but they were boys. They had a little bit of “street smarts” to them, common sense. I could not imagine allowing my daughters to spend the night at someone’s house (assuming they were ever asked!) I read too many horror stories online. “Jessica spent the night at Melissa’s house. It was during the night that Melissa’s stepfather groped Jessica.” You know what I am talking about, we read about it all the time. Hell No! I cannot risk that. I will not risk that. In my mind, I rather be considered an overprotective mom than risking anything with the girls. Is this a normal thought process?? Serious question.

So, I am overprotective. Also, and I know this, but I tend to maybe do too much for the girls. “Do you want me to cut your steak?” “Bring me your clothes and I will wash them.” You guys, my boys were washing their own laundry at 9 years old, and they were good at it! I prided myself on how I taught them at a young age to wash their own clothes while knowing one day their future wife will thank me.

Why is it different for me with the girls?!

Today, I took the girls with me to the grocery store. Something that I do not do often because I worry about sex traffickers. Just due to our schedules, they went with me. We bought a lot. Two carts worth of groceries. I told them “Okay I can push one cart but someone needs to push the other.” They look at each other with a mixture of fear and confusion. “You guys, it will be fine, just follow me.”

Gracie~ “Not it!”
Sofia~ “Fine Gracie, I will do it. Geez!”

So off we go through the way too busy parking lot. No issues, we made it to the car in one piece and loaded it up. We emptied one cart first and I told Sofia “Take this to the cart return, it’s right there in front of us.” She took it, kind of giving me the side eye, which is her nervous look. We then unloaded the second cart, and I told Gracie “Okay your turn, take this to the cart return.”

Gracie~ “What’s the cart return?”
Me~ “The thing where you return carts.”
Gracie~ “How did I do it?”
Me~ “The same way Sofia did it.”

It was at this point where I sensed her nervousness. It threw me off. In that moment of seconds, I realized that not only am I holding her back, but she really does need to become more independent, right? I stopped loading the groceries and gave her my full attention.

Me~ “Gracie, you will be fine. First, you turn the cart around so you can push it. Then you just push it straight ahead into the cart return thing. You make sure to push it in with the other carts. Then you look both ways before coming back to the car.

With autism kids, you have to break everything down step by step. In fact, if you are not familiar with autism, please let this be the takeaway from this post. If you ever have the pleasure of meeting someone with autism. Everything and I mean everything has to be broken down in steps.

So…Gracie takes the cart. Then she kinda freaks out because she cannot get the cart completely lined up with the other carts. I tell her “It’s okay, you did good come on back.” And then she runs back without checking both ways.

Now….I do not know where my thought process is. Have I sheltered them that much that returning a simple cart to the stall freaks them out? Or, is Gracie’s reaction typical of those with autism? Did I not give her the proper step by step instructions? Is my fear of something bad happening to the girls hindering them? If so, how do I fix that?

I am at a loss here. Am I overthinking? Is this all normal? Am I the only crazy parent out there who has this paralyzing fear? Anyone????




The One About Him

He was a good person. He still is a good person.

Although it has been many years since we had an actual conversation, I know He is one of the good ones.

I met Him when I was young. Maybe around ten? Gosh, I think it was younger than that? He would come home from work and always have a candy bar for me. Most of the time it was Butterfinger. So, he is kind of at fault for my Butterfinger obsession.

He always told me he thought my hair in a ponytail looked nice. I never forgot that because I love wearing my hair in a ponytail. Back then and today. It’s a good example of how a simple compliment to one can turn into confidence for the other.

Sometimes things were not easy, but He always treated us well, despite the not so easy times. He was funny in his own way, and boy did he like “collecting” things.

Sometimes I felt bad, wondering if the fights were my fault, although He never made me feel that way. It was just the young mind of an insecure little girl.

When my grandmother passed away, They took me for a walk. It was me. At least in my memory, it was just me. Now that I think about it, it’s a good question to ask. We took a walk to Fort Clifton in Colonial Heights, Va. It was right before the walk when They told me. The details are fuzzy. On the walk, He took out his pocket knife and carved my grandmother’s initials in a tree. Years later I would go back trying to find the tree. I never did.

He was at my first wedding. As a wedding gift, he bought me one of those large, family size bibles where you can insert the family history. It was my favorite wedding gift. I wish I still had it.

When I had AJ, He came to visit me at my house. My POS of a husband (at the time) would not let him in. I always felt horrible about that. Guilty about that. Once again, He left a baby gift. Like I said, He is a good person.

He did not have to remain in my life, He chose to.

Because of the close family history, He never seemed that far away, ya know? I am Facebook friends with his wife, and over the years we have exchanged Christmas cards.

