I Broke up with the Asshole, Finally.

It has been years.  Years.  I have had an abusive, toxic, love/hate relationship for years with 'the asshole".

I am not really certain when I realized that our relationship was abusive or toxic.  I do know, that I announced last year, that I was ending the relationship and breaking up.  It took a whole extra year to actually do it. I knew the relationship was over and there was no turning back.  No amount of counseling was going to change my mind.

And I knew my day to day life would be hard in the beginning, but after time, I would be ok and could make it without him. 

It was not easy, we had been together for a long time, but I did it and I am not looking back.

I broke up with the asshole, my scale.

It all started in my parents closet, an archaic scale, yellow and black.  No, not Steeler's colors.

I remember as a young girl stepping on the scale.  It started out as an occasional thing, I was just a kid.

Then I became a teen and the occasional weigh in became more frequent.

And then, it was daily.

Sometimes hourly. I was like the wrestlers in my home with their obsession with weighing themselves.

I have always struggled with my weight and body image.  I didn't have a disorder.  Didn't puke, binge eat or restrict but, I did have a bad body image.  Me and half the planet.

For years, I have started my day on the scale.

You know, that is not the best way to start your day, regardless of who you are.

I would weigh myself, check my banking account and my "button's" grades and by 6:15 am, my day was already turning to shit.

Over the years, the scale become my measuring stick.  And that scaled moved up and down and all around.  And, I measured myself by the scale.

I would have conversations with other women who would admit that they had never had a mammogram and did not weigh themselves.  I will admit I was appalled about the scale, not the mammogram. Shame on me.

About two years ago, one of my good friends posted something about how many times you weigh yourself.  I answered honestly, "daily".

She replied, "I wish you didn't do that.'

I was shocked, didn't people weigh themselves?

I have thought about that statement for two years.

And that is a lot of time in my brain.

Look, I am approaching my 61 birthday. I am pretty sure my swimsuit modeling days are over.  I am who I am.  I am not on medication, walk about 30 miles per week, have some muscles and am not often sick...not bad for a chunky girl.

So, why not weigh yourself?  Why not check in? Why not have a measuring stick?

So for two years, I weighed myself on the scale thinking about what my friend said, "I wish you would not do that".

Somedays I loved the scale and somedays I hated the scale.  I would torture myself every morning by this flat thing, with numbers on it on the floor.  Ridiculous.

And then, something happened.  I was having a conversation with somebody who was ending a relationship and was feeling badly about it and he said this "everyone else is getting married and I should be too."

I quickly jumped on him and said, "do not measure yourself by anybody else and their actions."

As quickly as it came out of my own mouth, I wanted to slap myself.  I had been doing that exact thing.

I would step on that scale to check weight but I was really measuring my "success" or happiness, whatever, by some scale.

That scale  did NOT measure my happiness, health, spirituality, relationships nothing but my weight.  

It occurred to me, when thinking about the conversation with that young man, the lowest the scale ever was for me, was the worst time in my life.  Seriously,  worst part of my life, the scale had the lowest number.

All of these years, I had been stepping on the wrong thing.  I was allowing a thing on the floor, that I would move around and around on the floor until I got a number I was happy with, to measure me.  I was Kate in the first episode of "This is Us" except I don't wear earrings.

It was not something I should have been bound to or relying on on a daily basis.

Instead, I should have been measuring love in my heart and those positive relationships and the bounce in my step during those morning walks.

I named my scale "asshole"  Seriously, pathetic.  Who names a scale?  I did it.  And interesting enough, I was the asshole.

I judged and measured myself.by something on a floor that I manipulated some days to get the reading I wanted.  I am the asshole.

My new year's resolution was to break up with the asshole, the scale and not measure my losses or my wins by that machine.

Instead, I was going to measure my wins or losses but the animals I saw in the morning while I walked, the sunbeams and the peace I felt from being outside and the pairs of shoes I had to replace.

Funny how we measure ourselves.  The cars we drive, the homes we chose, the vacations we take, the titles we acquire, the sickness we beat, how we measure ourselves.

