Forgiving on Father's Day

“My mother's voice and my father's fists are two bookends of my childhood, and they form the basis of my art.”
― Pat Conroy, My Reading Life

Father's Day has always been tough for me.  I am drawn to fathers but I am confused by them.  The ideals I have of them have been formed by television, movies and books.  I am afraid of fathers and yet my entire life has been centered around finding that "daddy love" I never experienced.

I sat down to write about fathers and I have no idea what I'm going to say.  My story is not easy and is embedded deep in my psyche.  I have a variety of memories of the man I grew up with...the man who, for all intents and purposes, was my dad.  Some of them leak through the garbled mixture of confusion and deep pain as the lifelong gifts he gave to me.  That is what I will focus on today.

• He gave me a love of the outdoors.  We went camping and fishing regularly when I was growing up.
• He gave me my sense of wanderlust.  We didn't have a lot of money and would often wander out in the car, driving along winding mountain roads to explore.  
• He made me competitive.  I wanted this man's love and admiration desperately.  I worked hard on basketball courts, in the house and in the yard...partly to avoid his wrath but partly so that he would look at me and see something of value.

I remember his rages.  I remember his silences.  I remember the atmosphere in our house on days when we knew he was a powder keg waiting to explode.  We didn't talk about it but you always sensed the days when your room needed to be clean and you needed to speak as little as possible.  But there was a flip side, too.  He took us to amusement parks.  He took us to our grandparents houses.  He quit a lot of jobs but, for the most part, he worked.  And he provided.

I don't speak to him now.  I don't ever want to speak to him again.  And I will write about him again.  Hallmark has taught us that fathers are always heroes and that we are always their princesses.  That is not always the case.  But on this Father's Day, I am going to forgive him.

I forgive you for all the pain.  I forgive you for not being able to move past your own problems.  I forgive you for your inability to be a father.  I forgive you for hurting me.  I forgive you for hurting my mother and my brother.  I forgive you for kicking my dog.  I forgive you for breaking my ice cream bank.  I forgive you for your raised hands and fists.  I forgive you for waking us up in the middle of the night while you screamed.  I forgive you for locking me on that cold porch in the winter.  I forgive you for the holes in the walls and in my heart.  I forgive you for the night you pulled out the gun and my brother and I spent the night at the neighbors' house.  I forgive you.  I forgive you.  I forgive you. Because of the pain you inflicted on me, I am a better mother.  Because of your actions, I am strong.  Because of you, I can forgive.  And I can move on.  
 
Fathers, I am living proof that what you do matters.  What you don't do matters, too.  You play a vital role in shaping lives and the actions you have now will affect them forever.  Be kind.  Be strong.  Put aside your own insecurities and fears and PARENT YOUR CHILDREN.  Parent as a verb.  

Happy Father's Day.          

Yes, I'm Dating Myself. I Totally Took Myself to the Movies.

“I believe with all my heart that the cliches are true, that we are our own best friends and best company, and that if you're not right for yourself, it's impossible to be right for anyone.”
                                                      ― Rachel Machacek

When I got married, I had one piece of criteria for my future mate.  I wanted someone who wouldn't beat me.  

Yes, you heard that right.  That was the ONE thing I wanted in my lifelong partner.  I didn't have a LIST of things like: he's kind to kittens and puppies; he enjoys being with me; he makes me laugh; he is interested in the same things I am in interested in; we have excellent communication, etc. etc..  Nope.  I had ONE piece of criteria.  And that wasn't even REALLY all that tough an expectation to meet.

Now, I'm sure that my Ex-Husband WANTED to beat me at times.  But he never laid a finger on me.  He never even LOOKED like he was going to raise a hand to me.  As a matter of fact, I only remember him raising his voice to me maybe once ever.

