Christmas 2011 came and went… and so did my next three pay checks. Heck, I am usually so thorough with Christmas shopping that I start at least three months in advance. I make lists about gifts, I watch the ads for the ultimate deals… and then I blow it the day after Christmas on all of the MASSIVE sales. Unfortunately though, this year was different.
You see, I was so swamped between school, work, and kid stuff this fall that I really didn’t have a chance to start Christmas shopping until the day after Thanksgiving. That morning, one of my best friends, Monica, and I hit the mall at opening--and shopped for seven hours. I was able to score just about every gift in one day… and one paycheck. Ouch. Multiply that by my day-after-Christmas-shopping-extravaganza, and I am officially broke, will be serving spam and scrambled eggs to my family for the month of January, and will be painting my own toes for the foreseeable future.
So in the name of saving money, I decided to cut corners…. And share the lessons that I learned with you:
1. Tito’s vodka is just as good as Grey Goose… is locally made in Texas (definitely increasing it’s awesome factor)…. And is half the cost. WIN!
Yes, this is true. The self-proclaimed Grey Goose fan club president is now drinking Tito’s Vodka. I may still order a martini with Grey Goose in public, but that’s only to protect my now poor-broke-wounded-pride. The truth of the matter is you can’t tell the difference.
2. Home wax kits are a great idea…. Until you decide to wax your own bikini line.
Yep, in an attempt to save $40 a month, I decided to spend $90 and buy my own kit. How hard could it be, right? Just apply burning hot wax to your girly areas and rip. Now I can honestly say that I got the first step down--but then the grab the cloth and rip took a whole lot of convincing. I tried… and stopped. I tried again… and stopped. I did a shot of vodka…. And yanked. OH. MY. GOD. I saw stars. I screamed profanity. And decided that I would never attempt THAT again. Want to get infidels to spill all of their terrorist secrets???? Just apply hot wax and rip.
3. The best Christmas gifts are gift cards… that include yourself. Now, this one may seem a little confusing, but let me explain the genius behind this gift. My second best friend, Loren, gave me a gift card for Christmas to a delicious little Mexican restaurant that supposedly had amazing food, margaritas, and ambience. The catch: the restaurant is in Austin (Loren’s city) and we have to go together! How perfect is that? Not only do we have a pre-paid girl’s night out, but we also have an excuse to get together and money for top end tequila while I pay off all the shoes that I purchased on December 26th.
Christmas 2011 may be over, but we will all be feeling it’s noose for a few more months. And believe it or not, as soon as we get the bills totally free and clear from Santa, we have to start shelling out money for summer camps **sigh**. It’s a brutal loop. It’s exhausting. It’s tough—especially on a military budget. But it’s doable. There is always a way to cut back on excessive spending (without following your husband’s maybe-you-should-start-coloring-your-own-hair-advice). Cheers to almost-top-shelf martinis, great friends, and the fact that bikini season is still a few more months off…
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
The Ghost of Christmas Past
Christmas is three days away, and although the tree is up and most of the presents are wrapped, I still find myself struggling to find that elusive Christmas spirit. I figured that the Ghost of Christmas Past would help remind me of just how lucky I am, so I am going to spare him the journey and tell you the story myself. Now let’s flashback 12 months to Christmas 2010….
This time last year, Jim was deployed to Iraq, and the kids and I were seriously lacking in the holiday cheer department. I decided that a trip to The Great Wolf Lodge was exactly what the family needed… three days in a water park, three kids, one adult. Does anyone else see a problem with this equation?
Now don’t get me wrong… I am one tough mama, I know CPR, and nobody would dare judge an Army Wife for throwing back a martini after a 10 hour day of swimming, so I booked the reservation. Off we set for a relaxing dream filled trip to The Great Wolf Lodge in Dallas… heck, I heard it even snowed inside the lodge during story hour (I could just envision my little angels all snuggled in their pajamas thanking Santa Clause for their amazing selfless mom). And then…REALITY CHECK!
