On Being An Adult

“I Can’t Wait To Be An Adult So I Can Do Whatever I Want.”

As a kid, I envisioned adulthood as a kind of nirvana – a place where I could go to bed and wake up when I wanted, eat what/when/where I wanted, do what/when/where I wanted.  It would be an awesome, happy place of complete freedom.  No one to tell me what to do!

As mother of a 13 and “In 2 weeks I’ll be 12” year old, I now hear this phrase from my children.

As an actual, card-carrying, certified, dear-God-I’m-40-years-old adult, I still hope to one day to become that adult who can do whatever/whenever/wherever person I dreamed of so many years ago.  Sure, I could now, “theoretically” do whatever I want, whenever I want, wherever I want, but it comes with strings:

If I eat/drink whatever I want, because I’m now an adult…
* My metabolism has slowed down.  Thus, I have to watch my calories or I watch my butt get bigger.  I also have to watch cholesterol, trans fats, and a myriad of other things for health reasons.
* My digestive system just isn’t what it used to be.  Seems like everything (and I truly mean everything) gives me heart burn, acid indigestion, or an upset stomach of some type. Antacids are my friend and constant companion.
* Caffeine is my friend.  Until it isn’t.  This means I have to stop drinking caffeinated beverages by 3:00pm every day, or else I won’t sleep that night.
* Alcohol is not my friend.  Sure, I’ll enjoy a rare glass of wine or maybe an occasional bottle of Woodchuck, but, at my age, I have no desire whatsoever to have a night of stupidity that I don’t remember, nor do I wish to endure the agony that is the hangover.

If I go to bed and wake up whenever I want, because I’m now an adult…
* As a teen, I’d stay up all night watching cheesy old movies until 2 in the morning (it was before satellite TV, when we only had 3 channels), then sleep until noon the next day because I had no responsibilities.  Now, I have responsibilities; big, sometimes scary, adult responsibilities.  If I stay up too late, I won’t get enough sleep or worse, I’ll miss the alarm entirely.  If that happens, I could lose my job.  No job = no money.  No money = well, a whole lot of bad stuff would happen.
* If I don’t get up in the mornings, the kids don’t make it to school fed, dressed appropriately, with all homework/textbooks/lunch, or ready for their day.
* As the Adult Parent, it’s my job to make sure they get to AND from where THEY need to be.  This includes school, practice, doctor’s appointments, dental cleanings, haircuts, sleepovers, academic team meets, a plethora of sports games/events/tournaments, shopping for that “perfect” pair of jeans, picking up a gift for a birthday party, the actual birthday parties…  you get the picture.

If I do whatever/whenever I want, because I’m now an adult…
* The world would spontaneously combust.  Just kidding, but you never know…
* As an adult, I’m inundated with responsibilities:  Marriage, kids, work, home, etc.  These items dictate my time and resources. I am required to be in specific places at specific times in specific states of lucidity and dressed in an appropriate, specific manner.

In conclusion
Adulthood requires a lot of concessions.  If you want to live on your own, you have to have the essentials of life:  Food, shelter, clothing, transportation, medical care, etc.  To have these things, you must make decisions as to what level of each you desire.  To make those things happen, you have to find a way to support yourself.  This usually entails a job.  Sure, we’d all love to be freelance (insert dream job here)s and earn a bajillion dollars whilst living a life of complete freedom, but only a handful of us actually achieve that dream.  Those who do are rarely truly financially secure.  The majority of the world has a job.  We all have bills.  This is reality.  Reality sometimes sucks.

And then you find someone who you think you might actually love.  You get married.  You buy a house.  You both work on your now-two-of-you adult life and its responsibilities.  You have kids and the responsibilities multiply tenfold.  It’s a never-ending circle.

And then, one day, you look into the eyes of your child and you realize you won’t be on this earth forever.  You realize material things are just THINGS.  You realize that you like to wake up early to enjoy a spectacular sunrise, even if this means going to bed early the night before.  You remember that day you were so down and someone smiled or said a kind word that lifted you up.  You think of your grandmother and wish you could go back and talk to her just one more time.

