The Vomit Draft

I'm sitting here listening to Dax Shepard interview Mike Schur on my ArmChair Expert podcast, and for those of you who don't pay attention to sitcom writers, Mike Schur did a lot of work on the American adaptation of The Office, he did Parks and Recreation and now has brought us my new obsession, The Good Place. They are talking about all kinds of things but I was very attentive as they started to talk about writing.

As a serious fan of these shows, meaning, I can quote the Office like Friends, Parks and Rec is just becoming more and more my default binge-watch, and The Good Place is just so frigging awesome, it's pretty interesting to hear Mike Schur talk about the writing process and how he operates. Dax Shepard brought up something that totally just blew me away, saying that he allows himself to just write terribly from time to time, and to just know that sometimes things will come out horrible and be utter garbage. He accepts this and allows it.

Mike Schur called this "The Vomit Draft." It is named so as something that is just proverbially "puked out," with yuck results but is stuff that you need to get out of you to be able to better write the next draft and the next draft. It seriously got the wheels turning in Anxious Alison's mind.

Dax Shepard also mentioned that if you sit down and think you're going to just write Shakespearean on the first try, you'll probably fail miserably because that's not a realistic expectation or even fair goal. But to allow yourself to have some crap amidst the good is much better.

I'm not sure if I proclaim myself as a "writer" really, as more of a ridiculous blogging enthusiast with some followers. I'd love to be paid to be a writer. Especially if I can write cutting edge things about why the Office is awesome and Parks and Rec is epic as well. I'm not sure I can hob nob with the "writing" elite just yes.

I'd love to have the time and creative space to write a book but, I'm not so sure that's realistic, let alone to be anything like Shakespeare goals. I think that blogging daily is the closest I've gotten in years to getting my writing done in a productive way and I'm pretty sure that Haiku, which was barely a Haiku was a "vomit draft."

The whole thing was fascinating to me. We put these ideals on people and imagine that writing just pours out into liquid gold. We assume that all of the writers of the shows we love have it all figured out and everything is a perfect puzzle. We forget that, they too, have to wade through the crap, er uh, vomit if you will.

Some days I can write these raw, fun, amazing pieces of myself and people read and say "Yay!" Other days I struggle to find something that's not vomit. It's kind of comforting to know that the writers that I admire have the same kind of days.

I also kind of love that it is well known as "The Vomit Draft," apparently. To me this is hilarious. As a mom, you get used to gross things fast, like poop, pee and puke. Ironically my husband has a Vince Vaughn in Four Christmases-like approach,

 

and he just immediately heaves and needs to get himself away. For me, I'll be covered in puke and still comforting the kid. Moms, and I guess writers can handle the vomit. My husband is very much akin to Alec Baldwin in 30 Rock:

I think creativity is rough, regardless, and there will always be someone who can do it better. I once tried to make a wreath at a Halloween thing my crafty mom friend threw, it was better as a centerpiece and could easily be posted as a Pinterest fail. I got to play with a hot glue gun though, so that was fun, but my friend made the wreath perfectly, and 3 other wreaths perfectly so, yeah, she has that part down. There will always be someone who does it differently, and with better results.

I can probably write more easily than others, though, and definitely better than a few. Essays, reviews, summaries and such come so naturally to me. So, everyone has their thing and for me, it's much more writing than anything else, even amidst the "vomit drafts."

Mostly the writing discussion on the podcast made me feel even more affirmation in my Podcasting choices and obsession, but also in my writing. In recent discoveries and acknowledgement of my growth, it seems as though some of these routines have been super fruitful and helpful in different areas of life and I'm embracing that success. Win!

On this particular Tuesday, where I am tired and emotionally a little done, I feel triumphant in knowing I'm doing okay even when I "vomit draft" a haiku or weekend post that is lackluster. For those of you faithful readers that endure it, just know it is part of everyone's writing process; I'm letting you in on my musings, good and bad! 

The Housing Habitat Hereditary Talent

There are many traits I have passed down to my wonderful daughter that I wish I could hand pick away from her. Things like my anxiety and worry, or obsession with planning and arranging. However, along with some of those traits, also comes weird and adorable hereditary things that I totally love.

I was an only child in that my half sisters never lived with us and were much much older. So I spent a lot of time alone. If memory serves, it all started on Groundhog's day, which when you grow up in Lancaster, Pennsylvania is actually a big deal. So in school we made this little paper groundhog, colored him in, put him on a popsicle stick in a styrofoam cup that we colored and drew on dirt, grass and flowers, so that he could pop out to see if there was more winter or an early spring. 

I brought my craft home proudly but decided that the groundhog needed a way better habitat. So I got an old shoe box and made him a 3 room house for his comfort. This, to date, is one of my mom's favorite stories. From then on I made cardboard homes for any and everything that needed it.

When I was a nanny I bestowed my talent upon the 5 year old I spent my days with and her mind was blown. Give me a gingerbread house and I'm useless, give me some cardboard and weird thing to build a home or habitat for and I'm there, with gusto.

For Easter this year I broke down and got my daughter an LOL doll. I honestly don't fully understand the whole LOL thing and I'm not here to judge it. She's been talking about it a lot so I spent good Friday hunting this thing down and found one. I didn't choose the best one for my first LOL experience but this child is obsessed. She LOVES it.