My date night at the drive-in paraphenelia

I have decided since my divorce that I might want to set my sights just a TEENSY bit higher next time.  I mean, I DID get lucky with my Ex-Husband.  He's actually a pretty good guy.  He's just not the right guy for ME.  But, I've been in a sum total of three actual relationships in my adult life.  All three really haven't worked out so well.  And what's the common denominator, kids?  That's right.  Me.  Here's a hint:  It may not be everyone else. 

The problem stems not only from my low expectations but also from my, let's face it, solid lack of self-love.  I am all ABOUT loving other people.  I give everyone else everything I have.  But me? I don't think I'm worth giving the time of day to.  There are, naturally, deep-seated reasons for all of THAT nonsense but there's no need to delve into all of that right now.  Suffice it to say that I need to love myself before I can expect anyone else to love me.  This is not rocket science here, people, but solid psychological mumbo-jumbo.


There are people out there who are truly amazing at loving themselves.  (We like to call them narcissists.) And there are people out there who think far lower of themselves than I do.  (We call THEM cutters.) I'm just your regular run-of-the-mill low-self-esteem kind of girl.  (Obviously. Have you NOTICED how much I prattle on about me, me, me in this blog.  I'm practically BEGGING for people to love me.) 

OK, so, the plan tonight was to take myself out on a date to get to know myself a little better and to appreciate what I bring to the table.  I mean to SERIOUSLY DATE MYSELF.  Let's look into the magic ball and see how it went...

• Like any first date, there was bound to be a little awkwardness.  I didn't want to arrive TOO early but I certainly didn't want to be LATE.  I went home after work and spruced myself up a little.  I changed into some decent jeans, fixed my make-up and fluffed my hair.  I even removed the old polish from my nails.  I wanted to look good for me.  I left with plenty of time to make the drive-in movie by 7:00 pm.  I knew I wanted to get there right when it opened because I like to be up really close.  It was convenient to take myself because I didn't make any concessions about being up close to the screen.  (Point #1:  Speak up for what you want/need.) 
• On the way to the movie, I decided I would like to stop and get something to eat.  I consulted with myself and decided that a sub would be the perfect thing for this lovely summer evening at the drive-in.  On my way to get dinner, I stopped in at WalMart and found an Ultimate 80's CD.  I laughed at my whimsy and decided to purchase the tunes on the spot.  (Point #2:  Be yourself.  Even if you like to listen to pop-y 80's music.  Or Barry Manilow.)
• My GPS was a little wonky on the way out to the drive-in.  But I didn't get irritated with myself.  I just figured I would find it when I found it.  No need to stress out about getting to a movie at exactly 7pm when it wouldn't even START for another two hours. (Point #3: Relax. Go with the flow.)  I did find it.  And I found it AT 7pm.  Without stressing out. Bonus!
• Before the movie, I opened up my newly purchased book (FINALLY bought And the Mountains Echoed on my Nook) and read happily for close to two hours, totally content. (Point #4:  Be sure to do things just for YOU when in any relationship.)
• During the movie, I got completely bored when they stopped focusing on the relationships of the characters and started doing that blow-em-up-continuous-action-sequences.  I spent about 15 minutes looking up at the stars (there were a LOT of stars out there in the country!) and then I pulled out my phone and started screwing around on Facebook and taking pictures of the movie screen.  I didn't at all worry about paying attention to the movie because I was at the movie.  The movie wasn't working for me, so I changed the plan a little.  (Point #5:  If something isn't working, change it up.  Flexibility is a big component of any successful relationship.)
• After the first movie, it was pretty late.  I decided that the Hangover III (the second feature) could easily wait for a Redbox rental later on.  I packed up my date-night gear and hit the highway. (Point #6:  See Point #5.)
• On the way home, I popped in my Ultimate 80's CD and sang along with Debbie Gibson, Tiffany, and that chick who sang the Flashdance theme song (Irene Cara, maybe?).  I cranked it UP and sang loudly, smiling and laughing my way through the countryside.  (Point #7:  Have some freakin' FUN. And smile, dammit.) 