You grow up.

True adulthood doesn’t mean we get to do whatever/whenever.  It means we not only have the means to support ourselves and our families; we also realize we’re not the center of the universe.  It’s not about us.  Growing up means you realize you’re put on this earth to help others.  Whether it’s financially, emotionally, spiritually, or physically, we’re here to help our fellow humans.  To make someone smile.  To lend a helping hand.  To put a hand out to help someone up.  To teach your children to be responsible and ready for the world.  To say an encouraging word that brightens someone’s day.  To be the shoulder someone cries on.  Just to be there for someone else in the best capacity you can manage.

When this life is over, I won’t take any material things with me.  The most important things I’ll leave behind won’t be things at all.  I’ll leave behind family and friends and memories of laughter, smiles, achievements, holidays, adventures, and even tears.  In my “free” time, I choose to make as many of those moments as possible.

As adults, we take our responsibilities seriously because Life is a serious business.  But there are moments when the sun is rising, when our children’s laughter rings through the air, when we look into the eyes of our life partners to see love, when we are filled with pride at the achievement of another, that we are truly… free.

It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

I told myself I was going to get back to my blog and I’ve almost done that.  I’ve posted more lately and have even attempted a few Daily Prompts, when they suit me.  I enjoy writing, I really do.  It helps me gather my thoughts, stroll down memory lane, vent, or document my life.  But, I get busy.  When I get busy, I push my writing to the bottom of my “To Do” list, where it is quickly forgotten.  Before I know it, months have passed.  When I finally make my way back to my poor blog, there it sits, dusty on the shelf, waiting for my attention.

Since today is a beautiful, sunny Friday in my little world, I am taking the time to tell you that I’m happy.  Life is good.  I am blessed.  My life has taken a path I could have never predicted.  It’s been one helluva journey, but I’m grateful for each and every single day – all the dark days, the mistakes, the good times, the bad times.  My life experiences have made me the person I am today.  I won’t apologize for the person I have become, because I like me 🙂

I’m proud of the writing I’ve shared and hope to do more in the future.  “Practice makes perfect,” they say.  I don’t think I’ll quite ever make it to “perfect” but, man, I really love the journey!

Daily Prompt: Prized Possession

I grew up in a rural area.  The nearest small town was around 1,000 people.  On that fateful day in July, my mom and I had just left the funeral home (I don’t remember who) and were walking down the sidewalk towards my mom’s boyfriend’s garage (y’all remember those, right?  That place where you took your car and ONE guy could fix ANYTHING?).  And then it happened….

As we’re standing on the corner, prepped and ready to cross the street, I looked to my right into the flower shop window and beheld one of my future prized possessions:  A St. Bernard stuffed dog.  I was immediately drawn to him.  He was MINE.  It was a few days before my 6th birthday, so I begged and pleaded with my mom to buy him for me.  “PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, Mommy!!!!”  As an adult I can look back and realize we were poor and she probably didn’t have the money, I know why she told me a resounding “No.”

I crossed the street in tears, knowing I would never see that stuffed dog again.

When we walked into the garage, Harold (my mom’s boyfriend for the next 27 years and my “person” – watch Grey’s Anatomy for explanation – whom I could depend on through thick and thin until his death in 2007) said, “Why is that baby crying?”

My exasperated mom explained, “There’s some stuffed animal she wants and can’t have it.”

My Hero Harold replied, “Go get that baby that stuffed animal!” and handed her the money.

OH!!!  The JOY!!!!!  I was in little girl Heaven!

We walked across the street where I met Bernard (his name tag told me this).  Bernard quickly became my bestest buddy.  He went everywhere with me.  He slept by my side each night and I KNEW with ALL MY HEART, MIND, BODY and SOUL that, should an intruder break into the house and try to “get me” that I would wake up and go “GRRRRRRR” and they would see Bernard and they would be convinced he was a real dog and they would go away and leave me alone and I would be safe.

For many years Bernard protected me and gave me peaceful sleep.  He was slept on, written on, puked on, tugged, pulled, tossed, hugged and given many, many kisses.  He was a great dog.

