Landing on the Shore

I love “drunk books”.  That’s my lovingly affectionate name for the memoirs of recovering alcoholics and drug addicts.  I’ve probably read close to 50 or 60 of them since I put down my wine glass.  Most of them in my first year.  When I say that they saved my sobriety, I am not exaggerating one little bit.  It’s true.  Remember, I didn’t go to AA until midway through my second year of being sober and didn’t really begin to recover for months after that.  These books let me know that I wasn’t alone, that I wasn’t crazy and, most importantly, that eventually I was going to be okay.

At first I read them like they were a vaccine for my disease…and by that I mean constantly.  Then I found that I didn’t need them as much so I’d read one about once a month or so.  Later, I picked them up from time to time when I felt like I needed a good shot of where it could all go wrong if I wasn’t constantly vigilant.  Kind of like a booster shot for sobriety.

I was thinking the other day that I hadn’t read a good drunk book in a long time.  I went to Amazon and found one with four stars and I read it all weekend.  But…well…it had the absolute opposite effect.  It triggered me and depressed the hell out of me all at the same time.  Weird.

Late yesterday afternoon, I got to a point when the author had hit bottom, been through rehab and is now rebuilding her life, and I felt the old restless, irritable and discontent feelings rising.  That hole opened in my soul and I felt the need to fill it. 

I started with food.  I ate some nuts.  Some fruit.  Some dinner.  Nope…didn’t do it.  I realized what I was doing and stopped…thought and realized I wanted chocolate.  I wanted potato chips.  I wanted wine.

What the fuck?

They weren’t exactly cravings as much as they were “wants”.  For me, cravings are physical. They can actually hurt.  Wants are more psychological and they are much harder to overcome.  After a few weeks of being sober, the physical pull of alcohol abated but it was replaced with the ever present want that lasted MUCH longer.  Same with the sugar.  After two weeks I was over it physically.  Psychologically…well, I’m still on my pink cloud but I’m sure it will be the same.  This was a want.  I WANTED something, anything to fill that whole and the fact that I knew I couldn’t have it was depressing me and fucking with my zen.

In the old days I would have taken the hubs for a ride or up in our room and just talked about what I was feeling.  But now I get the impression that he’s kind of sick of hearing me whine about my addictions and how I cope.  I’m sure, for a normy, this shit gets pretty tedious after a while.  Plus it was noisy, football was on and…well it just didn’t feel like anyone would really be listening if I started talking.
So I did what I knew would satisfy it, give me a chance to clear my head and wouldn’t cost anything, financially or emotionally.

I got in the car and went to Target.

There is something about that store that calms me.  I can peruse the aisles, check out the end caps where all of the clearance items are, try on clothes and jewelry, compare nail colors or other girly stuff, and dream about how I’m going to redecorate my house.  I can also get a Starbucks coffee and pick up lettuce and dish detergent if I want.  It’s therapy and it works for me.  And I didn’t spend a dime.

It gave me time away to think this feeling all the way through (Was it the book?  The Whole 30?  The kids?  The hubs?) and decide that the why really didn’t matter.  What mattered was that I took control of the feeling, did SOMETHING that wasn’t destructive, rode the wave and landed safely back on shore.

Now I know why it’s called “retail therapy”.


Moody Blues

Why do other people’s moods bother me so? 

The biggest reason is that I always assume I have done something wrong.  That somehow, I am responsible.  And unfortunately, that’s just the way I’m built.  I’m Italian, I’m Catholic and I’m the product of a mother with a narcissistic disorder – there are days I’m sure I’m responsible for the death of Christ.  So someones mood?  Yeah…it’s probably me.

My boss came back from vacation today.  She is not in a good place.  Of course my assumption is that I did something wrong which is not true at all.  But I’m still sitting here with a knot in my stomach waiting for the other shoe to fall.  What I should be doing is leaving her to herself and letting her work out what is obviously HER problem.  What I am doing is trying to figure out how to “fix” this so the tension in the office is lifted.

Note to self…contrary to what your mother taught you Sherry…everything is NOT about you.

Then there’s the hubs.  Every once in a while he gets grumpy.  Usually when he’s feeling overwhelmed or under appreciated.  (Those are my words…not his.  According to him he’s FINE.)  He becomes extremely negative and goes on rants about the silliest things.  For example, we were onstage yesterday with the kids for the spring musical and the lighting director announced to everyone that she needed to “go dark” for a moment.  Then the lights went out.  A second or so later, when it became inconvenient for him to be in the dark, he yelled, “I would if I could get someone to turn on the lights!”  Of course she turned them on immediately but damn dude…could you be anymore RUDE?

