A time to listen, a time to love

Time is a funny thing. It moves fast and is hard to keep up with. Current technology tends to connect us, but the extent to which this is real is often limited  I’ve said before social media is the highlight reel of our lives. No one ever really knows someone’s story unless they are a part of it daily and are bonded to that person in some way. Take me for example—I love social media. I love seeing everyone’s babies, pets, and *gasp* grandbabies (I’m not old enough for that obviously.) I tend not to post the things that aren’t fun, but rather the things I love: my friends, family, husband, life at school, gym selfies. The weird, quirky sometimes sad things, and the dreaded state of our political system come out in the FB/Insta stories or here, where I tend to ramble about things most people don’t care about as much as I feel the need to write about them. That seems to work for me. If people follow, cool. If they don’t, well, I think of it two ways: 1) I don’t give a shit or 2) dude, you’re missing out on the awesomeness that is living life with me. GOSH! 🤣🤣

 I recently found myself in the midst of a conversation with an old high school friend who I hadn’t seen in at least 30 years. We’ve spent some time catching up since our reunion back in the fall. It’s someone I could never really get a grasp on and I was genuinely curious about. Interestingly, said friend is a lot more conservative than I, which was a bit surprising, yet shouldn’t be. For the first time in a long time, I’ve wanted to know more. Usually I tend to shut down at the first sign of “imma pray for you” because there’s a litany of trauma there that triggers a fairly visceral reaction on my part. But I thought—maybe this is worth exploring. Maybe I can find a common ground there that could signal that I could trust more than I thought I could. 

The current times we are in tends to lead people to this disdain of those not like us. This distrust. The ick. The finger pointing. I am totally guilty of dismissing people. Sometimes for the right reasons, sometimes by default. This is the first time in a very long time that makes me really reflect on the commonalities we share, not the walls that divide us. 

I am unapologetic in my lack of faith, A lot of people know that about me. A lot of people pretend that I share their beliefs for whatever reason, and I think that’s just part of being human. It’s hard to understand someone who is pretty far out of what your norm is. Hell, it’s hard for me to understand myself sometimes. That said, the core belief in love of others and the want to help should be something we all share, regardless of whether or not we share the rituals of religion, prayer and doctrine. 

If love is a universal thing, the tie that binds us, if you will; then a path to understanding shouldn’t be difficult. If you approach things with that mindset the rest should fall to the wayside. However, in today’s climate, it’s become a conditional thing. Love for everyone has become political and that is probably one of the saddest things I’ve ever witnessed. 

Our society has become toxic to the point that I have had to retreat into my known circle of friends and family in an effort to shield myself from the discourse that surrounds us on the daily. I have hidden people on socials, unsubscribed to news outlets and people, and generally do not get past a surface level relationship with anyone who would spend my time fussing over things we have no control over at the moment. I really don’t need that negativity in my life. I am acutely aware of the goings on, but am hesitant to give thought to every “breaking news” post or video, nor do I want it to infiltrate my kids, pets, and fun feeds of the people’s FB. 

That said, my curiosity is getting the better of me this week, and I’m happily having these conversations with my old friend. We have not gotten political, thankfully, but we have scratched the surface of how people can be different yet the same. My hope is that in time, I can find it in me to listen more to others and not be so quick to retreat or to assume the worst. 

The best quote I heard this weekend kind of went like this, and I’m probably butchering it: “I love people all the time. I don’t always like them, but I try to love them all the time.” Note it wasn’t said that they “love them anyway”. I believe I wrote once about how I’ve been referred to that way before and it crushed me. “Amy is a bleeding heart liberal, but I love her anyway.” The thing I was told this weekend was just love. No conditions. 

If we can learn anything from each other, let it be that. No conditions. Love everyone. Leave things better than you found them. Spread some joy (and GLITTER) everywhere you go. If that ain’t what this life is all about, I don’t know what is. 

Go forth this week and do some good. Love on somebody. Listen. Spread some sparkles. Look for some glimmers. Get some fresh air. 

Love you. Mean it. 

Glimmers 2.0

​I spent some time doing a dive into finding glimmers amongst the hellscape of grief before. Now I’m trying, hoping to find glimmers in the midst of the ongoing political landscape, continued health challenges, sometimes loneliness, school, friendships, and the world in general. It doesn’t always work out that it makes my day any more agreeable, but it surely doesn’t hurt. Here are a few I’ve found both routinely and some that are just plain random. 

