This is the Life We've Chosen

I miss you.

Really, I do.

I miss writing for fun or for conducting cerebral acrobatics or for just having a spot to relegate my thoughts when it all gets too bunched up and cluttered on the inside.

I miss the freedom of listening to random nothingness.

I thought that life was busy before.  And I suppose that everyone was right when they said, "It's not so bad when your kids are really little.  Sure, you miss the sleep and the quiet.  But when they get older, well, that's when the bigger worries come."

My kids aren't old.  Sam is turning 12 in two days.  Kate is 9.  And, Claire is 6.  But they're not babies or toddlers or preschoolers.  They can pour their own bowl of cereal and make their own bed.  Kate is becoming quite the master laundry expert of the house and Sam is pretty good about doing anything you want him to, if given a list.  Claire, well, she's a work in progress.

Two days a week, I have thirty-one 7 and 8 year-olds in a classroom.  One night a week, I have graduate students.  And luckily, I have another graduate class to teach on the docket as well.

But between the shuttling of piano, ballet, speech, Boy Scouts, Daisies, school, and soon to be football, soccer and gymnastics...I'm often tired. 

And so, I don't run like I did before.  I don't write like I did before.  I don't often post on Facebook or share my opinions about the fucking debacle that has become our political reality.  I've often wondered if the reason that my life has shifted so much in the last few months is that I'm officially living in the Zombie Apocalypse and no one asked me whether I wanted to be here.  The only thing that seems to make me laugh are really good SNL episodes and sometimes, humoring myself with the ridiculous banter that ensues between people who will intrinsically never change the "other's" mind.

That said, I feel badly....that I don't do more to demonstrate my opposition to the current political climate...that I don't write articles highlighting the very real catastrophic calamities that are on the horizon, if we keep heading down this undeniably, unGodly, fucked up path.

I feel badly that my house is often a wreck and that many times, I squeeze everything that needs to get done in the 11.5th hour.  And that I'm not meditating or talking to my children about the ills of the kind or lack there of leadership that we're witnessing. 

But in the very quiet moments when there is a second to breathe and no expectation of me, except for my thoughts, here is what I know to be true.

This is the life we have chosen.

We are married.  We are parents.  We have jobs with responsibilities.  We have bills.  We have people getting test results back that scream of uncertain futures.  We have science projects that are due and oil that needs to be changed in the car.  Groceries that need to be bought.  People that we need to text and meet for coffee because it's been too long.  We need to say I'm sorry and have sex, even when we're tired.  We need to review English assignments and time speeches and get lunches ready.  We have presentations for clients on a short turnaround.  And, tax appointments.  And pain.  And hope.  And anger.  And love.

And in these ways, we are all simply living the lives that we have chosen.  Trying to do our best with where we are and what we know to be true or palatable today, until tomorrow brings a different chapter in the story.

So, if it's okay, I'll keep writing and sharing my mundane stories.  They're not necessary or even helpful.  They're just a slice of life that maybe you can relate to. 

Because I miss you.

And all of the ugliness that I feel surrounded by particularly in the early morning hours when I check my phone and view a new executive order.

I like sharing my kids with you and hearing about yours.

I like knowing that you are there and that as people, we are not so far apart, all just trying to live the lives we have chosen.

Kelly's Hot Mess Celebrates 5-Years!

Five years ago, this week, I sat down with my computer and a strong Americano at a midtown Starbucks and wrote this:

****

Here I am... 

 

 

So the other morning, I walked by the mirror and realized, I'm a 36-year old wife and mother of three little ones.  I live in a white house with black shutters and a red door.  I make oatmeal and wash dishes and read lots and lots of stories and change lots and lots of diapers.  I drive kiddos to school, church, ballet, music, basketball, and their friends' houses.  I admire art work, dance moves, kind words, and gooey brownie fingers.  I shun hitting, eye-rolling, cruel words, and video games.  And late at night, when I have disposable energy, I wonder, how did I get here?