He has served our country. He is a son, a father, a grandfather, a husband. His life has not always been an easy life, but, we are not promised an easy life.

He is strong, He is a believer. He is a story-teller.

Tomorrow, He has to have surgery. Leg amputation surgery.

It is my opinion the VA has failed him.

And now, here we are.

We will be praying. We will be asking ourselves “How can this happen? What went wrong?” We will be wondering where the solution is for our Vets. How can they be treated this way?

And, at some point during the day, I will have a Butterfinger. I will think of him and be thankful that at a not so good time, he came into our lives, and never really left.




The One Where I am Not the Enemy.

I try hard to be real and honest here on the blog. I try to be as honest as I can while respecting the privacy of those I may be talking (venting) about. It’s not always easy, and many times I hold back. I hold back because I do not want to cross that very thin line, I hold back on writing because I do not want my stories to be a bad reminder of someone else’s past, I hold back if I feel there is a good reason to hold back, and I can guarantee you the only reason I hold back is because I never want to hurt anyone else. Me, I am good. I am at peace with my past and I will own my wrongdoings, however, sometimes it is not always about me.

This is a hard post for me. Although I want to respect the privacy of my marriage and Joe, there are some things I feel I need to talk about. Some things I want to talk about. And, if we are to be completely honest, marriage is not always a bed of roses, and sometimes these kinds of post are not only beneficial to the writer but the reader as well. At the end of the day, we all need to feel we can relate to something. Right?

Joe and I are struggling. We are not on the verge of divorce struggling, but, struggling we are. We just are not on the same page. I am certain stress is playing a big part in this, also communication.

We have had a rough start to 2019. Everything from car problems, broken windows, kids, me sleeping on the sofa, money, you name it we have had it happen in these 37 days of the New Year.

I do not even know where to begin. I do not even know that thin line of what is safe to talk about and what borders on the line of disrespect. I do not know and perhaps that is part of the problem, me just not knowing.

Joe’s work schedule sucks. I hate it, he loves it. Right there we are on two different pages. He goes to sleep at 7 and wakes up at 3. I go to bed at 11ish and wake up at 6. Many times, most times I fall asleep on the sofa while he is sleeping in the bedroom. I never really thought anything of it. It just is what it is. On our mutual days off, we would make it work and sleep together. However, we no longer have the same days off. Since we are down to one car, he had to change his work schedule, and it just sucks.

The other night he says to me “We do not even sleep in the same room.” And, although I get it, I am confused and mad. In the past when I have brought the very same argument to his attention, I would be met with “I am getting old.” So, okay, I let it go…..but when everything is now reversed I am now the bad guy? What am I missing here?

Joe is a good guy. He is loyal and probably has one of the best work ethics you will ever find. For all of Joe’s good traits, there are bad ones as well. Same with me. I think that is just human nature.

I am trying to do my part, I am trying to do better and be more accommodating. Because we are on such a tight strict budget until we figure out the car situation I offered to make his lunch for work.

“I will make my own lunch.”

“I do not want to depend on anyone.”

Well, excuse me but what kind of shit is that?!?!?! Aren’t I the one that you should depend on?!?!?! It’s a freakin sandwich and chips and if it is a good day a Twinkie as well. He is so damn stubborn. So…I make his lunch, whether he likes it or not.

I feel that everything I say to him he takes as a personal insult. I do not know, maybe it is my delivery? I am just, tired. I am tired of being tired and I did not think I would have to work this hard with my own husband.

Some family members of his needed twenty dollars. And, between you and I, because I did not communicate this with him, I am pissed. It is my opinion that we are in the worst possible situation for anyone to need to borrow money, but, he will do it. “Okay fine, then you work it in the budget.”

It falls on deaf ears.

I have family members who have offered to loan us some money. Money that would help us get out of this financial rut. “Tell them thank you but no, I need to get out of this on my own.” Okay great. That is one of the things I love about him, he never wants a handout, but on the same token, he is not doing anything to help me with the budget to figure out how to get caught up from the money we had to put into our broken window. I am left feeling like “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

So I do it. I try to make it work. Yet it never seems good enough. Because the only thing he wants is to make sure he has the twenty to give to his own family members. And, I am pissed. I want to say “Give them the goddamn twenty and promise me a good six months of no phone calls asking for money!” But…..I cannot do that.

Tonight, tonight was the clincher which led me to write this stream of consciousness kind of blog. I made the comment to him “Just so you know, my family still is offering to lend us money.”

He got mad. He feels like I am holding something above his head. I do not get it, and I am kinda getting sick of it. I have four kids. I do not need a fifth.

