Bon Voyage 2017

Goodbye 2017...

I’m not sad to see you go. To me, 2017 was a shit year.

On the surface, it would appear to everyone around me that it was fantastic. But to me personally, it’s been a struggle.

Just admitting to that is hard. But even more so, it makes me sad.

In 2017, our daughter went from being a gymnast for fun to an actual competitive one. She has competed in 3 meets coming in first place all around in one and 2nd place all around in another one. She’s a determined, strong young lady with so much drive that I can’t help but see so much of her father in her. Everything she does, she works hard for and does it well. She’s a fighter - growing so strong and more beautiful every day.

Even with all she’s accomplished this past year, 2017 was still a struggle for me.

In 2017, our son just turned 3! Already! He’s so freaking smart and very fresh - but only for me. He took to potty training like a champ and is thriving at his new school. A decision I made and felt guilty for for a long while. He wants to be just like his sister and is not afraid to ask for privacy in the bathroom or tell me to stop singing if I’m annoying him. Though he can be a total pain, he’s the sweetest boy and I’m so grateful to be his mom.

My sweet boy is growing and doing well but still 2017 was a struggle for me.

My husband needed an outlet for work stress and had a desire to get fit. He has been at the gym almost every day for months now and has lost a lot of weight. He looks fantastic, is in a better place, and is healthy. I’m so proud of his progress and dedication to getting fit. He’s been an inspiration.

But 2017 was still a struggle.

I got a promotion at work, did some really awesome things, and took on the task of a working mom like a hurricane. Driving from one thing to the next, doing fun things with the kids, and making sure they were a part of something amazing. I struggled, but I did it.

We all have our health.

We have a roof over our heads.

We have enough money for what we need.

We have family and friends.

But 2017 was still a struggle, for me.

So with all we have accomplished, I’m sad how much 2017 was a struggle for me.

The personal struggles I’ve been through this year are just that, personal. I have avoided writing about it hence have avoided writing in general. And a non writing writer is the worst kind.

Someday I will talk or write about it but for now, it’s still going on. I’m just not ready.

I’d like to sit here and say 2018 will be better but I’m not going to lie to myself. I have no idea what 2018 will bring.

All I know is that I will try my best to not struggle for 2018. I want more than anything to thrive. One day at a time, I hope I can get there.

I’m Turning into My Mother... And That’s Okay

I was about to embark on my first ever sleepover field trip with my class. We were heading down to Washington DC on the traditional 8th grade trip. That year, jelly shoes were all the rage. All I wanted was a pair of clear jelly shoes to wear on my 8th grade trip to DC.

The day before we were to leave, my mom took me to every store imaginable to find them. We kept striking out and then on a whim we went to Lord & Taylor at the mall. A store we could never afford but nevertheless this was important. There were the jelly shoes, in all their glory and in my size. My mom bought them of course; the cost didn’t matter. She wanted me to have them but not because she wanted to spoil me or because she wanted to give me everything I wanted. She bought them for me because she is that kind of person. The kind of person who would move heaven and earth to make someone happy. The kind of person who goes out of their way, taking shirts off their back to put a smile on someone else’s face.

I find myself looking at my life as a spectator lately. I’m standing at the forefront of a situation watching my interactions wondering what kind of person I am. It’s the strangest feeling to be in the audience of your life.

My mom & me

There is an older woman walking down the street every day. I drive by every day and each day I find myself waving at her. She is so adorable and so dedicated to walking with her cane and trendy glasses. I watch myself waving and smiling at her every day and think, that’s my mom.

I’m in the grocery store and there is an older man waiting at the deli counter with me. He looks over at me as I take my cheese from the man.  He tells me he loves cheese. I can tell he wants to chat and despite being in a crazy hurry I chat with him about cheese, smile, laugh, and as I leave telling him to have a great day. I watch over this interaction realizing, that’s my mom.

There is a young girl trying to get into the music store with her big guitar case. I run across the store and open the door for her calling her sweetie. I can see this happening. I can see my mom.

Every girl in my daughter’s gymnastics class got a brand new gym branded leotard except one girl. There was one left and I was standing right there as the girl quietly asked her mom if she could have it. Her mom wondered how much it was and said she’d think about it. I nearly spoke up saying I would buy it for her. I don’t have extra money for that but the mere thought of her daughter missing out made my heart ache. I wanted to buy it and almost did. I stand by watching myself aching wanting to buy it while stressing about my own bills. That is my mom.