Yesterday or 14 years ago, I was reading philosophy texts, drinking beer, chatting it up with girl friends, wondering if I would get married, hoping I would get a really good job offer and firmly believing that I would never move back to Omaha, Nebraska.

I used to make fun of the women that I babysat for...they wore sweater sets from Talbots, faded pleated pants, the same pearl earrings, and drove station wagons or mini vans.  Most needed a highlight at best and some needed significant work like a lip wax or a personal trainer.  Everyone of them were so thankful to see me pull up in the driveway and after a few brief reminders encouraged me to eat anything I wanted in the house...I think they just really wanted me to come back.  They all seemed so old.  I used to giggle with my girlfriends about who had cute husbands and who had fat ones.  Which ones seemed really in love and which ones got the short-end of the stick.  Either way, I couldn't imagine that one day, someone would call me, "Mrs. so and so" and tell me that the kids would be just fine while I pulled out of the driveway.

I think it's funny that I got my master's degree in Conflict Resolution.  When I was actively practicing, I used to mediate other people's differences...i.e. Landlord/Tenant cases, Neighbor barking dog issues, Divorcing couples, Employer/Employee tensions...etc.  Now, I just seem to mediate my own internal conflict...how do I evolve in this new season of my life and also retain that which I claim to be vital to my soul?

And because I've been writing in my head for the last fours year (ever since I became a full-time stay-at-home mom), I've decided to create this blog...primarily, as an outlet for me to reclaim my voice (outside of "use your inside voice") and also as an opportunity for me to connect with others who may relate.  The truth is that the dynamic between like-minded individuals is what I missed the most about writing in my journal.  And sometimes, the facebook fragments are just not enough.    So, here I am.

I'm not sure how often I'll write.  I'm not terribly concerned about being offensive or liked.  I just want to hear my voice again as I hit the key strokes.  I want to be reminded that I am here...all parts of me, not just those that care take for others.

I'm grateful for the hot mess that I find myself in most days because it reminds me that I am alive.  I may be covered in puke, exhausted from an all-night marathon with a baby, or wearing a size that I  reserved for a middle-aged woman...but I'm here.  I'm doing it.  And, honoring the journey...

 *****

I had no idea, really no idea, what it meant to author a blog.  Since that decision, I've published 617 posts--most of which revolve around the crazy making of being a stay-at-home wife, mother, runner, writer, conflict resolutioner, f-bomb dropper, inappropriate content lover, coffee and wine drinker, podcast listener who is just trying to do the next right thing.

I've shared the deaths of my grandfather and taken much too soon cousin.  I've hinted at masturbation in the sauna of a local gym.  I've chronicled my 40-pound weight loss journey and transformation into a marathoner.   I've plastered nearly every insane act that all three of my children have subjected me to from the time my oldest was six years old and my baby was 9-months old...she just went off to kindergarten.

I've talked about my deepest desire to become an author and shared pieces of my poetry and prose.  I've centered quotes on inspiration, motivation, hope, power, triumphing over the unknown, fear, and belief in the impossible.  I've showered pictures of my family, friends all while talking about the craziness of managing it all and trying to stay awake while having sex--the struggle is real.

I've shared painful posts about drunk driving, making peace with your body, learning to surrender and remembering that you're never alone.

And through all of it...you have been there.

Listening.

Reading.

Commenting.

Encouraging.

Cheering.

Laughing.

Co-creating.

Believing that sharing your voice and heart with the world matters.

At a time when I've wondered whether I should continue publishing the blog, my 41-year old self says to you, if I thanked you daily, it would not be enough.

Thank you for believing in me, for inspiring me, for teaching and stretching me...for disagreeing with me and for supporting me...for encouraging me to speak about the elephant in the room...for loving my family and for watching us grow...for calling me out when I haven't posted in a while...for letting me know that even though we may never see each other, that you're still there...in the ether, reading and connecting from afar.

Here's to five years of Kelly's Hot Mess...what a beautiful journey it's been.

She Just Gets Me

We meet every two weeks at a hodgepodge of cafes around the city.