All in all, it was a TERRIFIC date.  And I'm still excited and happy at 1:00 a.m. I'm SO FREAKIN' DREAMY, RIGHT?  I think I'll follow the night up with a little e-mail to myself, thanking myself for a great night.

And, I think in ADDITION to the "He musn't beat me" criteria, I'll add a few things to what I need from a relationship, INCLUDING the one with myself:

• laughter
• friendship
• compassion
• delight
• travel
• drive-in movies

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.  
   
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Mach 2, Hair on Fire

“I get up and pace the room, as if I can leave my guilt behind me. But it tracks me as I walk, an ugly shadow made by myself.”
                                                                    ― Rosamund Lupton, Sister

Lazy days of summer?  As IF.  Let's stick with CRAZY days of summer.  In order to assuage my divorced/single parent/working mom guilt, I decided to sign each of my kids up for the PERFECT camp this week to suit each of their tiny personalities.  I decided to forego the traditional one-size-fits-all-drop-your-kids-off-at-7:30-pick-'em-up-at-6 camp and I created a specialized learning opportunity for them.  Baseball camp for Thing 2.  Sumo-Bot Lego Camp for Thing 1. It was more expensive.  And it has almost KILLED me this week.  Only one more day to go.  

Daily schedule for the First Week of Summer

5:30 a.m.  Wake up.  Feed animals.  Make coffee.  Stretch.  Pray (fervently).  Write.

6:45 a.m.  Shower.  Drink coffee.  Wake hoodlums. Make lunches.  Do various and sundry activities around the house.

8:25 a.m.  Leave house.  Thing 2 dropped at jock camp.  Race to second location. Thing 1 dropped at nerd camp.  Fight stoplights and traffic to get to work. Late. 

9:15 a.m.  Work frantically for two + hours.

11:30 a.m. Leave to go pick up Thing 1. Drop him off at house to fend for himself for lunch. 

12:30 p.m. Back at desk.  Late. Work frantically.

2:45 p.m.  Leave to go pick up Thing 2. Race to pick up location. Late. 

3:30 p.m.  Back at desk.  Late. Work frantically.

6:00 p.m. Home.  Make dinner.  Try to clear clutter.  Clean floors.  Wash dishes, clothes, dogs, boys. Encourage reading.  Ban technology. Write.  Thankfully, gratefully sink into bed before 10 pm.

On Friday, I get to go to the Natural Science Center to watch Thing 1's robot compete in the sumo-bot tournament.  I AM actually invited to the tournament and I think he's fairly proud of his efforts.  I never EVER turn down any invite issued by Thing 1.  But it's at 11:00 a.m.  Which means MORE time away from work (and I'm already feeling super guilty about coming in an hour late and missing an extra hour of work during the day).  I guess next week I'll chip away at THAT guilt by coming in early and working longer hours.

I feel guilty all the time.  I feel guilty because I truly DO believe that parents educate their children best and I am not around nearly enough to do so.  I feel guilty because I divorced their father.  I feel guilty because I don't WANT to be with my kids 24/7.  I feel guilty because I can't afford to buy away my guilt with expensive technology for them.  I feel guilty that I cancelled cable.  I feel guilty that I am too often satisfied with mediocrity.  I feel guilty that I can't give them every THING they want.  I feel guilty that I don't WANT to give them every THING they want.  I feel guilty about feeling guilty.
So, I over planned for summer camp this week to ease the pain of ALL that heavy guilt.  And I have been nuts over it.

As I write about all this guilt and I think two things: 1) it sucks to feel guilty all the time and 2) GIVE YOURSELF A FREAKIN' BREAK.