She had an epic Easter. After church and all egg opening fanfare, my mom finally made an appearance with her Easter basket. She brought it over in what looked like half of a pizza box. In the box, the basket had new socks, new underwear, new camisoles, a Reese's bunny, gummy bears, a new stuffed animal pig and a coloring kit. 

My kid tore through it in 2 seconds, mostly excited for the coloring and candy. Right after Grandma left, I settled into my room for some Netflix and Popcorn before tackling the laundry and my daughter had taken the box from under her basket, along with her LOL doll, and started making her a house. She was drawing in a bathroom and bedroom and everything:

I need to find more pictures. As you can see, a little car she got for Easter was also outside the door that I had to help her cut. It is pretty awesome, I can't lie.

It made me so happy to see her creating this. And it's not even the first time she's done something like this, I just keyed in more to this one, and noticed her commitment to it.

You see, I feel often that everything I carry mentally, especially lately, gets taken out on her, very much inadvertently. Circumstances have made me more tired, less active with her and not as good of a mom as I should be. There are nights when she just wants dinner in front of the TV and I sneak a salad in my room and she comes in and hugs me and asks for dessert and we kind of just do our own thing in proximity. But then I feel bad like I was a crap mom for not making her eat like a lady at the table and tell me about her day. 

It's moments like the one where she crafted a new home for her new favorite toy where I'm like, okay I'm actually not doing so badly. I try to raise her to be independent, strong, capable, smart, funny and outgoing, which I'm told she is. I just think motherhood is hard. There are so many times I feel like I'm on such a solo mission to guide her and be fair but as her mom and not her friend. It's not an easy task.

She's plugged into so much more than I'd imagined and is almost too smart for her own good, so sometimes I feel like she heals with me when it comes to mental stuff. Just as I work from 8 to 5, that kid is in school and aftercare from 9 to 6 with all the activities on the weekends. I think she's earned time to veg and definitely to just be a kid. 

I kind of love that she got my weird talent for cardboard housing. I made so many cool things when I was younger that I just loved. They all had little stories and worlds and reasons for being that I was eager and happy to explain to anyone who wanted to listen. I loved just expanding upon one silly craft that could keep my imagination going. And what I couldn't buy or have from some commercial, or if there was some toy that my friends might have but I couldn't, I made for myself. I think my daughter getting that hereditary trait is okay; kind of bad ass really. And there's always therapy for all the other traits!

Life In Proximity To The Hospitality Industry

About a decade ago, I left my life of being a nanny and a full time student in Eugene, Oregon to come to the "beautiful, lawless swamp" that is Florida. My first job was a cashier in a medical apparel store or "Scrub Store" as we called it in the University Community Hospital right by USF main campus.

My husband, however, has always been a restaurant man and a self-taught cook, which is one of the reasons I married him, because I cannot cook, like at all. I can bake a few things but outside of Mac and Cheese, sandwiches and salads, nope.

The hubby got a job at like 19 or 20 maybe at "Pizza Pete's" Italian Kitchen in Eugene and worked his way up from the dish pit and delivery to learning the ropes in the kitchen. From there it was to the new, soon to be hot spot, "El Vaquero," which was Eugene's premier Tapas Bar, and also had one of America's top 5 bartenders, Jeffrey Morgenthaler, as the man behind the cocktails. Morgenthaler and his second in command, Scott Butler, took my hubby under their wing from time to time to show him all about craft cocktails and what real bartenders looked like.

At El Vaquero my husband went from prep to pastry chef and a little bit in between. When the owners saw that he could actually thrive in the kitchen, the sent him across town to his pride and joy, Asado. Asado was a smaller, but also intimate Mexican-type kitchen with tapas and cocktails, and it was there he found his long time friend, Jarred, who was a groomsman at our wedding. He learned how to run a kitchen and even a restaurant during his time there.

When Asado was sold, he moved onto The Old Pad, which was strictly "bar food" and then lastly to the Villard Street Pub near campus. He has learned every single cuisine from scratch, from Italian to Mexican, to Sushi to Coastal Cuisine and lastly, French food. In Florida he got a job at a Sushi place, a Mexican Grille, then a local bar, he helped open a new Coastal Kitchen in Westchase and designed the menu, then for the same company put together craft cocktails and American gastro-pub fare at another new restaurant that holds two locations to this day and will remain nameless. From there he did some time at a local artisan sandwich place, finally landing a high-end French fine dining establishment close to home. He's never gone to culinary school and is extremely talented in my humble opinion.

However, living the life of the wife of a chef, is anything but easy. I had my foray in the food biz about 9 and a half years ago too. We once worked at the same restaurant together, he was in the kitchen and I was front of the house. I had the personality and the energy for it, but I got burned and burned out quickly in every sense of the words. The picture above is from my favorite restaurant life movie "Waiting," which I used to watch weekly to handle the stress of that whole atmosphere.

I was good at my job too, but I had no desire to be a manager and the tipping system where I was, left a lot to be desired. I met some amazing people though, and learned a lot. My biggest takeaway is pictured below, please excuse the swear but unfortunately it is completely true:

While I am incredibly proud of my husband and ever-impressed by his culinary evolution, no one tells you that life in restaurant industry is rough as you enter the family phases. And I say this for me personally, not even just for the man working the stove! We had once talked about running a restaurant together someday, and even once had the opportunity to do so outside of Florida, but as my husband simply said, "Then you would really never see me."