The drive to Dallas takes about five hours, at exactly hour two (you know, the point where you are definitely committed to the trip) I started noticing this loud rumbling sound being emitted from the depths of my car. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was loud, vibrating, and my low oil indicator was flashing. Obviously, this set off the panic button in my mind, and I did what every stressed out Army Wife does when experiencing car problems… I called my dad. He listened to my grievances, tried to trouble shoot the problem, and explained that I better call a garage when I reached Dallas. I white-knuckled the steering wheel the rest of the drive, and did the happy dance when we pulled into the Great Wolf Lodge. Heck, I had no clue if we were going to make it home, but we were going to swim for three days—right after I found a cell phone charger (yep, like every good woman, I forgot to pack one). My phone was about to die, my kids were starving, there was already a pile of oil puddling underneath my car, but I grabbed our suitcases and we charged into the resort ready to forget our woes for 72 hours.
And THAT was the exact moment that the resort lost power.
Now, water resorts can’t operate if there is no power… and the same goes for elevators. And yes, you guessed it, we were on the top floor. No problem. The resort was passing out free Dipping-Dots to help prevent a mutiny, and my three little children greedily gobbled down the frozen sugar snacks. Maybe I should have been paying more attention to how much my four year old was eating, but I was seriously trying to recover from the drive and desperately hoping that my phone didn’t die before I found 1. A phone charger 2. A hotel room 3. Power.
And THAT was the exact moment that my four year old puked all over herself.
Waiting for an elevator suddenly wasn’t a priority, and I grabbed all the suitcases, the puke covered preschooler, and hoofed it up eight flights of steps. My older kids were so hyped up on sugar that they had enough energy to power the damn resort, and were just running around the hotel room at mock ten. I cleaned up Anna, assured her that everyone vomits on themselves at some point in their lives (usually the college years), and explained to my kids that I needed just a few moments to “gather my sanity”. I locked myself in the bathroom, lowered myself into the empty bathtub, and prayed that God would somehow hear my stressed out Army Wife prayers and send some much needed alcohol to my room.
And THAT was the exact moment that my phone decided it had enough battery power left to receive ONE more call… from my mother.
Now, I heard the phone ring, but I really was in no mental shape to answer it, and unless it was Publisher’s Clearing House calling to inform me that I was their new mega-million winner then I really didn’t care who was on the other end (and let’s be frank…. Luck wasn’t exactly on my side this trip). I hollered out to my son to answer it, closed my eyes in the pitch black bathroom (still no power), and leaned my head back against the cool tile. Working on my yoga breathing, I tried desperately to keep the panic attacks at bay, and just focused on my breathing.
And THAT was the exact moment I heard my son tell my mother, “Mom can’t come to the phone right now… she is having a nervous breakdown in the bathtub.”
I could only imagine the chaos that erupted at my parent’s house with THAT comment. They already envisioned me with one foot in the Crazy House, and I knew that they didn’t exactly think a three day trip to a water park was a mentally smart move on my part. And let’s be honest… I was an Army Wife on the edge. I needed three things: 1. Mary Poppins 2. A GIANT bottle of Grey Goose 3. World Peace.
Now let’s flash forward to this Christmas again: I may not have received a magical nanny, world peace, or the GIANT bottle of Grey Goose in 2010… but the war in Iraq is finally over, Jim is home for the holidays, and a new martini bar opened up just ten miles from my house. Last year’s crazy Christmas taught me that holiday magic takes more than just a credit card and a good intention, but requires teamwork, togetherness, family, and love. I may be stuck in years of therapy from the fall out of that trip, but I know that my kids and I left the resort smiling, exhausted, broke, and ready to face the holidays head on.
I guess it’s time to see what 2011 has in store for me… It can’t be any worse, right?...
***Note: Anna is recovering from a nasty eye infection and Jim is home sick with a stomach virus. Maybe I spoke too soon…”
Merry Christmas everyone!
This time last year, Jim was deployed to Iraq, and the kids and I were seriously lacking in the holiday cheer department. I decided that a trip to The Great Wolf Lodge was exactly what the family needed… three days in a water park, three kids, one adult. Does anyone else see a problem with this equation?