I grew up.  I moved out.  I went to college.  I got married.  I had a child.  In the bustle of every day life, Bernard was lost.  I always wondered where he’d gone and hoped he was happy and loved.

Again, it happened…

After the birth of my first child, we moved and decided to clean out a storage building.  As my mom and I were going through bags, she opens one bag FULL of stuffed animals from my childhood.  We were conversing as adults are apt to do… She’s pulling out stuffed animals as she’s talking….  I’m keeping up with the conversation, but in the back of my mind, I’m thinking…  “What if…..?”

As if by magic, she pulls out Bernard.  He’s a little worse for wear.  His stuffing was squished and shifting all around his little body.  His fur all worn and matted.  His right ear hanging by a thread.

He was beautiful.  I was 28 years old and let out a “woo hoo!” to rival my six year old self.

This year, I’ll be 40.  Bernard is still my faithful companion (although I’ve replaced him with a very cuddly, snuggly husband in my bed).  He sits in my closet and I pet him every morning on my way to get my clothes.  He was a good and faithful friend and I owe him so much for keeping me safe all those years 🙂

I’ve told the story to my kids and they know how much that silly little dog meant to me as a kid (I was afraid of the dark and lonely).  They also know Bernard is very fragile and treat him with respect when they ask to hold him.  Once, when my son couldn’t sleep because he’d had a nightmare, I asked if he’d like Bernard to sleep with him.  His eyes grew wide.  He knew I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t big.  He accepted and slept the night soundly.  Bernard stood as Guardian over my son that night; a Sentinel of protection in the land of childhood dreams and fears.  He was returned to me the next morning with a “Thank you, mommy.” after a good night’s sleep, held gingerly and respectfully.

Sometimes, it’s the simplest things in life that mean the most.  Yes, I realize Bernard is just a stuffed animal.  He possesses no powers.  He’s an inanimate object.  He’s a silly piece of fluff that serves no real purpose other than collecting dust.  But, in the Land of Kiddom, he’s my Knight in Shining Armour.  He protected me unerringly.  He was my friend.

Like all good things in life, I appreciate Bernard.  He reminds me of a time when I was innocent enough to truly believe a stuffed animal could protect me.  That was a magical time.  He’s not just fur and fluff – he’s a part of my life for which I am very thankful.  In return for his years of faithful service, I keep him.  Yes, I know it’s silly.  My kids are now too old for such nonsense.  But, one day, there will be a grandchild in my life and he will take up the shield once again.

Daily Writing Prompt: Comfort Zone

What are you more comfortable with — routine and planning, or laissez-faire spontaneity?

I’m just not a go-with-the-flow kinda gal.  Never have been.  I like things steady, predictable, smooooth flowing with no bumps.  I don’t like change.  Period.  I’m always prepared.  Period.  Change gives me anxiety.  I don’t know what to expect.  Change is unpredictable.  Change goes against my plans.  Change makes me cringe.

And then I got married, had kids, got a divorce, met a new guy, got married, moved, got a different job, put my kids in different schools and BOY OH BOY did things change!

Never in my WILDEST dreams did I think I’d have quite this much upheaval in my life.  I was unhappily married for 18 years.  Yes, I was unhappy, but it was as predictable as life can get with a bipolar husband who loved his whiskey.  I was determined to make it work because I was comfortable.  I had the kids, a job, the house, the pets – all items fairly predictable and somewhat stable.  I was holding it together.

Until the day I didn’t.

My then-husband liked to find fault with me.  I was overweight.  When I lost weight and worked out, it was because I was having an affair and then suddenly the house wasn’t clean enough.  When I cleaned the house until the point of exhaustion, I was tired because I was having an affair and I was suddenly a horrible cook.  When I worked harder at becoming a better cook, I was having another affair and suddenly the kids weren’t behaving and it was my fault.  Do you see a pattern here?

I COULDN’T WIN!!!!  Not only did I never ever ever cheat on my husband, when in the hell would I have had time to do so???  So, one day I figured it out and admitted it to myself:  He’s a bipolar alcoholic and he’s looking for my faults so he can put the blame on me instead of taking a good long look at himself in the mirror.  On that day, I said the phrase that finally broke him:

“Add it to the list.”