You know what?  It's time that all single moms, married moms, moms who work outside of the home AND inside of the home, moms who cook and moms who don't...it's time that we stop feeling guilty and give ourselves a BREAK.  I will make one exception:  crackhead moms and all moms addicted to anything...YOU need to feel guilty.  Stop the rock, get yourselves some help and take care of your kids instead of your addictions.   I wonder if any addicted moms read this blog? Welcome to my stream of consciousness blogging....

Seriously, life in this breakneck world is tough enough.  Why do we pile on guilt on top of everything else?  Let's just make a pact.  Right here and right now.  Let's say enough with the guilt.  We'll do what we can do.  We'll put one foot in front of the other and try to just keep walking.  Non-burdened walking because it will be guilt-free.

Is it even POSSIBLE to live a guilt-free life as a mother?  As a human being?  Do DADS feel guilt the way we do?  Are kid-free people riddled with guilt over things?  Is guilt just part of the package? Thoughts?

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or subscribe to the e-mail list.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.  

    


   



   



   

  

 

The Next 40 Years

“Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans.”
― Allen Saunders

I was puttering around the kitchen this morning, putting away dishes, feeding animals (the furry ones, not the human ones), making coffee, and pondering what I am going to DO with my life.  It was a pretty big question for 5:30 in the morning and I hadn't yet started the intravenous caffeine drip.

I spent the majority of my first 18 years on the planet looking forward to college.  When I'm 18, I thought, I'll move to a BIG city and I'll go to school.  I'll be ON MY OWN.  And that (except for the BIG city part unless you consider Raleigh a big city...which, honestly, was WAY bigger than anywhere I'd ever lived), was what I did.  I had never really looked BEYOND college, though, and was a bit flummoxed when I found myself chock full of a brand new bachelor's degree and nothing really to DO with it.  I had had grand plans at one point.  I was going to join the Peace Corps and Save the World. But then I got a serious boyfriend and he was fairly insistent that our relationship would end if I spent the greater part of two years in Africa.  Since everyone KNOWS that a BOYFRIEND is really the best thing in life, I stayed home.  I stayed home, flummoxed and floundering.

Well, that Boyfriend and I got married.  And THEN I spent the next six years looking forward to The Next Big Move.  He had joined the Navy.  We moved to Florida and I looked forward to moving to South Carolina.  We moved to South Carolina and I....well, OK, I didn't look FORWARD to moving to Connecticut but I thought it might be interesting.  We moved to Connecticut and I REALLY looked forward to moving to Hawaii.

When we got to Hawaii, I started looking forward to getting out of the Navy.  THEN, I thought, then life will REALLY begin.  I got pregnant and I looked forward to the baby.  Then I looked forward to HIS 18th birthday.

When we got out of the Navy, I looked forward to "settling down" and buying a house.  And having another baby.  And HIS 18th birthday.  Because my Husband knew that I NEEDED something to look forward to, we planned a 10th anniversary trip.  So I could look forward to traveling to St. Lucia.

And then, something funny happened.  I had NOTHING ELSE TO LOOK FORWARD TO.   Life stretched out in front of me like a vast wasteland of....nothing.   Nothing but plain ol' regular...life.  How do you DEAL with that?  It sounded so...boring.

So I started taking classes.  I mean, I took a LOT of classes.  I wanted something to look forward to.  I tried to feed myself new things in a desperate attempt to find something (anything) to cling to.

And then, another funny thing happened.  I got divorced.  At that point, there really was nothing left to look forward to other than, well, dying.  Because I had done it all, hadn't I?  I had been to college, landed the Boyfriend, had the Kids and then...nothing.

I spent the first several years after my divorce flummoxed.  And floundering.  I couldn't think of a single thing to look forward to.

And then, I did something pretty cool.  I started living in the moment.  Just for a moment at first.  But I got better at it.  I learned a little more about breathing in.  And breathing out.  And acknowledging that THIS BREATH is pretty fantastic.  I didn't focus on the next breath.  I just enjoyed the breath of the present.  I was so busy for all of my life looking FORWARD that I MISSED most of my first 40 years.