Now don’t get me wrong… I am one tough mama, I know CPR, and nobody would dare judge an Army Wife for throwing back a martini after a 10 hour day of swimming, so I booked the reservation. Off we set for a relaxing dream filled trip to The Great Wolf Lodge in Dallas… heck, I heard it even snowed inside the lodge during story hour (I could just envision my little angels all snuggled in their pajamas thanking Santa Clause for their amazing selfless mom). And then…REALITY CHECK!
The drive to Dallas takes about five hours, at exactly hour two (you know, the point where you are definitely committed to the trip) I started noticing this loud rumbling sound being emitted from the depths of my car. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was loud, vibrating, and my low oil indicator was flashing. Obviously, this set off the panic button in my mind, and I did what every stressed out Army Wife does when experiencing car problems… I called my dad. He listened to my grievances, tried to trouble shoot the problem, and explained that I better call a garage when I reached Dallas. I white-knuckled the steering wheel the rest of the drive, and did the happy dance when we pulled into the Great Wolf Lodge. Heck, I had no clue if we were going to make it home, but we were going to swim for three days—right after I found a cell phone charger (yep, like every good woman, I forgot to pack one). My phone was about to die, my kids were starving, there was already a pile of oil puddling underneath my car, but I grabbed our suitcases and we charged into the resort ready to forget our woes for 72 hours.
And THAT was the exact moment that the resort lost power.
Now, water resorts can’t operate if there is no power… and the same goes for elevators. And yes, you guessed it, we were on the top floor. No problem. The resort was passing out free Dipping-Dots to help prevent a mutiny, and my three little children greedily gobbled down the frozen sugar snacks. Maybe I should have been paying more attention to how much my four year old was eating, but I was seriously trying to recover from the drive and desperately hoping that my phone didn’t die before I found 1. A phone charger 2. A hotel room 3. Power.
And THAT was the exact moment that my four year old puked all over herself.
Waiting for an elevator suddenly wasn’t a priority, and I grabbed all the suitcases, the puke covered preschooler, and hoofed it up eight flights of steps. My older kids were so hyped up on sugar that they had enough energy to power the damn resort, and were just running around the hotel room at mock ten. I cleaned up Anna, assured her that everyone vomits on themselves at some point in their lives (usually the college years), and explained to my kids that I needed just a few moments to “gather my sanity”. I locked myself in the bathroom, lowered myself into the empty bathtub, and prayed that God would somehow hear my stressed out Army Wife prayers and send some much needed alcohol to my room.
And THAT was the exact moment that my phone decided it had enough battery power left to receive ONE more call… from my mother.
Now, I heard the phone ring, but I really was in no mental shape to answer it, and unless it was Publisher’s Clearing House calling to inform me that I was their new mega-million winner then I really didn’t care who was on the other end (and let’s be frank…. Luck wasn’t exactly on my side this trip). I hollered out to my son to answer it, closed my eyes in the pitch black bathroom (still no power), and leaned my head back against the cool tile. Working on my yoga breathing, I tried desperately to keep the panic attacks at bay, and just focused on my breathing.
And THAT was the exact moment I heard my son tell my mother, “Mom can’t come to the phone right now… she is having a nervous breakdown in the bathtub.”
I could only imagine the chaos that erupted at my parent’s house with THAT comment. They already envisioned me with one foot in the Crazy House, and I knew that they didn’t exactly think a three day trip to a water park was a mentally smart move on my part. And let’s be honest… I was an Army Wife on the edge. I needed three things: 1. Mary Poppins 2. A GIANT bottle of Grey Goose 3. World Peace.
Now let’s flash forward to this Christmas again: I may not have received a magical nanny, world peace, or the GIANT bottle of Grey Goose in 2010… but the war in Iraq is finally over, Jim is home for the holidays, and a new martini bar opened up just ten miles from my house. Last year’s crazy Christmas taught me that holiday magic takes more than just a credit card and a good intention, but requires teamwork, togetherness, family, and love. I may be stuck in years of therapy from the fall out of that trip, but I know that my kids and I left the resort smiling, exhausted, broke, and ready to face the holidays head on.
I guess it’s time to see what 2011 has in store for me… It can’t be any worse, right?...
***Note: Anna is recovering from a nasty eye infection and Jim is home sick with a stomach virus. Maybe I spoke too soon…”
Merry Christmas everyone!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Buttons.
