beautiful morning

Ruby & Claire Family Vacay

My arms are weak from the weight of the fun-filled bags. The straps from the discount beach bag digs into my arms while I try to balance the cooler full of juice boxes, water bottles and beer. My cute beach cover-up rides up my behind as my straw hat threatens to fly off my head. I pull the boogie boards behind me as I reach the top of dune hopping the umbrella doesn’t cause me to take flight down the beach.

“Ruby!” Claire calls out to me. I turn back toward the house only to find both of our families doubled-over laughing at me as I can only imagine how ridiculous I look. Claire snaps a picture, I assume with Snapchat. James appears to be recording and Laynie shakes her head. Austin runs my way with goggles on and there isn’t a dad in sight.

I shrug my shoulders only to give the umbrella enough wiggle room to open-up and throw me backwards down the dune tumbling with all my fun-baggage. I land on my back then greeted by my friend and her three-year-old who continues to feed from her breast.

“Holy crap, are you okay, Ruby?” Claire fawns over me.

“Fine. I’m fine.” I manage to moan out while I gather myself. “So much fun packed in these bags it took me for a ride.”

“Oh honey, it made for a great Snap!” Claire holds out her hand.

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure it did.” It is lunch time and we set up shop on the beach for that day. We started our morning here for the sunrise, however the sun decided to stay hidden. It remained behind the clouds while we waited somewhat patiently with seven children. However, their patience wore thin quickly and with promise of doughnuts, we watched the sun warm the sky to shades of pink and orange then we left.

Nine of us pile in the mini-van and Claire turns on GPS. “Head North on I-12 toward Duck Doughnuts” the sweet British woman in the speaker directs.

I look at Claire.

Claire looks at me. I shrug my shoulders. “Left or right, Claire?” Claire looks confused as she shrugs her shoulders at me.

“Hell if I know.” Not a soul on the road, and here we sit with no sense of direction.

The Brit yells at us “Head north!” I turn right out of sheer habit and I can hear the disdain in her accent, “Re-calculating.” All the kids grown. Austin predictably lets “shh” slip out until Andi corrects him. I bust a U-turn and “head north” as I was originally instructed to do and we arrive to Duck Doughnuts at exactly 6:00am only to find no lights on.

“Seriously, Mom, I thought you said they would be open! I need a latte!” Andi pipes from right behind me. “I’m hungry, Mommy.” Samson sweetly pledges from the back row. I squint to see the hours of operation. Open at 7:00am. Shit. Plan B. Distract and Deflect. “Who wants McDonalds?”

I had planned a jam-packed day. We were taking a ferry to another island. We had wild horses to see. And to top off the day Marcus made reservations at the best seafood place on the island. He had not stopped going on and on about how amazing this place was. This was the first vacation experience either of our families had with another family. Claire and I had been on trips together but never with our families in tow. We are taking our friendship to a new level and it involves co-parenting.

“I have never been more underwhelmed.” Claire’s husband, Marcus reports with a smirk on his face.

“There were horses as promised.” Corey pipes up in my defense. If there was a way to speak an eye-roll, I would do it.

“I didn’t make any promises. I just said there would be horses and horses there were.”

“The boat ride was nice.” Claire pipes in with Samson on her hip.

“It’s a ferry, Claire.” I spit out of frustration. We all sit down to dinner at Casey’s Crab Shack, voted best local seafood on the island.

Marcus makes his restaurant research well-known, since we are eating as his pick. “I’ve heard the blue crab is the best around. Let’s get four pounds for the adults and four local beers.” Marcus looks my way and gives me a wink and the cheesiest smile, “this is gonna be the highlight of the day.” Involuntary eye-roll.

We let the kids order at will with no direction. It has been an eventful day on the sea. We met corralled mini-ponies when we were promised wild horses by the brochure. It was a huge let down after we took the ferry across the inlet to see the famous wild horses on the beach. I wanted this trip to be epic and as a recovering people-pleaser, I struggle with not taking on other people’s experiences.

We drink our beers and begin to laugh at the how the day unfolded. I was able to accept the laughter and let go of the criticism. Even without our storybook-fantasy moment with the horses on the beach, we made memories today. We laughed today and I loosened up and became comfortable with things not going as planned. “Underwhelmed” was our new catchword and it was funny. With all of my planning and preparing, I didn’t schedule in random events that would make for the best memories. “Blue crab up!” The waitress sits two platters full of crab on the table.

“Dig in, y’all! I’m first!” Marcus grabs the crab claw and the first crab. After he examines the smaller than what we expected crab, he shrugs his shoulders and begins to crack it open. Claire, Corey and myself follow suit.

When the four of us are on our third crab, Austin pops up to the adult table. “Yuck, Mommy! That looks like poop?” I look at Austin and then to my plate, where I found what must have been the intestine of the late crab I had just cracked into. When Austin pointed it out, it was plain as day though I had already eaten two previous crab and apparently their inner goods along with it. I throw the crab cracker down and pull the napkin to my face to hide my complete disgust and to keep whatever had already gone down, down.

Claire, Marcus and Corey do the same. The four of us look at each other and Claire swings her head toward Marcus “How underwhelming is having crab shit for dinner, Marcus?” The four of us laugh out loud and the kids follow our lead. This memory will be enjoyed for years to come. Priceless moments like this! The lesson of the day-crab shit is worse than mini-ponies!

mommy, mommy, mommy

Don’t Let Your Message Get Lost in Your Mouth

“As you grow older you will discover that you have two hands. One for helping yourself the other for helping others.”

– Audrey Hepburn

What does your voice sound like? Do you whisper words that go unnoticed? Does your roar overpower your point? Are your words like a splattered buck-shot, difficult to find the significance in? What provokes you? What prompts you to participate in a conversation? Is there something that ignites the fire in your soul to release the power of your voice?

