A funny thing has happened over the last few days. For some reason, the “hits” and “views” on this blog have increased quite a bit. Since I am pretty sure no one is sitting at home checking out our blog every thirty minutes, (because that would be weird!) I will just assume we have an influx of new visitors. What better time to say a few words.

Writing has always been a part of me. As a young girl, I would write poems. Stupid cheesy poems, but poems none the less. I remember the first time I showed my parents a poem I wrote, they said “You wrote this,? Good job kiddo, keep at it!” And that I did.

Shortly after, I started writing long letters to celebrities. Do you remember the episode of “Friends” where Ross was kind of freaking out because Rachel wrote him a six-page letter…..front AND back? Well, that was me, many years before “Friends” hit our t.v’s.

Michael J Fox was my first.  I wrote a six-page letter (front and back) begging him to quit smoking. I was 10.

Ralph Macchio was lucky enough to get about ten letters from me. I would profess my love for Daniel Larusso while proclaiming “Karate Kid” was the BEST movie ever made. Laugh all you want, but good ol Ralph “wrote” me back. Never heard a word from Michael though.

As the years passed, I started to write letters to my all time favorite 80’s hairbands. Sebastian Bach got many letters from a young naive 13-year-old girl. Tommy Lee, Vince Neil, Nikki Six, I wrote them all. I never wrote to Mick Mars because, well he is kinda scary.
(Also, if you have no idea who these guys are, then you are too young to read my blog! Motley Crue, Google them)

I wrote to Oprah, giving her “advice” on the shows she should do. As a twelve-year-old little girl, I did not understand why she was doing a show about abortion, without giving an alternative. Never heard back from her. Imagine that.

Any of you reading this, do you remember the soap opera “Days of Our Lives?” No? Okay, well then I will not tell you about me writing the entire cast suggesting new storylines.

Your takeaway from this. There was never a time when I was not writing.

I began Vodka Calling back in 2010. Writing is my vice, my outlet. In some ways, this blog is my 5th child. As I do with my own children, I do with this blog, I put my all into them. Just as I parent every single day, I also write every single day.  There are days when my parenting is spot on, there are days when I could give Joan Crawford (Mommie Dearest) a run for her money. With this blog, I have some exceptional post that has gone viral, and other days, well, my mouth gets me in trouble. Or does it?

Sometimes here on the blog, sometimes on future books in the works, and often times in private, words that no one will ever see. I am always writing.

Writing is like breathing to me. I have to put words to paper at some point during the day. I have to write daily, much in the same way one has to kiss their spouse goodbye as their respective workday begins, because if one forgets, then their day just is not the same.

Over the last seven years, I would come here, to the blog, in the late night hours, opening up about everything. My daughter’s autism diagnosis, and years later her epilepsy as well. Those were the hard post to write. For every single wall I have built up in my real day-to-day- person-to-person life, those walls are non-existent when it comes to my writing.

When I first wrote about Gracie’s diagnosis, I just knew it was my fault. For every reason I gave on why I failed as a mother, on why it was my fault my daughter was diagnosed with autism, you guys were there to rebuttal. You gave me some tough love, but it was that tough love that kept me sane.

You will also find many posts about my husband (Shout out to Joe!) One of my favorites is how he brought chicken to a family BBQ. Not KFC chicken, not deli chicken, hell, not even my pathetic attempt at chicken. No, he brought raw chicken. Chicken he bought at Fred Meyer on the way to the BBQ, with the assumption that our host would just “throw it on the grill.” To this day, we still have the same argument.

Me~ You cannot bring raw chicken to a BBQ!
Him ~ Why not, its food?!
Me~ Food that is not cooked!
Joe~ But it will be!

One post in particular that had a lot of hits, “Frank.” I bought a treadmill and I named him Frank. I thought it would be funny to say “Well, I need to go jump on Frank real quick!” My Facebook status would consist of “Time to go jump on Frank, just need to get rid of Joe.” I do not know, what can I say? I crack myself up. Frank did not make it too long with me jumping on him and all, however, he has proven himself to be a pretty cool coat rack. Shout out to Frank!

I wrote about my brother joining the Navy, my fears. Writing in great detail about having to have that “goodbye” phone call when he left for his first deployment. Not knowing when or if I would see him again. It sucked, but again, you guys were there. Some of you understood because you had been through it yourself, and others had no clue to what I was feeling, but lent a listening ear.

Things took an interesting turn when I wrote about finding out my 15-year-old son was smoking weed. Lots of feedback on that one! I was prepared for judgment. I even think a part of me needed it, I needed my outlet to talk about it, in a safe place. Clearly, I could not be the only parent who was struggling with this?

I took a risk writing about feeling alone in a marriage when you are going through a rough patch. Not because my husband is a bad guy, or because I am a bad wife, it is just the process of life. Right or wrong, I put it all out there.

Let’s not forget about my short stint at the gym, pictures included! If you go to your local Planet Fitness, you just may see my picture hanging on the wall, under the words “How NOT to use the equipment.”

My blog is a snap chat of my life. You get the good, the bad, the ugly, and if you are lucky, the crazy. (Shout out to Crazy! Thank you for all the new views!)

As much as I pretend “I am not a crier!” I cannot tell you how many times I did shed a tear or two reading your comments, your private messages, and in extra special cases even your phone calls. You guys laughed with me when needed. A few of you laughed AT me, deservedly so. When I  needed to show my voice, you allowed me to do so, in a non-judgemental way.

Two years ago my long-time friend of sixteen years, Christin, joined me on the blog. We had a new opportunity that could potentially develop into a book deal. Off we went. Slowly, and cautiously, we started writing our story here on the blog. A coming of age sort of thing about two young twenty-somethings, lost, broken, and having something to prove to themselves.

I approached new, even more, controversial topics (domestic violence, kidnapping, rape, addiction) topics that some people would stay away from, topics that some would say I should have stayed away from. However, I noticed a shift was taking place in me. The more open, raw, brutally honest I was with my writing, the more I faced my demons behind my words, slowly, the confidence grew in my everyday life. I figured if I could write about my rock bottoms, my not so good “Jen Moments”, exposing myself for anyone to read, then I can get through just about anything….with a little bit of confidence, attitude, and a splash of laughter.

The more Christin and I wrote about our story, the more feedback we got. Positive feedback. Eventually, a book deal came. There was a catch, however. We had to delete all posts on the blog that had anything to do with our “story” the very stories that would make it into the book. It took Christin three days to convince me this is what we needed to do. I hated it. To know me is to love my stubbornness, and I am the Queen of stubbornness. I despise feeling as if I am being controlled, I felt even though in the bigger picture we would have a book, the puppet master was at work, telling us to delete the post we literally put our blood sweat and tears into. Many late nights of writing, exposing my most vulnerable side, putting it all out there, only to have some idiot in a fancy suit telling us that in order to snag a book deal, everything had to be deleted.

Christin, when needed, is the voice of reason, and at this time, I needed her. I needed to hear her voice.

I ended up deleting all post that would be in our book, and do you know what happened? Nothing. Life went on, as did the blog. Christin and I had an endless supply of writing material while still being able to work on the book.

Over the years, there have been about three people who felt the need to “start a ruckus” and demand that we delete a certain post. Naturally, I am flattered that they think this blog gets enough views to demand a deletion, but, I am not dealing with stable people. Asking me to delete a post would be like asking your child to “delete” their “Tuesday” at school. Not many people will get that analogy, and that is okay.

“There is nothing in nature that blooms all year long, so don’t expect yourself to do so either.”

I had to reread that quote about ten times before it sunk in. All of us know we are not guaranteed anything in life, other than death and taxes. We will have bad days, we will be challenged. We will have, as the young kids say “haters.”

Personally, I have had a handful of haters over the years. Of course, they do not matter. Sometimes, the “haters” get to me. Never for long. You see, I also have the most bad ass support system you will ever meet. You would be lucky to have just one of them on your side, backing you up, offering you advice, guidance, and always keeping it real. I am lucky enough to have a lifetime supply.

I had a moment the other day. A moment that I am sure many of us have had on any given day. A moment where I had no idea what to do. I needed guidance or else I would do something I would later regret. (A regret that may have affected my future) I needed to be assured that I was okay. I was doubting it all for a fleeting moment….and by “fleeting moment” I mean four hours. At 3:00 in the morning, I sent a message. “I have never in my life needed more help than I do now.” By 7:00 am I had a message. At 8:45 am all was resolved.