Five simple words signaled the end of my marriage.  Everytime after that first time, when he would point out one of my numerous perceived faults, I would reply, “Add it to the list.”  When he finally asked me to explain my response, I did so fully and without holding back.  He told me I was crazy and just messing with his mind by telling him he’s bipolar.  (Author’s note:  He later discovered that I was right.)  He said he was merely pointing out things on which I need to improve.

Long story short, we tried to make it work for a few more years and it just…  didn’t.

Yes, it was hard to divorce and I’m still dealing with the fallout.  The kids are still coping as best they can.

But we’re okay.

In the words of the remarkable Patty Loveless, “Life’s about changing.  Nothing ever stays the same.”

It took me a long time to realize I can’t control everything.  I can’t do it all.  I’d still rather chew off my own arm than ask for help, but I’ve also learned the mantra IT IS WHAT IT IS.

Every day is a gift and we must strive to make the most of it.  I’ve learned to be much more laidback and to not get so fired up if there’s a change in the schedule.  Life is much different now.  I have a wonderful and supportive husband who is a great partner in life.  He steps up to help with the kids, he helps with their events and activities, he cooks, he helps around the house and, most importantly, when I’ve driven myself into a “gotta get it all done NOW” tizzy, he asks me to sit down, take a moment, to breathe, he gives me a hug and a kiss, then asks how he can help.  And he MEANS it.  It makes all the difference in my life and he’ll never know how much I appreciate him for doing that.

His simple selfless gestures and unsolicited offers of help mean that I’m not alone in this life.  I now have a partner to help me ride the waves Life throws our way.

It’s nice 🙂

That being said, I still like to be prepared as much as possible.

1.  When I travel, I make a list of items to pack.  Before we leave our destination to go home, I pull the list back out, to make sure we don’t forget anything.

2.  I like to pack a cooler with food, drinks and snacks when going on driving trips, in case we get hungry or thirsty.

3.  I keep a small tote in my car containing the following items:  A small motorized air pump (for flat or low tires), a box of bendy straws (to allow my son to drink his Gatorade with his football or baseball helmet on), a jar of peanut butter (for my hypoglycemic daughter in an emergency), plastic spoons, cheese crackers and a variety of pudding or fruit cups (for a quick snack), a package of new socks (for whichever kid forgets their socks – it happens more often than I’d like to admit), baby wipes (kids are messy) and bottled water.

4.  No, I don’t carry around a huge bag or purse.  When I’m shopping I take my phone, a debit card, my driver’s license and my car keys.  I see no reason to lug around a huge bag all the time.  I leave the purse in the car.  I can always go back for something, if needed.

5.  BUT!  in my purse, right now, I DO have:  My checkbook, a credit card (for emergency only), all my other cards (insurance, frequent shopper cards, etc.), hand lotion, lipstick, chapstick, spare change, an emory board, Ibuprophen, antiacids, a small makeup compact, deodorant (for some reason, this is the thing I forget most often each morning), and Neosporin.  It’s a small, EXTREMELY well organized little bag.

I’m a list maker.  To do lists, grocery lists, reminder lists.  I’m so thankful for my iPhone!  It keeps me organized without making me carry around extra junk!

Yes, I like to be prepared for anything.  But, I’m almost 40 and have 2 very active kids.  Thankfully, I have a husband who makes me stop on occasion to take a breath while he holds my hand.  I can deal with the ebbs and flows of life, as long as he’s there.

And I’m thankful.

180 Degrees

Tell us about a time you did a 180 — changed your views on something, reversed a decision, or acted in a way you ordinarily don’t.

The very first thing my ex-mother-in-law said to me was not, “Hello.”  or “Nice to meet you.”  It was, as she peered deeply into my eyes, “Why, you’re as old as Methuselah.”  She didn’t mean I physically LOOKED old (at the ripe old age of 19 I still looked like a little kid).  I didn’t take it as an insult.  I’d understood what she’d meant immediately:

What she was telling me was, “You have an old soul.”