There is a new girl at my daughter’s school in her grade. On the field trip I see little, beautiful girl standing by the teacher rather than other kids. She wants to hold the teacher’s hand as if she doesn’t have other friends. I pulled my daughter aside and told her to be friendly with her and include her. I tell her every day now to do something nice for someone. I see this happening between me and my daughter. I see me and my mom.

It’s wear your favorite team shirt day at school but my daughter doesn’t follow anything but gymnastics. She wants a Simone Biles shirt to wear. I can’t find one anywhere. It’s 11 p.m. the night before as I make her a Simone Biles shirt to wear the next day. She wakes up so excited and grateful. I stand by and watch over knowing it’s my mom.

I’m watching myself turn into my mother. I’m not meaning to but I can’t help myself. My whole life I was taught by watching her; one selfless act after another. Now every situation I watch myself doing exactly what she would do. I’m turning into my mother and that’s okay. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I Lost a Baby

Ten years ago, I lost a baby.

Jared and I got married and had wanted to wait a few years before starting a family. We wanted to enjoy our time together and build a life before we welcomed children. We went to Hawaii on an incredible honeymoon and I came home pregnant. Whoops!

Having always wanted to be a mom, I was over the moon excited. It wasn’t what we had wanted but it happened and we couldn’t have been happier. Being young and naive, we told everyone, right away. Telling my family I was pregnant was probably the best feeling in the world. Jared and I couldn’t have been more proud and anxious to have that baby in our arms.

Eight weeks pregnant, the cramps and bleeding started and just like that, a life was gone. My world was shattered. I spent the entire summer mourning the loss of the baby and the loss of being a mom. I was a recluse. Miserable. I didn’t know how to continue on with life.

At one point, dear friends of mine actually forced me out but I was still bleeding pretty bad. We were out to eat and I came back from the bathroom soaked in blood. They took me next door to K-Mart and we got new undies and pants so I could continue on. Not a highlight of my life but I remember it like it was yesterday. I was so ashamed. Ashamed of the situation at hand. Ashamed I had lost the baby. It was my fault. But I had to move on. I wasn’t the first woman to have lost a baby and I wasn’t the last. It happens often, to many. And it truly wasn’t my fault but it just took me a while to realize that.

I don’t talk about my miscarriage often because so many sad, terrible memories come flooding back. But every once in awhile I think about how I’d have a ten year old daughter right now. Everything else in my life would be different.

A few years ago when Lyla was little she was sitting at the kitchen table eating lunch. She said to me something about her sister. I told her she was being silly and she didn’t have a sister. She insisted that she did too have a sister; a big sister and she was 7.

My mouth dropped open and I almost passed out right there on the floor. I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits or any of that crap honestly. But my little girl was so convinced that she had a big sister so at that moment in time I lost all sense of prohibition and allowed myself to believe. I believed that I had had a daughter who had passed and she was looking out for her little sis.

I never lost that baby, but she was there, somewhere.

Who was that?

She's talking about the nightclub in Florence. Dancing on speakers, shots of schnapps, being overly tired. Laughing while she's talking almost slurring her words as if she's still intoxicated, but not. Then she starts talking about the Pope. The camera pans and you can see the Vatican and a big window with a flag draped under it. People everywhere sitting at tables waiting for the Pope to make an appearance and bless the crowd with his service. She giggles some more as she talks about sitting in Rome waiting to see the Pope.

Her hair is gently weaved into french braid pigtails. Her t-shirt, a blue ringer with Rainbow Brite on it, fitting not one stereotypical thing about her. When in Rome... doesn't apply to her. The bright blue eyes shining in the sun without a hint of a hangover gleam with excitement and love. Her shotty mascara job making her eyelashes ten time longer. Freckles dot her face so innocently and more seem to appear the longer she talks with the rays of the sun.

She's not talking to anyone in particular as her friend talks to her through the camera. She can't seem to stop talking as she rambles on and on. Then a hush takes over the crowd and the camera pans again to see the Pope at the window. It's quiet in front of the camera and you can faintly hear the beautiful Italian floating through the air from the Pope as he addresses the crowd. For a brief minute she's mesmerized.