You guys know The Wizard of Oz, right? By the end of the movie, we find out that Dorothy had the power all along. This is what my support system did for me today. They showed me, in their own way, the power I had all along…despite what others would like to believe. Despite what others would like to ruin.

I will wake up Monday morning, my daily armor in its place, I will live my life just as I always do. My routine will be the same as it has been since at least September. I will continue to volunteer in an area where my passion lies, and I will not give a second thought to a select few, because, for those of you who have stuck with me over the years, you know when I am done, I am done.

Read the blog, I have been through too much to allow a minuscule of negativity get me down. Nice try, but no dice.

Or perhaps……checkmate.

~Jennifer

 

 

 

Sometimes in life, the most minuscule things have power over you. Whether it be places, people or situations that take ahold of you, stripping away every last bit of strength you have.

These are our accounts of how we took our power back. One big city, 2 different stories.

As we got closer I could see the glow from the neon lights of the city. Familiar places flashed before my eyes as I recalled times we spent out eating or dancing, even the club was nearby, the one we met in almost 15 years ago. My old apartment and the military base where you lived were in the distance, both of which have always held such bittersweet memories because of their connection to the birth of our daughter and of course, the bitter because of your absence.

After persevering through a high-risk pregnancy and birthing her sans you, I used to buckle her into her seat and visit some of these places just to feel closer to you. I can’t really explain why, but I needed you here and you weren’t. So instead of feeling the emptiness, I went to the restaurants we frequented because once upon you were there with me. I remember one time sitting in a booth that we sat in months prior, our baby sleeping soundly in my arms.

 I kept looking at the door, wanting, expecting, hoping you to walk in at any moment.

You never did.

As time passed, the memories stayed with me. Eventually, I moved away but every now and then I would find myself amid our old stomping grounds, reminiscing about the times we had. Wondering why you never came back. What was so important that took you away from your first child?  I never really knew the whole truth.

The familiar glow of the neon lights would come into view, I would curse the existence of every place I passed because that meant that you were real. It also meant that you were somewhere out there. It meant that you didn’t want to be with me, with us. The pit in my stomach would ache with pain, resentment, and sadness that I wasn’t enough to keep you. The neon lights weren’t enough to keep you either.

I never understood the saying “Time heals all wounds”. Does it really? Can the mere existence of time passing, really mend the bloody, painful, infected wounds that are caused by others?I’m not sure I have all the answers but for me, time never healed anything. It either just numbs it, like a shot of Novocain, which doesn’t really heal anything, or it festers, growing to be some huge, gaping hole.

Tonight, we made our annual trip to see the beautiful Christmas light display. I knew we would be making the hour and a half drive and at the end of that drive, the glow of the neon lights of the city would illuminate the sky. Preparing myself for the flood of emotions that always hit when we rounded that corner of the freeway, I made a tentative plan. Distraction. Look at my phone (I wasn’t driving), sing a song, maybe crawl on the floor of the car, anything to not see the damn lights.

I held my breath as we exited the freeway into the familiar streets of Tacoma.

Nothing.

That place we met one Saturday night in May of 2002 was alive with music and people tonight. I felt nothing.

The Applebee’s where we had our first real date wasn’t as busy as it used to be. I felt nothing.

That one Mexican restaurant where I taught you how to salsa dance. I felt nothing.

As we continued driving, the nothing I was feeling gradually turned to gratitude. Gratitude for the exponential growth that I have experienced in every aspect of my life since that period of time. For every place that I passed this evening, I was grateful that I was there with you because without that, I might not just have one of the greatest gifts of all.

My daughter.

 And then it occurred to me…

If it weren’t for everything that happened the way it did, I wouldn’t have had the sincere pleasure of raising that once a baby girl, into a wonderful, caring young lady that has big plans for her future. Just 3 years short of being an adult, she is on her way to change the world in her own unique way. Being a single mom was never my plan, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way now that it is all said and done. She’s my best friend, my enabler (when we are out shopping), my comedic relief when life gets hard but most of all she is my biggest fan and I am without a doubt, hers.

 It was at that moment I felt an immense appreciation for the mere darkness because, without it, I wouldn’t be able to see the glow of the neon lights.

~ Christin

……

Another day. The routine remained the same. I packed up the boys and a few items to keep them entertained. At twelve and four years old, I had to wonder how much they really understood. Joe would be home any second. As soon as he came through the door, we would all leave. All four of us would pile up in the car and make the familiar drive from Federal Way to Tacoma. Often, there was no talking. Each one of us alone in our thoughts.

We drove pass Taco Bell, Fred Meyer, then took a right and hit the back roads. The Marina, the smoke shop. I was sick and tired of seeing the same places, every day. Nothing ever changed. As we entered the city of Tacoma, the neon lights that used to be a welcoming sign was anything but. Downtown Tacoma. A place that I previously enjoyed driving to, was now all too consuming. I no longer cared about the Mom and Pop shops that I had one day hoped to visit. My interest in the famous landmark, Stadium Highschool, was no longer an interest to me. I could not think ahead to the day when my children would be in high school. At this point, I had no idea if I would even be bringing one of my children home.

Gracie. My newborn daughter. Gracie was born through emergency c-section in Federal Way. She was immediately transported to Mary Bridge Children’s Hospital in Tacoma, Washington. We knew from my first ultrasound appointment that we would be looking at a new normal. Everything we had become familiar with was changing. Still, I was not prepared.

Joe, the boys and me would spend hours with her in the NICU. We would each hold her, making sure the wires to the machines that she was connected to would not get tangled up. Every day, we would do this. Every night we would have dinner in the hospital cafeteria. The boys loved it. I rarely ate. Because Gracie was an “extended stay” patient, we were gifted with gas cards and vouchers to use in the cafeteria whenever we wanted.

I would always leave the hospital in tears. I cannot explain to you the pain that comes with leaving your baby at the hospital. Not knowing if there was an end in sight, not knowing if she would make it through the night. Having to gently say goodbye to a one-week-old baby, well, that is soul-crushing.

Joe, the boys and I would make it home just in time for much-needed sleep. Joe would take a shower as I would tuck the boys into bed. Trying with all my might to answer their questions. “When can we bring our sister home?”

I do not know.

The next day, same routine. Nothing ever changed. This went on for weeks. Until, early one morning.

I had gotten into the habit of keeping the phone by me at night when I would sleep. Sleep never came easily. Yet, when it did, I never wanted to wake up. I knew there would be more pain, more of the unknown, and it was only a matter of time before I broke. The phone rang at 4am. I answered it on the second ring. Joe was already up, trying to make sense of what was happening. It was the doctor. He told us to get to the hospital. There were some complications overnight and Gracie was now on a ventilator.

Joe called his parents to come watch the boys, and again, we made the all too familiar drive to Tacoma. We passed Taco Bell and Fred Meyer. The darkened Marina. We passed it all. As soon I saw the neon lights from the city of Tacoma I kept telling Joe to “drive faster, we are almost there!”

We made it in record time. As soon as we showed our ID at the NICU station, we were ushered to Gracie’s room. She had a private room, a room that I would later find out was only for the most severe babies. The doctors and nurses were surrounding the incubator that had my four-pound baby girl. Gracie was stabilized. There was now a whole new set of wires and machines that she was hooked up.

Over time, Gracie became stronger. She was able to leave her private room and go hang out with all the other NICU babies. Eventually, she made it up to the second floor. The second floor is where we want these babies to be. It means they are continuing to grow, they are getting stronger and in a short time, they will be home with their families.

The day we took Gracie home from the hospital is one I will never forget. Joe, the boys and I stayed the night at the hospital, with Gracie in our room. This was mandatory. The doctors had to make sure that god forbid if something went wrong, then Gracie was close enough to have the medical intervention she would need.

The following day, the day we were to take Gracie home,  was an all-day process. The doctors had to put Gracie in her car seat, once again hooking her up to machines, making sure her breathing would not be compromised. This test was hours long. I prayed that she would remain asleep. Of course, she didn’t. If we took her off the machine, we would have to start the test again. There we sat. An extremely fussy, strong-willed feisty baby girl who did not want to be hooked up to all these wires. We had to. This was one of many tests to make sure she could come home.