Our society relies on communication, though I question how much we actually value it. From a young age, we begin to teach our children how to communicate. Words like, “mom, dad, yes, no” are vital for a small child to get its needs met. Even the choice to cry or not is a lesson in the power of one’s voice. School children are taught the alphabet, vocabulary words and the how to apply the written language. The most important lesson is simple.

Your power lies in your voice. How to teach that is a little more difficult. Your voice can be used for a shield of distraction or a tool for liberation. Your voice can be used as a weapon to harm or an instrument of healing.

We have an entire generation who use their fingers as the tool for their voice. Words are thrown around the internet like hand grenades leaving unaccounted for damage. People saying and writing what they want without any thought or purpose behind their words, causing pain and provoking rage. This phenomenon may have begun with a generation, but its popularity has caught on and is spreading throughout the rest of us. We drop these bombs from behind a screen with protection from accountability and we have all become numb to the effects of the power of our words. “Say it to my face” no longer applies.

As I sit here behind my screen, sharing my voice at the ripe ole age of “no-yet-40” I wonder what my younger voice would have cared to share. The 22-year-old-me was full of piss and vinegar and thought that she would do as she damn well pleases. However, the truth was, 22-year-old me, was more concerned with how you would perceive what she told you. It was more important to her what you thought of her, than what she was saying. She didn’t realize that using her voice for gossip was her way of distracting you from her own mess. Saying she was “fine” deflected your concern for her, so no one would look harder at a young girl in a woman’s body trying to figure out how to be an adult. My 22-year-old-voice roared like a lion, and my words had a bite. My shield of distraction was a powerful weapon used with little thought of the ramifications of its actions. 22-year-old-me was not a villain, but a confused, damaged, angry, sad young woman who had friends and a family that loved her. Yet still, her voice was not yet hers. She wasn’t fully aware of the power it held.

We have an obligation to teach our kids how to respect the power of their words, so we need to practice what we preach. Just because they hide behind a screen and a keyboard doesn’t give them free reign to share their every unfiltered thought. We would do well to remember that for ourselves. For every thought, there is a consequence or reward to follow. Reaction does not have to be the protocol.

Let’s take a minute and think.

Yes.

Take a minute.

Take a breath.

Think.

Once you put something out into the universe, there is no rewind. No do-over. No shoving it back in. Sleeping on it is an appropriate response. If you don’t know, it’s okay. Just wait before you react.

College and professional football referees have the ability to review the previous play before making a call. They literally get a rewind button, time to review the play, discuss amongst themselves and decide what happens next. Once they do, the head ref turns on his microphone, the crowd quiets and he announces, “upon further review.” Whatever he says, it pissed off about half of the fans watching while the other half cheers. However, before he clicks the mic to live, he takes a minute. He breathes and then responds.

As a social worker, I had the opportunity to advocate for families who were involved with the family court system. This brought many highs and lows. Family court impacts the most important aspects of one’s life, their children, their relationships, their finances and sometimes their freedom. Emotions were always running at the highest level. While sitting with many mothers before entering the court room for a multitude of reasons, we would many times have a similar conversation. She would voice her frustrations, her pain and her fears. I would be the sounding board for her every thought and feeling, learning her story so I could support her when we went before the judge. My only advice for these warrior women as we entered into the legal arena was “don’t let your message get lost in your mouth.” Translation: As right as you are. As hard as you’ve fought. Don’t react to your emotions. Keep your head up. Be prepared for the consequences and the rewards that come from using your voice. I never had to explain that to a single woman I worked with. They just knew.

Not everyone is going to agree with you (thank the good Lord). You will feel compelled to react to things that push your buttons and get under your tough, thick skin. You have a right to feel your feelings, you just don’t have to react to them immediately. The choice is yours. But when you do use that quick tongue, be vulnerable enough to admit when you are wrong. There is power in accountability. Let your voice be heard!

Photo Credit: Photography by Angela Gross

colorful clouds

Finding the Words

Do you have trouble finding the words sometimes? It’s a funny question, because we aren’t actually searching for words. We have the words, what we are searching for are is how to insert the words into the conversation at the exact right moment to convey our message in the exact way we feel it needs to be articulated. That’s exhausting!

On the flipside of that coin, when we are careless with our insertion of words, we run the risk of getting lost in translation. An emotional response can cause the recipient to put earmuffs on, change the focus of the conversation and our message is entirely lost. Getting your point across is almost impossible! You can’t win for losing, right?

Or what if there is a different, less exhausting way to communicate? What if we pause, take a breath, pull the words together, and present them to another without fear of rejection or reaction? How, you ask? Let’s take a look.

Ruby was up all night waiting for her seventeen-year-old daughter to come home after she could not reach her daughter on the phone. For added fun, her daughter came home drunk. Take a minute to imagine the whirlwind of emotions swirling around. As much as she would have loved to scream out the list of thoughts running through her mind, Ruby decided to send her daughter to bed. She decided to take a breath and take a minute.

The next morning, Ruby peacefully watched the sunrise on her back porch and with no yelling involved she had a conversation with her daughter. A conversation being one of listening and sharing. A conversation is not sharing then drafting your next response. They ended with a hug and a threat of violence if the behavior continued. Bottom line, each part was heard, love was shared and boundaries were identified. A winning combination!

Ruby did a lot of good things here – she took a minute, not reacting immediately. She took a breath and focused her thoughts. She meditated sitting in nature, interacting with her higher power. She used “I statements” when expressing herself. And most important, she LISTENED.

