A Year Without...

So, I did something crazy.  Shocker, right?  Anyways, there's this competition running for folks to go a year without their smartphone or tablet, and I've entered it.  Chances of my entries being chosen are less than me being run over by Santa's sleigh on Christmas Eve, but still I hold a hope.

If chosen, the task is to go an entire year without a smartphone or tablet for a grand prize of $100K.  And many seem to think it would be easy to just cut it out, but for those of us who are addicted to the technology it is a daunting task.  I'm not addicted in the way that most are - I don't shun human interaction for the glaring screens.  I am addicted to the order it brings to my family's life.  We live and die by our shared digital calendar.  I'm a SAHM who is accessible to my husband and children with a text or an email, immediately.

So, I've done some soul searching on ways I could make it work, because well...$100K.  And with that $100K, I'd do some super sexy things. 

First, I'd put 40% away to cover taxes.  Hooray, NYS!  But with that $60K leftover, that is where the magic would happen.  Mentally, I've built a new deck onto our home.  I've replaced all our windows and purchased the expensive front door that I REALLY want.  I've drywalled our family room.  Bought the new couches for our living room that will take me 2-3 years to save for.  I've gotten Lennox (our piano) refinished back to pristine condition.  I've ripped out the bathroom in our basement and replaced everything so that it is actually usable and functional.  I've used all this money to benefit our family into making our home into our dream home.  You know, a smart investment.

Sure, there were moments of, "I could buy a pair of Louboutin's that I could never afford." But then I thought that the whole family is going to need to make concessions in how the year would play out, so the money, naturally, needs to go to things that we would all reap the benefits.

In any case, root for me (cross your fingers, say a prayer, offer a sacrifice or whatever it is you do for good luck) that I might beat the odds at the chance of a lifetime - whut?!? - to chuck my phone for a year.  And know a cool bonus is that without my phone, I think I'll have some extra time to get my blog posts back to running.  😂

This Dog Drives Me Crazy (but in a good way)...

So, yeah, it's been a while...but I've been busy.  See, we got a new rescue in May.  It's taken some adjustment.  Not because we were unsure about him; we weren't.  Not because we don't love him; we do...but because of his love of walks.  Walks?  Sure.  All dogs love walks.  But not this dog.  To say he loves walks is like saying I love chocolate cake...and that's just a silly understatement.  Let me tell you how our mornings pan out now that we have a schedule.

My two oldest get up at 6am.  I get up at 6:20, and send Sake down for them to let out.  Teeth are brushed and I'm dressed and sipping my coffee by 6:30.  He's back in.  A kid is by the front door getting ready to head out to the bus.  He begins his morning freak out.

He nudges the leash.  He starts baying.  He knocks a kid over while they're putting on their shoes. [mind you through all of this SoCo sits on the couch staring at him with a disgruntled look that says, "OMG...younger brothers.  How annoying."]  The kid tells him that she loves him but she doesn't walk him in the morning, like she tells him EVERY morning.  He will not be deterred though.

He comes into the kitchen.  He bays at me.  I tell him to hush and that we walk at 7:20.  Enter the third kid.  He paws his leash and bays at her as she comes down the stairs.  "Sake!  7:20!"  He follows her into the kitchen, all wags and bays.  We giggle.

The two oldest leave to catch their bus.  He stands on the couch, looking out the front window and bays at them until they get on the bus.  "Hey!  Hey you guys!  You forgot me!  WALKING!  You forgot to take me on a walk!"  This continues for the next five minutes.

The youngest goes back upstairs to finish getting ready.  He follows her to the stairs and bays at her until she comes back down.  If at any point, I get up to put my mug in the dishwasher, feed the dogs, do the dishes, exist...he is back at my side nipping [in the most gentle playful way] at my tush.  "MOMMY!  WALKING!"  We've learned to put our shoes on while sitting down as he will knock us over in a rush to get to his leash; all the while baying his brains out.  SoCo is unimpressed.

Finally we're out the door.  This dog.  Loves. His. Walks.  So much so, that he barely stops walking/trotting to even pee.  Neighbors must think we're ridiculous, not stopping to let our dog pee; but we try!  "Sake - STOP!  Just pee!"  Nope.  Gotta keep going.  GO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GO!  We trot, we sniff, we don't pay attention and fall into a storm grate.  [sigh] And we never, ever stop to poop.  Ever.  We also have no patience to wait while SoCo stops.  How dare she?!?  If she stops, we bay at her until she decides to start walking again.

We get back home and he HAS to go out now, to do all the things he can't be bothered with on his walk...bay at squirrels, poop and run around.  He'll come back inside where he'll sleep until someone goes near the door again and BOOM!  "HEY!  IS IT TIME FOR MY WALK?!?"

Enjoy this picture of him snoozing until his next walk, and know I've not been ignoring you...I've been walking this excited dog.  😆

This Is One of *THOSE* Posts

Normally, I don't blog or post about this stuff...bc well, funny for me to say: It's just too personal.  But today, I was feeling it.  So, know in advance - it's not humorous, it's touchy feely.