Yesterday started out the same as every other day… with a headache. My youngest had a meltdown that her toothpaste tasted weird, my son was complaining that his substitute was mean and that SHE had a beard, and my oldest daughter wanted to compete in a pageant. I switched toothpaste with Anna, told JD not to stare, and explained to Abby, “Sure you can compete in a pageant… when I am dead.” I shuffled them all out the door, totally ignoring the protests, and laced up my running shoes for my morning run. For the next hour, I planned to talk to no one, think about nothing other than songs playing on my iPod, and burn at least 700 calories. All was going well, until mile 1.7.
Problem numero uno: My phone rang, and like an obsessed-crackberry-idot, I answered it. The person on the other end of the line was a friend who had donated hotel rooms to soldiers’ families. I had a certificate of appreciation and a bunch of other thank you items that I needed to ship to him, and I had sent an email requesting his work address. Of course, at the exact same moment he called, a cute (possibly rabid) dog darted out from the brush and stood in the center of the country road. Now for those of you who are not from Texas, let me explain the definition of a country road. It is a place where few cars travel… but the ones that do tend to move faster than an F-18. I could hear a rumble of a car engine in the distance, and I desperately tried to beckon the dog towards safety (without making a sound on the phone).
Problem numero dos: Just my luck, the damn dog didn’t understand sign language.
A pickup truck was traveling at the speed of light towards the dog (which sat in the middle of the road just staring at me), and with an exasperated eye roll, I finally called the dog over. The truck barreled past, but slowed down just enough to yell out the window to me, “Put your damn dog on a leash!”
To which I yelled back (while I held the phone to my ear), “Not my dog, asshole!”
What can I say… professionalism at its best.
Problem numero tres: Once you save a dog’s life, he decides to adopt you, and will follow you…. For at least six more miles.
Yep, fuzzy dog (which I called Buttons by the end) followed behind me the rest of the run. I couldn’t shake him. He usually ran smack-dab in the center of the road, but seemed adept enough at playing frogger that I stopped freaking out every time a car came near. He tripped me twice (I am positive it was a complete accident both times), and crazy enough, I found myself talking to him. I told Buttons everything. All the pain, hurting, worrying, and yes, all the joy that was bottle up inside me. But unlike some of our human counterparts, Buttons never judged me. He didn’t pretend that he could relate to my situation. He didn’t offer me pointless advice, and he didn’t assume that the events I decided to share publically were the only events in my life. Instead, Buttons just listened and ran beside me.
At mile seven, a cop waved me over to ticket me for running with my dog off a leash. I explained (in a much more pleasant manner, this time) that Buttons wasn’t MY dog! The cop raised an eyebrow at me, took down my information, and carted Buttons off to animal control. As I turned to run the remaining half mile home, I slowly realized that we all could learn a lot from a dog like Buttons: to listen more, to judge less, to love unconditionally, and to just enjoy the run—wherever it may be taking you.
So that’s what I plan to do this week. … To just enjoy the run. Find peace in my journey. Forgive myself for mistakes made. Learn to love unconditionally, even if that notion terrifies me, and to never be afraid to get dirty. Everyone on this planet is guilty of being human, but that doesn’t mean we have to be guilty of living a meaningless life.
…But fist, I plan to find out when Buttons will be available for adoption.
Problem numero uno: My phone rang, and like an obsessed-crackberry-idot, I answered it. The person on the other end of the line was a friend who had donated hotel rooms to soldiers’ families. I had a certificate of appreciation and a bunch of other thank you items that I needed to ship to him, and I had sent an email requesting his work address. Of course, at the exact same moment he called, a cute (possibly rabid) dog darted out from the brush and stood in the center of the country road. Now for those of you who are not from Texas, let me explain the definition of a country road. It is a place where few cars travel… but the ones that do tend to move faster than an F-18. I could hear a rumble of a car engine in the distance, and I desperately tried to beckon the dog towards safety (without making a sound on the phone).
Problem numero dos: Just my luck, the damn dog didn’t understand sign language.
A pickup truck was traveling at the speed of light towards the dog (which sat in the middle of the road just staring at me), and with an exasperated eye roll, I finally called the dog over. The truck barreled past, but slowed down just enough to yell out the window to me, “Put your damn dog on a leash!”