She was right.

My entire life I’ve been old.  Always responsible, full of common sense and wisdom beyond my years.  Even in high school I told my friends, “Maybe when I’m 30 I’ll feel like myself.”

I was right.

I developed depression around the age of 13 and was diagnosed with Adolescent Depression at 15.   It was a tough time for me, both personally and emotionally.  As a product of the welfare system, I could have easily taken the easy road and continued the viscous cycle of dependence.  However, being the “old soul” I was, I chose a different path.

I chose to focus on my college education.  Yes, I got married between my Sophomore and Junior years, but I finished my degree.  I also chose to wait to have children until I was 27, a full 7 years into my marriage.  I thought I had a handle on life.

Little did I know.

Before I birthed my children, my old friends, Depression and Anxiety, continued to follow me throughout my life.  I can remember on many occasions wondering to myself while driving, “what would happen if I just ran my car into that tree?  Would it be enough to kill me?”  I never went through with it, simply because I was afraid I’d live.  I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone.

I also remember panic attacks.  That awesome feeling of heart-pounding-can’t-breathe- absolute-terror that strikes without warning.

I went to the doctor and I was placed on medication.  Typical response by the medical community, sadly.  I used it for a while and decided I was “all better”.

I wasn’t on any type of medication when I got pregnant.  My first child was born 4 months after I turned 27.  Quite surprisingly (and unplanned), my second child was born 6 months into my 28th year.  They are, by far, my highest achievement in life.  They have taught me so much and I will forever be grateful for the opportunity to be their mother.

A couple of months after my son was born, my old friend Anxiety paid me a visit.  While driving down the road one day, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that another driver was going to lose control of their car and hit us.  However, being the common sense-filled person I am, I realized there were no other cars on the road at that time.  Thus, I recognized the thought as irrational.  By this time, I’d been dealing with Ms. Anxiety for a long time.  I understood she was not my friend, but I convinced myself I was maybe just going through some post-partum issues.  I told myself I’d wait a few more months to give my hormones a chance to get back to normal (whatever normal is LOL).

Six months passed.  I was so busy!  With a then 21-month old and a 6-month old, I was running myself ragged.  I had very little help and was pushing myself, as I’m apt to do.

Anxiety and Depression refused to leave me alone.  I kept telling them our friendship was over, but every morning they were there, running around in my brain, telling me “you’re never going to be enough”.  Good enough.  Smart enough, The house wasn’t clean enough.  You haven’t lost enough weight.  You’ll never be a good enough mom.

Enough already!

I went back to the doctor.  Yes, more meds.  Yes, they worked.  Anxiety and Depression were vanquished!  Relegated to the dark recesses of my brain where the medications kept them covered and hidden.  However, the meds made me sleepy.  Groggy.  Fuzzy.  Foggy.  I felt like I wasn’t truly living life, but only slogging through.

This went on for 2 years.  Until, one day, I made my 180 decision:  I was going to out think Anxiety and Depression.  I was a competent, intelligent, logical, common sensed woman.  I could do this!

I visited my doctor and we developed the plan to wean me from my meds.  Two weeks later, I took my final doses and said goodbye to my haze-inducing crutches.  The next day, the withdrawal began.  Extreme dizziness and vertigo were my body’s responses to being crutchless.  For two horrible weeks I dealt with it.  But it finally subsided.

“Now what?”  My brain said.  “You know Anxiety and Depression are in here, just waiting to come out and play.”

“Yes, I know.  But I’m ready.”

And I was.

I’ll turn 40 (gasp!) in a mere 4 months.  I’ve been medication free for almost 10 years now.  In the past 10 years, I’ve faced a lot of changes:  Job changes, moving, the death of one of my parents, divorce, remarriage.   Yes, Anxiety and Depression are still around.  However, my big 180 moment came when I realized it’s not a situation that causes my emotions.  It’s MY REACTION to said situation.  If I control the reaction, I control the emotion.