I of course order an Americano.  She orders tea and she orders nothing.

That's because, she's been up since the crack of dawn, tackling a bazillion miles on her bike, getting her yayas out and her endorphin rush on.  While she's been doing Purre Barre classes racking up more hours than I can conceive of...squeezing her ass and her abs and getting strong physically and mentally.

We exchange compliments like, I love your bag...you got the new Apple watch?!!...That dress looks fabulous...and then, hugs...before we get down to business.

The truth is...we're an odd group.  From the outside, we're in completely different life stations.  I'm married with three relatively little kids.  She's divorced with one soon-to-be graduating teenager.  And she's married with adorable furry four-legged creatures and looking to grow her family in the future.

They have massive jobs and kick-ass resumes.  She runs an incredible organization and makes donor calls and solicits board members.  She flys out to very cool destinations and leads a team of people who do good work.

And I well, you know what I do...so among them, I stand in awe of the talent and the humility.  I think that's why it works.

All three of us are so very different and yet, we have a passion and an energy that surges through our veins and when the time comes, we tell the other exactly what we think and question why following your dreams is such a crap shoot.

She wants me to write her profile for Match.com...I just laugh and think, what in the Hell do I know about dating?  I think marriage is a gauntlet.  But of course, I start to put the words together in my head and write the most eloquent piece about a friend that I feel like is worth her weight in gold and that the majority of men are completely undeserving of.

She wants me to write about the Imposter Syndrome because I constantly tell her that I feel like a fraud and want to exude the kind of confidence that she does in client meetings.

She thinks that the shit my kids say is for the record books.  I tell her that I wish I was making it up, but for better or for worse, this is my crazy, hot mess of a life.

When it comes down to it, I'm grateful to have a village of women in my life that I turn to for a myriad of hopes, dreams, support and needs.  These two girls just happen to really get me.  They know when to gently call bull shit.  They ask really good, open-ended questions when I'm trying to probe or dig into what the crux of the issue is.  And they make no bones about being flawed, imperfect, sometimes withering on the vine.

And yet, dutifully, even when we can't find a fucking parking space to save our lives....we show up, we smile, sometimes cry and always encourage the other that it's worth it.

I'm just so thankful to have someone(s) who gets me.

Keep Me In Your Heart

The heart is such a big place.

Really, it is.

Stop and think about it.

The older you get, the more experiences you accumulate, the more people you know, the more history you amass...you begin to recognize that the heart has room for much more than you give it credit for.

I remember when I discovered that I was pregnant with my second child, I thought, "My God...will I love this child as much as I love my first?"  And then again, when I became pregnant with my third.

I've had similar kinds of feelings about jobs and career changes.  Evolutions in friendships.  Differing seasons in my marriage.  Times and places with organizations I've belonged to and positions I've been responsible for.

I've been told and for good reason that I'm an all in or all out sort of girl.  And this is probably true.  I often immerse myself completely in whatever season and with whichever people are closest to me at the time...but it doesn't mean that the experiences that were are gone or that the things to come don't have a chance.

It simply means that there is a vast amount of emotional space for all and for whom that we love in this life we've been given.

When my older two went off to Kindergarten, we read the book, "The Kissing Hand" about a young raccoon who goes off to school and leaves his family behind.  His mother kisses the inside of his paw and says, "I will always be with you and when you are afraid or unsure, you can look down at your hand and feel me inside of you."

I have always loved that tale.  We are all connected.  We are all present in each other's lives purposefully.  And there is room for so much love in our hearts.  It's not a limited entity.  It's more vast than we can imagine.  So, fear not...you can keep filling and it will only grow to accommodate and make you more compassionate, more engaging, a better friend, a sweeter partner, a more loving parent.  Let us not be afraid to keep each other in our hearts.  

Making Facebook Come Alive

It's funny how the beauty and the creepy part of social media is that you can be "friends" with people on Facebook or follow others on Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram or Tumblr and potentially never see them in real life or see them very rarely in the flesh.