When I say I never see my husband let's break it down for all you non-believers. After half a decade of struggling as parents and job-jumping and life hurdles, I have found my "forever job," that is unless they fire me. It is an 8-5, lunch at noon office type thing. It is reliable with all the benefits that work best for family life. The kid is in school and after care full tilt. My daughter and I are off full weekends and I'm home every single evening.

Hubby is not quite on the same schedule although he did score Saturdays as a routine day off, which is a restaurant life miracle, but regardless, we don't have much time together. In a realistic scope, we have Saturday from about 8:30am to 10pm at night, give or take bed times, so what is that 13ish hours? And we have Sunday mornings from say 7:30am to 1:30pm, but throw in church drumming, commuting and errands, maybe separate cars, we can call that a good 4 hours of seeing each other? And he is off all day Monday and I get home at 6pm and am always in bed by 9pm weekdays so, let's call that 3 hours? So doing the math; 13 + 4 + 3 is...20 hours a week.

I have the opportunity to see my husband for a total of 20 hours a week, at best. That is less than a full day out of 7 days each week. You may think I'm exaggerating or being dramatic, and I'd like to say I am but add in errands, or plans with other people on the nights I have back up and it's easily less than 20 hours a week. It's not an simple thing.

For the longest time, this born of was necessity. When you literally cannot afford childcare or daycare or anything like that but still can't just stay home full time, you work opposite shifts, not matter how crappy and painful. You promise yourself it will get easier as the kiddo gets older and it does in SOME ways, but the more things change, the more things stay the same.

My husband's talents are completely underrated by many; I think my dad and sisters may be his biggest fans. He usually gets irritated because of all the favorite things of his I love for him to make, all I ever want is Tacos and Pizza, which he finds unimpressive. They are so damn good though!

He's always made me insanely proud because he has brought himself up from the dish pit to a sous chef, but that's not to say the life in proximity to the hospitality industry doesn't have its sacrifices and challenges, because it very much does.

The wives that send their men to the army, or that have husbands that constantly travel for business, or their hubby runs a hotel or bar? Those are the women in my tribe who can commiserate, if not trump my whining over wine-ing. It sucks sometimes, but unfortunately I've gotten used to it.

In a perfect world we'd have family meals every evening, we'd have routine nights out and all the sporting events and extra curricular activities would rule our nights and weekends, but we are far from being able to do that. We cram a lot into Saturdays. We juggle a lot on Sunday mornings more often than not, and we just keep on keeping on.

It's hard for a lot of people to understand and sometimes I wonder if we would even know how to be around each other more, if it ever happened. Even on vacations it's like divide and conquer and we have to re-learn how to be around each other for that many hours in row. 

I'm extremely grateful to have a man who works insanely long, 12-14 hour shifts on his feet creating delicious food and still manages to cook for me, while providing for the family. Although, I will say,  life in the hospitality business is not for the faint of heart. There are a million times I wish he could have come home early from a shift to help with the sick kid, the sick dog or a sick me, but alas we continued.

I think life is hard enough as it is, and as we grow older we just look for ways to shape things to ease the rough exteriors and make everything more palatable. I very much have to take one day at a time. I've learned that planning in advance with his career is super difficult. I've learned how to operate around the Kitchen chaos. I've learned that most of kitchen life is fluid and if you can't stand the heat, you gotta get out of the kitchen, all puns intended. 

Maybe some day schedules will align and be different but for now, we stay grateful for the food on the table, the roof over our heads and health we have to work the hours we do, especially for him. As I live this life in proximity to the Hospitality Industry I can say I've learned so much and appreciate all the lessons...and the food, but certainly wouldn't mind seeing the man behind the food more often. A girl can dream! Cheers!

My House Is Forever A Mess, And I Kinda Love It That Way

This is my dining room in it's natural state. And this is our table. We don't eat dinner at the table enough.This table was a gift from over a decade ago, when I moved into my first apartment, and it was from the first family I nanny-ed for in Oregon. My mom hates this table. It's covered in marker, pen, paint, scratches, dents and dog hair at times. But I've raised ALL my children at this table, meaning the ones I nanny-ed for, and now my daughter. And until it falls apart, it's staying.

My daughter does arts and crafts everything and all the time. I haven't figured out a decent way or space to organize the mania, but she is always drawing and creating things. Once a week we clear this table, but during weeknights it pretty much stays like this, and I'm kind of in love with it.

I've never bought furniture from anywhere but an Ashley Furniture outlet (my husband's recliner) and Ikea. Although from time to time I get used pieces from online interactions like Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace. We've been given everything else as a gift, and are so fortunate for that.

I dreamed once of nice things and furniture sets, you know Pottery Barn type illusions, but then I realized how little that actually has to do with making a house into a home. I'm also so busy with motherhood, work and life, that my home time is limited, so rather than obsess about it looking a certain way, I'd rather it be functional and comfy.

My uncle used to have this joke that first apartments and homes are always decorated in the style of "American Poverty," because it's enough to just have a roof over your head, let alone fill it with stuff. I always love being around people who have the eye for decorating and fill their home with pretty and nice things that match, with little accents for their home, but I'm always afraid I'll mess up their house in some way. 

My house is very much "lived in." It's broken in, comfortable and, I hope, welcoming. Its is wonderfully imperfect no matter what. From the weathered grout, which is my serious obsession in superficiality, the non-matching furniture, the crazy colors of bedroom walls and the stuff...everywhere, it's everything that is US.

