My hosting fees are due over here. I mean…like, I’m already on borrowed time and I’m conflicted about what to do.
When I’m trying to figure stuff out, I generally write about it. So here we go.
I like having my own space on the interwebs. Cap City Moms has my heart, but this place is just for, well…me. I’m completely lame over here. Precious few people make the trek over here because I don’t actually post over here much anymore. You would think that would make things easy. I don’t use it…I shouldn’t waste my money.
And yet…I haven’t been able to trash it all and walk away.
This was the first place where I was me. I was a closet blogger until I made the jump over here and owned my voice. A little. Mostly. I put myself out there more. Learned how to come out of my shell in the smallest of increments. I still have a looooooong way to go. Which is probably why I can’t seem to say goodbye to Life of Jill.
I don’t think I’m ready to give this up.
Is that silly? Frivilous? Maybe.
And now I’ve talked myself out of it again. Is it worth the money? Is it just one more thing on the to-do list and another something to make me feel guilty? I’m…just not sure. Ugh.
I think I’m more confused and conflicted than I was before I started this post.
So…apparently I’m still deciding. I’ll let you know.
April was INSANE. Awesome, but completely nuts. I have no idea how we crammed so much into one month. Birthdays, baby showers, more birthdays, Easter (remember Easter?) Sports-a-Rama, college trips…Einstein. Dude. And that’s not even the half of it.
I’ve been going to bed pretty late the last few days. Nothing about this surprises you, I’m sure. But it’s been especially late the last couple of nights as we’ve been helping the kids with some school things.
Last night, as I half stumbled half walked to my bed, I noticed a little something that Ramona had left me.
I’m not sure what we did that was awesome, but she had left a similar note for The Dude on his side of the bed. (I’m the only one who got flowers, but that makes perfect sense. DUH.)
For two seconds I wondered what she might’ve done. We’re these covert “I’m sorry” flowers? Am I gonna get a phone call later?
At any rate, it was adorable and wonderful and a perfect pick-me-up after a really (REALLY) long day. I can’t even worry about a possible phone call. This time.
I’ve never made my age a secret…but I spent a lot of years avoiding the question. Especially when my kids were much younger. Divulging my age brought more questions and, well, judgment. It was just easier to let people do the math on their own. If they said anything, I was just glad to not know about it.
Thankfully, I’ve gotten better at not caring. And, hey…this past Saturday, I turned 37. (I just thought I should throw that out there.)
To be honest, I’m pretty proud of 37. It’s been a while since my age has felt so…strange. And maybe it’s not that 37 sounds so strange, maybe it’s just that I feel like each year should make me feel more like a grown-up. Although…is there ever a point you feel like a grown-up? Isn’t sending a kid off to college grown up enough?
At any rate, I enjoyed the hell out of my birthday and I just don’t think that’s a bad thing.
IT WAS JUST SO NICE.
As I finished up getting ready Saturday morning, The Dude sent me a text message from downstairs with a picture similar to this one telling me I should come downstairs and start my birthday.
And do I did.
My brother happened to call just as I took that first sip of my Super Special Birthday Bloody Mary (I’m pretty sure that’s the official name) and I laughed when I realized how spicy, but delicious, it was. Explaining to my brother what had happened, and me mentioning the spicy, my husband says (loudly) that I must like my Bloody Marys like I like my Mexican husband.
(For the record, he’s not wrong.)
At that point, all you could hear was Ramona sputtering how gross and “Ew! Ew! EW!” it all was and I’m pretty sure we’ve scarred her for life. But I guess maybe that’s how you know that you’re doing old and grown-up-type-person right. You know, when you completely and thoroughly disgust your children with what can only now be described at spicy talk and that you find it completely hilarious and awesome. I think THAT is how you know that you’ve made it.
I’m a firm believer that being happy is a choice. Is it easy? Of course not. But happy things don’t just plop in your lap. You have to find the happy things. You have to work toward being happy. You have to choose happiness whenever you can. I wrote a little something about choosing happy on Happier. I’m pretty excited about it.
Part of my happiness is to be surrounded by people who make me happy. Or go to places that make me happy. And because it was fun, I scrolled through my phone picking pictures of some of my favorite happy things and people. And places. It’s amazing how happy that made ME.
Our weekends may not be as busy as they once were, but it is incredible how much we cram into such a short amount of time. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I’m also exhausted because of it. Even with the expectation that this would be a busy weekend, I’m still amazed by this level of tired. It wasn’t until I scrolled through the pictures from the past few days that I fully realized just how nuts we are sometimes. Okay, often. We are nuts on a super regular basis. But scrolling through these pictures was a reminder that I wouldn’t change any of it. There’s nothing I would want to miss. *F*R*I*D*A*Y*
Friday we celebrated a certain someone turning 18 with a huge family dinner. Words cannot express how weird this is especially since Beezus is right behind her. It was just yesterday they looked like this:
I’m not sure what got into all of us, but we were a rambunctious group. A musical, messy and completely insane kind of rambunctious. I’m sure we must be the only ones to find us funny, but does YOUR sister convince your dad to turn his plate sideways so that she can slop more ‘green slime’ onto his plate from across the table?
