A Little Something Funny...

This morning in my email among all of my beloved "New Post" notifications was this from Amazon:

"Best Selling Wine Books!"

Uh, catch up, Amazon! ;)

Curse Show

I'm not sure what it is about sobriety that makes me want to cuss like crazy. And not like "Awwww, fuck." Like "Fuck yeah!" or "Holy shit!"

Yesterday on my run my ego started whining, "This is kind of hard. Shouldn't we slow down and get comfortable?" And I spoke up, "Fuck you! RUN! It's supposed to be hard!" Then I chanted "Fuck you, run fuck you, run, fuck you, run" until I finished my last mile really fast for me. And then I walked and beamed and felt great since I gave that ol' ego bastard a beat down.

Oh, life. Aren't you funny? When I got home the dogs were filthy. Beaming at the back door, hair all stringy from the mud. Only their heads we a little dry. And us with a broken shower dog rinser thing-y. Cue ego: "Oh, no. This is haaarrrrddddd. What will we do? Let's just avoid this situation." I was noticing a trend here. Things get hard, ego hands you the easy card. Or a wine glass. Fuck you. Deal.

Instead we made a dog pen in the dining room so they could eat, drink, and dry off. (Side note: Dogs still messy. You should see the dirt on the couch from it drying and falling off while Jelly slept. Holy shit.)

As an encore life had this one last thing while I was two minutes from finishing dinner: "Mom? Hampton just threw up all over the coffee table." (my oldest said this so casually I thought he was kidding.) I walked in to the room to look. Yep. Barf. Coffee table, rug. And then all over the kitchen floor where he tried to make it to the toilet. Ego: "Waaahhhhhhhhh!!! Whhhhhyyyyyyyy?????? Who will clean this up?" I actually considered for a brief millisecond calling my husband at work so he could come home and clean it up.

And then I handled it. Fuck you. Big girl boots. Clomp. Clomp.

Sobriety. It's this cool place where you suddenly get to decide. You decide you can do hard things, and then you do them. It's this place where you have to yell strong words like 'fuck' and 'shut the fuck up' to that whiny part of you that's such a damned coward. It's where I get to feel like a superhero because I do hard things like run fast, handle dirty dogs, and mop up vomit.

It's where, in the night, I can go to my little sick four year old son. I hear his tiny voice "Mommy? Mommy?" and I'm there. I'm all there. I can rub his back, and look into his olive brown eyes. Push back his dirty blond hair. Hold the trash can while he barfs. And I'm not drunk. I'm not drunk.

Fuck yeah. :)

If You Are Just Starting Out

Two months ago today I woke up hungover. I use the term "woke up" loosely as I really didn't get up, more like stared blearily at the kids as they placed the plate of french toast beside the bed then promptly went back to sleep.

Two months ago today I ached inside and out from the toll booze was taking on my body. On my mind. On my life.

Two months ago today I got fed up.

Two months ago today I got saved.

By saved I don't mean Jesus came in and smacked me on the forehead and I saw lights and Bibles. By saved I mean I tossed the life raft to my soul. And I caught it. I pushed it down onto my waist. Nice and snug. I started dragging myself back. Back out of the rough waves. Away from the evil undertow. Towards the warm sand of the shore.

You know how waves are. Just when you think you've almost made it they suck you back out again. But I was brave, and no longer afraid of water and so I just kept swimming. I still do.

I do not envy anyone just starting out. But then again I do. This journey is hard, and magic. You will weep and bitch and laugh and be so grateful you have to cry because you never ever thought you could feel so fucking good. You will look in the mirror and smile. You will wake up and get dressed and not feel ashamed. You will feel pissed that you can't drink. You will learn to tell yourself that that's OK, but like an errant child who needs a "no" you'll give your inner drinking buddy one too. "NO" you'll say. You will make seltzers with grapefruit and give yourself little presents like sweaters and time. You will lean into your life like it's the wind and it will lean back to support you. You will feel free.

I have lived a life in these two months. I have changed so much, or maybe I've just come back around to being me.

Sometimes when you're in the ocean you can't tell where you are. So you swim and you fight the current. You wish for the shore. And then you get tired and you wonder how deep it is. If you can touch the bottom. You reach your feet down and feel the sand. You stand up and either laugh or get pissed because you've been swimming so hard and the whole time you could have just walked right out of the water.

If you are just starting out, stand up. And then keep swimming. And stand up again. Do it every day until I'm reading your blog and cheering for your three days, then ten days, then fifteen, then thirty. Reach out. Try not to be ashamed. Or afraid, even though you really really are. Be gentle and kind to yourself and your own biggest cheerleader. Be imperfect. Be sober.

Growth Spurt

This picture is what sobriety looks like to me. That first one- the radical one? Right on. Then in the middle the hyper part. Then that taller wearing a hat part. Then the stretching up part . The shedding of the shell part. The look at my beautiful leaves part. And don't forget the roots. Extending. A little hairy. Just like life.

A seedling is such a fragile thing. So is a newly sober person. And then, sixty days go by. You start to get really really really great ideas about your life. You start to get unafraid. Suddenly there are chances to be taken. Dances to be danced. Hair to be let down. How cool.

