Epiphanies about jiggles and being almost 50

​A big epiphany hit me last week at the beach. Whilst surrounded by beautiful, young women most of which looked like they were pulled straight out of a magazine, I found myself comparing my body to theirs. These were not 49 year old women. These were women, but girls really, that were 20-nothing. 

I had a meltdown in a moment that 20 minutes prior to, I was absolutely feeling cute. I was like….ok girlllllll!! Jessica stopped and took a picture of me with a tree that I just loved. I thought dang! This is cute! Then I looked at the picture that she took. I made the mistake of zooming in. Why the absolute fuck did I do that?! Zooming in is not your friend. That zoom ho is not doing anyone any favors. In that zoomed in picture I saw every bump. Every lump. Every sag of my thighs. Every wrinkle. The thought even now almost a week later makes me tear up. Why is that?

Jessica and I spent a lot of time talking about it. I look at her and see perfection. She’s everything I have always wanted. Clear, smooth skin. Beautiful eyes not the color of poop. Boobs where they are supposed to be. Not me. I’m bumpy and have dookie brown eyes. My boobs took a trip south while simultaneously looking like every bit of them deflated like a balloon after a birthday party. In our talks, she relayed that I had the things she wanted. She loved my shoulders because she didn’t like hers. She liked my hair that I have that is fake blonde. She liked that I didn’t have freckles like her. 

After we covered that, we made some observations. We are both almost 50. She doesn’t look like it because that girl never ages. I tell her it’s because not only does she not have kids, she doesn’t surround herself with them either. 🤣🤣 That said, we both have lived almost 50 years. Those girls with the perfect asses with their thong bathing suits haven’t. They haven’t had a baby like me. They haven’t lost 125 pounds like me. They haven’t lived through the very tough losses we have. They haven’t seen the things we have. And then we realized—we have normal almost 50 year old bodies. Normal bodies have bumps, scars, weird skin. Normal bodies have cellulite. Normal bellies have a pooch. People who have had babies rarely ever look the same. We acknowledged that we both go to the gym. We both work on building strength. And I realized no amount of dance, Pilates or weight training will take care of the aftermath of skin that losing 125 pounds leaves you with. 

And guess what: we realized that while we don’t look like that perfect French girl with her perfect ass, we don’t have to, nor does it even matter. 

I marched my size 10 body right on to that beach and told Jessica to take the pictures. I didn’t tell her to make sure my jiggly legs didn’t show. I earned those legs. I gave up a lot to get them. I worked hard to lose the equivalent of that skinny ass girl with the bathing suit that didn’t cover but two nips and a cooter. Those pictures looked so good. They captured me in my favorite place in a bathing suit I’d never pick out myself (of course Jessica got it for me). I looked pretty darned good. 

I told her next year, we were sporting the bikinis. Because why the hell not? We don’t know the people at the beach. Why do we worry about what they have to say about our jibbly, wobbly bits? For that matter, why worry at all? There are always hotter girls. There are always judgy girls with their miserable lives. There are always younger girls. But I’m choosing to love my 49 year old body. It’s an act of defiance, independence, love, land a giant F you to anyone who says you have to be thin to enjoy your life. 

This is my every day struggle. It is what I think about more than I should. It’s what I think about when I pass the mirror every day, multiple times a day. It’s what I consider before I eat anything. Except at the beach where calories, sugar, and carbs don’t count. Does it hurt like hell because I don’t tolerate them? Yes, but that’s a yarn for another day.

My hope is that if you hear me talk about it, maybe you’ll feel less alone. Maybe you’ll start loving you too. Maybe you’ll think—“If she feels like this, it’s ok if I do too!”  

All of it is ok my friends. Go love on yourself this week. Wear the bathing suit. Give yourself credit. You deserve it. 

Love you. (And your wobbly bits too). Mean it more than you know. 

💜

I’m so proud of you.

Five words. That’s all it takes. I was talking to Troy tonight about my precious thoughts on things people say that resonate and then repeat over and over in people’s minds. This one really does it for me. 

I’m so proud of you. 

Those five words mean everything to someone who is actively trying. Trying to better themselves. Trying something new. Trying to learn. Trying to hold their shit together when nothing seems right. Trying to adult for the first time. Trying to be the best version of themselves. Trying not to escape. 