The next 40 will be different (if I get so lucky as to have another 40).  The next minute will be different.  THIS minute is different already.  I pause.  I acknowledge.  I appreciate.  I am grateful.

I sometimes forget my living in the moment lifestyle and I start panicking about what I have to look forward to (other than death).  And then I remember to breathe in.  And out.  And acknowledge that in THIS moment, I have everything I need.

Life is good.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or subscribe to the e-mail list.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.  

    

Dear Fellow Motorist

“Well, if you weren't flirting with him"-his voice had now grown a little plaintive-"who was he, and what did you want with him anyway?"

"If you are so determined to bore me, I may just have to go home." Astrid sighed carelessly, "What a shame, when I am wearing such a pretty dress.”
― Anna Godbersen, Bright Young Things

Dear Fellow Motorist at the stoplight on Wendover Avenue this morning,

You seemed really nice.  And I do appreciate the honk, smile and the wave at the first stoplight.  I was excited to see such a friendly face and I waved back, happily.  And I liked the fact that you scrawled your phone number really big on that receipt and held it up to the window for me at the next light.  Was that YOUR phone number or was it the number of your crackhead brother who needs a womanly reason to get clean?  

Here's the thing, Fellow Motorist.  I was having a wonderful time singing along to "It's Raining Men."  I realize that you probably overheard me and were amused by my antics.  I responded to your friendly wave with a friendly wave of my own.  I wasn't actually flirting with you...I was just being...well...friendly!  And I think it's super fun that you wrote down that phone number for me.  But, I'm just not ready to dial up a complete stranger who may have a basement door with my name on it.  AND, you were driving a Volvo.  If that doesn't scream "I'm married with kids," then I need a hearing aid.  Save that drama for your mama (or your llama, whatever floats your boat), big guy.  

When I held up my hand to the window as a physical response to the offer of your digits, I thought I was wearing a ring today.  I wasn't.  My bad.  I suppose I COULD have extended my middle finger but that would have been very rude.  I was trying to pretend that I was in a committed relationship but that totally backfired on me and made me look even crazier than just a girl loudly singing "God bless Mother Nature...she's a single woman, too."   But, who knows, as far as you're concerned I could just have been getting some giant 4 carat ring cleaned.  Of course, given the current state of my vehicle, you would probably recognize that as a reach.  Let's just say 1/4 of a carat, then.  

If I were at all open to flirting and/or dating right now, I would have been thrilled with your approach.  Fun.  Different.  And, of course, your approach was far classier than that guy who followed me out of the Rhode Island rest area many years ago and held up a $100 bill while he motioned for me to take the next exit.  I am going to assume that he thought I was homeless and was exercising benevolence. What he was probably thinking was that I was a pole dancer earning my keep at one of those seedy clubs in the Groton area servicing poor displaced submariners.  Of course, I was a lot younger then and probably worth $100 at least.  And, you were way less freak-show-scary than that guy who saw me on Wendover Avenue a few years ago and followed me into the Mexican restaurant parking lot.  (I wonder what women who are REALLY pretty have to put up with?  Poor things!) Even so, I'm now reduced to a few scrawled numbers on the back of your Wal-Mart receipt.  

It all boils down to nothing other than you just made me miss the chorus: "It's raining men!  Hallelujah! It's raining men!  Amen!"  Ah well, I did come back and download it from iTunes because I was bummed at missing it so that works out pretty well for me in the end. 

I hope you and your wife enjoy your summer!  (Just a hint, if you DON'T currently have a wife, you really need to get rid of that Volvo.)  

Drive on!

Sincerely,
Your Friendly Neighborhood Singing/Dancing Whackjob

P.S. If all you wanted was to sign a record deal, please contact me ASAP!