Yes, depression and anxiety rear their ugly heads at any opportunity.  But, because I’ve been dealing with these two particular issues for almost 30 years, I recognize my personal syptoms and triggers.  Yes, my brain still tries to give me irrational fears and cause anxiety.  But I have the ultimate tool:  Logic.  Just like all those years ago on that highway I realized that no other car would hit us at that moment because, logically, there were no other cars on the highway to do so, I now have mastered the ability to logically outthink my anxiety.  I recognize that my brain sometimes tells me weird stuff.  But I also have cultivated the ability to recognize that most of the time it simply doesn’t make sense, logically.

Depression is another story.  It strikes like a snake in the grass – quickly and without warning.  But, again, 30 years is a long time to ponder about something.  I’ve learned to force myself to MOVE FORWARD.  Every single day.  Each morning, the sun comes up, whether I’m happy or sad, mad or euphoric, worried or blissful.  Each morning, God gives us the opportunity to experience His wonder.  The world is a beautiful place. Sometimes we just forget to look around.

I practice thankfulness each night.  I started this practice when I was in college and was fighting a deep, dark depression that had been around for years.  Each night when I go to bed, I think back on my day and find ONE thing that made me smile, or lifted my spirits.  Somedays are better than others. During those first few days, I would cling to small things such as a pretty flower I’d seen, or the fact that I’d seen a child’s smile.

Nowadays I count my blessings.  I have a truly wonderful, supportive husband who loves me unconditionally and without boundaries.  I have two intelligent, beautiful, athletic, charming kids who, even though as almost-teens drive me insane somedays, are the light of my life.  I have a simple life by choice.  I live in the country where it’s quiet. On clear nights, I simply marvel at the stars.  In the Spring, the frogs sing their cacophonous chorus.  I work in our garden and enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. I take pictures of pretty flowers I see, to remind me of times when a pretty flower was the only light among my dark days.

Yes, I’m a busy mom and wife:  Working, house, laundry, kids’ sports and events, blah blah blah.  Yes, I still have visits from Anxiety and Depression.  Only now, I’ve figured out the ultimate weapons against them:  FAITH and HOPE.

I have full faith that God has a plan for me.  He will put me where He needs me, even if it means moving a mountain (or in my life, a divorce, a new husband, moving, new schools and a new job) to do so.  I have hope because I’ve learned in my almost 40 years that the sun always comes up tomorrow, providing us with new opportunities to enjoy God’s plan for us.

We just have to keep looking for those little things that make us smile and hold on.

The Luck of the Irish

Has it been three months since I last blogged?  Where ARE my manners?  I just left ya hangin’, didn’t I?  So sorry about that. I’ll try to do better 😉

With St. Patrick’s Day right around the corner, I feel the need to point out my name.  Unbeknownst to her, my mother gave me a very Irish name:  Shannon Colleen.  My first name means Godly wisdom.  My middle name is something akin to an Irish lass.  It makes me think of Leprechauns for some reason.

Lucky Charms, anyone?

Let’s see…  Where to begin?  Hmm….  Still married.  Still have kids.  Still living in the country.  Chickens finally started laying eggs.  Then they stopped.  Hoping they start up again soon.

Just kidding.  But, really, life hasn’t changed much.  Kids are still in archery and doing very well (better than I anticipated, to be honest).  The Girl has started Track this week.  The Boy will be starting baseball soon.  It’s almost time to start planting the garden.  Spring will be busy, as usual.

I love the new job.  The hours are great and flexible.  It lets me earn a paycheck and still be able to be an active participant in Life without running myself into the ground.  My boss is laid back.  My co-workers are genuinely nice people.

The Girl is now 5’6″.  Long, dark hair.  Big, brown eyes.  Slim, but athletic.  She has her moments when I’m quite concerned she’s been possessed, but those moments pass and she returns to her quirky, funny, compassionate self.  She’s still working on the friend thing at school, but as she talks to her old friends, I think she’s realizing Middle School pretty much sucks for everyone.  I feel for her.  Unfortunately, everyone has to go through it.