Troy and I were discussing the final scene of the Springsteen movie. Bruce just finished a huge show and sees his dad, the man who has always been a source of pain, frustration, and disappointment to him. The guy who was a WWII veteran. Who was of another time and of limited emotional capacity. He goes to his dad, and he tells him at age the age of 30 whatever to come sit on his lap. He proceeds to tell Bruce how proud he is of him. Bruce struggled for a big part of his life trying to reconcile issues with his dad. In that moment, they both healed a bit. It was a profound moment for me. Even someone on the top of his game needed to hear his dad was proud of him. 

In working with young children, nothing makes them light up like telling them you’re proud of them, especially when they’ve worked so hard and seemingly got only a little bit ahead. I told a second grader this year who, come to find out, was really struggling in reading. She has such a spirit that I never would have known. Kid reading is never really a focus of mine. You don’t have to be able to read to problem solve in my room. That said, she struggled and I didn’t know until all of her classmates came in with their AR test bead necklaces. They were all so proud of them. She hid hers. My eyes teared up as much as the Zoloft allowed and I pulled her aside. I told her, “sweet girl, I AM SO PROUD OF YOU. You work harder than any kid in this class to learn how to read. You absolutely will get there. I’m proud of how hard you work and how much you want to learn. And sissy, I love you so so much!” That kid lit up like a Christmas tree. 

For me, personally, I’ve had several people tell me how proud they are of me for dancing my ass off at the gym and working hard to get stronger. For those who don’t know me like that, it is a pretty big deal. I have two people tell me consistently how proud they are of me. I almost cry every single time. 

Now, the gym is one thing, but the one person I got to hear the words from was my mama. I can’t remember what the conversation exactly entailed. I just remember her being in her final weeks. We were sitting on her sofa in her favorite spot with a blanket my friend Jill gave her. Likely a cig in her hand. She told me how proud she was of me. I’m sure it had to do with being a mom, a teacher, a fairly fresh newlywed. I know I gave her fits. I wasn’t good at much besides being as dad always said “a jabberjaw”. By that time, while I did graduate from college with both a bachelors and masters level degree, a good teaching job, and a most amazing kid ever, I had also been a big fat failure at my first marriage, my finances, and to me, most everything on the planet. That said, hearing that she was proud of me was a big deal. Maybe I wasn’t as big of a fuckup as I thought. 

I’m not sure what the hang up is in telling people you’re proud of them or for that matter sharing anything with someone that is of an emotional nature. Is it a generational thing? Of the people who tell me regularly how proud they are of me are gen X folks. As a proud gen x’er I can say that I’m the worst at being emotionally secure, processing things, or being vulnerable at all.  I do feel fairly sure, however, that I’m better at it than previous generations have been. That said, I always want my kid to know I’m proud of him. My hope is that I can be better as the years go on. I never want to have a Springsteen moment with my kid, that’s for sure. 

My hope is that someone somewhere can take something from my ramblings and make a change in how they express their pride in their family, friends, and loved ones. Tell them how proud you are. Tell them you’re proud of the fact they didn’t eat cookie dough for breakfast. That might be their biggest accomplishment of the day. Sometimes the seemingly silly things mean more than the big ones, friends. 

Love your faces. I’m so proud of you for showing up, for being fabulous, for checking on your friends, for drinking your water, and for taking time for you. You deserve it. 💜💜

The things you say that stick

​I saw a video one day that said to be careful with the things you say to someone. Those people play back what you say in their heads time after time. It was one that stuck with me. Then I got to thinking about what those things were that people have said to me that stuck in my brain and have yet to leave. Perhaps you’ve heard these. Or said these. Or you have no idea the impact of your words and should. Any way you connect with it hopefully this will have you thinking. 

◦ You are so strong! 

This one has been said to me by  gym instructors within the last 6 months. Me? Strong? I wondered if I had hit my head for a second. But upon reflection I accepted it and went back to tell her how much that meant to me. I remind myself sometimes that yes, I am, in fact fairly strong! 