On Saturday we were on our way to watch one of my twins participate in a state wide choral group.  It was on the campus of a local university.  I had to listen to the hubs rant about how nit picky the campus police were.  Now…I agree that they are nit picky but the negativity the man was spewing into the universe was so draining!  Would it kill you to smile once in a while?

Not to mention a tirade last night about how we’re paying a fortune for cable and there’s never anything on to watch.  To which I replied, “There is plenty on TV it’s just not something YOU want to see right now.”  Big mistake, that spurred the tirade to go on for another few minutes. 

All of which has left me feeling quite a bit wonky.  Like I’m off balance.  My stomach is twisty and there is the aforementioned knot.  What’s troubling to me is why I let this stuff get to me?  Why does it bother me so much?  Doesn’t bother the hubs.  When I get like he is now, he just gives me some room, waits for me to get a grip, or tells me my meds need adjusting.  He doesn’t take it personally.  He doesn’t feel the need to fix it.  He just lets it be unless I ask for help.

The office is the same way.  My coworkers (we’ve all worked for this boss for the same amount of time), don’t take her moods personally.  They wait until she makes it about them before they make it about them.  If it’s about her, they just give her a wide berth and wait for her to get out of her funk.  Me?  Not so much.

I’d like to say this is all about me being a really, really good person and that I just like to spread sunshine and sprinkly fairy dust and roses where ever I go.  But really?  It’s all about me feeling responsible for all the ills of the planet and that’s because that’s the way my mother conditioned me to be because that’s the way her father conditioned her to be.

The good news is that I’ve raised my kids to think differently.  While they are sensitive and caring, they do not think that everything is about them or that someones bad mood is directly related to them.  They just think it’s a bad mood!

I could learn a lot from my kids.


Shades of Crazy

Ever since being diagnosed with clinical depression in 1996, I have wavered between feeling like I was crazy and feeling like I had a condition like heart disease or diabetes and was perfectly normal.  Since my depression appears to be purely physiological (according to my psychiatrist) I don’t participate in regular talk therapy or group meetings.  I just see the doc every six months or so and we chat for five or ten minutes about how I’m doing and my dosages.  Then he gives me a script for my two anti-depressants and I’m on my merry way.

Until I’m not.

See finding the right balance of meds is an ongoing and dynamic thing.  What works for 10 years might not work for the next 10.  New medications with fewer or different side effects are always coming on the market.  Plus, I change from year to year.  My physiological makeup when I was in my 30’s is not the same as it is now (duh).  Life changes as well.  It’s a roller coaster and merry-go-round all in one.

(Imagine the face you make when you’re on a roller coaster.  Now imagine the one you make when you’re on a merry go round and you’ve gotten dizzy.  Now combine those two.  Now tell me that face doesn’t say crazy to you.)

Of course, add to that a woman who has a hard time admitting she’s not perfect; who is always trying to come off the drugs AND has spent the last 10 years either drinking herself into oblivion or abstaining, and you can add a “one tooth in his mouth hasn’t taken a bath for years” carnival worker running the equipment.

I can’t help but feel crazy when things start to shift and I have to call the doc and make adjustments in the meds.  Indications that something is wrong are extremely vague.  It can be a look from the hubs in response to something I’ve said.  A look that says, “I’m not going to say anything here because she’s really not herself right now.”  It can be that all of a sudden I realize that I haven’t cried in months in spite of some very good reasons to cry.  It can be that I feel “flat”.  Conversely, it can be that I’ve been losing my temper more lately and that things that shouldn’t bother me are making me go all “screaming mom” on everyone.  Or it can be that I’m getting my feelings hurt when someone goes to the bathroom and doesn’t ask me to go too.

If my condition were more physical, not only would it be more evident when something was wrong but others would be able to see it more clearly as well; and (and this is important) would be much less judgemental about my condition.  If I had diabetes and my sugar dropped and I was weak and shaky and I had to check it and then get some sugar and protein, people would be running around trying to help.  If I had a broken leg and needed help up the stairs, strangers would stop to help me.  Even telling someone you’re an alcoholic and can’t drink illicits a better response than telling them that you’re on medication for depression.