I started thinking about how I want to spend my life. How to earn money since I need to work unless we want to live in the car. What will satisfy the bill collectors and my soul. Before I would have immediately told that little self to shut up, none of that "pie in the sky" stuff for you. Plod along. Make decent money. Good benefits. Give your soul to the "man". Be a minion. A playing it safe sycophant. Please- don't rock the boat.

But I started thinking about what I could do that would make me feel "real" on the inside. I got really brave and thought things like "go back to school" and "master's degree". I told my parents about it and they acted like I'd said I was abandoning my husband and children and going to join the circus with the bearded lady.

Things were said like "Too old" and "Children! Responsibilities!" There was crying. Yelling. Leaving.

I'm forty one years old. I know I don't need their approval. I was looking for encouragement and found quite the opposite. (Giant life clue: This could be part of my problem. Stop trying to get everyone to like you and what you do. Approve of self.)

So I left and didn't call. My mom wrote me and said sorry. We talked and I stood up for myself. I didn't try to soothe her, and it hurt to hear her cry over the phone, but I said my truth. Mine.

What surprised me the most of how strongly I felt that ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE. That I don't have to be afraid anymore. Life doesn't have to be this grand ship I'm waving to from shore. I don't have to wonder about all those lucky people, I can be one of them. Or I can be a total fucking failure at something and then hop on another ship. People on boats are especially friendly.

God. Sobriety is such a magical place. I can compare it to this: I have been a seed in a packet. You know a seed is just a seed. It can roll around in the bottom of the drawer just being a little round seed. Until you give it some love. Until you plant it with intention. You put it in the ground and grow it. You grow. You don't ask all the other seeds if you're doing it right. You don't try to be like all the other seeds. You don't settle. You push your tiny seed-y self towards the sun as hard as you can. You grow.

You grow. Up.

All's Well

All is well. I hate it when things get busy and I can't blog. But tomorrow! La la!

I went for an awesome run and I'm 60 days sober today. :) I rule. So do you!!!!

Gobstopper Days

My dear pen pal/sober blogess extraordinaire Belle posted about being curious about who's hanging about reading her site, days sober, and quit dates. Well, I had to pull up the calculator (which either says "Wow, you've been sober for a long time" or "It's hard to add 25 + 33 at six in the morning"...) I always remember that I have twenty one days in December. Except I have twenty-FIVE days in December. Please pass the coffee.

That's a grand total of 58 days. Did you hear a little pat pat pat? That was me, gently patting myself on the back. Almost two months. How about that. *crooked little smile*

I am floored by this- but not because I feel like "Whoa! That's such a long time." More like "Really? That's it?" I feel like I've lived a year in these past almost two months. That's what happens when you remember your life I guess. It seems longer because it is longer. There aren't these giant holes of hours where you've been living, but in a vacancy. The days stretch and last in good ways and bad. I know what happened last night every morning. I'm living, and not drowning. Everlasting.

Ten Random Things

This morning my brain is like pea soup. I had a good idea for a post, but then I promptly forgot it. So I thought I'd share a few things about me. Since y'all know what I'm really in my head thinking about almost every day, you could know some other stuff too.

1. I spell "because" wrong every time I type it. "Becasue". Every time. There's probably some fancy computer solution for this, but now it's my own private joke with myself. Which I also almost always spell wrong. "Myslef".

2. I can't stand it when the pencil runs out of eraser and the metal part scrapes on the paper.

3. I love drinking water.

4. I dream of having my own cabin-y in the woods-y place one day. With a big kitchen, a garden, and a winding driveway.

5. I want to learn three things: how to knit/sew, how to play piano/guitar, and how to kayak/kayak. Maybe that's more like five or six things.

6. Zinnias are my favorite flower. Fresh flowers in the house are such a treat.

7. I hate it when I burn my tongue. I drink my coffee/tea lukewarm (even though I like it hot) becasue I don't want to burn my tongue. (See? I spelled becasue wrong. And again.)

8. My perfect day would be: getting up for coffee and writing. Some yoga. Breakfast. A long hike in the woods with my family and the dogs. Lunch. A nap. A long solo run. Reading in the hammock. Making something arty with the kiddos. Cooking dinner with family. Lolling around after bath time for stories on our big bed. I'm surprised by how simple that is.

9. I sing and dance a bit when I run. Mostly people look away. Sometimes I catch a smile. It's interesting how people are embarrassed that I'm having fun.

10. I'm not sure if y'all know it, but every person that reads this blog makes me feel so special. You care enough to read what I wrote? Wow!!! I have wanted to be a writer as long as I can remember. I love to look at my "Blogger Stats" and see that someone in Poland has read my blog? Holy shit! (Hello to you Poland!:)) This blog keeps me sane and sober. It is a bright spot at the beginning of every day. Sometimes I can't sleep past 3:30 AM becasue (see? so ridiculous) I have a blog idea or I want to read what everyone else is writing. I could not be more grateful for the time I invest writing and reading all of our words that help us keep on keepin' on. So thank you.