Maybe it was too many years of my Friends obsession but, much like Phoebe, almost all of my furniture has a story, however simple or small. So we have the dining room table story covered, and the long bench with it was Eben's cousin's. Our couches came from one of my favorite co-workers from a past job who was kind of like my "work mom." We have two recliners, a buffet, a coffee table and a piano from my old boss. He was going to give really good furniture and a PIANO to Goodwill! It just needs to be tuned, hello!

Our queen bed frame is from IKEA and has followed us to 3 houses from it's construction. The construction, my husband teases, was almost a breaking point in our marriage because that thing was so difficult to put together! We keep it now as a guest bed, after it was our daughter's for 2 years and ours for 2 years before that, and we reference it as a joke often.

Our king bed frame was from Facebook MarketPlace and they lived 10 minutes away. I had an old boss help me pick it up, and he was not a fun person to move things with as he didn't understand the difference in my size versus his, and how to move furniture with someone small but mighty. The king mattress and box spring was an amazing gift from one of my favorite people from when we got in the car accident as our mattress at the time was just on the floor in the old house. I cried when I came home from the hospital and saw it, and I miss that friend every single day because she got me through one of the worst times in my life.

My daughter's room is 90% hand me downs. Her toy box was my mom's and then mine. Her kitchen set came from another gorgeous friend I miss daily, her train table from another mom that I went to boot camp with and the dollhouse was mine. Her princess TV is from another mom friend and her daughter. There is some various Ikea furniture that we put together that didn't result in divorce, and her dresser was mine when I was baby and has followed me every place I've ever lived. Her new bunk bed is from Facebook Marketplace; I repainted it and my dad fixed it to the wall and built stairs for the dog to join her atop her full sized loft.

My husband and I have 2 dressers we got from family friends whom we love and appreciate a lot and lastly, we have my mom's old cedar chest filled with my grandmother's things. Oh and a hutch I bought from Luna's swim teacher that I repainted and filled with my grandma's china. That is probably it, I think. Everything has a story, and nothing matches, and I LOVE IT.

This wasn't always so. This has taken me YEARS. I used to love my apartments before we had a kiddo because everything would stay as it was when I was out. When you have a kid suddenly furniture becomes a liability. Or they put crayon on cushions and stain your favorite duvet. But, that's part of parenthood and adulting. 

My mom tries to force on me "matching things" and "newer things," but I like what we have and I don't need to waste money on new stuff just to have something new! My table being a mess means my daughter is creative. Her room in disarray means she was using her imagination. Blankets all over the couch means my dog is comfy. 

Everything I have is coated in sentiment and memories. There are layers of stories and emotions, even life phases that go with it. You can always rearrange to give things a different look or refreshed style, but replacing all the furniture seems really silly to me. We don't entertain much and let's face it, I have very few people to impress in my life. I'm just an anxious, working mom trying to get through each day and enjoy life when I can. If you can't enjoy my mess, don't come over. Take me out for a drink instead!

I spend hours cleaning every weekend. I maintain my house with family help and love all of it because it is ours. I don't care how cluttered, okay I do have a limit, I'll admit, but it's still mine and ours. Every area is part of home. I haven't had a place like that since I was 15 so I'm digging my heels in and enjoying the space, no matter how messy it can get, it's mine, it's my daughter's, my dog's and my husband's real, live home. Furniture can be bought and we can arrange and style any way, any day, but the memories will be stronger than any dining set, sectional couch with matching ottoman or bedroom set could ever be.

For now I'm going to enjoy the method to the madness because there are good times to be had, clean house or not. And the picture below is the result of my daughter saying, "Hey mom take a picture of my table. It looks pretty." Oh and this table was painted and styled by my sister, driven across the country by my dad, also after the car accident. I forgot that one too! So many stories with the furniture, so little time! Here's the cute table:

Happy Thursday readers!

A Hardware Store-y

My dad as built 3 houses in his life. I've lived in one. So needless to say, he knows how to make stuff. My favorite uncle is also an architect and has made some of the most amazing homes and buildings I've ever seen. 

I'm not here to say I'm handy. I have the tools but lack the verbiage, meaning I can see how I want something and how it can be done inside my head but have a hard time describing what I need to make it happen.

Because of this, my husband kind of assumes I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about. Until this visit with my dad, he did, at least. I was telling one of my friends about my dad's talents and building achievements and the response was "And you didn't get this gene?" I did, just without the support to get shit done, if you will.

This trip the hubby finally saw in action what I've been talking about. How we have these visions and abilities to use what we have and do things on smaller budgets and just make it happen. How a little extra hard work doesn't make it not worth doing. Which is why I now have a fully functional bathroom door, I'm down a chandelier I hated, and about to get stairs/shelves for the dog to get to the kiddo's new loft bed.

I've always loved going to the hardware store, something else my husband has poked fun at me about. To me the hardware store is endless potential, ultimate creativity and projects that make a house a home. Today I got to adventure with my dad for supplies for final projects. Tomorrow he shows hubby the ropes.

I live by two rules: either learn to do it yourself and do it yourself, or make enough money to hire a professional with said skill to do it for you. I have no problem learning to do and completing household tasks, so long as I'm met with patience and understanding, and I'm good at testing those boundaries. 