• Always kids. Nails, shoes, sparkles, notes, pictures, selfies. The number of times I get shown the new new of a kid would blow your mind. I keep needing to record my mornings because it’s mind altering the number of kids I greet, talk to, hug, and marvel over. It never ends and it’s always a joy. 
• Spring blooms: daffodils (jonquils to my dear Grannie), redbud trees (my favorite), cherry blossoms, tulip trees. I love every part of spring. Even the great pollening that is imminent. It’s the season of hope. 
• Sunrises. Now that the time sprung forward, I see all the sunrises while driving to work. I love every single one. 
• Freshly painted toesies. Yes. Toesies. Mine are pepto pink and make me giddy because sandals every day all day time is coming soon. 
• Corn dogs. Last week Troy suggested sonic for Friday night Aurora Sue date night. I love a corn dog more than most. It was absolutely amazing. 
• The countryside of Buckingham. I got to ride the roads with Jessica Saturday. I miss the country so fucking bad. The twisty roads, farms, cows, endless fields, clear skies, visible stars. All of it is so reminiscent of my childhood. I miss it. 
• Candles that smell like cookies and croissants. The end. They’re life changing. 
• The end of the school day visitors. I keep my door open in the afternoon. Even when my head is throbbing after a day with my baby angels, I keep it open to see the stragglers. The ones trading books in the library. The car riders who need “one more hug”. The kids who need a minute of time to feel special and connected. I love loving on those babies. And I learn so much about them. Have I said lately I love being the fun auntie of APS? 
• Birds. I saw a heron this morning. I heard a northern flicker the other day. I’m dying to head to the beach and see shorebirds. And I think I’ll venture to Ivy Creek soon to bird watch a little bit. 

These are just a few glimmers from the past couple weeks. It’s always good to reflect on what has brought you joy. Sometimes you forget when you’re sad, anxious, lonely, or otherwise feeling like shit. You remember that although gas is more expensive now than it has been in forever, that you’ve had a headache you can’t kick and fatigue that never quits, that this world and mine in particular isn’t all bad.  Not all roses, but definitely not all bad. 

I hope you can reflect on your glimmers my beautiful loves. Trust that warm weather and my infamous sparkle skirt will return sooner than you think. 

Love you. Mean it. 💕💕

Seasonal depressy is a ho

​having the seasonal depressy is one of the many joys of my life. 🙄🙄 It’s like the life just gets sucked out of me with the lack of daylight, cold, barren landscape, and friggin holidays which include the usuals and my stupid birthday which is a holiday. (Love my birthday because duh, I’m a slut for attention, but hell no I’m not almost 50. F that noise. ) the best part of the barren hellscape that’s winter has to be snow days and those are random and half the time make life hard when I go back to work with these wild chillren of Appo. So like, I have yet to find a bright spot. Unless it’s soup. I do love soup. 

Nevertheless, I long for spring. For longer days, green, flowers everywhere, and warmth. I love what I’ve come to call spring slipper weather. Spring slippers = the rubber Birks that are the total opposite of my beloved winter slippers which = the ugly Uggs. 

So imagine my dismay at this typical but forgotten typical Virginia phenomenon: that ho, false spring. You know what I’m talking about:  85 degrees, happy with the fresh pedi, the new pink spring slippers, shorts and tanks for the gym, short pants with a fresh shave job, the daffodils poking up ready to bloom. Then wa-bam-o. Fucking cold and worse yet: fucking snow. At least we got out of school an hour early only to arrive home to sun, 48 degrees, and no snow. 🤣 Typical Virginia. See, you know she a woman with that wishy washy bullshit. 🤣

I felt the depressy leave my body this week for a fleeting second. It was like a promise that better days with light, warmth, a plethora of sandals days, and the ultimate: sundress weather, were coming. The fact that spring break, the end of school madness, and all that summer fun I have planned in my head is closer than a month ago make me positively giddy. And impatient. And a little cranky sometimes but it is fiiiiine. At least it’s not December or January. Those are the fucking worst. 

My spicy brain (remember my last post) made me wonder something. What in particular is the worst part of the seasonal depressy? Why is it such that I hate winter so much? Is it the lack of freedom to walk at the park in the evening? The feeling I need to hibernate because what else do you do when it’s dark at 5? It seriously kills my will to be anything but a slug. Is it the dreaded holiday season with its obligations, expectations, and memories that are hard for me to bear? Could it be just as simple as me needing more sunlight and vitamin D? Who knows for sure. 

I’m clinging on to hope that good ol’ Georgie Flick over on WSET (iykyk) gives us the good news soon—that spring and summer slipper weather is here to stay. I have dresses to wear, a tan to get, beach trip prep to do, waterfalls to chase, and a bucket list to complete with only 9 months left to do it. I need to hop to it. 

Here’s to spring bringing her ass to VA to stay and not just do a drive by like in downtown RVA. 

Hope you have a good spring adjacent weekend my sweet honey buns. For me, imma do what I do best—spend the day with Jessica runnin the roads, gossipin, Appo talkin, eating, and reminiscing about boys. 

Love your face. Mean it. 