Joe went out to the balcony to smoke. I go out there trying to talk to him. Trying to clarify things. He says “I am just trying to smoke and you come out here trying to start something.”

I am now pissed but again trying to hold it together. Before coming inside out of the cold, I say “Okay, you can think what you want about me, but you need to reevaluate how you talk to me. I am not the enemy.”

He comes in and goes to bed.

I am at a loss. Although I know eventually we will be okay right now in this moment I am pissed. I am mad, I am hurt, I am annoyed. What I want to say is “Stop throwing a fit and talk to me.” But, we fall in the pattern of every time one of us tries to say something, the other person is not listening. We already have in our mind what we are going to say next without hearing the other person out.

Marriage is not always good times (clearly!) I know you have your hills and mountains. Right now Joe and I are at the very end of the hill. We are both annoying each other and I think we both have good reasons to be annoyed, but dammit it is frustrating.

I do not know what to do to get us where we need to be. I know that it cannot just be me, and it cannot just be him trying. But if you were to ask both of us, we would say we are trying but the other is not. This is the classic example of how you have two people who want it to work, they are determined to make it work but lines of communication are getting lost, and I need help to reestablish the connection.

At the end of the day, my last words to him I told true. I am not the enemy.

I am not the enemy.

Do not talk to me like I am.

Work with me.

Trust me.

Love me.

I am not the enemy.





The One About Light of Day

The year was 1987.

Reagan was President.

Unemployment was at its lowest since 1979, and Michael Jackson released his third solo album “Bad.”

Aerosmith’s “Dude Looks Like a Lady”
Fleetwood Mac’s “Everywhere”
Def Leppard’s “Hysteria”

All popular hit singles of 1987.

Television brought us the premiere of “Rags to Riches” “Unsolved Mysteries” the infamous “Married With Children” and one of my personal favorites “Full House.”

On the Big Screen, we saw “The Untouchables” “Dirty Dancing” and the controversial “Fatal Attraction.”

Also, a film that in my opinion does not get the recognition it deserves. A film that I would consider a “coming of age” film, at least it was for me. A film with a pretty amazing cast that consists of the impeccable  Gena Rowlands, we see a new side to Michael J Fox and the one and only girl of Rock, Joan Jett.

“Light of Day.”

Jen’s synopsis: Joe and Patty are siblings. Patty has a difficult relationship with her very religious mother and looks to music for her escape. Patty has a little boy who she loves with all her heart, yet struggles with. Joe steps in to make sure his nephew is doing okay.

A film about a blue-collar family just trying to make ends meet. One of my favorites, Bruce Springsteen wrote the titled song “Light of Day” specifically for the film. “Light of Day” was originally going to be titled “Born in the USA” however, when Bruce read the script, he ended up using that title for a song he was writing about a Vietnam Vet, and that is how his song “Born in the USA” was, well, born.

I sat in that movie theatre completely transfixed on the screen. Between Michael J Fox and Joan Jett’s on-screen presence, I could not look away. The way their acting made me feel I will never forget. Whether it was a feel-good scene or heart-wrenching scene, I knew that is what I wanted. I wanted to make people feel. I wanted to do something that evoked some sort of emotion in others where they could not look away. I wanted to be Joe and Patty. I wanted to date a guy like Michael J Fox and I wanted Joan Jett as my BFF.

After the movie, we all went to dinner. “The Parent’s” my sister, and I cannot remember if my brother was there. If he was he was just a baby, plus he does not read my blog so there’s that. I remember I could not stop talking about the movie. Right there in the car, I proclaimed loud and clear “I want a pair of Joan Jett boots!”

Two days later, a trip to Payless, I believe, I had the most perfect pair of “Joan Jett Boots.” Black leather, mid-calf, with silver studs on them. I wore the hell out of those boots. In fact, those boots were my first pair of boots and Christin can attest to this, I wear nothing else. I do not care if it is 80 degrees outside, I will wear my boots with jeans, shorts, skirts, whatever it may be. I will always be wearing a pair of boots.

Right before school started I was doing school shopping for the kids. I came across the most perfect boots ever. I would say it is an updated version of “Joan Jett Boots.” Simple black boots that come right above the ankle, zipper on the side.

But…as we all know, it is never about the boots. It is about how they make me feel, how they take me back to that movie theater.

And in recent days, as I slide those boots over my jeans and flannel in my Seattle Suburb temperatures, many times Joan will be playing in the background, and if I listen close enough, she is singing to me.

Only me.

“Well I’m a little down under, but I’m feeling O.K.
I got a little lost along the way
I’m just around the corner to the light of day”