So here we go, learning from each other and all for the sake of what I think are common, run of the mill home projects. Because I always think there are ways to create what you want and need with what you have or within a budget. It doesn't always have to be pretty or cool, just functional.

Today I got to go to Lowe's with my dad and watch it all happen. I even helped him find something the store clerk couldn't. Why? Because I could envision what he was talking about but my dad didn't describe it all that well. That is how I irritate my husband; I'm the same.

So we got the supplies. we got what we needed. And tomorrow creations will come to life. Hitting the Hardware store was nostalgia at its finest. My dad build a deck and screened in porch, a sun room, a play house, a swing set, a move-able basketball court, and a cabin in the woods completely off the grid, run by solar, generator and with spring water, in my 33 years on this planet. Watching him create is a favorite.

I feel lucky my daughter gets to see it in our house too. She'll always remember that grandpa gave mommy her coveted bathroom door, that grandpa built her stair shelves and fixed the garage door, gutters and kitchen light. These are the memories that keep my hardware stories, my nostalgia and my creativity strong and are making this house evolve into a home. Now to enjoy Sunday!

When Asked About Writing...

I'm often purposefully vague about my job because it's the only writing-related job I've ever had, and after years of burning out and burning bridges at other places I finally feel comfortable, valuable and as though I do my job pretty well, while using all of my talents.

I had someone ask me about my job, "Well don't you write?" For my job I don't actually write the newsletters, I just edit. So after that explanation I said, "But I write my blog." And then the question was asked, "But you like to write, you enjoy it?" I don't think I caught a breath before my retort of "Writing is the only thing I've ever liked to do." And it gave me a little kick in my heart when I effortlessly said that.

I come from a long line of highly creative under-achievers. We have amazing ideas and vision and seldom can we fully formulate results. For me? I'm realizing that the support that I would need to become what I would love, isn't quite there.

I don't need to be left alone in a cabin to formulate my thoughts or inspired by travel with thousands of dollars in inspirational materials and income. But I see these classes and workshops and contests and I just have no confidence or positive push to do them. If I won a weekend workshop in Maine to learn from a great writer of America, there's the ticket we can't afford, the child care we can't afford and then when I return inspired, what would come of it? Would I magically write an Oprah, Ellen and Reese Witherspoon recommended title?

I used to dream of interning and writing for Paste Magazine, but life happens and I was too afraid to be rejected with an application. Also when I mentioned living in Atlanta for any period of time the "No" blinker-board started flashing in red. Then I wanted to contribute for HelloGiggles. I often saw many little errors in their articles but they were fun, topical, trendy and conversational, so an easy read.

I'd love nothing more than to write some kind of book, possibly a memoir or autobiographical in nature, but I've always loved poetry and short stories as well. I used to live to attend poetry slams and be around creativity to thrive. Now I kind of do what I can and just try and make it through each day, with this blog as my 2019 challenge for myself.

There's a lot of uncomfortable, dark and rough things I'd love to put on paper but definitely feel like I don't have a safe, creative outlet to share it or to unload it all within. That makes me feel sad sometimes but, we continue.

I'm not sure when it all began, but for me, writing has just always been the place where I can put it all down without judgement or discussion. It was a safety. I always got A's in any writing or literature class and it was all I was ever good at, which I maintain today.

Lately I've begun to wonder what would happen if I just started taking the risk, entering contests, applying for weekend workshops, even taking local classes. I wonder what potential is stifled within my circumstance. But then I bring myself back down to earth and remember I'm just that working mom with a blog. I could be some kind of internet presence some day. I could be some Instagram personality I guess, but I'm not sure how that would all look.

I also don't want anything I write to negatively affect a reader. I did that once, I wrote, what was meant to be this funny, quippy blog, about leaving a truly horrible job and a boss that was just...we couldn't coexist, and my ex-employer came upon my blog recounting it, even though I had already left the position and they lost their minds and basically called me back in to go off on me.

I remember talking to them about so much of my writing and storytelling stemming from dark, cynical and sarcastic places but they were just offended. It took me years to realize that they weren't mad at the full situation or that they hurt me or mistreated me as a good and capable employee, they were mad I called them out on it.

For anyone who knew me well at the time, what I wrote was a hilarious diatribe and coming of age job story that was "Oh, so Alison." But for the people who read it, who I assumed would never know about it, never waste time reading it, and wouldn't even care, they seemed to instead just use it more and more in their argument of me being a despicable human and not, a girl trying to find her way after working endless shifts for them for a year and a half only to be called a "bitch" by her male boss when she did her job flawlessly, but didn't make friends with her younger co-workers whom she cleaned up after relentlessly and off the clock I might add. Run on sentence much? 

Eight years later and it still gets to me sometimes. I digress. What I learned the hard way was, no matter how clever the rhetoric, it had consequences to unleash that into the universe beyond "gossip." Writing can cause collateral damage and I've yet to find a safe way to balance my true feelings and my written words. I would never intend to write in my anger and have someone read it and think I actually wish them any ill will. So where is my outlet then? What is the right way to write?

This is my struggle. Daily, I post about parenting, and silly things like Cookie Chairs and Hand Me Downs, but sometimes I want to talk about living with addiction and alcoholic family members and what that has done to me. Sometimes I want to talk about feeling lost or even feeling found. Sometimes I want to talk about the wounds of my childhood and other days I want to complain about first world problems and mom-drama. 