My brain and how I relate to the wildest kids ever

​I recently had a kid who totally got what I was saying in the moment. He understood me. He saw me. I was touched by his earnest, honest question: “Do you have ADHD? I have that. And I get it.” At the time, I had two little girls piping up—constantly interrupting. I was trying to get my thought out yet their constant yelling out was legit making me crazy. Not only because it was seriously disrespectful, but because it made me GLITCH. Like a robot who got a little water in their circuit board. Suddenly I lost all thoughts, and all I could hear was my brain frying like an egg on a hot rock and my physical body slump in disappointment and despair. I was quick to be mad at the girls. “Why are they so disrespectful?” But the real thing was me. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

Troy often looks at me like I’m a total freak when I tell him how I think. Over the weekend I tried to break it down for him. How I have no less than 10-20 thoughts during one conversation and of those maybe 2-3 have to do with the conversation at hand. It’s more like this (see if you can follow. If you can, I owe you a sticker.)

Troy: tells something that happens at work while we are driving to Richmond. 

Me: tries to follow but then sees a bird on the power line. I wonder what kind of bird that is? Hmmm. Maybe a robin. Maybe a mockingbird. I wonder what the coolest bird I’ve seen this week is? I think I saw a hawk yesterday. Ooo! What is that cool tree I just saw? It had prickly gum balls. I saw plants with prickles once. Omg. It’s gonna be spring soon. Last spring I saw neat plants. What is this fucking song on the radio? Why do we always listen to this stuff? Oh yeah. Troy doesn’t love Tpain and Taytay like me. That’s ok. I get that. At least this isn’t fucking metal. I hate metal. Hey babe—what’s your top 5 road trip songs? We proceed to have this convo for a bit and Troy tells me tales of George Harrison. I then remember he always says Ringo is the worst Beatle and that makes me sad for Ringo. Mama always loved Paul but everyone loves Paul. Then I see a house that is pretty and I say so and in my mind I start dreaming about houses, land, and life not in the city. I don’t like the city but it’s practical. This goes on for the 2 hour trip to Richmond going and coming home the next day. 

Did I mention that about 90% of this is in my brain and is never said? I also didn’t include everything because I don’t want all my loyal, loving readers to think I need a grippy sock vacation at Centra. It’s a wild ride in my brain that’s for sure. 

This way of thinking, distraction, disarray has always been me. I only recently began to think about it more. Part of me wants to blame old age, menopause, anxiety or depression. I honest to god think I need a little adderall to make the thinking slow down and give my mind and psyche a fucking break. But I’m 49 and a diagnosis at this age? Really? 

It could explain a lot. My lack of executive functioning skills at times. My sense of overwhelm. My phenomenal skills at starting things I don’t follow thru with or finish. The dreams I dream up and can’t quite start on because of the overwhelm. The doodles I draw, the overstimulation, the self doubt, the inability to listen to bullshit. The questioning of most every authority figure ever. Oh and the imposter syndrome. Holy shit that one is a beast. And now I’m down a rabbit hole I’ll never find my way out of. 

That said, I have come to realize that my unique abilities and set of skills has allowed me to understand my most challenging kids. I have come to understand them in a way that a lot of people haven’t. I see myself in them. Not the hyperactivity. We all know I’m usually a slug except when I’m shaking ass to TPain, but the brain. That thing is going 120 mph every waking hour of every day. I understand our distracted students. I am that kid. I understand the anxiety and stress that comes from not fully understanding whyyyyyy. Whyyyy am I like this? Why can’t I focus? Why is everyone but me annoying? Whyyy do I have to do that? Why can’t I do what I want, learn what I want, be what I want? Societal, professional, cultural norms are hard. Southern classical norms…good lord. 

Nevertheless, I find myself a perfect person to be able to reach some of our more….shall we say…. attention fluid (?) kids. Those of us who have this fluidity of thought can connect to each other in a truly meaningful way. That’s not to say that there isn’t frustration on both sides of this equation. I find myself equally frustrated with my attention-ally challenged friends and myself (because I know more and better). I guess there’s always more to learn and more creative solutions to find for both myself and our kids at school. Luckily I’m in a position I can do that. 

My (maybe) final thoughts are wide and varied but I did think about this one particular thing that will likely lead me to have more questions than answers which is par for the course of my brain: if I were to find that the root cause of my very active mind, would I even want to try to treat that and calm it down? Would it be a relief or would I feel like I’m betraying who I am? I know for our school age kids, we treat this attention spiciness so that they can learn easier, so they can be socially accepted, successful, attract and maintain friendships, and legit not pluck everyone’s nerves that live in their circle. I have argued for years that that treatment is just as needed as blood pressure meds or insulin. But when the script is flipped I waver. I am 49 years old. Maybe in the 80’s I maybe would have benefitted? Idk. I don’t know that I care to know what my life would have been like if I was treated. But now? I really don’t want to know. I’m comfortable. Anxiety ridden? Yes. But I know how to cope. I’m happy most all of the time. Why change it now?

I think that perhaps, maybe, mayyyyybe, this little spicy brain of mine is a blessing. A plucky blessing? Maybe. Idk. I have more questions. And more thoughts. 

Stay tuned for the next installment of my random (RANDOM) thoughts sure to pique your interest or solidify your assertions that I am in fact, a weirdo. 

As always, my people, I love your face. Go love on your spicy brained friends for me, will ya?