Communication does not have to be exhausting, though it should be thoughtful. Be mindful of your words, but there is no perfect way to say it. There is no perfect time to express it. You cannot control how others receive you, because they too have a whole process and agenda going on in their mind when you are trying to get them to see it your way. Take a breath. Use your words. Then toss out your message and be ready to listen. Imperfect practitioners of self-care are effective communicators (full circle moment). Have a great day!

Ruby Dives In

Sitting upright with my legs crossed, attempting to watch the next episode of Grey’s Anatomy Season 2, which I have seen 15,000 times, because I can’t focus on any new information right now. This may be my favorite season because they are all so young. Meredith and McDreamy are still flirty and new. There lives are not laid out in front of them. They may be cardio gods, or neuro geniuses or pedis heroes, the opportunities are endless. They are only responsible for themselves and only answer to the “Nazi” (AKA Dr. Bailey). They get to walk around and say “seriously” all the time without anyone blinking an eye.

Well, I am no brain surgeon, though I’m sure I could play one of TV. This parenting gig, has me up all hours of the day and night, I’m in pajamas which could double as scrubs, walking around screaming “seriously” constantly and I may turn into Dr. Bailey by the time I get my hands on my first born. In the most uncomfortable chair in our home, I watch season 2 episode 17, which has the infamous “code black”, and I think to myself, this is the only excuse she has right now. There must be a bomb in a body cavity at the hospital she was brought to tonight because she was attacked by a pack of werewolves or vampires and she is cannot use her phone or any phone in sight to call me because the bomb squad forbid it. That must be the explanation.

While Izzy and Cristina wash the blood off Meredith after the bomb explodes in bomb-squad-guys hands, I decide now is the time to begin to call hospitals. I hit my home button to request Siri’s assistance with searching phone numbers, when there is a thump at the front door. I hop to my feet like I am ready to receive a trauma case coming in and I think to myself, oh good she is alive, now I can kill her myself. The front door falls open to reveal my baby girl stumbling around like a stampede of buffalo, believing she is scurrying like a tiny undetected mouse. She is drunk. Paging Dr. Bailey!

“Miranda. Rae. Errore.” I spit out each syllable of her given name.

She freezes. I watch her mind turn as the internal debate ensues. She can’t decide if she should begin spilling the ridiculous explanation she concocted to fight with me or retreat to her room and flee the situation. Though, it appears she is choosing door number three while she remains frozen in this moment waiting for further action from me.

I too am still. Inside I feel this red rage of emotions flowing through my veins. I have the urge to scream out, but I cannot find the words to express all the feelings running through my mind. I struggle to pinpoint where to begin my motherly assault. Do I commence with my anger at her lack of respect for me by rolling in at this hour? Or should I start by telling her how disappointed I am with her choices? I could list the possible outcomes of this evening ending with her on the operating table with Chief Webber calling her time of death.

However, I remain frozen. We look at each other, speechless. Then my mouth involuntarily moves and releases, “go to bed, Andi. We will talk in the morning.” Without a word she quietly withdraws to her room.

I fall onto the couch and lay my head in my hands. I softly release the emotional tidal wave that has ravaged through my body waiting until I laid my eyes on her again.

Yes, I am angry!

Yes, I am disappointed!

Yes, I am relieved. However, as the flood of emotions roll from my mind, fear is strongest of all. I am afraid of what I saw tonight. I was afraid of what could have happened to my child. I actually thought she could have been dead. That is unthinkable, but I invited the thought in like a vampire and let it attack my mind. The tears washed me clean of these infectious thoughts. Andi is home and she is alive. I can exhale.

I sit on the back porch and watch the sunrise. I thank the higher power I bargained with earlier this morning for delivering her home to me.

I ask that power for one more favor – the words to say to her. I hear the back door open behind me. I do not move. I stay wrapped in my blanket on the swing. She quietly approaches, head down, and sits next to me on the swing. I want to shake the shit out of her and squeeze her at the same time, but instead I offer her part of my blanket. I feel the space between us shrink and I take her hand the collapse the rest.

“Mom, I am so sorry.” Miranda almost whispers in my direction.

I hope that higher power starts speaking through me and I chose my words carefully. “What exactly are you sorry for, Andi?”

She turns my way and I see the shameful pain in her face. “All of it.”

I have a choice. I can just say okay and move on without diving into this sea of uncomfortableness leaving so much unspoken and closing the door on my daughter letting me in. Instead, I suit-up and take a running start. I dive in head-first.

“Andi, I was afraid. I couldn’t get you on the phone and I was so scared at what could have happened to you.” I am turned and looking at the side of her face. “And I am sorry too.” She looks up from the floor for the first time. “I should have done a better job of talking to you about this already, so we are going to do it now.”

Miranda nods her head with acceptance.

I tell her about my deepest, darkest fears of her being sexually assaulted, not because she asked for it or deserved it but because there are bad people in this world that I cannot protect her from. With tears falling down my face, I express the pain I had already imagined if she were killed in drunk driving accident. I decided to share with her stories of my mistakes as young girl who’s mother never said anything accept “do as I say not as I do.”

Miranda shares with me the stress of being seventeen. And a girl. And an honor roll student. And a swimmer. And the oldest of four. Her tears shared a story of the pressure she had bottled up and stuffed down so deep she thought a little alcohol couldn’t hurt in the fight to keep it all together. I watched her pour out her soul to me and I saw my baby girl image of Andi fade away and the young woman, Miranda take form. She was no longer a child who’s hand I could smack to stop her from touching the electric sockets. Right before my eyes, she had turned into a woman and my job had transformed into consultant instead of manager. That morning we talked. I didn’t preach (much). She didn’t roll her eyes (except twice).