Six O’clock pm on April 15 we left the hospital with our new daughter and sister. This time, the drive home was pure excitement. We could not wait to be in our home and find our new normal. As we left the city of Tacoma, I could not help but notice the neon lights. Call me crazy, it is almost as if those neon lights were wishing us “good luck” on our new adventure.

The years went on. It was never easy with Gracie. She would not have it any other way. Gracie came into her own. Strong-willed and quirky. To know her is to love her. She made it to fourth grade and something once again was just not right. After many referrals, Joe and I found ourselves making the all too familiar drive to Mary Bridge Children’s Hospital in Tacoma. The Taco Bell and Fred Meyer were still standing. The Marina had acquired a few more boats, but those damn neon lights, they had not changed. There they were, just as they had always been. Both a sad and happy reminder of the past.

Autism. Our new normal.

Once a month Joe and I with Gracie and her new sister would now make the drive to Tacoma’s Mary Bridge Children’s Hospital. The boys were now old enough to be left home. Vinnie often would have football, and AJ had long moved on to his own routine, his own schedule, his own friends. This time, when we would drive past the Taco Bell, Fred Meyer, the back roads of Tacoma and the damn neon lights, I would feel frustrated. “Will this drive ever get any easier?”

Of course, you know it was not really about the drive. It was about the what the drive represented. The uncertainty. Our new worry we now had for Gracie. What does this new diagnosis mean? The drive, the Taco Bell, the Marina, and those neon lights, that was my escape, my excuse to take my frustration out on the scenery. “Jen Logic.”

Three years passed. Lots had changed but the drive was not one of them. I became complacent. At this point over the last nine years, we had been to hell and back. The Taco Bell we would pass, yeah order me a meximelt. Fred Meyer, that would become our pharmacy for her new medication. The back roads, I could now drive them with my eyes closed. The neon lights, I still had mixed emotions about those bastards. They made me think of harder times, the neon lights made me question what the future would hold. Neon lights are funny that way. They can represent either a new beginning or an ending, something to celebrate, something to mourn. Or..maybe all of the above.

Two years pass. Gracie is now in sixth grade. In February of this year, the seizures began. When we least expected it, out of nowhere we once again in the middle of the night, after Gracie would not wake up, made the same drive to Tacoma. MRI’s EEG’s told us we were now dealing with epilepsy.

After a long hospital stay, everyone was now just….well, gone. Again, we had to deal with the drive.

Once we made it home, and everyone was settled. I took my place at the computer. I was ready willing and able to learn everything I could about epilepsy. I went to good ole “Google” looking up everything I could about epilepsy. I was reading article after article when it hit me. The neon lights. We saw them. Sofia even commented on how pretty they looked. I remember telling her that the neon lights were even prettier during Christmas time. I had always associated that drive, the Taco Bell and Fredy Meyer, the back roads, the school, and lastly the neon lights, always associated with sadness, confusion, questions.

I checked in one everyone. Gracie was sound asleep. She would be for hours to come. Sofia was keeping guard over her sister. Joe was on the phone with his family, giving them the latest update, and the boys were playing an x-box game together.

Grabbing my jacket and phone I went out on to our balcony and made the all too familiar phone call.

“Hey, you busy?”

“We just got back from Tacoma, this time was different.”

With a smile on my face, in between yawns of sleep deprivation, I knew what Christin meant.

“The lights huh, it was different this time.”

“It was. It was…..it was closure.”

I took a sip of my drink.

“Well, you know what comes next? We write about it.

~Jennifer

 

Disclaimer: All names, places and identifying events have been changed to protect the not so innocent. Read at your own risk.

 

A short time ago I met a new parent who was interested in helping out at the school my son attends. My role at the school is to make sure all new parents feel welcome while utilizing them in an area that may be of interest to them, or that is beneficial towards the school. Enter Bethany. Bethany came in strong. Bethany pushed Miley off of that wrecking ball and came in full force.

About a week after meeting Bethany, I was at the school volunteering in a classroom. The all too familiar “ding” notification went off on my phone. A quick glance showed me it was a message from the school office manager. The gist of it was “There is a new parent sitting outside on the bench crying because she wanted to help with Music Day and no one can use her.”

After my initial WTH reaction, I immediately left the classroom to go search for the parent who was outside crying on the bench. I am sprinting down the hall when another staff member sees me. “Hey, Jennifer, do you know there is a parent outside on the bench crying?” Slightly out of breath, I assured this staff member I was on my way to see what was going on.

Sure enough, when I get outside, there is Bethany, sitting on the bench crying. Now long story short, she wanted to help with Music Day. PTA is not involved with Music Day. A company comes in and makes Music Day happen. This company works closely with the office manager, and the office manager then recruits volunteers to help out. Again, not PTA related at all.

Someone on the PTA (and to this day I have no idea who) told Bethany that she could help with Music Day. This is why she was crying because there were plenty of volunteers already signed up for Music Day. It was nothing personal, all the slots were filled. I took Bethany inside, determined to find something for her to do. Being the PTA President is very much like being a retail manager. Ya know how they have to keep the customers happy no matter how crazy the customers are. Same thing as PTA President. Keep the parents happy no matter how crazy they are, but, I am getting ahead of myself. I ended pairing Bethany up with another PTA mom, so she could “shadow” her and I called it a day.

The following five days at school were one in the same.

Bethany ~ I am here, what can I do? It’s either be here or go home and deal with Mark. Mark decided to have sex with his ex, so he is in the dog house and I need to make him pay.

(Dude, I just met you like a week ago. Too much info!)

Me ~ Well, I always like to tell new parents to start with their child’s teacher. Check in with them, see if any copies need to be made, maybe they need some help cleaning their classroom, that sort of thing.

That was good, right?? I was not rude, yet it was not as if I could pull something out of thin air for her to do. Come to find out, the teacher did not have anything for Bethany to do. I am inclined to insert a smart ass comment here. Something along the lines of “BECAUSE THE TEACHER IS SMART. ALWAYS FOLLOW THE TEACHER’S LEAD!” but I will refrain. The truth is, this particular teacher has a full-time volunteer in her room, so there is never much to be done.

Bethany took it upon herself to ask around, see if any other teachers needed help in their classroom. Honestly, this is probably the best way to do it. Helping out in a classroom is not PTA related. Plus, all teachers are different. Some teachers appreciate the help, and some teachers prefer no one in their room. There is no right or wrong.

In no time, Bethany found herself a teacher to be a “room mom” to. Yay!!!!

I remember I called Bethany that night. Just to check in on her, making sure she felt welcomed while seeing if she had any questions. It was a good conversation. There was something different about her. I just assumed it was not being in the school. She was able to relax, and just talk. As soon as we got off the phone I had a new Facebook friend request from Bethany. Of course, I am going to accept it. We just had a pretty cool conversation. What could possibly go wrong?!

Famous last words.

The next day, there was a meeting at the school for all families. Again, not PTA related. Just a brief meeting run by the principal to catch the families up to date on the happenings of the school. Megan, another PTA mom and I were in the PTA room, just talking about food, because that is what we do. As Megan and I were debating which fast food place has the best chicken nuggets,  Bethany comes storming into the room (on a wrecking ball) and starts throwing posterboard around. Yeah, not even kidding. Trust when I say, I know I sound like the crazy one here. Megan and I are standing there, with the “deer in headlights” look plastered on our faces. What the hell is happening?  Bethany is throwing around the posterboard, muttering “Well I guess I will just fucking do it myself!”

Well crap. Now I have to say something. I was completely content ignoring the bipolar outburst, but once the “F-Bombs” were spoken, I knew I had to jump in. I cannot have any parents use that kind of language in the PTA room. Look, I am not a prude or anything, but the fact is, there are children that have access to the room. If a student happened to come in and hear that, well, it just is not cool.

“Woah, Bethany, what’s happening? Careful, there are students walking the halls.”

Bethany says nothing. She throws one more posterboard, gives Megan and I  one more “fuck this.” And leaves.

Holy Hell what just happened?!?! Now, what I should have done is reported it to my “bosses.” Not to get Bethany in trouble, just in a “Look, I do not know what’s going on, but this just happened” type of way. However, I did not do that. This was clearly a different person than who I spoke with on the phone last night. I will get to the bottom of it.