And so it is that I find myself "friends" with many people (900 or so) who are mutual friends of my childhood, highschool, undergrad, graduate school, professional working days, volunteer organizations, parish extensions, social justice missions or political interest groups. 

I don't find it particularly odd that we've never met or may never meet.  Most of us are in similar life stations...married/committed to partners, parents, middle-aged, runners, writers, crazies just trying to make it through life. 

I like looking at pictures of their family, following their adventures and I'm thankful when they support me through mine.

And so, it wasn't odd, but a bit surreal, when upon arriving at the park with my kiddos this morning, I saw in person for the first time, a Facebook friend I've never met other than online.  I've long been a fan of his.  He and his beautiful wife are parenting I think it's 7 kiddos...oh no, I can't remember now, I just know that they took up the entire row of swings at the park and he was single-handedly pushing them all through the air.

He posts hysterical antics that happen around their home and different than me, seems to roll with it all like it's nothin but a thang.  In fact, while we were chatting it up, one of his little guys took a tumble off the swing, only to get up and have another swing clock him in the face.  Instead of yelling, screaming, and freaking out (my modus operandi), he simply reached down, picked up his hysterical little one and made him feel better. Such a cool dad.

Often, people lament about all of the bad things about Facebook...the ways in which it's taking our identity and using it to rule the world...why it reformatted its functions to make our lives miserable yet again...why it seemingly works fine on our laptops, but sucks on our mobile devices...

For me, a stay-at-home mama of three little crazies, it makes me feel connected.  It lets me know that other people are just trying to do the best that they can do too.  It gives me notice when someone has something to celebrate or needs a note because something tragic has come across their path.

Because of our busy schedules, it's unlikely that this Facebook friend and I will cross paths again...but it was good to see the virtual world of Facebook meet the physical world of my community park and to know that we're all just livin the dream...giving one kids' boo boo a hug at a time.

My Collection of Stories

I have to admit that one of the things I'm most looking forward to...traveling solo to Chicago to run a half marathon...is the collection of stories.

I'm not sure why, but for as long as I can remember, perfectly good strangers have always been willing and primed to tell me their tales.

Truly.  It happens to me on planes, in the line at the grocery store, at dinner parties, while pumping gas and certainly in the usual suspect spots like at the kids' schools or on the playground.

But the truth is, I love it.  And, I really can't help myself.  I typically probe to learn more.  Dip in and draw out the back story.  Learn about the idiosyncrasies of the characters.  Affirm where they're at in the process and often find a nugget of wisdom that I can take from the situation.

So the other day at the park when I was yelling at my two older kiddos to not ride so far on their bikes and trying to keep my toddler from launching off of play equipment, I was surprised.

A very sweet woman with a baby wrap around her front came walking up to me.

"You probably don't remember me.  But we met last spring at another park when I was pregnant.  You were so nice to me and told me that having three children was a huge gift and that it was going to be okay."

And then, I remembered her.  She was the one with tears in her eyes scared about the future.

She gave me a big smile and said thanks for listening to me that day.  You're right.  It's hard, but I wouldn't trade it.

All of our lives are a collection of stories universally connected by themes of love, joy, pain, hurt, regret, and hope.

I'm thankful when I take the time to get to know another and realize that we're not so far apart in our journeys.  Often, it only takes a few moments to appreciate that we're really not such strangers after all.

Stories are a beautiful thing.

Happy 100

I'm writing my 100th post for "Kelly's Hot Mess."

I started this blog four months ago and am so glad that I did.  Apparently, I had a lot that I needed to get off my chest, out of my head, and into the world.

What I didn't expect to find was the unbelievable camaraderie that would ensue with each post.  It has been so encouraging to hear from those of you mothers, wives, fathers, husbands...friends who can relate.  I'm grateful to know that I'm not alone.

I'm also thankful that I've taken the thoughts from my heart beyond my journal and moved them to a more communal setting where they can take on a life of their own.

Thank you for sharing in my journey, for cultivating our friendship and for reminding me that even though we may be miles away...we're always connected.