We had a discussion and we both listened. Instead of holding on to the illusion of control with both hands on the reins, I loosened my grip and let go just a little and Miranda showed me how great of a mom I am. I (with the help of her dad) raised this miraculous female sitting in front of me. I am transitioning into a new roll with her, and I am going to try to show a little freaking grace as I do it.

We stand up and I squeeze this girl who stole my heart, seventeen years ago. The first person to call me “Mommy” and the first one who will send out into the world as an adult, theoretically.

“I love you more than you know, Miranda Rae.”

“I love you too, Momma.”

“But if you ever come in this house like that again I will beat the hell out of you like a grown woman. Got it?”

What is your walk-up song?

“If you’re gonna fly high without fear, You’re gonna have to learn to love the atmosphere, and you gotta learn to use those wings that you can’t see.” -Wings by Jimmy Buffett

In the major leagues, each player gets to choose the music playing as he walks up to the plate to bat. A player’s walk-up music says a lot about who they are. The song choice tells the crowd what gets him motivated. It’s a glimpse inside these men who generally are not allowed to show emotions other than anger.

When playing on their home field, these same men get the opportunity to be cheered by the crowd who adores them. With every swing of the bat they have their chance to be a hero and win the hearts of those who watch from the stands. However, you take the same result of the swing and transport it to an away game in front of a hostile crowd the reaction feels much different.

We all want a cheer squad and marching band to follow us around to celebrate each victory we achieve, right? Or would it be better to just not have an audience to our kicks in the ass? Maybe there is another way. We don’t need a booster club but a strong manager of our thoughts to play our walk-up music and our touchdown celebration song. Our manager becomes our battle cry in our head.

You will not impress the entire crowd. Sometimes you will play away games with everyone around you wishing and praying for you to fail. No band will play when you score, you must do your touchdown dance anyway. People will boo you. They will cheer when you fall. Your mind manager needs to practice enough to be prepared for those games, so that when you fall you get back up even to the chant of “You Suck!”

Maybe not caring what others think of you is too much at first. It’s hard to walk through life with blinders. Instead, when you hear your name in other people’s mouths, you hit the play button on your walk-up song. Or when you find yourself all alone to celebrate your daily victories, do your touchdown dance anyway.

I am a recovering people-pleaser. There was a time, I cared what every single person in the room thought, even the people in the hall right outside. I wanted everyone to be pleased so badly that I would sacrifice parts of me to achieve that. Everyone being happy was my homerun. I was the hamster on the wheel never gaining ground, because no matter what I did, it was never enough. I didn’t even know what I liked because I was so busy failing at figuring out what made everyone else happy. I felt bad all the time – epic failure, all day, every day.

There is a pull for women to be “helpers” and “caretakers”. We have been taught that it is admirable to take care of others. This isn’t false (claims the licensed therapist). Caring for others is a positive attribute, which can be a slippery slope into pleasing which can slide right into not even knowing what you like to drink. Mothers are HORRIBLE at this! We take care of everyone and forget to eat, or drink or shower. The flight attendants even have to remind us to get the oxygen down and put it on so we can breathe long enough to help our children flying with us. Thanks Captain Obvious! However you know there must have been some poor mother on a flight to somewhere masking up all her kids before she got some oxygen for herself and Flight Attendant Frank had to come assist her. Now we all get to sit through the demonstration every single time we fly. I’m certain a mother is the cause of the rest of the flying population being instructed how to take care of themselves first.

I had to try something different. I was pissed off and exhausted. I forced myself to figure out who I was and what I liked. I forced myself to be alone and find out what made me happy. I picked up books that I liked. I took long baths. I laughed and I cried while I read those books. That time was only for me. I went to lunch by myself. I went to movies by myself. I found out that I enjoyed being around me and that bought me freedom. I didn’t NEED anyone else. I started spending time with other people because I wanted to, not because I thought I had to. My plan A was me. If you wanted to come along for the ride, so be it, but this was my ship and I was the captain. You enjoying yourself was a bonus – not for me but for you.

I am not everyone’s cup of tea. Sometimes I am hard to handle. And today, that is okay because all I can be is me. Now, I hit my own play button. My walk-up song changes. My choice adapts to whatever I need for that time. If it’s been a rough few weeks at work, I may need some extra motivation to get there for the day. For a week straight, I listened to Miranda Lambert’s Pink Sunglasses with pink sunglassess on as I drove into work. It put me in a mindset to have a good day even when work was the last place I wanted to be.

My current walk-up song is Lizzo “Good As Hell”. I scream it in the car on the way to work EVERY day. Her words remind me that I have a choice. Even on the days when I don’t feel it, that song tells me “take a deep breath, time to focus on you.” Lizzo is the Webster’s definition of self-love. I am just trying to follow her lead. She motivates me to be amazing, so when it is time for me to approach the plate, Lizzo leads my way.

Music moves me. It is therapeutic to my soul. I’m not the most talented dancer, however when I am in my car, in the shower, grooving with my daughters or getting dressed and ready to go, I’m a ginger-J-lo. Everyone should have a celebratory playlist in their head and there should be one go-to song that makes you feel like you just scored the winning touchdown of the Super Bowl. Who better than Queen-B? “Run the World (Girls)” is my wake-up song on my alarm, my time-to-kick-some-ass song and my yes-I-did song. Beyonce reminds me how amazing it is to be a women. She hits all the wonderful things I can do from giving birth to earning my degree. This song is THE celebration of women song so of course this is my jam for when I score touchdowns!

Although my walk-up songs and touchdown songs adapt to what I need, the important thing is that I keep having them because there was a time in my life when I did not. There was a time I didn’t even know what songs would describe me. Today I could write an entire blog with playlists after playlists of my jams and what they mean to me. Stevie Nicks, Kenny Chesney, Miranda Lambert, Brandi Carlile, Tom Petty, P!nk, Jimmy Buffett, Metallica, Outkast…again I could go on for days.