I went home that night, jumped on Facebook, with the intent to send her a private message. Something stuck out on my timeline. Bethany was now Facebook friends with a good portion of my friends. People she did not really know, people from the school, she friend requested. My initial thought “Dude, you are trying too hard.” However, once again, I let it go, giving her the benefit of doubt.

You guys already know I did some detective work. Come to find out that Bethany made a Facebook page just for school staff. Her “real” Facebook page was under a different name. Immediately I got the “Single White Female” vibe. (Movie reference, cult classic.)

A few days later, one of the staff members at school had some unfortunate news about their cat. A Go-Fund-Me was created with the hopes to raise enough money to help this little guy out. I, along with countless others, made donations to the Go-Fund-Me. About half an hour after I made my donation, I get a Facebook message from Bethany.

“Hey! I just want to thank you for donating to Mia.” (the cat)
“I just met them at the vet and put two hundred and fifty dollars on my credit card for them.”

Now, of course, raising enough money to help Mia out is all that matters, however, I would be lying if I said I did not think it was weird how she thanked me….and how she met this staff member and her spouse at the vet to put money on her credit card. Remember, she is only two weeks in. She just met these people and she is thanking me. I have known the staff member for years. Also, it kinda seemed like bragging. Again, I will let it go, because this is an innocent animal we are talking about. I am happy to say though that Mia pulled through and she is doing just fine.

There have been countless incidents since. However, there was an icing on the cake. The incident that told me “Watch your back” happened a few weeks ago. We had a school fundraiser. A school-wide event that allowed the community to come in and rent a table, this was a PTA event. Bethany paired up with Katy, another PTA mom. They had their own booth in the cafeteria. I felt confident with these two. I knew Bethany and Katy had things under control no matter my personal issues with Bethany.

Emily, a brand new parent volunteer, decided to work the coffee stand. Emily was amazing. Hard worker, did it all on her own. Everything was going well until the coffee pot blew a fuse. I was over there, working with Emily, trying to see if we could reset the fuse, while also coming up with a plan B. It was at this time, while I am literally working with Emily, Bethany calls out to me.

“Jennifer. We need glue. Can you get us some glue?”

I look around, thinking to myself “We are in a school, how hard is it to find glue?” But I refrained.

Instead what I said was “Yeah, give me just a minute, we have a small emergency over here.”

Emily and I worked together and decided to move the coffee stand out into the hall. It was an easy yet time-consuming fix. As soon as I got Emily settled, I went to Bethany. “Okay, sorry! You needed Glue?”

Bethany looks at me, she gives me the once-over. “Well forget about it now, you took too long. Mark went home and got me some glue.”

I wanted to ask if Mark took the opportunity to bang his ex while he was at home getting glue, but again, I refrained.

“Okay great, good problem-solving!”

That was the last time I saw or spoke to Bethany.

Until today.

While relaxing on Facebook, it occurred to me that it had been awhile since I saw any of Bethany’s post. Usually, her post consists of “What an amazing school I volunteer at.” Even though she accused the school on Facebook of having a mumps outbreak.

The school never had an outbreak of mumps.

And, she pissed a lot of people off by jumping the gun.

Anyhow, in my findings, I realized that Bethany blocked me on Facebook.

Like, WTH?

I do not even know what to say to that. I tried with this one. I gave her the benefit of the doubt countless times, all the while knowing she was totally “Single White Femaling” me.

She wants my position. She can have my position…..in June when elections happen. She can take my position, and she can shove it up her ass, along with all the trash talking she does about me, and everyone else. She can take my position because I am moving to another school. If I was staying, she would have a fight on her hands. Lucky for her, I am not.

My point to all of this. You have to keep things separate. Do not accept all friend request. Either ignore them or check out their page just so you can see what kind of crazy you may be dealing with.

Not realizing it, when I accepted Bethany’s friend request, I gave her access to a part of me that only a select few know. I gave her access to pictures of my children, I gave her access to pictures of where I live. I allowed the crazy too close to home. So not worth it.

I am just going to put this out there. If something were to happen to me between now and June, make sure Bethany has an airtight alibi.

Also, I would like Neve Campbell to play me in the Lifetime Movie of the week.

~Jennifer

 

 

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

I never had any friends in school. If you have been reading the blog long enough, you know this to be true. For my elementary years, I went to school in a small suburb Virginia town. I was the ugly duckling in a sea of doves. Doves, meaning blond hair blue eyed beauties. I am not sure if it was the way I looked, or my extreme shyness, I just never had friends.

Middle School was not any better. Second verse, same as the first. Now, what was different in my middle school years is, I had a handful of church friends. They, unbeknownst to them, most likely saved me. Because I had them, I had their friendship, it was easy for me to blame my lack of friends at school, on the school. Surely it could not be me, I had friends at church! This was the logic of a thirteen-year-old.

Almost thirty years later, I can say I am still friends with my old handful of church friends. Of course, we all live in different states now, so our friendship is limited to Facebook, but still. They are there. Two of them have high profile careers in Virginia, one of them lives in Poland, One of them is now a grandmother, One of them is divorced and rebuilding her life, and the last is happily married with two grown kids of her own.

When one of them read a Facebook post on my personal Facebook page about an event at Sofia’s school that I was stressing over (hosting), she privately reached out wanting to donate twenty dollars to help out. When my friend in Poland read one of my blog post where I was having a pity party for one, she reached out, letting me know that even though I may not see myself as successful, she does. These are good people, who showed me at an early age what it means to be a true friend, and they have stuck with me all these years.

Nowadays. I long for the simpler times.

Sometimes I think people use the word “friend” too easily….or, perhaps we just have two different definitions of what a friend is.

The Gossiper ~ The Gossiper is easily disguised as a friend, and here is why. They will come to you with all the latest gossip. They come to you in a way where you think “Wow, they must really trust me to tell me this.” DO NOT BE FOOLED!! The Gossiper will only gossip about other people. They will never divulge to you their deep dark secrets. They will not divulge it to you because they are worried as soon as you leave the room, you will run your mouth…..just like they did.

The One-Upper ~ The One-Upper is probably the most evident out of my list. It will only take you about three conversations to figure out what they are really about. (One-Upping)

Me~ Ugh, Sofia has a fever.
One-Upper~ I can relate, I had to take little Riley to the emergency room last night, she had a 105. temp.

Me~ Well, it’s not much, but I am down three pounds!
One Upper~ Me too! Actually, I am down 8 pounds, but a loss is a loss!!

They will even “One Up” you on things that any normal person would want to stay away from.

Me~ I burnt dinner…..again.
One Upper~ That’s so funny, the fire department came out last night to my house, small kitchen fire from boiling water.

NEXT!!

The Fair Weather Friend. Now, Christin and I have two different views on this one. The Fair Weather Friend bothers her a lot more than it does me. Luckily for this one, Christin and I are able to use the same example. Good ole Alphonso. It really bothers Christin when Alphonso disappears for months, years at a time. He deactivates his social media, he gets a new phone number, he totally “ghosted” us. It will be a year later, Alphonso will call me and we pick up where we left off. If he dares to call Christin, he is lucky if she answers the phone…..and she won’t.

Now my final one, this is probably the hardest for me to accept. Typically, at least in my case, everyone else sees it before I do. The “friend” that takes advantage of you. I like to think I am pretty easy, and loyal as far as friendship goes. If I like you, and value the friendship, I will do anything I can for you. There is a fine line though, and when I personally get to the point where I feel I am being taken advantage of, then I will check out….and when I check out, there is no coming back. My “blocked list” on Facebook has more people than my actual friend list does.

Just like thirty-some years ago when I only had a handful of friends, I find that pattern is still the same today. I have a handful of friends that I trust. Christin, being number one on the list.

Remember, it is quality over quantity.

~Jennifer

 

It’s the year that Warren G’s “Regulate” was number one on the billboards. That year marked so many changes in my life. I started high school, held hands with a boy for the 1^st time ever (It was only for 1 minute, but it still counts) and most importantly, I met my best friend.

 It was 1994.

 We’ve come so far from that 1^st day of freshman year in Mr. Lowe’s English class. We’ve stuck with each other through it all. Break-ups, kids, deaths, struggles, ups, downs, you name it, we’ve been through it. We even went without speaking for a few years because of a really bad decision on my behalf. Thankfully, she forgave me because if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have ever forgiven myself. 23 years later, when we get together, it’s like we are teenagers all over again. Sure, we are 37-year-old women with kids but when you put us in a car together, we are 16 again, listening to gangster rap, laughing like we don’t have a care in the world. She’s one of my favorite people and I would do anything for her. A true ride or die friend.