◦ You are an amazing (friend, teacher, etc)

I have a severe case of imposter syndrome in most every area of my life. I legit thought recently that at some point Jessica would leave me in the dust for being too much. I told her this and she was like: FRIEND. NEVER. She didn’t give me the option to let it sit in my mind a second more. Have I said lately she’s the best? 

As a teacher I struggle with my place. I’m not in the classroom anymore. My job is considerably less stressful than my homeroom teacher friends. I taught for over 20 years before getting this position. I know their worth. I know my worth too at times, but the ease that my experience and job afford me make me wonder if I’m even needed or good at it or whether what I deem important for kids is important or if I’m doing it “right”. Then that one kid or that one mom tells me I’m good at it and my brain finally calms down some. Praise be for kind parents and kids who get me. 

◦ You are an inspiration 

Inspiration? Me? Sister friend. I had a surgery. It’s not rocket science. But then I give myself a bit of credit for keeping this weight off and I’m like…sister! Thank you! I still think it’s an overstatement but how sweet for someone to think that! 

◦ You’ve got this, keep going 

This one hits. For every person who struggles. Say it. They may not have it at that moment. But they will. Myself included. Tell people this one often and mean it. They (read: me) will replay it over and over when  they want to quit. 

◦ The hurt doesn’t last forever 

There is more truth to this than anyone will ever know. Sometimes the hurt does last months or years. But never forever if you work on it. I’m in the middle of repeating this one to myself as I write this one. 

◦ You don’t have to 

I just told someone this this week. It’s true. You don’t have to accept less than you deserve. You don’t have to go to the baby shower when you’re secretly hurting from a miscarriage  no one knows about. You don’t have to go to a party that will give you a panic attack. You don’t have to apologize for being a human fucking being. Ever. 

◦ It’s ok to feel that way

It is. End of story. Tell people their feelings are valid. 

◦ Thank you. 

If you were never taught this, shame. But thank people more than you should. Appreciate every moment with people. Thank them for talking to you. Listening. Going on errands with you. Remembering you. Thinking of you. Being there when you felt like you were being extra or too much (me). Everyone remembers appreciation or the lack thereof. 

◦ I need you. 

People remember when they’re needed. They hear it over and over in their mind. It’s a great reminder that you’re important to them in their life. 

◦ I love you. 

Tell everyone you love that you love them.  Romantic love. Friend love. Family love. Puppy dog love. I am not good at this, but I’m learning. Although I do tell Aurora Sue every day.  I always feel like the most important person when I hear this. 

◦ I’m so happy to see you! 

◦ I’m so glad you’re here! 

Kids remember these two statements and internalize it. TELL THEM. The late kid? Tell them you’re so glad they’re at school. It’s not their fault they’re late. I wish you knew the faces of these kids when they hear these statements from the adults they love the most: their teachers. They light up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree friends. They really do. It’s a game changer. 

◦ I’m here for you 

I have a friend who always says this. It’s not someone I’ve known long. But it is the kindest thing I’ve heard from someone I’ve known a short time. This friend is very intuitive and knows when I need to hear it, and I remember it and how it made me feel seen. Doesn’t everyone want to feel seen?

◦ You are not a burden

I need to tell people this one more. As someone with more insecurities than I can count, this one hits home. 

◦ Imma pray for you

◦ Thoughts and prayers

These two are my nemesis. I respect that people think it’s helpful, but for me, tell me something concrete. I hear it and replay it as this: I’m not willing to do what you need, which is listen or bring them some Cheetos and a Coke Zero and let them unload for a second. Those are the helpful bits for me. The thoughts and prayers bit seems lazy. (Gasp!) Do something that is concrete. A handwritten note, a text that tells them you’re thinking of them, an affirmation that your feelings are valid, the Diet Coke, a big ol’ hug if they’re the hugging kind, the never forgetting the triggers: the death, the loss, the hardship. Send your love often. Never stop. 

What words replay in your head? Good things? Bad things? I know that I’m a work in progress in not being afraid to tell people what I really want them to know. It’s a goal of mine to do more and to not be afraid. 

Love you. I mean it. You’ve got this. You are a magical unicorn capable of anything you ever want to do. And this girl is your biggest hype person on the planet. Let me plant that seed friend. 💜💜

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?