Then the talking continues. The camera pans back to the girl. She's grinning ear to ear. Not overly religious but definitely sentimental you can tell she's thinking. Maybe she's thinking of the last time she was in Rome with her grandparents a few years ago. Maybe she's thinking of her last trip to Italy. The time when her stuffed dog, the one she took everywhere and slept with every night even at the age of 18 (and still at 22), got left behind accidentally in Milan. How she cried the entire flight home and how after many confusing phone calls between her non Italian speaking mom and an Italian hotel her stuffed dog flew back across the Atlantic back home. She could be thinking about that memory and smiling fondly.

Her mood changes and her happy smile turns a bit melancholy. Maybe now she's thinking of her stuffed dog and her mother. Maybe now she realizes she hasn't seen her mother in a while and misses her terribly. But her smile doesn't stop. She's thinking and smiling. The camera zooms and you can see this young girl so full of life. Not one bag under her eye. Not one heavy burden on her shoulders.

The blonde streaks in her hair glisten in the sun and for a second you lose the image because of the glare. She is back on the camera looking up at the Pope still speaking. She is taking it all in and doesn't want to forget one second of this experience. The camera abruptly cuts out and then goes to an Italian flag. I paused the clip.

My daughter looked at me watching the video on the computer screen and asks, mommy who was that? Was that you?

Resolutions are a Load of Crap and All that Jazz

If you woke up this morning on January 1, 2016 and thought "Today is the day!" - Good luck with that...

No matter what you plan to do for 2016, remember it was just yesterday that we rang in 2000. We all survived into the next century - 16 years went by like the snap of my fingers. If we've learned anything at all this past year and every year it's this:

There are never enough hours in the day.
Unless that day is hellish and then it drags on like wildfire.

The days go by fast.
Try not to wish for it to be over.

We grow and our kids grow.
Cherish your time with them even during the rough times.

Stay in the present.
Stop wishing for tomorrow, next week, or month.

There is only one life to live.
Live it to the fullest.

So don't make a list and try to stick to it. Throw it away. Just try to...

Be happy. Be healthy. Be kind.

Done. Enjoy 2016. One more snap of the finger and it will be gone.

The Rabbit Hole of What Ifs

I dropped my daughter off at kindergarten today. I was beaming with pride as she walked in and started waving to a friend and ran off with them. She was loving this experience and loving school. New friends have been made, new things are being learned, and she is blossoming into a young girl rather than a little girl. It truly makes my heart swell.

On my way home, I saw another kindergarten dad I had met. He was at the same parent orientation as me. That is when my twisted mind started…

Seeing that father made me think back to that orientation.

Thinking back to that orientation reminded me of the questions I asked.

The questions I asked that day included questions about school security, doors being locked, security guards, guards with guns, etc. These days, those questions need to be asked, sadly enough.

Those questions always remind me of the Sandy Hook tragedy. I started thinking of that sad day and the events that happened.

Thinking about that day made me think of Lyla in public school.

My mind immediately remembered her classroom is far down the hall from the front door.

Thinking of that, I began to imagine the horror that is a school shooting at her school.

As my mind domino’d into worse-case scenario mode, I started to cry.

Driving home in my car after dropping her off like I’ve been doing every day - I was crying. Sobbing. What if…?

I screamed in my car, “GOD, keep my baby safe!”

Then I thought about what I could do. Can I homeschool her? Can just turn around and pick her up? Can I put her in a bubble to keep her safe? What can I do?

Just thinking about it again, my eyes are watering.

What can I do? Nothing. There is nothing I can do. I can’t control other people. I can’t smother my child because of all the what ifs in life. I have to have faith and try my best to believe in mankind. Even though most days I completely embarrassed by the things people are doing all around.

You can’t live life scared. You can’t instill fear in your children. You can’t do nothing afraid of all the what ifs.

But here is what I can do…

I can tell my child that I love her over and over again, every day. I can teach her how to be safe. I can teach her to be kind, considerate, and loving. I can show her how to have compassion. I can let her know that I will always try my hardest to keep her safe from harm. I will teach her not to be a bully. I will teach her to stick up for kids who are being bullied. I can tell her to be brave and strong. I can encourage her to be confident and courageous. I can encourage her to pray and love. I can teach her not to judge people and to make sure she understands what I always tell her - that everyone is different and special in their own way. I can remind her to always treat people they way she wants to be treated.

I can do all those things and more. But there are no guarantees. Bad things happen in this world every day. And those bad things can happen to anyone. Just ask those parents from Sandy Hook.

