happy un-thanksgiving

**Warning. Full steam cynicism (and swears) ahead. Read at your own risk.**

Don't you just love this time of year? You know what I'm talking about. The daily slew of "It's November! Today I'm thankful for..." posts blowing up your Facebook feed. Gag me with a fucking spoon. No one cares what you are grateful for, Susan. You love your dog coco? Awesome. "SO grateful for your amazing husband"? Great. Keep it to your damn self. No one cares, no one wants to hear about how "blessed" you are. Do everyone else a favor and just shut. the. fuck. up.

Thanksgiving is supposed to be this time of blissful reflection of all we are grateful for. Do you know what I am thankful for?

Nothing. I don't feel "#blessed". I feel angry.

You want to know what I am NOT thankful for?

Hmm... where to start?

How about having a defective phone that deleted (and did not back up) thousands of my precious memories that will likely cost upwards of a thousand dollars to get back (destroying my brand new phone in the process). Oh, and that is if there is even any chance at all of getting them back.

Or my annoying kids who do nothing but whine, cry, complain, fight and argue about EVERYTHING.

How about my husband who is too busy with school to pay attention to parenting or anything else for that matter.

Or having to pay for two different preschools so that he can go to school full time.

Let's see, you know what else is really great about my life? Burning through the only savings we had and now having to live painfully from paycheck to paycheck.

Or having to work a bunch of extra shifts in an desperate attempt to not have to overdraft our bank  account again.

Even better, I get to end this year looking forward to the $6000+ in medical bills I will face next year for Brett to fix his damn ACL and meniscus.

And that is only going to be added to the $1000+ we still have in outstanding dental bills... Not to mention the unresolved pain and issues with my most recent dental work (which will likely double or triple that amount because at some point it will be unavoidable to pay someone else to re-do it).

Oh did I mention how fun it is to be the only one financially responsible to support my family? No? How about how delightful it is to never have any time or energy for self care?

You know what is really great? Feeling EXHAUSTED and depleted all. the. time.

We live in a world centered around morning people. Fuck that. Who has anytime to sleep when you're waking up at 6 am? Well come on, who wouldn't be grateful for that?

Do you know what else brings me thrills? Having to juggle not just my schedule, but FOUR busy schedules and having to leave work (don't even TALK to me about finding a parking spot when I get back!) to tote kids from school to "day care" for an hour.

Or living day-to-day with a persistent fear that I have cancer or some incurable underlying disease causing me to feel like I'm living in an 80 year old's body, and it won't be discovered until it's too late because I'm "too young" to have any real medical problems.

And can we talk for a minute about kid homework...? Having them in preschool and kindergarten is supposed to give me some relief, not add to my stress and give me MORE to do.

Oh, don't forget, our whole roof fiasco.... Still just waiting for that to eventually cave in and dreading the $10,000+ in repairs when we can no longer ignore yet another problem that is not our fault (that we actually took measures to prevent), yet still rests solely on our (i.e. MY) shoulders.

Know what else is fun to deal with? Being a woman and having to deal with all the shit that entails. #patriarchyforthewin. Or anxiety. Yup. That is also relentless.

Family drama at all junctures is equally exciting, let met tell you. Resentment. My drug of choice lately. It burns going down, and coming back up!

Not to mention all the useless "stuff" that builds up and just adds clutter to a life. Like really, where does this shit come from?

Needs some knots? I got 'em! In my shoulders. No matter how deep I dig, those suckers are just not going away!

Another thing I am just so thankful for... guilt.  You know, I can't find a nostalgic Super Nintendo to save my life, but that gosh darn guilt. It's everywhere! It is tucked into every corner of my life. I feel guilty about just about everything, including (but not limited to):

-Being a horrible mom.
-Not spending enough time with my kids.
-Resenting my kids.
-Eating out way too much.
-Not being able to get my eating under control.
-Being hopelessly addicted to Dr. Pepper.
-Making stupid daily choices that are leading to financial ruin.
-Not caring about my filthy house or yard enough to do anything about them.
-Being late to work every damn day because I can't get out of bed in the morning.
-Never spending quality time with Brett.
-Watching too much TV.
-My dwindling mental health.

Oh, and Christmas. I never cease to be annoyed by all the commercialism, the (unnecessarily) busy stores as a result of all the "festivity", the expectation to give, give, give when I have nothing at all to give anymore and can't I just have a break for one goddamn second of my life where all of this would just go away??? Oh yeah, that would be death. Rats.

So here is to holding space for myself and all you others out there (you know who you are) who, despite how socially unacceptable it is, are not loving all the holly jolly attitudes being rubbed in your face this time of year.

Happy Thanksgiving!

las vegas.

It's been a week now and I still can't shake the feeling. Or rather, feelings, because there are oh so many of them.

I woke up to the news Monday morning. The rest of the day was a fog.