This morning's walk with SoCo turned into a walk-sorta jog.  Because I was feeling it.  It felt like I needed to jog in a few spots.  Like I wasn't pushing myself enough.  What?  Who in the f#ck was saying that in MY head?!?  And so I did.  And it felt great.  And my heart didn't explode.  And it wasn't hard.  All of these things were shocking to me.

And then I came home.  I figured, my mood was up, so if I tried on pants & shorts that I've been holding onto forever in the next size down and they still didn't fit, it wouldn't be crushing.  I dug them out of hiding.  I tried them on.  Every last pair.  And while some fit better than others which were still snug...THEY ALL FIT.

I did the next thing any ecstatic person would do - I purged my closet; and said goodbye to an era.  An era where I hid behind baggy clothes, hoping you wouldn't notice me in there.  I said goodbye to stretchy jeans that fit when nothing else would.  I said goodbye to the girl I was back in December before I started doing what I'm doing.  Most shockingly for me, it wasn't terrifying.  It was liberating.

With the fat pants out of the way and my spirit lifted, I realized I needed to thank three important people.  For what they've done for me.  For what they do.  For who they are.

First, I need to thank Connie-Jo.  For being my inspiration.  For telling me I COULD do this.  For believing in me when I didn't believe in myself.  We don't talk often, but when we do, it means the world to me.  You're amazing, and I can't tell you in words what your journey represented in my own life.

Then Ali.  Always, Ali.  Ali who is never far from my side, even though she's so far away.  Ali who never lets me do things by myself.  Ali who pushes me.  Who encourages me.  Who always makes me want to be a better person for fear of letting her down, even though I know nothing I could ever do would.  Thank you for always, always being there.  You are the best friend I never thought I deserved.

Last, but definitely not least - BJ.  Thank you for loving me at my smallest, my largest and every Oprah size in between these last TWENTY years.  Thank you for encouraging me to figure out who I am outside of the titles "Mommy" and "Wife".  Thank you for the freedom you give me to be me and do all my crazy searching on my own terms and never once questioning me. 

I wasn't prepared today for what 20lbs and 1-ish+ pant sizes would mean.  And I'm not done yet...I'm only getting started.

Guess What?!?

So, last night was like any Monday night.  SoCo and I were wrassling and had made a dogpile on the floor.  I decided it was high time for a game of 'Guess What'.


Me: SoCo, Guess what?!?
SoCo: I am dog, and I dunno.
Me: Seriously...guess!
SoCo: Is it that I can have a cookie?
Me: Better!
SoCo: I'm not sure what is better, but if I make one more guess can I have a cookie?
Me: Ugh - you suck at this game.
SoCo: So it's not about me having a cookie?
Me: No, It's that you're getting a brother.

SoCo: [smiling] Yay...can we both have cookies?
Me: [laughing] Yes, when he comes you can both have cookies.
SoCo: I love brothers who bring me cookies.
Me: You and me both, dog...you and me both.

FMS: A FitBit Mom's Constant Struggle

I'd like to take this moment to discuss my FMS (Forgetful Mom's Syndrome) or the limited capability of my beloved FitBit.  I mean, either way...it's the same thing.  I feel like my cries have fallen on FitBit's deaf ears.  Ugh.

See, I love my FitBit.  And when the weather is nice, I live and die by the thing - challenging everyone I know into competition to which I'm constantly trying to win, but let's be honest, I'm efficient...and therefore might not walk as much as my husband. EXCEEEEEEEEEPT when my FMS kicks in.  And here's where FitBit could be more friendly.  Let me challenge ppl to the number of flights I've mastered in a day!  You heard me right; I go up and down stairs more than anyone I know.  Here's why:

This morning, my feet were cold.  Of course I couldn't find my slippers.  I came downstairs and made coffee, while pacing the house.  I asked the oldest & youngest children if they'd seen them.  [sigh] I went down into the basement...maybe I left them by the back door when I let the dog out.  Nope.  Back up I go.  Creamer into the coffee, but my pigs are still frozen, sooooo - back to my quest.  I go upstairs.  Once I reach the summit, I look around.  What in the hell did I come up here for?  FMS kicked in bc my feet were buried in lush carpet at this point and slippers were the furthest thing from my mind.  Back down I go, vaguely disappointed in myself for some reason.

I begin to sip coffee.  Which is piping hot.  And reminds me that my feet are cold...and that I need my slippers.  Back up the stairs I go.  I look under my bed, thinking maybe Vern has pushed them under there.  Nope.  Back down.  Sensing a theme?  It's not even 7:00 yet.  Eventually, I find my slippers, flung into a remote corner of my room [which is not where I put them.  Ever. But, I did run the robot vacuum yesterday so I probably just wanted them out of my way...which leads me to marvel over my FMS and my non-recollection of ever even taking them off].  Anywho...

This is how my day continues.  All day.  Every. Day.  I go up stairs with a purpose in mind, forget what the hell I was doing [and subsequently get sucked into 17 tasks that I wasn't doing] only to go back down the stairs and back up again when I remember.

Most days, I rack up at minimum 22 flights of stairs.  Minimum.  22 flights.  And yet FitBit will not let me create a challenge for my friends based on this statistic...the only one I feel I could win, and satisfy my competitive streak. 