If you are reading this and you don’t have a walk-up song, stop what you are doing and figure it out right now! If it is a struggle, stop what you are doing and figure out who you are. What do you like? What is your favorite book? What’s your favorite meal? Have you ever been to the movies alone?

If not, why not? Chose a song and hit play.

Comment and let me know your walk-up song and touchdown celebration! I need some new additions to my playlist.

Photo Credit: Photography by Angela Gross

Practice Imperfectly

Well hello there! Are you present in the moment with me? Did you practice mindfulness this week? There is a mindfulness saying that some “older” and wiser ladies told me a long time ago. It goes something like this, “if you have one foot in yesterday and one foot in tomorrow you will crap all over today.” I think they may have used a different term, but you get the idea. It’s true! Staying present in the moment allows you to enjoy what is right in front of you. Mindfulness doesn’t allow for worrying about tomorrow. If we could all take a little advice from Elsa, and let it go, the past will stay where it belongs too. However, mindfulness is a practice. It takes 21 days to form a habit so keep going! These weekly convos with you helps me to practice what I preach and keeps me focused on where my energy needs to be-right here in this moment. So, thank you for the opportunity! We are in this together!

Let’s review our dear friend, Ruby and her shenanigans this week. Have you ever felt the spotlight before? Knowing everyone is watching to see if you can pull something off. Whether it is being the textbook parenting expert or epidemy of class at a work dinner, you feel the heat of the watchful eyes and the weight of others’ expectations. Your desire to hear the cheer of the crowd when you knock it out of the park pushes you forward as fear of the collective sigh of disappointment motivates your effort.

Miranda’s birthday may have looked like a shit-show, but she did what was asked of her. She gave up the applesauce, she may have launched it like a hand grenade, but she gave it up nonetheless. And she is two years old with a new baby brother who is stealing her mother away. What do you want from the poor girl? Ruby had a Rockstar reaction – cake anyone? Basically, the show must go on, shit, cake and all.

This week keep practicing mindfulness. Was it journaling, sitting on the porch or just breathing alone in the elevator that reminded you to stay present?

For me, it’s journaling. I harness my inner Elsa and literally let it all go on the page. But, it’s not something I do every single day. My mindfulness practice has become flexible, which is a new concept for me. I hold myself to doing something every day to stay in the moment. Some days it’s journaling. Some days it’s running with my dog. And somedays it’s taking 35 seconds in the car before I go into work to remind myself I need a paycheck and I am a productive member of society (basically I tell myself whatever is necessary to get out of the car). However, I DO something daily. I practice. It’s not helpful or mindful for me to be rigid about this process. I just need to do it and accept my imperfect mindfulness practice. It’s so freeing!

So keep practicing this week, my friends! Send me a comment and let me know what works for you and what doesn’t. I am always looking for new ideas and it’s helpful to know I’m not alone in this practice journey. I would love to hear from you! And if you can’t think of anything else to practice staying present, have some cake. That will make you enjoy the moment! Have a great week!