The very person who questioned me weighing myself, gave up a pharma sales job to be a personal trainer.  Interesting enough, somebody told her (and seriously who would say this) "you don't have the body of the trainer?"

That statement changed her life.  For the better.  So, take that.

How much of our body and fitness should be measured by mental wellness?   The majority of it. Do we cripple ourselves with imaginary yardsticks or scales?  Maybe?

Because I have stepped away from the scale, I have stepped back in time.  I have spent an enormous amount of time measuring  sweet moments spent with my mom and brother, my husband and three children, nieces and nephews and friends and family.

I took a deep look at life and time and realized it is little and short filled with big and small moments.  But, if I was honest and my life was an hour glass, it is getting short on the sand.  This was something I could not fathom and could not measure. So instead of measuring losses, I had to go for monumental gains.

Better moments would be spent outside breathing air than inside rearranging the scale.

And when I think about all of those moments, nobody ever said, "your number on the scale does not meet my expectations", only the voice in my head said that.  Asshole.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: To need or to be needed..Valentine's Day Edition

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: To need or to be needed..Valentine's Day Edition: It is one of those stories that has stood the test of time.  Anybody who knew me when I was a junior at WVU in Morgantown WV most likely kno...

To need or to be needed..Valentine's Day Edition

It is one of those stories that has stood the test of time.  Anybody who knew me when I was a junior at WVU in Morgantown WV most likely knows about this story.  Every Valentine's Day, this story enters my mind and I think of it fondly.

This week, I had a conversation with me BF and I think I am now looking at the Valentine story differently.

Long before meal cards, VENMO, debit cards, credit cards for college kids and Insta-cart, I was a college student in 1981.

It was February and I was broke.  My roommate and I lived on potatoes.  We were  the Bubba Gump of taters.  We boiled them, baked them, fried them or chopped them and topped them with butter packs that we stole from McDonalds.  We were broke.

Oatmeal was our other go to meal.  Cheap.  Fills you up and you could steal sugar packs to put on top of the oatmeal.  And it was warm on those cold, snowy mornings.

When we lived high on the hog, my roommate, who also worked as a bartender, would bring the leftover popcorn home and we would sprinkle it with sugar and milk and it and eat it like Sugar Pops. 

Yes, we were broke.

In addition, our washer broke and the landlord didn't fix it.

I had turned my underwear inside out and back in and out several times.  My clothes were dirty.

And it was gray and cold in Morgantown and I had the winter blues. 

Thank goodness I come from a family of card lovers and card senders.  I swear our name means "Hallmark" in another language.

I came to my apartment and checked the mail.  And there it was, in the shiny red envelope, a Hallmark with a sticker.  I knew immediately it was from my Mamaw, she nailed very distinctive penmanship.

I opened the Valentine and "it" fell out.  "It" was a ten dollar bill.  "It" was a 1982 ten dollar bill and worth a bunch more than a 2022 ten dollar bill.

I grabbed that ten dollar billed and rejoiced on that porch of my apartment in Morgantown, West Virginia like I was Charlie getting the golden ticket in the streets that sealed his trip with Willy Wonka.

My friend volunteered his car so I could do laundry.  I still remember the smell of the car, filled with bags of dirty clothes versus the smell on the way home.

And then, I did what every broke college student would do who had $7 left from the Valentine windfall, I called my bff and my two crazy friends.

Two dollar pitchers at the Chestnut Pub, on me.  The Chestnut Pub will always be one of my favorite college memories and from this night.

We drank those two dollar pitchers, even lived high on the hog and ordered a crock of pretzel rods with dip and had a large time.  Playboy poses and a million laughs.

My grandmother has now rolled over in her grave about 100 times.

This past week, the same bff who did an array of poses that night, called me.  And a few tears were shed, "my kids don't need me anymore."

Her kids are older, in the late 30's or approaching the 30's.  Married, single, the gauntlet.

