During my first pregnancy, I went to the movies by myself. A lot. I like the movies. Movies are fun. But I wasn’t going to the movies for the movies. I was going for the popcorn and candy.
Now, before you call me an idiot for dropping enough on movie theater concessions to pay for a semester of in-state tuition, I’m going to stop you. Because yes, I am an idiot. But I’m the best idiot, ever, because my love of popcorn and candy at the movies led me to a discovery that has brought me a lifetime’s worth of joy.
My relationship with medication is shaky. As an adolescent, I was misdiagnosed with a lot of crap. Once I was older, it was clear the proper diagnosis was “teenager.” But from the ages of 12-18, I was put on medication after medication for things like depression, bipolar disorder, ADHD, sleep disorders, and other things I don’t even fully remember.
When I see a new doctor and have to give my medical history, I have to tell them that I can remember a few of the medications I’ve been on by name, but there were far too many for me to recall every one of them today. I do mostly remember the ones with commercials, so I guess marketing is good for something?
There were times that I was on as many as four drugs at once. I still become nauseous from swallowing just an Advil because of how sick to my stomach my meds made me. I hated having to take them, and would often hoard my doses in pockets and drawers. If you’re familiar at all with antidepressants and the like, you know that a lot of them need to be taken exactly as prescribed. So I wasn’t doing myself any favors there.
Once I graduated and moved away from home, I took myself off my medicine, cold turkey. Again, this was not my wisest moment. But once everything was completely out of my system, I felt like I was putting on glasses for the first time. My thoughts were clearer. My emotions were less erratic. I felt like a person that I could trust. Continue reading →
Preschool is a right ol’ sonabitch. I’ve been trying to get us all used to a new routine and having an unreasonably hard time motivating myself to do much of anything besides mindlessly clicking through the internet while August is at school and Halligan is napping. I’ve got a few posts I’m working on at the moment, and I’ve got footage for a video that has me super excited. Get excited. But not too excited because I haven’t even had time to watch what I filmed and it might be crap. But fingers crossed it is not crap.
Anyways, I thought I could fill the gap with a good ol’ Today, I Love You. Enjoy, dummies. Continue reading →
There are a lot of purchases that I get excited about. Fall clothes. Rollerball pens. New lipstick. Something techie that I’ve been saving for, for 90 years. Books. Cheesesteaks. Milk. Laundry detergent. Stamps. I really just like buying things. Borderline problemish. But I’m still on the side of the border that doesn’t involve secret credit cards, so we’re straight.
I haven’t pulled the trigger on one purchase in particular, because I’ve been choosey and also because I don’t really have anywhere to put it just yet. Still living in Boxes Hell.
But very soon (so help me gawd these boxes better not be picking out curtains), I am buying a desk.
As you read this, I am hopefully sitting in the passenger seat of my car. Adam is driving. The kids are eating bagels in the backseat because their time spent chewing to talking ratio is the best of all other breakfast options. My trunk is stuffed to the gills, and we are on our way to North Carolina for my sister Lindsay’s wedding. I say hopefully because my hope is that I stayed true to my plan for once and the car was packed last night. My greatest hope is that all we had to do this morning was pee, brush our teeth, and buckle-up. Stay tuned to find out whether or not that was true.
Today is Adam’s and my five-year anniversary. Five years ago, we were sweating balls outside, because who doesn’t love a good outdoor wedding at the end of July? I was wearing a short, white dress, and a spray tan that I spent two days trying to scrub down to human-levels of melanin. Adam was wearing a red tye, a Hello Kitty bandaid, and a vest that I spent many a day crying over the impossibility of finding, because he is a tall man and it is hard to find clothes for tall men. Continue reading →
On the drive home from dropping the kids off at my in-laws for the afternoon, I was talking to my best friend on the phone. We were catching up after not having spoken for a while, like you do when you’ve both had a bunch of babies.
“How’re the kids?”
“What have you guys been doing lately?”
“Are you excited about X/Y/Z?”
I asked about her sister-in-law, who underwent transplant surgery recently. She is thriving, and we both marveled over modern medicine. How crazy it was that she was alive because another person’s organ was hers now. We got talking about the endless possibilities for medical advancements in our lifetime.
So I asked her if she ever remembers that she’s going to die one day and freaks the hell out for a minute.
We are a few days out from a week at the beach with a ton of friends and family for my sister’s destination wedding. There was a time in my life, albeit brief and hungover, when I enjoyed the beach. When I was a teenager, I was crazy self conscious and wouldn’t wear anything more scandalous than jeans. Picture a fully-clothed, sulking sixteen-year-old girl with her headphones on, walking up and down the shoreline until she was allowed to go back inside to air conditioning and snacks without a sand garnish.
Then there was a minute in my early twenties when I could handle it. I felt like a babe. I only really needed to bring a book and a blanket with me. And I was an adult and in charge of my own life, so I could retreat when I felt too sweaty.
With kids, things changed. Kids tend to do that to pretty much everything. Not only was I lugging a shit ton of stuff to keep my children entertained and fed and safe and not sunburnt, I had gone right for the standard black one-piece bathing suit of moms everywhere. It’s basically the white flag of “I am lumpy now.”
That bathing suit is washed and ready to pack in my bag at 3am the night before we leave because I know enough to know I will never learn to plan ahead and pack early. But I also have an alternative ready to go. It’s still black. But it’s a bikini. Continue reading →