Lots of times when I tell people I’m on medication for depression, their first response is to tell me that they were also on it at one time and but now they are not – insinuating that I must really be a lost cause if I’m still on them after all these years.  Or they tell me how the medication made them feel just AWFUL, and how could I take those.  Or they tell me that I should be able to just deal with my depression by talking to a good friend or seeing a therapist.  Sigh…

So sometimes, even after all this time, I do feel crazy.  I feel all 50 shades of crazy.  And sometimes it scares me because my mother was a pathological liar with narcissistic personality disorder and my sister is a bi-polar sociopath (which is now referred to generically as anti-social personality disorder) drug and alcohol addict.  And my father was an alcoholic.  I’ve got lots of shades of crazy in my family from which to choose.  It’s hard when something is going on in your brain and you can’t see it, touch it or feel it but it is most certainly there and fucking with you all the time.

But believe me when I say I would take this particular shade of crazy over any other.  I can be successfully treated (not all people who suffer from depression can be treated and treating more complicated mental illnesses is very difficult even for the best of medical professionals).  I live a very wonderful life, especially now that I’m sober.  There are people who love me and watch out for me and tell me when I’ve gotten off track.

So once again I’ve had my medication adjusted (after just having it done in November).  I’ve had my little pity party (thanks for listening).  And now it’s time to put on my big girl panties and just deal.


Moving On…

I think I’m beginning to move forward, away from the tragedy of last Friday (tragedy is a weak word for what occurred).  I was actually singing Christmas Carols on the way into work this morning and I’m starting to really laugh again.  This was the first morning I woke up and didn’t think, “20 children were massacred on Friday.”  I guess that’s moving on.

The fact is…I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel or do right now.  The only thing I can bring to mind is how I felt during 9/11.  But 9/11 was political.  It was directed at a country in an effort to bring us to our knees.  It was military in nature.  The intent was clear.  Pearl Harbor came to mind.

But this?  That man looked into the eyes of those sweet children and intentionally murdered them.

I’ve got nothing.

In addition, there are 26 families in Connecticut who are burying their loved ones a week before Christmas.  There are friends and relatives who are grieving in unimaginable ways.  Parents who are burying their children and who are forced to go on because they have other children who need them.  A town that is forever bonded in a way that no one would every choose.  Christmas will never be the same for these families or this town ever again.  We will move forward and give a prayer or a nod every year on December 14th in remembrance of the tragedy, but they are forever changed.  Nothing will ever be the same.

So I don’t know how or when it is appropriate to move forward.  I don’t know what to do.  I felt guilty when I caught myself singing.  I don’t know if it’s okay. 



December 14th

On Friday I posted a silly little post about the 14th being not only the day my mom was born but the day she died as well.

Then the world changed.

I have removed the post…it’s no longer appropriate.

Then Kary May wrote a beautiful piece about a little boy and his trip to heaven during surgery.  I won’t recap here but I encourage you to pop over to Kary’s blog.  It’s a lovely post and one that helped me cope a little bit this weekend.

Now I will choose to remember this as the day my mom held one of those children during the insanity, providing a warm, safe place while she ushered him to heaven to be with Jesus.


Feeling Crummy

That’s an old word, I know – but it’s the one that popped into my head today when I decided to express how I’m feeling.  I feel crummy. defines it as wretchedly inadequate; miserable; lousy.

Yep…that about covers it.

See I did something this weekend of which I can’t let go.  I hurt a friend’s feelings, out of love…I promise, but I opened my big mouth when I should have kept it shut.  Sometimes I get so caught up in the situation and I’m so concerned, or worried, or frustrated that my tongue gets in front of my eye teeth and I can’t see what I’m saying and how it will impact the other person after it’s been released into the Universe.

I, of all people, should know that you can’t take back words.  Sticks and stones can break my bones but the wrong words can wound like no other.  I’m still carrying around shit that was said to me as a child or a young woman.  In fact, in thinking about it this morning, my mother’s words came to mind.  She once call me a self-righteous, self-centered, sanctimonious (or maybe it was selfish) bitch.  This morning I felt every one of those words.

Let’s be clear.  I have already apologized and it has already been accepted.  But in my crazy ass mind, I have many more mental beatings before I can let something like this go.  I will turn it over and over in my head, analyze it every way to Sunday, beat myself black and blue (Is that you Boxing Bitch?  Welcome home.) and generally make myself feel like shit before I will finally, and blessedly, let it go.

Of course every time it comes to mind for the next couple of months I’ll feel a pinch in my heart.  But that will pass more quickly.