There are no more carpools, teams to coach or Valentine's to buy for the classroom party, the new phase of her life is here.

I listened to her tears and her angst and felt for her.

I really didn't miss my kids when they all left.  I knew they were coming back. 

And then my daughter announced she is getting a summer job in Colorado and really will only home about twenty days in 2022.  And she did it all by herself.

And then it hit me too, my kids no longer need me like they did.

Ugh.

All those times I wanted them to pee in the potty, tie their own shoes, pour the milk on the cereal, bit me in the heart.

Being needed can be overwhelming and depleting. Being needed can fill your heart.

This year, more than any other time, I missed being needed.  I missed my kids.  I missed Valentine's day with them.

And so, I sent the V-Day package.

Insane, my kids do not need any candy but I needed to send it.

My kids don't need me to remind them I am their mom, but I needed to remind them.

Maybe that is what my grandmother was feeling when she sent that card.  She always sent to all five grandkids but maybe she missed being needed.  Perhaps she knew I needed. Or maybe to remind me that she was my grandmother.

My bff is fine now.  Adjusting but fine.

I am adjusting too. 

Give or send a Valentine.

It just maybe the boost someone needed.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: My Confessional

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: My Confessional: "So, what's up with your blog?" I just stared across the room, pretending not to hear. "Seriously, what's up ...

THE INDEPENDENT VOLUNTEER

We dropped our daughter at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.  It is not really the drop off that gets you, it is the "afterward".

You arrive home and things are "just different."  The quiet is deafening.  Things are different.  Very different.

When my kids were younger and they attended "Camp Grandparents" or "Bahneman or Bust" camp, for one week, it was different.  I guess the "different" is how a kangaroo feels when the little joey leaves the pouch.  It feels "different". 

The laundry load is smaller, peanut butter will last longer.  It is different.

What is not different is my daughter's quest for independence.

She was determined to go "away" to college.

Five hundred twelve miles separates us.  It seems like yesterday she wasn't allowed past the mail box.

She knows "sort of" one person.

I checked my lifetime 360 ap and she returned to her dorm room in the wee hours of the morning.  I guess she "sort of" met some new people and they were fun.  Ugh.

It was not the smoothest drop off and as the hours approached, despite her desire to be independent, she teetered on the edge of a total meltdown. 

Apparently, she recovered nicely from that stressful move in and meltdown.

The last one to seek independence and a quest for higher education. 

But it is different.  The second one leaves in two days.

Being empty nesters will be different.  But I am really looking forward to independence as well.  There is a lighter feeling, a more relaxed feeling when the kids are gone.  I am looking forward to slowing down.

I left her a "UTK" gift box with a letter in her dorm room as we  were leaving.  I knew she would reach for it after we left.

My first text from her new pad at UTK was this, loved the note".

Dear Addie,

If you are reading this, you are most likely alone in your new dorm room (which you feel like is the Taj Mahal), your dad is on the floor board of the car in the fetal position, bawling, Walker is searching for food and I am jamming to the radio.

You are a college freshman! Woot, Woot! You have been in training for this for years. You made it.

You are meant to be an independent woman. I am so proud of you. I am one, your grandma is too, your great grandmother was, your great-great grandma was and your namesake, Addie Smucker was one too. Welcome to the club!

Independence is awesome.

So here you are, exercising your independence and quest for knowledge and it is a bit scary and fun. So, there are a few tips I would like to pass on to you.

1. Go to class. "It doesn’t matter what you wear, it only matters that you are there." Go to class. Don’t be late over the outfit, get there.

2. Look, "you are just a small town girl, born and raised in Cedar Point" (I know you are singing this) and that is so ok. Do not ever forget where you came from, the folks who helped make you who you are today, your mistakes, your successes and your accomplishments. Do not forget who you are and do not become someone you are not. It Never works out. Ever. Do not be someone you are not.

3. Do not EVER let a male define you. Ever. BE a big enough person that no male needs to make you, you. Stand on your own.