To which I yelled back (while I held the phone to my ear), “Not my dog, asshole!”
What can I say… professionalism at its best.
Problem numero tres: Once you save a dog’s life, he decides to adopt you, and will follow you…. For at least six more miles.
Yep, fuzzy dog (which I called Buttons by the end) followed behind me the rest of the run. I couldn’t shake him. He usually ran smack-dab in the center of the road, but seemed adept enough at playing frogger that I stopped freaking out every time a car came near. He tripped me twice (I am positive it was a complete accident both times), and crazy enough, I found myself talking to him. I told Buttons everything. All the pain, hurting, worrying, and yes, all the joy that was bottle up inside me. But unlike some of our human counterparts, Buttons never judged me. He didn’t pretend that he could relate to my situation. He didn’t offer me pointless advice, and he didn’t assume that the events I decided to share publically were the only events in my life. Instead, Buttons just listened and ran beside me.
At mile seven, a cop waved me over to ticket me for running with my dog off a leash. I explained (in a much more pleasant manner, this time) that Buttons wasn’t MY dog! The cop raised an eyebrow at me, took down my information, and carted Buttons off to animal control. As I turned to run the remaining half mile home, I slowly realized that we all could learn a lot from a dog like Buttons: to listen more, to judge less, to love unconditionally, and to just enjoy the run—wherever it may be taking you.
So that’s what I plan to do this week. … To just enjoy the run. Find peace in my journey. Forgive myself for mistakes made. Learn to love unconditionally, even if that notion terrifies me, and to never be afraid to get dirty. Everyone on this planet is guilty of being human, but that doesn’t mean we have to be guilty of living a meaningless life.
…But fist, I plan to find out when Buttons will be available for adoption.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Running for a reason
Just last night I was sitting at school completely rejoicing about the fact that I had survived the first semester. I was exhausted, in need of a facial, and wistfully wishing that Mary Poppins would somehow pop down my chimney for the spring semester when I got a phone call. Now, the call was a friend named Edgardo, a local runner and trainer who worked for the American Cancer Society, and he wanted to know if I would consider mentoring or coaching a marathon team for an upcoming race in Austin. Now, my first thought was, “Ummm….. no way.” (I barely have time to shower on a daily basis AND I have to somehow add an internship into the equation next semester)”…. but somehow (yet more proof that I was dropped on my head at birth) I momentarily lost all control and heard myself responding, “Ok…. I think so… Yes..?” Maybe it was the fact that the planets were aligned up just perfectly to give me that extra boost of confidence. Maybe it was because I had just gotten my hair highlighted that morning, and I was having an extra amazing I-got-red-highlights-and-I-don’t-look-like-an-American-Idol-wanna-be kind of hair day. Maybe it was the fact that I had just turned in my last paper and my brain was so taxed that I was still working on answering a question from two hours ago. All reasonable possibilities…. But the true reason, and the ONLY reason, I said yes was because my mother-in-law, Deb—one of the most amazing women and mentors a woman could ever know-- is currently fighting Stage Four colon-rectal cancer.
Now, I share a lot of personal information on this blog…. but I have yet to talk about Deb. Deb is amazing, selfless, and hilarious—the kind of woman who wears a smile in her sleep and sings Disney songs in the shower. In fact, I can remember driving with her, right after I moved to Texas, when the temperature outside had to be at least 5000K (even I was losing brain cells in the car and that was WITH the air condition on). Anyway, we were sitting in traffic, eyeballing a smoothie place, and just hoping that the air condition would find a way to pump more than a whisper of cool air in our faces. Across the street from us (and the source of the ridiculous traffic congestion) was a road crew working on something-or-other on the side of the road. They were hot and sweaty, and to be honest, I was more annoyed than sympathetic due to the fact that it was taking us an additional fifteen minutes to get to my son’s preschool. Deb looked at those sweaty workers, turned to me, and said, “I would like eight peach smoothies please.” One for her…and seven for the workers. THAT’S the kind of person Deb is. THAT’S the kind of heart that Deb has.