In a lifetime, you are lucky to have one good friend to stick with you no matter how many bad choices you make.

 Fortunately for me, I found my 2^nd lifelong friend in 2001.

 However, if you would have told me back then that we would still be friends after 16 years, I would have told you only if pigs fly.

Our connection wasn’t as instant as the one before. We had a fight a few weeks after we met, fought over a stupid guy, and have taken so many wrong turns that it’s a miracle we are still here. We’ve come so far individually and together from that first morning I found her sleeping on the couch in my living room, thanks to Alphonso (my roommate) and his affinity for bringing strangers home. Alphonso did one good thing for me; he introduced me to my good friend, writing partner, therapist and co-conspirator, without her, my life would be boring.

I keep my circle small, a handful of friends is all I really need, because I have been used more than once by people that I thought were my “friends”.

I’m sure we have all had had at least one experience with this, so here are some signs to look for.

  Red flags:

1.       They ask for favors ALL the time.

2.       You are only beneficial to them IF you have something they want like a ride or money.

3.       They gossip about everyone. Rest assured if they gossip about someone to you, they will talk

about you.

4.       Convenient friends. These are the ones that are only friends with you because it’s convenient…for them.

 If I had a dollar for every “fair-weathered” friend I had over the last 20 years, I would be able to quit school, move to some tropical island and live care-free.

If you find yourself in a situation where you are being taken advantage of, don’t walk, but run because it doesn’t get better. The more you give, the more they want. Give an inch, next thing you know, they want a mile. People like that don’t have good intentions and when they are done with you, they just move on to their next victim.

 The bottom line is we all need friends. People we can call when we’ve had a bad day or when we had the best day of our lives.

People we can share our most personal thoughts with.  Our Secret Keepers.

 “I would like to think I’m a good secret-keeper,

 when it comes to friends, I’m quite loyal like that”

Christin.

 

Jennifer

I met Mike when I was a newly single mom in my early twenties working the customer service desk at Walmart in Denver, Colorado. On first glance, he was quite intimidating. A head full of shoulder-length gray hair, accompanied by a matching gray mustache. A pair of black Levis, black t-shirt, an old torn blue denim jacket and cowboy boots would finish his look. Well, I suppose the god-awful Walmart blue vest would finish his look, but you get the point. Mike had a son a few years younger than me, also working at Walmart. So, yes, if you have not figured it out, there was quite an age difference between us. I never really thought anything of it, because really, why would a guy in his late 40’s want to have anything to do with me, other than the occasional “Do you have my returns ready to go?”

I am one of those people who pays attention to the small things. If you look close enough, everyone has their own routine, their own habits. The Mormon girl I worked with would always smooth the wrinkles out on her dress when she was dealing with a difficult customer. The feisty Asian woman, who was out coworker would come in early to do returns that she never had the receipt for, hoping to catch us at a busy enough time where we would not question her. We never did. I had a fellow New Yorker associate who was just working to get away from her five kids, trying to make some extra money for vacations. Anytime she would complain about the Putz working in hardware, we knew it was a cover-up for an innocent work crush. And then, there was Mike. He would start work at 4pm every day, always making sure to tip his nonexistent hat at me whenever he walked through the Walmart doors seeing that it was only I working “The Desk.” I would give a quick wave or smile, depending on what sort of moronic customer I was dealing with.

Our people greeter at the time, Tom,  was a lovely gentleman, in his early seventies. He was a dapper old gent. Always wearing a sweater vest and tie, dressed to the nines. He made the hideous Walmart blue vest work in his favor. As soon as Mike walked through the Walmart doors, tipping his nonexistent hat in my direction, Tom would make his way over to my register. “Jennifer, that boy, he has the hots for you. I have been around, I know. You watch yourself with that one.”

“Ummm, seriously, he is old enough to be my dad!” (Sorry Dad) “I really think you are off on this one.”

As time went on, I started to notice that at exactly six pm every night, Mike would make his way over to the service desk just as I was getting ready to take my last break, and him his first. We would chit chat on the way back to the breakroom about our day at work, music, or the current news stories. Over time, I found myself looking forward to the six o’clock hour.

And then, the Columbine massacre happened.

April 20th, 1999. I was scheduled to work the closing shift. My mother woke me up early in the morning. “Jennifer, get down here, there are helicopters flying overhead!”

Barely dressed, I ran downstairs, making sure that my five-year-old son, AJ, was okay. The news was on. I stepped outside. Helicopters, at least five of them were flying overhead. There was a mass shooting at Columbine Highschool, only miles up the road.

I was called into work early. Our store would be “Ground Zero.” It would the place where people meet to check in on loved ones. It would be the store where donations were taken too, it would be our store that would provide these kids with their belongings that were now used as evidence, that was now lost. Our store, where some of our very own associates were students at Columbine Highschool, Mikes son being one of them.

Walmart was chaotic. It was both a sad beautiful mess. As the store manager was still waiting to hear the fate of his associates, strangers from miles away were coming to see where they could help. I saw Mike in the distance. The look on his face told me his son was okay, and, he was. Mike made his way towards me, asking if I was okay. “Of course I am okay, your son? His girlfriend? Are they okay?”

“They made it out, that’s about as okay as they are for now.”

Once things started to settle down, the community was changed. Thankfully, Walmart did not lose any of their associates in the massacre. But, lives were lost.

I am not sure if it was the tragedy that happened so close to home, or just two lost souls just trying to find their way. Despite our age difference, Mike and I got closer. We started to coordinate our breaks and lunches together. Whether it was fifteen minutes or sixty, conversation flowed nicely. There was no work. Mike had become more than a coworker, he was a friend.

One day after work, we went on our first date. A smokey old school pool hall that played 80’s music. Perfection. Mike and I were face to face on our bar stools. Laughing, talking, eating. It was one of those places that really did not have a dance floor, yet the patrons, found a way to make a work. As soon as the Damn Yankees song “High Enough” came on, I was in Heaven. “I love this song!” Awkwardly, we made our way to the fake dance floor, swaying back and forth, completely off beat to the music.

For the first time, I was getting nervous. I felt that this was THE moment. If he was going to try to kiss me, this would be it. I was not quite ready for that, and as we all know, the first kiss changes everything. I was not ready for things to change. “I have to go, it’s not the right time.”

Without any questions asked, he walked me to my car, with his hand on the small of my back. Seriously, that moves get me every time. I fumbled with my keys, rushing to escape the awkwardness of what was happening. “Jen, I’ll wait. Take your time, figure things out. I will wait.”

The following day when I went to work, I had a dozen red roses waiting for me at the customer service desk. The card read, “You are worth more than you realize.”

I never saw Mike again.

The following weekend I moved to Seattle and started a new life. Not because of Mike. If anything, Mike showed me that although he may have been a good fit for me, I was not a good fit for him. Mike, unbeknownst to him, opened my eyes.

I struggled hard. I had two abusive relationships back to back in Seattle, one that resulted in a pregnancy. Vinnie.

Had I not moved, there would have been no bruises.
Had I not moved there would have been no Joe.
Had I not moved, there would have been no Gracie.
Had I not moved, there would have been no Sofia.

Every now and then, I still think about Mike. It’s been close to twenty years now. I hope he is happy, I hope he found the one that he thought I was.

And, more than anything, I hope he knows that at that time in my life, he was the one who gave me the strength to take a chance. Even though the chance may not have been on him,  I still took it……and now, I have a good husband and three pretty cool kids, and that tells me, the chance I took, even though it was not easy, totally worth it.

Christin

We met on a blind date, set up by a well-intentioned co-worker, I think. He was older, almost 30, and I was just barely old enough to legally drink. Opposites in everyway. He was outgoing, the life of the party, while I was content to be in the background, avoiding the center of attention at all costs.
That was until I met him.

As I think back, he had a touch of the 80’s hairband vibe without the mullet or tight pants. Some say he was a Fred Durst from Limp Bizkit’s doppelgänger. I guess that was slightly accurate too.