  

Blogs I Love...Scratch That....Let's Call it People I Used to Know

“We read to know that we are not alone.”
― William Nicholson

I started this post because I had just read something amazingly hilarious and wacky from The Bloggess.  The Bloggess is famous.  And fabulous.  And hysterically funny if you get into a wackier sense of humor.  People everywhere love her.  You should check her out.

BUT, back to the sideline that I veered off to which became the whole of this blog post (I get sidetracked from my sidetracks FAR too often...maybe Thing 1 is right and I really DO have Adult ADD...which is another aside altogether, isn't it?).

Oooookkaaayyyy.  So, I started to write this post about other blogs (and I will, eventually, write another blog post about that) and then I found the above quote which kicked off this post.  I have NO idea who William Nicholson is but it made me think of a guy who roomed with my Ex-Husband in college who eventually became MY roommate because I totally shacked up before I was married in a house with my Ex-Husband and his roommates.

Google logo.  It's a pic! It's a verb!

I have NO idea what became of that guy.  And we LIVED together.  So I Googled him. 

• I got 52,300 results.
• He shares the name of a famous "footballer" (a.k.a. "soccer player").
• There are 68 profiles who match his name on LinkedIn.
• Someone who shares his name is a prolific author who writes about jazz.
• There are multiple Twitter accounts related to the name.
• There were literally HUNDREDS of images associated with the name but not a single one (unless he's had some SERIOUS plastic surgery) were of the guy I knew.

I haven't thought of this guy since...well...I guess since I moved out of that house.  And it appears he disappeared off the face of the planet.  What HAPPENED TO HIM?  Now, I can't get him out of my head.  And we weren't even really friends.

So, then, I started thinking about OTHER people I've known who I simply...don't know anymore.  And I started Googling.

A girl I knew when I moved to this tiny town in southern, CO in the 6th grade for about 6 months:

• 14,200 results.
• 6 people share her name in Colorado.
• Someone who shares her name is an A-MAZING photographer.
•  There is only ONE LinkedIn profile for her name AND the person lives in CO.  Could THAT be her?
• Nope.  Found a picture of the above person.  Not her.
• Someone who shares her name received the 2005 Notary Notary Honoree award. Did you KNOW that Notary Publics have an award?  I had no idea.
• There were lots and lots of Google images but I got bored with the search before I looked through them all.

A boy who had a crush on me in high school.  Wait, I don't remember the kid's name.  That won't help.  Hmm.  I KNOW.  A boy who I went on...one date?...with in high school.

• Only 3,960 results!
• 13 profiles on LinkedIn.
• Several Twitter accounts linked to the name.
• A person who shares his name is a youth pastor in Iowa.
• His name is preceded on one Web site by the words The Man, The Myth, The Legend.  That made me laugh for a variety of reasons.
• I struck pay dirt and found a reference to the ACTUAL person, his wife and his college-aged daughter.  

After I found the third long-lost person, I lost interest.  Actually, I lost interest in the middle of the search for the second person but I figured three would be a good sample.  Guys are easier to find than women.  If anyone Googled MY maiden name they would get 272,000 results.  That's more than all three searches combined because my maiden name was SUPER common and SUPER bo-ring.  And you would never find me under that name anyway.  I'm such a MYSTERY, right?  (Except when you consider that if you Google my current name, you will get 534 results...which are ALL related to me...I'm kinda easy to find.)

So, it was fun for a few minutes going through the wayback machine.  Of course, most of the people that I used to know I can't seem to remember their freakin' names now.  It's pretty hard to Google "that guy I worked with in that temp job right out of college."  OK, I just did and got 242 MILLION results.  Still, I don't think I'll ever find that guy...OR remember his name.  C'est la vie.

Does anyone else go off on these nutty sidetracks or am I alone in my insanity? 

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or subscribe to the e-mail list.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive. 

Generating Noise

“Living as we do in an age of noise and bluster, success is now measured accordingly. We must all be seen, and heard, and on the air.”
                                                                  ― Daphne du Maurier

I have no idea why or when I took this pic.