My guess is no. Unless you’re related to me and we have the same siblings. (Most of it actually made it onto the plate if you can believe it. Most of it.)
*S*A*T*U*R*D*A*Y* We are new to the band life and all that entails. We’ve had band concerts and parades and carnivals, but this was our first experience with a band festival. I guess I would liken it to a softball showcase except there are festival judges that score and critique each band. My kid was a little disappointed with their score, but this was supposed to be a learning experience only. They’ll be even more ready for the next one. (We also ran into my brother who was out there representing the company he works for. It was kind funny and hilarious that we got to hang out there for a bit.)
After a late breakfast and taking care of a few things around the house (and maybe a nap) it was time to get ready for the high school crab feed. I was so excited to have some of our favorite folks join us and we had just the right amount of us to splurge on a VIP table. It wasn’t even that much more (really, not at all) and it was sooooo worth it. We. Had. A. Blast. We had our own waiter (Joey!) and some little extras here and there that were super enjoyable. Courtney has taught us all how to come prepared for a crab feed (complete with a candelabra, of course) and our brand of fancy won us the best table! (It may have been called something else but I’m going to believe it was BEST TABLE EVER. Especially since Joey said so.) The Dude (aka The Mayor for this particular crab feed – only to us) picked out our gift basket. Some of it immediately went *SPLAT* on the floor, but the vodka and martini glasses were spared.
I fully expected this to be my last crab feed with the high school, but we had SO MUCH FUN (and they really do a bang up job) we’ve preemptively committed to next year along with plans for t-shirts and complete with nicknames.
This picture doesn’t really have much to do with anything except for it’s AWESOME. Sarah wanted to take a picture of Amy and I standing in front of the flag mural before the crab feed and a two-gal salute was the only answer. (I have no idea why that sentence sounds a little dirty so just pretend that it’s not if it is.) *S*U*N*D*A*Y* Waking up early for a half marathon seems like a bad idea after such a fun crab feed, but this is how life works sometimes. Sarah, Dina and I had trained so hard for Shamrock’n but NONE of us were super excited to do the actual race. Our training had gone so well, but I think we all realized how tough this race would be. First of all, IT WAS SO DAMN HOT. Most of our training was done in the wee hours of the morning so you can imagine how the heat might affect us. I’m not sure if I have ever been so grateful to cross a finish line. (You know, besides every single race I’ve ever done. Besides THOSE times.) I was proud of us for finishing…but I was most proud of our training.
I’m trying to keep the negativity to a minimum, but I’ve also realized it’s okay that this wasn’t my favorite race. Not by a long shot. Mentally and physically it was just rough. ROUGH. Let’s just say that there were a few miles that were fueled ONLY by the thought of this view after it was all over: (That and icing my knees.)
I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little discouraged by the outcome of this race. Our training had gone so well, I really thought the race was going to be different. I walked into the office to hang my medal with the others. I was deliriously tired by this point so I know my emotions may have been more on the surface because of that, but I grabbed all the medals off the little shelf where I haphazardly hang them and laid them out on the kitchen table. (Someday I’ll actually buy a race medal rack. Someday.) I’ve done six half marathons (one medal is not pictured because I was too lazy to go upstairs and get my Nike necklace), one full marathon , three Ragnar relays and two CIM relays. (Plus a handful of 5k’s, etc.)
Yesterday I became a little more proud of this collection. Maybe even a lot more proud. Not one of those races was easy for me by any stretch of the imagination. Running will never be easy for me. But the fact of the matter is that I did it anyway. I know that I always say that running teaches me to do hard things but I don’t know that I let myself be really proud of that very often. I don’t think I’ve ever displayed all my medals all at once just let myself be proud that I EARNED each one of those. I earned them. It doesn’t make me feel tons better about a shitty race, but it does make me feel really proud of all those races as a whole. Although, this level of tired is off the charts and there are FIVE whole days until the weekend. Which, thankfully, isn’t quite as busy as this one. I might get to actually sleep a wee bit more. Plus, I get to look forward to going on a run because I WANT to and at a time that is as early in the morning as I want it to be for whatever distance sounds like a good idea. I have enough medals. For now.
I don’t write much about The Dude here. At least not specifically. He resides somewhere in the periphery of this website because REASONS but I promise he really does reside where all the stuff happens in real life. I just felt like I needed to say that before moving on.
(Most of you know us in real life, so I feel like I’m stating the obvious. Just go with it for storytelling purposes.)
My point of bringing him up now after saying that I don’t really bring him up here is because he’s been on my mind a lot more than usual. We celebrated him being born last week and then this week he had some pretty big deal happenings at the place he goes to every day during the hours of 8-ish and 5-ish. I’m, obviously, really glad he was born and I’m really damn proud of all that he does for our family and how hard he works in everything that he does.