To this day, I will never understand why people like Deb get cancer. Why is it that someone who brings so much joy and light into the world should ever have her body betray her? How could the cancer be growing inside her for so long that it somehow found the path to metastasize to her liver, and nobody knew? How could we hear a diagnosis in August that reveals Stage Four? And the scariest of all…. How will we ever cope if Deb leaves us before we are ready? Because I am not ready for her to go. She’s not ready to go. And although she fights it with everything she has got (and this woman has more spunk than an Irish sailor), I can still hear the pain in her voice. And I am helpless.
For the past 60-ish years, Deb has been taking care of the world. Raising kids that weren’t her own. Loving soldiers like they were family. Listening to my long-winded rants and assuring me that I am NOT crazy. But for once, I wanted to show her what she means to me—to let her know that I am thinking about her, always—even when my life has me going around in circles? That although I haven’t talked about her disease publically, its not because I am ignoring it, but rather just desperately trying to contain the grief.
So this year I will train and run Zooma, a brutish hilly course in South Texas, in honor of Deb and ALL patients fighting cancer… but this time, I am taking a team with me. What can I give to a woman who has been an inspiration to me for the last ten years? What can WE give? The answer is simple: give of yourself.
'
Deb: this race is for you.
Everyone else: From here on out, I will only answer to coach.
See you on the track.
Now, I share a lot of personal information on this blog…. but I have yet to talk about Deb. Deb is amazing, selfless, and hilarious—the kind of woman who wears a smile in her sleep and sings Disney songs in the shower. In fact, I can remember driving with her, right after I moved to Texas, when the temperature outside had to be at least 5000K (even I was losing brain cells in the car and that was WITH the air condition on). Anyway, we were sitting in traffic, eyeballing a smoothie place, and just hoping that the air condition would find a way to pump more than a whisper of cool air in our faces. Across the street from us (and the source of the ridiculous traffic congestion) was a road crew working on something-or-other on the side of the road. They were hot and sweaty, and to be honest, I was more annoyed than sympathetic due to the fact that it was taking us an additional fifteen minutes to get to my son’s preschool. Deb looked at those sweaty workers, turned to me, and said, “I would like eight peach smoothies please.” One for her…and seven for the workers. THAT’S the kind of person Deb is. THAT’S the kind of heart that Deb has.
To this day, I will never understand why people like Deb get cancer. Why is it that someone who brings so much joy and light into the world should ever have her body betray her? How could the cancer be growing inside her for so long that it somehow found the path to metastasize to her liver, and nobody knew? How could we hear a diagnosis in August that reveals Stage Four? And the scariest of all…. How will we ever cope if Deb leaves us before we are ready? Because I am not ready for her to go. She’s not ready to go. And although she fights it with everything she has got (and this woman has more spunk than an Irish sailor), I can still hear the pain in her voice. And I am helpless.
For the past 60-ish years, Deb has been taking care of the world. Raising kids that weren’t her own. Loving soldiers like they were family. Listening to my long-winded rants and assuring me that I am NOT crazy. But for once, I wanted to show her what she means to me—to let her know that I am thinking about her, always—even when my life has me going around in circles? That although I haven’t talked about her disease publically, its not because I am ignoring it, but rather just desperately trying to contain the grief.
So this year I will train and run Zooma, a brutish hilly course in South Texas, in honor of Deb and ALL patients fighting cancer… but this time, I am taking a team with me. What can I give to a woman who has been an inspiration to me for the last ten years? What can WE give? The answer is simple: give of yourself.
'
Deb: this race is for you.
Everyone else: From here on out, I will only answer to coach.
See you on the track.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
But who's counting?
There are exactly 10,080 minutes left in this semester, and these final two weeks of mayhem have been a killer. Let me share my schedule: wake up, work out (mainly running because I don’t have time to hit a gym), drop the kids off at school, work, pick kids up from school, go to school, work, bed (at which time I usually dream that I forgot to do something at work). It’s crazy. It’s hectic. It’s definitely not a life for the weak of heart. And thank God….it’s almost over.