Ruby -vs- Elsa

Photo Credit Photography by Angela Gross

“I need some wipes over here, please!” I yell from the couch covered in explosive diarrhea. “I’m on the ladder hanging the banner.” Corey yells from stairs. “Where is Miranda?” I ask. “I thought she was with you?” He replies. I want to scream, but my newborn-poop-covered-angel has fallen asleep in a milk drunk stupor, so to avoid the cardinal sin of waking a sleeping baby, I slide off the couch and stretch as far as I can to get the wipes that lay just out of reach for me in a pile of toys on the floor. My middle finger, ironically enough, touches the wipes just as I hear a bang from Corey’s direction followed by a screech from the birthday girl. Before I can react, James’ eyes pop open and I watch him realize he is covered in crap as his sweet smile forms into a fully flipped lip with baby tears falling down his face. With two babies under two, Corey and I have developed a man-to-man defensive strategy. It’s more of a survival method because we haven’t scored yet. Epic failure is a daily occurrence. This morning we are simply trying to prepare for Miranda’s 2nd birthday party, while juggling the needs of a newborn. “I didn’t see her behind me climbing on the ladder. She’s like a tiny ninja.” Corey defends himself. Miranda sniffles the snot right out of her nose onto Corey’s Frozen-themed shirt that I ordered for the party. Miranda lifts her sweet head up to reveal a bloody lip with tear-soaked face. “Oh no, sweet girl!” But I can’t get to her because I am currently covered in James’ poop. And so it goes. Fast forward two hours with a house full of people. Children everywhere. Miranda in her Elsa dress casting icy spells on everyone she greets. James in his Sven onesie and antler headband asleep in whoever’s arms will hold him. Me in my Anna shirt and braided pigtails sweat pooling in all the wrong places. And Corey with his bloodstained Kristof shirt which makes him look like he had just buried a body. It is party time! My mother surveys the food laid out in the kitchen, “well, this is fun. Ruby, where’s the wine?” “It’s a two-year-old’s birthday, Mom, there is no wine.” Kate comes up behind me and pulls my braids, “Ain’t we cute! What are you supposed to be?” I turn and squeeze her. “Hey! How are you? I’ve misses you so much! And are you serious? I’m Anna.” Kate looks dumbfounded. “Anna. Elsa’s sister from Frozen.” I prompt. “I have no idea what is happening here. When I walk in the doorAndi is yelling at me to let something go, I’m not sure what. Your baby has antlers. Corey looks like he just left fight club and you are some kind of Swedish school girl? I’m so confused.” “It’s Frozen, Kate.” “What is? Margaritas?” “Don’t mention margaritas to me!” Claire warns as she waddles up six months pregnant. I hug Claire and place my hand on her bulging belly. “Beware Ruby. The belly has been off limits as of this week.” Claire’s husband, Marcus cautions from behind Claire. I slowly remove my hand and brace for her wrath. “You would do well to keep it moving, mister. I’m barely tolerating you at this point.” Claire spits out in Marcus’ direction. “Yes, Ma’am. Is Corey out back, Ruby? I think I’ll hide out there.” Marcus is threading on thin ice and retreats out the back door. “I can’t stand him.” Claire lets out a sigh of frustration. “I’m swollen, starving and can barely move around at this point and three months to go! I’m going to sit down. When are we doing cake?” I’m a little frightened of her at this point. Claire has always been the one not to mess with in our group, even intimidating many men who mistakenly got in her path. “We will do presents in a few minutes then cake. You want anything right now, Claire?” “Do you have pickles and applesauce? I can’t get away from that combo. And a bag of chips would be great.” Claire begins to waddle into the living room. “Sure thing, sweetie.” I yell behind her. “She is miserable. Just miserable. She makes it terrifying to even entertain the thought of being pregnant.” Kate shakes her head whispering as she watches Claire leave the room. “But you forget this part, Kate.” Annalise has arrived with her matching-outfit family of three. I try to hide my involuntary eye-roll and give Annalise’s one-year-old son, Hayden a hug before leaning over to Annalise also. “It’s been too long for us all to be together.” I keep making Claire’s plate to take to her in the living room. “Come on, I got to get this to Claire before she loses it.” The three of wade through the crowd into the living room to find Claire perched up on the couch with Miranda sitting with her. Claire appears happy chatting with my birthday girl and I smile as I approach with her snacks. Miranda is smiling and telling Claire all about Frozen when I hand Claire the plate of pickles with one of Miranda’s applesauce and a bag of BBQ chips. Miranda watches me hand her the plate and looks at me with betrayal in her eyes. “No Mommy!” she yells at me. “Andi, what’s the problem?” Claire asks and I realize Miranda is pissed I gave Claire HER applesauce. “Now Andi, we are going to share our applesauce with Claire. Her baby in her belly wants some too.” I offer in my best negotiator voice. “No Mommy! It’s mine!” Miranda snatches the applesauce with attention being drawn at this point. Since the arrival of her baby brother, Miranda has struggled with adjusting to sharing everything, especially me. James can’t eat her food yet, so she has been holding on to that as “hers”. And now Claire has infiltrated her territory and with another baby nonetheless. It’s been a long day and Miranda was at her breaking point. Apparently so is Claire. “Andi, that’s enough! Give that back to Claire right now!” I announce in full mom-voice. Then with full defiant toddler voice Miranda replies, “No! It’s mine!” Now the entire party is watching this interaction, and if anyone is keeping score it’s Elsa-1, Anna-0. I need to make a statement and flex my mom muscle. My mother is shaking her head full of judgement. Claire looks like she would eat my arm right now. Kate’s eyes are the size of snowballs, looking on in disbelief. Corey is nowhere to be found and I feel as though a spotlight is on me with the clock counting down to see if I can in fact crack the code and make this toddler do as I ask. If not, the floor may fall out from under me because I have epically failed at parenting and will be sent to the land of loser parents. What I want to do is scream YES right back at my two-year-old daughter and stomp my feet until she listens to me. However, I may earn a trip to the psychiatric hospital if I do, which is not looking like a terrible option at this stage of the game. I harness everything I have and call on all the angels within earshot to please let this miniature mutineer bend to my request and give me the damn applesauce. “Andi, it’s time to give me the applesauce right now.” I annunciate each syllable and speak in the most stern and steady voice I can muster up. Miranda assess the seriousness of my tone. The rest of the hostages, or party guests, wait to see her reaction. She knows she has an audience which could play in my favor, but it is unclear what she will do. Then her eyes meet mine and I recognize that defiant gaze. It’s like looking into a mirror. “FINE” she screams and hurdles the applesauce like a wild pitch and a collective gasp is released from the crowd. The applesauce lands in the middle of the Anna’s head on the Frozen cake (of course it did). Miranda immediately bursts into tears. Claire is quick to follow. My mother in typical fashion is of no help, “well, I’ve never seen such out of a two-year-old and on her birthday no doubt.” Corey, aka Johnny-Come-Lately comes running in, “what happen?” “You never disappoint, Ruby.” Kate snickers from behind me. I guess it depends on how you look at this scenario. Miranda did give-up the applesauce. She negotiated. The results weren’t as hoped but all in all I’ll take this as a tie. “Cake anyone?”

Are You a Butterfly?

“In the end, she became more than what she expected. She became the journey, and like all journeys, she did not end, she just simply changed directions and kept going.” – r.m. drake

This too shall pass. Well, what if I don’t want it to?

Change is inevitable. But, I’m comfortable where I am!

Time and tide wait for no (wo)man. Hang on – I’m not ready!

As a child, my family took a trip to the beach when my sister was very young. We introduced her to the playfulness of the ocean for the first time. The crashing of the waves made her laugh and we all enjoyed watching her dance around in the water. After some time passed and her energy lessened, my sweet sister turned to my mom and asked “when will they turn off the waves?”

We laughed at her thought that the massive ocean was just like the wave pool at the amusement park. My mother explained that the sea water was different. The waves keep turning and turning. They never stop. We just have to get out of the water and rest.

An innocent question from child has me thinking today…When WILL the waves stop? When will things calm down? When will this pain end? How long can this last?

Whether the question of time is relevant to the passion at the beginning of an amazing relationship or the overwhelming grief from a life-altering loss of a loved one, we wonder how long this will last. Why do we find it so difficult to stay in the moment? Why can’t we enjoy the love while we have it as well as endure the pain when it’s present? Both emotions have purpose.