There are a bunch of other feelings that go along with all that but I don’t even know how to put it into words. Or even if I should put it into words. I guess when you spend most of your adult life wondering if you’ll ever start living instead of surviving, it’s hard to imagine anything different. He’s done so much to make so much happen and, yeah…I’m really proud of him. And us.
I’ve been trying to write a post for another site for the past three days and the words have been completely stuck. It’s not a hard topic, but I feel like every time I get going, I sound like an absolute idiot who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s kinda like when you need to be the parent and sound like a grown-up at the kids’ school or whatever and you totally laugh because, duh…who said we were grown-ups?! As if.
Capable looking ensembles only go so far at making you look like you’re a responsible grown-up.
I don’t know why all these Clueless references showed up in this post, but I’m pretty sure it proves that I’m super NOT a qualified grown up for making college decisions and writing posts that seem important. I mean, I’m the one that left their coffee mug AND lunch bag on top of the car this morning after getting to work.
But I do drive on the right side of the road, even in platforms* so there’s that.
*Just kidding. I don’t wear platforms. Except for that one time at a pole-dancing class and that’s just gonna have to be a story for another day. (But yes, I was a spectacular idiot there, too.)
Turns out that if I don’t have a goal to post every weekday, I don’t really post much at all. So. New month. New goals. New weekdays.
And it’s already past midnight on the first day and I haven’t posted yet.
I’ve got my work cut out for me.
I’ve been training for a half marathon. I briefly mentioned it before, but I don’t think I’ve said anything since. I think that’s mostly because I keep up with my running stuffs on Cap City Moms.
But here’s the thing: right now I’m awake WAY too late and I know that I will still get up in the morning because my running pals will be waiting for me. Those dang running pals of mine that keep me accountable and, well, help me to train better than I have in a REALLY long time. I’m stupid proud of us.
We ran 12 miles last weekend. And nothing about that run was easy. I mean, it never is. But that 12 mile run was mentally difficult. And I wanted to give up A LOT.
But I didn’t. I didn’t give up and we finished and I’m high-fiving all of us still.
I’m finally (FINALLY) done with jury duty. The trial isn’t actually over as of yet so I should be shutting up about pretty much everything. But being an alternate, I am not part of deliberation. And as glad as I am that it is over, I’m a tiny bit frustrated to not see it through. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. What’s the end of the story and all that?
I’m actually going to be good and not say a word about how I would’ve voted. You know, to avoid jail time. FOR NOW. It just seems like a good idea.
Okay, I’m not exactly sure if I could get jail time but just stop trying to get me to say something. You’re a bad influence. Stop trying to send me to jail.
I have big plans for life after jury duty. I fully intend on NOT driving 30 minutes in the OPPOSITE direction of work and regular life to get to the courthouse. I plan on NOT listening to arrogant council plead their case. I’m AM going avoid listening to strangers and their dirty laundry. (Soooooo Awkward.) I am also going to remember how grateful I am for my family because OH MY HELL YOU GUYS.
* * *
I feel like I’ve been complaining so much about jury duty, my ouchie mouth…too much going on, not feeling well, etc. I mean, jury duty just begs for complaining. Dental work, same. NOT BEING ABLE TO EAT WHAT YOU LIKE, duh. But I also know how lucky I am. I’m grateful I have access to a dentist and insurance to get this all fixed. I’m grateful for a legal system that handles such things. I’m grateful I get the weekend off to chill out and rest.
But to make up for all the complaining, here’s Paisley.
She likes you. And she thinks your hair looks nice.
There must be something about me or my information that just BEGS to be summoned for jury duty. My personal data must be like the civic duty kick me sign that I unwittingly wear so proudly for all court clerks to see. Don’t be jealous, but I am summoned for jury duty, like clockwork, every two years. Sometimes even 18 months when those court clerk computers are feeling especially kicky.
I’ve only served on two trials, but that’s two more than most people I know.
Surely I’ve just jinxed myself. I’m sitting in a stairwell as they call potential jurors. If I erase that sentence will I be dismissed without question?
Side Note: I just saw a woman carrying The Goldfinch. Excellent choice for a long day of waiting.
* * *
It’s been 12 hours since I wrote the beginning of this post. I’m a ginormous idiot. Yes of course I was chosen AT THE VERY LAST MINUTE to be an alternate on a 3-ish week case. YOU KNEW THAT WAS COMING.
I’m trying to look at the silver lining but I just spent a Thursday stuck in a courtroom AND THEN the radiator in my car busted. ::sob:: (I can’t make this shit up, folks.)
But my super-hero husband fixed the radiator and I’m trying to rearrange my life to accommodate jury duty, etc.
(He wins, though. I mean FIXED RADIATOR YOU GUYS.)
My goal for tomorrow is to not fall asleep during opening arguments and to not inflict bodily harm to anyone that is being an idiot. (That’s frowned upon in a courtroom…even if they deserve it.)
I’m also going to try and find a better attitude before walking into the super ancient courthouse. I’m not entirely sure this will happen, but it makes me feel good about myself that I’m even trying. Everything. Will. Be. Okay