Do we really live in a world where someone is capable of such atrocity?

How do we live in a world where someone is capable of such atrocity?

We are all capable of such atrocity.

My heart has broken over and over again for those affected. The INFJ in me does not allow me to interact with the world in any other way but to feel into the very depths.

How do you go about your day after the world has experienced so much pain?

The unanswered questions.

The terror.

The unrelentless grief and despair.

The longing.

The regrets.

The fear.

The "if only I had..."

The screams.

The horror.

The blood.

The urge to run.

The urge to freeze.

The urge to pick up the pieces.

I couldn't pull myself away from the news for days.

I know all about "self-care" and what I "should" have done. I just couldn't.

Why should I be free to move on and live my life nearly unaffected when so many close to me are changed forever?

Vegas is "my place."

Many of my best memories have taken place in a city that now feels shattered.

So many people hate the crowds, hate the "sin" in one of my favorite cities, but it has always held a special place in my heart.

The bright lights.

The magic.

The awe.

The vastness.

The diversity.

The bits and pieces of shared culture and infamous places.

The music.

The laughter.

The bustle.

In-N-Out.

Our most recent trip to Vegas included a concert and overnight stay in the exact location of this unspeakable tragedy.

How do you reconcile that?

I've never considered Vegas a "safe" place, but to witness the horror of last week shook me to my core.

Not only can people do something so inconceivable, they can do it in my backyard. In my space.

When 9/11 happened, I was young, I didn't really get it at first. The twin towers? What were those? It became more real once I saw the second airplane hit while watching the news, but I was still so far removed. New York is worlds away.

This happened in a place I stood just months ago. In a place where my family and friends are.

Nearly every trip I make to Vegas includes some kind of concert.

After all, music is life.

How can I even go to a show after this?

Watching the videos of the gunshots going off and the chaos of the crowd was horrific, but one clip showed a young girl (probably no older than 10) running off alone, terrified.

I wept, thinking about my own kids. They are young now, but I have always wanted to share my love of shows with them.

Will I be able to now?

We have had a quick trip to Vegas planned for the last few weeks; an untimely injury led to the decision to pay hundreds there, rather than thousands here, for an MRI.

Our original plan included a stay at the Mandalay, but the $300+ nightly rate encouraged us to stay with family instead.

After I learned of the news, I wanted to call the whole trip off.

My trauma response is to run and get as far away and never look back.

I felt pretty traumatized.

I also felt guilty for feeling so traumatized when so many others were affected much more deeply.

All the freaking feelings.

It probably was no coincidence that the morning of our trip (exactly a week after the tragedy) I developed a migraine and stayed in bed most of the day.

As we got closer and closer to Vegas that evening, my stomach was in knots.

I wanted nothing to do with the strip. Usually a trip to Vegas would call for a visit to the M&M World and the Coca Cola Store.

Not this time.

By morning I worked up the courage to drive down the Boulevard.

It was surreal to pass the hotel we recently stayed at, to see the broken windows now boarded up.

To imagine again what would possess someone to shatter those windows and then shatter those lives, without a second thought.

It was humbling to drive by the crosses made by a complete stranger for those who lost their lives that night.

To see the crowds that had drawn, to honor those unfortunate souls who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It could have been me.

It could have been you.

58 doesn't seem like a huge number.

Until you walk next to 58 crosses.

58 lives.

58 hearts no longer beating.

And all it took was 10 minutes.

Unimaginable.

It was so strange to see people posing for touristy "Welcome to Las Vegas" photos with such a tragedy filled tribute in the background.

My own kids initial reaction to seeing all the crosses was excitement. There were flags and balloons. "Mom, it's someone's birthday!"

More like a death day. 

I had to hold back a sob as I stuttered something about something bad happening to a lot of people and how this was other people's way to show support for people who were hurting.

So much hurting.

Hurting I desperately want to save them from.

This is their place, too. They won't stop begging to go back to the "Hotel Castle."

I don't want that to change for them.

I don't want this to be the world they live in.

I don't want this to taint their precious memories.

For the first couple days after the event, it was hard for me to take the advice of Mr. Roger's mother and "look for the helpers."

It was hard to unbury myself from the inhumanity and the gravity of it all.

Even after all my education and training to help people through their trauma, I just couldn't seem to get out of my own.

Shock is a pretty powerful thing.

I'm glad we still made the trip.

I'm glad I got to witness and honor the loss.

I'm glad I got to see that my Vegas is truly #VegasStrong.

As the billboards now read: "When things go dark, Vegas shines."

While police and the powers-that-be continue to work to answer the question of "why," everyday heroes are pulling together to rebuild.

And though I can honor the depths of the despair, I can also hold space for the hope in humanity.

There is evil everywhere.

But there is also good too.

And I would rather look for the good.

hearing voices.