The balance is rough for me, I won't lie, but perhaps it is for all highly-creative underachievers. For now, I keep myself within certain boundaries but hope to one day write it all and offend with the best of them. (This is an example of that cynical sarcasm that gets me in trouble).

Regardless, when asked about writing what you need to know about me is this: Writing is my coffee. It makes me feel awake, alive, capable, and able to take on more than I think I can without it. And there you have it!

The Morning Rush...10 Minutes Late or Bust!

The movie Bad Moms is worth a watch at some point, if it's not already in your favorites list, for many reasons in fact, but it opens with a line that goes something like "I had kids and I've been late every day ever since." This is factual. 

I used to be chronically early to everything. I was that person who, if you're not early you're not on time because just arriving on time is too close to too late! And then when you have a child, it takes longer to do anything and everything. Ever. Not to mention you're never the creator of your own schedule, that baby/toddler/kid is.

Now, I can be mostly on time for work (I'm usually in the parking garage by 8...in the office by 8:05) and if I need to be anywhere without my husband or child, I am usually about 10 minutes late unless it's an appointment, like for a doctor or dentist, you know anything PAID for. Generally, however, I am late. 

It's not a laziness thing, well not always, and it's not a procrastination thing, well not always. I like to think it's just another badge on motherhood sash. If any of you moms out there are always on time, please teach me your ways!

Every morning I think I give myself the perfect amount of time to get ready and then I get distracted or forget that I already forgot something or everything and it just snowballs. When my daughter blissfully sleeps through my getting-ready-for-work time, I'm fine, but when she wants to come talk to me when I'm trying to sip my coffee or demands breakfast early or wants help picking out clothes or, "I can't reach this," or "Mom, mom, mom, mom!," that's when it all goes awry. And fast.

Things are much better now than when she was really little, but I can never seem to give us enough time for the "getting from the house into the car," routine. They can NEVER find their shoes or they need to bring a toy or they want a snack or they need 500 other things. You ask them to pee 6 times and you'll still end up stopping more often than not. Then getting into the car seat is ridiculous; it always takes much longer than it rightfully should. 

My husband somehow manages to never get in the car at the same time as we do; we always get in the car and wait for him because I usually drive. Then my daughter starts whining about, "Why is daddy taking so long! He's taking forever! When are we leaving?" It's a fun game.

With no one in my way, I CAN be on time but as a mom, I'm not so sure "No one in your way" actually exists. It might be like Narnia, a place only accessible through some kind of secret and magic entrance.

I honestly barely put much effort into my appearance anymore. I once left the house with only one eye having mascara on it and with jelly on the side of my shirt from a morning hug. I ALMOST left the house, more than once, with different flip flops, and no it wasn't a trend setting type thing. I don't wear expensive make-up nor do I have some crazy routine for skin care or maintenance. My goal is to look "somewhat put together." So "getting ready," is rarely a long process, but the many interruptions elongate everything.

Children always have something they need to tell you, but it doesn't seem to be completely necessary to tell you this thing until you're already doing all the other things. Kids timing is impeccable. But I will take ownership, I'm often late because I also try to do TOO MUCH in not enough time.

For most people this results in less than awesome results, but for me, it somehow makes me work harder in some self-competition. Oh did you not realize from all aforementioned Friends references that I'm mostly Monica? Yes. And I love cleaning and arranging as a way to physically display my ability to control variables in my chaotic world.

These are all my contributing lateness factors that I suspect most of us have in common and again, anyone who is on time, please teach me how to be an adult in this capacity. 

Maybe I'll be more timely one day, but much like being tired, I think being late is just who I am now. It's all intricately connected into my entire world of mothering. We all have our strengths, being timely is not mine. I can make a mean salad though, but if I invite you for dinner, it won't be ready exactly on time so maybe have a snack first...

4th Grade 4-Eyed Dreams Can Come True

I'm getting more and more insight into what a little girl's world really is through my daughter, but I have a few memories of my own. I don't remember being too into clothes. I was definitely an extremely late bloomer and I just loved to wear matching things. In fact, mis-match day at school was always a challenge for me.

My mom dressed me in Laura Ashley, Osh Kosh and as many brand names as possible but I don't remember much beyond fluffy dresses and Easter hats. I didn't get manicures or have lots of accessories. One thing I really wanted when I was in 4th grade though, was glasses.

Both of my parents had glasses. One of them was near-sighted, one of them was far-sighted, and I was like "Okay, so when do I get my glasses?" I'd always tested fine for vision but when I complained of frequent headaches they thought maybe it was time.

So off to the eye doctor we go and I have perfect vision. I was super bummed. I felt really ordinary with the exception of the bright red hair. There was another redhead in my class too and she had glasses. My best friend had glasses. I was so lame without them, right? Oh and the headaches were from my mom letting me drink iced tea every morning...not the best choice. 

So I went on to grow for years and years with no glasses and normal vision. I've never really had any problems so I just went on to function with regular eye balls and exist in the glasses-less sector of society.

It's taken a long time for the Chriss fam to get it together, but we now have normal luxuries like insurance and dental and vision coverage. My husband has glasses and he's used all of the things around it, but I realized I had never used my benefits. Now that I have a job where I'm able to have doctor's appointments and run of the mill life happenings without losing hours or suffering in some other way, I decided to adult up and get my eye exam.