There are, apparently, a few people reading my blog now.  By a few, I mean more than just my former mother- and father-in-law, my own parents and several unfortunate friends.  I find that I'm somewhat embarrassed when I find out that unexpected people are viewing this nonsense.  I spew a LOT of insanity on this site and I rarely think about the fact that people (random people) might actually be reading it.  I guess it makes sense considering that I've looked at the metrics and there are many thousands of pageviews.  I kinda figured that my mom was just clicking on it over and over again.  But now, I'm running into people who are vague acquaintances with no real connection to me who have started reading my blog.  And I'm starting to get friend requests from complete strangers on Facebook.

WHO KNEW?

OK, so, for the record, I have to set a few things straight for those of you reading my blog who don't QUITE know me.

1. I am not actually, certifiably insane.  No psychologist (or psychiatrist) has ever looked at me and started whistling, rolling their eyes and making a high-pitched "cuckoo" sound.  They may have done this internally but I've never received a prescription to cease the endless cacophony of voices in my head.  Shh.  We won't tell.
2. I am not a complete failure at everything.  I tend to...well...exaggerate.  I'm not a terrible mother and I don't whine incessantly all the time.  I do, however, fall down.  I fall down a lot.  And I am almost never "put together."  My shirts have stains on them if I've been wearing them longer than fifteen minutes.  And my hair is almost always a crazy mess. I am assuming, though, that my clumsiness and my general disheveled appearance does not make me an utter failure.
3. I am thrilled when you tell me that you enjoy my writing.  I enjoy writing stuff.  I love the endless, ceaseless prattle that comes out of the ends of my fingertips. I firmly believe that my fingers do all the work.  If my brain were AT ALL involved in this endeavor I think the blog would be way less fun for me (but probably a lot more coherent for you).  
4. I am shocked that people actually read the things I write.  I've written either mundane marketing collateral or just stuff for myself for my whole life so I'm not accustomed to people actually reading the things I write and wanting to talk to me about them.  I wonder sometimes how people KNOW the stuff about me that they seem to know.  And then I recall the verbal vomit that is my blog.  And then I get embarrassed again.
5. The two people who requested NOT to be in my blog are not my children.  I've had more than one person assume that the two who opted out of Kelly Blog World were Thing 1 and Thing 2.  I am sure there will come a day when they are horrified about all that I've written about them. And they will probably ban me from their weddings and the bar mitzvahs of their children (OK, fine, we're not Jewish...but getting banned from a bar mitzvah would make a GREAT story, wouldn't it?).  But, for now, we're still OK.  They're pretty accustomed to my lack of filter and limitless blather.  And thank goodness for that because they provide the primary fodder for my fingers.
6. I am having a lot of fun writing.  I am so glad to hear that so many of you like to read this stuff.  This blog completely FEEDS me right now.  Maybe at some point I'll figure out a theme.  Or make some damn sense.  But, for now, I'm just enjoying the ride.  It's kinda nice that you're enjoying it, too.
7. Thanks.  Thanks for reading stuff that resides in the darker corners of my head. Thanks for understanding that I'm kidding (most of the time) and thanks for letting some of my endless stores of emotion come through in this forum.  Thanks for reading and validating me on that level that really just wants the Gold Star and the A++ and the Great Job!  Most of all, thanks for reading one post and then coming back to read one or two more.  You might just be sicker than I am.  (OK, see?  THAT was a part where I was just kidding...)

 My go-to therapist is going to be pretty pissed off when he figures out that I'm working out all my junk through my blog.  I think he may have had an another kid for me to put through college.  Sorry, Therapy Guy, I've got a new couch.  :)  Or, rather, a new rockin' chair.

If you like my blog, share it.  Or Like my FB page to get updates.  Or subscribe to the e-mail list.  Or make a comment below.  If you don't like it, well...just try not to hurt my feelings.  I'm sensitive.