Sighing, I sit down and go to finish my now luke-warm coffee.  I look at my FitBit app.  I was going to message the creator's something.  I have no idea what though. It was feedback of some sort.  [shrugs]  I think to myself, "It must be that I left something upstairs again..."  I set my phone down and push my mug away.  I slip my feet back into my newly found slippers and go upstairs.  I reach the top, only to have the dim and flickering lightbulb appear over my head: I was going to suggest they let me create a flight competition.  Back down I go.

Snow-Co

Today was a glorious winter morning, like any other...until it wasn't.  The snow was falling softly and I let SoCo out to play as she loves the snow.  First thing she did was run around the tree at the end of her 50' run [don't judge, she's a scent-hound that can't be off leash and her breed is known to climb trees so fences are also out].  Then she began harmlessly eating snow...and thus why in winter the kids call her Snow-Co.

Snow-Co: Mommy, I am dog.  And I am done eating snow.  And I'm stuck.  Come get me.
Me: Dude!  Go around the tree. [now, she knows this command, but it appears we will revisit the training this summer]
Snow-Co:  But, I am dog and I cannot.  Wait.  I got it!  This way? [runs the wrong way around again]
Me: Come on you moron...go around the tree!
Snow-Co: YOU. WILL. COME. GET. ME. I will it so!
Me: Go around!

[this continues for about three minutes that felt like an hour; I go back inside to swap my slippers for BJ's sneakers inside the door and begin the long tromp out there]

Snow-Co: Haha!  You want to play!  I will run around the tree!  Twice, because you said so more than once.
Me: Jeeeee-Zus, are you kidding me?  These foot yachts are full of snow already!
Snow-Co: You want to play?  I'm coming for you!

She begins running for me completely untethered from the tree, at full bore.  She begins barking and running like a mad woman around me while I duck and pray I don't get taken out by the run/tie-out.

Snow-Co: Play!  You will play!  See?  I will run and you will run and we will run and PLAYING!
Me: Stop, God stop! [I duck down again, while putting an arm out bc she is now trying to jump ON me]
Snow-Co: Woooo-Hooooo!  Playing!  I love the snow and when you play and RUNNING MOMMY!
Me: ARGH!

At this moment I fall into the snow.  With men's sneakers on that are about six sizes too big for me - seriously, who in the hell has feet this big?!?  I feel like Ralphie's kid brother trying to get up.  I roll around like a marooned Yeti for a moment until I find my footing in these pontoons.  At this, the dog runs up and knocks me down again.

Me: DOG!  Quit. That.
Snow-Co:  I love to play with you Mommy!  Here, eat the snow too!  It is yummy! [at this she somehow flings up snow and covers me in a shower of it...only on my face]

More rolling ensues.  I get up to find she's casually strolled to the back door.

Snow-Co: Mommy, I am dog and I am done playing in the snow.  What are you doing?!?  Stop with your nonsense and come let me inside!

Ugh.

Oh What Fun!

There is nothing quite like a holiday party to put things in perspective.  And booooooy, do we love a good Holiday Party.  This year was no exception with over 40 men, women and children partaking in our festivities.

See, I'm a clean freak.  That's not to say my home is a sparkling gem - Noooooo.  Mainly, being a clean freak means that I walk around frustrated over doing the same chore 17 times in a row and muttering to myself as I make my rounds tidying up after my non-clean freak family.  Enter the Holiday Party.

Most people spend days cleaning prior to a party.  Not this girl, nope.  I let my joint go, barely cleaning anything outside of the essentials for about 2 weeks, because well - people.  Jammed into my house.  The real cleaning comes AFTER the last guest has gone home and I've recovered from drinking too much of my neighbor's moonshine eggnog [Thanks, Paige...I'm still recovering from THAT].

That's when I get to see that maybe my family isn't such a hot mess after all.  And over the years of us having this huge shindig, I think I've seen most everything...included but not limited to:

• Hot chocolate spilled in a kitchen drawer
• A booger wiped on a bathroom mirror (more like finger painted on)
• Fudge smooshed to the underside of a table
• Crayon marks on walls
• Soda drips down the side of the couch
• Remotes covered in cracker crumbs
• And I don't even want to know WHAT that is on my ceiling...

And I wouldn't trade any of it for the world!  However, when the yearly cleaning process starts, I'm sure you would hear the most fantastical things mumbled as I shift from room to room with my cleaning spray and a rag.

"Wow, that Eggnog...JESUS - how did that get there?  [wiping] And I don't even think we had fudge that color.  Hmmm, wonder where the OMG, [spraying] is that a booger?  [scrubbing] Why isn't there a vacuum that [bending over and inspecting large pieces of furniture] sprays and wipes too?!?  And then the - IS THAT SOUP?  WHO IN GOD'S NAME ATE SOUP IN...SoCo!  Don't eat that...whatever it is!"

Typically, I emerge from the cleaning frenzy about three days later to have my house back to the natural state of chaos that my family resides in.  And it feels good.  And I am content.  

Well, except for wondering what ADULT wiped a booger on my mirror; because no kid can reach that high...