History tells us, change is inevitable. Nothing lasts forever (even cold November Rain according to Axl Rose). This is a terrifying thought for those wrapped in the warmth of good times. We worry about the other shoe dropping, the clock striking 12 and the carriage changing back into a pumpkin. Before we realize how good it is, we turn around and it’s gone. We waste joy, attempting to worry away pain.

Then there are the times we are drowning in misery, trying to fight for another breath to hang on through the darkness until the light finds us again. During these desperate moments, the knowledge that nothing lasts forever breeds hope where only pain lived. We can use that hope to pull ourselves and each other out of anguish until we find our footing to fight for more. Change becomes our wish, our plea, our prayer.

Change may be the only thing certain in this life. We can study and test and predict. We can bet and know and believe. But change is certain. Change will come, so let’s find a way to embrace it instead of fear it. Instead of denying it, deal with it. Instead of asking ‘why me?’, ask ‘why not me?’

I love butterflies. They entrance me. I watch these graceful creatures float around with gorgeous, intricate colors and designs. Their movements are mesmerizing, and the flap of their wings purposeful. These tiny, fragile creatures migrate across the continent, however they do so by changing and adapting along the way. The tiny caterpillar can’t make it across the country in her original form. During her development in the Chrysalis stage, it appears nothing is happening on the outside. However, a total transformation of metamorphosis takes place on the inside where at the end the butterfly is revealed. Her beauty, grace and skill must be developed over time, not overnight. Alone in the dark, she changes and becomes what she is meant to be. Her struggle has a purpose. The joy of the journey isn’t possible without it.

Are we so different? Our journey has struggle. Our journey has joy. If you believe otherwise, come talk to me, I’ll help you find both. You don’t always know which one someone is going through in the moment. Metamorphosis may be in process and you can’t see her pain. Maybe the waves got too much and she had to get out of the water to take a rest. The water will not stand still. The waves will not turn off. You cannot protect against struggle as much as you cannot prevent good things coming to an end. What you can do is stay in the moment. Be grateful for joy and pain, because one cannot exist without the other. You cannot define pain without knowledge of joy, just as joy is not possible without the memory of pain. So use that struggle. Let the pain change you, not define you and become who you are meant to be.

Find peace in the purpose of your journey.

What are you about?

Welcome Back! The Self-Care Police is here! Just checking to see how you are doing!

Who did you connect with this week? Did you send a text or schedule a night out? I hope so!

Did Ruby’s flashback remind you of some not-so-far-off-time-in-past that makes you double over with laughter (at least the parts you can recall)? Though Ruby ‘never disappoints’ even at a young age, she has grown up some since her barroom-brawling days. Instead of pushing random cheating blonde girls out of the way, she advocates for her kids at school and uses her voice to support those she loves. Maybe she doesn’t walk around with her Ruby Red showing, but you can find her strutting in her heels with that same confidence as that girl on the dance floor missing a pocket. She may not drink as much or dance in public as often, but she holds true to who she is and what she stands for.

Change may be inevitable, but Ruby is still Ruby.

What about you? Who are you? What do you stand for? Would not-so-far-off-time-in-past-you recognize today-you? Is that a good thing or not?

Last week, I asked you to get connected. Guess what…this week I’m asking you to connect to YOURSELF! Take some time to look at who you are & what you are about. No labels (i.e. mom, wife, partner, sister, employee, lover, hater, etc). Badass is the only exception – BADASS label is accepted.

Take a few minutes each day or if some angel of mercy gives you a few hours to yourself, ABSOLUTELY do that! Stay in the moment and practice some mindfulness (what the hell is that you ask?)

Psychology Today defines Mindfulness as:

“Mindfulness is a state of active, open attention to the present. This state encompasses observing one’s thoughts and feelings without judging them as good or bad. To live mindfully is to live in the moment and reawaken oneself to the present, rather than dwelling on the past or anticipating the future. Mindfulness can also be a healthy way to identify and manage latent emotions that are causing problems in personal or professional relationships.” (www.psychologytoday.com/us/basics/mindfulness)

Use a calming app.

Journal in a cute notebook.

Sit on the porch and watch the leaves change.

Close your eyes with your legs wrapped in a constrained manner and mediate like an ancient monk.

Just take a moment to be quiet and get to know yourself. Leave your gavel and robe out of this – no judgement! Connect with yourself and figure out what you like and don’t like. What makes you excited and sad. What gives you fire in your belly and what causes pain in your heart. Figure out who you are so you can love you for you. That is the most important connection to make! Have a great week!

Ruby Red

“Let’s go, bitches!” Claire screams as she pulls in with Nelly blaring from her GrandAM.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad! I’m not running in these heels!” Kate yells from the top of the stairs to my third-floor apartment.

I roll my eyes and grab my purse, as I lock my door. “I have neighbors you heifers!”

“Hot In Herre” bumps into the warm night as the four of us are off for a much needed night out. Spring finals are over, and we have three weeks until our last year of college begins. Kate, Claire, Annalise and I have lived a lot of life in our 22 years, yet we are only at the jumping off point for adulthood. This will be a year of planning and prepping what our path toward the future will look like. However, tonight is a night to let lose and just be four girls laughing and dancing until we sweat off our make-up and blisters form on our feet.

With wristlets in hand and gloss on our lips we make our approach into The Hill. It’s Saturday night and we are feeling ourselves. The wind picks up right on cue whipping my hair like I’m on the Victoria Secret catwalk. My heels click with a little extra pep to my strut. The DJ must have known we arrived and turns up P!nk “Get This Party Started” for our walk-up song. We are rolling in tonight like a wave of slow-motion awesomeness. We head to the bar, get our drinks with the ease of what we imagine life is like for celebrities, then turn around to survey the situation.