He was a bit on the wild side, but in a good way. He could start up a conversation with a complete stranger, and often did. Working the crowd as I hung back, admiring his charismatic ways. Short of swinging from the chandeliers, he was always up for a good time out on the town, although he preferred the hole in wall karaoke bars, which was a scary place to be for a shy girl like me.

That was until he pulled me out of the shell I had been hiding in and made me go up in the front of a crowded bar and sing “I will survive” by Gloria Gaynor.

“First I was afraid, I was petrified…”

Petrified was an understatement.

 I almost shit my pants.

But somehow, I made it through and I couldn’t have done it without his superpowers.

And that’s what attracted me to him. His superpowers. Now don’t get me wrong, he was no Clark Kent but his “Who cares what everyone thinks” attitude was something that I needed at the time. And for the moments we were together, I felt the freedom of not caring what everyone else thought, and I liked it.

We only had one major difference, the whole age thing.

 “You have this CD? I love their music,” he said, picking up Jen’s wide variety of music collection.

“Oh yeah. I have ALL of their Cd’s. Have you heard this one too?” she said with more enthusiasm than I had ever heard from her before.

“Oh yeah, this one is good too.”

I came around the corner, wondering what great CD these 2 fools were practically drooling over.

“Who is it?”

“Twisted Sister,” they said in unison.

“Who’s that?”

Instantly, they both stopped what they were doing and suddenly, I felt their eyes burning into my soul.

“You don’t know who Twisted Sister is?”

Umm, no.

They were clearly children of the 70’s. I was not.

I still don’t know who Twisted Sister is.

 That was another thing. My friends liked him. He was willing to help out around the apartment, fixing stuff that 2 girls and a gay couldn’t because they were afraid of breaking a nail, or a sweat. He was our plumber, maintenance man, bodyguard, comedian, party and chauffeur all rolled into one. Me and the roomies had it made.

More importantly, He was funny and I like to laugh as most of you that know me, are painfully aware of.

His lame jokes and my cackling hyena laugh made for quite a sight if you were a bystander in a bar, which we frequented often.

The bystander probably couldn’t have guessed what was behind these two ‘fun times’ people.

I couldn’t even admit it…

The truth was…

It was never going to be him.

I was never going to be his sidekick, his almost 40-year-old shadow (which would make him almost 50, gulp!) following him around bar to bar, drinking, singing karaoke, holding up a solo cup in every picture posted on Facebook or the Gram.

I wasn’t going to wear band t-shirts and pretend I was still the life of the party as I stood next to him and his beer belly while he and his friends played beer pong and screamed “chug, chug” as they took turns downing insane amounts of alcohol.

We separated for obvious reasons, he was always going to life of the party and no matter how great his superpowers were, they were never meant for me.

I learned a few years later, that I always had my own superpowers.

I discovered them the day that I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. And then again with my son.

Almost 15 years later, I am still using them.

Guess what?

I like mine better.

 

 

 

 

 

The first half of my day today went pretty smoothly. Aside from some needless running around and being locked out of a classroom while my spicy hot wings were anxiously awaiting my arrival, no complaints.

The latter half of my day, well, let’s just say it will be a Vodka Calling kind of night. I only have an hour in between the time I pick up Gracie up from school and Sofia’s school lets out. Usually, I have plenty of time to spare. Not today.

I pick Gracie up from school. “Mom, it is Spirit week, tomorrow is “Sports Day.” Can I wear something Seahawks?

Yeah, sure, no problem. I mean no one in our household is a Seahawks fan, but yes, we can make this happen. At this point, I am just happy she wants to wear something other than her school uniform.  Not to mention not even I would make my daughter wear anything NY GIANTS (which I have plenty of) at this point in the season.

The plan was I would do a “quick” deposit at the bank, then we would rush over to Fred Meyer where I could pick her up some sort of Seahawks attire. Everything would have gone as planned had I not had to wait in the bank’s drive-thru line for thirty minutes! I know what you are thinking. “I would have just left.” “I would have just went inside.” Well, when there is a car in front of me and a car behind me, my fate is pretty much sealed.

Finally, I get up to the window, I have everything ready. “I need to make a deposit, here is everything you need.”

“Mam’ can you just make sure you include your ID.”

My ID was included. I had the deposit slip, cash, checks, and my freaking ID on top.

“Yeah, I have it in there.”

I am not quite sure why I had to sit an additional ten minutes at the drive-thru window, but I did. As soon as the bank teller pushes my receipt through the tiny pull out drawer, I am out of there! I now have 15 minutes before Sofia gets out of school. And, if I am not there waiting for her, she will have a panic attack and tell any “safe adult” “MY MOM FORGOT TO PICK ME UP!”

Safeway is in the same shopping center as the bank. I knew I had to come up with a plan B for “Operation Seahwaks Attire” or else it would be Gracie having a panic attack. “Let’s just go to Safeway real quick to see what they have!”

Important to note, this is Seahawk territory, even the grocery stores have Seahawks gear.

We find the Seahawks section, and Gracie decided on a thirty dollar scarf. Of course she did. Quickly, we find our place in line with 10 minutes to spare before Sofia would be out.

There was some sort of disagreement going on between the cashier and the customer in front of me.

“I thought if I brought up the barcode, then I would be able to get it for this price?”
“No, you can only get it for this price if you buy multiples.”
“But I just need one.”
“I am sorry, do you want me to delete your transaction?”

I literally have my phone out getting ready to text her teacher “I am a horrible mother, please keep Sofia in the office, I will be there shortly!” Checking the time, watching the minutes tick by.

“I cannot afford it without the sale price.”

The customer leaves.

All the cashier has to do is ring up the thirty dollar scarf. However, she must wait for a manager to come over to delete the previous customer’s transaction. I am texting the teacher, and then I notice it. I notice the item the customer before me could not afford.

A box of tampons.

I hand the cashier my debit card, while realizing I never got my ID back from the bank. Quickly, I call the bank, while asking the cashier “Is that the item she was trying to buy?”

On the phone: “Yeah, I just sat in your drive thru for 45 minutes, you have my ID. I am at Safeway, will drive back through and pick up my ID.”

“I am sorry, what is your name again?”

UGH!

The cashier discreetly confirms that yes, the previous customer was trying to buy a box of tampons. I rush Gracie out of the store because now I have to pick up my ID while Gracie is trying to rip off the tags of her new thirty dollar scarf.

Outside of Safeway, I see her. I see the customer. I am still on the phone with the bank spelling out my name J-E-N-N…..

I motion to Gracie “Hurry up, we need to get your sister.”

And I see the customer leaning into the passenger window of some guys car.

“I am just trying to get a little bit of cash, nothing too fancy.”

“What are you offering?”

“I can’t do any less than 15.”

“Nah, I am good.”

I have my keys, rushing to open my car door, still on the phone with the bank “I WILL BE THERE IN FIVE SECONDS, HAVE IT READY!”

Watching the scene in front of me, reminiscent of the first time Julia Roberts approached Richard Gere’s car in the cult classic “Pretty Woman.” Except, this scene would not have a happily ever after.

Somehow, I made it Sofia’s school just in time to be approached by a parent who is missing their fundraising order.

I sat down at the tiny table in the foyer of Sofia’s school. Head buried in my hands, I was slowly starting to process the last hour or so.

I was too busy to see what was right in front of me. A potential problem I may have been able to at least put a band-aid on. I walked right past this woman too worried about my ID, and Sofia….when in the end, both Sofia and my ID would be okay.

This is what I should have done.

I should have bought the box of tampons, hoping that I would be able to catch up to the customer….and once I saw her at the car, trying to get a lousy fifteen bucks, I would discreetly call her over. I would have handed her the bag and walked away with Gracie, hopefully teaching Gracie that sometimes, we need to stop. We need to stop and look for those that may need just a little extra help.

I did not do that.

Next time, because there is always a next time. Next time I will pass the test.

 

 

 

 

 

I do not talk about my brother-in-law much. I should. My brother-in-law is kinda like my safe deposit box. He holds and protects one of my most valuable treasures. My sister, and her children. While my brother-in-law is in possession of the safe deposit box, only a select few hold the key.

Belle is one.

The loss of a pet is one of the most challenging things one will go through in life. It’s also one of those things where there is no quick recovery from. It’s a process.