What have I learned? You know, besides the obvious ‘how to be an effective social worker and counselor' (blah, blah, blah). Well, let me share a few lessons. Firstly, the sky does not fall, gravity does not cease to exist, and the universe will not teeter out of balance if you get a C on a paper. Yes, it’s true… after graduating summa cum laude at Penn State, I managed to get a C on a paper in grad school. To say I was pissed would be an understatement. I received my unmerited grade, stormed out of the classroom screaming about the injustices of being the “skinny bitch” in class, and threw on my running shoes for a 5 mile save-my-sanity run. AND after that, I drank a martini…. we are talking a BIG martini that was pieced together with little travel size bottles of Grey Goose (and before you inbox me, I am fully aware of just how damn desperate that sounds). Now I will be honest, it wasn’t the grade that threw me for a loop (even though I would still strongly encourage people NOT to mention that paper in front of me if you value your life, nose, or front teeth), but rather the subtle reminder that even I—the supercharged Army Wife who has more energy than the sun--couldn’t juggle it all perfectly. Something had to give.
Which leads me to lesson number two: you can only run in fifty different directions for so long before you need to change your running shoes. For those who don’t speak running metaphors, let me explain it like this: sometimes, you just have to rely on plan “B” when plan “A” just isn’t cutting it. The past four months I have tried to fit 30 hours of activities into a 24 hour day… now, I was not a math major nor did I ever go to Hogwarts, but I AM 100% certain that it just isn’t possible. Prioritizing, cutting back (even on that elusive “me time”), and learning how to say ‘no’ become essential for survival. I learned (and Congress now agrees) that pizza is a vegetable, eyelash extensions are smoking hot but take way to much upkeep for a geographical single mom, and finding time to eat lunch with my kiddos once a week at school is infinitely more important than earning a pay raise. Life is all about choices—and I guarantee that we will make some good ones and some bad. Embrace the results, and use those consequences to challenge you in the future. You may be tired. You may start equating an extra ten minutes in the shower to nirvana. You may discover that you are wearing your slippers at work…. But that’s ok. As of right now, I am two weeks away from completing my first semester of grad school. Only 10, 042 minutes to go….
What have I learned? You know, besides the obvious ‘how to be an effective social worker and counselor' (blah, blah, blah). Well, let me share a few lessons. Firstly, the sky does not fall, gravity does not cease to exist, and the universe will not teeter out of balance if you get a C on a paper. Yes, it’s true… after graduating summa cum laude at Penn State, I managed to get a C on a paper in grad school. To say I was pissed would be an understatement. I received my unmerited grade, stormed out of the classroom screaming about the injustices of being the “skinny bitch” in class, and threw on my running shoes for a 5 mile save-my-sanity run. AND after that, I drank a martini…. we are talking a BIG martini that was pieced together with little travel size bottles of Grey Goose (and before you inbox me, I am fully aware of just how damn desperate that sounds). Now I will be honest, it wasn’t the grade that threw me for a loop (even though I would still strongly encourage people NOT to mention that paper in front of me if you value your life, nose, or front teeth), but rather the subtle reminder that even I—the supercharged Army Wife who has more energy than the sun--couldn’t juggle it all perfectly. Something had to give.
Which leads me to lesson number two: you can only run in fifty different directions for so long before you need to change your running shoes. For those who don’t speak running metaphors, let me explain it like this: sometimes, you just have to rely on plan “B” when plan “A” just isn’t cutting it. The past four months I have tried to fit 30 hours of activities into a 24 hour day… now, I was not a math major nor did I ever go to Hogwarts, but I AM 100% certain that it just isn’t possible. Prioritizing, cutting back (even on that elusive “me time”), and learning how to say ‘no’ become essential for survival. I learned (and Congress now agrees) that pizza is a vegetable, eyelash extensions are smoking hot but take way to much upkeep for a geographical single mom, and finding time to eat lunch with my kiddos once a week at school is infinitely more important than earning a pay raise. Life is all about choices—and I guarantee that we will make some good ones and some bad. Embrace the results, and use those consequences to challenge you in the future. You may be tired. You may start equating an extra ten minutes in the shower to nirvana. You may discover that you are wearing your slippers at work…. But that’s ok. As of right now, I am two weeks away from completing my first semester of grad school. Only 10, 042 minutes to go….
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