The good news is that as I’m moving through sobriety and recovery, I’m learning to keep my mouth shut more and more and to only offer my own experience and not tell people what I think they should do.  Who the hell am I to tell anyone what they should do?  When I do that, just tell my experience, I feel calm and loving.  It’s like my heart is open and I can put my arms around people and not judge.  I like it when I feel this way.

When I start telling people what I think they should do I feel anxious and worried.  I become consumed with whether or not they took it the right way.  It begins to take up real estate in my head and I begin to feel very judgemental which makes me want to puke.  I do not like it when I feel this way.

So to turn this around (in my head), I will use this as a learning experience.  After I’m done self-flagellating, I will file this away and resolve to be more careful with my words.   I will use my toolbox and remember that it’s progress not perfection.  I will use this opportunity to grow.

You know how when you first get sober you’re all worried about who you will become as a sober person?  You have no idea because all you’ve ever known is how to numb everything and escape with booze.  I really hope my mother wasn’t right.

So here’s my question…does anyone else out there ever do this? 


PS – And now I’m second guessing this post because it looks like I’m looking for someone to make it okay.  I’m really not.  I just needed to process this morning and this was the best way.  I’m just going to publish now and shut the fuck up.


Today I am happy…just plain old happy.  Not jump up and down shouting happy.  Not creepy Wal-Mart smiley face happy.  Not even squealing and hugging yourself happy.  Just boring old smiling eyes happy.  (You know what that is right?  When you see someone who’s not exactly smiling but the smile is in their eyes just the same? Yeah, that kind of happy.)

This may not seem like a big deal to most people.  After all, at any one time, all over the world there are likely billions of people who are happy for one reason or another.  People who, right now, are smiling, skipping, humming to themselves, singing along to the radio at the top of their lungs…whatever.  It’s a common, everyday occurrence right?

Maybe for “normal” people but not for me.  It has nothing to do with my depression and it’s not like I’ve never been happy before because, clearly, I have.  It’s just that “plain old happy” is an unusual occurrence for this alcoholic.  My life has been one of extremes brought on by external forces (parents, sister, friends) who love to embroil themselves in drama, or internal ones in which I embroil my own damn self.

Before I started down this path to recovery, I could be ecstatic one minute and, just by a look from someone or a harsh word (including the word “no”) I would be plunged into the depths of despair or so angry I just wanted to punch something.  It seemed that it was all or nothing for me.  Over the years I learned to temper my reaction and snap myself out of it but it continued to happen…no matter how much I didn’t want it to happen.

I’m pretty sure this is one of those things that is in my psyche that makes me seek alcohol in excess.  When I would drink, it would not only numb me from issues I was trying to avoid, but it would level me out as well.  When buzzed, I was happy ALL of the time (a little too happy most of the time).  As long as there was more to drink, no despair or bad thought could touch me.  I was always on cloud nine, floating above the fray. Happy, happy, happy.

Until I wasn’t of course.

Sober, I was always waiting for the bad if I was feeling good.  Surely goodness couldn’t happen to me.  This feeling of happy was only temporary…people like me don’t get the good stuff for long.  There’s always a drama or disappointment around every corner. 

And yet I remain the eternal optimist and a hopeless romantic.  Why?

Because God knew that one day I would begin to get my shit together and understand that happy is not a moment to moment thing.  It is not something that comes from the outside in but from the inside out.  Now that I’m looking through the eyes and heart of a sober person, I see that happy (pardon the cliche) is a state of mind.  I can choose to be happy (I never really understood what the hell that meant until recovery either) no matter what chaos is happening around me.  I can see the light and love in any situation which serves to circumvent, temper, or annihilate the ugly.  And, while I can still be disappointed or angry or unhappy, I can see that this is not my preferred or natural state of being and I can ride it out or reason it through until the happy can fight its way back again.

So today, I am happy.  And I am grateful that God built me this way and led me on this path to recovery so that I could finally get it through my thick head that this is my natural state and embrace it.

Of course, check back tomorrow as this could always change.

Just kidding.


“Only one thing has to change for us to know happiness in our lives: where we focus our attention.”
 ~Greg Anderson


I’ve decided that I’m just going to meander here today.  I love the word “meander”.  It makes me think of early fall days when the weather is cooling and the leaves are just beginning to change.  When you put on a sweater and take a long walk in the park or on the beach or where ever. 

Oh yeah…I am soooo over this summer.

I’m alone in the office for a few hours with very little to do (after our crazy busy season we have these lulls…they are so welcome) so I’m going to just let the post take me where it wants to take me this morning.  If you don’t have the patience for this kinds of drivel – you can disconnect, click the little read “x”, or hang up…whichever you prefer.