Sam was a beautiful Siamese that joined my family on a whim. We brought him into our home, we loved him, we took care him. Sam depended on us, and we depended on Sam.

Sam was a jumper. You would not have to look far to find him. Just look up. He would be there hanging out somewhere. Whether it was in his cat tower, or a bedroom closet. He was there. You just had to look up to see him.

When Sam started to lose weight, we figured it was just the cat food. He’s a picky eater. We tried so many different brands of food. We tried so many different types. No matter what we did, Sam would not eat.

What was supposed to be a routine visit to the vet, was anything but. Sam had kidney failure. Our options were next to nothing.

Our vet gently explained that we could put him down, or we could try to give him intravenous fluids three times a day.

It was an easy choice. I was not ready to let him go, and I knew, Sam had a little bit of fight left in him. Even if we had to look up to find it.

Three times a day, we had to administer fluids to Sam. It was a three-person job. His IV bag was secured to the wall, while one of us grabbed the skin on his neck, and the other gently administered the fluids. Sam hated it, yet when it was all said and done, he felt better. He was starting to eat more and we figured we were out of the woods.

Then, out of nowhere, Sam stopped eating again. The IV fluids were no longer working. We tried everything. Tuna, soup, broth, we tried it all with the hopes that Sam would eat.

I was running out of hope. Sam was down to skin and bones, no longer using his litter box. Our vet told me “Sam will let you know when it is time.” I knew Sam would tell me to look up when it was time.

One night I was on the computer listening to music. I played the song “Praying For You” by the Katinas. Sam got up from his permanent spot on the bed, jumped on my keyboard and just laid there….looking up.

I knew. I knew this was Sam telling me it was time.

Calling the vet in the early hours of the morning, explaining to her in between tears that “It is time” was one of the hardest things I have ever done. Even as I write this, ten years after the fact, I still cry. But…I knew. Sam told me, “It’s time.”

We took him to the vet that day. Immediately we were ushered to a private, quiet room. Our vet came in, with tears in her eyes, and explained the quick and painless process. Joe, Vinnie and I all surrounded Sam as he closed his eyes here on earth and woke up in Heaven.

Joe was very adamant about burying Sam at his parent’s house. I cannot fully explain to you the pain, the hurt, the anger I felt, leaving the vet with Sam’s body wrapped up in a baby blanket I had used for both AJ and Vinnie. No one said a word as we made the drive from Federal Way to Tacoma to put Sam to rest in his final resting place. I remember, driving, looking at the passenger window, looking up.

I was a mess, I was changed. We all were. To this day, I still have the last of his IV bag safely wrapped up in the back of my closet. All I have to do is “look up” and there is Sam.

As the years went on, Joe and I ended up losing four other cats. One died in Joe’s arms, with a 9 month pregnant me crying in the corner. One cat died in Vinnie’s arms, as Vinnie was laying on the floor, knowing, what was about to happen, arms wrapped around his beloved animal.

No matter if it is one, five, or twenty-five times, the loss never gets easier.

You have to go through the grieving period. You will have sleepless nights, and when you finally do fall asleep, you will not want to wake up. It’s too hard. It’s too hard to be in the here and now when you know what you have just lost…and yet, you keep going.

People will try to tell you things to make it okay. You will most likely want to punch them. There is seriously nothing anyone can say or do to make the loss of a pet any easier to deal with. It is a process. A process that deals with grief, sadness, guilt, anger. It is a long daunting process.

This is what I have learned. All those hard days. The days when just shopping for a gallon of milk in the grocery store is enough to put you in the fetal position not wanting to get up. The days when you do not even want to shower, you do not want to go out, and you most certainly do not want to laugh, all those days are part of the process. Because, each day, each horrible ugly day that you deal with, at the end of it all,  will be those days that give you your strength.

One week ago my sister and niece lost their beloved family dog, Belle. Right now they are in the thick dirty trenches of it. My heart breaks for them because they are broken. Eventually, they will be okay. They come from strength. Carolyn and Alyssa are all too familiar with how this works. Right now, right now is the hardest part, and we, as her family and friends, we will be there to see them through this. Just like they were there to see me through Sam.

I like to think I have a pretty good idea of what Rainbow Bridge is like.

Rainbow Bridge is just another name for Heaven.

Last week, as Belle was in her final hours here on earth, there was quite a commotion happening up at Rainbow Bridge. The welcoming committee had to be in place. This was direct orders from “The Big Guy.”

Sam, well, he was in charge only because he had seniority. It was Sam’s job to make sure Belle had a pretty spectacular welcoming. She deserved it. They all do, but Belle, she was an extra special case.

Callie, their beloved cat who went missing just a few years prior, would be the first to welcome Belle and show her the ropes. Callie will show Belle the special cloud that she can sit on. This special cloud is reserved for the newcomers. It’s their special place where they can sit and look down on their family, and let them know in their own little way, that they are still there, watching over them.

All they have to do is look up.

I feel for my sister and my niece. I know their pain. Most of us do.

I am thankful though that I could not ask for a better protector of my safety deposit box. my brother in law has his family safely secured…..and little Belle, up in Heaven, is watching us all, with the key safely secured to her heart.

And if you look close enough, if you look up, you just may be able to see her.

 

 

 

 

 

Jennifer

This was the first year I hosted Thanksgiving in my brand new place. I was excited, I was hopeful, I was scared to death I would ruin the damn turkey.

Joe’s sister and her family were coming over. An easy crowd as we all hang out frequently. Everything was going as planned, until Wednesday night. Instead of doing last minute cleaning, I was putting out fires on Facebook (I bet you thought I meant my kitchen, huh?) while trying to help my sister through the agonizing loss of her family pet. Needless to say the last minute cleaning, well, that happened on Thursday morning.

I only had a few hours before everyone would be over. Between the cleaning, the food prep and watching all the “Friends” Thanksgiving Day episodes, I ran out of time. Not to mention even my “fat jeans” were becoming a bit snug on me. It seriously took me a good twenty minutes to remedy that situation. For a split second, I thought “How hard could it be to start dieting on Thanksgiving?” Well, guess what, it is hard. Bring on the stretchy pants!

Shortly thereafter the family arrived. It was like magic. They came in with bags of food and made it all happen. “Okay, we will put the snacks here and the food prep on your table.” There was a point where they started to move furniture around just to better utilize the space. I LOVED that. I work best that way. Put me in charge and something will go wrong, delegate me a job and I will do it like a BOSS.

I did less work in my own home than I do when we go somewhere else. Score! Aside from the actual shopping that is.

The mashed potatoes and stuffing, those were all me. I have a secret ingredient for both, and I could not allow just anyone to do that.

It was a good day. As you can see below, I am sitting at my computer keeping track of my Fantasy Football, while everyone else is working.

I hope you all enjoyed your Thanksgiving. Sometimes the holidays are hard for people. Everyone is fighting their own battles. They may not talk about it as much as Christin and I do, but everyone is going through something, and I guess, on this day, I hope that it was just a little bit easier for those who are fighting.

Goodbye Thanksgiving 2017

(Me…not having to do anything.)

Christin

Thanksgiving was unusually uneventful this year. Well, unless you count the gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free cheesecake I was anxiously anticipating for dessert. Now that was eventful. I haven’t had cheesecake or pie in 3 years, since I became allergic/intolerant to all the things I dearly love. So, the main event of my Thanksgiving was sliding my fork into the yummy goodness of my faux cheesecake and into my mouth. Surprisingly it was good… and I ended up eating the whole thing. My jeans aren’t happy with me today.

 Other than the main event AKA the cheesecake, we stayed home, Jason cooked up enough food for 20 people upon my insistence (for leftovers, of course) and everything went off without a hitch.

No traveling this year, no guests, just the four of us, watching the football game in between putting up our Christmas tree and watching “The Nightmare Before Christmas” which isn’t really a Christmas movie, but it was the only one we could all agree upon.

 Kharizma said our table looked like the “ones in the commercials” upon sitting at the table and when it was her turn to tell everyone what she was thankful for she said “Dr.Pepper.”

Teenagers.

Kaidon said he is thankful for his family.

At least I raised one of my kids right.

He also decided to take 2 bulbs off the tree and hang them between his legs, proceeded to look at me and say “look at my balls, mom”

This was proceeded by me leaving my phone on the couch as I went to the other room for a few minutes, only to come back and have found that my wonderful 12-year-old son had hacked into my Facebook, updating my status as “I like my cat more then my kids.”