4. Do not be afraid to get to know somebody you never thought you would like. Everyone has something good to offer. Smile at the loner in the cafeteria, say yes when you normally would say no and go for it. Let your personality shine. Give every person and experience (unless it includes being bailed out) a chance.

5. Go to every building at UT you can get into, especially the library. Explore all that you can. Take in every moment. It will be over in a blink.

6. Go to class.

7. Walk down different streets, smell the rain, love autumn leaves and learn to smell snow. Learn to enjoy what you do not have at home.

8. No means no, and I mean with men. If you say no and he continues, bust his balls, hard. And then do it again for me. And never give him a second thought.

　

9. Wash your sheets.

10. Fake is fake and falls apart. Don’t waste your time and energy on fake. Learn to find the authentic folks and hang with them. It will last.

11. Go to class.

12. Do your best, every day.

13. Trust your gut and when it does not feel right, chances are it is not right.

14. Call your grandparents.

15. Sit in the front row at all classes you are attending. Make sure they know your name. Participate. Let your personality shine.

16. When you are sad or frustrated and not sure, call your mom. When you need money, call your dad. When you want to talk about stuff that you are sure I don’t want to hear, call your brothers. (not sure I would always take their advice, but call them)

17. Go to class.

18. It is ok to fail sometimes. Typically, that is when you learn the most.

19. Don’t be the skank in your dorm that has a different guy in her room every night. Those skanks stay skanky and get scabs and warts and you are way better.

20. Have fun but remember, these are the warm up laps before things get real.

21. You said your worst fear was "having to move back home and live with us after college." It should be. Ask questions, ask for help, ask for opportunities and listen to advice. We might be old, but we know some things.

22. Laugh at yourself. Pat your self on your back when you know you did your best and before you fall asleep every night, think about good thing you did that day. Let your last thoughts be great ones. Laugh as much as you can.

23. Conflict resolution. Being a freshman is your first attempt at Conflict Resolution. What does that mean? You need to figure out how to get along with someone you have never met. Unless she is a meth head or wanted by the FBI, you need to figure it out.

24.  ROOMMATE...Pick up your clothes from the floor and please do not speak to her like you do your brothers. Do your part to make it work.

This should not come as a shock to you (since you think I am prehistoric) but my freshman year, debit cards were not in existence. Or cell phones or facetime. We had this phone in our room and we always said the people before us tried to hang themselves in the room, so they gave us a cord on a phone that was literally four inches long. You probably do not even know what that means…anyway…you only called your parents on Sunday around 2pm when the long distance rates were low. Once time per week. If they called any other time, it was an emergency. So, I could not text for help, facetime for help and call my mom 19 times until she picked up (back then if she was on the phone you got a busy signal and you could not get through anyway) but the bottom line was, it was sink or swim. Figure it out or move home. And I was not moving home. Part of the conflict resolution. You have a situation, so you must solve it. Conflict resolution is the key to a happy life. Want to be married with kids? Then you must master conflict resolution. When your new roommate sits on your bed after you just made it, do not scream at her because she has no idea that is one of your OCD moves. And guess what, some monster will not get you in the middle of the night because she sat on the freshly made bed.

The day you went to kindergarten, it was staggered entry. I dropped you off, walked all the way down the hall to the class and you bolted in the door. Your short, curly hair bounced away and you NEVER turned back around. You didn’t say goodbye, nothing.

As I walked back down the hall toward the front of the school, I heard this little voice yell, "Mom" and I turned around because I was the only person in the hall, and your little head was sticking out of the door, with your feet still in the classroom….it was almost like if you crossed the invisible line, you wouldn’t be able to go to school but you yelled, "thanks for bringing me to kinner garden mom."

You could not pronounce it but you sure were proud.