I overslept and missed my morning yoga practice and now I’m all wonky (I love that word too – wonky…I just like the way it sounds).  Even though it’s only been a few months of every morning yoga, its amazing how tilted I feel when I don’t get to practice.  There is yet another event tonight so I won’t get a practice in tonight either (or maybe I will…we’ll see how it goes). 

I stumbled upon a new to me blog yesterday and it’s really, really good.  Imogen over at Life Spent Drunk is in the early phases of her recovery.  She’s a wonderful writer and her posts take me back to a time that I’d like to forget but won’t…because its dangerous to forget.  Thank you Imogen, for reminding me how important my sobriety is to me.  And also thank you for the lovely compliment.

I just noticed that every paragraph so far has begun with “I”.  How self-centered is this post?  Oh wait…its my blog…it’s supposed to be self centered.  Carry on…

My friend (ha-ha…fooled you) has been laid off from work.  I’m going to call her later this morning and talk through some of what she’s feeling, lend a little advice (if asked), and just listen.  Its so hard being laid off.  You know it’s likely not personal but after a while you can’t help taking it personally.  What’s wrong with me?  Why is so and so still employed?  It’s also hard to watch friends who you’ve counseled and mentored rise to levels in the company you never will.  Rewarding but difficult just the same.  Some say its a matter of age and circumstance (wrong place, wrong time).  I’ve come to believe that it’s all just part of God’s plan for us. 

I work in the banking industry so I’ve seen my share of layoffs in my 30+ year career (holy crap!) and with the exception of one individual (who was an alcoholic in denial) I have never known anyone who wasn’t happier with their life after the layoff.  Most say, “I wish I had done this sooner.”  Sometimes you have to be pushed out of the nest in order to really fly.  Layoffs are ugly and hard and can put you in a mountain of debt (oh…maybe that’s just me) but they also provide an opportunity to take a long hard look at your career and take it in a new direction if you want.

My battle with food.  Man this is HARD.  Everytime I get on a roll I have another event, or I have to meet with a caterer who insists I sample their selections, or we have company for dinner or…oh bloody hell!  Apparently I am just not strong enough to combat this thing right now.  The good news is that with all the research and all the books and articles I’ve read over the last several months, I have learned what’s considered good for you (MUFA’s) what isn’t (refined sugar) and what misconceptions have been debunked (“fat free” is not, necessarily, a good thing).  I’m better equipped in my day to day pursuit of health even if I’m still the same size.  And really, isn’t that the point?

So for now I’ll keep make every attempt to eat a balanced and healthy diet.  Control my portion sizes.  Try not to trade Chardonnay for sugar.  And practice mindfulness when I eat.  And, most importantly, stay the hell off the scale!

And…um…maybe give Jenny Craig another shot…we’ll see.  😉


“Happiness, that grand mistress of the ceremonies in the dance of life, impels us through all its mazes and meandering, but leads none of us by the same route.”
~Charles Caleb Colton

Identity Crisis…Of Sorts

I spent the weekend making good use of my new room.  I meditated, I yoga’d, I tangled, and I listened to music.  I cut out new pictures for my LifeBoard and taped them onto it.  I just enjoyed the space.

I’ve told several people about my room and I’ve gotten responses that range from, “OMG – that’s wonderful!” to “What’s the big deal?  It’s just a room.”  Which got me thinking…why IS this so important to me.  (Because, of course, I have to analyze the hell out of everything…it’s what I do for heaven’s sake!)  And the best reason I can come up with is that as our living and family situation has changed over the years, I have slowly been inched out of not only a space of my own but my identity in the family as well. 

Before kids, let’s face it, the whole damn house was mine.  The hubs could care less most of the time what it looked like as long as I was happy with it.  When I first moved in, there were a lot of unfinished projects in the house and one morning he said, “I think I should take down this wallpaper (in the tiny master bath) and paint.”  Poof!  I was off to the races…  Live in girlfriend and home decorator all rolled into one tight (I was only 22) package.

After the kids came along, I worked from home exclusively except for travel and the hubs was running his company.  That made the whole dang house mine…again.  Even after my mother moved in, the house and all that happened inside, was my domain.  (The hubs took care of the outside.)  I did all the cooking, all the cleaning, all the laundry, all the decorating, all the decluttering, etc.  Nothing got done unless it got by me first.  Nothing was lost unless I couldn’t find it.  We always maintained our bedroom as our sanctuary and the lower level was reserved as my workout space where the kids were not allowed while I was exercising (lest they get a 10 lb weight upside the head).  And of course, if all else failed, I had my office.