I take it back. I must have done something wrong with both of them.

We ended the night with the kids wrestling on the couch and me telling them to go to bed.

Instead, I went to bed to cuddle with my cat that doesn’t hack into my Facebook and isn’t a 14-year-old teenager with an attitude bigger than her.

Except I couldn’t do that because the boyfriend is “allergic” to cats, although I’m not sure how we have lived together for almost 5 years now without him having an “allergic” reaction. He is not privy to the fact that my cat lays on his pillow when he is not home.

Like I said, it was an uneventful Thanksgiving.

 

I had to finish up my Thanksgiving Day shopping today. This year, I am hosting Thanksgiving at my new apartment. I could not be any more excited and nervous. Do not worry though, my brother in law is coming over to make sure I do not screw up the bird. (And the world takes a collective sigh of relief.)

At my local grocery store, they have a deal where you spend 100.00 on groceries, you get a free turkey. Last week I spent 100.00, so I got my free turkey. Then, they had Butterball on sale for 98 cents a pound. I had to snatch that up as well. I am thinking ahead to Christmas dinner, or perhaps turkey sandwiches on New Years. Either way, I have two turkeys. So today when I spent another 100.00 on groceries, you guessed it, I got my third turkey.

Everything was fine, until Vinnie lugs the 20-pound bird up one long flight of stairs, barrels into the apartment, huffing, and puffing, while throwing the bird on the counter.

Joe ~ What’s going on?
Vinnie ~ Mom has lost her mind.
Joe ~ Another one?

It’s like these people do not even know me.

“It’s fine! I mean it was free. Who would turn down a free turkey??!!”

I start putting the groceries away. I open the freezer.

Hmmm. The freezer is packed. Between the Butterball turkey, my assortment of pies, and my usual groceries, there simply was no room for the brand new turkey.

I had only mere seconds to come up with a “Plan B” before I would hear the words “I TOLD YOU SO” from Joe and Vinnie.

Think Jen, think!

I quickly grabbed my newest free twenty-pound turkey and snuck out the front door.

……

There he was. Sitting on the stoop like always. I do not know his name. He is my neighbor. Kinda scary, kinda nice. Smokes a lot of weed, and is always arguing with our Landlord in the parking lot. He is the type of guy who knows everyone in the neighboorhood….because he is always home….or on the stoop. On occasion, you will find him arguing with an outsider. He seems to be a good enough guy who has been through a lot. May not always make the best choices, but really, who does? He has a very distinct voice. Throat cancer.

“Hey, hey, how ya doing? Ya need any bringing up your groceries?”

“Oh, no thank you! That’s what Vinnie is for. So, do you want a turkey? I have this turkey and it was free so…”

“You’re giving me a turkey?”

“Well, I mean only if you want it. I do not have room in my freezer and….”

“Yes, I will take it. My check is late and I did not have money for Thanksgiving. Thank you.”

“Oh please, it’s nothing, glad you can use it!”

“This is good, thank you. Happy Thanksgiving Babe!”

Now, between you and me, I am not too fond of people calling me “Babe” when I do not even know their name, but I can overlook that. I hope when he gets into one of his arguments with the “outsiders” he will remember that the girl who lives next door to him gave him a free turkey, so the drive-byes have to happen in another part of the complex. ya feel me?

I make my way back to my apartment.

Joe~ What did you do now?
Me ~ Nothing! I gave the turkey to our neighbor. See problem solved!
Joe ~ That’s cool, I like him, he seems like a good guy.
Me ~ Well, he called me babe, so you may have some competition.
Joe ~ I think I’ll be okay.

Now, the only thing I need to do is find a way to sneak the brand new Christmas tree in. This may take me some time.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, Christin is giving away a 15.00 Starbucks gift card. If you are a long time reader of the blog, you know Christin and I have not always had it easy. Many times we wanted to help people, but we did not even have the fund to help ourselves. To enter the drawing please leave a comment either here or on the Vodka Calling Facebook page. Tell us your favorite Starbucks coffee drink, and your favorite Thanksgiving Day dish……with the exception of turkey.

Christin can always tell when I have had a few drinks while Facebooking. The tell-tale sign is I post music videos. Music videos of mostly 80’s music. Specifically The Karate Kid soundtrack. I mean if you were here, in my house, you would be lucky enough to see me do a dance routine to “You’re the Best.” The amazing song that was played in the last big fight of the Karate Kid. Screw you Cobra Kai!!

Remember the infamous episode of “Friends” where Monica and Ross do their dance routine at a New Years Eve party? That would be me, except I am in my living room and there is no dance partner….unless you count vodka. Which I do not.

Christin gets a kick out of it, kinda sorta at my expense. I mean it’s not like she will shoot me a text and say “Jen, you have had too much to drink, get off of Facebook.” Instead, she waits until the following day when we talk on the phone. “So who were you this time, Daniel or Ali.?” I am always Ali or at least my own version of Ali. Unless of course, I switch over to “Your Love” by The Outfield, in which case I take on a totally new personality. I am pretty proud of my 80’s dance moves.

Usually, what follows is something along the lines of “OMG YOU COULD TELL I WAS DRINKING ON FACEBOOK? WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME? to which I am met with “Remember when you signed me up on Plenty of Fish when you were drinking, well this is payback!”

So, as the story goes. “Apparently” one night, many years ago, I may have had a little too much to drink (in the safety of my own home!) and kinda sorta made Christin a dating profile on Plenty of Fish….and forgot to tell her. In my defense,  Christin was at a crossroads in her personal life, and just between you and I, she always attracted the losers. (Hello pot, meet kettle.)

Enter Me! I figured I was doing a good deed, helping my girl out. I would weed through the schmucks, and send any potential “good guys” her way. It was a perfect plan, executed by one too many diet cokes and vodka.

The plan was in motion. With a drink in hand, I call Christin (with The Karate Kid soundtrack playing in the background.

Me ~ “Hey! Just curious…..what is your ideal perfect date?”
Christin ~ “Ummm, I don’t know, maybe a jazz club. Why?”
Me ~ “Really? A jazz club? not dinner and a movie?”

Me ~ “So when you are at this jazz club, like what kind of guy are you with? Black, white? Tall,  short? Big, small?
Christin ~ “What the hell are you talking about?”
Me ~ “Nothing, call you back in a few!”

It’s funny how I remember sitting at my computer, SO EXCITED to make Christin a dating profile! Joe thinking I had lost my mind, while secretly hiding the vodka.

Yet…..somewhere in between me making her dating profile, and listening to Ac/Dc’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” I somehow forgot to tell Christin I had made said profile.

THREE DAYS LATER.

I am getting ready. Joe and I actually have a date night. This was back in the days before Gracie was sick and I had a babysitter. As I am applying my lipgloss with perfect ease, a song comes on the radio. Ac/Dc’s “You Shook Me All Night Long.”

Hmmm. Was there something I forgot to do? I grabbed my aqua net hairspray, sprayed it in my hair just as Joe was coming in the bathroom to check on me. As he is having a coughing attack, the lyrics “You shook me all night long” is playing on the radio, it hit me. I forgot to tell Christin that I made her a dating profile on Plenty of Fish.

Crap! I told Joe to go outside an have a smoke, to help clear his airways from my good ole hairspray, while I reached for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey! It’s me! Soooo, are you sitting down?”

“No…..should I be?”

“Ummm, probably…but do not get mad.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing! Except, I kinda made you a dating profile on Plenty of Fish, because, well, you know. I used your email but I should be able to weed out the losers, so only respond to the ones I send you, not any other emails.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!?!”

“So I may have had a bit too much to drink the other night, but that’s okay, I get all my brilliant ideas when I am drinking, I just wanted to give you a heads up…..be open minded. I have to go, Joe and I are going to see the new Brad Pitt movie.”

It took a great deal of convincing on my part. I mean in my mind I was doing the what any good BFF would do. Helping my girl out! It took Christin a bit longer to see that.

This is why, to this day, when Christin sees me “drinking on Facebook” she does not say a word. Payback or whatever.

However…..let me just say that if you go on Plenty of Fish, you will be able to see the very profile I made for her. So….in the end…..I was kinda right.

Which means, maybe drinking and Facebooking is not a bad thing?!