I waved at you cause the other classes were in session and I bawled me eyes out as I walked to the car. I bawled because at that very moment, I knew you were leaving my nest, as you should. I knew you would have other teachers and mentors and folks who would teach you. I knew you would fly and fly far away because you were worthy. And just like 13 years ago I know that after today, everything will be different. You are becoming an adult and a lovely woman. It was my goal for you. Even if it meant you would leave me. And that is why I have been excited for you to get to this next phase. I am going to miss you but I want you to experience one of the greatest things you will ever have done. Remember, it came before having kids on my list. hahaha

Think of me at home, alone with Frank-tank and hot dog flavored potato chips. And know that you are loved beyond measure and today you are my favorite child. (Just for today though) I have Walker alone for a week. hahahhahha

Go forth, conquer, fly high. Let your personality shine bright, soak the next four years in and get your ass to class. 

Love,

MOM

She will fly high.  Franklin and I will make it.  It will be "different" but liberating.

Go Vols.

A Diploma and Francis Scott Key

Friday, my daughter became a High School graduate.  She walked across the stage and was handed her diploma.  This moment was an expectation in our home but a moment worth celebrating nonetheless.

The Pre graduation hype is where the fun lies.   What are you going to wear, the announcements, the cap and gown pictures and the plans for after graduation, all fun. Walking across the stage, anticlimactic. 

 

And as the days neared, I heard these questions repeatedly, “are you sad?”, “going to cry, mom”, “what are you going to do with your spare time?” and “will you make it through graduation without crying?”.

My response to all of them was “Hell No” and “I am going to become a beekeeper.” 

“Are you going to cry?”.  Are you kidding me?  I am done.  Let’s face it, I came to motherhood late in the game.  I am 60 and my husband is 65.  Don’t you think it is time we were involved in something else beside lunch money and early dismissals?  Hell, no I am not going to cry.  I am ready.  I am ready to say to my husband, “Eat a bowl of cereal” or “lets go to Riptides for dinner”.  I want to go to the closet, find my clothes, my mascara in my makeup bag and I cannot wait to get in a vehicle and see there is gas in the tank.

I want to watch something on TV without TIK TOK videos blaring in the background while the refrigerator door opens and closes 15 times and while the door closes someone is muttering, under their breath, “there is nothing in the house to eat, ever.”

 

I am done.  I want to adult without my children.  Franklin and I married with a child.  We have never been alone.  I am ready.

 

 So, as the night began in typical female fashion, the graduate had a melt down because we commented on her dress.  There was drama, so I threw her in the car and took her to graduation.  Anyone with a female understands.  If you only have boys, you have missed out.  

 

As we traveled to the High School, we drove by White Oak Elementary, where it all began.  Yes, it did seem like yesterday, when cars were parked all over the driveway, to attend the Kindergarten Program.  At the end of the program, all the kindergarten kids were start singing (and if you attended one, you have started singing) “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today, It’s off to first grade, first grade, first grade.  If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere, it off to First Grade, First Grade.”  There isn’t a dry eye in the house at the conclusion and it is such a sendoff.

 

Anyway, to lighten to mood, I said aloud what I was thinking.  It was weird, it just popped into my head and stayed there…like a song…and I said it…” this is the last time I will drive to the school and have a student in the school system. Wow”.  We looked at one another, it was so weird. So together, we tried to figure out how many times I had made the trip to the high school between the three kids.  Addie was

not receiving any kind of “Excellence in Math” award so I was not certain that the number she came up with was correct. 

 

I dropped her at the door with her cap and gown and she walked off.  And I felt nothing.  Not one ounce of nostalgia, nothing.  And my expectation was always that all three of my kids would graduate.  Graduation was an expectation.

I ventured through the parking lot trying to find a strategic spot and I found my Class of 2020 graduate trying to flag me down.  He hopped in the car and asked, “are you ok?”

“Yes, I am ok.  Why?”

“Mom, seriously, this is your last kid, your life is about to change.”

Oh, he had no idea.

“Yes, I am fine.  Your sister and I were trying to figure out how many times I made a trip to the elementary school, middle school or high school between you three kids.”

He rips out his phone to start doing the math.

Three kids.  Band practice, wrestling practice times 2 boys, football practice, cheer practice, football games, pick up from events, dropping to school, picking up from school, the list went on and on.