For now, I need to think positively and not let my mind get down the rabbit hole of what ifs. I need to make sure my daughter feels comfortable. I need to let her prosper and grow while she still has her innocence. Because some day she’ll be a mom too; if she’s anything like me (which she is), she may be going down the rabbit hole of what ifs when her daughter goes to school. And at that point, my job still isn’t done. Then I’ll need to be there for her as a mother to tell her those things, teach her those things, and encourage her all over again.

The world has changed. Bad people are everywhere. Anything can happen. But we still have to live life and have faith. And maybe if we all teach our child about good we can stop some of those bad things from happening.

NKOTB kicking it 90s style

Totally embarrass myself for a friend:

 

Featuring (L-R) cousin Kristi, me, and cousin Shannon

From my life at 17

I've been reminiscing lately and in search from some photos, I came across a letter.  In one of my high school classes, I had an assignment to write a letter to myself.  The teacher said he'd mail it to us in five years.  I came across that letter just now and wow, I'm stunned.  First off, how was I so wise back then?!

Me at 17 (yes those are overalls!)

I ended my letter with a poem I wrote that I wanted to share. It brought tears to my eyes remember my youthful ways.

Enjoy.

One day I'll look back at this letter,
And realize that my life now is much better.
I'll see how all my confusion has past,
And it's time to start my life at last.

I'll begin on my journey towards success,
And all of my dreams I'll confess.
I'll reach for the stars an achieve what I want,
While maybe being a mother, a wife, or aunt.

One day I'll look back at this letter,
And realize my life now is much better.
All the worrying about had decisions done,
All those close soccer or softball games were lost or won.

I'll think of all those hard teenage years,
And all the many nights I cried those tears.
Many memories of friends and their roles,
Trying to reach their own dreams and gaols.

One day I'll look back this letter,
And realize my life now is much better.
I understand that I'm a young woman now,
And that I need to get my life started somehow.

No more talking about what I should have tried,
No more thinking if I only hadn't lied.
Time to get serious about my life,
It's time to consider the roles of being a wife.

One day I'll look back at this letter,
And realize my life now is much better.
I'll know about love and where it comes from,
I'll finally know what I want my life to become.


For the record, this letter also contained concert stubs, photos, stickers, and a love letter for an old boyfriend!

An Open Letter to My Class of 1999

Dear class mates,

Where are you?

What are you doing?  I haven't heard from most of you; ever. God, has it been 14 years?  Yes, I did know about the 10 year reunion but refused to go.  To be honest, I was pregnant, feeling icky, and didn't want to see you.  Any of you.

You see, you let me down.  You did.

For me, high school was awesome.  I had an amazing group of friends, played three sports, was National Honor Society, was in many different clubs, and always had a boyfriend by my side.  I hung out with upper classmen and lower classmen.  I was nice to everyone and had a ball hanging out.

Some good, old friends (me in the blue in the middle)

Study hall in Bittle's lab.  Hanging out in the courtyard.  Wearing ridiculous outfits for game days.  Proms, after proms, dances, football games...I can't remember much else because it was so long ago.  The one thing I do remember is the group of friends I had.  That's right, past tense, had.

Something happened. I didn't take the same path as most of you after high school.  Instead of going away to college and meeting new friends, I stayed home and commuted to a local school.  Instead of college parties and frat houses, I hung out with my ex boyfriend in his dingy apartment.  Fun times!

But then we broke up and where did you all go?  Damned if I know.  But that is not all.  I got sick.  I mean really sick. I mean, I almost died.  Where were you all then?  You know who you are. Do you ever wonder what happened to me and how we stopped being friends?

Sweet little ol' Jessie from high school who weighed 105 lbs wet and Keith used to lift me upside down. I thought it was awesome.

Me, the girl who had fires in her back yard and all the guys and girls used to come hang out, smoke blacks, and quote So I Married an Axe Murderer until we laughed ourselves silly.  "Harriet, sweet Harriet..."

Jessie, the one who remembered everyone's birthday and still does to this day - without the help of Facebook thank you very much.

I lead the team in goals for two years!

I had friends like Scott and Alyssa who I went to school with since kindergarten!  Others like Danny - who I was in love with in 8th grade and thought I'd marry!  Cindy who was my best friend in middle school and dated that same Dan later in high school.  What about Allison who sat with me at all the BNL concerts and memorized the song lyrics with me.  And Matt who was there and drove us to that beach in RI where finally did memorize that song!  And on the way back we hit a dog on the high way and were all devastated.