When we moved to the beach (yes…to the house I whine about from time to time), the situation was the same with the additional benefit of an enormous kitchen where, except for my office, I practically lived 24/7.  My office was also mine and I turned the attached, unused dining room, into my yoga/meditation room.   Our bedroom was my workout space.  I also spent every evening there watching TV.  The hubs often watched with me but could go downstairs to the family room if he wanted to watch something else.  In other words, the inside of our home continued to be my domain. 

Then we moved to our current home (which is beautiful BTW) and several things have changed.

  • My mother has passed away so I am no longer a caretaker.
  • I work from an office in the city so I am no longer home 24/7.
  • My husband retired so I am no longer needed to cook, clean, do laundry, cut the grass, mend clothes, help with homework, fill out school paperwork…you get the idea…because he takes care of all of that.  And I KNOW what a blessing this is and I appreciate the hell out of it (because lots of women work outside the home and don’t have any support)…but essentially…I have been outsourced.
  • Since I’m not working from home anymore, my office became my husband’s office.
  • I am sober – which changes a lot of things – but one change is that I don’t want to be stuck up in my bedroom watching TV anymore…it reminds me too much of the drunk days.
  • The family room space belongs to the hubs and the dogs.  It’s the center of our home anyway and that’s the way it needs to stay.  The boys have the upstairs family room as the man cave, and their bedrooms in which to hang, and trust me…I don’t want to be in that space.  Think locker rooms with furniture and gaming systems.

Then came the epiphany…I didn’t just lose a place to be, I lost my identity within the family.  I’m not sure where I fit in and who I am in the dynamic anymore.  (Besides the best mom and hug giver ever.) I once read that a woman is defined by who she is to her family and a man is defined by what he does for his family.  Well, as it stands now I know what I do – I work to provide for my family – but I’m not sure who I am.  And my issues with this house come from the fact that I don’t feel like it’s mine.  Not the way the others were anyway.

What I am sure of is that I need that room to be mine.  I need somewhere that is just for and about me.  Whether it’s for yoga, or reading or watching cartoons…it needs to be an estrogen filled space in a testosterone filled home. 

Of course, I’m still the only one that can find anything around here.

As for my identity?  That, like everything else in my life, will happen one day at a time.


Found: One Attitude Adjustment

The Mom Cave

After I posted yesterday, the hubs read it and we we talked.  He came up with a great thought (he always does) which places the trigger squarely in the court of deprivation.  Subconsciously (aw hell…it was consciously) I felt deprived at the dinner because I couldn’t have wine like the normies which I proceeded to stuff down.  THEN I came home and perceived that I was being deprived of a pedicure.  Told you I was dense.


Here’s the crazy part.  I could have easily told the hubs to kiss my ample ass and that I was getting a pedicure if I wanted one.  But I didn’t.  I got angry.  Angry!  Over polish on my toes!  That’s what threw me.  It was such an out of control reaction to such a simple thing.  Honestly, it was stupid.


So once we talked it through we started moving furniture.  I got the boys out of bed at the crack of noon and they helped us relocate the hubs’ desk to the alcove in our bedroom, move bookshelves into the game room on the second floor and create what you see above.  My new meditation/yoga room, or, as I like to refer to it, the Mom Zone.


The room is so pretty (it’s already lavender…that was actually a paint choice error that has now ended well) and it’s the one place in the house that is all mine.  A soft and pretty place in my house o’ men.  And I love it.


I promptly did an extended yoga practice and a short meditation before we headed out to a birthday party for a neighbor.  Later today I need to find some shades or curtains for the french doors that open from the foyer to the room because, let’s face it, no one wants to come face to ass with my behind in downward dog.  And then I’ll find some new pictures for my lifeboard.
  A gratitude list is also necessary for an attitude adjustment so here goes…


Today I am grateful and thankful for:

  • A family that loves me enough to give up a public area in our home so that I have a place of my own.
  • A family that loves me enough to spend a good chunk of their Saturday schleping furniture up and down stairs.
  • The means and luck to have a home that is large enough to make this happen.
  • The blogger community who “listens” and sometimes comments on, what often feels to me, like whining.  I hate whining.
  • The hubs who ALWAYS listens and comments on my whining, issues, and problems.  I love you honey.
  • My new job.
  • My new benefits – we’ll save about $700 a month on health care costs.
  • God…nuff said.