She’s discovered she likes to sell things.  Each week, I have to pick up the local free “stuff for sale” newspaper-like thing (what’s the word for that?).  She scours through it, looking for items.  The first time she picked one up, within 20 minutes, she’d sold 8 of our superfluous roosters.  And she was hooked.  She texts in her ads to sell various items:  Her old softball bat, a pair of unused Nikes her grandmother bought for her, her old softball glove (used once for practice – it was the wrong size), a formal dress from a pageant, her country eggs.  Unexpected, but she enjoys it.  She shoots archery and has won quite a few medals.

The Boy is as tall as my nose (around 5′).  Same dark hair.  Same dark eyes.  Still charming.  He’s on the Academic Team and has a few more blue ribbons and medals to add to his collection.  He’s become a responsible kid who realizes he can relax after chores are done, so he’s stopped dragging his feet on that, thank goodness.  He also shoots archery and is a member of his school’s team.

The Husband is still around, too.  LOL  Honestly, he’s my Rock.  It’s so nice to be with a person who loves me just the way I am.  It’s also very nice to have this wonderful man in my life who offers me hugs freely and often, who snuggles like there’s no tomorrow, who works hard not only to support his family but also to get things done around the property, who is a good example for the kids, who loves the kids enough to not be a pushover for them, and who just…  loves us with all of his heart.

Life is a complex, crazy thing.  Each day I get out of bed, thankful to have another day of this Life.  I go to bed, thankful for the day I’ve had and the family/friends with whom I’ve been blessed.  Yes, Life is busy.  Yes, Life is sometimes difficult.  Although there have been times throughout my life I wasn’t sure I’d be able (or willing) to go on, I can now look back and realize everything happened for a reason.  Life molded me into the person I am today.

I am loyal and honest.  I love with my whole heart.  I am true.  But, I’ve always been these things.  I just had to find a partner with the same traits.  Now I realize I’m LUCKY.

Maybe my mom was onto something, afterall…

Platinum blonde attitude

I found my first one when I was twelve. I thought it was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I taped it to my mirror as a trophy to be admired. It hung there throughout my teenage years.

Over the years my collection grew. First a group of them which looked really cool. Then more and more of them came like angry invaders to claim my youth.

They were no longer cool or cute.

Gray hairs. The scourge of men and women across the land. The most obvious sign of growing older. It makes men look distinguished and women look haggard.

Like most women I dyed my hair. For many years I was a redhead. I have a fair complexion (ok, I’d pass for a vampire at times) so I carried it off. Besides, I have a wicked temper. 

Two years ago, a funny thing happened. After some injection allergy tests I developed hives. And not just any hives, mind you. I had the kind of hives which made me sleep with ice packs every night – all over my legs, belly and arms.

After two years of hives and ten rounds steroids, I was finally referred to a dermatologist which entailed a biopsy and patch allergy testing.

We discovered I’m allergic to eight different things with 56 different names. I now have to carry the list with me at all times.

One of the major reactions was Thimerosal which is a preservative used in injections. Thus, the original allergy testing is what set the whole thing off!

The other major reaction was fragrance. Fragrance!!!!

I’ve never been much on perfumes, but I love me some scented lotions and shower gels. Turns out each of my shower gel, lotion, bug spray and sunscreen was making me miserably itchy.

Thus, my life was simplified. Everything I now use has no fragrance. I can’t even use items labelled “unscented” because they often contain masking fragrances. Shampoo, conditioner, makeup, deodorant, lotion, sunscreen, laundry detergent, fabric softener, and bug spray – all without fragrances. I walk around smelling like… me.

I miss scented lotions.

But my biggest loss was hair dye. Gasp. What was I going to do? Sure, there are fragrance free dyes at salons but I’m just not that vain. I don’t want to waste my time or money.

I’m now 50% white. Literally. The front half is mostly white. The back half is black. Each part has sprinkles of the other. It’s a Cruella Deville-ish look. I’ve included a pic for your entertainment.

The only thing I could do is change my attitude toward my white hair (I’m lucky they’re white white white).

I’ve decided I’m not going gray.

I’m going platinum blonde, one strand at a time.