What about Pat who had fun parties at his house.  We used to play Wyclef until everyone was sick of it!  We be stayin' alive....

Chris,  Greg, Brian, Christy, Mike, Liz, John...

I could go on and on.

The point is what happened to all my "friends".  We all drifted our own ways?  You all picked my ex-boyfriend instead of me when we broke up?  Some of you who had even been friends with me first?!

What happened then?  I got sick and it was too difficult to get in touch or see how I am?  I mean, four years of our lives were intertwined and then poof, you all vanished.

I guess it didn't help that I moved an hour away. I guess it didn't help that I didn't try as hard as I should have to stay a part of the crew.  But one thing for sure is it still hurts.

I hate Facebook.  Some of you have friended me and others haven't.  I see who is married with kids.  Who moved on to bigger, better things.  I see all of you tagged in each other's weddings. Some of you, friends of mine for more than 10 years, all having a good time without me.  Maybe this is me wallowing in self pity or maybe this is me genuinely feeling bad we're not friends any more. I'm not sure at this point.

But here I am almost (gulp) 32  years old.  High school is old news.  Or so I thought.  Facebook is high school all over again but this time, I'm the odd one out.

me and my girlss: betts, holly, me, kathleen

But I don't need you anymore and that is where I'm heading with this.  I am so happy you all seem to be doing well, having tons of friends, families.  I am too.  I have a great job. I have a great family. I have four friends still from high school - and those four friends I'd choose again if I had the choice (Holly, Kathleen, Betts, and Brent).  They are real friends and have stuck with me since high school.  They truly care.

So I'm over you.  I'm over feeling sad when I see Facebook photos of you all together.  I'm done feeling sad I lost so many of my friends after a break up way back when.  I'm sorry it didn't work out.  I wish you all the best in your lives ahead of you.

For me, high school will always hold a special place in my heart as well as those memories I hold so dear.  I just ask that you remember me too.

Sincerely,

Jessie D.

ahh, the memories!

Reminiscing: Our Third Date

In an attempt to write more and remember the good ol' days, I'll be "reminiscing" for you.

I had been home just over two weeks after my surgery.  Before I left, I had met this guy at a fourth of July party.  That had been our first date - if you can call it that.  It was all my friends, an American holiday, my light up flip flops (he'll never let me live that down), and this random Brit I had met.

Our second "date" had been a going away dinner for me before surgery.  It was the two of us a few other old coworkers of ours.  You see, I worked at the same company as this guy but at different times and that is how we had met.

So here I was, two weeks after major open heart surgery and he asked me to accompany him to a concert.  I was hesitant because I couldn't drive, I was sore, very sore, and it was a Hanson concert.  This guy worked for fun and free as a radio DJ for up and coming artists.  He interviewed them, had them on his show, and got many free concert tickets.  

My dad had to drop me off at the concert.  That was embarrassing.  Especially when he let out a huge, smelly fart right when we got there. I got out of that car before the guy could come to the car and I prayed to God I didn't smell!

Luckily I had found a shirt that covered up my bandages (seriously, I still had gauze on my wound!).  It was the first time I saw him after surgery.  In all honesty, I wasn't too sure I'd make it out alive.  I had made peace with the chance that I might die during surgery and I figured I'd never see him again.  Morbid, I know, but I had to face reality that it was possible.

But alas, I was alive and we were together again.  We gingerly walked to the theater and I was so worried about getting pushed and bumped into.  The guy kept close to me and didn't rush me.  Once inside we sat down and had a bite to eat and talked about the upcoming show; curious as to how loud the screaming girls were going to be.

The concert was a blast and the girls did scream loud. I remember at the end (we left before it ended), we were walking up stairs. I could barely catch my breath and I was really hurting.  He turned around and saw me a few steps behind and stopped and waited for me.  I remember thinking he was a gentlemen.  After the show, he drove me all the way home - and extra hour out of his way.  He came in the house and we stood in the kitchen while I got him a drink for the road.  Everyone was asleep at my house and it was very dark.  We didn't kiss but I went up to him and hugged him.  

Being almost a foot taller than me my arms fell nicely around his waste. I just clung on to him.  I didn't want to let go.  I was grateful I was alive and able to spend a third date with him.  He was sweet, handsome, and fun to be with.  I had been so alone and scared and I felt he was the answer to my prayers.  At that moment, I didn't really care who it was but I remember just being happy there was someone to hug and feel grateful for.  He had been a good pick.