“I’m ready to shake my ass.” Claire sips her drink.

People are everywhere. Walls are lined with half-drunk-20-something-year-olds focused on the same goal…whatever feels good tonight.

Annalise chugs her beer and slams down the empty bottle. “Let’s do this.”

Like true music video fashion, we sashay to the dance floor in sync with each other and the beat. It feels like the Red Sea parted the crowd to welcome us. All the while, I wonder if I am already buzzed or if everyone is really looking our way. I know I am feeling cute tonight, but this amount of attention was abnormal. We get to middle of crowd with just enough room for the four of us to drop it like it’s hot. We have about three drinks under our belt when, Kate grabs my shoulder and spins me around. I can barely make-out what she is yelling at me over the music, but I the last thing I hear is, “your ass!”

“What about my ass?” I yell back over the bass booming in my ears.

There is a lull in the music at the right moment for Kate’s voice to carry above it, “Your ass is hanging out of your jeans, Ruby!”

She might as well have had a megaphone for the crowd surrounding us, because they all turn to find the ass, which is apparently me tonight. I reach to touch my behind to find my old trusty, but comfortable fire red cotton panties where my jean pocket should be. My brain takes a minute to process what this must look like from behind. No worries, because Annalise gives me a functioning visual.

“Oh hell, Ruby! Your entire cheek is hanging out!” Her concern for my ego is lost in the humor of the situation.

I feel a hand on my shoulder turning me and my ass to another angle. “It sure the hell is! How in the world did you manage this Ruby? The entire pocket is just ripped off!” Claire continues to supply descriptive details so I have a full picture of what I am dealing with here.

We are in the middle of the mob of other minimally-talented-beer-buzzed dancers, which provides some coverage to my current predicament. My wristlet will not provide any amount of coverage and since I opted for comfort over cuteness tonight, the bright red color of my underwear is sure to attract a few glances no matter where I go. I debate how long I can stay here. Do I ask my girls if we can make a dash for it and head to the car? They could form a protective cover and flank me as we nonchalantly made our way out of here. I decide none of that will do. We’d come out for a good time and I wasn’t about to cut that short. Who knows how long my jean pocket has been missing. I felt a little drafty earlier in the night, but that didn’t stop me from laughing and dancing and being with my friends. It would explain the reason the Rea Sea parted to let us on the dance floor earlier and why we seemed to attract so much attention, but that’s not important right now. My girls are looking at me to give them direction. Like troops waiting for an order, I can tell by the look in their eyes, they will go and do whatever I want or need. That is friendship. Ride or die. Hell or high water. Covered or bare ass.  

“Screw it! Let’s get a drink!” With that, I turn on my alcohol-covered heels and head to bar with a red wave behind me. The girls follow my lead and we make our way through the crowd. Kate wraps her arm around me and gives me a squeeze “you are a badass, Ruby. You never disappoint, darlin’!”

“I try,” and I give her a wink right as I bump into a guy standing in our path to the bar.

“Oh, my bad. I didn’t…Dennis?” My voices trails off as I realize it is in fact Dennis, Kate’s boyfriend for the last 100 years. “Hey, who are you here with?” but the smile in my voice slowly fades as I see Kate staring straight ahead with no emotion on her face.

Just then, Annalise and Claire in unison change the conversation, “who the hell is that?”

Their question directed at Dennis was regarding the blonde hiding behind him.

“Dennis. Seriously? What have you done?” Claire pushes forward toward him and the mystery girl.

The slow-motion has returned to haunt us instead of highlight this moment. An extremely drunk girl bounces off Annalise and spills her pink umbrella drink down the front of Claire’s white tank top.

I wait for the f-bombs to start flying. Claire takes a deep breath, calling Buda, Jesus or whoever is listening. We all brace for the fall-out.

Claire throws her arms up and shoves the drunk girl. “Straighten up, sloppy!”

Then a guy comes from behind and pushes Kate. Dennis pushes him threatening him to leave Kate alone.

“What the hell do you care!” Kate yells as she pushes Dennis.

I push mystery blonde just for purpose. Annalise grabs me quickly, “let’s go, now!”

The four of us make a run for the back door dodging the angry mob that we may or may not have started. We were not going to stick around to find out.

For the quickest extraction, we catch a cab back to my apartment but not before we bribe the cab driver to stop at White Castle and order anything he wants. When we get home, we gorge ourselves with chicken rings and cheese fries. We console Kate over the revelation of Dennis. Then we laugh until we are all in tears about mystery blonde taking a fall and Claire’s pink stained white tank. Because isn’t that what friends are for? To push mysterious cheating blonde girls to the ground in the middle of a barroom brawl you all started?

This story always seems to come up at least once a year. Today’s telling is around the pool at Annalise’s 39th birthday. Instead of sloppy, drunk girls there are cake-covered toddlers and pre-teens with water guns. Contagious tears of laughter have us all trying to catch our breath.

“I still picture the bouncers on their radios trying to control the chaos.” Annalise slaps her leg as she cackles out loud. “The girl with the red ass did it!”

“Even at a young age, you never disappoint, Ruby!” Claire wipes her eyes.

“What would have happened if we tried to sneak Ruby out the other way? I may never had found out about Dennis. Can you all image what that would look like today?” Kate takes a sip.

“Cheers to that, ladies! Multiple wins from that night!” I raise my glass to meet their three.

Parties look a little different now. Nights don’t always end at White Castle. Change is inevitable, good or bad. This too shall pass. But friendship that you will cause a barroom brawl for is worth the work to maintain. In life, you need people who will take a pink a drink for you and cover your ass when you need it.