Walker came up with 5072 trips because we forgot the Robbie didn’t drive till, he was 17 and there were a few years where the kids were in different schools.

Even if the number was off, let’s say by half, 2500 trips is a ton.

We laughed and got out of the car and ventured into the High School for the final time.

As we secured a spot, I found myself beside one of my favorite families that I have met, through my kids.  Perfect folks to sit by during graduation.   I was happy.

I am a sucker for a marching band but when those kids walked in with the band playing the Graduation March…still…I felt nothing.  My daughter was beaming and so were most of her classmates.  She was meant to move out and move on.  I was happy for her.

We were asked to stand and join in the Star-Spangled Banner and Francis Scott Key reached up into my heart and something happened. 

I started to cry.  Not an ugly cry, but big, silent crocodile tears started to roll down my cheek.  Even I was stunned.  But it was there in that gym, or the football fields across the state of North Carolina, where I saw boys get their asses whipped in a wrestling match, get off the mat, shake their heads while coaches spoke to them and get back down there and do it again.  I have seen boys lose to girls in wrestling and be humiliated, go get a Chick Filet sandwich and feel better and I have seen boys give every ounce of what they had for a victory.  I have seen dads who wanted their sons to play football, smile with pride because they were nailing a saxophone solo at a band competition.  I have seen girls hoist their teammate up in the air and send her soaring and prayed they would catch her.  I have heard helmets smack and kids lay motionless on the field while a mom watched to see if it was her son and if he was getting up.  I have seen grandmas being faced time from the stands, cheer as the grand son scored a touchdown and made a huge tackle.  I have watched boys strike out, with sweaty backs, want to give up but go back to the batter’s box and surprise themselves with a huge hit. I saw shy young girls turn into women and weak boys turn into men. 

So many of my experiences with my children began with the Star-Spangled Banner.  And I lost it.

I sat by my wrestling friend while my football friends sat in front and my baseball friends sat across from me.  My daughter’s church friend and cheer friend, her parents were three rows in front of me…my friends because of my kids.

Across the gym was the State Championship banner that the “button’ was a part of and the coach that helped get that banner, his daughter was now sitting on the floor in front of me as a teacher.

 

I know my ass has 12,000 of bleacher sitting hours in it.  I don’t need to do the math.  I know.

And while “what so proudly we hailed” was being sung, it hit me.  My role as mom was drastically changing in those stands.  My friendship opportunities were changing.  Where I would spend my time was over.  I would see some of these folks now in the Food Lion and we will politely ask how their kids are doing and how they were doing, nice to see you and go down the aisle to get the buy one get one feature item.  It would be different.

My kids would come home for breaks and tell me the scoop on old friends and classmates, but the focus would be on their new lives…and those new lives, would be away from home and my husband and I would barely be a part of them. 

I was not crying because she was leaving the nest, she was meant to fly.  I expected her to fly.  I was crying because my nest was going to be very different.  I would no longer by “Robbie’s mom, Walker’s mom or Addie’s mom”, I was just me.  The grocery cart would not be as full, the laundry basket lighter (thank goodness) and the quiet in our home, deafening.

I got my composure, wiped me tears and enjoyed the night.  As we left the gym, after a few pictures, and were walking to our cars, Walker said, “Me and Addie are dipping in my truck.”  I responded ok.  Franklin had already left.

 

He looked at me and asked, “Mom are you ok?  You look sad.”

“Yes, I am ok.  This is it.  We are moving on up.”

He looked at me and said, “don’t cry mom, bigger memories are around the bend.” I got in my car, turned the ignition, and I felt something I never expected to feel on the night of no expectations, I felt something.  It was a mix of completion, finality and a wild, fun roller coaster ride, great friends, gratitude for fabulous experiences and memories made.

“O’er the land of the free and the Home of the brave.”  Sniff sniff.            

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Signs from God

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Signs from God: Once a month, I do my favorite thing for myself, I attend Pub Theology. It is great, drink beer and talk about God. Look, I would never r...