So the dilation thing is maddening. Everything was so blurry and disorienting. The eye puff thing had me exactly like Rachel on Friends, you know which one I'm talking about. And then I found out I needed a light prescription. I was ridiculously excited. 

The Eye doctor said one time a girl desperately wanted glasses and she had to say no and she left in tears. She had wished someone would have told her so she could have phrased it differently for the little one, but she was happy I wasn't upset about them.

So then I went frame shopping. The next day because being all blurry I was not trying to shop for something to live on my face for the rest of my days. My budget was small because I'm "thrifty" (not cheap lol). So I found some frames I really really loved and now just had to be patient for two weeks. No problem.

When my glasses came I ran over there. Finally! I put them on. New year, new me! Yeah! I loved them but oh my did they mess with my depth perception...badly. The sidewalk looked like it was up to my stomach. It was so weird.

My husband assured me there was an adjustment period. Then the first weekend they moved around on my face a lot. I couldn't tell if I was being high maintenance or if they needed an adjustment. My husband said while glasses move, they shouldn't quite that much. I still wore them because this was my 4th grade dream, coming true and right before my 34th birthday! 

So, I finally went to get the adjustment and they are worlds better. When my daughter first saw them somehow she was taken aback like, "Do you have to wear those to bed?" Even though my husband has worn glasses, oh, always. Mostly I got the response "cute," or worse...the people I wanted to notice didn't and the people I would have never expected to notice now wanted to talk about my new accessory.

I'm still getting used to them over-all. This week they are making me sleepy. But there is this huge part of me that feels kind of awesome that my 4th grade dream, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, actually has come true. I think we all have these kid moments of wanting things to make us stand out but also fit in and as we get older we care less and less, but it's kind of fun to know now, not only am I able to see better, but I kind of knocked a weird kid goal off of my list.

My daughter has cool goals like going to Paris and getting a Golden Retriever puppy, which I fully support. She loves to mis-match clothes and hates to match actually. I refer to her as a tiny tourist as you'll often see her in prints and prints or stripes and polka dots. She just found jewelry and is hesitant to fit into the lost tooth trend out of fear it will hurt. While she's fiercely independent she has conformed into the Shopkins obsession, My Little Ponies, the world of Legos and Roblox. I love watching her phases though.

When she has goals like glasses and braces though, I fully intend to let her know that she might have to wait until she's grown, but usually these things are totally achievable. I plan on explaining this while on a plane full of Golden Retrievers on our way to Paris of course. 

Pooping Cats, Plastic Horses and Baby Alive Types of Toys

As I'm just about to start writing this my daughter asks "Whatcha doing mom?" I said, "Typing and writing." Her response? "Again? Seriously?" So yes I'm back at it. Again, thanks for sticking with me.

So yesterday a friend of mine posted this Instagram story about a toy her step-daughter got that was feeding a baby doll something and then it poops. I laughed as she seemed horrified. Why did I laugh? Last year one of my daughter's best friends had this cat toy that you walked around and it pooped out plastic cat turds and farted and meowed and these girls thought this was the best thing ever.

Of course my daughter asked for her own and aptly named it "Pooping cat." On her video of her Christmas 2017 recap one of her prized possessions was in fact, "a pooping cat." She still plays with it to this day.

I remember wanting weird toys when I was young and vying for the "must haves" every year. And now I'm living in that world and sometimes it is surreal. I still don't understand the point of a Shopkin, what they are, what they do or why they are fun but I don't judge because I came from the Polly Pocket, Little's Pet Shop and Pogs era. Yeah, POGS!

I hope I'm not the only mom who just doesn't completely understand why some toys are cool versus the lame ones, but even if I am, somethings are meant just for the fun of little imaginations and that's fine with me.

So this past year for Christmas, Christmas 2018 that is, we got a Disney Catalog in the mail. Of course throughout the pages are toys that range in price from $10 to $200. They were kind enough to provide some 20 stickers for children to mark their wants and needs for Christmas. I thought I was being so sly letting Luna only pick 4 items...and the first thing she picked was a "My size" plastic horse from Tangled with the price of $99.99. 

The cheap mother inside me screamed, "Hell no you're not getting a $100 piece of plastic!" But then the nice mom who wants her child to have some of the things she wants, no matter how silly they may seem, started to consider it. 

This thing became quite the discussion point for awhile and she was all about getting her Maximus horse. She told Santa about that one right out of the gate. So, since she had never asked for anything that expensive before, I thought...we can probably make this work. 

They didn't have it at the store and even in November online they weren't giving a very good delivery estimate for this horse. So when my mom and I caught a pre-Thanksgiving sale at the Disney store I asked about old Maximus. A Disney associate said, "Oh yeah my daughter saw it at Target, it's cheaper there. She wants one too. We'll probably have it black Friday but you'll want to get here before 10AM to make sure you can get it."

Ugggh, black Friday. Once I tried to get a TV on Black Friday for my husband, I just ended up driving right past Best Buy like "Nope," when I saw that line. I would pay full price to not have to deal with the hysteria.

I found out that the discount would be worth it though so I started psyching myself up for what would be my first Black Friday endeavor...ever. So Black Friday morning I wake up super early, get a workout in and then head to the Mall. After hitting JCPenney first I found my way to the Disney Store and was first in line! I was going to get that horse! And for cheaper!