I feel lost,

conflicting thoughts course through
Clarity, she's gone,
took everything I thought I knew

Everyone wants to see Heaven
But no one wants to say goodbye
Everyone wants to see Heaven
But no one wants to die

Can't escape this feeling
fears are born inside
Can't escape this feeling
how can I deny?

I hear voices in my head
The choices I can't contend
I hear voices and they all know your name
They all know your name

Trapped inside a cell that I built myself
Felt so very empty, cold, dark, and lost

Everyone wants to know God
But they're afraid of what they'll find
Everyone wants to know God
But they want to live like he died

I feel it all, I feel it all around
I heard it call, it doesn't make a sound
Voice in my head
it never seems to leave
I know you're there
I know you're here with me

Can't escape this feeling
fears are born inside
When the spirit moves you
how can I deny?

I hear voices in my head
Can’t escape the Ghost
When the Ghost is not dead
I hear voices and they all know your name
They all know your name

january 21.

Have you ever had days in your life that have changed you?

Moved you to tears? Shaken you to your very core?

Days that alter the template of your reality, forever.

For me, that day was January 21, 2005.

It all started at 9:47 am.

After approximately 9 hours of fast and intense labor, Jace was born.

He was perfect.

Tiny, peaceful, wide-eyed, and curious about this world he just entered.

I had no way of knowing just how much that moment would change me forever.

The decision to place Jace for adoption did not come easily. In fact, it was one I fought for a long time.

I could raise this baby. I would raise this baby. He was mine. I loved him with all the intensity of my angsty teenage soul.

He was born to me for a reason. He would be my best friend.

I would figure out how to make our life work. I was only 16? But I was the most responsible 16 year old on the planet!

Right...

The stars aligned and through a weird twist of fate, I met his parents a few months before he was born.

They were perfect.

I could not raise this baby alone. I could give him all of me and it still would not be enough.

I learned early on that "all you need is love" is just a stupid cliche, peddled and pawned cheaply in sappy chick flicks. I blame the Beatles.

He needed more. He deserved more. And I found them.

They were everything I wish my parents had been. They were everything I wanted to be, someday.

If I was going to trust someone else to raise this baby, my baby, they had to fit the bill.

They exceeded all of my highest expectations.

Handing over Jace was the most difficult thing I have ever done. "From God's arms, to my arms, to yours" as the Michael McLean song goes.

To say goodbye, in a way was death. It was a tragic ending.

The grief hit fast and hard. The tears were relentless.

I woke up many nights alone, hearing his tiny cry and mourning for the baby I had lost.

I couldn't tell you how long it was before I started feeling normal again. The sadness felt deeper than the ocean, and I was drowning.

No one could possibly understand how this felt. I was angry at my parents for crying. They couldn't possibly feel the weight of my pain.

They did not create this life, or carry him for nine long months--months filled with dreams of all this baby would become.

Thoughts of all the "firsts" he would experience as he stumbled his way through life like the rest of us.

To miss out on those firsts would be devastating.

This pain was mine alone to bear. I was resentful of anyone who wanted to share it. How could they? I did a pretty good job of blocking them out.

I think at some point, I just learned to block it all out. To bury it.

But this time of year, it always resurfaces.

The complicated part about adoption is that there is grief and loss and pain, but there is also hope.  

The beautiful baby that made his way into my arms that day did not die.

He is very much alive.

His presence has blessed the life of his family. Without him they would have been incomplete.

Without him, I would be incomplete.

Eventually the sadness that once consumed me, made way for joy. 

Seeing his pictures over the years brought me a happiness that is hard to describe. I would run from the mail box with the excitement of a small child at Christmas to hear all about his life and to see the joy he brought to his family.

I felt a sense of connection with children that were his age, everywhere I went.

I had multiple opportunities in the following years to see this sweet boy and to spend time with him and his family to receive first hand confirmation of just how right this decision was for all of us.

Every year at Christmas, I get excited to pick out books and games that have been meaningful in my life to share with him and give him a small piece of me.

And then comes January 21.

Some years it comes and goes quickly. The day is filled with happy memories of the joy that came from this decision. My joy. His family's joy.

Other years it hits me like a ton of bricks. And I feel all the things.

It's complicated.

Every year on this day, I still mourn the baby I lost. I grieve for the life we might have had together. I feel sadness and pain. Tears are shed.

Yet, every year on this day, I also feel joy and happiness and hope. I am overwhelmed by a profound sense of gratitude. For this beautiful boy. For his family and the amazing love they have for him, and for me.

The significance of this day for me cannot be minimized.

So while to you, today may have just been January 21, an ordinary day in a sea full of days, for me it was the anniversary of a moment that changed my life forever.

So today I will honor both the sadness of the sacrifice, and the joy of a new life, a new beginning.

I love you, Jace. Happy birthday.