I get in there...nowhere. Nowhere to be found. I ask 3 employees and somehow they never had the "My Size Maximus Horse" in the store. Then I heard an employee say, "You should try Target." I almost lost it.

A friend of mine who was familiar with my quest found that a Target about 25 minutes away had it in stock for just $70 and I could order it online and pick it up, no stress. Moms to the rescue! Other moms are such wonderful friends! They make the world a better place.

So, $70 in plastic isn't as impressive but it definitely would not be easy to wrap. Amazon large Santa bag to the rescue. The things we do for love. 

Some of you may read this and think "I can't believe you bought that," but she was so excited. Maximus, whom she has decided is a girl, not a boy, despite our review of the film where they call him a "him" and "boy" repeatedly, now stays right by her bed and comes out to watch TV with her often. She brushes and fixes his hair and feeds him apples and makes him neigh repeatedly.

And while Pooping cats are hilariously gross and ridiculous, while pooping baby toys are strange and seemingly unnecessary and $70 is a lot to spend on a fake toddler-sized horse, some of these things are just a part of kids being kids and I feel blessed I can give her the silly things, even just for now, because that Christmas happiness, is definitely priceless, as is their reactions to pooping cats and babies. Back to your weekends readers! Until tomorrow...

Motherhood Can Feel Lonely...And It Really Shouldn't

Last year I had a casual conversation with a fellow mom at church who had just had her second baby. We were talking about normal things in terms of infancy and how she had forgotten some things between her first who was then 4, and her second one. Wherever we ended up in the conversation I said to her, "And it can feel so lonely," and without hesitation her retort was, "Yes, I know! It CAN feel lonely!"

I felt a connection with her since then but later upon reflection my heart sank. There are literally millions upon millions of women who are mothers on this planet. There are even some fathers who end up being motherly! We shouldn't feel lonely, and the fact that we have those moments, breaks my heart. 

We're in a sensitive society right now I feel. I respect all opinions, but when playground talk turns into politics, personal beliefs, whether religious or otherwise, and parenting methods, things can get ugly, and fast.

One of my longest and physically closest mom friends and I began our friendship based on the fact that I didn't judge her as a parent and she returned the favor. I witnessed some pretty harsh mom on mom stuff at a birthday party last year that has forever been branded into me and what I want to say is this: You never know where someone else is in their life, their journey or their state of mind and judgmental words and commentary can hurt. I wish we could all just be patient and be kind. It's not your responsibility to parent the world.

Now, granted, if another child physically harms mine, the mama bear can come out but as a whole I try and teach Luna to just think "Well maybe he had a bad day or things are tough at home, we don't know. You use your words and express your feelings and let him feel his." Or hers.

I don't care who you are, and if you've never seen Bad Moms, watch it immediately because it posits some serious truths that support that motherhood and parenting is hard. We shouldn't be AGAINST each other. Often my mom friend and I that live judgment free hit the park with our kiddos and when we see other little ones being scolded for the same things we scold for or acting the same way ours do at their moms we joke, "Oh good, it's not just us!" See? We're NOT alone.

I know we use so much of our patience on our tiny humans that sharing that with the rest of the world is often difficult but I've worked so hard on becoming less judgmental in general but especially when it comes to other moms. Now the birthday party scene that scarred me, was an instant of watching other unfair judgment and my not knowing how to handle it but by being especially kind to the mom victim and her little one. She handled it much better than I could have, in my humble opinion.

It's funny because years ago when I was deep into some of the darkest places of my life with work, family, marriage and what felt like everything, I was called out for my judgment and being a "hater." What it really was, now that I look back, was a "Comparison Hangover," which Kristen Bell has explained on her husband's podcast, ArmChair Expert, to be when you get stuck in the social media and life haze of watching everyone else and judging them and yourself based on what their lives and experience look like, or that's what I got from it.

And, as a mom, hangovers of any kind are so much worse than they were before baby. Side note, Kristen Bell is a gorgeous mental health advocate, wonderful mother, great actress and I want to meet her someday and have lunch. I digress, and once I stopped thinking in terms of comparison, of "She's a better mom, she's a smarter mom, or a kinder mom," and started thinking "She makes great lunches and dresses them so cute! She has a great job and must balance a lot! She doesn't even raise her voice and her kids respond so well!' 

It's been a process. It IS a process but my aim is to be welcoming so that no mother that crosses my path, feels alone. I hated those feelings. Especially early on. Between postpartum and all the new mom stuff, feeling so alone is just so hurtful and I wish I had been kinder to myself and been more comfortable admitting, "Hey I'm lonely and I really would love some help here."

Moreover, I think each mom can teach me something and we all have so much to learn! I remember when a mom at my boot camp heard me complaining about Luna's cold and said "Vapor rub on the feet with socks on and run a hot shower when she's at her worst and sit with her in then." My mind was blown and we became friends after that! 

With all of this said, I will also advocate the importance of taking a step back if you feel judge or feel like you're just in a "judgey" place. We all have those moments. We're mothers, we're supposed to be imperfect. Why do you think Mary Poppins is a fictional character and just a nanny? No one can be "Practically Perfect in every way!"

Finding your boundaries and setting them can feel just as daunting as being open to all these suggestions but they are just suggestions. This is coming from 5 rough, ROUGH personal years of motherhood and womanhood, so I just want to impart what I have learned because if there is just ONE reader who can get something from this? Mission accomplished!